# [5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign



## SolidSnake_01 (May 22, 2017)

*Dramatis Personae
*
_Players:_
-Etona Aspianne (Elf), risen cleric of Sehanine
-Rey (Half-Elf), scout of Seraph
-Egan Killian (Human), former apprentice to Allustan
-Melinde (Human), champion of Heironeous
-Verdre Aspianne (Elf), druid of the Mirror
-Rishkar (Lizardman), spiritwalker of the Mistmarsh
-Eleanor (Human), emissary of the Circle
-Treig (Human), mercenary
-Jordan Cranden II (Human), fallen Knight of the Order

_Notable NPCs of Diamond Lake:_
-Governor-Mayor Lanod Neff
-Sherriff Cubbin
-Allustan the Sage, renowned scholar 
-Balabar Smenk, wealthy and ambitious mine owner
-Ragnolin Dourstone, secretive mine owner
-Captain Tolliver Trask, commander of Diamond Lake's Garrison
-Valkus Dun, high priest of Heironeous
-Lady Zalamandra, owner of the Emporium

_Notable NPCs of Greyhawk:
_-Elgios, Loremaster and friend of Allustan
-Councilman Thran Chozik, Merchant Guild representative of the City Council
-Marshall Trent, supreme commander of the Garrison of Greyhawk
-Krizin O'dell, Marshall Trent's emissary
-Loris Raknian, manager of the Champion Games

_Notable NPCs of Magepoint:_
-Archmage Tenser, member of the Circle of Eight
-Agath of Thrunch, High Priest of Celestian
-Cymeria of Celadon, Caretaker of the Fortress of Unknown Depths
-Celeste, Tenser's apprentice


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 22, 2017)

*Chapter 1* *(“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” -Jean de La Fontaine)*

The sun rose lazily over Diamond Lake, much like the inhabitants of this struggling mining town, hiding behind the Cairn Hills until its first rays peeked out blearily well after dawn. Unlike most mornings, this one would be different. On the Urnst Trial, little more than a double track of wagon ruts interrupted by a petulant grassy verge, outside the Bode Farm, a chance encounter between two nomads would change the course of destiny for a great many lives.
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Rey had been studying the farm for many days now, just as she had been trained to do. She could hear her Mistress’s voice in her head: Y_ou are weak, and so you must hide. Like other animals, you must use your natural environment to your advantage. Stay low and stay quiet. Wait patiently for the enemy to reveal its weakness to you. Then strike swiftly and without mercy._ The warrior shook her head to refocus herself.

The Bode Farm had recently been sold to a wealthy rancher named Darren, he had a few other farms around the town, and it would not be long before he owned all the livestock in the area. The woman who recently sold him the farm was Hannah, a lively woman who towered over the rancher. From Rey’s distance, a thousand paces up the trail, it was difficult to make out what they were arguing about, but Rey was sure it had something to do with the three dead cows lying in the front yard of the farmhouse. Darren’s farmhands were funneling the remainder of the cattle out to pasture for their morning feeding, but the argument was not the most interesting development this morning. 

Rey’s attention slipped from the escalating human discussion to a figure moving along the trail ahead of her vantage point.  It was a lithe elven woman who seemed oblivious to the ongoing human conflict.  She hid her features well under her cloak, but Rey recognized her own ancestry. She moved gracefully around the obstacles making her way in Rey’s general direction. _She could not have seen me. The sun is in her eyes, and I am on elevated ground. Impossible._ It was then that the young woman removed her hood and waved to Rey with a smile. _S**t!_  This morning was not going as planned, and, from the look of things, it was also heating up down at the Bode farm. Darren had waved over one of his men and was sticking his finger in Hannah’s chest threateningly. Something stirred inside Rey, and she arose from the ground rather quickly. The mysterious elven woman seemed taken aback by Rey’s sudden, almost overtly obvious movement, but she too sensed that something was amiss down at the farm.

“It is so good to see my brethren out here,” the elven woman said almost longingly in Elven, the words tinged with a heavy drawl from the wood elves of Celune. “I haven’t been able to speak my native tongue in quite sometime. It is such a blessing to do so, even if it is only to greet a stranger.”

“I had no idea I would actually meet a real elf near this town,” Rey remarked.

“My name is Etona Aspianne.” A wispy smile half-felt, half-testing spread from the chin to her sharp cheeks.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Etona, my name is Rey,” the half-elf replied with her hand outstretched in a very human gesture.

The diminutive elf regarded Rey’s hand for a moment before smiling and clasping her hand in a warm embrace. When the two looked up, they noted the shocked expression upon the faces of both Hannah and Darren, who had temporarily stopped their argument to look upon this fateful meeting.

“It appears that this commotion requires our attention.” Etona sighed.  “Do not worry, I once was an Ambassador for my tribe,” Etona whispered in Elven. Switching to Common seamlessly, she called out to both Hannah and Darren “What seems to be the problem?”

It wasn’t long before Etona had reached the crux of the issue. Darren believed that Hannah had sold him a cursed farm, which had resulted in the death of three of his prized cattle. He wanted his money reimbursed and Hannah was not willing to do so. She had plans for the money, and those plans had nothing to do with Diamond Lake. Rey only half-listened as Hannah told her story.  _I must find out what killed these cattle. It may be the same ailment that plagues my Mistress._

If Etona came from nobility, she gave no such illusions to Rey as she rolled up her sleeves and took out her hunting knife. She approached one of the cows, checking its mouth for a while before positioning her blade over the creature’s belly.

“Did you notice the bloating on these three cows,” she asked Rey as she cut the creature’s abdomen. Intestines poured from the wound as Rey nodded. With great precision, Etona began to open each of the cow’s stomachs in sequence, until she reached the third. With minimal effort, the opening expanded quickly and a lilac bush burst from the organ. Every stem and leaf was completely preserved as if it had not been masticated or digested. Even the unflappable Etona seemed surprised by this development.

“This should not be,” the elf simply stated. Etona turned the fully formed bush over in her hands deliberately for a while before looking at Rey. “Help me open the others.” The two women made quick work of the other two cows, and before long, they were staring at three identical lilac bushes. _What sorcery is this?_

“Hannah, do lilacs like these grow on your farm,” Etona asked.

“No,” she said unconvincingly.  An awkward pause followed as Hannah seemed lost in thought.  “Well, there is one bush my mother planted on my father’s grave a while back.”

“Take us to it,” Rey commanded.

Nodding her head, Hannah escorted the group to the Bode family cemetery plot. There, near her father’s headstone was the very same lilac bush that had sprung from the dead cattle. After some experimentation on the part of Etona, this particular lilac plant seemed to be able to regenerate any damage it sustained. What’s more, pieces cut from this plant formed exact replicas that were able to survive for some time before disintegrating into dust. 

After a brief discussion with both parties, Etona managed to convince Darren that the farm was not cursed and that he had an enchanted plant growing on his property. She suggested that he construct a fence around the graves to prevent other cows from ingesting it in the future. Darren took the elf’s recommendation and ultimately decided not to back out of the deal he had made with Hannah. The young woman was so elated by the prospect of not having to remain in Diamond Lake that she invited the elven women to the Emporium, a local tavern, for dinner and eagerly handed over her mother’s dusty journal to Rey. Hannah explained that she received the decrepit manuscript in the estate when the title was transferred over to her after her mother’s death. Etona made sure to thank Hannah for her kindness before both travelers departed the tavern, ushering Rey to a secluded glade near the edge of the town.  It was obvious that the elven ambassador woman had expended what little reserves of energy she had from the haggard look upon her face.

“Rey, would you mind if I rested,” she asked.

_She does not know me. How can she trust me with her life so easily? This is foolish. This is how they found us. This is why they are dead. My weakness. It is my fault. _

“Of course,” Rey replied more warmly than she expected. As Etona clambered up the tree and rested between its branches, she did not notice the tear Rey wiped away from her eye. 

To distract herself from the pain, Rey began to read the journal. It was bitter work, but by the time Etona roused from her trance she had made an important discovery.

“I found something,” Rey stated.

Perplexed, Etona responded. “What did you find?”

“The journal. I figured it out.”

“You read the entire journal while I meditated?” Even Etona could not restrain the awe and surprise in her voice.

“It appears that Hannah’s father, Haddock, used to frequent a tomb near the town called the Whispering Cairn. He describes cultivating lilacs from the area to bring back to his wife. But that isn’t the interesting part,” Rey said with a smile.

“The journal is over a thousand pages-”

“If I am reading this timeline correctly, both of Hannah’s parents are over 100 years old,” Rey continued. “That is a long timeline even for a half-elf such as myself. The regenerating lilac bush and the very old human couple are far too coincidental. Magic is at work here, and the Whispering Cairn has something to do with this.”

Etona nodded. “Then that is where we shall go.”


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 22, 2017)

*Chapter 2* *(“Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity.” -Khalil Gibran)*

Agreeing to meet at an abandoned mining office near the Whispering Cairn the next morning, Rey was surprised to find Etona at her campsite. The smell of stewed vegetables wafted through the air and surprisingly Rey’s stomach growled. Etona shared stories about her past. Specifically about the trials of her and her tribe  dedicated to the goddess Sehanine. She has been the tribe's priest, a unique honor bestowed but once in a generation. Her silver bow, _Angivre_, was a relic passed down through the tribe for generations but she had recently lost possession of it in the service of a local girl named Phreet. _For an elf, she cares a great deal about humans. Are all elves like her?_

Etona’s stories continued as the two women followed the trail toward the Whispering Cairn. Passing the abandoned mining office cited in Haddock’s journal, Rey spotted a copse of lilac bushes near the well. Etona, excited at the prospect of solving the mystery, rushed towards the brush and disturbed a swarm of stirges! Rey’s prowess with her spear made quick work of them, but Etona did not escape unscathed. One of the insects managed to drive its proboscis into the elven woman’s neck and relieve her of a considerable volume of blood. The lilacs proved to be altogether ordinary and the well seemed to have run dry. Disheartened by the lack of clarity, the pair continued on their path to the Whispering Cairn.

The entrance to the tomb was overgrown, the result of many decades of neglect. Despite the dense brush, Rey was able to identify numerous canine tracks leading to and from the entrance. She was hesitant to enter the crypt, but Etona wished to venture on and so the elven priestess slipped between the vines and vanished within. Shortly thereafter, she returned with a report on her reconnaissance. Within the eerie halls of the Whispering Cairn were numerous frescos and glyphs of an ancient civilization. The tracks seemed to belong to two hungry wolves that had set up their lair inside the cairn. Neither woman had any desire to end the life of an innocent animal and so they devised a plan to lure out them out. Rey caught some pheasant in the nearby hills while Etona created a fire pit directly outside the entrance to the tomb. The smell of roasted meat proved too much of a temptation for the wolves inside and it wasn’t long thereafter that they exited their lair to partake in the gift. 

“It would seem that our party has grown, Rey,” the elf said fondly.

Rey merely smiled as they entered. A green light drew them deep within the structure to a large chamber with seven adjacent alcoves. In the center of the chamber was a large sarcophagus, an androgynous humanoid figure with strange glyphs inscribed upon it. The source of the strange green light was one of the alcoves. Each of them contained a lantern of a different color, dangling from a chain affixed to the ceiling: orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. The green lantern appeared to be lit by a magical fire that did not emanate any heat. Interestingly, two of the alcoves did not contain any lanterns and Etona’s keen senses noted a passageway in the ceiling above the blue lantern. With some experimentation, Rey was able to also deduce that the sarcophagus could be rotated. When the position of the sarcophagus was adjusted, large metal tubes rose out of the earth in some of the alcoves.

“There is nowhere in the world I want to be less than inside one of those tubes,” Etona stated.

“Agreed,” Rey replied.

It was when the sarcophagus was pointed towards the green lantern that things took a turn for the worse. The screeching of metal grinding against metal precipitated a seismic wave that shook the very foundations of the cairn. Cracks began to form along the floor and soon afterwards the entire alcove collapsed inward. Once the cacophony of destruction subsided, a small buzzing filled the air. The wolves growled, baring their teeth.

“Something is wrong,” Rey proclaimed.

“RUUUUUNNNN,” Etona yelled.

Her companion’s fear startled Rey. She took off like an arrow loosed from a bow. Neither woman looked back at the carpet of beetles that began to spew from the hole in the floor.


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 22, 2017)

*Journal of Etona: Entry I*

I never gathered the _larunyl_. To my surprise, I never even found them again. Instead, I have befriended some kind of silent warrior monk druid whose human blood glimmers with elf. She seems otherworldly, though not like the Eladrin or my own cousins: she is more akin to a feral guardian spirit, the sort my ancestors probably sprang from. She reminds me a little of Uncle Skaen after his last _dorse feu_. I wonder if she shape changes?

I was heading for the _larunyl_ when I simultaneously heard an argument brewing between Hannah and another human I have seen around town, and I caught the flash of morning sun on glass from a point tucked away into Sprawled Copse at the base of Western Wander Deer Path Over Hill (I name everything here with no argument, no conversion. Such novelty! I agree to all my suggestions. But where is the glory of growing and speaking that perfect name to no one? It is winning a race against nothing and in front of no eyes. It is the freedom that Her Moonlit Lady knows, I hazard, but too grand for a mere elf). It was she, the shy tree of woman, the tallest female I have ever seen. That she is part elf is almost not believable.

I was so surprised to see, and then hear, one of my own kind that I found myself striding right up to her. She was spying the humans’ bickering, but my revealing her coaxed her out. So we went to see what the couple were arguing about. It was poison! Or so said the man who had just purchased the farm from Hannah, the woman. Three of his cattle – he had brought a lot of cows and they were everywhere – lay dead right in front of them.

It did not take long to understand the cause. It was obvious, once we examined the animals. It merely took a long time to _believe_ it.

Lilac grows freely around this countryside, _laipi _in my language. It is a harmless if bitter plant, hardy and tasting of it. A splash of laipi had grown over the grave of Hannah’s father. The same splash was exactly preserved – to the outer edges of each leaf – within the third stomach of the slain cattle. A magical copy of itself had grown back to fullness inside the cow causing a fatal stomach ache.

Snipping off a sprig caused it to replicate also, right in my hand, though only for a moment after which it withered and died. The host plant simply regrew the missing branch exactly as it had been before. Magic. A lot of it. Wanton magic.

I convinced Darin, the man who now owned the farm, that there might be an interesting story here and some, eh, “money to be made” off the curiosity if we could get to the bottom of the mystery. Also, he did not really want to go back on his deal with Hannah – I could see that – so with his permission we delved further.

Hannah gave Rey her mother’s diary as part of what she was leaving behind. I thought this curious until later when we looked at it more carefully. The day was approaching Bustle, so I stopped to meditate on what I had seen, what I have heard so far, and on Rey. When I greeted the early twilight of Rise again, Rey had read the entire tome, at least a thousand pages! The text, like the plant, had been copied from the original. I wonder if a ripped page would as well re-form?

Hannah was off, moving into town close to the place where she works, the Emporium, a den of physical pleasures. I am very curious to lose myself in there for a time, sample everything, but I have not yet the knack of retaining the little coins of civilizations. They seem to simply evaporate after I get them. Of course, much of it is Phreet. No, she does not steal them, not any more, but simply keeping her alive and happy and moving her away from a life of crime sweep the coins into oblivion. There are never enough.

Back to Hannah again. The lilacs over her father’s grave, Haddok his name, came from a cairn near an abandoned iron mine a day’s journey away. It is called the _Whispering Cairn_. Phreet has heard of it: young humans venture in on dares and stay as long as they can. Haunted, they believe. As we now had a map to guide us, and nothing more was to be gained from remaining at the farm, we started off, though Rey had to cater to her body’s call for sleep first. I had a drink like coffee but sweeter-tasting and some fried herb cakes waiting for her when she woke up.

The iron mine is in bad shape, its main building falling to pieces, though with some work I suppose it could be restored. We would have to rid the place of stirges first. I gave a cup of my blood to one before Rey cut it in two along with its brother and then, as skillfully as she had made four motionless semi-monsters out of two flapping whole ones, bound my injuries. Her touch is deceptively tender.

We found the cairn. So had a pair of stringy wolves.

Rey shares my dislike of wantonly killing animals, so we lured them out and, to my (by now merely mild) surprise, she tamed them. We were free to roam inside.

Ancient stone furniture. An old abandoned sleeping bag. Ghostly howls and sighs of the dead. And stairs down in the back that led to a peculiar chamber – so odd was it that I momentarily forgot to be oppressed by the tons of stone above (since She has taken her leave of me, I am finding life indoors less and less bearable but more and more necessary).

We had been heading this entire time to a greenish glow emanating from down here, and now its source was revealed: a lit lantern of cold verdant light hanging from a chain in one of many alcoves at the back of a round room whose center was dominated by a stone sarfogae, no, that isn’t right, sarcoughiss. Sarcophagus. That’s it.

I had always imaged sarcophaguses, sarcophagae    …   stone grave boxes to be heavy and unmovable. They are not! At least, not here: this stone grave box spins with some effort to point to the different alcoves, each featuring a lantern suspended from high above on a chain, and each lantern is a different color. That is, we think that’s true as two of the lanterns appear to be missing. Oh, and yellow and indigo each have tubes that come out of the floor when you point the sarcophagus at it. At least, that’s what happened when we pointed it at yellow: a metal tube with a door in it – tall and wide enough to fit a large man – rose up and then back down. Then we spun to green.

Oh dear! The commotion when we turned the thing to green! The entire alcove collapsed and a carpet of insects swarmed out to eat –.

To eat our dust.

We did not linger.


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 23, 2017)

*DM Notes:*

For those of you who have run this adventure path before, you may note how...unorthodox...this group is in both composition and deed. Consequently, I have had to heavily modify some of modules to adjust to these...unexpected turn of events


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 23, 2017)

*Chapter 3* *(“Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.”- His Holiness, The Dalai Lama)*

_Today is the day. This day and no other._ Egan had waited patiently for over a year now. He had made sacrifices, some he would never be able to unravel. _I was promised and today I intend to collect!_ 

If Egan had been a younger man, back when his parents had been alive, the sight of two elven women fleeing the entrance to a long abandoned crypt with wolves at their heels would have given him pause. But he was not the same person as he was one year ago. Life in the Free City had changed him...forever. The boy that left Diamond Lake was dead and was replaced by the man standing before this threshold. He wasn’t sure what the towering half-elven woman was screaming at him while restraining her wolves. He didn’t care. Egan watched impassively as the elven archer scaled the hill the Whispering cairn was dug into, knocking her bow in anticipation of some foreseen danger. He gripped his staff tightly and strode forward.

Beetles poured from the entrance in waves, followed by a gargantuan insect. It was the size of a small horse, chitinous armor plates protecting its segmented body. Egan plunged his spirit into the well of forbidden power, the sickening taint nearly overwhelming him as he opened a gate to Gehenna. Hellfire erupted from his palms, engulfing the insect swarm in a river of flame.

“LEEYYYLLLLAAAA,” he screamed.

The smell of charred flesh filled the air. Spear swung and arrows flew. When the dust settled, both insect and wolf had perished. Wounded and weakened by such powerful channelling, Egan collapsed at Rey’s feet.
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“Wake up,” Rey yelled in Common.

Egan stirred from the edge of oblivion to find himself propped up against the side of the hill, his wounds bound.

“Who are you,” Etona asked gently.

“The name’s Egan...thanks.” The twang in his voice was provincial to a small community within the Free City, but the elves standing over him only seemed to care about the message, not the accent.

“Do you wish to die,” Rey demanded. “Is that it? Is today the day you wished to end it?”

The strange human smiled and then began to laugh hysterically.

“He’s insane,” Rey commented in Elven to Etona.

“I am NOT...insane,” Egan countered in flawless Elven. The language was taught on his tongue and the syllables clicked like pages of a book being turned, but it was correct, Egan was sure of that.

“Very well,” Etona said provisionally. “Strange that you should be here now. Of all times and of all moments. Who are you Egan and why do you come to the Whispering Cairn this day?”

“I am here for my sister,” Egan answered. 

“Explain,” Rey demanded.

“My sister-”

“Leyla,” Etona interrupted.

“Yes, Leyla,” Egan confirmed. “My sister disappeared here and I have been trying to find her ever since.”

“What hope do you have that she would be here now,” Rey asked bluntly. “Are you looking for her remains?”

Etona winced at Rey’s callous remark, but Egan gave no indication that it troubled him.

“After all this time, hope is all I have, but I must try, and today is as good as any other to die trying… “ Egan’s wiry frame seemed to shake with an unseen chill.  “If it’s alright with you lasses, I'd like another go at that mysterious tomb.  Shall we?”

“Well, you are welcome to join us if you like,” Etona said. “This is Rey,” pointing to the woman, “and my name is Etona.”

Egan nodded his head and followed the two elven women inside. Rey led the group back to the large chamber with the newly formed pit. Remarkably the green lantern had survived the seismic activity, along with all the others.

“It seems that the cave in leads to a complex below this chamber,” Rey remarked as she looked cautiously over the edge. “Perhaps that is where those metal tubes go after they sink back into the floor.”

“Quite right Rey,” Etona responded. “However, I prefer to go up and not down. Why don’t we see what is in the ceiling above the blue lantern,” she asked to no one in particular. “I’ll go first.”

After Rey looped her rope into the lantern’s chain, it was much easier to make the climb...except for Egan. His face slowly transformed into a mask of agony as he struggled to even hold onto the rope for more than a few moments. Rey wasn’t sure if he would expire as she watched him attempt the climb over and over. Her patience wearing thin, the half-elf grabbed him by the belt with a free arm and made the ascent for the both of them. Etona watched bemused at the top as her companion nearly carried a human man forty feet up a chain. By the time they reached her, even Rey was breathing heavy.

“How did you survive this long,” Rey gasped. “You are not strong.”

Even Etona could not contain a chuckle. The space above the alcove was carved exactly like the passageways below. The hole opened up into a long hallway that ended in the visage of a screaming face, the darkness pierced by a myriad of colors dancing in the “eyes.”

“Careful as you walk,” Etona instructed. “There is a pressure plate midway down the hallway. No more traps triggered today, neh?”

The party made its way towards the enormous sculpture, the mesmerizing lights capturing their attention. Even Etona had difficulty turning her gaze away from them. Egan finally broke the silence:

“The sequence is repeating.”

“What do you mean,” Etona asked.

“Red, orange, yellow, blue, indigo, and violet. The colors appear in that order and then the sequence repeats. If the color green were included, it would represent the visible spectrum of light. Not only that, this wall is radiating quite a bit of magic.”

“Curious,” Etona remarked. “I wonder-,” letting her thoughts go unspoken. Then just as suddenly, she got excited. “Could you stay here Egan, I have an idea. Come with me Rey.”

Egan stood in front of the screaming mural, while the two women climbed back down the chain. After some deliberation, they began moving the magical flame from one lantern to the next. Egan noted that whichever lantern was lit by fire, the color in the visage’s eyes disappeared. It wasn’t long before the group deduced that they would need all the lanterns lit to solve this puzzle, but the question arose: where were the red and indigo lanterns? And then it hit Etona like a sack of loadstones.

“The Emporium,” she whispered.

“What was that,” Egan muttered.

“The red lantern. I’ve seen it before, it lights the antechamber of the Emporium. Mind you, I have never really been inside,” Etona said wistfully. “It’s because of a lack of...cash? Is that the correct term? We will still need help locating the other. I suggest we consult with Allustan.”

The elf noted Egan’s eyes go wide with the suggestion.

“Do you know him,” Etona inquired.

“Well...yes. I mean..no. Well, I used to work for him,” Egan stammered.

“How fortunate,” Etona declared. “We can use that connection to make an agreeable introduction.”

“I am afraid that it will not go as you think. We did not leave each other on the best of terms,” Egan confessed.

“Either way, our path leads to the professed...smartest man in Diamond Lake.”
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Allustan’s house was not what anyone expected it to be. For a man who was brother to the Governer-Mayor of Diamond Lake and an accomplished scholar of the Free City, many would have presumed he could afford a much more sizable house than a simple cottage. Ringed with a rickety white picket fence and a front yard consisting of haphazard flora in various states of life, the party found the Sage watering roses with a rusty green watercan. Etona was pretty sure that the plant was quite dead, but kept that information to herself. She opened her mouth to speak, when Allustan interrupted her.

“Etona isn’t it,” Allustan inquired without turning to greet the party.

“Yes. I believe we met before, but I did not think you would remember me.”

“I remember everything, though I must confess I am a poor predictor of behavior. For instance, I could not foresee the return of my young apprentice,” he said leveling his gaze at Egan.

“It is good to see you well Master,” Egan murmured. 

“Egan, what have I said about standing up straight and looking people in the eye when you speak to them,” Allustan asked.

“My apologies Master,” Egan stammered.


A wave of disappointment flashed over Allustan’s face before he motioned towards the cottage. “Shall we go inside and have some tea?”

The party accepted the gracious offer and proceeded inside. The interior seemed...larger than it should. The central living area was a huge chamber whose walls were lined with bookshelves containing a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. Dominating the center of the room was a large circular wooden table. On its surface spilled parchments, maps, and a board containing an ongoing game of dragonchess. As the group got closer, everyone instantly took note of an unstrung silver hunting bow and indigo lantern which were currently being used to hold a rather large map of the region in place. Upon the map were numerous circles with “X’s” through them. Etona froze, staring at the bow as if it was her own infant child.

“Where did you get that,” she said almost breathlessly.

“I have a man in town who...alerts me to unique acquisitions. And this is interesting,” he said. “Lady of Dreams and Daughter of the Night Sky. I have heard that her favored clerics conjure a bowstring of divine power and loose mystical arrows upon her enemies. Or so the legends go.”

Etona walks to it and picks it up, caressing it. "I am leaving with this," she said. "You may ask me what you will, but that is what is happening."

“You are a...unique negotiator Etona,” Allustan said with a smirk. “But since you brought it up, there is something I want.” Pouring some tea for the party, the sage continued. “Do you know the history of these lands? No, I gathered not. Suffice it to say that Diamond Lake is an afterthought in the long timeline of this region. A great battle took place not far from here. Legendary warriors defeated a great evil, but at great personal cost. It is my contention that those men are buried somewhere in these hills along with that history. For the indigo lantern your friends keep staring at-Etona? I don't feel I have your attention." Allustan sighed and continued talking to Egan and Rey instead. "I will require you to document any glyphs or inscriptions you find on your journey within the cairn you are exploring. You will deliver these findings daily and we will convene at least weekly to discuss your progress.”

“How did you know we were exploring the Whispering Cairn,” Rey asked.

Allustan looked over at the board of dragonchess before responding. “You will never win, if you do not realize that you are playing.” Whether that statement was to satisfy Rey or himself, the party could not tell. “For the bow, I require a favor.”

“Name it, though I only speak for myself and not my companions,” Etona declared.

“Then I guess we have a deal,” Allustan said as he sipped his tea.


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## Alexander Bryant (May 24, 2017)

*The Journal of Etona: Her History*

*The Journal of Etona: History*

My mother perished in birthing me, as many had expected.

She had been ill for several arcs, and the only surprising thing about her death was that I was born whole, if tiny: a small baby destined to be a weak child. These are truths, and not points along a constellation of woe. I was then and am now a happy soul, but being frail and diminutive among a sleek, strong people presented obstacles to me and my father. I could not keep up with friends and cousins.

Skava, my father, did not know end to patience where his daughter was concerned, however. And with a loving cousin Verdre and fiercely protective Uncle Skaen, I managed to love life regardless.

I was inquisitive and given to exploration, and so as the rest of my kin looked up and out, my gaze remained low as suited my stature. Assembling herbs and salts from soil and water became my passion. I learned to use them to prepare joyful food. With Verdre’s help, I found other uses for plain ingredients in wondrous combinations, and so I began to create elixirs of minor use too.

This is all to say that I had no reason to care that I could not draw back a bow, let fly the streaking sliver, be the cause to see it soar.

This is my first lie to you, for of course I cared. Our people are devoted to a laughing trickster of a goddess who enforces unexpectedly specific rules about the weapons we bear and the food we eat. But I was ever too small, too frail, and the bow I eventually tamed as a young adult was little more than a training implement for a child. It was an insult to Her Fickle Majesty. Thus, I concentrated in steering my fate towards not tempting fate; to be useful in small ways, as a ‘chef’ (I believe is the human word), an herbalist and mixer of plants, spices, even oils and essences. An unimportant life, a content existence, and one I embraced since I should not have survived at all.

My silver-gold hair and silver-green eyes marked me, apparently, in some way that others saw, and so I was treated with patience until I made true friendships. The tribe waited, but I didn’t know for what.

And then one day . . . .

“You will not need those,” father said as I struggled to don my gloves for another disheartening practice. He took them and tossed them aside.

I do not know to this day what the occasion was, why he chose that rainy afternoon to bestow upon me a thing that had been merely history to me.

With unaccustomed solemnity, he knelt down in front of me and unwrapped a legend.

Angivre. The Empty Bow. Sehanine’s Test. An Aspianne heirloom given – so the histories read – to my mother’s mother, Fiora Aspianne, from the goddess herself. A gift, a challenge, to an elven people settling around Emersanine, Her mirror in the midst of that gorgeous forest we are so recently transplanted to. I could fill a tome with its stories of triumph and disappointment, and how it rose up my family and brought it low again.

“Fail until you succeed,” my father uttered in presenting it to me. With characteristic affection, he brushed the hair out of my eyes, held my forehead to his lips a moment, and then left me with that towering silver weapon, it and I alone on the shore.

The Empty Bow is called that because it has no notches for a cord. It has no cord. And it fires no arrows. A lifetime of struggling to shoot half as well as a one-legged hiccupping goblin to prepare me for a bow with no string.

My mother’s mother was the last person to be able to bring the Silver. She would smile in a way generally unknown to our people, it was said, and betwixt her fingers spun out a shimmering line of argent from coalescing shards of radiance. As she drew it back, one of the shards flared to white, becoming the arrow, a flaring bolt that left the bow with a sound like musically-tuned metals scraping against one another. She needed no muscle for this act of tranquil grace, only love of the arrow’s flight. None since her have ever drawn back the Silver, and it has been the Empty Bow for almost three centuries now.

For many seasons I could not find the cord. The Silver did not come. I sat at the shore under Sehanine’s white gaze and heard Her mocking amongst the sounds of the woods. In Angivre, She tested neither my skill nor my remembering of lessons, but my heart. And so season after season I studied the Silver. Season after season I carried her and spoke to her and slept with the utterly silent thing.

One evening I drowned, almost. Nearly ended, but it was the second start in my life.

I was never a strong swimmer, another frailty, but I was competent. And I craved plunging into the frigid water, despite my difficulties.

One evening, several of us were diving under Sehanine’s crescent, our first opportunity since new moon to frolic there at night. I had Angivre. Yes, I would even swim with her – my father said water would not harm her.

Angivre became ensnared in something. I worked to free her – though at that time I thought of her as it – but whatever tugged at her pulled us both down deeper and deeper. I could not let her slip away. I would rather die than return to my father without her, and so I plunged on to depths I had never descended to. Marvels passed me by, likely my breath giving way and my dying body conjuring phantoms. They were going to be the last things I ever saw before waking in the Court of the Queen to await the judgment of her mood that morning.

I landed among illuminated statues encrusted with plankton and sponges. Only a little surprisingly, one of them tilted its head and regarded me.

“What is your name, little rag doll?” it said without moving its lips or blowing bubbles of air or anything else to indicate any of this was really happening.

I could not reply, of course.

“Yes, of course you can,” said another, also inclining its head to me.

“Very well. I am Etona Aspianne.” I did not say the words so much as mouth them.

“Oh, did you hear that?” Still another statue.

“Etona Aspianne.”

“So proud of her line of rag dolls before her.”

“She is accidentally born of this or that blood and –”

“– thinks it something. Yes.” The original statue again. “Why are you down here, Etona?”

“Angivre led me here.”

“To drown for a piece of wood?”

“To drown for its history!” I replied. “Not for a piece of wood.” Though I now saw my folly. My death in rescuing a bow, however famous, would slay my father. What had I been thinking?

A statue from the back. “She is a child. And she followed her heart. I forgive!” Others chimed in, some with support, some with jeers for my foolishness, jeers for my bow skills, even for my size. They were all different likenesses of Sehanine, I noticed.

All fell quiet when the original statue spoke again.

“Etona, you do not get to die today in trying to save a thing. Sehanine’s Test is not to possess or master the pretty white bow; it is something else entirely, something you will endeavor to discover when I return you to your little tribe. But as you are yet young, you will need something onto which you may focus your thoughts. So I return Angivre to you, as I return your breath. Step close to me.”

When I do so, she pulls me to her face, the eyes now alive. “When I watch one of mine, I desire to be pleased. I am your Angivre. And you are my Etona.” She places her mouth over mine and breathes such heat into me . . . . oh gods!!

I am your Angivre. And you are my Etona.

I awoke on the far shore, the Empty Bow next to me. My mouth still hot, I held its curve to me. Eventually I stood, sighted the far shore, murmured Sehanangi, and drew back the Silver which rang under my fingertips. A caress as much as a shot, I sent the white dart high, high into the sky, up and up to the moon herself.

In the forest behind me I heard the Lady laugh. And this time it was not with mockery or derision, but with pleasure . . . .


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 24, 2017)

*Chapter 4 (“Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.” -Paracelsus)*

After thanking Allustan for the tea, the party decided to stash the indigo lantern at Etona’s “residence” under the watchful eye of her friend Phreet before heading to the Emporium. It was a rather protracted affair. Etona had to convince Phreet that selling the lantern would be a mistake. The emaciated teenager finally agreed to the terms of her assignment, but only after she was offered dinner.

Conveniently located across from the Sheriff’s office and adjacent to the church of St. Cuthbert; the Emporium provided quite a stark contrast within the central plaza. Rey watched men and women whip themselves under the watchful eye of a rabid preacher, the Sheriff’s deputies all the while laughing and drinking. So this is civilization, she thought with disgust. The Emporium itself was a large two-story building, whose windows were deliberately covered to ensure patron privacy. The entrance led by design into an antechamber hosting two distinct men: Kurlag and Gaspar. Kurlag was rather massive half-orc who wore what looked to be an ornate gladiator helmet. He stood near the smaller, balding, and well groomed form of Gaspar. Where Kurlag was stoic, intimidating, and silent; Gaspar was polite. Curling his mustache, a smile split his face as the group approached. Everyone’s attention; however, was diverted to the red lantern giving the area a sinister hue.

“Greetings and welcome to the Emporium!” Looking down at a ledger in front of him for a moment, understanding swept across his face. “You must be Etona and Rey! We have been expecting you. Hannah made me promise that if you two ventured here while she was working, I was to escort you right in. Now normally, we charge an entrance fee but we will wave it this one time. Please, make yourselves at home. If you wish to partake in the Lounge upstairs or see the “Gallery of Science” downstairs, those will be extra charges. Otherwise, Hannah is treating you to dinner.”

As the group began to walk by Kurlag, the man shifted his body to interpose himself in front of Etona. The move did not seem overtly threatening, but Rey took it as such. She stared menacingly into the half-orc’s eyes, her knuckles turning white around the spear.

“Ladies if you would please deposit your weapons at the door, I would be happy to look after them for you. There are no weapons allowed inside the establishment,” Gaspar said gingerly.

Etona nodded and finally managed to convince Rey to drop her spear off with Gaspar. In good faith she and Egan also left their daggers with the man. This had the desired effect of diffusing the tension, but the elf would not part with her bow. Gaspar seemed satisfied as it had no string and Etona did leave her quiver with him. After all, what can someone do with a stringless bow and no arrows after all?

Hannah greeted them inside and gave hugs to both women before looking quizzically at Egan. “Is he with you?”

“Yes, this man is helping us resolve that issue you were having at your farm,” Etona responded.

“Ahhh. Well, the more the merrier. Let me get you something to drink. I must insist you try our chef’s new special soup. He has only just recently offered it here, but it has become extremely popular. I’ll be right back.” Hannah turned to leave, but Etona grabbed her arm before she could go.

“Hannah, listen. While I am grateful for dinner, that is not why we are here today. We need to ask you a favor.”

“Good, because I need to ask you one as well. You go first,” Hannah replied.

“We would like to rent or borrow the red lantern hanging in the entryway. It is crucial we get a hold of it as soon as possible.”

Hannah could not contain her surprise. “The red lantern is a fixture for the establishment. I am not sure, but I could ask.”

Etona thanked her and watched as she sauntered back to the kitchen, presumably to place the table’s order and ask the owner of the establishment for their strange request. Though, Etona was fairly sure that as requests went, this would not be the most bizarre one the Emporium has ever received.

Hannah returned with bowls of orange soup for the party. Everyone agreed unanimously that it was quite good as Hannah laid out her patron’s request.

“Zalamandra has agreed to your request provided you accept her task. She is even willing to part with the item permanently if you resolve this matter quickly.” Hannah looked around carefully before continuing and spoke in hushed tones. “In the last week our patrons have been getting sick from our supply of kalamanthis. Our regulars are not receiving the right effect from the plant and becoming violently ill. We hired an herbalist to test the kalamanthis so that we could be assured of its purity. He has assured us that it is of the finest quality. Lady Zalamandra is quite vexed by the entire affair as there is to be a large celebration here soon which will require a large store of kalamanthis to be utilized.”

“What’s Calema-,” Egan began.

“_Kalamanthis_,” Etona interrupted. “It is a plant which blurs the border between this world and the Feywild. Users are privy to visions and a sense of euphoria.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Egan said with a smile.

“Humans often take too much and become dependant on the effects.” Turning back to Hannah. “Has the supplier changed?”

“No, our only supplier at this time are the monks from the Twilight Monastery. We have had them for many years now and they are always punctual with deliveries. The last shipment was received a few weeks ago. We do not expect a new shipment for nearly a month.”

“Who picks up the shipment,” Rey asked. “Perhaps they switched a part of the delivery with a duplicate to sell the product themselves.”

Hannah shook her head. “Our herbalist tested every sack the kalamanthis is stored in to ensure against that specific issue. The purity was the same in all the samples.”

“May we have a list of the ‘regulars’ who were ill,” Etona inquired.

Hannah shifted nervously at the question. “We do not like to name our regulars. Some of these people could be embarrassed by the entire affair.”

Etona’s brow furrowed with her visible frustration. “That is going to make things difficult.”

“My compliments to the chef. This soup is delicious,” Egan said eagerly. “What’s in it?”

Hannah smiled. “Chef Zulmont refuses to share the recipe with anyone. He probably thinks that if people find out, he will no longer be useful.”

“Squash is what you are tasting,” Etona said absentmindedly. “Probably just some salt, pepper, and maybe nutmeg.”

Rey shrugged. “Tastes pretty good to me and you know how I feel about vegetables.”

“Hannah if you won’t give us a list of people who got sick, let’s try it a different way. Did anyone NOT get sick in the past week who is a regular,” Etona kept pressing.

Hannah tapped her lips thoughtfully for a moment before responding. “Yes. In fact there is such a person and I believe he is here tonight. Would you like me to go and see if he is available?”

The party didn’t wait long before Hannah brought the person in question to their table from the upstairs Lounge. He was well over 6 feet in height and covered from head to toe in orange fur. Fangs protruded as he smiled at the party and in his claws he held an ornate pipe that he periodically toked from. The vest he wore and the satin ribbons in his hair seemed out of place for him, though he could not have been raised with better etiquette. Rey liked him instantly.

“Good evening fair ladies and gentleman. Hannah informs me that you require my assistance. May I sit,” he said as he gestured to an open chair. After Etona’s and Rey’s consent, the creature eased itself into the chair. “My name is Shag Solomon and you must be Etona,” he said gesturing his pipe at the elf. “That must mean you are Rey. Who are you good sir,” Shag asked Egan. “You have a hard look about you. Did you grow up in Diamond Lake?”

“I’m Egan and I did grow up here. How did you know?”

“Splendid,” Shag exclaimed. “I do love these games.” Then just as suddenly, the smile disappeared from his face. “Goodness, where are my manners? How rude of me. Would anyone care for a taste,” he asked gesturing to his pipe.

Not wishing to be rude, Etona volunteered for the group. The effects were nearly immediate. Colors vibrated all about the room. She smelled such sweet sounds. For a moment Etona found herself floating on the wings of a giant green butterfly. Then, just as suddenly the feeling evaporated.

“Well,” Shagg asked excitedly. “How was the trip?”

“Correct me if I am wrong Mr. Solomon but shouldn’t the effects last a bit longer,” Etona asked with disappointment evident in her voice.

Shag began to scratch his head. “Actually, yes.”

“Where are MY manners. May we order you some of this delicious soup,” Etona inquired.

Shag made a face that displayed his sentiments clearly on the matter. “No thank you. I prefer my meals fresh and bloody. Vegetables do not agree with my constitution.”

“That’s it,” Etona declared.

Shag shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a look of worry on his face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Quite the contrary Mr. Solomon.” Etona was visibly beaming. “You see, gourd seeds are a natural antidote for kalamanthis. The herb isn’t making them sick, they are going through withdrawal. The soup is negating the effects of the kalamanthis!”

Etona gave a bit more explanation to everyone before heading back to the kitchen and informing the chef that he is was creating a problem for his employer. The elf didn’t want him to get fired, so she suggested that he cut out the seeds before preparing the soup to avoid any future unpleasantness with the clientele. For solving the issue so expeditiously and discreetly, Lady Zalamandra rewarded the party with the red lantern. Everyone agreed that it had been a long day, so they planned to meet at the abandoned mining office near the cairn the next morning.
---------------------------------------
Setting the lanterns back upon their hooks and lighting them did not disappoint. The face carved into the wall high above the alcove opened into a portal that allowed safe passage to a strange room beyond. A short hallway led to a pit filled with ceramic orbs. Suspended above this area was a narrow bridge, which led directly to large iron door.

“You wouldn’t build a door like that if you weren’t protecting something valuable,” Rey stated.

Etona went first and was greeted by the source of the balls in the pit. Apparently, one of the sentries for room was a series of cannons embedded into the walls on either side of the bridge that activated when weight placed upon it. Luckily Etona did not lose her footing and fall over the side. She made it safely to the large door on the opposite end of the pit, but could find no way to open it. It was then that everyone heard a child’s giggling. The sound echoed throughout the chamber and it was long afterwards that a ghostly face peered through the door.

“You’ll never get inside,” it teased. “Never, never, never. But I know how. Oh yes, I know.”

“Who are you,” Etona asked gently. “We mean you no harm, child.”

The remainder of the ghost passed through the door, revealing the gruesome manner in which it died. No doubt the boy had been struck by one of the ceramic orbs and broken its neck many years ago.

“You have come very far. Not many have been here in a long time. There is much treasure in the pit below,” it said with a mischievous smile. “Oh yes, much treasure.”

“We are not interested in treasure,” Etona retorted. “That is not why we are here. Tell us your name.”

“My...name?” It’s smile evaporated and it only spoke after carefully weighing its words. “Alastor. Alastor Land. Are you here to help me?”

“Yes,” Etona answered. “Tell us how.”

“I am cursed. I will never find peace. If you help me, I can open this door for you.”

“I would help you regardless of what was behind that door,” Etona said.

“My bones need to be laid to rest with my family. We have a small cemetery on our farm. Would you take my bones there,” Alastor implored.

“Where are they,” Etona asked.

The ghost looked down at the pit below. Etona watched as the ceramic balls shifted. Something was down there and it didn’t require regular meals to be dangerous.

“What’s down there Alastor?”

“The guardian,” the child replied. “It is a vicious creature that has killed many adventurers.”

“All things die in their time,” Rey declared.


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## SolitonMan (May 24, 2017)

Age of Worms brings back some fond memories.    Thanks for sharing!


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 24, 2017)

SolitonMan said:


> Age of Worms brings back some fond memories.    Thanks for sharing!




My pleasure! Glad you are enjoying it thus far. I am curious as to how your group handled things. Mine threw me for a loop a couple of times. Granted, I did alter the module a bit to expand upon the roleplaying opportunities Diamond Lake afforded.


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## Alexander Bryant (May 25, 2017)

*Journal of Etona: Entry II*

_The Swarm_
There is one common thread binding all the peoples of the world together: bugs.

It is not the _only_ thread, but it is a stronger one than people suppose.

As a child, I was taught to accept them, watch and learn from them. I saw how their presence was shrugged off by everyone and everything, a background nuisance that merited only a vague hand wave or tail swish. Even the humans reacted this way though they are terrorized by them compared to my people.

I did watch them. I did learn from them. They are terrible. What they do to the land and one another: they have no soul. Their actions create agony and death on a scale a demon could only howl with longing at, but they do not feel malice. They do not feel anything. They are the universe’s machinery of pain and death.

The writhing mass of insects that chased us out of the lantern chamber was a carpet of muertr. “Beetles.” They were led by an armored creature I have heard of, an ankheg. Elves and humans do not have a word for it so we borrow the Dwarven one. The ankheg is a monster, a created thing not of this world. I was pleased to help kill it, though my part in the fight was minor. Most of its death came from Rey, her wolves, and the fire wizard.

_Egan_
His name is Egan. He strode right up from Lady-knows-where to the entrance of the cairn where Rey and I were talking about what to do about the insects. He is young, about twenty, dressed in leather armor, and spouting fire from his hands which he used to great effect against the plague and their master.

_Observance_
The wolves both gave their lives attacking the thing. Later, we would carry their bodies to the top of the cairn and place them in a ceremonial ring, laid out to the elements for the world to reclaim.

“Go, children,
Lead the way – we follow
Down the seasons.

Flies the dust where you have stepped:
My skin, my bones, they churn.
Flows the water that I have lapped:
Your blood, your tears return.

Come, children,
Seek our path – we lead you
To rebirth.”

It sounds better in our tongue: Common doesn’t do justice to songs of sienne-kel.


_Egan’s Sister, Leyla_
Egan is searching for his sister, Sara, who was last seen here a year ago. He knows all about this cairn and its rotating heavy stone grave box. He was here a year ago himself with a team of adventurers but they were busily slain by the traps of this place. He comes again here, now, on the anniversary of his loss. It is her bedroll we discovered in the first alcove to the right.

“I am not insane,” he said in a formal, book-learned Elvish when I ask Rey for her take on a man who would seek a young human girl living for four seasons in a cavern inhabited by wolves and killing mechanisms with no food or guidance. Does he search for her bones? No, not this either. He believes she is alive magically somehow, transported from here to a place where she could survive or here somewhere still, suspended. It seems a faint hope. It seems outlandish.

_Sehanine_
It is outlandish, all of it.

We three, unconnected paths, joining together at the same time among all the days in the world, at this same forgotten point.

You are both sent from My Moonlit Mistress – She has not forgotten.
You are both here for me.

And I must be there for you.

_Our Task_
We explored the hole in the ceiling. I have always been able to climb trees, but there was a time when a lone rope would have been a humiliating struggle. I am not what I once was.

Up there is a passage to a stone head, its mouth agape, with two swirling colored gems for eyes. They glowed from within showing us color after color in a pattern that Egan understood: they were in the order of the lanterns below. Lighting a lantern doused a color in the gems. Cause and effect. Experimenting revealed to us that lighting all of the lanterns would extinguish the eyes and then, and then . . . magic would probably happen? Perhaps the mouth would speak or become a door or barbecue our vittles, who knows? But something would happen. We just needed to figure it out.

We are missing two of the lanterns.

We knew where one of them was: the red light greeting visitors to the Emporium. But the violet? Who would know where it went?

Allustan might have a lead on something like that. We would go to him first.

_The Indigo Lantern_
Of course Allustan was Egan’s old master. When I heard this, I felt warmed by the touch of Her Dancing  Majesty. I was about to be joyfully seared by it.

His cottage is homey, cozy, soft-spoken like the man himself, though Egan begs to differ. We caught him outside watering his garden. He brought us inside.

And there she was. How could she be anywhere else?
My soul, resting on a table.
The Lady sent her back to me.

I owe Allustan a favor now – I have been in this position before with another man, quite a devil he was. But that is merely . . . let’s say that I recognize Her sense of humor.

Next to Angivre was the indigo lantern. Obviously. In exchange for it, our party was to record every sigil and glyph that we discovered in the Whispering Cairn. This slight chore was gladly accepted.

To the Emporium.

_The Red Lantern_
I thought this would be difficult. But Hannah, pleased to offer us a dinner inside for investigating the oddities about her farm, offered us an easy way to get the lantern, not even to borrow it but to own: simply discover why long-time members of the Emporium’s _opium_ takers (the Common word for it is khalamantis) have become violently ill.

Opium is a flower that provides, in my tribe at least, a window to the Fey. It is, it, this vision, it sits on top of what you are actually seeing. Difficult for me to describe. It lets some of the Fey’s scents and sounds come through as well. I don’t know what humans experience – not the Fey, I know, from the deadness it produces in them – but it must pleasurable because so many who try it cannot stop, trading many of their short march of years to lie fallow in its grip. When they cannot get the flower, Rey told me, they become very sick exactly as these Emporium customers are.

The squash soup served for dinner was delicious. And it was the cause of the illness.

It immediately counteracts the opium. I saw this first-hand. And so all those humans throwing their insides out were suffering from the withdrawal. The cook who made the soup, a gangly, nervous young man with little idea of how to prepare a meal but had been gifted by My Lady with spectacular, un-ruinable gourds, was very surprised that it was his blundering causing the problem. His is a piteous soul, so I took pity and helped him improve the recipe in a few ways as to offer a range of dishes. We asked the owner for the boy to stay employed there and have “the whole affair smoothed over.”1 

Problem solved, red lantern ours.

_Back to the Cairn_
Armed with Angivre, the lanterns, and a lot of oil, we set to our experiment. Hanging each lantern up and pouring lamp oil into them doused the gems on the level above us and – floating mating unicorns! – the mouth opened.

Beyond was a corridor that ended in a pit of balls made of ceramic, Egan said. A plank ran across the pit to a closed door on the other side, holes in the walls about the size of the balls, something moving underneath, perhaps another ankheg. A trap, then. There was nothing for it but to “put a coin in the slot and turn the handle”.

I crawled out onto the plank. Some part of me must have expected what was going to happen when the balls came flying out of holes. Only one clipped me, but it had heft like it was filled with water. The one who would walk across the plank upright would swiftly find out how the world works, and ends, at least for him.

I reached the door but it may as well have been a picture of a door for all the access it offered.

An oddly cheerful ghost of a young man began flitting about enjoying very much our efforts. His name was, or is – I am not sure of the right way to refer to a spirit’s name – Alastor. His shade’s form was of his last second alive when a ceramic ball broke his neck. It must have killed him instantly, because had the creature shuffling about the bottom of the pit below eaten him, his ghostly shape would have looked, eh, worse?

If we would care to take his bones to the cemetery in town, he said, he would open the door for us.

I would have gladly come all this way to help this poor boy do just that. Our mission of mercy became two-fold. My Mistress Moon is feeling merciful.

We decided to simply attack and slay the monster below. I felt that there was a clever solution to blundering down and killing it, but it was probably miserable anyway, existing in this small space, eating once a decade. It turned out to not be an ankheg but some other horror that Rey made short work of. Or perhaps Egan fried it to ashes. I was not able to see as I was retrieving the bones.

And so we left the Whispering Cairn once more to deliver Alastor’s shell to a reunion with the rest of his dead family in a human cemetery near Diamond Lake. So odd that they want to be buried since they do not come from underground and have no history of dwelling there. Stranger still, that humans want their bodies to decay together, that there is some meaning in it. But there surely is! A dead human is telling me so.

I will meditate after we lay him comfortably to rest, resigned perhaps to his eternal silence. If only he would speak to us again! I have so many questions. But the dry rustling of the bones is all we have been offered since we left the cairn.

The motion of steps, the wrapped charge in my arms, the sun, it has led me into reverie as we move along, no one wanting to break the silence. I dream of night. But it is not night, it is darkness, the black of blindness. And a familiar little girl steps forward . . . .


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## Alexander Bryant (May 25, 2017)

*Mixing our writers*

We have three writers, BTW, contributing to this thread. I am running the Journal of Etona, and the Chapters come from Solid Snake. Our third member - I'll just call him Ender - has signed on with the following entry jointly written between the two of us.

I hope you're enjoying these as much as we are writing (oh, and playing) them!


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## Alexander Bryant (May 25, 2017)

*Chapter 5 ("The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision." -Helen Keller)*

My steps fall somberly on the trail as the weight of the oath we have taken sinks in. 

Without warning, darkness. In the emptiness of this void, I see a girl. Stepping closer, I now see that it is Phreet. A vision then. I opened myself to it, but it would not be enlightening. Visions aren’t. Just  “I told you so’s” from Her Merciless Majesty.

Little Phreet seems happy, playing in a small stand of sunflowers. She is not the ragged, emaciated urchin I know. Instead, she seems full of life and dressed in a beautiful blue dress with a violet satin ribbon in her hair. As I approach, she smiles up at me, but something is wrong. It is then that I notice her skin shifts and bubbles as if some unseen creature is trapped within and is trying to escape her flesh. Phreet gives no indication of pain. She keeps smiling and tending to her flowers as if nothing is amiss. My hand reaches out to her, reflexively calling upon the power of Sehanine, but I find nothing. As my fingers approach her ulcerating skin, a green worm erupts from the back of her neck. I recoil as Phreet begins to stand and face me. Green worms pour from her eyes and mouth as she screams, stretching her arms out towards me in a horrific embrace.

Then just as suddenly as it began, I am back on the outskirts of Diamond Lake with my companions and realize that I am screaming.

Gasping, a few breaths of air could not dispel the image of my fellow housemate being consumed by a ravaging tide of worms, but what else can one do? The last time I felt my sense of self shrink like that I was drowning in Emersanine, my lake next to my, what was my home. There is something otherworldly about visions that flit on the edge of reverie, something I imagine must be like sleep for humans, though they delve closer to death in body and mind when they rest. As if to wash myself of that brush with the unreal, I handed the bones of Alastor to Rey who, in her usual way, unflinchingly obliged me. The reverie and vision did not return, and the remainder of the walk to Alastor Land’s childhood home was peaceful.

Arriving at the home, it was obvious that there had been visitors recently. The grave sites of the entire family had been unearthed, and the remains removed. A curious find: what is this human desire to be buried in earth when they do not come from it, but I had to consult with Egan to understand. He did not appear exceptionally disgusted by the disturbed tombs, but he did confirm that humans in Diamond Lake would find such behavior reprehensible, or _behish_, Elven slang for filthiness of the soul. I have felt this filth before, so I am not one to judge. It seems Egan shares this reflection; as though once in his life he could have judged, but now he has seen more, so he accepts more.

We all survey the dirt and stone before moving to the rest of the farmstead. My eyes are keen, and it takes little time to find tracks from a group of humanoids, booted and with a wheelbarrow; the grave robbers. One was much larger than the others, judging from its boot size and depth. They appear to have come from the direction of Diamond Lake. They dug up their quarry and left with the remains or whatever else they were looting. Egan knows a bit about the family and says there was likely no treasure on these poor farmers. However, again, he has seen desperation in Diamond Lake, and this desecration does not faze him.

The farmhouse itself sags like the saddles of the Cairn Hills. The windows are opaque with grime and grass sprouts from the plaster window boxes. A short walk around the yard demonstrated the tracks of the thieves entering and then leaving quickly, as if running from the house itself. There were areas of dried blood and a severed human arm in the door-well.

That lone appendage was our only clue, and a cursory glance revealed a brand, like a tattoo on the shoulder. Again, Egan recognized this mark, something of an anachronism in the present day Diamond Lake. He said that it belonged to a group of miners from a few years back whose mine failed. The miners were bought out by Balabar Smenk, who re-employed them under his new terms. Smenk didn’t brand people, but often employed them for tasks outside the mines, sometimes unsavory tasks. So, we had something. A group of five, maybe only four now, likely humans, came to the farmstead, looted the remains, went to the farmhouse and then ran with their loot, losing to something in the farmhouse. 

Since I am quiet, and curiosity overwhelmed me, I quietly investigated inside. A dead owlbear lay in the front room, and the sounds of another, possibly living, was audible in the back of the home. Beckoning to Rey, we made our way to the back of the house and found a young owlbear cub, hiding and lamenting the death of its family. Clearly the grave robbers fought back as we saw two more dead owlbears, likely parents in the back area. Rey was quick to befriend the beast, feeding it some dry rations. Her affinity for animals is nothing new to me, but Egan seemed surprised.

After a short discussion of the possible places to find the crew of bone-miners, Egan was convinced that they would frequent a tavern called the Feral Dog. It was time to reverie for the remainder of the afternoon while my companions cleaned and cleared the graves so that they could be used again when needed. We kept Alastor’s bones with us when we left in case the bone thieves returned.

As we walked back to town, we devised a plan. Egan was intent on having someone observe the Feral Dog, from outside, since he felt that the Smenk miners would likely have an advantage if we confronted them in the tavern itself. He wanted to see when they came and went to try to intercept them on another night. It made sense to a degree, but I prefer being direct. Also, I have never been inside the Feral Dog and wondered what other activities grave robbers might enjoy.

We all arrived at my small shack around dusk. The spring air hinted at the cold from the Hills, and the smoke from the Smelting House and surrounding homes still lingered over Diamond Lake like the haze of darkness that would surely follow. I left Egan to rest with Phreet, and Rey slipped off into a wooded copse just before town, her owlbear sniffing and growling at the large cicadas.

Once again I was alone with the night. Since encountering my two new traveling companions, I am remembering my old self and the old loneliness has reared its head once more. I have been alone for too long. 

Covering my head, I watched the Feral Dog from behind a rain barrel across the main square. Around midnight, a group of two humans and large half-orc made their way toward the tavern. I made my way closer and noticed the same brand as the disembodied arm from earlier, but this time it was on the half-orc’s forehead. An improvement.

At this point, my heart was warming to the idea of entering: I could hardly find any useful information from outside. Quiet as a mouse, I slipped into the tavern behind the trio of grave robbers. There were no door guards or weapon checks like the Emporium. Their entrance apparently was expected, and, in fact, there was a seat for them reserved near the dog fights. 

I settled at a table not far away and ordered a glass of wine. A loud and showy group of adventurers – there was really no other word for them - was seated at another table, and among them was a tall female elf. I managed to overhear one of the three grave robbers, a human with a fresh scar down his face, shout to the half Orc that they needed to find a better paying job than the last one. Mm, not enough. Sitting there, I learned the names of the three hoodlums: Todrick, Rastophan and Kullen. Kullen was the large half-orc. He had the whitest skin I have ever seen on a half-orc. It made the brand on the forehead a stand out in sharp contrast.

As I fingered the hilt of my hunting knife, I realized that my coin purse was completely empty, not a copper to be had. I had meant to ask Rey for a few coins from the purse we found in the Cairn, but the day’s excitement left me absentminded. As if Sehanine felt my need, the tall elf woman began a game of throwing knives with some locals, betting a silver on each throw. I saw an opportunity.

As the first round of the game concluded, I walked over the throwing line. Only a single miner had managed to make it to the second round. The elf woman was, what was it, “cleaning their clocks”. I asked if I may play, and the woman said she would waive my entry bet if I could hit a smaller ring near the side of the board. It seemed simple enough, but I have been blind to Sehanine’s schemes before: I thought it was her will that I earned my silver and my drink.

My hunting knife was never really meant for throwing, but I have always been a decent shot with other knives. Tonight I took aim and pulled back to throw but slipped on some, I guess it was vomit? on the floor. The blade flew almost backwards and planted in the table, vibrating, in front of the grave robbers. Ah yes, the Silver Lady’s keen wit! How delightful!

Kullen’s seat made the little *erp* sound of someone upset rising to his feet. He took my knife from the table in front of him with the intention to keep it. I raised Angivre knocked and ready, fired an arrow into the small ring on the wall so he could see a possible future for one of his eyes. I asked for the knife back. No.

I tossed the hilt on the table. “You will need this, then.” He actually wore it, and on his huge frame it looked, well, I had to say something.
“It looks quite cute on you. You should wear all the time. With a little red bow.”

He was mad but Angivre swung around to him. Now was the time to press him with a question: “What did you do with the bones?”

I could not see if it had struck true. The question certainly angered him. The tavern was frozen, anticipating at least two deaths about to happen.

Finding no harbor in the other elven woman – or in anyone else – I donned Angivre and used tables, people and chairs to fade into the crowd just as Kullen heaved a spear into a man who stood where I was a second ago. The wrong fight erupted, thank My Goddess, as I slipped out the front door and around the back.

One thing left to do: it was my knife, and I would get it back.

A back window was easy enough to pry open, and from the storeroom I slipped back into the chaos of the bar hall. A few movements took me to my knife and a few more back outside.

Feeling whole again with my few worldly possessions, I vaulted a pile of empty wine casks in the back and rolled onto the roof to observe the fallout of my visit to the Feral Dog. The garrison arrived in short order and broke up the fight. Kullen was thrown in the Constable’s lock-up, though his “cronies” eventually “bailed him out.” They made their way off to the Emporium for more entertainment. At least four dead miners were dragged out. Wanting to remain hidden, I abandoned the roof just as the garrison was investigating the grounds, made my way back to the shack, and rejoined Phreet and Egan.

Waiting for the sun to rise while indoors is tedious, but I passed the hours thinking about what lay ahead. Although I had seen Kullen and his crew, I still didn’t have an idea as to where the Land family remains were. The violence in Kullen’s crowd seemed to spring from my questions about the bones.

As the sky lightened, Egan woke groggily. He seemed like he had not slept well for many nights. I suppose a scholar traveling from the Free City with no money chasing for the last time his possibly-dead sister that he inadvertently sent to her death might do that. As we set about a small campfire, Rey and the owlbear appeared from the wooded distance. They soon joined us for a small meal.

I relayed all that I had learned from the night before, but everyone agreed: we were still missing an important piece of information. Egan and Rey decided that they would try to intercept the Kullen crew as they left the Emporium this very morning. We split the treasure at our camp, and Egan said he would try to bribe the grave robbers with our ruby that we found in the Cairn. My share of the coins was more than I had on my person in years.

We devised another plan. Egan and Rey would intercept the Kullen trio, and I would watch from a vantage point, in range for a bow shot if need be. The campfire guttered, and I bid good day to Phreet, leaving a few coins with her for safekeeping. I don’t know where she puts the money I give her or that we steal together, but I do not think she is spending it. She won’t tell me, and I understand: she has her own plans.

The walk into town was quick, though smoky. The wood fires of the town were fighting the lingering mountain chill, making a smog of sorts near the lakeside town. I huddled on the roof of the Emporium and spotted Kullen and the others leaving the Emporium as we arrived. Egan and Rey met with them – Egan in a friendly fashion, Rey and her owlbear taking turns growling – in the square, a few other drunken stragglers sifting off into the smoke and fog. Egan waved and gesticulated and seemed to be winning them over. He nodded a few times and pointed to the owlbear which caused the two smaller cronies to shudder. Finally, he handed them the ruby and waved as he walked away, the ‘all clear’ signal. He got what we needed. I thought about the ruby for a full minute before I decided to check back on it later. Maybe it would fall out of their purses while they slept off their beer.

We met up back near the outskirts of town. Egan gave a wry smile. He explained that the bones were delivered to an old man who was living in the abandoned observatory up on the bluff overlooking the town. Egan couldn’t think of any good, healthy reasons to have grave robbers steal bones for mundane uses so he suspected foul play in a sinister game.

A quick walk up the hill took us above the smoky fog of town as the sun began its bright debut. The air was clearer up here, and the mossy, rocky bluff around the observatory glistened with dew. The place had no signs of life, no foot tracks or outward sentries. I suggested that we try the front door and without ado led the group up the narrow stairs to the front door. It was locked, After a minute or two with an arrow in the keyhole – I wonder if there are clever little tools for this sort of thing? – I gave up. It would have to be Rey’s job to get us up onto the roof.

The highest spire of the observatory was 40 feet off the ground, and the walls were stone with slick moss between crumbling mortar. It seemed an unlikely climb, but Rey made short work of it. First we ascended to the top of the lower outbuilding, then, with grappling hooks and ropes, we managed our way up the side of the tower itself. Rey scaled the stone with only one small error on her first try to top the tower.

The observation slit was open to the sun. When Rey and I reached the top, we could see inside. What was once a telescope room now held a modified operating theater. A strange old man was operating on a dead, blue-skinned humanoid. I was overcome with curiosity, but at the same time I knew we had a simple task. I shouted down to the man letting him know that we needed our bones back. He obviously was not expecting an elf in his tower. He started to cast a spell at us, but an arrow put a stop to that.

A short battle ensued with Egan, Rey and I subduing the old man wizard and then dismantling his skeleton guard and some lizard-like zombies that exploded from enormous jars. The skeleton guard was from a Land farmstead grave. Rey may have crushed some of the bones in carrying out her very direct plan to get from the roof to the ground.

After securing the operating room, we ventured down a level to find the old man’s sleeping quarters. As we had suspected, we found a letter from Balabar Smenk, the mine owner, hiring this man named Filge. Apparently there were stranger things afoot in the mine and the hills than the Whispering Cairn. The message mentioned indestructible undead and some unusual magical worms. Perhaps we will get to the back of the Whispering Cairn next summer? 

We found a sample of a dead worm. It gave me a shudder, it was the worm I saw in my vision just yesterday.

After a thorough search, our new captive, Filge began to stir. We decided that it was time for some more questions and hopefully answers.


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## Alexander Bryant (May 25, 2017)

*By the way . . .*

One of our players has never played D&D before. She is running Rey, and she is SUCH A NATURAL. Hopefully she will write one of these as well.


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## SolitonMan (May 25, 2017)

SolidSnake_01 said:


> My pleasure! Glad you are enjoying it thus far. I am curious as to how your group handled things. Mine threw me for a loop a couple of times. Granted, I did alter the module a bit to expand upon the roleplaying opportunities Diamond Lake afforded.




It's been quite a while for me, but as I recall my group was really good with the way they handled Alastor.  I don't want to give away anything you may or may not have upcoming, and my memory is a bit hazy.  The group I ran did enjoy the roleplaying, but it wasn't too far into the path that they experienced a TPK (in Three Faces of Evil iirc).


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## SolidSnake_01 (May 25, 2017)

SolitonMan said:


> It's been quite a while for me, but as I recall my group was really good with the way they handled Alastor.  I don't want to give away anything you may or may not have upcoming, and my memory is a bit hazy.  The group I ran did enjoy the roleplaying, but it wasn't too far into the path that they experienced a TPK (in Three Faces of Evil iirc).




To me, Three Faces of Evil was the worst of the written modules. Apparently TPKs are very common in that one. I am HEAVILY modifying; hope you enjoy changes we made!


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jun 1, 2017)

*Chapter 6 (“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.” -Buddha)*

Filge awoke to the waiting forms of his captors towering over him. Egan didn’t wait for him to get his bearings before beginning the interrogation.

"What is your life worth old man?  We came to retrieve the bones from your skeletons, but we find something worse is amiss.  What do you know of Smenk's problem and where are the other skeletons?"

“What are you saying? Are you telling me you came here because of skeletons? Curse that pink-eyed fiend," Filge spat. "I just needed some helpers, so I got Smenk's white half-orc to fetch me some materials. I had no idea where or how he got them. The other three are downstairs, guarding the front door."

“Yes actually,” Etona interjected. “I will need you to return the bones to their less lively, inanimate, condition. So why did YOU come here? What are you researching?”

"Of course,” replied with a glimmer of hope in his voice. “We will just have to go downstairs for me to reverse the necessary enchantments. As to why I am here, that is simple. My mate Balabar called me up from the Free City for a bit of study about some weirdness in town. He made a deal with a dwarf named Dourstone to get a hold of some special provisions he could not obtain. Dourstone was a bit cagey as to what he needed it for, but he told Smenk that it was for a group of explorers that were excavating an abandoned section of his mine. Sounds like a bunch of crazed cultists if you ask me...but money is money. Anyways, Balabar suspected things were afoot when these strange green worms started showing up," he gestured over to a stoppered glass tube containing a green worm suspended in a clear fluid. "The thing is dead now of course, but Smenk said that a lot of these worms wriggled out of one of his men. The ONLY one that wasn't slaughtered by the cult after the final delivery. Smenk said that he burned the body, but he  managed to keep one worm intact. I am not exactly sure of its secrets yet, but my guess is that these things can transfer necrotic energy to the host organism." He starts to get a bit excited. "Isn't that amazing?"

Egan rested his hand on his neck before speaking. "I don't trust you Filge.  Appreciate the information, but if I think you're starting to pull some funny business, then it's lights out. Furthermore, I want your word that you won't loot any more graves. I didn't come here to carry bones around, and this town has enough problems as it is."

“This body” Etona said, while brandishing Angivre, “is a vassal of Sehanine. Do you know who that is? My people know her as a goddess who delights in meddling in the affairs of mortals. She is among us all the time. She has powerful passions. She loves lovers. She loves the moonlit night and its shadows that conceal the weak trying to rise against the mighty. She despises true darkness, however, for that way is despair. And so she hates those who create the undead to roam and spread despair. I am therefore not interested in _your word_. I want to know your heart. What are you doing here in this place? Answer me truthfully even if you think I will not like your answers, for I believe any soul may be redeemed - I am not one of your _paladins_ – so I am not interested in good and evil. But I must know what you are doing here. All of it.”

For a moment Filge looked confused. "I told you. Smenk had me come here to find out more about these green worms. The reports we have had over the past few months show a few sightings in the marshlands of the south, but the fact that they are here in Diamond Lake...that is new. This cult that Dourstone protects in his mines probably wants to know what they are too. Whoever solves this riddle will possess a very powerful weapon against their enemies. That all said, I wouldn't be here if Smenk wasn't paying me," he said with a shrug. "On my off-time, I was working on some animation theorems but the worm is turning everything I know upside down. A very exciting time."

Satisfied with Filge’s responses, the party escorted him downstairs where they were privy to a grotesque scene. The necromancer had apparently animated a number of rotting corpses and arranged them around a large dining room table. The dead bodies would feed him compliments as he ate his meals. Etona found this to be extremely pathetic.

“You don’t have many friends, do you?”

“Not many,” Filge replied.

The necromancer made quick work of dispelling all the enchantments on the remains of the Land family. With a few gestures, the skeletons crumbled into a pile bones. It was only then that the group began to discuss the fate of Filge.

“We are NEVER going to see you again, are we,” Etona asked.

“Never,” Filge said as he scurried away.

The party left the observatory with the precious remains of the Lands and began to make their way back the desecrated graves. As they exited the structure, they were greeted by a squawking choir of ravens. Etona found the formation and the timing quite odd, even wondering for a time if one of the crows was a shapeshifting member of her tribe. The thought passed fleetingly as she pressed onward.

It took the better part of the morning to rebury the bodies. Everyone said a few words upon completion of the task and were rewarded with Alastor’s gratitude from beyond the Veil. With the long day finally behind them, it was agreed that the party would disband for the evening and regroup at the Spinning Giant in the morning. Egan took the notes he had accrued thus far to Allustan for translation, Rey began teaching her owlbear Obi to hunt for itself, and Etona meditated on all that transpired.
---------------------------------------------
At dawn, they all made their way back to the Whispering Cairn. Rey was glad to see that Alastor had honored his word by opening the iron door. Beyond it stood a great circular chamber, with what appeared to be a bottomless chasm at its center. Four bridges spanned the rift and terminated at a small platform from which a column of air shot straight into the ceiling. Two of the bridges were broken and the walls of the chamber seemed to show a great battle between two legendary forces.

“These must be the Wind Dukes of Aaqa Allustan was talking about,” Egan remarked as the group cautiously circled the outer ring of the chamber.

“What do you mean,” Rey asked as she began tying a rope around Etona’s waist.

“The characters we have seen throughout the cairn are written in Auran. It is the native language of denizens that inhabit the Elemental Plane of Air,” he said before briefly pausing. “Some of the rarer glyphs are probably family names, like the one we saw on the sarcophagus.”

“So what,” Rey responded.

“Well it becomes important only with context. A great battle took place not far from here between the Wind Dukes and the minions of Tharizdun,” Egan began.

“Who is Tharizdun,” Etona interrupted.

“A long forgotten God that wished to unmake all of creation,” Egan continued. “The Wind Dukes forged a great artifact called the Rod of Seven Parts and used it to vanquish the Chained God’s legions. Allustan believes that this tomb was built for either a Wind Duke or an important general.”

“I’ve heard of the Rod of Seven Parts,” Etona said as she tested the rope around her waist. “Do you got me Rey?”

The scout nodded as Etona made her way across one of the bridges towards the strange column of air in the center of the room. As she approached, two humanoid figures emerged from the rushing wind and began to float towards the party. Both men were adorned with ancient ceremonial armor festooned with red pennons that twisted and bobbed as they landed on the platform. They silently drew their blades in unison as Etona raised her arms in the air to demonstrate her intentions. Their response was not what she had hoped for. 

If the armor was heavy, neither man showed any sign of it as their blades slashed at Etona with unbelievable speed. Etona screamed out in agony, her lifeblood spilling before her. Knowing that engaging such adept warriors in a continued melee would lead to a certain death, the elf jumped into the chasm.

“NOOO,” Rey screamed as her grip tightened around the rope. Using Etona’s momentum, she swung the rope like a pendulum depositing the elf on solid footing a fair distance away from the enemy.

“Obi, kill them,” Rey growled.

The owlbear shrieked, charging forth into the fray. The armored warriors fought valiantly and without a sound, grievously wounding much of the party. On more than one occasion, everyone believed their deaths to be a certainty and yet they prevailed. 

Rey immediately began to tend to the wounds of her companions after the battle was over. While bandaging the lacerations Etona had sustained, blue electricity arced down her arms and suffused her hands with a soft light. The energy knitted wounds closed!

“How did you do that,” Etona asked.

“I don’t know,” Rey said as she stared at her hands.

With most of the wounded now restored, the group continued their exploration of the cairn. The column of air led to a small chamber with a sarcophagus that looked identical to the one encountered earlier. Anyone approaching it noted that a voice would manifest itself inside their heads beseeching them to speak the name of the buried warrior. Egan informed them that Allustan would need more time to translate the glyphs and furiously scribed everything they had seen thus far.

“From here we can go no further,” Etona declared. “This must be the true tomb but we are no closer to finding your sister Egan.”

“There is a place we haven’t looked yet,” Rey said.

“Very well,” Etona replied. “But before we go further underground, I need some fresh air.”
------------------------------------------------
Taking the metal tube deeper into the earth was worse than Etona thought it was going to be. She steadied herself by addressing the obstacles that immediately confronted her. The first of which was a giant stone slab which blocked the only exit to the room the metal tube took the party to. There was a small opening, probably enough of one to allow Etona to go through but it would certainly not be enough for someone Rey’s size.

“What if we enlarge the opening,” Etona asked.

“With what? We can’t break through that,” Rey stated.

Etona turned to Egan. “What about your magic?”

Egan shook his head. “I don’t possess power great enough to melt stone.”

“Maybe not magic then. But what if there was a substance that we could-,” Etona’s thoughts trailed off momentarily. “That’s it!”

The party worked together to bring down the remains of the ankheg and extract the acid it had used on them many days ago. Their ingenuity was rewarded by widening the passageway and allowing everyone to continue onward. Quite satisfied with her accomplishment, Etona gestured to the rest of her companions.

“After you.”


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## Todd Hansen (Jun 6, 2017)

Very much enjoying the story; you've got good roleplayers and FYI, to your roleplayers, you have a phenomenal DM.  I should know .


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jun 7, 2017)

*Chapter 7 (“Absence and death are the same - only that in death there is no suffering.” -Theodore Roosevelt)*

The created opening allowed the party to enter a long hallway filled with what appeared to be statues carved in the likeness of the Wind Dukes of Aaqa. Everyone noted the chill billowing from the great room beyond, but no one was deterred. Egan tried to break the silence with nervous banter.

“This is interesting,” he said as he flipped through the notes he had compiled over the past few days.

“What’s that,” Etona asked.

“Two names keep coming up over and over again: Nadroc and Zosiel.” The man didn’t even bother to look up as he walked. “I imagine that Zosiel must be the person whom this cairn was built for. His name is said more frequently and with much more reverence. I am fairly certain the tomb we discovered after exiting the column of air is his.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Auran,” Etona said.

“I’m a fast study,” Egan replied.

The hallway led to a larger chamber with two adjacent rooms connected to it. One of the rooms was blocked by brown mold, growing from the column in the center of the chamber. Egan explained that this was the source of the chill they had felt while walking through the hallway and dispatched it quite easily with the ray of magical frost. Etona decided; however, to explore the room not blocked by life-threatening fungus first. Within was what could only described as a private bedchamber, but that is not what drew the elf’s eye. It was the emaciated remains of a young girl floating above the stone slab that passed as a bed. She knew what this meant and so wordlessly, Etona reached out to pull Leyla’s body from its magical encasement. She was immediately struck the powerful enchantments that washed over her. If elven blood did not flow through her veins, she was sure that climbing onto the slab would result in dreams she would never wake from.

“Rey, Egan, come quickly,” Etona shouted as she cradled the dead woman’s body.

Egan registered the scene almost immediately, the hope evaporating from his eyes. The man sunk to his knees barely touching the husk that was once his sister as he sobbed uncontrollably. Rey rested a comforting hand on Egan’s shoulder and helped escort him out of the cairn. The party took her to the dilapidated mining office nearby and buried her under a plum tree that grew from the front yard.

“Why here Egan? Why not near your old home,” Etona asked.

“There is nothing there for us,” Egan stated almost catatonically. “Diamond Lake has not been our home for a long time now. She lost her life near this cairn and so she should be laid to rest near it.”

“What now,” Rey asked.

“We must go back,” Egan replied, “or Leyla’s death will be in vain.”

No one countered the statement. Silence followed their heavy spirits back to the tomb.
-----------------------------
The room across from the one in which they found Leyla’s remains did not yield much of substance, but it certainly was interesting. Most notable were a red metal pedestal and the strange black egg upon it. The egg had a golden glyph inscribed upon its surface which Egan could not decipher. He reported that the metal the pedestal was cast from was Red Steel, a mineral prized by the armies of the Abyss. No one seemed interested in touching either substance, so the decision was made to go back up to Zosiel’s true tomb.

The trip itself did not take long as the party had made the journey numerous times before. Only this time, they did not shy away from Zosiel’s command and named him as instructed. His sarcophagus opened with a brilliant blue flash of light and revealed only two items: a magical diadem and a strange loop with a handle attached to it. Everyone agreed the importance of the artifacts, but it took some time before the party agreed what to do with them. Finally, after much debate it was decided that the items would be hidden in the well by the mining office and the party would go seek Allustan’s council. 
-----------------------------
“The hour is rather late for a visit.”

“Our apologies Allustan, but we could not wait until morning to trouble you,” Etona said.

The old sage beckoned the party inside and listened carefully as Etona caught the man up with the events that had transpired at the Observatory and their recent discoveries at the Whispering Cairn. After the elf had finished her story, the old sage turned to Egan.

“I am so sorry to hear about your loss Egan, I am sure that Leyla is in a better place.”

“Thank you Master,” Egan replied. Coughing in an attempt to mask his emotion, he continued. “We are curious about the symbol we encountered upon the black stone egg. Do you have any ideas what it could mean?”

Allustan nodded thoughtfully. “The symbol you describe is that of Ogremoch. He is the Prince of Evil Earth and a known consort of Tharizdun. I could regale you with tales of heroism about the Temple of Elemental Evil, but I am sure that is not why you are here.”

“We are also unsure what the loop and black sphere in some of the bas-reliefs we found on the walls of the tomb indicate. It seems like it was used as a weapon,” Egan let the statement trail off.

“Indeed,” Allustan’s voice grew much more animated. “The drawing you have provided is a depiction of a very powerful artifact called the Talisman of the Sphere. This is a weapon deployed by madmen and those who are favored by the Chained God. These talismans give the user some control over a Sphere of Annihilation, a veritable “hole” in reality itself. Anything that comes into contact with one is erased from existence.”

“Thank you again Master, we are sorry to have disturbed you,” Egan stammered as he gave Allustan the notes he had compiled inside the Whispering Cairn.

“Not at all Egan, this is the very reason I sent you on this exploration. One thing troubles me however,” the sage said with a furrowed brow. “I am unsure what this green worm means. And I dislike what I do not understand.”
--------------------------------
The next morning the party met Egan at the Spinning Giant for breakfast. Over eggs and bacon, Etona revealed that Kullen’s crew had been by her residence yesterday and informed Phreet that Balbar Smenk was interested in speaking with them. Everyone was wary of the meeting, but there was enough interest in the green worm, Dourstone’s mine, and strange cultists that Egan volunteered to coordinate the specifics.

It didn’t take long for the native son of Diamond Lake to parse out how and when Smenk wanted to see them all. The meeting was set for dusk at the mine-owner’s estate, leaving the group with the whole day to themselves. The group’s first order of business was replenishing necessary supplies utilized in their exploration of the Whispering Cairn. Once that had occurred, Etona convinced the party to travel with her to the garrison. She was interested in help if she was going to further entangle herself in the politics of humans.

Unlike the Sheriff’s office, the garrison was run with discipline. Men stood vigilantly at their posts while soldiers drilled acts of war. Etona believed that it was going to be difficult to penetrate inside the fortress without bribery, but it turned out that the garrison’s leader was quite interested in useful information. Etona had only to mention the potential danger of green worms and the town’s safety before she was escorted to meet the imposing Captain Tolliver Trask. The man had seen his share of battle, it was evident in the way he conducted himself. He stood hunched over a large map of the region, figurines of forces splayed out over the border to the Mistmarsh.

“Dobrun told me that you have pertinent information to the safety of this region. Is that true?”

“Yes Captain,” the word sounded foreign to Etona as she said it. “We believe that the town is in grave danger. We have come across an associate of Balbar Smenk’s who was using the old observatory as a laboratory. We put a stop to him and his experiments, but before we released him, he informed us of an evil cult based in the Dourstone mines. The cult is believed to have access to strange green worms that can turn the living into undead.”

Raising his eyebrow, Captain Trask’s gaze finally moved from his formations. “Green worms you say. Have you taken this to Sheriff Cubbin?”

“With all due respect to Sheriff Cubbin’s station, I am not sure who he is working for,” Etona replied.

Trask chuckled. “Indeed. However, my authority does not extend into the town of Diamond Lake. I am tasked with the defense of the surrounding region and it is proving challenging. The lizardfolk tribes grow restless and have begun to intensify raiding along the boundaries of the Mistmarsh. I barely had the manpower to repel them when these attacks were much less frequent.”

“Precisely Captain,” Etona said. “You rely on this town for supplies for your men. What if the supplies were interrupted or worse yet you were fighting a conflict with two fronts?”

“Maybe I should hire you to secure more funding from Greyhawk,” Trask mused. “But you still don’t understand my position. If what you say is true, then you had a witness to a conspiracy that could have corroborated your story. Whom you decided to release.”

“At least we didn't kill him,” Rey interjected.

“Be that as it may, right now all you have is a story and no evidence,” Trask continued. “What you need is proof of a crime. Enough of it for serious leverage. If I were to ride my men down the Vein on horseback, that would be tantamount to a political coup. Greyhawk would not abide such a move. But if the situation was so dire that Sheriff Cubbin could not perform the duties of his station, I would be obliged to assist him in any way I could. After all, the protection of our citizens is paramount to our mission here.” Trask looked directly into Etona’s eyes. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes Captain, I believe that I do,” Etona said with a smile.

“Good. Come with me,” Trask beckoned as he strode past the bewildered party. “We are going to see a friend of mine, Valkus Dun. He is my spiritual advisor and a High Priest of Heironeous. Right now his flock is confined to a single member,” the man said with a gesture to a red-haired woman sweeping the steps of the chapel. She looked dejected as she went about her duties. “Life for her in the garrison has been challenging, but she is an expert in religious lore. Someone whom you can use to verify your concerns about the undead.”

As if on cue, a taller man walked out of the chapel. The sun reflected off of his breastplate, upon which was inscribed a fist holding a bolt of lightning. A mace dangled at his waist, but he seemed to give no notice to the fact that he was prepared for war.

“Tolliver, it is good to see you alive,” he said with a grin.

“Valkus, I thought you would be dead of boredom by now,” Trask replied as the two clasped hands.

“What can the Church of Heironeous do for you this fine day,” Valkus asked.

“These...concerned citizens,” indicating the party, “have just been telling me of rumors they have come across within Diamond Lake.”

“I didn’t know the sophistication of your intelligence gathering apparatus also included rumors,” Valkus chided.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Trask retorted. “I believe that is one of your credos. Better brush up on that.” Valkus simply rolled his eyes. “It seems like we have use for Melinde after all.” The young woman instantly perked up. “I need her to substantiate these rumors and as she is an expert on undead lore and in no way affiliated with garrison, she is the perfect person for this job.”

“I am touched by your compassion,” Valkus said mockingly. “Melinde is more than capable of reciting undead lore, it is her judgement that concerns me,” the priest said looking over at the woman. “She lacks discipline. I am unsure if she is ready for such responsibility.”

“Sweeping the chapel isn’t going to teach her patience,” Trask said bluntly.

“How would you know,” Valkus asked.

“It didn’t work for you,” Trask countered. “Even after all that sweeping, they still ended up calling you the _Avenging Ange_-”

“It was another time,” Valkus interrupted. “And look where it got me.”

“It is time Valkus,” Trask said somberly.

The high priest sighed before turning his attention back to his acolyte. “This is your moment Melinde. Succeed or fail, it will be up to you. Go get your things,” Valkus commanded. Etona was going to debate Melinde’s affiliation with Heironeous as it seemed like the sun was literally beaming from her face, something only a priest of Pelor could accomplish.

Melinde returned as if battle was imminent. Chainmail covered her form and a white tunic with the silver emblem of Heironeous was stitched upon it. She wore a longsword and carried a shield with a similar symbol painted on its face.

“I will not fail you Father,” Melinde declared.

For the first time in a long while, the furrow in Valkus’ brow relaxed. “I know.”
--------------------------------------------------
Living up to his reputation, Smenk kept the party waiting far too long before greeting them at the entrance to his manor. Everyone had grown weary of listening to his thugs patrol the area and Etona was thinking about breaking in when one of the large oak doors swung open. Smenk was a portly, balding man who seemed like the mere act of breathing was a daily struggle. However, he certainly knew how to make an entrance. Flanked by two chained gorillas, the mine-owner almost seemed annoyed at the meeting he had planned.

“What do you want?”

“We are here to meet about the disturbance in the mine your friend warned us about,” Egan said carefully.

“You must be...Leegan,” Smenk said with disdain. “Well come on in. We shouldn’t discuss such matters out her-”

The sentence caught in his throat as an arrow blossomed from his chest. For a moment, there was a stillness in the night air. That serenity was promptly shattered by Smenk’s screams and the sound of crossbows firing. Quarrels rained down all around the party, striking Melinde and Rey. The scout could feel her blood turn to fire in her veins before yanking the bolt from her shoulder. Pandemonium had been unleashed. Etona turned to see her companions seek cover from the enemy that had surrounded their position...all except one. Melinde was smiling as blood ran down the side of her neck. She drew her longsword and raised it aloft, screaming in defiance.

“In the name of Heironeous, justice will be served!”


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jun 7, 2017)

Todd Hansen said:


> Very much enjoying the story; you've got good roleplayers and FYI, to your roleplayers, you have a phenomenal DM.  I should know .




Thanks Todd! You are welcome anytime you want to make the trip out


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## Alexander Bryant (Jun 10, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry III*

The little girl was Phreet. A vision then. I opened myself to it but it was not enlightening.


Her skin putrefied, bubbled up, a green worm wriggled free, but she was serene as a cat full of cream on a sunlit stone. Phreet reached for me and I screamed my way out of the reverie.


Her Horny Highness has never assaulted me with dreams of rot and undead before. After all this time, would She send me a vision like this as a first step towards reconciliation? I don’t think so: it doesn’t feel like the goddess. So who am I channeling now? And is Phreet in danger? Or does the little girl represent something, an omen of what will happen to all children here, or to innocence?


“_Resh_,” I mumbled. Rey arched an eyebrow. Egan probably doesn’t know that one. It means, in Elvish, approximately, "F**k". Visions, portents, riddles: they are mistaken for importance, and so I was important among my tribe. But they are divine wisps. Some of my visions had become truth but they were always obvious after whatever had happened, and thus useless – “I told you so’s” from Her Mocking Majesty.


Interesting that the girl in the vision did not seem to notice the worms. Perhaps it is something that happens slowly, creeps up on a person. Or is Phreet already hopelessly corrupted?


No. She is not. I will not believe that.


We arrived at the Land farm. It was time to bury the bones and free this poor boy, but someone had been here before us and dug up the rest of his family!


The Red Death swept through regions around Greyhawke some time ago, almost twenty years past. We had heard of it from our druids, chiefly *Salalu Feonne*, our ambassador to Greyhawke (where he still serves in that capacity). Grave sites of those who died from the plague were marked in the manner of these Land’s stones were. Egan was able to confirm all of this and added other details about what it was like during that time. Grim. Fear everywhere. Many bad deeds, though heroes of compassion and courage also arose from the despair. Egan’s family – save for his sister and of course himself – died miserably from it. It hurt me to hear these details: Egan has survived almost continuous woe. He deserves to be reunited with his sister.


Someone here had looted the graves and, after we searched to confirm, stolen their bodies. They had also done it recently, judging by tracks less than three days old. I asked Egan if my memory was correct, that this was a most heinous crime among humans, and he confirmed it. If you were sent to prison convicted of this crime, you would likely never emerge again as the murderers and rapists there would kill you to rid themselves of the stain your presence would represent to even them.


We crept up to the Land’s home and eventually rescued a young owlbear mewling in a circle of dead kin, all slain by presumably whomever took the bones, though at least one of their party left behind a complete arm bearing the brand of *Garavin Vest*, a nasty mine owner who had treated his people as slaves but was run out of town by the rest of the humans some time ago. That mark leads us to the Feral Dog, an inn frequented by miners and the likely group who took the bones.


Rey crept up to the cub and, as she had done with the wolves, pacified the monster (I cannot ever call this some species of “bear” as it is a magical hybrid – an experiment, really – and not, never will be, a bear: my tribe kills them on sight).


We split up during Rise as She took to her throne of the sky: Rey was bound for the scrub to hunt and teach hunting to the owlbear; Egan made for an inn called the Spinning Giant – he was wary of Phreet’s flirting and fast fingers, but I think she actually likes him.


Oh, you _cuille temoer_: what a waste of beautiful night! I will never understand . . . well, many things, like sleep. Such short lives and a third of it sacrificed to unconsciousness and chaotic, half-remembered dreams. Then to stay awake throughout the entire day, always bright, always squinting at the sun that reveals everything. I love the sun, of course, but there is so much missed from shunning the moon! The games, the secrets, the silence, the cool air, and Her beautiful face.


I am wasting your time now. I apologize.


I went to the Feral Dog intent on overhearing some sunny words revealing all, but skulking outside was not going to help us, I quickly understood, so I went in. I found a table near a trio of malignant-looking characters, an albino half-orc I had seen before here and there – difficult to miss or forget – as their apparent leader. He was large enough to match the tracks we had seen up the Land farm, but so were others so I bade my time and listened. He growled out, “That last job was not worth the money,” but that complaint could come from any of them, difficult enough was their daily labor.


A different trio of, I don’t know what else to call them, _adventurers_ strode in to hails and greetings: muscular, somewhat preening young man leading a merry elven woman and an older, thin man who didn’t smile. The woman started a game of Hit the Target offering a reward to, it turned out, whomever could defeat the elf.


_This elf can defeat the elf_, I thought and made my way over.


_I have no money_, I realized when I got there a few seconds later. “Hi!” I said in Elven to her, and then, in Common, “I am but a penniless soul in search of a contest of skill. Would you be able to front me the entrance fee to your contest?” At least, that is what I said in here, _dans tai’ete_. But what everyone heard was, “Can I play? Though I have no coin?” She looked at Angivre but also at my torn clothes and bare feet, and she arched an eyebrow. I don’t know what she thought of me, but she smiled and said she would loan me the silver to play.


A throwing contest. Pity: my aim with my bow is better. I slid out my hunting knife, took aim, and –. 


Humans poison themselves with regularity, I have observed. It is a wonder their entire people have not developed immunity to it. The denizens of The Feral Dog use cheap alcohol by the gallon to do it. The consequence is all over the floor, underfoot, under my foot.


I slipped on some brown, runny consequence, I heard Her laugh – distinctly heard it for the first time in years – and my dagger plunged itself into the table in front of the albino half-orc where it vibrated to a stand still as did the rest of the bar.


Sehanine had forced my hand. Literally. What was I to say?


Angivre suddenly nocked, ready, and I had not given it a thought. But she was not pointed at them. Without looking, I fired an arrow into the center of the target away over on the other side of the room, over in a different lifetime, perhaps. These three needed to see that.


“I require my knife,” I said. I could not apologize: one doesn’t say ‘Sorry’ in a place like this: it is too wild, the men too close to animal.


The man-thing rose to his feet and grinned. “Looks like this is mine now.”


I tossed its sheath at him. “Then you’ll be needing this as well.” He tilted his head with confusion but took it and strapped it on. On me it looks elegant and perhaps a little menacing. It is larger than a dagger, after all. But on him it was ridiculous.


“That looks darling on you,” I said with a grin. “You should wear it with a little yellow bow.” I began to pat my pockets. “I think I have some ribbon on me somewhere.”


His companions laughed. One in particular had that manic laugh and look in his eye that speaks of a feral, mad existence: he would have to be put down someday.


The semi-orc knocked back his chair and his friends stood likewise. Angivre swung around to point at his face.


“What have you done with the bones?” I said. I needed to see it in his eye. But I did not. If they had dug up the Land family graves and made off with remains, it wasn’t in their faces.


It was time to go.


The chairs, tables, drinks, noise, uncertain lighting and crowd all covered for me as I ducked and dodged my way out of the room. The demi-orc hurled something at a place I had been but a second prior and hit the man I had used to cover my tracks for that tiny slice of time. That man reacted to being attacked and the brawl was on!


I made my way to the stockroom in back but realized I of course still did not have my knife. *Sigh*. Twists, turns, meeting face to face with one of the albino’s henchmen – who swung at me but buried his weapon in wood – a careful dive and grab, more feinting, and I was out again but this time to the roof of the building opposite to “watch the show.” Sheriff’s men swooped down and carted people away to prison, most to be let go only a few hours later.


What had I learned? Much, but nothing to do with the bones, alas. I mulled the matter and, when finally they awoke, described the events of the night to Rey and Egan.


Egan named them for me:
The albino half-orc: *Kullen*
The giggly psychopath from the swamps south: *Rastafan*
His flat-topped, serious sidekick who had taken a swipe at me: *Todric*


They all work for mine owner *Balbor Smenk*, a fat, shady man who lives in a mansion only a couple hundred paces from my own little home.


Egan seemed aghast at my adventures at the inn and asked if he could have a go at getting the information instead. With luck, he said, the trio of miscreants would emerge at Glimmer – sun rise – from the Emporium. He would meet them armed not with insults and a knife and a bow, but with “cash.” I conceded that his plan was probably better.


The Lady did send them out of the Emporium and just as Egan and Rey – and her owlbear - were walking up to it. I took station across the street on a roof in case someone needed “pincushioning” (I love this newly-learned human term!).


I could not overhear his words, but Egan was successful in discovering everything we needed to know: that these three had pillaged the graves, had taken the bones with them and had delivered them to the curious observatory outside of town that I had been meaning to visit for some time now. There, the “Old Man” had taken possession of the bones.


We immediately went to the observatory.


Someone living outside of town, alone, and interested in paying to dig up bones from human graves is probably someone who also has traps, paid guards and possibly reanimated bodies guarding his secrets, so sweeping through the front door seemed needlessly risky. Instead, we climbed the stone dome of the building and skittered precariously over to the slit through which its looking glass peers skyward. Directly below was a body being surgically opened on a stone table. The surgeon was alone. Excellent: we could simply talk about the problem and reach a mutually-satisfactory goal.


“Hi there!” I said in what I thought was a cheerful voice.


He squawked looking at me with eyes so wide it made me laugh. He started running around, yelling out bits of sound incoherently.


I wanted to reassure him we weren’t assassins or whatever he dreamed we represented. “Calm down! We just need our bones back. Give us the remains that your men took and we’ll leave you to whatever all this is. But we need those bones! Please?”


He pointed a finger up to me and got his mouth under control. The air grew cool, there was a shimmer, a smell. I understand when a spell is being cast.


“None of that,” I told him and fired an arrow through his shoulder to dissuade him. Honestly, this overreaction was going to do him an injury. “I am sorry about the arrow, but you cannot just aim eldritch energy at me and expect –. Hello?” He had ducked out of sight heading down some stairs. I lined up on his shadow and fired again. A wet sound and a thud told me my aim was true.


I hopped down a series of platforms – arch, stone ring, table, floor – from the roof and ended up at the top of the stairs. He was still alive, thank my Mistress, though bleeding and incoherent with fear. When he saw me again, he took a syringe out of . . . somewhere and plunged it into his neck. A second later I heard the smashing of glass.


I see I haven’t described the room yet. Under the old “telescope” (I think is the human word) was the surgery table. Around it were bookshelves and medical instruments surrounded by four large jars of liquid inside of each what I took to be a dead lizard man. There was also a human skeleton perched near the table.


Dead they all might have been but now they were springing to life. And attacking. But I would not face them alone.


Like an avenging angel she fell from the heavens to aid me. What a sight: Rey plunged down from the slit in the dome onto the skeleton, annihilating it under feet and flashing spear. She turned to engage all four of the shambling monsters left, especially the one who was coming towards me, but they were going to be too much even for her. We needed to stop this, and we needed Egan.


I leaped over the surgeon to land in front of him, further down the stairs, but mistimed and ended up on my stomach with the wind knocked out of me.


“Egan? Can you set afire any of these from up there?” Rey yelled up. No reply. “Egan?”


Faintly above the melee we could just hear, “Ah’m joost barely holdin’ me own up here!”


“Use the rope to lower yourself or dangle from it upside down, I care not, but you are required here!” she yelled back.


A gout of flame encircled one of the creatures from above which left it smelly and smokey but otherwise unscathed.


“Take down the master and the flesh golems may fall,” Rey instructed.


“But do not kill him if you can manage it, Egan,” I added in Elvish.


Smoke from the surgeon, a tight curl of it across his head scorching his hair – the angle of Egan’s heat beam had been impressively precise – and the man went down at last.


But his monsters did not.


I leaped up and began traveling in a circle around the room firing again and again, but they were already dead, you see, and so unimpressed with my little slivers of wood. They would have been mightily attendant to Angivre before my fall from grace.


Egan bodily fell in to join us but then jumped right to his feet, somehow not a casualty of his own physical shortcomings for once. I say this with admiration, for he has no knowledge of what to do with his limbs when he is not using them to harness the incredible power he seems to have access to. And the three of us together fought the creatures down.


We were all hurt, bleeding, poisoned, repulsed by what we had just had to fight, but Rey and I patched us back as best we could. I had not been hit hard as Rey was who was considerably lashed by the things’ claws, but she simply, eh, the expression . . . oh yes, “walked it off,” because of course she did.


The surgeon’s room was at the foot of the stairs, a comfortable room dominated by a statue of himself with angelic wings and a face of bravery and beneficence. If he has not had any contact with his mother over the past twenty years, I should think he resembled the statue in her eyes. To me, it seemed a criminal overreach of the term “artistic license.”


We woke him up, calmed him down, asked him about the bones and what he was doing here. His name is *Filge*, he said, which I think is the dwarven name for the pipe that connects a privy to the plumbing in places that have these installations. Unfortunate appellation.


Filge was unexpectedly friendly and chatty when we got him to talking. He said, “My mate Balabar (Smenk) called me up from the Free City for a bit of study about some weirdness in town. He made a deal with a dwarf named *Dourstone* to get a hold of some special provisions he could not obtain. Dourstone was a bit cagey as to what he needed it for, but he told Smenk that it was for a group of explorers that were excavating an abandoned section of his mine. Sounds like a bunch of crazed cultists if you ask me...but money is money. Anyways, Balabar suspected things were afoot when these strange green worms started showing up.”


Here he gestured over to a stoppered glass tube containing a green worm suspended in a clear fluid.


“The thing is dead now of course, but Smenk said that a lot of these worms wriggled out of one of his men, the only one who wasn’t slaughtered by the cult after the final delivery. Smenk said that he burned the body, but he managed to keep one worm intact. I am not exactly sure of its secrets yet, but my guess is that these things can transfer necrotic energy to the host organism.”


The green worm from my vision, right here in front of us in a vial and starring in story about undead infection of the mine that was here in the center of town. Cultists leaving the one living victim alive presumably to use him as a living farm for the worms.


Cultists in a production mine in our town?


So many questions. So many answers I do not want to hear if they mean entering a mine. Goddess! I hate mines. Truly I do.


But first, this Filge seemed to be at ease with us. It rankled.


“This body” I said, Angivre extending to the end of my arm, “is a vessel of Sehanine. Do you know who that is? My people know her as a goddess who delights in meddling in the affairs of mortals. She is among us all the time. She has powerful passions. She loves lovers. She loves the moonlit night and its shadows that conceal the weak trying to rise against the mighty. She despises true darkness, however, for that way is despair. And so she hates those who create the undead to roam and spread despair.” In a heartbeat I loosed an arrow to flit past his ear. Another one past his other. “I am therefore not interested in your word. I want to know your heart. Tell me all that you doing here in this place. I am not one of your paladins, so I am not interested in good and evil. But I must know what you are doing here. All of it.”


For a moment he looked less afraid than confused. “I told you. Smenk had me come here to find out more about these green worms. The reports we have had over the past few months show a few sightings in the marshlands of the south, but the fact that they are here in Diamond Lake, that is new. This cult that Dourstone protects in his mines probably wants to know what they are too. Whoever solves this riddle will possess a very powerful weapon against their enemies. That all said, I wouldn't be here if Smenk wasn't paying me,’ he said. He looked like he was going to shrug but evidently thought the better of it. “In my off-time, I was working on some animation theorems but the worm is turning everything I know upside down. A very exciting time."


Egan took the worm, and all three of us took Filge through the observatory to the front door. We passed a site that I cannot decide was more grisly or pathetic: a large round table piled high with dinner plates and food waited without hope of ever being eaten by a collection of corpses propped up in the seats all around. As we went by, one raised a turkey leg and exclaimed, “It is a fine meal from a generous host, m’lord!” and another: “They were wrong to expel you from the wizard’s guild – you are the equal of anyone there!”


His heart is not full of malice, this Filge. He is lonely. But I don’t really want to meet the companion he eventually finds to be me, and it certainly will not be any of us.


Filge dismantled the trap set facing the door, un-animated the rest of the Land family also lying in wait, and made to leave. I stopped him, turned him to face me.


“The smallest, poorest, would-never-missed, lowliest street urchin; the most miserable, cast aside, beaten woman; the blind, limbless, bleeding beggar: none of these, no one in the town or any other, have nothing to fear from you, am I correct?”


Filge gulped. “N, no, ma’am.”


“I do not want to see you again.”


“You won’t!” And with that, he strode out of our lives.


Rey’s owlbear, but also a row of ravens, both awaited us outside. The birds fly off noisily.


We returned the bones to their land, inter them, speak words of dignity and comfort. I recited words from a past life of the visiting priest to humans, tasked with befriending them, learning their culture, respecting their ways. As we left, we heard the quiet sigh of a “Thank you,” and I have not been this happy in weeks.


It was Quickening, early evening, and we parted ways to attack the Whispering Cairn in the morning. I went to the Emporium spending two gold and a wonderful evening with Shag learning Dragon Chess and some details about his interesting life and friends. I also tried the opium again.


Glimmer again, we assembled: Rey and her creature and Egan. The latter had thoughtfully purchased another skein of oil for lighting lamps and activating magic, for we travel back to the Cairn today to see if Alestor was able to keep his word and open the door barring our way.


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## Alexander Bryant (Jun 18, 2017)

*The Journal of Etona - Entry Four*

We made our way to deep within the Whispering Cairn. Alastor had honored his word and the iron door stood ajar waiting for us. Beyond was a remarkable sight.

A great circular chamber a hundred feet rose above and bottomless below save for a wide ring around the outside of the room where we could walk, its curved walls depicting a great battle between two legendary forces: tall, androgynous beings against a black cloud. The humanoids seemed to be losing as the story was told across the four statues-in-walls (Egan called them “bas reliefs”).

The pit dropped away on the other side of the walking ring, spanned by four stone bridges leading to a stone island in the middle which was itself pierced by a column of air firing from who knows where through to the faint far-away ceiling above. Two of the bridges were broken – long ago by the looks of them.

“Rey, could you tie this rope around me?” I peered over the edge. “I don’t know that I want to spend the rest of my life falling.”

“Aye now, these must be the Wind Dukes of Aaqa what Allustan was talking about,” Egan remarked as we cautiously circled the outer ring of the chamber.

“What do you mean?” asked Rey as she began tying.

“These characters we’ve been spyin’ throughout the cairn are written in Auran. ‘Tis the native language o’ denizens who inhabit the Elemental Plane of Air,” he said. “Some of the rarer glyphs are probably family names like the woon we saw on the sarcophagus.”

“So what?”

“Well now, it becomes important only with th’ context. A great battle took place na’ far from here between the Wind Dukes and the minions o’ Tharizdun,” Egan began.

“Tharizdun,” I interrupted. “I have heard that name, but . . . .” I couldn’t quite remember that history lesson.

“A long forgotten god what wishes to unmake all of creation,” Egan continued.

“Because?”

Egan shrugged. “I’m shoore it makes sense ta the god. The Wind Dukes forged a great artifact called the Rod a’ Seven Parts and used it ta vanquish the Chained God’s legions. Allustan believes that this tomb was built for a Wind Duke himself or an important general.”

“The Rod of Seven Parts,” I said as Rey tested the rope around my waist. “That one I know more about. Do you have me, Rey?” She grunted in acknowledgment. “A weapon of incredible power only meant to be used sparingly in times of great need, disassembled into seven parts when not. Many have spent their all their years looking for them.”

“Aye, lass.”

“Mm. All right then, this bridge. Hopefully it won’t collapse, neh? But if so –.” Rey nodded: she was ready, and I light.

It was a transport tube, I was sure of it: the column of swirling air took you up to whatever was above. I was so taken with this idea that I didn’t notice two mostly-empty suits of armor wielding blades float down out of the swirling air to me.

“Hello!” I said. I began to bow. “My name is Etona. We mean no disrespect and are not here to loot. We are looking for –.”

I have never seen blades move so quickly. They flashed, four edges slicing across me as if I was an onion on the cutting board of a multi-armed chef. I suddenly had seconds to live.

But maybe a whole minute to live if –.

I dove over the side.

“Noooooooo!” screamed Rey bracing herself like a sailor trying to right the sails on a ship in a storm. She must have thought I’d died, but she kept her head, thank my Mistress, and hauled me across an arc of the circle so I could spring off and onto the ledge, then onto the stone walkway itself. I was numb and light-headed and probably heading towards unconscious – I cannot express to you how terrible this is for one of my kind – but I had not the luxury of that nightmare so I tried to stay conscious.

“Obi, kill them!” hissed Rey with what sounded a lot like rage to me, and the owlbear obediently sprang to them, snapping and clawing. Egan also tried to cover me – to make sure these armored air golems would not leave their little island – with gouts of fire. It was hard to see if these had any affect on them, but they left me alone to shiver, to recover, and so I am thankful to these, my _s’thayen_, my “friends” in the Common, weak a word though it is in that language.

I got my feet under me again, took some breaths, watched the ow–, watched Obi fight the two in such a way as they could not seem to land a blow on the low, thick-hided creature coiling and moving with surprising grace. It was as if he was just below where they could see.

Rey leaped across the – 

	OH GODDESS!!

No, she was all right.

Goddess.

That was worse than the blades.

She had leaped over part of the arc of the circle but stumbled and fell! She had only caught herself with one hand as the rest of her tried to plummet into the next world.

I am hurt. Badly. Blood everywhere. I am in shock, I know. And that is why I reacted that way, neh? But . . . . perhaps Rey is more than s’thaya to me. A painful thought. Again? So soon? And I know nothing about her.

Rey somehow retained and even stowed her spear then, using one hand and sheer force of will, pulled herself up from the ledge. She flexed her knotted muscles, re-brandished the spear – spinning it once or twice – and charged the two sentinels anew!

I remembered to push closed my open mouth. If she could do that, I could shake off my own pain and help her.

I got to my feet, stepped over to one of the fallen bridges, dashed to the end and flew over the gap firing into the back of the left one’s neck, landing gracefully on my feet. _Always trust your feet_, I heard my father’s voice again, and they did not let me down.

Arrow after arrow through their backsides while Rey’s spear – drawing sparks – Egan’s magic and Obi’s fierce beak tore them apart. Their smoking armor at last fell into inanimate heaps at our feet. But would two more appear, and two after that?

We were not ready for that. I had to sit down again, exhausted. Egan was hurt as well.

And then Rey did the most curious thing.

She knelt down in front of me with a look of concentration and gently placed her hands across the bleeding slashes. I felt a tingling. Then her eyes closed and she look a little surprised. I gasped, for blue  lightning began flowing from the back of her neck down her arms straight into me. It was . . . ecstasy. I know much of healing by magic, by acolytes of different gods and goddesses, each imparting its own sensation. For Sehanine, it is a coolness that makes one restless and alert. It is wonderful, and others’ healing touches are wonderful in their ways, but this was different: this was blue fire and opium and lightning and a part of Rey herself and –.

I don’t know what I would have done had Egan not been there.

While I reclaimed my breath she applied her energy to Egan, but the effect on him seemed merely calming, and he looked at peace as when I watched priests of Pelor heal people.

We circled the column of air waiting for additional guardians but none came, so I eagerly stepped in.

What a feeling. The air became: it transformed into a soft caressing thing that propelled me up at a stately pace. It was noisy, its only downfall, but majestic too.

Atop it was easy enough to hop off and look around. Eventually Rey and Egan joined me, and all of us saw essentially the same sarcophagus as presided over the various traps nearer the entrance of the place. It was at end of the tiny, otherwise empty chamber here.

I had little interest in the place and said as much wishing to return to the search of Layla. 

“There is a place we haven’t looked yet,” Rey said.

_Resh_. The weight of the earth above, a tiny trapped elf below. Another test.

“Very well,” I replied. “But before we go further underground, I need some fresh air.”

So I tested the swirling air in the down direction where it worked perfectly. To my disappointment, it would not allow me to ride down past where we entered, perhaps to see its source, but gently ejected me back onto the island.

Apparently Egan and Rey were making a discovery above: the other bas relief there had a stone head carved among them which turned to watch any who drew themselves up the small stairs to the stone- remains-holding-box. This sensibly spooked Rey back to the entrance in the floor – I would likely have done the same – but Egan seems obsessed with forgotten lore and so he remained to hear a clear voice in his head say to him, in Common, “Speak my name”.

Allustan would likely know this bit of information.

Meanwhile I was passing by the ankheg to spend some moments alone outside. I took in Her realm’s sound, its scent, the boundless sky and far horizon. Then I turned my back on it, as She apparently willed to me to do, and journeyed back in.

Stepping into a small metal tube that speared deep into the earth was . . . terrible. There is none worse. My heartbeat, my hot breath, my choked sobs: they all radiated back at me squeezing out the remaining air from the already crowded tube.

It opened at last to blackness, more stone, obstacle, failure.

“No,” I whimpered softly. “No more.”

But I remembered the wildly flying dagger that Miss Mischief sent, Her laugh, Her touch, and _her_ touch. I thought of Egan needing us here, needing me here.

There was work to do.

A giant stone slab blocked the only exit from this room. There was a opening, perhaps enough to allow me through but not anything permitting Egan or Rey. And I would not go alone.

_Of course I will, if Layla be there somehow, but don’t ask this of me. Please._

“What if we enlarge the opening?” I asked.

“With what? We can’t break through that,” Rey stated.

I turned to Egan. “What about your magic?”

Egan shook his head. “Nay, lass: I doona possess power great enough to melt stoon.”

“Maybe not magic then. What if there was something that could –. Oh!”

I human I knew in another life was fond of saying, “It’s a million to one shot, but it just might work!” It was a ridiculous misunderstanding of odds but his enthusiasm made me smile even now. It just might work at that.

We went back out – breathe, recover – and worked together to cart the remains of the ankheg off to the stone. I was able to extract the acid it had used on us and turn it to service against the rock. It worked! The passageway was now wide enough for us to all continue forward.

“After you,” I said to them with a grin and little wink towards the moon somewhere above.


----------



## Alexander Bryant (Jun 28, 2017)

I will not dwell on the architecture we found – this, the living quarters of the vain architect, *Nadrok* – nor on the peculiar black egg atop its odd demon-metal pedestal. For Layla was here, or rather, her body was.

She was suspended above a huge coma-inducing bed made for a being who required terrible magiks merely to slumber, its spell nearly knocking me unconscious – if you are not of fey blood, you cannot know how terrible this is – as I retrieved her emaciated and wasted _corre_. Poor thing, poor brave, curious girl. I don’t believe she suffered though, merely slept to death.

Egan was devastated.

“My poor wee lass. Layla. Oh, this is my fault, my fault,” he cried, and for some time it would be a sort of chant.

We took her solemnly out of the chamber, up to the surface. Egan held her all the way out. There was no home to retreat to, he said, no family left to commiserate with, and so he would bury her nearby. We found a suitable place, a pretty patch of the overgrown old mine to satisfy Egan and his vision of what her grave needed to be.

He and I spoke about her. At first all he could let out was guilt, and when that was spent he allowed me to speak to him. I asked about their lives together and who she really was. What I knew of her had been sparse: daffy and dim she might have been as first presented, it was clear to me that she was also brave, persistent and curious. There was no question I would have liked her very much. Egan dwelled on their arguments at first but also remembered the games they played, their protecting one another, surviving together through almost unrelenting bad times. She had been quietly remarkable just like her brother.

Rey was restless during this time, and so she removed herself and began to make something of the old abandoned mining office clearing away rubble so that Egan could have a place to sleep under a roof. When it seemed he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, I asked if I could take my leave and meditate. I calmed my thoughts, focused on Her, asked if my task is complete.

No, apparently.

Rey was under a tree, the very one I was perched in, or perhaps not. She is skewered with human-made crossbow bolts, her life drained out on the grass, dead eyes ripped at by ravens, blue mouth agape. She is in the hides and tunic she wears now, and other signs meant this to be the near future, or even the present! Now, beneath my tree!

I woke on the ground, ready to scream, ready to find her. Who has done this?

But she was not there. She was cleaning up the yard in front of Egan’s quarters. She was perfectly fine.

Gods and devils, who has taken ahold of my visions?

I needed to tell her despite what I had to say, but when I was finished she merely smiled slightly and said, “We should not let that happen.” No, we should not: what these visions do not show me is me. I will stand between Rey and a thousand arrows. I will stand between young Phreet – or the children of this town if those are who she represented – and the worms.

Egan wanted to solve the mystery of the Cairn now more than ever, to give meaning to his sister’s sacrifice as he was now beginning to think of it. He wanted to speak the name of the general in its tomb. I could not argue, but Rey would accompany him into the that place again without me: I was not prepared for yet another venture there, and now there are worms and crossbows on my mind. I would make certain the lamps were lit to light their way back.

They returned before the sun had passed two handsbreath. Egan had spoken the name of the general, *Zostial*. The sarcophagus opened. Inside were two items: a diadem of metals, and a small hoop attached to a handle. Egan did not have any idea what they were. Needless to say, neither did Rey or I.

We returned to Allustan to sort out what we knew. We told him everything save for finding the artifacts which we presented as drawings we found instead. We will keep these items hidden near our mine office, buried for safety, as we do not know what they are or what the extent of their power is. If they are wildly destructive, we will need to discuss this with powers greater than ours, powers we trust. I can only think of two, perhaps three far-off individuals I have faith in who would be able to help – one of them a golem, actually – but perhaps Egan will have some ideas if he thinks on the matter.

Allustan told us that worshipers of *Theruzdan* wielded the objects we were describing. They were able to partially control the legendary and mysterious Spheres of Annihilation. I had not thought these real, just stories, but they are real and have been used in war. Zostial, this great general for whom the Whispering Cairn was created, was engulfed by one and that was the end of him. Though it does beg the question, why would he have these devices in his own crypt? How would he have them there? Perhaps he was trying to wield the Spheres himself for good or ill and they consumed him?

On a larger scale, what is the connection between Hannah’s family’s odd, ever-blooming lupine, the Cairn housing potentially terrible devices, Layla’s death – and – the green worm, Filge, and the Dourstone mine here in town where the worm came from, and my visions?

I spent the night gathering – there was a cluster of _ni’erreen_, “fennel” in the Common – that we went past as we were taking the Land bones back to their family farm from the observatory. I wanted to investigate, see if there were clusters of them in the area. When I returned, Phreet told me that the albino half-orc and his two, eh, “goons” had been by and left a message.

She shrugged off my storm of questions: “Did they harm you, Phreet? Did they lay a hand on you? Did they threaten you in any way?” I watched her closely and I think she is telling the truth: so she was not to provide me an excuse to put those men down.

Smenk had sent a summons: “The elf, meet Smenk” was all they said to Phreet and they left.

Perhaps we should tell others what we know. There is a garrison on the southwest outskirts of town. They are engaged in patrolling the area but particularly the southern marshes – where the worms are said to originate from – and so they might be interested in our specimen.

We traveled there asking to see someone we could tell our story to, someone interested in Smenk, the green worm, and a possible problem in the mine. We were led by a lieutenant to the captain of the garrison, *Trask*. He was probably not interested in the Whispering Cairn and might regard us as simple thieves if he was, so we only told about the worm and Filch, and Mr. Smenk apparently supporting a band of cultists who live in an unused part of the working mine.

“You just let Filch go?” he asked.

“We had no reason to detain him once he told us everything he knew, gave us the worm and let us take the bones we had come for in the first place,” I replied, a bit annoyed. “I am sure you can find him on the road to somewhere: he doesn’t seem the type to wander off into the brush.”

Captain Trask told us that he was indeed very interested in the worm possibly being here in the mine – some of his own men have come back from the marshlands telling of people infected with it – but that his focus is on a growing presence of hostile lizardmen down there. So we were to be deputized to investigate what was happening. To provide a seal of approval for our party, he asked us to take along a very bored young lady with out-of-control red hair who had been sweeping the grounds in front of a small chapel to Pelor which her father evidently attended to.

When we arrived and asked if she could join, she went wild with joy! I have never seen such a transformation in a human. She disappeared into the back of the chapel behind the worship space and came out in full chain mail and a mace, clearly waiting for this moment for months, perhaps years, perhaps her entire life.

Her name is *Melinde*.

Our party, now of four, went to Smenk’s huge, heavily-guarded mansion. I know its outside very well, not only because it is near our shack but also because I have had to pick Phreet up from there a couple of times as she was caught casing the place. Fortunately for her, in both instances it was the same man, a friendly, laughing soul named *Sperritt*, who had nabbed her. I had also been interested in testing my skills against the place, merely for sport, but had not ever made the attempt to venture inside.

We were expected and, our names presented, escorted inside.

We waited. Egan and I were calm. Melinde looked pleased like she had a wonderful secret inside her. Rey paced.

Rey has all the patience I do – probably more – but inside a human building she was increasingly restless and began quietly cursing as the time moved past.

Finally we were led from the foyer to a pair of large ornamental doors. Like the rest of the place, they were opulent in a decaying sort of way like highwaymen had taken up living in an abandoned palace.

Smenk himself was a sight to behold. I had seen him before, I now realized, many times. He is fat to the edge immobile. Sallow skin. Pale. Death would not merely visit but take some time to feast on him before long.

Behind him were two great chained apes.

I have visited the great human city of Greyhawke but once. It was disorienting, noisy, smelly but also soaring and majestic. It could not hope to ever rival the metropolises of the Fey, but here I felt was some of the best that humans could achieve and so it shone in its own way. It was also a heady mix of races with as many elves here as twice my entire tribe. I saw dwarves, gnomes, a pod of centaur, and many other peoples living together if not in harmony then at least making the best of being thrown together.

I saw other creatures there as well, but they were not free, not roaming. They were caged. They were on display. They were in pain, some of them, and others had the light extinguished from their eyes. There were several of these collections, called menageries, and they made me sad and also angry. I had to free them. Mistress Moonbow commanded it even though I could not hear her – She was still silent – but her teachings were unambiguous. I had to free them.

While I undertook my task – observing their keepers, making a plan to return the animals to the wild somehow, including the many that had come from other far-off lands – I fell in with a group who were planning the same thing. Their leader, Adair, was a passionate man, delightfully in more ways than one. He had a vision but no firm plan. Unlike me, however, he was not patient, and so our little group against my protests impulsively descended on one of the menageries one night. The largest collection, of course. That was Adair.

We were very successful at the freeing-the-prisoners part. We did not know what to do with them once uncaged, however. Our plans to ferry them out of the city to a waiting ferry we had earlier secured unraveled when we were spotted by quite a lot of people returning from a music festival combined with a great silver-backed ape unexpectedly breaking out of its cage and tearing into through the crowds and up the walls towards the royal part of the city. I had . . . I had to kill it. It was mad with rage and would have . . . . I had to kill it.

There is more to this tale, of course, but I will leave it there. I don’t like seeing animals chained for amusement. I would have to see if this Smenk could be persuaded.

He waved us in to the vaguely charnal chamber where he slumped on his tired throne. I stepped forward, unsure of what I would open with, but a widening blood stain on his vest and the shocked look on his face took all my words away. 

Crossbow bolts whipped through the air at all of us hitting Rey and Melinde as well as Smenk. I recognized them from my vision.

“Poison,” muttered Rey, grimacing but refusing to succumb to it. If anyone could simply power through being poisoned as if it was an unpleasant meal, it was Rey. Melinde uttered a ululating war cry, and with the joy of a happy mother looking for her giggling, hiding children, began prowling, thwapping her shield with her mace. Egan and I simply dove for cover.

Who was attacking Smenk? He had said in the letter to Filge that he was losing control of the mine situation. Was it the cultists down there? An old enemy? Was he caught in an assassination attempt directed at one or all of us?

Egan and I did not intend to die without answers.
Rey did not intend to die at all, I knew.
And Melinde . . . .

This was the happiest day of Melinde’s life.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jul 19, 2017)

*Journal of Egan: Entry I*

To be familiar with birds is to be familiar with deception, and these birdmen creatures, called Kenku, are no different.  A volley crossbow bolts from the shadows rendered Smenk unconscious, and a second volley took down Rey but not before she could weaken one of the beasts enough for me to put it down with a blast of Infernal magic.  A crossbow bolt affected Melinde, but she was able to shake off the poison with some divine power, and one took me in the shoulder, leaving me somewhat disoriented as well.  The poison makes your muscles burn and head spin, like a few pints of bad cider.  

Melinde truly enjoyed the bit of battle.  She gravely wounded one of the creatures with her longsword, and it surrendered.  Since my aim was a bit distraught by the poison, I decided to stumble over to the side of the roof and expel the intruders from that side with a gout of flame from my _burning hands_ spell.  Unfortunately, though I badly burned the birdmen, I also ignited the shingle roof.  Now, I think the burning Kenku really ignited the roof, but I did hit the eaves.  I chose the former story for when the constable showed up.  

Just as if to call a Devil, the constable showed up.  As the roof burned, I tried to encourage some locals to help and put out the flame, but none would heed my call.  Etona managed to talk some sense into them and a water line began to form.  Etona also talked the constable into leading the fire line and leaving us alone.  

A short moment later, Smenk began to awake from the magical sleep, but Etona and Rey had been hard at work while he snoozed, as had I.  I managed to get the kenku prisoner to tell me that his master was the Faceless One, and that they came to send Smenk a message, likely for some trespass from Smenk against them.  Rey liberated Smenk’s two silverback gorillas, and they began to follower her away from the scene.  Etona busied herself with escorting servants out of the house.  I stayed only long enough to be sure the constable was occupied and to be sure Smenk was breathing a living breath.  

The mine owner stared at his home, stunned. The flames chewed at the rooftop and seemed to delight in the course of their aged wooden meal. The home was historically not Smenk’s. He purchased it just before I left for Greyhawk two years ago, after my sister went missing. It was a conquest over another mine owner in town. I can’t recall the details, but Smenk lusted after the other mine owner’s wife, and the fellow turned up dead one night under mysterious circumstances. No one could ever pin it on Smenk’s goons, but there were rumors. Shortly thereafter Smenk bought out their mansion, and the widow moved into a smaller place. As far as I know, he still pursues her to this day, but she has never returned the affection. I suppose the mansion represents the only part of her that he could take with his money and power. Clearly the flames burned more than the man’s shingles. When he spoke, he had only vengeance in his eyes. “I have a job for you: 500 crowns for the cult leader.”

I took note and said I would have to discuss with the ladies.  Etona did manage a bit of courtesy on Smenk, trying to extract the crossbow bolt, but I only heard his yelp in pain as I strode away.  Clearly the kenku prisoner was our priority now.  Melinde had snarled at some of the local deputies when they suggested that she hand over the birdman, and they backed down.  She was already twenty paces beyond the gate when I caught up to her.  With a few arcane words, I send a magical message to Etona and Rey, telling them to meet us at the Garrison with the prisoner.

The evening was beginning to accrue its smoky haze as the fireplaces filled the low area in the square between Smenk’s home and the Garrison on the hill.  I could hear the shouts from the water line and smell the acrid scent of burnt plaster mixed with the wood stoves.  The quiet rustle of large bird feathers seemed unreal in contrast to Mel’s chain shirt, squeaking at times.  

A short distance to the Garrison gate, Rey returned with the apes following.  She seemed to be communicating with them in some guttural pantomime.  I honestly would have fled if they had not been peaceful.  We convened for a moment outside the garrison, drawing the usual sidelong glances from the guards, but Etona was quick to return.  Mel led the kenku to a holding cell while she had a guard fetch Captain Trask and Valkus Dun.

A moment later we were all standing around the small cell asking the Kenku questions.  Etona was the most curious as usual.  I can’t read people well, so reading a birdman was somewhat pointless.  He seemed to be telling the truth, but I don’t trust birds.  

Etona started with an introduction of sorts, but the Kenku cut her short.

He stated calmly, “We know who you are. You are Etona, and you live in a shack with another human named Phreet. You associate with two other people: a human named Egan and an elf named Rey.” He went on to describe our activities, “You have interacted with Smenk’s organization many times, but seem to disrupt it.” He seemed unfazed by the details, “We were concerned that you might be forming an alliance with Smenk, which is why we attacked when we did, to send Smenk a message and dissuade your group.”

Etona replied, equally unfazed by the details, “What did Smenk do?”

A quick response, “He did not deliver what was promised.” The group shared knowing looks as if to suggest that such behavior was typical of Smenk. That story seemed quite likely.

Etona continued, “How do you get into the Dourstone mine and would you take us there?”

The birdman’s voice was level, “We have a secret way to enter, and I will take you there.”

Etona was quick, “And will you allow us to leave?”

Another bland reply from the Kenku, “You will be allowed to leave in peace.” The finality of the statement did not invoke confidence from me, but again, I don’t trust birds. The ease with which the prisoner shared information makes me nervous. For someone who belongs to a cult of secrecy, I did not expect such answers. Of course, they could all be lies. If they are not, however, he must have supreme confidence in his leader.

Etona continued her questioning, “What is in Dourstone’s mine?”

The throaty voice responded, “A powerful place of worship.”

Another question from the elf, “What are you doing with the worm creatures there? Smenk had said he encountered one that was in the mine.”

The birdman seemed ready for any question, “We are experimenting.”

Etona perked up, “Experiments on whom?”

The black raven eyes did not blink, “On volunteers to see the power of the worms.”

Undeterred, Etona pushed further, “What have you found?”

The raven man shrugged, “They are powerful.” This statement was followed 
by a pause.

I wanted a few questions as well, so I took the opportunity, “How many followers are in the 
mines?”

Without moving his fixed gaze, the Kenku spoke, “A great many.”

And so went the conversation for a few minutes more, a question and a deadpan response. It seemed we had the information that we needed. After Etona’s curiosity waned, we left the bird in his cage.

He confirmed that he belonged to a cult of Vecna that was in Dourstone’s mine, doing experiments with the mysterious undead worm and worshipping Vecna in vague ways. A powerful priest of Vecna, The Faceless One, runs the operation, and he ordered the attack on Smenk in retaliation for Smenk’s double-cross. The kenku offered to take us to the hidden cult sanctuary in the mine to speak with The Faceless One. However, he wouldn’t elaborate, saying that we would be allowed to ‘leave in peace.’ Whether that meant eternal peace or peacefully was left unclear. It did implicate Smenk as being part of the conspiracy to hire Filge, but no one wanted to push that point.

Without wasting any time, we convened with Captain Trask. The veteran soldier agreed that the reports from Blackwall Keep were most likely to give leads on this worm creature.  Since there did not appear to be a reason to believe that the worm or the cult were actively threatening the town or garrison, the party decided to plan for a trip to the remote outpost.  The captain offered to send some men, provide horses and give us a writ of authority to enter.  We agreed to meet back at the Garrison the next day to head out.

In the meantime, Etona and Rey had plans for the silverback apes that were liberated from Smenk’s house.  There were few options.  Back at the Emporium, Zalamandra had a menagerie of animals already and means to support them at the Emporium, so we decided to talk to her.  The apes apparently were not trained to be in the wild and needed shelter and food to survive, but they could not stay in town or Smenk would find them.

After the usual introductions at the door to the busy Emporium, we arranged a meeting with Zalamandra.  An upstairs meeting room afforded the group a brief discussion with Lady Z.  She explained the options: keeping the apes hidden in the emporium, smuggling them to the jungles far south via caravan to a reputable animal handler, or sending them to the Twilight Monastery for the monks to care for until Rey could devote some time to their care. 

After weighing the options, and expenses, the group agreed to an offer of an open favor to Lady Z to smuggle the apes to the Twilight Monastery.  The plan would require Rey to eventually train them to return to the wild.  Somehow, I have a feeling that our favor will likely be an costly one.  However, we all agreed.  What few treasures we possessed were hidden in the dry well by the abandoned mine office, near the Whispering Cairn, and we had no idea their value nor had we discussed their use for purposes such as gorilla transport.

As we left the Emporium and paid our tab for the pricey red wine that made Etona giggle at Rey burp, we decided to gather some gear before the hour became late.  Shortly thereafter we regrouped at the Etona abode.  Phreet was there, still thinking of sneaky ways to get ahead in life.  Etona demurred and made her usual reassurances to Phreet about a better, less-risky path.  Rey and Egan set about the shack to get some sleep, introspectively lost in their own thoughts, or perhaps digesting the day’s events.  We tried to rest beneath the hazy sky, enjoying the hint of acrid house fire on the night air.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Jul 25, 2017)

*Chapter 9 (“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” Sun Tzu)*

The intrepid band of heroes awoke the next day, convening at the Garrison to meet their escorts and absorb Captain Trask’s inspirational words.

“You better bring those horses back.”

Etona reassured the veteran that all seven of the steeds he provided would be returned exactly as they had been received. The elf took a few scrolls of correspondence for the Commander of Blackwall Keep, a man by the name of Gideon. In addition to these letters, Captain Trask provided the group with the authority to enter the bastion on his orders and any logistical support necessary to aid their investigation of the green worms. The group’s official escorts: Davin, Randall, and Malak all seemed enthusiastic about leaving Diamond Lake, but were all weary of Rey’s Owlbear. It took both Etona and Egan to convince them that the creature would not eat them during their ride South.

The journey was anticipated to take about 2 days. All three men suggested that the group bed down for the night at Byron’s farm, merely a day’s ride from Diamond Lake. He seemed to be a friend of the Garrison, allowing soldiers to stay with him on their journey too and from Blackwall Keep. It didn’t hurt that he cultivated orange and lemon trees, a rare and expensive commodity in the region.
---------------------------------------------------
The sun began to fall from its zenith in the sky above and a light breeze rustled through the grass. The group spent its time trading stories about Diamond Lake to pass the time. Right before dusk, Randall gestured and the party veered from the main trail towards a large citrus orchard. The path to the farm took them through the orchard itself and something immediately caught Etona’s eyes. Just at the edge of the orchard, a few trees and the trail itself seemed to be coated with white powder. Strange, as summer was rapidly coming to a close and fall not far behind. Mel called a stop to the column, while Etona and Rey began to investigate.

“Something has damaged the road and destroyed one of the orange trees,” Rey said.

Indeed a small rend had scarred the path to the farm and ended in a tree that looked as it it had been struck with a hill giant’s boulder. 

“I wonder why there is ash in this part of the orchard with no fire,” Etona asked quizzically.

“That’s because it is not ash...it’s bone,” Rey responded gravely.

“I’m also picking up quite a bit of necromantic radiation in this area,” Egan stated. “There must be a wizard like Filge nearby.”

“Weapons at the ready,” Mel shouted as she drew her sword.

“Oh my God,” Devin said. “What about Byron and his family?”

“All of you stay at the edge of the clearing with the horses,” Etona commanded. “Rey and I will survey the farm and report back here.”

Both women knew that something was wrong right away. All the windows on the ground floor were boarded up and no light was coming from within the house. Etona did not see any blockade from the second-story windows, so both women scaled the side of the house and snuck in from above. The sounds of hushed voices filled the stairwell, coming from the floor below. Etona removed her cloak and called down with her hands raised.

“My name is Etona and I am an emissary from the Garrison in Diamond Lake.”

The sounds of children screaming filled the silence, followed by the desperate sounds of an older man attempting to silence them. Etona realized it was what must be Byron’s family: his father, his wife, and two daughters.

“Shhhhh. You mustn’t cry,” Byron’s father pleaded in a whisper.

From her vantage point on the second story, Rey saw Melinde begin to move towards the house with Egan.

“Do you require assistance,” the knight shouted across the clearing.

It was then that the howls began to split the night air. The older man turned his gaze towards Etona, the hope draining from his eyes.

“You fools, they followed you here.”
-----------------------------------
Outside Byron’s home, Melinde had already begun forming the group for the oncoming attack.

“Devin, Malak, Randall give me a perimeter around the horses! Set those torches there and there! Ready your crossbows and take aim!”

“They are here,” Egan screamed as he pointed his finger at the darkness and unleashed a ray of fire. The light from his magic illuminated a group of half a dozen humanoid creatures with grey skin and hands that ended in claws. Mel moved to intercept, holding her sword aloft and calling down the power of Heironeous. Bright light pierced the veil of night and three of the creatures exploded.

Prodded on by Mel’s selfless act of heroism, Rey lept from the safety of the house and intercepted the remainder of the undead raiders with Obi. The scout’s spear found purchase in one of the ghoul’s head, while the owlbear tore another in pieces with its claws. Etona dispatched the final enemy, but not before it killed Ollan. Byron’s father had put himself between the ghoul and his family after it had broken through the front door. He bought the elf enough time to destroy the abomination.

The pitiful whimpering of the small children after the battle was heart-wrenching for even the most detached individual. Etona gathered up the family and took them upstairs, allowing Egan and the rest of the group to move all the slain ghouls and the body of Ollan outside for cremation.

“What happened here,” the elven woman asked softly.

Byron’s wife, Allisa, stifled her emotions as best she could but was not able to prevent her voice from cracking as she replied. “Byron got sick a week ago trying to remove a rotten tree from our orchard. We were never sure what it was or what caused it, but he was stricken with fever and was muttering nonsense in his sleep. One night, I went to check on him and he was gone. It was shortly thereafter that we began to hear the howling at night. My father and I boarded up all the windows and we haven’t left the house at night in days.”

Etona held Allisa as she sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder, trying her best to thank everyone for saving her family’s life.

“You are coming with us tomorrow. Sleep now with your children, we will watch over you,” Etona promised.

Allisa did not protest.
---------------------------------------------------------
The next morning was not the joyous start the party had hoped for. Rey was sure that in addition to Devin, Etona had also been crying last night but did not broach the issue. The road south proved to be as uncomfortable physically as the previous night’s events were emotionally. Between the heat and insects, everyone was eager to get to cool shelter. But it appeared that this would not be possible. Echoing across the foothills were the sounds of battle and in the distance everyone stared dumbfounded at the scene before them. Blackwall Keep was under siege from an army of lizardmen. Nearly a dozen fanatic warriors were ramming a log into the gate like a battering ram, while others climbed the very walls of the keep itself. Etona wondered why these creatures were not filled with arrows, when it struck her. The tower was wrapped in a strange fog.

The party took in the scene for only a moment before acting. Malak suggested that Devin take the horses and Byron’s family back to Diamond Lake. He could also alert Captain Trask to what was transpiring and get reinforcements. Melinde, Egan, Randall, and Malak would make a frontal assault on the lizardmen trying to break down the gate, while Etona and Rey would circle around to eliminate the lizardman shaman who was responsible for summoning the unnatural mist obscuring the keep itself. Things did not go as exactly as planned. Etona and Rey did manage to assassinate the lizardfolk shaman, but Mel’s company quickly became surrounded. Malak perished in the desperate melee that followed, but not before heroically sacrificing himself to get Mel to safety. Eventually the defenders turned the tide and forced a retreat from the remaining lizardfolk back into the marshes, but at great cost. From a fighting force of over forty soldiers, 25 men lay dead and 11 critically injured from the battle. The party spent the rest of the day helping tend to wounded soldiers and burying the dead properly. The commander had apparently died that morning, preventing the first lizardman raid from entry into the keep. Unfortunately, they had managed to capture 4 soldiers during the fighting and cause serious damage to the main gate. Of the nine able-fighters remaining, a young man named Horace was placed in charge. It was obvious that this level of responsibility made him uncomfortable. He was; however, committed to regaining his lost men at any cost.

“We will go,” Rey stated. 

“It should probably be just me and Rey as we can cover ground more quickly. They do have a lengthy lead on us,” Etona added.

Everyone agreed, that while dangerous, the two women would trail the lizardmen raiders back to their home and then report back to the Keep once they had a location. A more substantial force could then be brought to bear for the rescue mission.

Rey had little trouble tracking the band of lizardmen through the swamp, even in the moonlight. The work was slow-going and the terrain was treacherous. The swamp was alive, no corner quiet or safe from its inhabitants. Rey avoided the worst of it, but the group was struck during a short nap in a mangrove tree by a giant python. It nearly squeezed Etona to death while Rey slept no more than a few paces away. Once awake, Rey did manage to drive it off with Obi but Etona had trouble breathing for the rest of the evening.

It was shortly after the near death experience, that Rey spotted four lizardmen observing their brush with Death.  One was old and bent, the other three seemed to be warriors. The eldar seemed to be holding the others back.  Rey quickly deduced that the group was in no shape for another fight. Calling over in Draconic, the scout did something she had not done in a long time...tried to talk her way out of a problem.

“We do not wish to fight. We are looking for our friends.”  

“We too wish for peace,” the elder lizardman responded. “I am called Hishka. You speak the language of Dragons. May we converse in the Old Way?”

Rey introduced herself and the two sat down facing each other, not more than arm’s length apart. A show of trust. 

“The humans you seek were taken to the Twisted Branch. Our Chief Shukak intends on sacrificing them.”

“Why do you tell me this,” Rey pressed.

“Patience youngling,” Hishka responded. “You must know what was, before you may know what to do.”

Rey nodded, a bit embarrassed and allowed Hishka to continue.

“Many moons ago our Clutch was ravaged by worms. These green worms killed our children and wiped out an entire generation of our people. In this time of desperation we were visited by a great dragon named Ithane. She knew a much about the worms and told us that sorcerers from the city of Greyhawk were responsible.” Hishka shook his head. 

“This made our people angry. Ithane told us she could protect our new Clutch and even offered to leave one of her own eggs as a sign of trust. Nushuk, my friend and the old Chief, did his best to keep the people from attacking the humans...until Shukak came. He was a great warrior from the Greyhawk arena. He wanted us to fight a war with the humans, but Nushuk did not agree. So he killed him and took his place. Because I was his friend, he stopped me from entering the Egg Chamber. Now I fear our people are lost.” 

“A few days ago, one of the humans from your castle was able to sneak into the Egg Chamber. Ithane told us that he destroyed some of the eggs and stole treasure that belonged to our tribe. Shukak swore revenge and used my people’s anger to begin a war with the humans. It is the reason he attacked your castle and stole your people.” Hishka paused again to gather his thoughts.

“I do not want war. I have lived long enough to see what comes of it. I want my people to live in peace.”

“What can I do,” Rey asked.

“You are a Speaker. If I take you to the Twisted Branch, you may challenge Shukak. We can stop more death of both human and dragonborn. You can then make peace for us.” Rising to his feet, Hishka placed a hand on Rey’s shoulder.

“I will delay the sacrifice of your people as long as I can, but you must hurry. Go now, Rey. You are our only hope.”


----------



## Alexander Bryant (Aug 4, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Six*

_They do not know.
They do not know.
_
It is why I will not kill them. There are other, better reasons, of course, and I am just grumpy right now, but to render an elf unconscious is simple cruelty. Part of their message, perhaps.

This is another test. I am so angry I am shaking, but I look around me and there is more misery than what has been visited on me. I am not special, I keep reminding myself. Not a test then, if I am not special. She is gone, remember?

The Ambush
The ambush was a flurry of sleep-poison-tipped darts from small crossbows wielded by the _kenku_, a race of raven-men. We had been seeing ravens for days. He is Trickster but also Helper to our people, the Bright’s Raven King: chaotic, impulsive, but ultimately defender of the people of the Fey, so he is friend to the Children of the Mirror. I must find out what these raven people want and whether they can be persuaded to recognize our old bonds. If only Verdre was here! She knows of the Old Bonds more than I.

Rey and I brought two down before I was felled by a dart. When I awoke, Egan had chased others off with fire and Melinde had one of them in chains. I must keep my heart hardened for now, so I am calling him *Sqawk*. He must explain his people’s actions.

But first there was a growing blaze to put out. One of the sheriff's lackeys, I don’t recall this one’s name, appeared as we formed a line of townspeople to put out the fire and I dragged people from inside to safety. He wanted to arrest us or something? I couldn’t hear past his supercilious attitude and so I pressed him into service instead. While he made himself marginally less useless directing an already well-formed water brigade, I took two of his boys – for that is all they are – with me to rescue the people I could not get to, up in the second floor. They were actually helpful and received my heartfelt thanks.

Smenk was injured but not seriously: his depths of fat served as adequate shield. But he was beside himself watching his home smolder. He offered Egan 500 gold on the spot to bring the leader of the Dourstone mine’s cult to him alive.

We took Sqawk to the garrison. There we questioned him. He was clad in leather. The crossbow, a small sword and a necklace of Vecna (deity of shadows and secrecy like my own, though Vecna, at least, seemed consistent towards his followers) were his only possessions. Egan says the amulet is magical, though we were unable to ascertain what it did.

Sqawk told us the attack was a warning to Smenk from the Faceless One: they do not care to be sold the rotten meat and broken goods he has apparently bartered. Though believable, the story does not ring complete to me: a squad to brazenly attack a local criminal lord because they did not care for the products sold them? Perhaps, but this cult is shrouded in secrecy and work to keep it that way (what sort of people live in a mine who aren’t interested in mining, after all?). An attack with sleep darts only creates attention, not subverts it. Anyway, they thought we were in league with Smenk and so folded us in to their ambush.

When asked about the green worms, Sqawk readily admitted to his fellow mine-dwellers “experimenting” with them. The worm changes people, imbues them with power. The test subjects are volunteers. They are just knowledge gatherers.

“Can we see your area of the mine? Can we question the volunteers? Will you guarantee safe passage in and then back out of the mine?”

All of these questions were answered with a Yes. He seemed to me to be telling the truth.


I should mention that while this was happening, Rey had freed Smenk’s great apes and was calming them, seeing to their wounds as much as possible, and feeding them just outside the garrison. We would need to do something with them now that we have liberated them. Perhaps the Emporeum could help? I will come back to this.


A Short Trip South
Before diving into a potentially hostile mine owned by a separately hostile mine owner, we wanted to see the worms “in action” for ourselves. We decided to go to their source, south, somewhere in the swamps. So we secured horses and three men from Captain Trask: we would ferry down some reports and other paperwork and bring back information. And the horses. Especially the horses, said the captain.

Davin, Randall and the elder soldier Malak were Trask’s choice to accompany us. I met with them and introduced us and our mission. The younger men in particular were wide-eyed at meeting elves. As we would journey south, I would gently correct their odd ideas of how we elves lived, ate, recreated, and worshiped. It seemed inconceivable to me that they would have literally every idea wrong, but it did make for amusing conversation. And oh how annoyed Rey got! I can see me teasing her with their notions for weeks. I can hardly wait.

We made ready to leave the next day, but first, the visit to the Emporeum.

We were able to speak to Zalomandra, one of its owners. She was cordial in offering us, and then charging us! for expensive tea. Sadly, it was astonishingly good, so I cannot bear her a grudge from this ungracious maneuver. She will take the apes, keep them safe and healthy and relatively free while she opened pathways to secure their release in their own lands. They would need to be trained to survive as well. Rey could see to that when we returned, and Zalomandra would aid in this as well. All for a price.

“What do you want? We have little money,” I said.

“A favor, to be named in the future.”

“Intriguing. Will it be fun?”

She smiled. “I promise.”

“So long as it does not harm any who do not deserve it. So long as it does not run counter to my Mistress’s commands.”

“Of course not.”

“Then I am actually looking forward to it,” I said with a smile.


We set out. Our journey was to include a single overnight stay, but this had been secured, or at least promised, by lodging at *Byron’s farm*, a family farm of citrus fruits. He is very popular with the garrison, often lending his stables to them as they pass through and giving them small gifts of oranges and lemons. I have not had an orange in about a year, so I looked forward to it as much as then men did.

During the ride down there, I struck up conversations with all three men. Malak was the most interesting with many war tales and other stories of his thieving ways before he was drafted into the local forces (it was that or go to prison). Now he is respected, a man of character with enough tales to while away the hours. He was also very interested in my own stories. I suppose they are dramatic, though I didn’t know if he believed all of it. Whenever I tell of myself, I am struck by how much has happened to me in the past two years. And here I am on another adventure. I suppose being idle is not in my nature. Except for Father, it is a shared Aspianne trait.

Egan laughed and joked with the men, completely at home with them despite his bookish background. He is a chameleon among humans, always saying the right thing to get a laugh or at least a listen.

Rey was stolid and quiet as usual, but I know I caught her listening to us more than once. I grinned at her and was rewarded with the rare sighting of a warm smile back. I think she was actually allowing herself to be happy at certain moments. I want her to be: there is a such a weight on her most of the time, it must be exhausting. But I think I am slowly breaking through. I see my s’theya in there, but like a sculptor I must clear away all the marble first.

The Farm
As we approached the farm, we began to see orchard trees, but everything was covered in a gritty white ash. One of the trees, too, had been split up the middle and it and the ground around it were black. Egan confirmed there was a necrotic energy lingering, and whatever caused it was unsubtle, very powerful. 

The ash was bone, Rey said.

We all had the same thought at the same time: we needed to get to the farm!

The house was boarded up. Rey and I stalked up to it. She spotted tracks of boots but also misshapen feet in the dirt outside the home. Stealthily we climbed to the roof. It was an easy effort to open the windows and slip in. The second floor was quiet, but I had the impression of hushed voices below. After a moment, it was clear these were the family and that they seemed to be all right, if scared.

“My name is Etona. I am with the garrison. We are here to help –.”

“Shhhh!” two voices commanded me urgently from down the stairs. “They will hear you.” 

Chastened, I padded down the stairs. It was the family, I saw with relief: mother, young daughters, a terribly-aged father – no, that would be the grandfather. 

“I am Etona from the garrison,” I repeated in a whisper. “What can I do to help?” We had come to help ourselves, but those were not the words this terrified band needed.

I am not certain what prompted Melinde to break the silence of the twilight just then. She strode to the house yelling, “We are from the garrison! Let us help!” or something like that, possibly banging pots and pans as she went.

Howls broke out all around: terrible, longing songs of hunger and despair. I have heard such before. The undead were upon us.

I heard them come out and attack our bande. I heard them surround the house and a moment later start pounding on its makeshift battlements. I darted upstairs and saw them from a window. Rey was nowhere to be seen: she must have climbed down. Yes, I think I’d heard that as well, which meant she was in terrible danger. Or, as I hoped, they were. I eventually spotted her and Obi tearing through them.

In the distance, Malak, Davin and Randall had set a perimeter with torches around the horses, waiting with crossbows out and swords at the ready. Egan, Rey and Melinde were all together now to face the horror of what was coming out of the woods: ghouls. Creatures of cunning in endless pain. They would have to be put down, all of them, right now.

Fire sprayed from Egan’s hands lighting up the scene; Rey slashed, parried, stabbed; Obi gnashed her beak and mauled. I fired arrow after arrow. But it was Melinde who quite probably won this fight before it even really started.

All priests of life can channel their respective deities to lay waste to unlife. Melinde is not a priest: she is one of those noisy human fanatical warriors who burn with passion and holy fire. She is a _paladin_. I did not understand this before. Part of my mind must have simply blocked out the clues she has been giving me all along. Not that Melinde concealed her nature, far from it. I was simply blind to what she is.

I am not fond of paladins. They do not exist among elves, as far as I know, certainly none have ever blazed their way through our tribe. They are violent people of moral certainty and absolute adherence to law. Their worlds are black and white. Their utterances, commands. They are dictators of divine will wrapped in steel.

So with an oath that probably woke Captain Trask, Melinde gestured with her sword and the ghouls in front of her . . . burned away.

I could do this once. Or rather, we could do it: Sehanine and I. But the Children of the Mirror no longer have a channel to make ashes of the twisted. How long would that last? Would another be born one day to take my place?

The creatures broke through the front door to the family below! I hurried down in time to see the grandfather cut down by one of the slavering things. I leaped between the nightmares and the trio of mother and daughters, my inadequate hunting knife drawn. I motioned them upstairs, told them to lock themselves in, and I would follow in a moment. If they saw one of these monsters instead then I was already dead and they needed to get out of a window.

It is not natural for a predator to defend the helpless. We eat the helpless. That is the way of things. Why, then, does my Once Upon A Time Mistress command all of our tribe to protect the weak as She always has to the earliest of our stories? I look on these three strangers as they run up the stairs, and I will defend them as if they were my own daughters, I know. I may die here in the next few moments. And it is absolutely right to do this, as right as drinking pure water or breathing. But why?

I sliced up the first ghoul in front of me, the one that was starting to eat the grandfather’s still-quivering form, and retreated up the stairs after the girls. I waited – Angivre drawn – for the others that had followed it in, but Egan came into the house then and burned them down before they could start towards me.

We won. We killed all of them and their apparent leader, as far as we knew. But those girls could not stay here, not anymore. They would all need to come with us to the keep down south. Like the apes, Fate had cast them adrift.

The tale they told was heartbreaking. 

“Byron got sick a week ago trying to remove a rotten tree from our orchard. We were never sure what it was or what caused it, but he was stricken with fever and was muttering nonsense in his sleep. One night, I went to check on him and he was gone. It was shortly thereafter that we began to hear the howling at night. My father and I boarded up all the windows and we haven’t left the house at night in days.”

After I spent time with them calming them, hopefully befriending them, soothing them to sleep, I searched the ashes of the burned corpses. Byron’s ring was there. He had attacked his own family.

Where had this come from, this little evil drama? Why here? A passing necromancer cruelly amusing himself? Miasma finally boiling forth from below? Ebon lightning? What?

Since I had taken the night shift, of course, I went back to the center of the black magic searching for answers. It was habit, I suppose, that saw me performing the cleaning ritual as I had when I was the Mirror’s priestess. I chanted the words, held Angivre aloft, spoke from my heart for Her cleansing touch, expecting nothing.

The necrotic tentacles that were burned into the earth shivered, and then they faded, shrank. They left the earth and rolled up into a black ball. As I watched, transfixed, white sparks the color of Her face coalesced on its surface. It grew smaller changing to purple and angry red and other spectral colors I had never seen before.
There was a beat . . . 
And then it was torn apart by jagged moonbeams! It sizzled, screeched like mice dying, becoming smaller, fainter, until ultimately it was snuffed out like an ugly candle thrown into the sea.

Gone.

Everywhere I looked, completely gone.

The tree, the ground around it, all was cleansed.

How bright the moon was, Her full face smiling down!

“Mistress,” I whispered from my knees. “Mi’iya Sehanin’e os’thrar ae’silva, ae’glimm i‘merea.” _My ecstatic soul blazes because You have shone down upon me_.


It is an old phrase, formal, little used for centuries. The words hearken to a simpler time when we worshiped Her as human fanatics worship their gods. A passionate, intimate form of the phrase is still in use today but only during _dorse feu_. My heart almost chose that one.

Angivre murmured something causing me to look over to her. Opalescent lights swirled just under her skin, weak but reminiscent of how she glowed before. I brought her into my arms, cradled her. I had removed the string before the ceremony, so in a fit of hope I drew the non-existent one back.

And the Silver came.

She is groggy, her luster weak, but Angivre grants me the Silver for the first time since she did not, four seasons ago. The radiant moonbeam that should also form does not come, however: she keeps that inside, or maybe She does. Or even perhaps as My Mistress Herself said to me once – the Silver has not yet returned within me. That long time ago, a child under all that water, She had told me that I would one day not need the bow to cast the arrow. I had pondered this ever since. How does one launch an arrow without a bow?

I cried most of the night. I do not remember _not _crying. I wept like a human girl. Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow for my crime against the Fey. Tears of despair that this was my fate: to be manipulated by this cruel goddess and then weep on Her first smile. But She is mine again, as much as this piteous thing, this tiny, stupid elf who loves and loves and is endlessly slapped down from it can claim a goddess.

And I am hers.

In the morning, only Rey notices any evidence of my transformation. She also sees something in Angivre, subtle new colors, she would tell me later. She arched a hawk-like eyebrow, and I ran to her wrapping my arms tight around her. It was like embracing a sympathetic but petrified tree.

“Rey, I am not hugging you,” I cried looking up at her confused, alarmed face. “You are hugging me.”

And she did, finally. Poor Rey. Her defenses are so mighty, she thinks not even love can penetrate them.

Except that I am the ocean and her ramparts are mere stone.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Aug 6, 2017)

*Chapter 10 (“The corruption of the best things gives rise to the worst.” -David Hume)*

The way back was as grueling as the path into the Mistmarch. Had it not been for Rey’s idea to mark the path they had taken to meet Hishka, Etona was sure they could have made it back to the Keep much faster. The elf was not used to constant attack of insects, nor the murky paths of the swamp.

The sight of both women returning to Blackwall seemed to lift the spirit of the men. For the first time in a long time, those that braved the Mistmarch, returned to tell of it. Egan, Mel, and Horace were all eager to hear about what had transpired, but Rey could barely keep her eyes open. She was given a cot in the barracks and promptly fell unconscious. Etona stayed awake for a bit longer to give everyone the news of their meeting with Hishka and its implications. 

For Horace, the events over the past few days were a bit overwhelming: two vicious lizardman raids had nearly killed most of his companions, the Keep was saved by a band of adventurers from Diamond Lake (one of whom befriended an owlbear), the rumors of the green worms were real, and now the lizardman conflict was more complicated than he was led to believe. It was much to process even for a seasoned warrior. The tipping point; he believed, came when a stray dog in the courtyard transformed itself into a beautiful elven warrior. There weren’t enough men on duty to even mount a proper counter-offensive even if he wanted them to. But in the state everyone was in, all they could do is stare dumbfoundedly as this person embraced their newest elven guest: Etona. It seemed as if the two elves were related, but Horace wasn’t really sure what the relationship was. Her name was Verdre. 

Shortly after the elven family reunion Royce stumbled back to the Keep, grievously wounded and barely clinging to life. For Horace, this was a blessing because it was simultaneously good news and something he could act on. Mel aided Etona in addressing some of the damage he had sustained, but it was clear he was sick with what was probably Scarlet Fever. It was a common ailment in the Mistmarch for humans unused to the climate, bit odd for a scout that had lived here for many years. No one thought it that unusual and allowed the man to rest after his ranting and ravings.

“We must call for aid,” Royce implored. “There is a black dragon in the swamp not more than a few days from the Keep! It is in league with the lizardmen.”

Everyone reassured him that they knew of the danger and had already sent word to the Garrison. This seemed to satisfy whatever had kept the man standing after his encounters in the swamp as he too fell unconscious shortly after the delivery of that information.

The party soon followed suit after checking in with the injured.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Etona woke to the sound of screaming. Bleary-eyed, she watched Verdre draw her weapons and rush towards danger. Horace had given the party a larger room in the basement of the Keep they used for dignitaries. The hallways were narrow and the air dank, reviving Etona’s claustrophobia. She rounded a hallway and found herself in the messhall. Verdre was locked in combat with Royce, only it wasn’t the man she remembered from earlier. His motions were awkward and jerky as if he was a marionette on strings and not the scout Horace had told her about. Her mother had summoned Sehanine’s blessing in the form of a column of shimmering moonlight. It bathed Royce, causing his skin to bubble and hiss. As his skin melted away, Etona saw the writhing mass of green worms beneath the surface.

The hallways were built to be narrow in the event defenders had to fight a larger force that breached its gate. Unfortunately, Verdre had positioned herself in such a way to block Etona’s shot and the stairwell that led up to the courtyard. She heard Mel’s voice from above.

“Draw it up here, where we can surround it!”

Verdre, gritted her teeth as another attack was deflected by her blade. _What does she think I am doing?
_
Etona moved around to flank the creature and loosed an arrow. Her aim was true and the arrowhead punctured Royce’s neck, providing another orifice through which more worms could spew from. The creature seemed unperturbed by the projectile jutting out of it, so Etona switched tactics. She circled closer to her enemy and used her enchanted bowstring like a garrotte. It had the intended effect as contact with Sehanine’s blessing melted through Royce’s skin like a hot knife through butter. Green worms ignited as they touched the weapon and Etona nearly ended up decapitating the creature altogether before it escaped her assault to pursue Verdre into the courtyard. That proved to be a costly mistake. Egan was waiting at the top of the staircase and unleashed the Nine Hells upon it. Fire exploded from his hands, sending a ray of scorching fire which reduced what was once Royce into ash. The attack was so powerful that the very walls around the creature glowed red with heat.

While some of the party surveilled the area for further danger, Etona noticed Verdre cutting her arm with a dagger. 

“What are you doing,” Etona cried out with alarm.

“One of the worms landed on me and has begun to burrow under my skin,” she replied calmly. “I am trying to dig it out.” A flick of her wrist sent the parasite sailing into the air. Egan excitedly scooped up the worm in a glass jar, sealing it with wax and etching “Do Not Drink” on the side.

The remainder of the evening was spent decontaminating the Keep of any object touched by the worms by hurling them into a bonfire outside the walls. Everyone, except for Rey, slept uneasily that night.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The party awoke at first light the next morning and began to make their way into the swamp. Much to Mel’s surprise, the lizardman kept his word and met them in the very clearing that he spoke with Rey the first time. He beckoned the group further into the swamp, walking near Rey.

“I have made arrangements with the Tribe that we delay the sacrifice of your men until after the Challenge. As you are a Speaker, only you can issue the Challenge to Shukak. Undoubtedly, he will claim that someone who is not Dragonborn cannot issue a Challenge, but remember that you are a Speaker. Make sure that the Tribe believes you. Shukak cannot change this. After he tries to belittle you, he will say that you are unworthy of the Challenge. You must convince him to test you with his Champions. You must deceive him into believing that you are weak and that his men will have no trouble defeating you. That it would take all of you even to have a worthy combat. Should he agree to face you if you can defeat his men, he will be trapped by his own words in front of the Tribe. If he refuses the Challenge at this point, he will lose the faith of the Tribe. Are you ready,” Hishka asked Rey.

“As ready as I will ever be,” Rey muttered.

The rest of the journey was spent in quiet contemplation. Rey had often planned missions before engaging her enemy, but she had never given a speech before. It was more challenging than she thought it would be. 
-------------------------------------------------------
The Twisted Branch was an enormous mangrove tree, whose roots would shame the largest maple Rey had ever seen. Most of the patrols seem to have been redirected to the entrance of the Tribe’s lair, where they awaited the party. Hishka took the lead to proclaim Rey’s arrival.

“The Speaker of Dragons approaches. Make way for the Speaker,” Hishka exclaimed as he motioned in Rey’s direction.

Rey heard confused whispers from the lizardmen all around her. 

“_She is the Speaker?_”

“_Hishka has finally gone mad_.”

“_She is so puny. How can she hope to defeat the mighty Shukak_.”

Rey tried to ignore the gibes, instead taking in her surroundings. The inside of the Twisted Branch was truly alive. Water ran along the floors and walls of each chamber, providing purchase and nourishment for life to bloom. Lizardfolk of all sizes and ages gathered in a line to greet Rey as they would some exotic creature come to interrupt the monotony of their lives. The escort led them to what must be the Tribe’s throne room. It was a cavernous chamber, at the corner of which sat a throne made of bones. Atop the throne, rested the form of what must be Shukak. He was large, even by lizardmen standards. But unlike other lizardmen, his scales were jet black. He wore a pair of golden bracers and carried an ornate spear adorned with precious gems and a dragon motif. Four men were chained like animals to the base of the throne.

Shukak gave no indication the intrusion bothered him, allowing a proxy to speak for him instead. One of the two lizardmen at the base of the throne, carrying a brutal club stepped forward. Mel recognized him as the one who was able to break through the main gate of the Blackwall Keep and defeat her and Egan.

“What is the meaning of this Hishka,” the lizardman hissed.

“I bring a Speaker of Dragons,” Hishka replied.

Shukak’s face split in a wicked grin before he bellowed at a laugh that echoed across the throne room. Some lizardmen joined in, but most stood unflinching at the unfolding scene.

“Gathering herbs in the Mistmarch has enslaved your mind Hishka. Perhaps it is time for a new Spiritwalker.”

Hishka’s eyes narrowed and was about to retort when Rey put a hand on the shaman’s chest and stepped forward.

“I am Rey, Speaker of Dragons,” she cried out as she lifted her hair to reveal the glyph imprinted upon her neck. “I challenge you Shukak, Chosen of Ithane!”

“You?! A creature descendant from the jungles of Sasserine dare to invoke a trial of combat with a descendant of dragons?” Again, his laughter filled the hushed chamber. “You have traveled a long way to die, ape! The fact that Hishka allows such a farce to occur in our sacred halls has sealed his fate as well!”

Rey nodded to Egan and brought her hands closer together. Blue lightning arced between her fingertips, her eyes turning a pale blue color. “You may be a descendant of dragons, but a dragon has chosen me! Look upon my power and despair,” her magically-enhanced voice boomed outward. 

Shukak rose from his throne, the amusement gone from his face. “Mere parlor tricks. Any novice wizard from Greyhawk could replicate such a display. It is as meaningless as your claims.”

“Then why do you tremble so, great king,” Rey said with a smile.

The lizardman that had bested Mel raised his club into the air. “Mighty Shukak. Please allow me and Kotabas the honor of defeating these pathetic weaklings. They do not deserve to even look upon you. Alone, I destroyed their castle and killed many of their warriors. Had I not grown bored of the battle, I would have killed them all.”

Satisfied, Shukak reclined back into his throne. “Very well Hishka, I will allow this. When my men dispatch your new ape friends, I will watch the Tribe feast upon your flesh as well as theirs. It will be a glorious sacrifice to our new Mother, Ithane. Prepare yourselves!”


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## Alexander Bryant (Aug 19, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Seven*

As we left this place of such transformation – for this staggered family and for me – I realized I had to return. I want to return here, spend a _gelen s’he_, one full cycle of Her countenance – what humans would loosely call a month – understanding why this happened, why here, why now. Perhaps I could bring some kind of peace to Allisa who lost so much. I would spend the rest of the journey down to the keep talking to them. It was too soon for laughter, but I made playful Mina, the younger daughter, and even serious Alice smile from time to time. Alice in particular was interested in my stories of Sehanine. With her mother’s blessing, I gave her my half-moon pendant. I told her it would sing to the goddess when she was too sad to sing herself, and that She would smile down on her from time to time, if she was brave. Sehanine is goddess of much, I explained, including _glennis i’mor’e_, happy endings after terrible trial. For Mina, during the trip down I finished a wooden doll of Obi I had been slowly carving for a while and gave it to her to protect her.

Their farm was perched not far from the top of a long day’s descent into steaming hot jungle. Behind us, in the cooler clime where my entire life has been, insects do not really prey on my kin. I loathe them, of course, as I have made clear before – they are what nightmares aspire to – but they merely pester if you are vigilant. Here in this damp land of too much life under a swollen, sweating sun, they have come into their own. They are masters here, and our every faltering step is harried. I hate it, but my companions seem to be, eh, “holding it together”, so I will march on without complaint. Verdre would be proud.

Besides, there were worse things in the world, demonstrated to us as we came to the keep.

People of the Dragon, my tribe call them. Verdre had told me as much she knew: there are as many tribes of them as there are humans and elves, but they are largely hidden away inhabiting the bleaker places: swamps, _dans’e del_ (underground), and scattered among the lands of ice. They are closely bound to their dragon lords, it is said, and so they may harbor much malice. She had never heard of their folk following the kinder dragons: gold, silver, the Lord Platinum. Still, their reputation is not as that of, say, orcs or trolls or ogres: they are more mystery than menace.

I wonder why I am thinking of _me’ara amo_, my . . . what is the human word? “aunt”, so much?

The Lizard Folk were menace now, however. The human keep was in the later stages of being invaded. All along the ramparts, on the ground, inside the walls: People of the Dragon everywhere, attacking the humans, swarming them.

“Leave the horses and our charges back up the road. We may yet be in time to help,” I cried but only Rey heard me. My words were drowned out by Mel who, electrified at the scene down there, screamed a long ululating war cry and flew into the fray, Malak and Devon running haplessly after her, Egan trailing behind.

“Egan! Rey and I will try to eliminate that spell-user and then whatever else nearby. We will approach from there,” I called to him, pointing, and he nodded as he awkwardly ran after the one-woman war machine.

“She is . . . certainly brave,” I remarked to Rey.

“She’s a loonie,” Rey replied.

I wish now we could have approached the reptilians in peace somehow as elves not connected to the fray. But there was no time, and the melee was in full concert, so we were forced to stalk our prey, remain focused, and attacked from shadow.

Whomever he had been, after a moment he was no more. He had entangled me in a painful but usefully concealing brier, but Rey and I – and of course Obi the Mighty – are all too efficient. His cadre of guards also attacked us, and we were slowly tearing through them, though they battered us considerably, when suddenly there was a call to retreat. Something had happened on the field: all of them were pulling back. We and the rest of our force were taking some residual shots, but the Lizard Folk pulled back quickly and efficiently into the swamp from where they had presumably come.

Mel had been knocked out as had Egan. Malak was dead. Many other humans from this post likewise had to be buried by their fellows. We were hailed as welcome though unlooked for relief, a couple of the men recognizing their northern comrades even including our brash paladin. There were momentary smiles here and there.

“What happened here?” Egan asked Horace, one of the only men still left alive who could take command. Young and wide-eyed, he was struggling to adapt to forming orders rather than merely passing them on.

“This was their second attack. We fended off the first one just this morning, lost some people but we held. Didn’t know they’d come back so soon. No one knows what’s happening out there. We’ve just been waiting. Last week we sent scouts into the swamp, but none’ve come back.”

Rey and I tended to the wounded. I wrapped, cleaned, set bone and sang. For some I hummed, and others wanted to talk. I was there for them all, as meager as that seemed for some of them.

And we mourned Malak. Devon told us what he did: he sacrificed himself so that Melinde could be pulled to safety. I wonder what effect that has had on her, knowing this?

Before the keep largely went to sleep, our party convened a meeting with Horace and his new command structure, such as it was. Four men had been taken alive and they needed a foray to find them, to also see if more attacks were on the way, and to find one or more of the scouts. He had literally no men trained who could also be spared, so I volunteered, and Rey stepped forward as well much to my relief. We would leave the next morning.

Rey and I – and Obi – set out. The very air seemed to be a swarming mass, but I was finally alone with her for the first time in a while. This oppressive world squeezed us into silence, and we talked little. From time to time I caught Rey’s eyes, and we each reflected misery there for this place, but also purpose for the mission, and, still, warmth – a glance, a nod, even a smile. I could not tell if her reacting to me was burdensome to her. At one point I laughed at this little game of unspoken language and she, puzzled for a moment but then seeing the paradox and absurdity of our being alone together in this crowded and lonely desolate place of too much life, also laughed. There was at length some talk too, and we carved out a little comfort in this hungry land.

The tracks of prisoners and their captors were surprisingly difficult to follow. Even Rey was unsure at several turns. I tried my best to understand the place feeling certain that at some level one forest was like another and could therefore be learned if the will and patience were there. I became lost more times than I would care to admit, even to myself, but I did not give up. I knew there were clues, signs, even roads to those who understood. Rey adapted more quickly, of course. That we would be seen again by our friends would be from her efforts, not mine.

When we stopped at a “promising place” to Rey, I took first watch that night as usual. We had chosen and climbed a tall, twisting tree that offered wide branch trunks in which to nestle. While she slept, I thought about everything that had happened to us so far since meeting one another. I lost myself inside my head and was jolted back to my body by a terrible crushing force. The longest snake I had ever seen was wrapped around me and was squeezing me to . . . _dinner_.

Being crushed is like being dead: you cannot speak, breathe, move, cry out, and you are food for the taking. There is hardly any difference between them at all, and as my vision became red I knew it wouldn’t matter which state I was in for much longer.

I twisted until my chest fell into a coil that was not as tight. I gasped to Rey. I coughed. Then I simply screamed even knowing I was spending the last gasp of air I was likely to get. The sound was of a trapped mouse, but Rey heard it! She woke up and immediately grabbed her spear. She slashed at the creature, and then Obi – also now awake – tore into it as well. I had reached my dagger and now I bothered to use it as best I could before I blacked out.

All these rips and tears convinced the serpent to move off, darting with surprising speed up into the topmost reaches of the tree. I dropped to the tree’s base and gasped.

“Even,” I wheezed, “the hugs of this place will kill you.”

Rey noticed then that we were being watched. A small band of the Lizard Folk had gathered on the other side of a large pond near our tree.

I will let Rey narrate what happened next as I do not speak Draconic.

***

Four Lizardmen appeared on the other side of the water. One was old and bent; the other three were soldiers. The old one seemed to be holding the others back. I glanced around me but could not see Etona anywhere. We were in no shape for another fight after the python. 

I called to them in Draconic. “We do not wish to fight!” The elder, Hiska his name, wanted to sit down with me. I agreed, and he walked through the water to me.

Hiska told me that the men from Blackwall Keep were kidnapped by the current lizard king Shukak to be sacrificed. Then he told me a story.

Many years ago, Lizard Clutch (eggs) were infected with a parasite, a worm. The Worms killed all the Clutch, an entire generation of Lizard young. Hiska mourns them still. During this time, a “great Mother”, Ethane, came. “Great Mother” means dragon in Draconic, I knew this. Ethane told the Lizardfolk that the Worms were caused by some powerful wizards in Greyhawk. The Lizardfolk were angry. Ethane sent guardians to protect the new Clutch. She also left one of her eggs with them as a sign of trust.

The old king, Nushulk, did not wish to fight the humans. But Shukak came from Greyhawk’s fighting pits. He challenged the king and killed him, and as tradition, became the new king. Ethane blessed him with great strength. They have also kept Hiska from the new Clutch. A few days ago, one of the garrison humans came and sneaked into the egg chamber. Hiska and the other Lizardfolk were told by Ethane that the human killed the eggs, stole their treasure and ran away. However, Hiska doubts this. Shukak used this rumor to gather the Lizardfolk. He swore revenge and attacked Blackwall Keep.

Hiska does not want war between Lizardfolk and Humans. He wants to broker peace with Greyhawk and he also wants to kill Shukak who seems to have brought woe and strife to this tribe. He asked me several times if I would be the mediator between the Humans and Lizardfolk. I told Hiska that we were here because we were investigating the Worms, which were now in Diamond Lake, our home.

Hiska will help us find the four men. He said he would delay their sacrifice. In return, he needs our help in killing Shukak. It will not be easy: he has the blessing of a dragon. However, it may be the only way to save the men and find out more about the Worms. I have agreed to return in two days’ time with more men. Now I must convince Blackwall Keep that we need to trust this Lizard Man.

Strangely, I do.

***

Our return to the keep was mercifully uneventful, though neither of us spent time meditating or sleeping, and so we arrived exhausted. During the journey back, I asked many questions of that conversation she had with Hiska, and it was then she told me of being raised by the dragon. Rey finally revealed her childhood to me. I had not asked, but she just started speaking.

She was sixteen when the orcs came to murder her family. She had been away from the house on an errand when she returned to blood and fire and marauder tracks leading away. Happiness, security, an entire life of wonder snuffed out in one scene.

She tracked them for days: they were a large enough group that any who lived out in the world could follow. They led into hills, then mountain, up to a cave. There they were harassing . . . a dragon. That must have been their quarry all along and Rey’s family was simply on their way.

Rey had no eyes for the monster: she charged in and began killing orcs like some dwarven god, much to the interest of the dragon. When they were all dead, Rey had dropped to the ground as well.

_Are you alive, little avenger?_ she – the dragon – had asked. Rey only then saw it for the first time. Of course she was aware of it also killing orcs, understood there was another monster in the chamber with her, but in her fury she had made the blue-scaled beast irrelevant as she had not expected to survive anyway.

“I had already died,” Rey said to me. I was leaning against her again. She had already scooted about two fingers width away, twice. She faced me now. “I do not need pity.”

“Do you see pity in these eyes?” No, she did not, but she looked away regardless. She rarely made eye contact with anyone, though she was beginning to with me, sometimes.

“You are distracting me.”

I thought about that for a moment and realized what it meant. A confession that I was her friend, maybe her first. I smiled with what I hoped was mischief and not joy – this was not the time for that – and beckoned her on.

“Her name . . . I will speak it later, if she wills it. I am sorry, I have no choice in this matter.”

“D’ren,” I said, waving it away. No matter.

Rey resumed: “She had been amused at my attacking an entire orc war party and curious about my . . . rage. Rage that became bottomless sorrow.” She was reliving the moment, probably for the hundredth time. I sat carefully still. It was difficult, but the mighty, like this anguished being who was by inches letting me in, sometimes needed _menewar’e_, to be alone with their thoughts in the company of another person she trusts.

“She adopted me,” Rey continued. “I do not know to this day why: she has no mothering instinct. She proceeded to treat me with disdain or ignored me most of the time. But she taught me her language. And using her magic she taught me how to hunt and to fight. I owe her much. I found you, and Egan and the others, and Obi, because of her, so perhaps it was good.”

“Were you doing something for her when you first met me?”

She nodded. “My mistress, what I call her, is ill after a fight with a black dragon. She has sent me out to find what might be the cause. I thought it was the plants at the farm where I first saw you – maybe eating sick cattle made her sick – but now I don’t think that. Now there are more clues: death magic, black dragon, acid, the worms. Are they related? I don’t know.”

They were the most words in a continuous stream she had ever said to me. I listened, trying to use the least.

I then asked for, and got, stories of some of the situations she had found herself in under the dragon’s rule. Some of them made me laugh and even she joined in with a smile from time to time. There must have been tales of pain and darkness as well, but tonight was not the night for those.

We struggled back and reached the keep at last. She gave a brief account to Egan and then went straight to the room designated for her and dropped asleep. I meanwhile explained in more detail to Egan and Mel, Horace and a couple of other men as well what had happened with us. I then sought meditation on these events, and I was bone tired as well even though the night had just fallen. Sometimes the playground is too much work. I headed upstairs. It says much of this land that the inside of a stone fortress is more welcoming to me than the trees under Her face.

I stopped short. There was an animal in the hallway, a dog, someone’s pet or perhaps part of the garrison. This one was small, though, and a little mangy. It seemed out of place there in the hallway. And it had green fur on its paws. A particular shade of green, one I had seen but not in years . . . .

It looked at me with the same expression that I was certainly giving it, each of us remembering, each not daring –.

A wave traveled across its fur as it grew larger. Egan brought fire to his hands, but I pushed them down, unafraid: I had seen this a hundred time. Its features, now shadowed, now misty, altered underneath as it rose up, standing, resolving itself into an elf. Into a Child of the Mirror.

Into Verdre Aspianne.

I don't remember running to her, I was just in her arms, she kissing my hair like she did when I was little, holding me so tight, so tight.

Verdre. _Me’ara amo_, beloved aunt, my father's sister, and sister also to her own twin, Skaen. She had with father raised me in mother's stead, that beloved woman who died, as all the mothers of our tribe's priestesses die, giving birth to me.

Angivre. The Silver. And now Verdre.

Forgiven.


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## Alexander Bryant (Sep 6, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Eight*

Verdre and I traded stories as well as arrows – straightening shafts, smoothing feathers, sharpening points as we sat on the edge of my assigned box, a human bed. Her hand froze and she looked up suddenly, cocked an ear toward the door, eyes narrowed.

A second later came a scream from down the hall towards the kitchen. Its owner – the keep's cook – ran past our door but Verdre was already leaping into the corridor, a hand on the haft of her sheathed scimitar. The weapon had been a gift from a male admirer on the occasion of her first trip to the Fey some thirty years ago. Few of my memories do not feature it somewhere in the picture.

"_Res t'isi_!" she whispered sharply. I couldn't help but smile at her words "stay here" and took a moment to grab Angivre as well as arrows scattered around the floor which I slid into my hip quiver. Verdre, _me’ara amo_ – my beloved aunt, had directed me toward danger all my life, virtually the only one to do so given my frailty and size when I was young. She would tell me aloud to *Stay away, stay safe! Do not follow me into certain danger!* while beckoning me silently on.

I heard her summon the silver column, Our Lady's Moonbeam. It is an amazing sound, a low rush like a sudden waterfall but with a heavy drop as if the leading edge was ice smashing the ground. There was a another note beneath it, a keening I could never quite make out. Verdre said it was Her blood burning to smite Her foes or something like that. She would know, I suppose, but it did not fit.

I followed, assuming more lizardmen were about. Verdre was a formidable opponent, but would she defend a human keep? As well, an attack on the scale of the last one would likely force us to retreat.

I came round the corner and beheld a sight like no other. A shambling corpse of a man – worms spilling out of his eyes and ears and moving around under his skin – was smoking under the Moonbeam but still steadily lumbering towards Verdre. As she concentrated to move the beam to follow it, she simultaneously laid into it with her scimitar. I darted into the hallway that ran around the kitchen and got behind it. Took aim. Let fly for a direct hit through its shoulder. But other than a splash of worms spilling on to the ground, it didn't even notice. Likewise was it shrugging off Verdre's repeated blows from her Elven blade.

_Weapons do not work on it_, I thought. Even if they did, I was afraid that opening up this walking nightmare writhing inside its barely-contained body would simply unleash a thousand tiny enemies.

The Moonbeam was burning everything, though, in its cold column. Its flash matched Angivre's, but she was not yet ready for me to draw her true Silver. And yet, she was granting me some part of it . . . .

Quick as a hare, I ran up to it and looped Angivre around the thing's neck. The silver cord burned through the creature, flash-igniting worms. I almost severed the monster's neck.

"Etona, disengage," said Verdre. "I am luring it to where I believe your fire wizard awaits."

I had not noticed Egan, awake and on the nearby stair.

We led it up to an empty room where Egan let loose a whirling firestorm of such intense heat it made the walls glow. There was quite literally nothing of the lurching horror left. Verdre arched an eyebrow and smiled just slightly at one corner of her mouth. Impressing her was no mean feat: Egan had no idea how far up in my aunt's estimation he had just risen.

Facing me, she commented dryly but with approval while she casually slit open her arm and speared a worm that had dug in: "You have changed the way you use Angivre. It matches your new look."

I was alarmed but she waved it away and crushed the wriggling, um, bad bad badness. I helped her start to wrap her arm while saying, "I am not above garroting pure evil. We do what is needed; we use what we must." An old saying. "She is waking up," I added, patting Angivre but also examining more of Verdre's exposed skin. "I patiently await her Silver, whenever She grants it me."

"It is well, then, we are so long-lived," Verdre replied.

Ah yes, this again. I had almost forgotten.

It is not my story to tell, but Verdre has always been angry with Our Lady of the Bountiful Night. She blames Her for the death of my mother, to whom Verdre was very close, and also for – as she put it – 'using our tribe for her experiments'. I do not agree with her on the latter, though of the former I am sorry too: I would dearly have loved to meet my mother, a compassionate soul of endless energy and unmatched medical skill, according to almost everyone. But this cold world offers only death in the end, and we are but sparks. Hers had to be extinguished a breath earlier.

She was infected with no other worms, but I mean to keep a watch on her: we do not know what they are capable of yet.

***

The man was this keep's missing lead scout, Royce. He had been the human who was seen emerging from the Clutch. He had dropped into bed, very ill. Very ill indeed, yes, with a case of the Wriggling Death Worms of Abomination. Unpleasant in the extreme. Caution: contagious – do not ingest! And fatal, apparently.

These tracks are all floating around my head but I cannot seem to find the game: the black dragon was guarding the Clutch; its champion ruled this tribe of Lizard Folk attacked the human keep, twice, and captured four of its men. To eat? No, probably for a ritual sacrifice. Royce is seen near the Clutch. He returns with worms. No one else in the keep is affected, though, so he got them out in the swamp. In the Clutch? But it is under the protection of the black dragon, and why would it want to destroy its own folk?

Rey gathered us together. She had slept through the entire fight, so exhausted was she from being at least three people to return us safely back to the keep. None begrudged her.

"It is time," she said. "We must meet Hiska and deal with all this. Let us leave in the morning."

***

That night, Verdre and I talked all night long as we patrolled the perimeter. I showed her how I had learned to hide better, climb higher, and run swifter. She laughed and clapped her hands.

"I am proud of you, _Lun_," she told me, using my Druidic name. Hers was _Ioli_, a variant of "Eagle". Mine is simply "Shine". It is the name she chose for me, and the name all druids know me as. "You lost everything, traveled alone in despair for a year abandoned by Our Lady of Sudden Partings. She meant to break you, but here you are, a fighter, with new surprises."

"Sehanine rightly punished me for what I did, _me’ara amo_. I have betrayed all of the Fey! If Lyra – the Mistress of Sorrows – is presented with the third piece of the Undying Raiment, her daughter will rule the Fey."

"But she herself cannot rule: you saw to that. And, if legend holds, by presenting only two of the three of the Raiment to her, you insulted her in the process thereby taking your revenge on her."

"She does not care about that: she has been thrown down so many times before, I think a part of her revels in it."

"But I thought you loved the daughter?" Verdre asked.

"I did. I do. But this is not how you should choose a ruler! It's like finding a sword in a stone, pulling it free and now you are king. She has no knowledge of the lands she would rule. And no idea of how to go about ruling. One cannot simply be pretty and nice. And so her mother would be the true queen. And . . ." I didn't want to say the rest, but I did. "And Illyra, she cast me away even before Lyra and I –." I placed my palms together and slid one hand down the other, a gesture for lovemaking. "I am so ashamed."

Verdre sighed, a sympathetic smile on her face. "My all-but-daughter: where are the people of this world who do not make mistakes? You lead with your _gae'ess_." She placed her first two fingers on my heart. "It doesn't merely beat as mine or Skaen's do: it blazes. You are just like your mother."

"And like Skava, I hope," I said, referring to my father, her younger brother.

"And like Skava in enduring what must be endured. You have his patience. Our Wise Woman of the Starry Nights should know all of this. But Her treatment of you has been severe, erratic. Emotional! And torturing you when you needed her guidance is so typical of her misguided –." She saw my eyes widen and calmed herself, looking into the face of Our Mistress Moon and bowing slightly in deference. "l sometimes forget myself." She pulled me into her. "Oh, do not worry. I still sacrifice to her and obey her in . . . most . . . things. And she cannot do to us," and I know she means _us druids_, "what she has done to you: we draw only some of our power from her. Our ways are older than Her ways."

"She loves us all." That didn't take root, so I tried again. "She can make you miserable."

"She has already. But," she cut my protest off, "_inro_, niece, I have found you again. I will allow Her that. Tonight I am happy." She hugged me again.

We talked of the Raiment a while longer, of Illyra and Lyra, of my adventures in Fardale and the Fey, of what might happen next, and she helped me realize that the Majestic Realm is not really my world, and that The Bright's complexities and schemes will probably shrug off my meager deeds.

Life is always clearer when Verdre is around.

***

We departed at dawn. Egan and Melinde, Rey, Verdre and me. Rey led us right to the clearing where we had met Hiska before. I confess I would not have found the place for some time, perhaps never. But Rey does not get lost.

Egan was very curious about my aunt, I could see, but he asked no questions. I think she intimidates him as she does most humans, though probably not Melinde whom I believe would not cast down her glance were Pelor himself standing in front of her. But Melinde is neither talkative nor, as far as I can tell, curious about the world or anything in it. So very young is she: I should not dismiss her so.

My biggest surprise was how Rey and Verdre got along. They went off hunting together, and when they returned they seem to have discovered a sympatico. Not friends precisely, at least not in a way I understand it, but something like mutual respect. There is a glance, a nod, pointing out some feature of the land. I am very, very glad. Neither woman has friends, though Verdre in this regard is better off since she at least has our kin and the circles of druids. Rey does not; she has only a dragon.

Verdre also began talking to Hiska in Druidic. I don't know the language, of course, but it is unmistakable. It was clear that Hiska was not fluent, and there is probably a matter of dialect (though Druidic is largely silent, not much of it is vocal: I suppose that is so speakers of many races can still attempt it as it is not an Elven Language at all and comes not from Sehanine). She asked him – she told me later – about the region, its tribes, its weather, its animals. She asked about different scents, and with Verdre she would not merely be noticing them but studying. She asked about every single plant we saw. All of these Hiska responded to with his broken Druidic, and so the conversations were slow and answers not rich with meaning. But Verdre is patient, willing to ask the same thing a dozen times slowly and carefully.

She also began making maps following her curious hobby. She learned to do this during that time in the Fey I had previously mentioned. Something about drawing simple lines on paper to represent swaths of deep, complex world appealed to her. At home –. Oh. Well, where we grew up, she was teased for this, but evetually it exposed her to humans who craved them. Ioli Verdre lives for the day she might transform to her druidic namesake. Near the bottom of the list why – though certainly on the list – is how she will transform the world of mapping.

***

We arrived at our destination: an enormous mangrove tree, the likes I had never seen before. A twisting, towering thing dripping with cool, fresh water, it the home for most of the tribe.

"This is ancient," Verdre said, staggered, and she looked on Hiska with new respect in her eyes. "There is such life here, such power. It is like the Mirror but concentrated. I do not wonder that it has attracted a dragon. The beast must be driving off everything else that would be interested in it. Are there gates to the Fey near here?" She directed that last to Hiska, but he only shrugged. He may not have understood exactly what she was asking.

We were led to a wide clearing entirely encircled by the tree, us on one side of the circle facing a throne on the other side. Sprawled across it was a black-scaled dragonkin looking nothing like the lizardmen he was ruling over. I realized in a flash that they were entirely different races and that all our lore on the subject was simply incorrect. Chained to the throne were the four human prisoners. They appeared to still be alive.

In front of it was the lizardman with the enormous club who had stunned Melinde and felled Malik. Another with metallic or shiny bone claws was next to him.

Behind us was the rest of the tribe. No way out.

Welcome to the arena.


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## Alexander Bryant (Sep 19, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Nine*

I supposed it was time to remove three more thick-headed warriors from the world. It will be good riddance, but honestly why is it always Battle to the Death? This is Rey’s trial, so I will once again fight as bidden, perhaps die today as tacitly bidden, here in this wet oven, surrounded by alien beings, enmeshed in their politics because I am enmeshed in a town of humans because I loved two women of the Fey. I am swept along. How many of these choices, I wonder, have been mine?

There was much talk in Draconic between Rey, the arrogant black-scaled king on his throne and his two guardians. I honestly do not remember any of their names, full of Ss and Hs and Ks: Shaka and Hashish and Kiss . . . kiss?

We were to engage the two guardians first. Somehow Rey convinced these three that separating their party and attacking our greater numbers was a good idea. So Hashish, which means The One With The Club, and Kisskiss “I have sharp claws, mrow!” advanced on us. Hashish’s comically huge and jagged weapon healed him with every blow he landed. Kisskiss wore poison. They were tough and troublesome but terribly outmatched. They both died in short order because of course we have Rey. And now fierce cousin Verdre! And our fire wizard and a screaming, red-haired killing machine. What did they think was going to happen?

The black-scaled tyrant of the band attacked us next after he and Rey traded what I presume were insults. He had an ornate black spear that, once thrown, would reappear in his hand. He wore bracers that glowed faintly as they turned aside attack after attack, and the few that made it through struck feebly at a tough scaled hide. We were wearing him down, but he was doing the same to Mel and Rey. 

And then Verdre was stunned by one of his blows. He saw her throat and reared back to take her life . . .

I had to be calm. I and She both knew what the next moment brought if _me’ara amo_ died right here fighting only because I am.

It could not be a normal arrow – that would just bounce off. And I could not get there in time with a dagger.

I narrowed my eyes. Reached out my will. Called to Angivre. She flared, and I drew back with nothing – no arrow but only faith, as I had before I betrayed Her – and I felt an unfamiliar coldness on my fingertips. The Silver cord stretched. Recoiled . . . 

 . . . and a gray shard steamed through the air piercing the throat of the dragonkin. He went rigid, tried to bring his claw up to the already-fading bolt which had left behind small white crystals, and fell. He was stone dead.

***

I ran to Verdre and threw my arms around her. She looked a little surprised and murmured “Yes, OK. It is done.” My aunt is tough – she travels alone for most of her life and doesn’t shy from danger – but I don’t think she knew what peril she had been in during that spray of heartbeats.

The Silver had been gray, not white. The image turned over again and again in my mind. I believe it had been cold instead of . . . well, I do not know that part: I have never fired on anyone who was able to tell me the sensation. But if so, the steam had been its frozen passage through hot, moist air, perhaps the first icy thing this land had ever known.

While the rest of the party recovered and Rey spoke to Hishka, I picked out an uncrowded spot and drew back the Silver again. It came once more. And again. And again.

_My humble thanks, My Mistress of Mercy._ She had been angry with me, deservedly so, and I had borne her wrath without despair. Well, without very much despair. But she knows my heart: however much I give it to others from whatever foolish notion that occurs to me, I will always be Her Etona.

I was crying when Verdre knelt down in front of me.

“Etona?” Her hawk-like features expressed puzzlement. Few, I expect, get to see that expression when facing my aunt.

“I am happy,” I smiled for it was so.

Verdre shook her head with wonder. “May you never grow up, little Lun, mine,” and she kissed me on the forehead.

***

We recovered, bound our wounds, healed.

The lizard folk wanted us to have the usurpers’ weapons. Sussek’s, Sauce’s, Sleestak’s (I really cannot hold these names in my head) ornate ebony spear was already in Rey’s hands. She balanced it, testing it, admiring its lines. She hurled it and was so taken aback when it reappeared in her outstretched hand that she nearly dropped it. She practiced several more throws and quickly came to understand when to reach for its returning form. Her grin was dazzling: I have never seen her so pleased.

Rey is queen of this folk now. Apparently those are the rules.

“You will be a wise ruler, m’lady,” I said with a sly smile. “You will come to love their food; the pleasant, warm nights; and you can merrily play with their children whenever you want!” I was laughing as she chased me off.

Verdre took up the jest: “Queen Huntress, have you cast your eye across your people’s many eligible males? You must have an heir: it is the first order of a royal!” Rey made a rude gesture Verdre, but we were all grinning.

***

During the battle, I had dived into a stream that led through the roots to a gap underneath the ground. After Rey had consulted with the shaman, she explained to us that we needed to go into the Clutch, and that this small river would take us there. Since we were to be underwater for some time, Hiska told us we were to receive temporary gills. The situation demanded it: the eggs were still accessible to an increasingly untrustworthy black dragon whose intentions we did not know – we had never known – so we had to go down there into a black, enclosed tube of water using a magical deformation from an alien shaman to keep us alive. I offered it up to My Lady of Obstacles.

Verdre refused: she would use the old magic to change herself.

“I will be with you, _inro_, neh?” she said to me, sensing my worry. I nodded. In front of everyone she became a crocodile to the wonder of the tribe. Egan was fascinated as well. I needed to remind myself to help him talk to Verdre: his curiosity was killing him.

The spell was cast. My neck convulsed and slits opened up in my skin. I felt dizzy and unsure how to breathe, as if I had had to think about breathing all my life but this morning simply forgot.

Rey took my hand – for her, practically the tender embrace of a lover – and said, “Hiska says it will be better under the water. Come, I will be nearby.” I read distress in her eyes as well but she was, with an effort, exuding calm. That I am surrounded by such people lends me strength.

Verdre led, I followed, Rey and Egan and Mel behind me somewhere. There was some reason why no one among the tribe could go in, something to do with appearing to remain loyal to the dragon, that all of these events should seem to be out of their hands and we were just invaders doing what we willed.

Croco-aunt (I had many such names of this sort) had emerged far ahead of me into a cave of hundreds of oblong eggs overseen by an enormous black egg twice my height. By the time I was out of the water, she was dragging a still jerking little reptile man that I recognized as a kobold back behind some rocks. His fellows were sounding the alarm and assembling to fight the deadly interloper. I downed one with a pair of sizzling cold arrows – should I call them _arclun_ since they seemed to be different from her usual radiant _arquae_? – from Angivre.

Egan, Rey and Mel joined the fight. We advanced into the cavern, very careful around the eggs, to meet four more of little dracos, two of whom were advancing with intent on the black egg. Did they mean to break it? I could scarce see a fledgling dragon being much of a threat to us, nor was it plausible they wanted to destroy it to keep it out of our hands: transporting the thing was an impossibility. There was something about it that made me very uneasy, however. Its color was more than merely black: it seemed to ooze darkness whenever I looked away, and I seemed to catch a bit of motion from out of the corner of my eye.

Egan was the first to grasp its nature. “Necrotic,” he yelled. “I don’t think it’s a dragon egg at all!”

Two kobolds had reached it and were beginning to pound on its shell. They no longer cared about their own lives: they had to open that egg. We were fighting truly desperate creatures, but they were unsuccessful. We killed them before the black orb could be split, though it was cracked enough to glimpse what was within.

Green worms. Thousands of them. We instantly comprehended what was happening: the dragon meant to infect an entire generation of lizard folk with its necrotic spawn. Monstrous, but efficient. We could not kill them all nor even a fraction as Verdre and Egan had depleted their reserves: she could not spin her Moonbeam again, and Egan had no fire left but for some sparks.

“Mistress,” I whispered. And then more loudly to my aunt, “What do we do?”

Fortunately Verdre is unmoved by despair.

“Sehanine!” her voice rang out through the cavern. “You have coerced your beloved Etona to come here to fight, and to die for she will give her life here, we both know her heart, and for an alien people a land away from her home which you cast her out of! And yet she is still here for you. And I am here for you! Use me in whatever way you must, but help uuu...aaaaahh!”

Her eyes turned silver – She was here! – and Verdre’s body arced. Out of her fingertips strands of silver light coalesced and moved off weaving a little pattern in the air that I recognized immediately. My Mistress must have departed then, for Verdre hit the ground as if a dropped stone, unconscious. Goddess, please let her merely be unconscious!

“Verdre!” I cried.

Egan in the meantime watched the white weave. It drifted here and there before finally choosing him, then it dove into his hands so quickly that he yelped. But they were now blazing with white fire. He quickly comprehended that this was for him to wield. He made rapid, complicated gestures and then swept through the air with his arm as if releasing a giant spinning top. The flames whirled into a storm in front of him, and with a gesture he spun it over to that black pot boiling over with corruption and incinerated it.

The Clutch’s eggs were safe.

I ran to Verdre. She was panting, her complexion pale, but after a moment she was able to sit up in my arms. She nodded that she was OK.

“One of them got away,” announced Mel bitterly. “Through there,” and she pointed at chests piled up in front of a corridor that led out. I dashed after it until the tunnel broke out into marshland some ways away. Verdre was right on my heels muttering about seeing what would happen if one day I used that great brain of mine. We gave the area a quick prowl: the area was clear of kobolds, lizardmen, dragons – everything but bugs. There were always bugs.

The chests were filled with gems, gold, silver and platinum, just the way a dragon likes it. Still, this was not Ithane’s lair, so why would she leave it here? Perhaps when she visited she liked to have some coins waiting.

We sent the one kobold we managed to capture back to retrieve Hiska. When he came, he told us the treasure was all ours – his people wanted nothing to do with it. As we hauled it out, we passed by the shaman. He was taking his wrath out on the little reptilian: it was . . . grisly. Truly terrifying. I lost my appetite for several hours after. Even Verdre blanched, and she has been known to play with her prey when in a particularly foul mood.

Back at the tree Verdre had shocking news for me: she was going to stay behind.

“Are you serious?” I cried. “After all this time apart, after looking for me and me dreaming of one day seeing you and then . . . are you insane? Or, what, what have I done? Why would leave me?” And on and on, I am afraid. She was gently shushing me, repeating my Druidic name during my entire outburst until I finally quieted.

“I will only be half a cycle behind you, _inro_. You have felt it, this place’s power. For me it is almost overwhelming; it is an assault on my senses. I must study it, so I must be able to return here. I must know how to return here from several directions following sight, scent and the wild pathways. And I must befriend these beings so that I may live here for a time. This is a world of wonderment, of ancient potency. I would not be surprised if there is at least one gate here – perhaps to the Fey, perhaps to other places – and I would discover it as well. And so allow me to remain here a while, Lun.” She was not really asking my permission: she was telling me what was to happen. But it was nice of her to phrase it that way.

“Very well. Our path leads back to Diamond Lake and then either into the mountains o’erhanging it or to the human capital city. I will leave notice along with other notes with the representative from the Briarwood Lodge at the garrison.” I touched my forehead to hers. “I will miss you.”

“My heart . . . .” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she held me instead for a long moment. When she released me, she added with a smile: “You will not elude me again, priestess.” She waved a hand back to the north. “You are needed. Go save the world, chosen one. I will be with you to watch, soon.”

***

We returned to the keep, said our goodbyes, gathered messages and our horses, then we departed for the north. Back to the clear and cool air, back to the crisp visage of My Mistress (she had looked as wan as I had felt down there in The Wilt, my name forever for that suffocating bog).

Diamond Lake was not as we had left it: fire in the mines, the cult scattered, executions. The Dourstone mine had been invaded by the garrison, the cult of Vecna dispersed with a few captured but many scattered to the winds. The dwarf, Dourstone, had been hanged for harboring them. I didn’t know you could successfully hang a dwarf.

Most important to me, though, was Phreet: she was gone. She had fled the town leaving me only this note:

Etona,

I want you to know that I really tried to do the right thing. I really did. I need you to know that. But I can't be something I am not. The world that I live in keeps calling me back. A few days ago, I answered it.

Smenk's goons came back and offered me a job. A really good one. Even paid me a portion up front for it. By the time you find this, I am sure you have figured out most of what has happened. 

Why do people write letters? This takes forever. I mean, I appreciate you teaching me to read and write, but this is really boring. Anyways, as you can imagine things did not go according to plan. Our job was to sneak in and take some crates with Smenk's marker on them but he had plans of his own. He paid some of the guys on our crew to do...a bit more. Things got out of hand. I mean the Sheriff and the Garrison got involved in this whole mine business. Lots of people got hurt and they even started an investigation to see who was involved. I had to take the money you left because Smenk stiffed me for the rest of my cut. I am sorry about that, but Diamond Lake was getting too dangerous. People I worked with were ending up dead. The world has gone crazy. I am going to do as you said, but not exactly the way you wanted me to. Greyhawk seems like a fine place to start over. I will be fine. You have your own troubles to worry about, you don't need to worry about me anymore.

-Phreet

Another ringing blow to my soul. I wondered idly if this feeling is two parts in ten what what mothers feel when their children go away into the violent world? I should never want this, and yet, despite all the grief she caused me, I only remember the light in her face when she understood something I was teaching her. She is good person with a terrible start in life. She is hard from knocked around, calloused from fighting life, but she is not bad. And she is probably skilled enough to make her way.

Nevertheless I spoke with Madame Z, but there seemed to be little she could do without time and a lot of money. I would have to find Phreet myself. And I will, but later. She will be all right for the short term. Sehanine – and her own cunning – will protect her until I can.

In the meantime we had a choice to make: to the dragon or Greyhawke? Both are urgent missions, but Rey said she was going to her mistress – even alone – right now, and so I follow as will Rishka, the Speaker’s other protector.

We prepared food, special herbs for the altitude, extra blankets and heavy, warm clothing. Rishka was able to move the coins onto a magic disk that floated with him for many hours each day. I told the captain and the representative of Briarwood Lodge where we were going – though not what we were doing – and that we were staying up there for perhaps a week. We would return to Diamond Lake and thence on to Greyhawke.

Egan and Melinde did not come with us. For Egan, he was busy with research and also did not look forward to meeting a dragon nor to the journey to see her. Melinde refused to go, she declared, moments before we were about to tell her that she couldn’t come. As well, she had garrison duties in conjunction with our foray south and our upcoming one to Greyhawke where she would be valuable.

A prayer for Phreet, another for Verdre, and we departed.

Four days to My Mistress’ full face.

Four days . . . .


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## SolidSnake_01 (Sep 22, 2017)

*Journal of Egan: Entry II – Meanwhile in Diamond Lake*

_It’s been very long since I’ve felt at home, but you can never go home again. _ 

Although only a week had passed since I traveled into the Mistmarsh with Etona, Melinde and Rey, we returned to a Diamond Lake unlike the town we left.  In our absence, Dourstone’s mine was shut down because of his involvement with the Cult of Vecna, and Dourstone himself was hung at the hands of the Sheriff Cubbin.  The garrison had intervened in the purging of the Dourstone complex, and Balabar Smenk and his closest goons, including the albino Half-orc, Kullen, were slain in mysterious, assassination-like fashions.  The assumption remains that Vecna’s cult got revenge for his exposure of their operations in the mine.  In a similarly mysterious fashion, the one Kenku that had been captured by our team escaped with the help of his cult members.  The garrison was mobilized, and likely his security was reduced.  

Since our return, Allustan has requested that we pursue our study of the strange larval, undead, green worms by visiting his old friend Elgios, a sage from his early years of training, in Greyhawk.  Our first real encounter with the worm’s hideous conversion of a humanoid was revealed in the scout from the garrison at Blackwall, when he was overcome by their plague-like illness that caused a rampage in the basement, nearly infecting Etona’s aunt Verdre.  We have managed to obtain a single inactive green worm from Filge’s, the necromancer’s, library which was in the abandoned observatory in Diamond Lake.  Filge has since left, at our not-so-gentle urging, but the worm has been with Allustan all the while.  A second worm sample came from the egg hatchery of the lizardmen, a whitish version of the green one, similar though.  Our plan will be to give both worms to Elgios to study.

Though I hold no grudge to Allustan, I know he was untrue to me when my sister fell under the spell of the deathly sleep in the Whispering Cairn.  She was certainly alive still at the time I asked him to search for her, but he could not pinpoint her location and could not, with a good conscience, send me to find her and risk another life.  Yet, I have to wonder.  Maybe I could have found her and, at least slept at night, or slept eternally by her side when I did find her.  Diamond Lake can never be home without what has been taken from it.

That thought brings me to my next quandary, I sought arcane power in Greyhawk when I could not obtain it through natural talents under Allustan, and sought it to find my sister.  Surely wizardry was my best hope, but I haven’t the mind for memorization, and as I watched Mel in the Mistmarsh, I saw that she wielded divine magic without much thought or preparation.  In my case, I am ashamed to admit, I ran out of money and means in The Free City before I found power or answers.  I was desperate then, but now I have my answers about dear Layla, my sister.  Yet there is a debt to pay for my powers.  

I made a pact with the _Asmadai_, a group of warlocks who serve Asmodeous, a devil of the Nine Hells.  Clearly, the pact was wrought with complicated magics that granted me my sorcerous power, but the reward came at a price.  I promised to give whatever I found in the Whispering Cairn, should I be successful, to the _Asmadai_ to repay the debt of introducing me to my power.  I now, no longer need my powers, but I must fulfill my debt at some point.  You will see why I mention this story soon.

My hope is that I can avoid giving up all the treasure, under a small technicality.  You see, Etona was present when we opened Zosiel’s, the Wind Duke’s, Sarcophagus.  She technically found half the treasure, and I found half as well.  I hope I only have to give up half, and I am more likely to hand over the mysterious circlet than the rod that housed the orb of annihilation.  However, the plot thickens.

My dear companions have been gone for almost a week now, traveling to visit a young blue dragon, a former mentor of Rey.  I have remained in Diamond Lake to study with Allustan.  Last evening, a familiar face came into town, one of the _Asmadai_ from Greyhawk was waiting for me at the Spinning Giant.  I had hoped to never see them again, but I knew the day might come.  All would be simple if not for my recent research.

I have been studying what Allustan has in his library, and it would seem that the Wind Dukes are not entirely gone, and perhaps one remains here on Greyhawk, though without the title of Wind Duke.  An intermediate deity, called Volgan, a god of Wind and Storms has served the human races on Greyhawk for a great many years.  This deity may have been a Wind Duke of Aqa’a from ages past.  The most well-known deity of Wind and Storm is Quetzalcoatl, but his magics lie mostly with the tribes to the North, and he seems to be linked to the age or the primordial titans, whereas Volgan is newer.  At any rate, I have found references to Volgan rituals, and I think I can perform one at the Whispering Cairn.  The magics there likely would enhance the ritual.  I had planned to renounce my pact with the _Asmadai_ and commit myself to serve Volgan in the next few days.  The catch, I need a sufficient sacrifice to prove my commitment.  As my sister died in the Duke’s burial cairn, and I swore to find answers to their ancient magics, I want to offer up the circlet from Zosiel’s Sarcophagus as an offering to beseech Volgan for Divine power.  However, I have to pay my debt to the _Asmadai_, and now they have come knocking.

At first, I tried to avoid them, hoping my friends would arrive back in town to save me from the fiends, but my luck is bad as ever, and no help returned.  I met with one of the Master _Asmadai’s_ minions who instructed me to hand over any treasure.  I tried to convince him that the magical club from the Mistmarsh was all that I had, but he didn’t fall for the deception.  I couldn’t raise my magic against him either.  My Pact would cause it to simply fizzle.  I was, once again, powerless.  At the risk of being destroyed at their hands, I agreed to lead them to the site of the hidden treasures.  I wish now that I had left them in the Cairn.  After quickly gathering my pack, we set out into the night to check the dry well near the abandoned mine shaft, the last place I saw the treasures.  

The Master _Asmadai_ and his two minions were quick to move, and they only appeared once we were of clear of the main town.  Secrecy is the key to their success, no names, just Master and Servant, but I recognized all three of them from the Free City.  We plodded along with the three of them following me.  Perhaps Volgan will accept the hideous magical club from the lizardmen as a sacrifice, though I would much rather give the circlet.  Hopefully, they leave me alone once they have what they came to retrieve.


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## Alexander Bryant (Oct 7, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Eleven*

Before we left for high places, Allustan filled us in on much information. There is an old, secretive cult called *Kyuss* who idolizes the worms. The Eye of Vecna cult was in the Dourstone mine researching the old Kyuss cult during their gatherings in an ancient Kyuss temple down there. That temple is probably no more, but it might be worth sending someone down to make reliable drawings of the place.

Allustan recommended that if we were still interested in the worms, we should contact his man in Greyhawk named *Elgios* who knows more about them.

Smenk was dead, assassinated. The dwarf, Dourstone, was also dead, hanged for crimes against the city. The Vecna cultists largely escaped though some of them caused trouble before leaving. Sheriff Cubbin managed to still be in control despite the garrison doing his job and all his patrons being killed. Order has returned to Diamond Lake in the town thanks mainly to Captain Trask and his men.

Rey announced that she was returning to her mistress, the blue dragon. This is a two-day hike up into altitudes where, I have read, humans and my kind alike become weak and pale for some reason. Some sort of mountain miasma? It may have to do with the shortness of breath said to strike for many days until the body either dies or becomes acclimated. Fortunately there is an herb that my merchant friend sold, a preventative remedy partially made up of herbs I’d collected for him. He and I have traded many times before – we have tea and tastings and compare notes twice per cycle – and so I managed to purchase them at an excellent price procuring five doses for each of us.

We – Rey the Speaker, Rishkar the Speaker’s lizardman guardian, and I – would take Rey’s mistress some of the treasure we captured as a gesture of goodwill. Our plan was to tell the dragon about Ithane and her necrotic “egg bomb”. There was also some sort of plan to attune Rey’s new spear to blue dragon magic and also to Rey personally? Something like that? I didn’t really follow: it was Rishkar’s idea.

Egan remained behind with research tasks. Mel wanted only to go to Greyhawke and in any case would not represent Rey’s interests in front of this particular dragon. Once we returned, we would be on to Greyhawke, with Mel and Egan, to help design a treaty between the lizard folk tribe and the humans. I wanted to return to that human center of eyelash-straightening odors to pursue Phreet. And we all wanted to look up this Elgios person as well.

*Coldeven 7th Day, three days to full moon*
I learned quite a bit about dragons from Rey during the ascent. This one likes to be high in the air, above the summer snow line, and favors an area featuring many natural perils as well as traps that she has set. It is a home built to augment the creature’s natural strengths, molded across decades by a considerable intelligence. There are others who live with and around the dragon as well, whole communities roving or permanent depending on what the dragon needs or wants from them.

We ascended into the early spring mountains. I strapped on the high-top, fur-lined boots that I broke out for three months out of the year. Warm, but I always feel a little clumsy in them. Chatting at and occasionally with Rey, hunting and finding new herbs, enjoying the scents of the higher altitudes and, of course, experiencing the joy of firing Angivre easily filled the time.

I was the natural choice for being on guard during the night, and while I was making the rounds I heard something heavy slip on some scree. I circled around for a look at it but all I could make out was lanterns with prism lenses floating across the tops of the trees heading for the campfire. I had seen this before, otherwise I might have thought it an airborne procession of ghosts. I looked for the legs and found them: a house-sized spider was crashing towards us.

While I was introducing the monster to the biting cold of Angivre’s sting, I saw Rey again make a gesture before she engaged. She’d started doing this in just the past few days, and with it her attacks seemed to be landing unerringly. Most of them do anyway, of course, but after making this gesture I noticed her studying her foe intently for a second and then her spear bit more deeply. I asked about this after the fight; she was surprised to hear that I could not see the glamour she was marking her target with.

We made short work of the spider, and it fell with Obi ripping into its brain, messily tearing and eating. I managed to pull two doses of a paralysis poison from it that I suppose I will give to Rey.

*Coldeven 8th day, two days to full moon*
Her face waxes.

Her madness visits Her children whether or not we are physically at the Mirror. For some, it is lust; others burn to hunt and among them, mostly the druids, viscerally kill and kill. My father has visions and paints like mad. My mother would climb the tallest trees and carve glowing runes at the tops of them . . . when she was not straddling father or others among our tribe’s men. Even our family of half-elven farmers are affected, becoming hunters and lovers and, for young Moiriel, a sort of soil druid burrowing in the dirt. Even Verdre has trouble with that one. It is two long nights of burning passion that leaves us exhausted, so much so that we look to our allies in the forest, and the Fey, to protect us while we fall to extended meditation for the two days after.

Four years I wandered, and in that time the _dorse feu_ did not descend upon me. It had always taken me more lightly than others, but its absence is akin to never enjoying a hot meal through endless days of rain or never seeing the sun (yes, we love and revere the sun: it is a common misconception that we do not. That fiery being is simply not who we are, but He is still important and we love Him).

Will Mistress Heat-in-the-Night offer me a drink of Her madness at last? I hope it is more likely this cycle than previous fifty. When I gaze up to the storm-shrouded mountain tops ahead, I cannot help but think that if She takes me up there, what will happen? Will Rey understand? And what of the dragon? Does she know of i? Will my Mistress tolerate Rey’s savage one and vice-versa?

We moved up into cold and wind and ice. Rey found us a stone shelter but took no pleasure or pride in doing so even out here in this featureless, bleak place, for her mistress’ claw marks were everywhere. The dragon hunts from the air, Rey said, and this evidence of her roaming on foot had her worried.

I was introduced to my first Xorn today. This is a creature from the Elemental Plane of Earth. There are stories among my tribe of a far-wandering druid encountering them – I will have to ask Verdre if she ever saw one – but their sightings are extremely rare. This one’s name is *Whisper*. It is three-armed, three-legged and has its mouth on the top of its body which makes it quite different from the Xorn of our stories. This is to be expected for creatures that come from other planes, I suppose: they would have to assemble themselves of whatever material was present, and I would imagine that temperament and race would play into what came out as well.

Whisper followed the dragon who uses it to find metals and gems, particularly sapphires which she particularly craves.

A roaring sweeping thing passed us by while I was meditating about the coming moon, disrupting me enough to get me to my feet. It was a snow tornado that Rey told me was actually alive in some way, a, thing from the Elemental Plane of Air.

What a land up here! I would like to stay long enough – perhaps a few years – to one day navigate it as skillfully as Rey does and see all of its splendid sights.

That night a dozen reddish dragon-like creatures the size of large dogs swooped around the mouth of our cave long enough to shoot down breakfast.

*Coldeven 9th day, one day to full moon*
Rey and Rishka woke to fresh-cooked meat laced with spices and an altitude sickness prevention poultice. It should be effective on Rey and me – I adjusted the doses accordingly – but I had to guess with the lizardman’s, if it even worked at all.

We climbed ever further into thunder pealing across the tops of the mountains, lightning flashing across gleaming ice, sleet pelting the rock all above us. For the final mile, we did descend into a dry zone valley now somewhat protected from the din, though now we were subject to one of the terrain traps: sinkholes.

And Rey located one for us. With her whole body. Never half-measures for her.

Once she extracted herself, she also found her mistress who probably came to see what had fallen in.

This is my second dragon. The first, a young male named *Kravostrix*, wanted to rule Far Dale and the surrounding area. But for some reason he wanted to look good, actually asking us for, eh, _fashion tips_ I think is the human expression, and to rule well. And so he asked us – in his imperious, dragony way – how he would best gain the respect of the town. Each of my friends at the time offered different advice. Mine was Friendship and Sacrifice: that a proper monarch would die for any of his subjects, and in turn his subjects would willingly sacrifice themselves for him without being asked. I told him of the hollowness of fear with its accompanying resentments, festering disloyalty and short-term fame. If you are hated, you are forgotten. If you are loved, your name and what you stand for will endure in one way or another forever, because people want and need hope. He seemed to listen to us. I very much want to go back and see how he is doing all these seasons later.

That all goes to say that I believed myself prepared for Rey’s mistress.

I was not.

She emerged out of the ground, a creature of impossible size, simply immense compared to Kravostrix. The air crackled around her, the ground glowed under her footsteps. Her scales were the blue of sapphires, of the center of mighty icebergs that Uncle Skaen used to tell us of. Gleaming sabers, her claws, and arm-length teeth. She radiated catastrophe, discord, hunger, strife.

But her eyes . . . .

Her eyes were milky and sick. The wind all around roared and yet she scented us, turned her massive head to us, unseeing. Rey walked to her alone, and when her mistress finally saw her, she said only, “It is you. Follow.” And back underground she went.

We followed into a slightly warmer place of phosphorescent blue light and glass walls. The entryway, I noted, was of Dwarven make.

Whisper popped up out of the ground as we moved into some kind of huge audience room. “Back you are, back you are! The mistress cannot see!” he said in Draconic which Rey translated for me. “The eyes are clear but the mind is unwell.” The mistress crouched in a sitting position like a cat and turned her attention to us. Whisper vanished once more.

Her presence filled the room. Every part of our last several hours climbing up towards her lair was redolent of her: touches on stone shocked; the air swirled blue; there was a constant feeling of being close to an electrical storm. I had experienced something like this once or twice in the Fey, but here this lingering presence of naked power came with menace and doom.

Words in Draconic flew back and forth between Rey and the dragon. None of it seemed hostile but it is an aggressive-sounding tongue so it is difficult to tell. The creature pointed to Rishka, said something, and he immediately opened the chest of treasure. She beckoned it and him to her side, and I saw the fear and awe of a follower there.

She beckoned to me as well, switching to Common.

“Who are you?” she says.

“I am Etona, a child of the Mirror.”

“You worship the moon goddess,” she said.

“I am–. I was my tribe’s priestess of Sehanine.”

“Whom do you serve now?”

“Today I serve Rey’s mistress.”

She snorted. This seemed to satisfy her and I was forgotten for a time.

Rey explained all of the events from our going to the swamp, what we found, and our return. She wisely left out our adventures in the cairn. The dragon took this all in but looked intently at us when Rey described where the treasure came from.

“These shinies are from Ithane’s cache?” she asked suspiciously, and then she waved a claw over it, spoke some words. The air shimmered. “You have brought me a trap! This metal is dripping with her scrying magic. She knows where I am now,” she said in voice laced with contempt, sparks arcing between her horns. “Do not move, any of you.”

We waited. Possibly for death.

She cast a spell. Tendrils of blue lightning wove themselves into a tea cozy that encircled the treasure. There was a buzzing, a crackling. A *whuumph* that made the coins tinkle.

“It is done,” she muttered. “Bring me no more cursed treasure.”

Since we were to live, we continued, as we made our apologies, to covertly examine her to try and figure out what was ailing her. Rishka heroically engaged her along many conversation points, accidentally(?) lapsing into Draconic now and then, stalling her, so that we could look for clues to make a diagnosis. We saw much, but not enough. She finally left the way she came.

Whisper reappeared and, after a gold piece morsel from Rey, told us that Tody is in the next chamber over, a very retiring green-skinned gnome. How curious! I had never met one such as he.

“My name is Etona. I have always wanted to meet a gnome, but you always run too deep for my . . . kind –.” I faltered as the gnome looked like he was under assault.

“Too much words, the elf says too many! Stop! Stop!”

I saw Rey suppress a smile.

“Why are you here?” asked Rey.

“Mistress summoned me,” said Tody. “There was a mix-up and I was supposed to accompany someone, but...” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” she pursued and motioned to the glass tubes and burners set up all around the room.

“The mistress has changed.” He begins rushing around the . . . _laboratory_, yes, that’s the word for what he has created here. “Scales getting thinner. Poisoned! But I checked,” he points to a set of tubes containing colored fluids, “the water and lake, the dirt, the soil. She eats only local, caribou, all good. She goes out during the day, hunts, comes back at night. She is frightened of rocks falling. She pees everywhere.” He makes a sound like an annoyed badger. We would hear this a lot in the coming days.

We sat down to understand the sequence of events here. At some point in the recent past, the blue and black dragons fought, probably at the fruit orchard. The blue was already ill and not able to kill her younger, smaller rival. Rey left her mistress after this to try and find answers as to what was wrong when she met me and subsequently Hannah selling her land with the ever-regrowing lilacs. Then the gnome came, and then Gubble, and then we returned from the swamp and journeyed here.

Oh yes, Gubble: a Vecna Gnothic brought here by an increasingly paranoid dragon to search for spies.

Gnothics, Tody told us, are beings punished by Vecna for something, possibly coming too close to a particular secret. They are cursed individuals: shunned by all but retaining enough humanity, maybe, to understand what they have lost. They see into people somehow with their single malformed, oversized eye. They are lost creatures, existing as mere tools for the wicked or desperate. This one, Gubble, has the single burning red eye, warped features, remnants of hair, patchwork clothing, and it delights only in interrogation. I have never met a creature crying out more obviously for death, though perhaps something worse awaits after. This last thought stayed my hand when I came upon the creature unawares, looking in confusion at itself in a reflecting pool.

Gubble told us that it is still working on “the last monk.” I immediately had this person moved to our room and the apparition sent away.

The monk was unconscious. I tended to his unusual wounds as best I could: he seemed to have been hollowed out, skin sloughing away. I suspect he is from the Twilight Lodge outside of Diamond Lake. There are wonderful tattoos and constellations and patterns – I recognize every one of them – on most of his exposed skin. All of them track or represent the majesty of Luna.

I undress him as part of treating him, though much was curiosity I had to admit. And . . . . well, he looks strong despite his torture, and handsome. And I hear Her laughing. Her full face is mere hours away.

When I had done all I could, and all I permitted myself to do with a desirable but unconscious man, we again gathered to assemble our clues. We began to understand something: the cattle at the beginning of my story with Rey had been poisoned by an unknown agent so their owner moved them to Hannah’s farm where they were, to their owner’s disgust, dying from another problem, the magic lilacs.

Poisoned cattle well within the dragon’s hunting territory.
The dragon was eating the poisoned cattle.
She was sick before Hannah’s farm, stricken by whatever made the cattle sick before they moved to Hannah’s. I remembered the conversation with their owner only now: the cattle suffering from blindness, distemper, urination.

Rey’s black spear earlier that day had sucked her mistress’ blood into itself and left behind a single drop of quicksilver.

Metal poisoning. Quicksilver poisoning. This is what has happened to the dragon.

Tody believed he could create a potion to cleanse the _arcae’mithrear_ from her body. With the Xorn providing sulfur, it might be possible, over two weeks of daily administration involving vomiting and pain, to cure her. Possibly fully, possibly not.

He got to work, both Rishka and I helping.

While I did so, and later while I was wandering through the deeper caves, I pondered what this meant: mercury in the cattle. _Arcae’mithrear_ in the land. The mine. The mine is poisoning the land! It must be closed. Verdre and I will contact the Briarwood Lodge, the garrison, perhaps even Greyhawk: that mine must not be allowed to reopen and in fact will need to be cleansed and then filled in.

I also pondered everything we had learned to this point: _What did we know about Ithane?_ These green worms destroyed the Clutch and Ithane appeared after the Clutch was wiped out. _What did we know about the worms?_ The green worms seem to have been created this way: they are not a change to an existing worm, Egan thinks. It is the larval stage of something else.
The Vecna cult in the Dourstone mine discovered the green worms in the surrounding area but they were likely from the Clutch. It all originated in the south with the black dragon. But black dragons aren’t necromancers, I thought. Nor evil worm makers or contagion spreaders.

The white worm that we found in a tube among Filch’s belongings has similar properties, but we don’t know what it is or how it is related to the much more plentiful green ones. Perhaps we should try to find Filch again?

Through the night I watched the monk. I also gathered and prepared what ingredients I could to aid Tody’s effort on the morrow. When Rishka woke as he did during the night from the cold, I asked him:  “What if we allow Rey’s mistress to die? Would it not serve a greater good? The chromatic dragons are ravagers. They use their intelligence and power to –.”

“All dragons are sacred,” Rishka interrupted me. I now know what outrage looks like on a lizardman. “They are the first ones. Their ways are not our ways.”

I did not come up here to slay a dragon nor watch one die, and there is some sense in Rishka’s words. Also, it would hurt Rey, perhaps more than I understand. As well, My Mysterious Mistress has not offered any indicators one way or the other how She feels about my helping this creature.

I needed to think, so I needed to wander.

The caves go back a considerable way. Their immense size allows me to ignore for the most part that I am under the earth, surrounded by rock eager – in its ancient crumbling way – to bury and forget me.

Its beauty is not lost on me. It is not hard to understand the dwarves’ fascination with being down here: crystals, shimmering pools, stalag–, stalactim–?, glowing mushrooms, trickles of water as calm as any burbling brook. The peace of being wrapped in the blanket of the earth. Yes, I see it. I simply cannot feel it. All I feel is smothering, the weight, the ocean of rock. Any ocean has this effect on my kind: we are prone to melancholy whenever we encounter one, and I am no exception.

I came upon the Gnothic staring into its pool. A single arrow, blessed I was certain by My Merciful Mistress, would fell it and bring peace from its tiny world of torment that it was forced to exist in. But, as I wrote before, I could not. Its misery is not mine to end, unasked for.

So I will ask.


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Oct 28, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Twelve*

*Coldeven 10th day*
When everyone woke up, we undertook the task of convincing the dragon to drink what we had wrought. We tried this line of reasoning at my urging:

_Mistress, this potion will expel the weakness inside of you. You will be sick, you will expel this rotted blackness violently, but once even some of it is out, your immense strength of will and your tremendous vitality will overwhelm what is left utterly. You will be yourself again . . . perhaps, if we dare to hope, even better._

It was unpersuasive. Rey told her that she would stay for the first few days of treatment and would even drink the potion with her if it came down to that. This offer to take the potion herself, and my joining her, finally got the mistress to take the first dose.

The wyrm’s eyes snapped open in alarm. She wretched, waved her head about in great distress obliterating stalactites of ice and granite, and stormed from the cave.

“Rey?” I whispered.

“Yes, Etona?”

“Should we be here when she comes back?”

But she was adamant, her eyes calm: she knew what needed to be done, and indeed later that day when her mistress did return, she allowed Rey to hunt with her, to be her eyes. Rey found kobold tracks belonging to a half dozen of them: certainly spies from Ithane. Though she understood the traces of their passing, she was surprised to lose them again and so did not catch up to the kobolds. Her mistress, almost blind at this point, noticed none of this.

That evening as I felt shudders along my spine, my eyes kept drawing up towards Luna and the heat began to creep across my skin. I explained the _dorse feu_ to Rey.

“Our people came from the Bright, what most other races including ourselves call the Fey. _Fey_ is the Elven word for _bright home_. It is the Well of Life, the place from where all natural energies spring. You and I exist here in the Fade, a shadow of the Fey diluted through its touching other pure realms such as the Shadowfel, the Elemental Planes and the Astral Plane which is, I understand, a doorway to yet other planes of existence such as Hell and the Abyss.

“It is a long story how some elves came to inhabit the Fade, and how our tribe in particular came to the Mirror. Our clan to be called the Thornblood. We had always worshiped Sehanine, but before we started our journey to the Mirror we also paid tribute to Llolth. Yes, that Llolth, before She had fallen. Despite teachings against her, I have always felt a little sorry for Her, actually, and I know some of us would still hear Her people’s words if they were peaceful. But they largely are not: they are violent and cruel, though Verdre now believes that they have to be that way in order to survive. I have actually met one named Lilliam who befriended my aunt, as much as that was possible for dark elf, but that is a story for another day.

“We left behind the complex Oaths of our old lives. In following Sehanine’s edict to leave the Fey, we became free. And so to this day we resist laws: they are tyranny to us, their frequently complex wordings hearken back to the enslaving layers of the Bindings.

“And so Sehanine led my, humans call them ‘great-grandparents’, into the Fade. When they got there, they found that they had lost their long lives – we only live a few centuries now. They lost many of their powers, and for the children of these first travelers born into the Fade came the dearest loss: siring more than two or three children over our lifetime. My family, the Aspiannes, is quite large actually: my father has two siblings, and I have some fifteen blood kin.

“Additionally, they could feel the Shadowfel pushing on them as a constant pressure, slowly through the generations cooling their blood. The Children of the Mirror are yet _vyld_ – humans might use the words “wild” or “uncivilized” – but it is the true wild of being part of nature and not a life of fury and violence. We use to love easily and passionately always, but that has faded. Sehanine’s gift to us, something She would not allow us to lose, She reserves now for those two arcs a cycle when Her face shines fully down upon us. That is the _dorse feu_, the time of fire in our veins; the return to fury and passion; our reconnecting with the Fey.”

“I have a hard time imaging you as cold and aloof,” says Rey. That made me smile. “So how does _dorse feu_ affect you? Do you fight?”

“Different individuals among us are affected in different ways. For father, he paints madly his dreams, and they are interpreted for cycles to come by Tamyl and other leaders among us and allies in the Bright. Mother climbed trees and fashioned living art there as do several others in our tribe still. That is, when she was not straddling father and other males in the tribe. Me, I often lie under Her face and soak in Her. In that condition I am found by my kin and . . . we enjoy one another.”

“You mean –?” said Rey.

“Yes. Not by force, though sometimes it can get a little rough, particularly if a druid happened upon me. And family members are not part of it: it is not permitted.”

_It is not permitted, Skaen!_

“I do enjoy it very much: it satisfies a deep crav--. Oh, Rey, I see that you are very uncomfortable with this! It is your human modesty. You do not have to be. Not with me. But yes, it is a lot to take in.”

She was silent for some time as we did other things.

“Men, and women?” ventured Rey, not able to help herself.

“Oh yes! I enjoy recreating with men, but I have always fallen for women.” I smiled but this seemed to alarm Rey rather than merely answer her. I didn’t know what else to say, so we kept doing what we had been doing: I tending to the monk, washing my clothes and self, and checking the mixtures on the lab table, and she mending her armor and practicing short throws and retrievals with her new magic spear. I have said too much, I know, at least too much for Rey to hear.

The monk, I realized, was watching us both. I hadn’t noticed him awaken.

***
His name was Hilraam. He spoke with his hands – not a sound from his mouth – and in his eyes stood utter calm no matter the subject: the dragon, his torture, his fellow monks dying, our reason for being here. I questioned him on all of these, and all were returned with a serenity I have never before seen in a human. He patiently communicated through gestures that he was indeed captured by the blue dragon, and his brothers were eaten by her, though he bore her no ill will.

He and his brothers at the monastery love Luna. They track Her, study Her. They all wear tattoos of Her moods and wanderings. They have designed and created lenses that harness the power of Luna, that show much and foretell the future. They are secretive but not, if you do not harm them, dangerous.

All this time a mere stone’s throw from Diamond Lake, and I did not know.

While he was explaining through gestures something I was not grasping immediately, I impulsively kissed him. He returned it, and he and I smiled, both of us understanding something unsaid.

For the next long while I talked to him about myself and the Children of the Mirror. When his lids began fluttering somewhere after Standing, I sang him to sleep.

*Coldeven 11th day, full moon*
We finally told the mistress the truth about the mercury poisoning after Rey drank the potion again. This time the mistress drank and did not vomit.

The crystal and Rey’s spear were brought up, and the mistress said Yes to the plan of firing into it.

Whisper found and ate a couple of kobolds, it said. These could be Ithane’s. That might have solved the spy problem in the short term? What I was curious about was how swamp-dragon-aligned kobolds could survive up here. I hoped we would capture one and have the opportunity to ask.

I don’t really remember what else happened that day, for the dorse feu was only hours away. And with a human. I hoped we would not damage one another.

*Coldeven 11th night, dorse feu*
Hilraam was skilled, responsive, and durable.

His chest, I was delighted to find (and run my fingers across) was indeed artistically rendered in lunar paths and constellations, all of which I eventually recognized. Many among our tribe render similar markings though nothing as . . . _mathematical_ as this.

When we were both at the limits of our stamina, I saw an image of him, actually a projection, above his body. He was aiming the lens at me, peering at me through it. I spread my arms in welcome. He then peered in the direction of Luna, and then the image vanished. Hilraam slept on peacefully.

This has been a wonderful return to the ways of my kin. Here, in a frozen dragon cave, underground, with a mute human. No wonder my father has strange dreams: what can dreams of future events along my own timeline for just my own life look like, let alone an entire people?

*Coldeven 12th day*
Outside, the crystal was set up and Rey and the dragon were positioned by Rishka. Ah yes, the mad plan. 

At his signal, Rey’s mistress reared up and spat out a bolt of lightning that passed through the crystal, exploding it. Save for stolid Rey, we all dove for cover. She was deafened for a time, a little scorched, but happy, because it worked! The lightning imbued the spear, changing its very essence from black to blue, from acid to lightning.

Afterward Rey explained to her mistress about seeing the kobolds, and that although Whisper had one or more ground into kobold paste, it didn’t get all of them.

“Well, why don’t you go find them and kill the rest,” she ordered. Rey left for some time and returned to report that she found the tracks, saw that they were leaving the area, but then she lost them in rocky, windswept terrain.

Later that afternoon we were all sparring when Whisper popped out of a stone wall, arced through the air – an arm missing – to land in a heap, motionless. A stony claw followed it out, attached to the rest of a massive earth elemental that started swinging at everything it saw.

Rey blew the side off the thing with her first shot: the new magic within the spear is puissant. I hit a couple times with my Silver, but it was Hilraam who ran in and engaged the thing. He attacked with his bare hands, thunder rolling out from his fists and feet. He dodged and parried with remarkable skill, but the stone monster’s huge size was too much: it slammed him down and then, with a sickening crunch that caused me to cry out, it crushed him.

We killed it a moment later – a moment too late – and it fell into rubble.

I pulled Hilraam out and spent time with him, praying, recommending him to Sehanine. I kissed him one last time before giving him to Rishka to take away for eating. His body would not go to waste: the dead feed the living, that is the way. I could not personally eat him, of course – that is for animals, and our more feral druids like Skaen and Tu’urka – but I think Hilraam would be pleased that he could offer one last service.


*Coldeven 12th – second night of the full moon*
My second and final night of the _dorse feu_. I could only pray this night: my skin’s yearning fled with Hilraam’s death.

“So much death all around me, My Mistress. I ask that let me heal once again. Let me your beacon once more, please, just for a time.”

I dreamed. Sehanine smiled down on me and I see my hands on fire with her moon glow, bloodied friends and lovers and kin rising towards my glow which has spread to all my body. They lay their hands on me and are healed.”

My hands tingled all over when I awoke, and I know my healing has returned. My initiate spells are clear in my head: they have come back.

All alone in my little alcove I had created to separate Hilraam and me, and then just me, from Rey and the gnome and all others, I cried. Joy, but sadness too. Each new wave of Her grace returning to me has come on the death of another. What can this mean?


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## Alexander Bryant (Dec 1, 2017)

*Journal of Etona - Entry Thirteen*

*Coldeven 13th day*
We journeyed down carefully, aiming for our old hideout. More of the snownadoes, more traps circumvented, sparks in the air. What a marvelous land that was. Just . . . very cold. Also, my eyes hurt while I was up there.

At our “pad” - our out-of-town headquarters, I suppose - I prowled while people slept, and that is how I heard and then saw the group of four men come up the trail to the place. I recognized Egan and initially came to greet him but then withdrew. Something about their postures, the way they moved. One of them heard me.

The one in the lead grabbed Egan by the scruff of the neck and said, “Did you hear that? What was that?” A human speaking Common. As I passed around them, I realized that their scent was also wrong for humans. Where had I smelled that before?

Two more thoughts raised my hackles:
They have come to steal the artifacts.
They are mistreating my friend.

I moved around them trying to size them up. Eventually I understood that they could see in the dark better than I. It would be revealed soon that they used magic I had seen Egan use for this purpose. They also exchanged words between themselves that were not Common, but like their scent I had encountered this before as well.

Where? Where before?

I stole back to our little base and awakened the others. We would confront them on the road in front of the building, see what they wanted. Angivre and I perched in the second-story window keeping watch.

They halted before the trio reached the corona of light thrown by Rey and Rishka’s torches and the moon-kissed stone I provided. I could no longer see the other two with him under the overcast dark sky.

“Egan, what is this about?” Rey called to them.

Our young warlock came forward. “Oh, eh, hi there, Rey! Yes. Good evening,” Egan replied. “We’re just here to get something and then we’re off.”

“What you are here for does not belong to you,” Rey said.

Apparently, that was the end of the conversation. What followed was a very peculiar mix of hide-and-seek and dodge-the-fire-wizard. Egan would play the part of concerned hare.

The trio was aligned with the Hell realm. Their leader was armed with flame spells which he shot out with abandon. All three could turn invisible and throw spheres of _orum_, or utterblack around.

Rey and Rishka – and Obi, too – dodged torrents of flame in attacking the fire mage who, like Egan, wore a tough armor. I let fly the Silver at him, Rishka attacked with jaws wide open, and Rey struck with her spear. In short order we forced his retreat . . . into thin air: not only was he was adept at his invisibility but he could also shadowstep like many Eladrin.

He was a diversion, however: his two invisible fellows made for the well where the artifacts were. At least one of them dove in sealing the top with a complicated spell of whirring metal blades that appeared out of nowhere. I had seen the like before: Olma, a Dwarven cleric I had known, had also used this _dweomer_ (her word for a spell). It was an odd plan: how would they get out again? Could they also shadowstep? If so, could they do so from inside a well?

They dropped i, we countered; they created the blade wall, we kicked in the stones underneath to pound them; they shadowstepped, we tracked them. Egan, bereft of powers through all this, sought shelter. He was clearly on our side: in the fight he yelled that we should dispatch these men and that he was powerless and he would explain everything and . . . oh, poor Egan.

They were able to grab the artifacts and get some distance away, but not far enough. We felled both of them knocking them unconscious. However, between a last powerful storm of fire from their invisible leader and Rishka’s seeming insatiable hunger, both of them ended up dead. I could do nothing about the former, but the latter . . . 

“Rishkar! If you eat someone still living again in my presence, you will have to answer to an angry goddess.” His small eyes slitted in regarding me. Rey intervened and led him away.

We tracked the mage to the Whispering Cairn. "Your claim is not unjust!" I called out, and though his party's attack without even speaking to us was rash, even these actions could be justified. I explained that we understood all of this and wanted to parlay. He did not, remaining invisible. In the end we simply waited him out and, when he appeared we surrounded him, Rishkar licking his lips.

He told us he was with an organization called the *Asmodi*, a group of some size and resources acting on behalf of Hell. Egan’s abilities - could we fail to notice? - were from there, negotiated earlier with this group. He owed them much for his powers.

“He was desperate, penniless, and trying to find his lost sister,” I protested to a shrug.

“Few happy people come to us. You for example, moon priest, wouldn’t. But we offer a fair deal. Customers such as Egan are not even required to pay up front.”

Ruthless this may be, but it was undeniably fair to an extent. That they only required material gain was fortunate: Egan had not sold his soul. Except . . . .

“That treasure you came for and were willing to kill us over is not his and so not yours to claim. He found it alongside R--, the huntress here and myself.” No need to give him names beyond my own. “A different prize will have to be offered.”

This he nodded at.

Rey and I stepped away and had our first of many little conferences. She was angling to kill this man. The only counter-argument that she would listen to was whether or not that would do any good.

A yell of pain. Rishkar had eaten part of the man’s hand ostensibly, the walking crocodile explained, to prevent more spell casting. I think it more likely he was simply missing his midnight snack.

We asked the sorcerer about what usually happened when a claim team did not come back.

“They simply send a stronger party to find out what happened.”

“What do we need to do for your order to leave Egan alone and never bother the rest of us again?” I returned.

It would take much money, he said, something of similar value. No, he did not want to die, though I sensed he was not particularly afraid of that. This to me is odd: I thought servitors of Hell gave up their spirit to torment upon death, but maybe that was incorrect. He was certainly disciplined: he was reacting only mildly to the loss of part of his hand.

Rey still wanted to kill him, and so did Rishkar since it was nearly Elevensies and the hand merely whet his appetite, but I wanted no part in that. I could not talk them out of it, however, so I left.

And yet, Rey held back. She could not do it. I knew she could not! I took and squeezed her hand. "Thank you," I whispered to her.

And so the man told us to go to Greyhawk's Silver Dragon Inn and leave a message there for the Asmadi. They would contact us to arrange payment of the debt. We then let him go, and he seemed to be grateful enough for sparing his life so I remain hopeful we will get a fair bargain out of it.

“Is this what you want in life?” I asked him as he was leaving. He turned around to face me again. “A little borrowed power to terrorize others with? To do the bidding of creatures who mean the world no good?”

“Everything people have, every scrap of happiness, comes from power. All else is illusion. It is what there is.”

I stepped close to him and gazed into his eyes.

“No. There is more.”

He stared at me a moment then chuckled, a little ruefully I thought. “Maybe for elves, but we humans have a rougher time of it. This life is short and dirty. You make what you can of it and then you’re erased.”

He walked away.

“Sehanine light your way, human. I hope to see you again.”

***
*Coldeven 14th day*
When we went back to Diamond Lake, Rey, Rishkar and I made a bee line to the Emporeum. Shag met us at the door: he is the new door attendant! As I hugged him and asked if he was available later that night for games and tea, I wondered at my gentle friend’s ability to turn people away. I couldn’t imagine him sternly ordering anyone to retreat.

While Shag and I chatted, I sent a message to Madame Z. It came back almost immediately – please come up to her office.

She was agitated, I could see, and distracted. Clearly she wanted to unburden herself to me. Before she could, however, I wanted to set up a meeting with the Twilight Lodge. She agreed to leave the usual message at the usual location, and we would wait. She then asked us into a small private nook off the main office.

We crowded in, Rey and I, Rishka remaining just outside, taking care not to disturb her remarkable collection of a hundred or so little figurines of the peoples and monsters of the world.

She was hoping, she said, that we would take papers to Greyhawk and bring back an emissary for a nobleman on the council who was looking to get more involved in local mining. This was apparently a secret as council members are not supposed to have direct interests in mining or some such? Words about laws slip too easily out of my thoughts. The escort of this individual back to Diamond Lake would need to be covert and also not connected to Greyhawk itself. This ruled out many people whom Madame Z could otherwise trust, and so she had hoped to hire us.

It is a way to pay our debt, though doing this job also pays gold as well. Furthermore, I did come upon the idea that this councilman we would be aiding could perhaps be persuaded to move the refinery elsewhere, particularly once we’ve destroyed it. The mines themselves are doing little damage to the land, so if this poisonous thing could be relocated it would save people its weight in bother. Finally, this same councilman could potentially vote for our treaty recommendation to smooth relations between Rishkar’s folk and the humans.

Once away from the Emporeum, I spoke with *Merris Sandover*, a scout for the Bronzewood Lodge, asking him to contact *Nogweir*, their leader, about the poisoning of the land and what we could do about the refinery. He is not of a mind to level the building for some reason, but he liked my idea of approaching the councilman. I asked him to keep a look out for Verdre and tell her we went to Greyhawk, our next destination for the next several days.

Next up was Allustan. We asked if he would venture into the deep of the cairn to examine the black sphere and its red stand. No, definitely not, he said, but he would like a chance to study it. Egan volunteered to make the arrangements to get it up to the surface world and into Allustan’s house using a team of men and dwarves. He will stay behind to oversee this.

I am actually quite worried about him: his latest bad idea is finding information on the Wind Dukes for the purpose of communing with them, gaining their favor, and passing their power through him as he did with the Court of Hell. I made him promise he would consider *not* doing that – not be enslaved to another round of potentially malefic deities – and so to not move at all towards that end at least until we return. At least when I was not in Her favor, she did not send agents after me to exact retribution.

Come to that: perhaps he would interested in following Her Silver Path?

We let Mel know we were leaving for Greyhawk in a couple days. She had an interesting surprise for us: a summonable celestial steed! It was white and silver-gray, beautiful, sixteen hands high. Calm, utterly confident with a look in its eye that I’d last seen from a halfling pretending he was a child but knew that I knew but was in on the secret. Mel will be our human guide through the noisy hive of the human capital city. We assembled everything we would need to visit it, and the next day off we went.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 1, 2018)

*Journal of Melinde Vereen - Entry I*

_It’s been too long since I’ve been in the city._

_I guess what they say is true.  You can take the kid out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the kid.  _

It wasn’t half a day into our second day back in town, while Rey, Rishkar and Chrism were working out details of the lizardman treaty (I think they call it the Mist Marsh Treaty), when we were beset upon by a swarm of unusually aggressive horned beetles.  They came down hard on the Hunter’s Mark Inn.  After a short fight, where I got to blast quite a few of the nasty little things, the attack let up, and Chrism left with the treaty to pass off to the Council.  I think they weren’t going to actually vote on it, but Rey seemed happy.  Those papers all seem like a waste of time to me.  The average soldier on the ground is going to panic when he sees something like Rishkar, and it only takes one idiot with a crossbow to mess all this work up.

Anyhow, after Chrism left, Etona was chomping at the bit to get back to Phreet’s dock buddies’ hideout to see if they had the stolen family heirloom compass that the ship captain Arma wanted back.  I could understand the urgency.  The little urchins might have pawned the thing already, and then we’d really be on a wild goose chase.  I offered to get some help from some of the watch that were coming off duty.

I managed to come across a few of the guys from the low market watch.  Their captain was Viddick, a lumbering oaf of a man who took up more space in his britches than he had brain cells to control.  Needless to say, I paid for some drinks and agreed to do him a favor in the future and off we went to the docks.

Evening was fast upon us at this point, and the docks were beginning to stink of the drunkards. None of us had seen this crew of Phreets’ so I tried to wring it out of one of the drunks near Pier 11.  I got some vomit on my tunic, but the old sailor was out cold before I could finish my questions.  It turns out Viddick and his crew could visually identify members of Phreet’s team, so my questioning was unnecessary.  Viddick waited until after I was vomited on to tell me that.

Rey and Etona quickly located the suspected campy site of Phreet’s crew.  It looked like it was ransacked.  Actually, according to Rey, it looked like someone came from the water attacked her crew, took the people and left.  Three came in and six went out.  However, other than some spattered blood, there was nothing to find.

I let the boys go at that point, and Viddick seemed less concerned about the potential crime scene here than getting back to his bed and going to sleep.  

Etona led us back to wharf house where people pick up jobs.  I tried my old City Watch defending the peace routine to try to get some info on Phreet’s crew’s activity, but George, the wharf clerk blew me off.  Etona was much more blunt, and George told her that Phreet’s crew rented a boat a few hours before we got there and went out to Captain Arma’s vessel.  He didn’t see them come back, but he assumed they were doing a rigging job for Arma.

That certainly confused me.  If someone came to their camp and roughed them up to get the compass back, then why would they go back to see Arma?  And if they didn’t have the compass and got roughed up, why would they go back to see Arma?  At that point, we all seemed confused.  Admittedly Etona had the most bizarre notion that Doppelgangers came into their camp, killed or abducted them, assumed their identities and then went to Arma.  

Regardless of our queries, Etona hired a boat, and we all went back to Arma’s barge.  The vessel was pulling anchor when we arrived.  After a bit of a confused interaction with his crew, we met the Captain again.  He seemed equally befuddled by our visit.  He told us that Phreet’s crew came back with the compass, confessed and he let Phreet leave with them.  He said he hadn’t sent anyone to attack them or try to get the compass back.  He was pulling anchor because his son was staying to be a gladiator in the arena, and he had finished his business here.

Something still didn’t make sense.  If someone went and roughed up Phreet’s gang, why wouldn’t they have just gotten the compass at that point?  I suppose Phreet’s rigging crew could have hidden it somewhere and agreed to bring it back only if they were let go.  But then where did they go with Phreet?

Etona was equally confused.  After checking one more time at Pier 11 for Phreet’s return, we found nothing of the rigging crew and no new clues.  Everyone decided to return to the Hunter’s Mark.

Back at the Inn, we had a message waiting from a mysterious author, likely Elgios, the wizard friend of Allustan who was researching the undead worms.  We were invited to the Crooked House in the Foreign Quarter.  Having no other current options, we made our way there.  

The new Innkeeper, a boisterous gnome, had a special rate for us, and even offered a stable for my new magical horse and Rishkar.  The new setting was a welcome change.  I’d prefer the Foreign Quarter any day to the Low Market crowd.  

After checking in, we headed over the Shrine to the Moon Goddess, Sehanine.  Etona met with Estae (the lay priest) to see if they could locate Phreet again.  They both started talking about some upcoming moon festival or new moon something or other.  I think I was watching some fireflies when they were finally ready to go.

We returned to the Crooked House, named for its slightly off-kilter architecture, just in time for dinner and evening festivities.  I found an old war veteran who was missing a couple fingers, Lucian, to arm wrestle.  Etona made friends with the elven singer, Coraline, who looked deceptively fey, but seemed completely uneducated in the elven ways outside Greyhawk.  Rey had a talk with the cook, Borgo, to get a whole pig to feed to Obi and Rishkar.  Dinner was quite tasty.

Overnight Etona told us she was going back to the wharf to see if she could do some good and attract some followers to her new moon ceremony.  I’m not sure when she left or came back, but I slept well.

The next morning, our 3rd day in the city, we met in the main room early.  Etona likes to be up early.  Just as we were starting in on breakfast, a scream erupted from the street outside.  There wasn’t a moment to lose.  Action in Greyhawk is like the High Ery in the spring.  Nothing stops it.

Once outside, we came across a gathering crowd.  A middle-aged woman, a local baker’s wife, named Kalinda came across a body in the street.  A man appeared to have fallen from his second-story balcony and died on the street below from the fall.  However, as the crowd gathered, we began to suspect foul play.  Rey inspected the body and found a likely fatal wound at the base of the man’s neck (from a stiletto) and another on his chest where a strip of skin had been cut away.  Both injuries clearly not from the fall.

Around the same time, Viddick showed up with his crew of half-exhausted cohorts.  He accosted me and asked for his favor.  It seems the Watch has been busy with a Serial Killer in the Lower Ward, so Viddick’s busy with that investigation.  Apparently, he’s also short-staffed, which is always the case.  So, just my luck, he made me an offer to reinstate my position with the Watch for a day to investigate this crime.  Of course, I have to write a report, and I’m really terrible at investigating, but it’s so good to be back.  I couldn’t turn his down.  He wasn’t real happy about our findings, but it was a murder.  Or it looks like one.

Etona, Riskhar and Rey graciously agreed to help me out, since I probably would have just called it an accident without them.  Up in the man’s apartment, we found a large store of art pieces, and we learned his name: Svans Clemansor.  Etona also found another clue: a small pile of flour: uncooked, just outside the balcony door and a trail leading from the entrance to the apartment door.  The apartment door was unlocked and there were no signs of struggle either.  Likely this attacked was done by a skilled assassin.  Possibly someone working for that guild.  A guild I can safely say is dangerous.  

The art dealer’s neighbor on the ground floor, Borland Zigvaris (a smith of some sort) said that Svans was a dealer who had special parties for the art elite.  Apparently, they didn’t travel in the same circles, but he was known.  We couldn’t tell if any art pieces were missing.  In fact, it looked like the hit and man’s flesh were the target of the attack.  I’m not savvy about stealing flesh, but it sounds like something a necromancer would do, though I thought they took whole bodies for zombification.

At any rate, we left the crime scene at that.  I would like to question the baker himself at some point.  Perhaps he was expecting some fresh baked goods and got a knife in his back instead.  Though, it’s more likely that someone picked his lock, knew his morning routine and tried to make it look like an accident.  We need to find out what other things he was planning, possibly even later today.  There have been a lot of fancy pieces coming out of the dungeons under Castle Greyhawk lately.

Back at the Crooked house, we ate breakfast, and I worked on my report with Rey’s help.  We had no suspects and no motive, so it was pretty bland, but I still had all the details that proved it was no accident.  Etona went to meet with Estae, I assume to see if he had any leads on Phreet and to talk about their new moon ceremony.

Around noon we headed to the stables at the Middle Gate to the Artisan’s Quarter.  Etona had a meeting with Tomas, the driver for Councilman Thran Chozik.  When we arrived, Tomas was waiting with the well-known Black Coach.  Apparently it got its name because it was tradition to paint all coaches white and emblazon them with emblems in Greyhawk, and Tomas was the first to paint one black.  

Tomas had a bit of a surprise for us as well.  He planned to take us to our scheduled luncheon with Elgios, in the High Ward.  Admittedly, it would be a fine way to travel and would avoid questions about Rishkar.  We accepted and were ferried quickly to the High Ward.

We arrived at a majestic estate made of cut white stone. I think Rey said it was marble.  It had a long stark entrance with a few colonnades and an equally few guards.  It seemed limited by comparison to other family homes in the High ward, but I guess if you’re a wizard, you have invisible guards. 

We were welcomed by Pollard, an aging elf at the door and escorted to a large lounge.  In a fancy sitting space we met Elgios, an aging man with cropped red hair and a silver breastplate and dressed in ruddy red robes.  He invited us to eat with him.

As we entered another room, he introduced another guest, a middle-aged man with longish blonde hair, a chain shirt and a muscular build.  I was stunned when he called the man Thran, Councilman Thran Chozik.  Despite the councilman’s presence, we began to discuss the undead worms from Ithane’s egg and the lizardman clutch.  It seems Elgios found writings about a cult that worshipped a minor deity called Kyuss, and that Kyuss’ rebirth heralded a time known as the Age of Worms, which apparently was a time in which life as we know it would end and another form of existence would take over.  Apostolic scrolls and The Libris Mortis seemed like good references from Elgios.  Though Etona was skeptical at first, it seems we had already seen a minor servant of Kyuss in the form of the worm-infested scout from Blackwall.  If that was a minor servant, then we are in for rough times.  It seems Kyuss is not a free-roaming deity currently though. 

Etona moved to engage Councilman Chozik in conversation about the Smelting House in Diamond Lake.  She made some good point about it poisoning people, and was very forward about looking for a solution, even hinting at a violent dismantling at the hands of the druids of Briarwood if no other option was available.  The Councilman was very reasonable though, and said he was open to discussion.  His ask was this: Lorus Rahanian, a veteran Arena fighter currently controls the Champion’s Games.  His games tame much of the unruly populous, and Thran wishes to be able to have some influence over the games or their controller.  He currently can’t gain access to that kind of influence with Lorus, but he thinks that Lorus may be partaking in some illegal activities.  If he can use this knowledge of Lorus to gain influence, aka blackmail the guy, then he’ll be happy to oblige Etona and likely Rey as well with the Mistmarsh Treaty.

The catch to the Councilman’s request, we have to enter the Champion’s Games as a team to get access to Lorus’ quarters to investigate for him.  Of course, I’m game for investing any illegal activity.  That’s in my nature, but I’m more likely to turn Lorus into the Watch that let him keep breaking the law just so Thran can pull his strings.  That’s my take on things, but I told the Councilman, I would jump at the opportunity.  Etona was opposed to fighting, but the councilman assured us that we didn’t have to enter into any combat to simply sign up and gain access to the grounds.  It’s considered a punishable offense to kill your opponents in the Arena anyhow.  It’s supposed to be subdual only.  Accidents happen, and monsters are fair game for a kill.  Maybe she can convince Sehanine that a warrior priestess in the Arena is far more likely to gain converts than a soup kitchen.  I’m just saying it a way to reach a larger audience.

I still have some questions for the councilman, like: who would he propose replace Lorus if the man was removed from his post?  How much evidence do we need and what kinds?  Getting people to talk is something I can do, but keeping them alive in this town is really hard.

Furthermore, I need to question the baker about Svans, and find out what he might have had planned for this evening.  I’m starting to wonder about Phreet’s fate as well.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 14, 2018)

*Journal of Melinde Vereen - Entry II*

_I think I last left off while we were talking with Coucilman Thran…_

Our discussion became something of a question and answer session for a brief time before we were dismissed.  I asked about replacing Loris (the Arena’s master), and the Councilman had no specific plans for that.

I asked about the Serial Killer in the Lower Ward, and Mr. Chozik said he had heard of someone or something called the “Lantern Man,” which was thusly named because the rumor was that a person would see an eerie green lantern before someone was killed.

We did learn that the Champions Games would entail a group dinner before the actual event, held at an undisclosed location, a tour of the Arena and the catacombs/living quarters below the event venue, and an assignment of living spaces in the catacombs.

Etona was fairly adamant that she would not want to participate in the Champions Games and let Councilman Chozik know this fact before we left.  He stated that most teams had a minimum of 3 members and a maximum of eight.

After finishing our meal of duck and pudding, we made our way out the front gate.  No carriage ride back, which seemed surprising if the Councilman and Elgios wanted to remain secret acquaintances or ours.  Needless to say, I was hungry to continue our investigation of the murders in the Foreign quarter by the assassin who had killed Svans, the art dealer/former Circus of Peace performer.

My next stop was the Baker’s shop near the Crooked House.  We made our way inside in the mid afternoon, the shop was still busy but not overwhelming.  The head baker was Kroga, a surly dark-haired, scarred man with a bull-ring nose piercing.  He had a personality to match his face.  I decided to play it safe and actually buy something to get my information.  Etona is hosting a party for a group of the poor in 3 days, and she’s going to need some food.  Cakes seemed like a reasonable choice. 

After Etona explained her design, 7-8 cakes that were frosted in silver to look like a crescent moon, Kroga seemed to be more willing to talk.  We were really there to see if he could identify the flour found at the scene of the crime.  Etona presented the flour from the crime scene, and Kroga nearly tossed his proverbial cookies.  Apparently, he is some kind of flour guru or something.  He went into a tirade about the flour we showed him, stating it was some kind of amalgam of poor ingredients possibly not even pure wheat flour.

Etona absorbed it all quite well.  I think we all became experts after that little lesson with Kroga.  Needless to say, Etona’s real shining moment was convincing Kroga to find the distributor of this particular flour for us, for a price.  I ponied up the gold he requested for the cakes and the investigation of low-quality flour distribution.  Etona seemed satisfied. Rey filled a bag with baked goods, and Riskhar looked perplexed at the entire shops contents.  I don’t think he had any idea why a creature would take time to prepare food in such a way, or really, prepare food at all.

While walking back to the Crooked house, Etona started talking about Egan.  In fact, she said something I had never heard.  Apparently, the little rat was a legitimate devil-worshipper, an Asmadai with powers from the Nine Hells!  It makes sense, given the nature of his fire magic, but to think…  Etona assured me that he had purged himself of the devil-brand and forsaken the fire magic, but I was uneasy about it still.

At any rate, Etona was planning on going to the Silver Dragon Inn to tell the barkeep that she was leaving a message for the Asmadai.  I nearly fell over when I heard this plan.  At the very best, she would have been thrown out of the bar, possibly had the Watch called on her or been arrested.  It’s well known that the Asmadai have been active in the City, but always in secret, and true-branded devil-worshippers are put to death.  I had to convince her that such a plan was foolish.

It seems that she was planning on contacting someone who Rishkar had maimed (taken his hand off) in order to fulfill Egan’s monetary debt to the Asmadai.  Apparently, they had something from the Whispering Cairn that they wanted to trade.  My suggestion was this: we go ask someone at the Watch if they have anyone being held on suspected Devil Worship who is going to be released in the next couple days, give that person the message and let them deliver it.  After some discussion, Etona finally agreed.

I made a stop at the Middle Gate to pass my message to Viddick.  He said there was a man who was being held for using devil-magic to predict dice games at the Red Dragon Inn who could take the message back to any real Asmadai, if they existed.  Viddick also confirmed that the threat in the lower Ward was known as the “lantern man.”  Our needs quickly met, we headed back to the Crooked House.

Back at the slightly-off-kilter Inn, we returned to an evening of chaos.  The cook had left for the day earlier and apparently never came back for the evening dinner shift.  Borgo was missing.  Etona immediately took up work in the kitchen, making some dishes for hungry customers while Mr. Graff’s wife, Sarfina did her best to stay out of the way.

Rey, Rishkar and I excused ourselves to go check on Borgo.  The cook lived only a block away, and the evening air was starting to settle with smoke from fireplaces.  The humid breeze that portends rain only added to the muggy evening.  When we arrived, there was no answer at the front door.  Rey scaled the side wall of the 2nd floor apartment to find the window open and, after entering, Borgo’s dead body in his main room.  His throat slit and a patch of skin missing from his chest (albeit a different size and location from Svans).

Rishkar’s keen scent found a small dusting of flour by the window sill and evidence that a skilled thief had picked the window lock from outside.  Our investigation took us downstairs to the neighboring apartment.  A balding older man appeared in modest priestly garb of Pelor.  He introduced himself was Loffer.

Having two incidences on our hands, we had more questions for him, and he produced some helpful information. Apparently, he heard some commotion upstairs a couple hours ago but thought it was Borgo doing a dwarven dance of some sort.  That tidbit wasn’t useful, but he was able to link the killings.

He said that Borgo and Svans were performers together in something called the Peace Circus.  He also knew a bit about the history of the Peace Circus.  Apparently, they were successful until a few years back when some people broke into their group’s compound and tried to free a bunch of animals.  The animals went crazy and some innocent people died and others were hurt.  Arena fighters subdued some of the creatures, and only a few escaped, but the circus fell apart quickly after that, and the various performers were scattered in the Foreign Quarter, taking odd jobs.  The others included Coralina (the elf who performs at the Crooked House) and her Husband Rocktar (a wrestler) and Coralina’s musician (a half-orc who works at the Crooked House part-time).

Such a wealth of information was welcome.  Loffer asked to be allowed to say something at Borgo’s funeral before we called the Watch to come document the crime scene, and we felt that such a rite would be well-accepted.  The usual Watch paperwork and negotiating an explanation for Rey’s unorthodox tactics ended with us being late for dinner and quite hungry when we made it back to Etona’s meal of Vegetable stew and potato crisps.

That night, I assume Etona went to speak to more poor folk at the docks because she smelled of fish and mud in the morning at breakfast. 

Speaking of breakfast, the night went well, but I was awake only a half an hour before more chaos erupted in the Crooked House.  Etona was planning on making breakfast with Mrs. Graff when the poor woman started screaming from the cellar.  

We all rushed down to have a look, expecting a large rat or spider.  Sadly we found a scene of another murder.  The half-orc custodian/musician, another member of the Peace Circus was lying in his blood on the floor of the cellar, hacked to death with a common wood axe.  A quick inspection showed that another, not identical, strip of flesh had been removed from this poor man’s chest as well.  It looked like we had a pattern on our hands.

Rey discovered a hand-print with only 3 fingers on the back of the cellar door.  The print was covered in blood.  Our only 3-fingered acquaintance was Lucian, the drunkard war veteran who practically lived a the bar in the Crooked House.  A quick discussion with Mina, Mr. Graff’s daughter, led us to believe that Lucian left around the second bell of the morning, drunk, and had not been back.  No one knew where Lucian stayed at night, but it seemed like the consensus thought he slept outside.

This killing was different from the others, clearly not as stealthy, more sloppy and possibly more rushed.  It seemed our killer was changing strategy, which meant we needed to find them soon.  Also, Lucian, though an unlikely suspect, was now a serious person of interest.

A quick discussion led us to an urgent departure and a hasty trip to Coralina’s apartment.  When we arrived, we were greeted by Rocktar, a large muscle-bound, shirtless man with short gold hair and a crooked grin.  He, apparently, is the husband of Coralina.  It turned out Coralina was in the apartment as well, though she looked a bit uneasy around Rocktar.  

We explained the killings and that Lucian was a top suspect currently.  Rocktar nearly took off to the Crooked House when he heard that.  Rey, Rishkar and I decided it was best to accompany him back to the Inn while Etona escorted Coralina out to the temple of Sehanine to ask her some questions.

At the Crooked House, Rishar and I waited inside with Rocktar.  The lizardman and the muscle-bound human seemed to be satisfied by throwing each other to the ground repeatedly in a test of combat prowess, though I think Rishkar was not impressed.  Wrestling, unless it’s arm wrestling, has never been interesting to me.  

Outside, Rey intercepted Lucian, who was still quite drunk.  I came out when he arrived, and Rishkar kept Rocktar busy inside.  After invoking my holy symbol to create a zone of truth, I questioned Lucian.  The poor man thought Rey was looking for a date.  He answered truthfully, and hadn’t been back to the Crooked House since he left when the bar closed.  So, he wasn’t a suspect after all.  Rey also pointed out that Lucian’s 3-fingered hand was much larger than the one on the back of the cellar door.  Either we had the wrong three-fingered man, or we were dealing with a small doppelganger.  I was starting to seriously consider Etona’s theory about changelings stealing Phreet.

We passed a tankard to Lucian and sent him on his way.  Once Rocktar’s initial anger cleared, we explained that Lucian wasn’t the suspect and that we needed to do more investigation to find the culprit.  Rocktar agreed to return peacefully to his apartment and wait for us to return.

Once again, we called the Watch, and soon the Crooked House was being canvassed as usual.

Not wasting a moment, Rey, Rishkar and I swiftly walked to the outdoor stones of the Temple of Sehanine.

Meanwhile, at the temple, Etona had talked to Coralina, gathering information about the eventual collapse of the Peace Circus after a failed exhibition with reptilian raptors at a small party.  She learned that Coralina was having a relationship with Volin the former Beastmaster of the Circus behind Rocktar’s back.  Also, she learned that Coralina would prefer to be engaged with Volin over Rocktar.  

The most important information from Coralina was something she witnessed while staying the night with Volin.  She recounted a story of a white-haired, white-eyed humanoid scaling the wall to Borgo’s home.  She was too afraid to call out for help, but wasn’t sure what she could do.  Essentially, she kept it to herself, not wanting to worry, but after Etona had explained the series of murders, she is sure that this thing was involved. 

Once I returned, we shared the information about Lucian with Etona, and she shared what she had gained from Coralina.  The young, elf, performer seemed uncomfortable about talking wth Rocktar present, so we were glad to have the privacy of the temple.

We quickly devised a plan.  We would send Coralina and Volin out of town for a week or two, spending our gold to secure an Able Carter coach and Inn somewhere South or East of town, more than 20 leagues, at least.  Then, we would invoke Rocktar’s sense of physical superiority, and general greed, by asking him to stay at his apartment, specifically staying indoors for a couple days to see if we could use him as bait to lure out the assassin.

Coralina agreed.  

First, we went to see Volin, a handsome, middle-aged human with strands of grey in his hair and an overconfident air.  He thinks of himself a quite a swordsman, though he looked more like an amateur with a knack for animals to me.  Needless to say, he verified everything Coralina had said (while my magical Zone of Truth) and agreed to our plan.

Coralina returned with us, but without Volin, to encourage Rocktar to act as our hero to lure out the assassin.  The large muscled man quickly agreed when he heard that there was a 50 gp reward.

After a quick goodbye, we put our stake-out into action.  Rey and Rishkar remained on the streets watching the house while I ferried food to Etona and Rocktar, who stayed indoors.  Rocktar rescheduled all his wrestling lessons for two days, and all we had to do was wait.  Etona and Rey set a magical trap on the only window to the apartment, something that would cast a moon-like shadow outside to alert Rey or Rishkar and possibly signal that Sehanine was watching the household.  Etona seemed intent on meeting the assassin first.  She hopes to parley.  Maybe she knows something about changelings.  Maybe not.

That evening, it began to rain.  I brought food to the crew at lunch and dinner, but nothing had happened either time.  I decided to put up an advertisement for a Wizard or Mage for the Champions Games at the Crooked House.  Maybe I can get some interest while they do the stakeout.  We will need someone to cover for Etona.

What I didn’t know was what was going on at Rocktar’s place.  Apparently the white-haired humanoid was there, setting off the magical trap just as we had planned.


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Jan 31, 2018)

*Journal of Etona, Entry 14*

My impressions of this city have been mixed: there is the stench and disease of humans living in filth and poverty, but other shinier parts fairly drip with greed and self-interest. A less empathetic place I have never been to. I cannot decide if Hell is modeled after Greyhawk or vice versa.

After being attacked by another carpet of _muercur_ – why are beetles so interested in me? did I offend? how does one offend insects? – we are off to a new place, an off-kilter lodging called the Crooked Inn run by husband-and-wife gnomes named *Graf* and *Sarfina*. It is at the periphery of the Foreign Quarter. From there I send a missive asking to meet the representative, Krisn, again so that we might discuss further the attack. Greyhawk officials “investigating” the “incident” are oddly incurious about a magical swarm of giant bugs attacking their own officials. We did received a note but not about this: it asks us to come mid-morning to the Elgios estate, and that we will be provided a carriage.

When we arrive at the grand, luxurious manor, we are brought to Elgios himself and his guest, human political leader Thran Chosik, our would-be patron. We speak of the investigation and the arena. He wishes us to purchase his conscience rather than merely following it for free. We are thus to participate in that hallowed old Orcish activity of fighting in front of cheering, bloodthirsty imbeciles as a front for investigating whether other gladiators are engaging in something deleterious to this man’s career. Mr. Chosik’s suspicions rest on the meteoric rise of the influence of one former gladiator named Lorus, a fighter who has gathered undue influence among the council.

“You are asking the priestess of Sehanine to participate in this base sport so you can find out whether you have a political rival? And our reward is your doing something faintly noble if it isn’t too expensive or inconvenient? I think not.”

“Lady Aspianne,” says Mel with what took me a moment to realize was worry on her face. I had never seen it there before. “Arma’s son, Kragan, may be down there. This would be a great chance to question him about Phreet as part of your investigation.”

“Even if I wanted to debase myself in front of your horde, my Mistress would never permit it. I will end up a thieving street urchin again if I so much as set foot in your pits of barbarism. No. Surely,” I address myself to the human, “there is something else I can lend my talents to?” I soften my voice. "_Anything_ else?”

He does not take the hint and in fact says, “That is disappointing. We had heard –. Well, your reputation had preceded you. I am sorry it was incorrect. Perhaps we can find a use for you somewhere else.”

A use for me.

I am glad Verdre was not here to hear that. The meeting would have ended much more dramatically.

When we returned, I shook off the insult by spending pent the rest of the evening at the Crooked Inn having dinner and enjoying the entertainment: an Elven dancer named Coralina performing with Drummer, her mute, half-orc band member and friend, I think, who of course plays the drums. I spoke with her “between sets”, the human term for when they ended a flight. I found she knows nothing of our people, having been brought up wholly in Greyhawk and infused with its culture. But she is friendly, if timid, and I think I can teach her if I do not use so many words next time.

Screams outside just as the inn was set to close its doors. A dead body across the street, fallen from a small balcony.

It is an art dealer named Svan. His death was not from the fall: he was repeatedly stabbed and, a notable detail, a strip of his skin was removed near his collarbone. He had been pushed from his second-story apartment by his attacker.

And here is great Watch of Greyhawk sullenly mobilizing to get through the tiresome process of asking rote questions about yet another in an endless parade of deaths of this city’s hapless citizens. Mel volunteers to take over the case in order to secure temporary reinstatement to this august body of tireless defenders – it will advantageous in the future, she says – and so the investigation is gratefully tossed into our laps with a “Feel free to call us never!” sigh of relief from whomever it was who had first appeared. Victor? Vermouth? Venezuela? It could not possibly matter.

Up in Svan’s apartment, the door was locked but his window was open, so entrance was either through there or from the balcony, both of them unlikely. A detail: there was a little bit of mealy flour near his balcony. It seemed to have nothing to do with any food in the place nor on Svan’s person.

Svan’s neighbor on the ground floor, a blacksmith, had no idea what had happened and had neither heard nor seen anything. Rey had no tracks to work with that weren’t instantly buried by the city traffic. There was no other flour anywhere. We thus headed to a nearby bakery.

Kroga is a surly, ugly, but passionate baker who instantly derided as literal garbage the flour I poured in front of him. I believe he was alarmed at its even touching something in his establishment. At my urging, and some coin, he agreed to investigate the distributor of this flour. He may have been more open to this because I also ordered seven silver-frosted cakes that together will form the shape of a crescent moon for the upcoming New Moon gathering.

That reminds me, I will need fruits, meats and bread as well as pure, clean water there as well.

We return to the Crooked Inn to find Borgo the cook missing: he had run off for the night leaving Sarfina to prepare dinner, a task she was about as suited for as I would be for promoting the virtues of this city to outsiders, so Rey and I took over and managed to craft a superb meal out of the wreckage of stranded ingredients, if the acclamation from the dining room was any judge. I took to cleaning the place and myself thoroughly afterwards during which Rey and Mel went off to Borgo’s house.

I am quickly brought back word: Borgo is also dead, murdered via a cut throat. A patch of skin is missing from his chest. The perpetrator clearly picked the lock from the outside, an impressively difficult task. And the same flour is there.

It is the same killer. But why? What have these people in common?

Borgo’s downstairs neighbor is a very poor priest of Pelor. His calm demeanor is placid as he tells us he does not know what happened up there, though Svan and Borgo did share a link: they had been part of the Peace Circus together.

_Resh!_ Many many curse words!

The Peace Circus was the very same menagerie that I and others released animals from two years ago. I had known the group was taking in a lot of money, but I did not know that many, perhaps all, of the owners were orphans who had banded together to put on what they thought was a merry and delightful circus.

What had possessed me (save for the handsome leader of the group)? Honestly, that was an insane act!

Oh yes, I remember now. _Dors'e feu_. It had happened over full moon.

Well, the Peace Circus, animals gone, had to purchase more, but it had taken much time and money to assemble what they had, so this time around they hired more dangerous animals. They did well with that for a while until the giant raptors had gotten loose somehow and attacked people, killing a small girl. The priest recalled that a woman had literally offered herself up to the monster that was going for the child, but it had taken merely a deep bite out of the woman’s arm, thrown her aside and carried on to the girl. In the end they all had to be put down, and the Peace Circus dissolved.

Coralina had also been a member of the Circus.

This is all stunning news, almost too much to take in. I wander for a time finding myself at door of my tribe’s lay priest, Estee. I tell him everything. He hears me. He understands. He allows me to move past the wall of briar this news hurled me into, and I leave calm again but resolute. Today we will need to speak to Coralina and see if she knows anything, perhaps some double-crossing that set one Circus member on another.

But first, my Mistress’s face is in _quenae’wek_, thin and wan, a time for traps and deceit. She favors us with Her hunter’s visage. Only in these past few spins of seasons have I truly understood what that meant. My sickly childhood had molded me before then, but now I, too, have hunted to stay alive. I am stronger, and I have killed to survive. I feel within me this face at last. 

And I know what it means to prey.

I descend into the poor quarter down at the docks, to humans who derive no satisfaction from Her waning. I spend most of the arc there helping people who will accept, which fear and suspicion keep to a handful. I heal where I can with herbs and remedies. I invite any who spoke to me to the _dobrun du’uin_, the New Moon ceremony three nights hence.

Dawn brings new responsibilities for me. I travel to the early markets to purchase everything we will need for the Crooked Inn’s breakfast and then lend my hand to the meal. Sarfina is up and ready to help me. I forgot potatoes! No, she says, and heads into the basement to get at their stores there.

Her screams rise up the stairs.

She found a hacked-up body: it is the half-orc drummer.

Drummer was custodian for the inn and so slept down in the basement when not working, playing or out in the city. His had been a gentle soul. I will mourn for him during the ceremony.

Rey is conjured by the screams. She grimly examines him: he will be an unresolved issue for her, this calm being of music who also happened to be half-orc, now butchered before she could understand him. She points out the same strip of skin missing, though located in a different place. I find the fatal wound – a furious ax blow to the neck followed by hacking until the orc was in pieces. Blood flow, stiffness of the joints and one or two other indicators tell me this happened while I was purchasing ingredients for my friends and the rest of the dayside beings’ morning meals.

Everywhere shelves are overturned: the place is a shambles. All of it is quite unlike the previous two murders, save for the missing skin patch.

Two other details: there is a bloody hand print of three fingers on the cellar wall at the base of the stairs. Bloody footprints eventually “peter out” to nothing (I think it’s a Dwarven term associated with mining) after the assassin removed te’s boots and then crossed water to re-emerge somewhere else.

The other detail: Drummer was a member of the Peace Circus. Coralina’s husband, Rocktar, is also a member.

***

I take Coralina to the Temple where I can talk to her about the Circus. I learn the following points:

Coralina was employed to dance before the raptor act
Rocktar is her human husband. He hits her sometimes and is generally abusive. This will not not allowed anymore.
Volin, another human, was the “fearless” raptor trainer
Coralina is in love with Volin and imagines a life with him even after what happened at the massacre
The raptors became more feral, but since Volin was an expert no one mentioned it to him

During the fateful last show, held in an intimate setting just outside Greyhawk, spectators could see and touch the raptors for free. Volin had not chained any of them, but he had felt it was safe to have them loose. A child dropped something and the raptors attacked. The circus members escaped unscathed, though the child’s mother – shielding her daughter – was maimed and thrown aside. She watched her girl be ripped apart.

We elves know something about being dinners for animals. It is uncommon, but sometimes one of us wanders too far afield, alone, is unwise, and falls back into the great chain of life, though this has usually been by something unnatural as native predators tend to leave us be. They know we are competition, but they also know of our respect, and of course that we come from Fae.

But to watch a son or daughter be killed in such a manner, surrounded by people in what is supposed to be a safe place: what would that do a parent? I cannot imagine, but perhaps the humans can, immersed as they are by misery through their short march of days to death.

The garrison came and killed the raptors.

Somehow, given this happened on “human soil”, none of the Peace Circus spent any time in one of their prisons.

Coralina went on to talk about what she had seen in the attack last night on Borgo: a woman with white-silver hair climbed the wall like an insect, passed through the window to leave but a moment later. She had white eyes that looked right at her as she slipped away. Coralina had been with Volin at the time, in Volin’s bed, actually, the latter asleep but she awake.

While my conversation with Coralina was happening, Rey and Mel were dealing with Lucien and Rocktar. Lucien had three fingers to match the blood spatter, but it was very clear after talking to him and also comparing his large hands to the small impression made in the cellar that he was not a suspect. No one else knows who else might have a three-fingered hand.

Mel addresses us when we return. She takes the oddly formal tone I heard back at Elgios’s house: “Indeed, perhaps we need to consider increasing our security for the Lady Aspianne of the Mirror as well.”

Lady Aspianne?

Nodding to Coralina, she continues: “If you have a place to go out of town, we can arrange a carriage. You don’t need to take Rocktar. I certainly don’t know who you might take, but perhaps your amorous friend would be willing to support your jaunt in the country.” Mel offers gold to get Coralina a carriage out of town as soon as tonight, and sets to putting her up somewhere beyond Three Mile Mill.

“Melinde,” I venture, “I believe I can take care of myself with regards to having actual guards. Perhaps I could in fact be bait. I agree that Coralina and, separately, her husband need to become hidden. As we also need to speak to Volin, we will potentially place him into hiding as well.”

“If we could talk more privately for a moment, Lady Aspianne,” says Mel, “perhaps we could consider alternatives.”

Away from Coralina, Mel seems very serious for a moment but then she shrugs it off in that way of hers. “Until we made the connection with the changeling, I had wondered about Phreet’s look-alike gang and their disappearance, but now I think these murders may be connected. Etona, I think they will try to apply pressure to you using Phreet as ransom, and if you don’t comply you may be at risk of being killed and mimicked next. I don’t know who or why, but that’s my hunch.”

Rey looks at me. “You are NOT to be bait. Absolutely not. Maybe you can go away with the girl.”

It is outrageous their protecting me like this, but also sweet. I have to stop myself from hugging Rey.

She goes on, switching to Mel: “And how are they using Phreet as ransom if they haven't even contacted Etona? Am I missing something?”

“I think we all are,” replies Mel. “Your guess is probably as good as mine. No one has tried to leverage anything against her yet, but trust me: if Phreet isn’t already dead, she will be used as a bargaining chip.” She muses, “I wonder . . . If Councilman Chozik is going to be the target, or possibly Elgios? I think we would be no match for either of them: their enemies may simply need someone to weaken them, and I assume you wouldn’t think twice choosing between Thran and Phreet?” she finishes, looking at me.

I just look at her.

“These plans,” I say instead, “seem to me to be very complex and expensive. We have only been here a few days, and we were not expected more than a few before that. Unless we were lured here by the councilman and all of his overtures about Diamond Lake are a hoax, I don’t understand how anyone could both know I was going to be here and then engineer this chancy series of kidnappings and murder. Furthermore, they are using changelings who must be difficult to locate, knowing as they do that they would be killed upon being caught which is a growing likelihood as these slayings stack up like cords of wood.”

“Mm. On the changelings, here is something to think about,” says Mel as she twiddles her small gold lightning bolt amulet of Heironeous, “I possess a blessing that creates a zone of truth around me. I can sense anyone who is lying so we have an indirect means of verifying identity. We only need to ask: are you _______? If the changeling lies or refuses to answer . . . well. However, the magic only lasts an hour or so.”

We return to the young elf. “Miss Coralina, if we keep Rocktar busy, would you allow Lady Aspianne to accompany you to Volin’s to make a plan for the two of you?” Mel gives me another deferential nod and hands me a pouch of gold.

I am not interested in titles, but this deference is nice, I suppose, particularly when I make the effort to dress the part, though it is clear she is playing her own part now and doing it convincingly, too.

The act may have put off Rey. She sidled up to Rishkar and whispered, “Does Mel still smell the same? Did we leave her alone with anyone?”

Mel overheard and looks stung. “I have Heironeous’ blessing to prove my worth.” She raises her mace and speaks the holy words of the astral tongue and the mace flares with golden light. “Let’s see a changeling do that.”

Rey visibly relaxes and murmurs an apology to Mel. She shrugs and addresses Coralina. “What do you say? How about a visit to Volin?”

Coralina nods her head in agreement.

***

We convince Rocktar to remain at his home while we escort Coralina away. We tell him she will be gone for some time, but he does not know it may potentially be with Volin, to whose house we travel now.

Volin is a thin, slightly oily human who cooperates readily enough. A short talk with him revealed confidence in his own martial skills and an ownership, no, a . . .

In my own tongue it is _limri_. The Common for it is 'condescing', no, 'condensation'. No. That is rain and snow. An attitude of, of _condescension_. Yes, that is what these people show towards her. Two very different men treat Coralina as one would react to a stray animal that had decided to live in their homes. My own conversations with her reveal a lost girl drifting with the waves of events. Some people are like this, but I wonder if she has ever had the opportunity to swim on her own. Perhaps, when this is over, we can travel together for a time and I can teach what it means to have the blood of the Fae in her veins.

At any rate, when the attacks are more graphically described, he agreed to leave town immediately with Coralina.

With them safely away, we lay a trap for the changeling. Rocktar will be the bait, remaining in his second-floor apartment. I will be in the closet, and Rey and Rishkar will be nearby down below on the street. I have rigged the window to gently alert me if it is opened from the outside but also to shine a half-moon on the wall through using a glass and gently tuning my own light spell. She shall not miss it.

We wait as night draws across.


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Feb 2, 2018)

*Journal of Etona, Entry 15*

The changeling comes in through the window, sees the half moon I had waiting for her upon triggering the trap, and pauses.

“Rocktar,” I begin weaving my spell which in Common would sound a little like this: “Draw quiet under Her immortal gaze. She holds you under Her moonlit rays. Cast no stone, and enemy hands will stay.” To the changeling, the final words: “Behold Her visage and turn away.”

She hesitates again but then pushes through and attacks anew, disregarding the licking silver flames and Sehanine’s face silently commanding her elsewhere. Or perhaps Sehanine does not intend for this dim, violent human to survive this night. I know not, as I cannot see what the changeling does.

“Revenge!” she yells and goes at Rocktar.

“Sehanine’s child,” and I gather Voice: “Stop!” But still she disregards. “Please! Listen to your heart.”

Rishkar smashes the window then, interrupting the completion of the deadly arc. He falls inside, flailing with his rapier, hissing angrily. He is under attack from outside? I cannot see anything. But it is enough for the pale woman: she dances away past Rishkar through the now-shattered window.

I check to make certain Rocktar is unharmed. He is bewildered events but unscathed. Meanwhile the changeling has run down the alley, busily changing form. It is not enough, however, to shake relentless Rey who together with a gray beam from the lizardman’s outstretched palm, effortlessly catches her. She changes her entire body again, this time to a child’s form, and limps away, but we surround her – Rey posing as her angry mother for the few curious onlookers on the street with us. We will not attack her here, the woman/girl knows, so I kneel down and talk to her instead.

“Why?” I ask her. “Why are you doing this? Why are killing these innocents?”

“They killed my daughter.”

Oh, goddess. She could not be –.

“How did they do that?” asks Rey.

She does not answer.

“Will you follow me?” I ask. “I promise a fair hearing. In my Mistress’s name I promise you a fair hearing and no harm to you while you are in our hands.”

She is sullen now, the fight drained from her. She nods and we all re-enter Rocktar’s apartment where she and sit facing one another at Rocktar’s table, Rey standing nearby. The woman places her dagger – a raptor claw and not a half-moon as I had thought – on the table and begins to speak.

She told of the Peace Circus, after losing all their animals how they tried to continue on as a group employing fewer but much more dangerous creatures, the giant raptors. They employed a handler, Volin, who due to the romantic attentions of Coralina neglected his tasks in making sure the creatures were healthy and secure.

When the animals broke out, the woman tried to save her child by intercepting the creature going for her, losing much of her hand and forearm in the process, but she could not stop it: it was too quick. It tore into her daughter right in front of her.

“I cannot have natural-born children: we changelings are created,” she explained. “We are _abominations_. I found her in a dumpster. Helpless. No idea she was waiting to die alone.” She shakes her head, a single sharp motion. “Humans.” I nod. “I raised her to be better than her kind, and better than I was. She was so much more. She was –.” She regarded me, say my own wet eyes, weighed her next words. Then she looked away but decided to speak them: “She painted all these beautiful pictures inside me, and I became someone else in a way I had not known could happen. I had never loved before: I did not even know what that was. She placed the best of anything inside this shell.”

She slaps her hand on the table.

“And they destroyed her.”

Silence for a moment.

“I begin to understand. Your fury is just.”

I get up off of the uncomfortable thing that must toil under the mistaken ken of chair and look out another window.

“I have no children,” I say. “I do not know how to feel what you must endure. But I can tell you this: I and my mother come from a blessed and also doomed line of women speaking with Sehanine’s voice. She was not a priestess though her mother was. Or is: Ael may yet inhabit a world somewhere. Ael lived, and so my mother was not priestess.

“My mother was young when she became _quen’amo_, pregnant. She carried me for sixteen months. She knew that like her and every other who is Sehanine’s will on earth, having me might end her. My Radiant Mistress is wickedly jealous and permits only the daughter who will be her avatar in the world to draw breath. My mother and Tamyl, our leader, and others among my people knew the odds were good that I would be our new priestess. She had me anyway.”

I am shaking my head in wonder, I realize, and not for the first time.

“A joyful, energetic woman with what humans call _centuries_ ahead of her: Fiora’s art and gifts would only grow. But she sacrificed all. She died when I, a pathetic, sickly little babe that none but my father initially loved, came into the world. Father told me her face was a satisfied smile as she gazed at me, the light fading from her eyes.”

In a voice rough with emotion I finish my thought with, “So I know what you are capable of, and I stand by you, Child of Sehanine.”

“Zika,” says she.

“Zika,” I repeat.

“Child of Sehanine, which I don’t understand why you keep calling me that, is too many sounds.”

We smile a little at one another.

“Do you want tea?” I ask. In Elvish: “Rey, could you make us tea? Here, use these herbs. That muscle-bound clown will only have molding topsoil in his cupboard.”

We drink tea. We talk for another demi-arc. In the course of it, she demonstrates her abilities, trying out different forms: Rey, and then me. Meant to startle us, but I have I known a changeling before. I compliment her, pointing out little deficiencies in the form. Why should help a changeling perfect the roles of me and my _nae’aerun_? Because if this conversation goes the way it frankly must, then it will be of no matter.

We talked about her rage against the members of the Peace Circus, Coralina in particular. Ziki’s fury is concentrated not on the raptor tamer, Volin, whose negligence would seem to be the major contributor of the mayhem, but on the distraction from his would-be young Elven lover. I do not understand it. But I have never watched my daughter be killed by a rampaging dinosaur in what was supposed to be a safe venue, so her thoughts could be twisted in all sorts of unpredictable paths.

She must move past her grief, get to life after. Or she must die. There is no other choice.

“It is not about them, Ziki.,” I argue. “Not at all. That is why you mustn’t kill them.” She objects to this but I persist. “You are owed an apology and penance besides, though they may have paid that already in the terror of the murder of their friends. But I would hold they are in your debt still. You must face them, demand to be heard, tell them everything. And then you must walk away and leave this angry woman behind, stride back to your daughter’s reflection of love and hope. She would not have your every memory of her tainted with hate and vengeance. You must forgive and move on.”

“Impossible.”

“You must, for her sake as well as yours.”

“What would you have me do?” she asks.

“Meet with Coralina. Meet with Volin. I will be there but not to protect: I will be there for you. Demand that they listen. And then walk out of her and his and Rocktar’s lives forever. They are not part of your future. They no longer matter.”

Silent again. She doesn’t want to hear any of this, and part of her thinks my words are folly, but she is considering, for this is a path when before she had none. I see on her face the memories of her daughter, the realization that she has tarnished this small wonder of hers.

“And what of you? Do I walk out of my life forever as well?” she demands.

“I sincerely hope not, _s’thaya_.”

Earlier, Ziki had mentioned Phreet to me hinting that my little human sister was a bargaining chip. But now she slides a key cut to resemble an ornate squid across the table to me.

“This is to a safe house where Phreet is being held,” she says. “It is an abandoned warehouse called The Sodden Hold. She was taken by *Telalkin*, master of the Cabal of Changelings. He is dangerous, that one, a perfected breed of changeling. I have heard he is a being who can perfectly replicate another down to scent, taste and even thought. Phreet will not last there long. Once they finish studying her, they will eliminate her.”

“Then we will have to hurry. Rey, could we send a messenger to bring back Coralina and Volin? We will bring them, and meet you,” I nod to Zika, “at the New Moon ceremony in Sehanine’s temple not far from here?” She nods. “Will I, eh, know your face?”

“You will, though I will not take this form,” she says.

“Will you find me, come to me if you are feeling overcome?”

“I will try.”

I stand up. “Then you are free to go, Ziki.”

“This cabal,” says Rey as the changeling moves to the window, “are there any in the Greyhawk government?”

“At every level.”

Ziki hops out through the broken window rather than the door.

“Outstanding,” Rey mutters.

But this is Greyhawk’s problem, not ours. When you outlaw a people just because they exist, they will not like you, and finding an ally in them later when you need them – such as ferreting out who is human and who is not among changelings – merely becomes more difficult. Humans never learn.

“OK. Well, I am going to bed,” announces Rey, and she is off to the Crooked Inn.

“What? But I need you. Phreet is in danger!”

“She is always in danger, Etona,” she says over her shoulder. “I am done. We shall tackle her rescue in the morning.”

Mel comes in then, interrupting my response. I tell her that we let the changeling go, and she to my great surprise does not become angry, merely wondering what to put in her report. My days of predicting that one may be coming to an end. She agrees to send word to retrieve Volin and Coralina.

Mel also wants to act on Phreet’s rescue immediately: she may share my worry about how much time she might have left, or perhaps it is an excellent way to wrap up the case, potentially apprehending a pile of changelings and their leader.

So we return to the Crooked Inn where Mel let Rey know that I went to free Phreet, alone, probably to my death. Alas! It is well that I had a steaming mug of coffee waiting for her when she runs downstairs and scowls at my grin.

“Thank you, Rey,” I say on tiptoe, whispering into her ear.

Mel tells us all she knows of the Sodden Hold. She knows where it is and what the outside looks like, has some ideas about the inside.

“We will need reinforcements,” I say.

“I know just where to go,” replies Mel.

She leads us to an all-night thug dispensary where, with a flash of coin and a smile, she rents six armored men. They will remain outside the warehouse, a distance back maybe a hundred feet around the corner, while Rey, Rishkar and I creep in ahead.

When we arrive at the Sodden Hold, we check the area for unwanted eyes and then quietly unlock the door after examining it for traps. We do not open it. This will be our likely escape route and possibly the avenue for the cavalry – Mel and her boys – if we sound the alarm.

We draw back and investigate the rear of the warehouse which perches over the water. Rishkar scouts it for us: there is access to the aging building from underneath, but every plank of the copious amount of rotting wood there is studded with metal spikes. They all face up, though. If it is a snare, it seems to be to prevent escape. This is fortunate.

We ascend to find two doors. When we examine one, the very air knocks us with the force of a falling bough. Some kind of invisible servant.

Why was this a good idea again? I think back to the ornate key made with such care and probably much money. Of course any entrance will be trapped! We have set an invisible monster on us and probably triggered twelve alarms.

A shot of the Silver manages to show the thing’s outline for a brief second. It is big, like an invisible ogre. It evades my faerie fire and is shrugging off those few blows Rey and Rishkar manage to land until I finally get its attention with a hit that lights it up completely. I can feel it swoop over to where I am trapped on a tiny island of dirt surrounded, as we all are, by barely-submerged spiked metal planks. Of course, I do not see the blow coming. How could I?

Only twice before have I felt anything like what slammed into me then: when I fell out of a tree as a girl and was unconscious for a day – my father, aunt and only friend at the time each taking vigil waiting for me to die – and the time I made a Fae treant very angry at me.

It hit me. I flew. Wall. Bad sounds. Red. Black. Out.


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Apr 29, 2018)

*Journal of Etona - Entry 16*

I have listened to descriptions, different races explaining their experience of falling unconscious. They use many of the same words for sleep though most agree that it is unlike slumber in that it is closer to dreamless oblivion. It is not that way for us elves. We who do not know sleep find unconsciousness a trap underneath frozen waters: pierce the ice or die, gasping, in the attempt. I thus wake – as I seem to be doing more often these days – clutching my throat and panting.

It isn’t much better. The sensations produced by cracked ribs, if you have not enjoyed them in your life, are identical to falling on sharp stones. My head throbs, shoulder tender and oh, my back! I am fortunate the skeletons of my kind are not built like those of humans or I could look forward to never walking without pain again.

Everyone else is on their feet, so I smile weakly and shrug off aid. It will be nice to breathe normally again one day. I do look forward to that.

The invisible thing was finally felled by Rey, her dance of the blue spear a marvel for me to watch and a deadly weave for it to succumb to.

“Very well,” I say, “let us try the _other _door.”

Rey gives me a wry smile.

I press my ear to the metal-bound wood. Faint moaning beyond so I push it slowly open. Beyond is a short corridor lined with cells containing wasted prisoners. I creep in a few feet. Rishkar, Rey and I will be trees whispering over a babbling brook, unseen and unhea– 

Melinde, her steed Thunderhooves, and her troupe of shouting mercenaries sweep through the front door, subtle as a forest fire.

“Form up on me,” she orders the men. “You and you: to point; you two on my flanks; you two high ground – those crates up there.” And then, louder, though I scarce thought that possible: “Officer of the Watch,” she proclaims to the room and perhaps to the region. “Drop your weapons and come out – you will not be harmed.”

The hush that followed, I realized, was all of us trying to identify these furtive, leathery sounds – and for Rey and I, at least, the bizarre odor – that had slipped into the air. Something was stirring.

And then the room erupted into Hellscape.

Translucent tentacles burst out of the largest crates. Beneath were great round holes of sharp teeth. A twisted mockery of five natural predators stuffed into a great sack of slime held together only by some wicked arcana. They were as repulsive as they were deadly.

Out of smaller boxes came other horrors: capes with teeth flew to encircle and smother the men who did not, as a group, react well though they did react understandably. One of them, armed with a crossbow atop a crate-turned-maw, fired a single arrow and then fell messily down, miraculously rose to his feet again and limped out the door. Another, wrapped up by a cape-monster, threw himself – and it – into a pit of mechanical fire spouts that had opened up. Ashes. A third also became caught inside one of the carnivorous rugs and stopped moving after a moment. Trickles of blood and then a foot fell out the bottom. Later we would find only wet bones inside.

The only man left from Melinde’s platoon after about a minute of this horror was Sarge. He stood, steadfast, by his chanting and increasingly radiant commander. She was, literally, glowing. The pair were joined by Rishkar and the three of them simply chopped the abominations to pieces. As I was able to see while dealing with my own troubles, the monsters are, truly, helpless against the whirling paladin. Every attack is brutally repelled or falls upon her gleaming armor. I see it in her eyes: behind her snarls of rage fairly dances a being utterly in tune with her heart’s desire.

Rey and I have our own problems: two of the prisoners turn out to be more of these savage changelings. We end them, and I recoil at my desire to see them dead, very-much-oh-yes dead. I feel it burning in my veins, clouding my view. _Betrayal._ No cut wounds like one to the spirit.

When the fight is over, we nurse our wounds and chant our magics to heal us, and then we turn our attention to the remaining prisoners. One is an Elven woman frightened out of her mind. She could not hear me, simply running out into the night once we freed her. That is two kinswomen so far broken through living in this toxic city. I need to spend more time here or escape as soon as possible.

The other rescuee is an old human man who can only repeat “Me am Gattel” over and over to every question. He did look like he was trying to communicate, under a geas perhaps, but I had not the patience.

*Phreet is not here.* Just this abattoir.

We search the place thoroughly but all that remains is the other outer door leading in to a separate part of the back of the building. Beyond is a pool in which float some barrels and a small boat. The Sodden Hold key I bear fits a hidden niche in a wall. Inserting it reveals the chamber’s purpose: it is a complex contraption that lowers and raises the water line to expose or submerge a walkway to a door. An underwater guardian circles the place. It also seems to recognize the octopus key and leaves us be.

Beyond is the secret interior of the changelings’ base of operations, starting with a corridor of many doors. I go in first and, well, holistically locate a pit trap. When I come to, I am looking up at Rey’s face. Exasperation, concern, relief and . . . distraction. We must be in a fight up there. Yes, I hear it now. Rey fishes out and has me drink the healing potion I was carrying and then shimmies back up the rope. A moment later I, too, struggle to the top myself.

We are fighting more changelings, six of them. I get a bead on one and drop him. Melinde and Rishkar fell another while Rey fights to allow me a better position.

It is a lot of combatants, and we are a little worse for wear from the Hell room, so I expected we would have to retreat but we slew enough to force theirs. Mother Moon! but we are good at killing today. I expected more mercy from My Pitiless Mistress for those who have simply lost their way, but She desires revenge and so we are Her executioners.

No, that is not it at all. They have Phreet somewhere and are busily torturing her. And Zita lied to me not merely to save herself but to outright kill me as repayment of my kindness.

But changelings, too, are allowed to fight for survival and Phreet is human, a member of the species practically killing them on sight. And as to Zita, well, my heart refuses to believe she has lain this trap. I will need more proof. So am I simply angry at not knowing? Or is it something else entirely, this city and its too-many sounds, rank odors and ever-lit buildings wherein its cruel people buzz incessantly with plots and worry?

These thoughts so occupy me that I have given chase into the start of an obviously deadly labyrinth of mirrors before a firm grip stops me.

“Etona?”

I turn to a bewildered Rey who must be questioning my sanity. This makes me catch my breath, a stock I realize I was running short of. I take her hand on my shoulder, draw a long breath, release. I squeeze her long fingers and nod. We turn to go back to the others –.

– and are almost knocked off our feet by an explosion that fairly rocks the foundation of the place. We hurry back.

One of the doors leading out of the main corridor led to a mirrored round room with a chair in the middle. It had been a relic of some sort – a thing of great power – until it met Melinde. Now it is a smoking pile of slag.

Before today, I had judged our young, headstrong holy warrior as competent if noisy. Now I am beginning to view her in a different light. Her killing power has almost drawn up even with her ferocity. It makes me uneasy. We will need to talk.

We steal into the back of the mirror labyrinth through what was once a hidden door in the ruined relic room. This allows me to surprise a changeling waiting in ambush for us to come from the other way. We return te to the room of now-blackened mirrors and Rey and I venture back in.

A few turns into our exploration and more changeling assassins pop out of mirrors! It is the remnants of the group in the corridor, one last charge. The first takes an _arcuun _right in the chest. Te looked surprised not expecting, perhaps, that I would be unfazed by her sudden appearance and could react with a Silver bite from Angivre. But the second changeling from another mirror was able to knock me off my feet. Obi was out now, however, and with Rey protecting me the two remaining had no stomach for the fight.

We went back to the relic chamber. Once the changeling there came to, _te_, an Elven neutral word for an intelligent being that Common seems to lack, assents to leading us to Telakin, the mysterious master shape-shifter in the heart of maze. It was surprisingly nearby.

A throne at one end of a long chamber; at the other a bed with a head-fitting connected to wires and tubes leading into a wall. It promised misery and probably the loss of any unfortunate’s soul who found herself there. Sitting atop the former was Allustan grinning as if we were here answering his invitation to see his daughter’s dance recital.

“You’re finally here. Etona Aspianne, priestess of Sehanine,” he said. “The mighty Rey. Ambassador Rishkar and, of course, the temporary officer of the peerless night watch, Melinde.”

I gave him a withering look. “Yes. Why am I here? Why do you know who I am? What have I done to be someone you’ve ever heard of?”

He laughs, delighted. “Why, the Nameless One, my master of course. It is he who sent me looking for you, luring you here to aid your pitiful soul in crossing over to his side.”

“And you just want to kill me? Why?”

“Oh, I don’t care if you live or die, but he needs your soul – asked for it by name – and so I must oblige him.”

“Where is Phreet right now?”

“Phreet. Lovely young lady. Stronger will than I expected: breaking her quite enjoyable. She’s now a permanent addition to my master’s home, holding up a bookshelf, I think. Or is she a foot rest?”

“We have killed everything you have sent to us, destroyed every trap, murdered your people by the dozen. You will be slain as well, empty vessel, slave to meaningless cruelty, though I take no joy in it. _Vel’er’e arquae Angivre i’Sehanin!_”

I send a blast of Her light at him but it diffuses around him as he merely laughs. As I settle behind the misery table at the back of the room, we – Angivre and I – send the Silver, arrow after arrow, at him to only minor effect. It is like rain on a boulder.

But water always wins in the end.

My companions also attack. Warned off by me, they fall into none of the room traps set for them. As this creature wearing Allustan’s face summons bolts and blasts, Melinde and Rishkar climb up onto the platform he is on, avoiding the stairs altogether, to face him. They are very brave. Rey sensibly stands back biding her time and hurling her spear as she sees opportunities. She sends Obi to help the other two.

The creature shifts from Allustan to a huge be-weaponed half orc and back. This doesn’t seem to be strategic: he seems to simply be enjoying different forms, showing off his arsenal of skills. His broad smile never wavers as he hits all three with cruel blows. I am not certain we can kill him. Obi is already down. Her paws are shivering so I know she is unconscious and not dead. Also, Rey has not become a tornado of rage.

I must act. Watching this possibly doomed fight, my friends out there dying for me: I must end this. My Mistress favors bold action from unexpected quarter. Crouched behind the torture bed, I see what I must do. The headgear. The link to the creature.

I climb up onto the table, slide the machine over my temples.

_I strike darkness from the night. Mistress Moon, grant me Your light._

I reach out with my mind.

A black wall yanks me to it to be lost in it, engulfed by it, eaten. This is not what –, this is a conduit to the Faceless One! And that malignant being is pulling at me the way a starving hyena would tug at a string of meat on carrion. I am not prepared for this fight. I drag myself away. Somewhere my hands wrench the helmet off. 

It takes a moment before I can even realize where I am.

Pitched battle. Yes. Melinde and Rishkar have failed to fall in front of him. Our claws are drawing more and more blood. The doppleganger tires, stuck, I hope, in the half-orc form, too spent to change?

When I can manage it, I jump back down to my feet and resume firing. Rishkar is terrible to behold, a slashing, drilling monster bristling with his own arcane light. Rey has taken to the platform, guarding Obi and giving Melinde cover, her blue-tipped crackling spear darting and stabbing, finding its target. Every jab, however, from each of them produces a grunt of pain from an arc of energy that stabs up, claiming blood for blood drawn.

“Pit!” I yell in Elven, “Stairs!” and Rey nods. There is almost certainly a trap at the base of the stairs; it is so likely I can almost see it there. Rey maneuvers brilliantly and with a body blow knocks the battered Lord of Changelings onto the floor.

It swallows him whole. He falls onto a brace of polished, sharpened spikes and dies.

When I come to the edge of the pit, I bring back Silver, and Angivre spits on him, partially severing his head from his body. No longer a ‘he’, it is changed to its natural form, long and lean and not so close to the small, gray changelings.

We all plunk down on the ground, weary, disheartened. Killing that thing was like surviving an illness. There are no cheers. Melinde, I notice in particular, remains quiet. This fight affected her, and I realize I saw her almost hidden behind her shield for most of the late stage of the fight. Not the holy battle angel she: closer to a terrified girl.

No one among our companions is close to her – she seems to make sure of that. Though, truth to tell, Rey and I haven’t exactly been very warm. And Rishkar is . . . Rishkar. Melinde, ever full of pride and fire, is probably lonely. She looks to right wrongs in her blunt, artless way but is too young to know what that means. She shoulders all the responsibility she and perhaps others have assigned her without any guidance save the terrifying god of blood she worships.

We will need to talk.


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## Alexander Bryant1 (May 7, 2018)

*Journal of Etona - Seventeen*

The New Moon Ceremony (25 Coldeven)
“It is so dark tonight.”

Etona sees the faces around her, uncertain, fearing to open themselves even to so common a thing as hope. But she remembers. It was not long ago when she was in darkness, when Her light was withheld and She no longer looked down on her, when the moon was a rock in the sky, as the dwarves believe.

When she speaks, none can see her. She is using Thaumaturgy and also throwing her voice as she needs, both unconsciously, and so she is easily heard by everyone, not centered anywhere. At times it sounds like she is whispering in one person or another’s ears.

“Fear grips, failure clings. We are alone in a universe that does not care, our short lives a sinking island disappearing under the dark water.

“I am there now. I am that island; I am drowning with grief and hate. My senses terrify me.
I bring to you all my fear.

“_Eyar’i morun_. I am in darkness. _Eyar orum_. I am darkness.”

Etona lights a candle revealing a face wet with tears.

She is in the middle of the gathering on a little rise, holding the moment silently, head bowed. But then she looks up, looks around at Rey, Estee, Melinde, some of the people she has come to befriend among the poor by the docks whom she sees has come. She thinks of her own father, of Verdre, of cousins and close friends among her tribe, and she smiles.

“But this night, called _glennis i’mor’e_, is the end of darkness. It is Exultation-After-Trial, the celebration that I am still here. I have survived the darkest night and harshest day. I have little; I am little; but this spark is still alight.

“We are come to _glennis i’mor’e_. We have survived the darkest night and harshest day. We have little; We are little; but our spark is still alight.

Etona starts to move through the crowd. She kneels down with some groups, moves to others, reaches for hands and fingers to touch.

Off in the distance, Angivre on her pedestal begins to glow, never bright enough to draw the eye, but silvery against the dark, its outline easy to see. Up there, it takes on the appearance of a quarter moon.

“We are not hot fury like the sun; we are not the noisy trumpet call to arms; we are not the rulers. All their fires blaze for a brief time and go out. But our spark remains. We remain. We survive through the cool nights.

“She is with us even if we have never understood. Sehanine, Seline, Rhiannon, Luun, Artemis: by any name She makes shadows for those who need them. She laughs with lovers. She is the cloak of the oppressed who gather in the night to strike. She is for the survivor-who-loves. She is patience in the blackest hours. Daylight makes us civilized liars, but She sees our actions taken in secret, listens to your murmurs as you dream.

“On this rare night, _i’dobrun_, New Moon, She extinguishes Her own brilliance so that she may see the feeble spark in our hearts. If there is love there, then you are Hers.

“_Eyar _Etona. I am Etona. _Eyar faer’ey_. I am the spark of light.
_i’Sehan aer’ey noor’ti_. In Her name I feed your spark of light.”

She lights Estee’s candle.

“_Eyar _Estee,” he repeats. “I am Estee. _Eyar faer’ey_. I am the spark of light.”

She lights Rey’s candle, smiling up at her, but Rey will always remember that night looking up into Etona’s beaming face somehow.

“_Eyar _Rey, I am Rey,” she says in her low voice. “_Eyar faer’ey_. I am the spark of light.”

The three of them go out into the audience and – even Rey – light candles for the rest, helping them through the Elven words as needed.

Etona herself makes sure she gets to Melinde next. She squeezes her hand and smiles. Melinde looks into her eyes and nods. Etona lights the candle in Melinde's hand.

"_Eyar Melinde. I am Melinde." She does not go further.

“Eyar faer’ey", says Etona. "I am the spark of light.”

"Am I?" says Melinde. "Aren't I just the fire that goes out?"

"You are the fire, warming all the sparks around you including your own. You are spark right now. Quiet. Subdued. But you are still here. Eyar faer’ey, I am the spark of light."

“Eyar faer’ey", Melinde repeats. "I am the spark of light.”

Etona nods. "Yes, you are."

When all the candles are lit, Etona finishes the rite.

“We are s’theay’n faer’e, friends-in-light. Look for Her in the night and She will be there.”

Angivre flares brightly spotlighting the banquet. Other lights also come up.

“Our sparks keep the darkness at bay. Let us shine brightly together. Let us sup together as friends.”

Music, light and lively, starts up. Etona’s last words are quiet, directed skyward, lost in a crowd now moving, some running, to the food and pure water.

“We welcome anew Her precious gaze
Playful and joyful for all our days.”_


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Jun 26, 2018)

*Journal of Eleanor 01*

“My name is Eleanor.”

I felt my eyes widen.

“What?” I said. My lips moved repeating the name Eleanor. Had I heard it before? Yes, that name again. It wasn’t right. Or was it? “Eleanor of, Eleanor of A--.” Of what? Flows and arcs, *it was right there* and I couldn’t bring it to the surface!

“Lady Fier?” prompted the Elven priestess, Lady Etona Aspianne. 

I had chosen that moment – signing up for arena combat – to make my introductions and by the rivers of essence I cannot even get past my own name. I was Lucienne Fier of Greyhawk. Not Eleanor of –.

I pressed on reciting their full names with title, as far as we knew them.

“Lady Etona Aspianne of the Mirror.” Small, lithe, she moved with certainty and grace, smiling easily and sincerely. Our observer net confirmed she didn’t behave much like other elves, certainly nothing like the haughty, laughing, sometimes cruel, ambassadors from Seline. I could see she was this party’s leader or at least some kind of emotional center.
“Ambassador Rey.” A tall, muscled, dour-looking half-Elven woman who belonged in Greyhawk negotiating a treaty about as much as the other ambassador who lurked next to her. She exuded the kind of confidence that Greyhawk’s Shadow Rangers wear: solitary, quiet, utterly capable of living without a word spoken to anyone for months at a time. In fact, I looked her up to make certain she wasn’t a Warren Lord here. How was she to be the Speaker that the dragon folk’s tribe required?
“Ambassador Rishkar of the Southern Swamp.” The enigmatic lizard man who seemed more an assassin than anything else. The half-elf represented his people in the upcoming treaty talks, so whether the lizard man was here as observer, bodyguard or potential assassin should the fae-touched fail was anyone’s guess.
“Officer Melinde Vereene of Greyhawk.” Red hair, holy symbols in the armor, the sword, around her neck. Paladin. Comfortable in armor and probably nothing else. She’s accumulated a history of violence from a temper that emerged whenever her holy will was thwarted, was removed from office because of it. But so young! Celestial arcana but she was young. What was this girl doing here?
“Private Lucien Cromwell.” A withered drunk haunting the back alleys of Greyhawk bars. Discharged, our records say, for neglect of duty. Miss Zinia remembered his mother, Jane, a lady-in-waiting. She told me that Ms. Cromwell had fallen prey to the thug manservant of a nobleman here – no recourse, obviously – though in the course of my own investigation here I inquired about the manservant that had his way with her, *Maas Tetrem*, and discovered he died in the mad house. Lady Zinia’s response was simply a look of satisfaction … the knowing satisfaction I’ve associated mysterious turns of justice with her. Despite attaching this shamed woman to a staff in another noble’s house, Jane Cromwell died when Lucien was nine. He was taken in by an orphanage. Then odd jobs. Then the streets. Then the army. All-too-common story.
He was an outsider to this group.

This group. They were an odd party. Adventurers, clearly: going out into the world to fight and explore and die as heroes. What was their quest such that an organization like the Asmadi was firing fusillades of insects at whole buildings to get at them? That they, possibly accidentally, brought down a deep changeling infiltration at the hands of their Doppleganger leader. That they were here to shepherd the halting of a war between Greyhawk and another race after saving a human fort and lizardman’s den in the same week? Any one of these deeds made them heroes in all senses of the word including _meddlesome, unpredictable_ and _dangerous_. Heroes they are. It was my job to reign them in.

Sparks at the end of my fingertips. Control. Control! Elements, something has set me off again, and now save for Cromwell who looked like he was trying to decide if it was worth it to proposition a genie, or whatever he thought I was, they all backed away a step, Ambassador Rey moving in front of Lady Aspianne. This, my reveal to them, was supposed to be a bit dramatic, yes – cowl lowered, badge presented, take command – but my body was off again and they saw the silver eyes, the silver veins, the sparks. I probably didn’t look human to them.

Nothing for it. Make the best of this Flow: both this “Eleanor” name and my storm essence that chose the same moment to surface.

I wave away the effects dismissively. “I am Eleanor Fier representing Lady Xaro Zinia on assignment for the Circle. I am also, like you, currently retained in service to Lord Chosik. I greet each of you as my teammates in the latter regard and as fellow investigators in the former.”

I looked at us. A drunk, a horse, two beasts, two Fae, a fanatic, and me. And we’ve never fought nor even trained together, and we’re not down there even to win. We had better find what we seek quickly.

I ascertained details from the suspected Asmodi attack and we parted ways. They were curiously incurious about me, asking no questions whatever, though they did answer all of mine, if curtly. The elf took an early dislike to me, if I am reading her kind’s features correctly, and the Fae-touched seemed to be following suit which made the lizard man bristle. Or maybe he just always bristles. According to Lady Zinia, the elf and half-elf both disliked it here. I was probably a representative, in their eyes, of a noisy, messy civilization their simpler minds cannot handle. I found an ally of sorts in Officer Vereene, at least. And the lizard man did seem to understand the Flows to an extent, through his feral nature and tiny eyes. There is no one to talk to inside the shell of Lucien.

Later, I watched the elf priestess’s little ceremony. Well-attended by the dregs by the docks, there for a free hand-out, her emotional words certainly sailed over their heads. It was a good show, though, and from what I knew of Lady Aspianne, her words were heartfelt. I don’t know what her motive is for putting it all on, for the food and fresh water she handed out to sixty people: elves do not proselytize. Elves most certainly do not help humans for no mischief in return.

A changeling was there, and the elf let her go free. This was shocking, given recent revelations. I at least insisted on questioning her, this _Ziki_, and the story I had from the party earlier corresponded to her account. Officer Vereene also let her go, deferring to their priest, and so into the night she vanished. I sincerely hope she goes all the way to the Mirror or somewhere else as distant: her kin has brought ruin to Greyhawk. Her master’s schemes have caused the government to take emergency measures such as bringing in Truthsayers from all over the kingdom. Once the distraction of the Arena Games is over, secrets are going to spill, accusations will fly, mistrust at all levels, at a boil now, will explode. According to Lady Zinia, who was doing her best to manage the situation for her own two lords, Greyhawk’s government was in pre-upheaval and would shortly fall into civil war. She was considering fleeing the city to one of her ten thousand friends and allies she seemed to have all over the land.

That was a problem for another day, hopefully not tomorrow. For now, there was the Arena.

***


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Jun 30, 2018)

*Eleanor's Journal - Part 02*

The master changeling, Telaken the doppleganger, was to watch a demonstration of his new powers at the games. From his letter: *I was pleased to see a few tickets to the Champion’s Games awaiting me. These seats should give us a good view of the coming of a new Age. I truly look forward to enjoying the privileges of true power.*

More changelings in the works. And we had just released one. How many more had that beatific elf let back into the world to terrorize and corrupt in her personal quest to feel wonderful about herself or bow to the whims of her mercurial goddess. Oh yes, I knew about this Sehanine: chaos and mischief and cruelty and, above all, disrupter to civilizations such as Greyhawk represented.

It was another night of troubled sleep for me.

We met the next day, 26 Coldeven, and travel to the arena. My Nessian silvers – with the Fittenberg boots and Rondon gloves to match – should present me in the appropriate light. They set my mind at peace: their carefully-engineered fabrics sewn to exacting specifications exuded a devils-may-care turn that belied their rigor and raw intellectual majesty underneath; their colors were produced, not found, after thousands of hours, or centuries depending on how broad your scope, of craft arriving at this apex; folds that tumbled according to temperature, the down-force of the material planes, moisture and so much else. Donning these garments, truly inhabiting them, was vanity to some among the dim who did not comprehend; even most who wore them well did so without deeply appreciating at the elemental level what it was they became: acknowledgment of hard-won knowledge and reaffirmation of will against a world ever seeking to reduce us to apathetic dust.

Just in case, though, I also packed my RaTs. Rough and Tumbles, created for me just that second week in Miss Zinia’s employ, three years four months, thirty-seven hours, six minutes and, tick tick tick, 15 seconds now.

Officer Vereene relayed her charming of a maintenance man named *Leef* who works in the arena. Some salient points she was able to take away:
    • All equipment is ferried by elevator to the underground complex from above; after the start of the Games, maintenance staff reside down in the complex until the end
    • Each team has its own minimal quarters – there are no shared bedrooms between teams
    • There are vents throughout the complex which may be locked (and possibly trapped) or may not
    • There is a separate barracks for Loris’ private security force in addition to Greyhawk-employed arena guards called Gray Wardens
    • There may be a guarded passage from Loris’ house to the arena
    • There is a waterway that runs through the arena providing fresh water

Leef also gave her a map of both levels of the arena.

*Opening Night Dinner*
There was a delightful dinner that night where the rules and prizes were explained by old *Tellebir Welleck*. Briefly:

    • A party or individuals can always surrender: drop weapons and kneel with hands in the air
    • Combatants may fly up to 40’ above the ground; burrowing into the arena is disqualified
    • Winning gladiators cannot loot the fallen
    • Combatants may not endanger the spectators
    • Disqualified gladiators must move to the outer ring
    • No time limit on battles

The schedule:
Day 1: four-team elimination, that is, the winner in a free-for-all of four teams advances
Day 2: day of rest
Day 3: one-on-one team vs. team
Day 4: one-on-one team vs. team or battle an exotic beast

The prizes, to be handed to the team manager for splitting however they agreed:
1st round: 2000GP
2nd round: 5000GP
3rd round: 10,000GP
Winner of the games: 20,000GP

Lord Chosik was present for the occasion reinforcing the importance, though not the details, of our mission and the necessity for our winning the first battle.

The champions from last year’s Arena Games were present as well, a trio I was aware of: Orik the warrior, adjunct Kellek and another troublesome elf, Tira, who is under five investigations at last count. Her two teammates along with her own fame and fortune shield her, and her membership in the Thieve’s Guild makes her invisible to the law, so she is unlikely ever to be even fined a silver piece let alone imprisoned. They were together the fabled “Orik’s Warband”, fighting again this year though Tira has recused herself.

_My thoughts: Why did Tira recuse herself? She isn’t a judge or anything connected to the Games in that way as far as we know._

Loris gave his short, standard speech and then, later, in conversation with Lord Chosik he said in a tone clearly mocking him: “Councilman, what news of your sister? Have you found her yet?” It was a telling moment. That Loris has done something to or with Lahaka seems even more likely, but we must proceed without blinders or assumptions.

*A crush from Karush*
During dinner, I talked to *Karush*, the leader of one of the teams we were facing, a confident, pruning ladies’ man though certainly not without his charms. He seemed very interested in me despite – or perhaps because of – my appearance. Enjoyment of witty banter aside, it was imperative we advanced to the next round in the Games to be in a position to investigate, so I feigned great interest at conversing with him. This blossomed into the real thing when I electrocuted him only to give him pleasure not unlike goosebumps.

I would discover that like myself he was not entirely human, though unlike me he probably knew what the rest of him is.

At any rate, he said he would help us. I said I wanted to see more of him, after. It was a deal.

*Adventures in the dark darkness*
After, while I was sleeping, Rishkar and Rey headed deep into submerged tunnels. They found and eliminated eight ghouls there, possibly the outer ring of an entire band. Perhaps our chances tomorrow will not ride completely on Karush. They also found a hidden chamber that communicated with the sewer and has at least one hole poking up into the city. They both wanted to go exploring again the next night, after we had won the first contest.

*Our showing in the arena*
Well, most of us didn’t die.

Officer Vereene lost her celestial horse, and Greyhawk’s lesser pubs will find themselves saddled with an extra gallon of their cheapest ale now that Lucian Cromwell is gone, and my RaTs have a score of holes in them from more elves causing me trouble, but otherwise we survived.

Karush and his team rode from their corner to help us mow down a shaman and his guard. We then turned to the Elven trio of women raining arrows all over the battlefield.

A simple smoke screen or fog cloud would have essentially disarmed them: they were very lucky we didn’t have anything like that. Extremely poor planning on our part. We even knew the trio would be there facing us, and that they would likely have bows. Our lack of foresight should have murdered us: they should have won. We only defeated them because Karush rode across the field – taking many arrows that felled both his men – and struck at them, forcing a surrender from their leader after we felled two of their three. Several of their magic-tipped arrows plunked into me knocking me unconscious as I tried to approach, so I did not even see the end of the battle. 

How come I to the Games to fight with so little thought to the combat? Was I going to charm them? Perhaps these Bow Maidens of Sehanine were out there to parlay? That must be what I thought.

Ridiculous. 

After felling the elves, Karush knelt and put his hands up in surrender looking up at me.

So we won when we should not have. But we did win.

*The spoils of battle: data at last*
While we recovered underneath the arena, a courier delivered Rishkar’s crafted frost sword. He allowed me to see its pommel and examine the blade. The craftsmanship is excellent, I could plainly see.

Lord Chosik was waiting for us, smiling broadly. He awarded us the bronze bull and 200 platinum. This was all given to Rey, for some reason, which I accepted on Officer Vereene’s assurance. I do not in the slightest believe that Rey is some kind of thief, but it put me in the position of asking for my own money from an ambassador. Hopefully, as an ambassador, she will properly request from me that I take my share when appropriate as soon as we can surface.

Lord Chosik brought us more riches than these: he awarded us his confidence and bestowed information.

“I had a hidden agenda for entering you into the Games,” he explained. “You have risked injury and possible death to win a difficult match. I can now be forthright with you.

“My sister *Lahaka* disappeared just after the Games last year. She was, is a traveling musician. Some months before the games, she caught Loris’ eye. They began to be seen together. And then she vanished the day after the championship. I have found nothing in twelve months of scrying and investigating.”

We engaged him in a question-and-answer.

Eleanor: Where was she seen last? Near Loris’ palace.
Eleanor: Was she romantically close to others?  She is a free spirit. Many lovers. There were signs that she was probably going to move on from Loris.
Eleanor: Did she appear happy? Yes, initially. But she was going to leave Greyhawk shortly after the Games. Her friends said she seemed like she was growing weary of Loris’ company.
Eleanor: Was the relationship understood to be monogamous? Yes.
Melinde: What did Loris have to say? She left. That was all.
Melinde: Did Loris seem bothered? Not at all.

_My thoughts: The window of investigation thus appears to be that day after the championship._

Eleanor: She left without contacting you, my lord? Was this unusual? Very much so. 
Melinde: Did she have any friends? Many, but none know where she had gone. They thought her happy during the year she was with Loris, until the end.
Rey: Did your sister speak with the winners from last year? Yes. She sang at their victory celebration. Orik is an incredible warrior; Kelleck is an adjunct professor here in Greyhawk; Tira a member of the Thieves Guild.

_My thoughts: I know Sandrishan Kelleck. I was in a class he taught at university. His theory class was middling – I felt he hadn’t a true grasp on some of the subject matter – but he was competent and, though a bit sour most mornings, was friendly to me. And we shared something else in common …._

(Chosik continued): Loris has removed everyone who could be close to him save perhaps for his personal security head, *Okoral*. He has no close relations, does not seem to be interested in female companionship at all.

Rey: How old is Lahaka? 31.
Eleanor: What actions have you taken to look for her? I sent out, at great personal expense, spies, criers and posters to all the surrounding towns asking about her whereabouts. I engaged multiple scryers. Many had seen someone like her but nothing ever came of it. Her friends have no clue, and musicians who might know her have heard nothing.

_My thoughts: We are probably looking for Lahaka’s body at this point._

We concluded the questioning session and promised to use whatever method we could down here under the arena to find clues. There were several places on the map Leef provided that would be worth investigating.

*Squim and the Varmint Patrol*
After Lord Chosik left, the burnt and battered bodies of other combatants started being carried through to the medical center or their own rooms. One in particular interested us very much.

While I spoke with Sandrishan, Officer Vereene and Ambassador Rey found Varmint Patrol, a group of were-rats plus the merchant captain Fellador Arma’s son, Kragen. They had not been prepared to fight in the arena and had fared poorly.

Squim was in the medical bay fretting about his fallen teammates who were alternately burned or sliced to pieces. The ambassador and the paladin each used a healing spell, and this earned his trust enough to be led away for questioning. He had little choice since they were flanked by three Gray Wardens, arena security. Officer Vereene was able to bribe them in disturbingly easy fashion allowing us to separate and question Varmint Patrol’s patron.

Their story was this: through a series of strategic bets and the prize money itself, Varmint Patrol was to have become rich off of this first round and instantly retire, leaving the Games. Kragen was looking to make easy coin through his participation. He was able to buy his way into the group through giving Squim the family compass that his father was searching for. Squim initially wanted nothing to do with this deal, wary of placing the well-known merchant’s son into a path of danger, but Loris’ chief of security – who somehow got wind of this – expressed considerable interest in the compass.

Officer Vereene: What happened to the compass? I passed it along as a promise of future wealth.
I had already registered the team but then Kragan wanted in. I didn’t want harm to come to him, given his father, so I refused. He had only offered a compass which was not of interest to us.

Officer Vereene: What made you change your mind? Okoral, “speaking on behalf of Loris” (meaning that Loris would not be connected officially, true of all his dealings), wanted the compass. So we found Kragan again and said Yes. I told him he would face easy opponents, but instead we were matched with Orik and annihilated.
Rey: You were meant to die.

_My thoughts: An excellent and surprising insight from Tall and Silent. They were meant to die, and none would know then of the compass._

Officer Vereene: What did you face out there in the arena? Fire. Walls of it. Storms of it. No one could get by Orik or the wizard’s golems to get to that bastard himself.

Officer Vereene: When was the transaction, handing the compass to Okoral? A few days ago.

They then found and cornered *Kragan*, 18 years old and thoroughly shaken by the sudden overwhelming defeat. He’d only survived by immediately surrendering. This seemed to fit his description: well-manicured, beard carefully trimmed, unused armor never scratched. Not prepared for real fighting beyond a skirmish with a dueling teacher, according to Officer Vereene.

He tried to escape but the ambassador wasn’t having it. Officer Vereene ultimately calmed him by stating he wasn’t under arrest – the compass theft was family business, not Greyhawk’s – and could he answer a few questions about how he came to be on the team?

Kragan had given the compass to ‘the patron’ – he initially hadn’t known Squim’s name – who didn’t want him on the team and laughed in his face. Later, though, he came back and said OK so long as the payment was still the compass. The agreement was that they weren’t going to fight, not really: the battle was supposed to be rigged up for a round with lots of betting on the side.

My thoughts: Check to see if Orik’s Warriors or Varmint Patrol were moved at the last minute to fight one another. If so, who moved them and why?

They asked him about Phreet. He didn’t think much of her. She had, he said, been hanging out with his dad’s crew but kept trying to steal stuff, so his father put her in the brig. He’d intended to let her out and tell her to go away, but then the compass went missing so he kept her a little longer.

_My thoughts: The compass obviously represents Phreet which seems to lead to the Lady Etona. Okoral would be in a position to move fights around, no doubt. Did he?
Does Okoral need to be a changeling himself to accomplish any of this. Presumably no: money is as effective as powers, but what is the long game here? Does it extend all the way up to Loris?
_

*Talking to Kellek*
While they were interviewing Kragan about Phreet and the compass, I spoke with Kellek. He was open and cheerful enough, particularly after remembering that I had been a student of his, and the one who shared his interest in perfectly engineered designer garments.

He remembered Lahaka at the evening feast that Loris put on last year. She had been wearing an Umarra (!!) from the fall line. If you are from caves and live on leaves and bugs, you possibly do not know that Gwendolyn September Umarra is one of the preeminent gown designers in Greyhawk.
Lahaka’s dress, on loan from Umarra for the occasion, was a snow-white Hidden Color silk gown, an experiment of color then that is quickly becoming known now. We talked much of it, though I did not think to ask if Umarra ever got the dress back.

_My thoughts: Use this opportunity to speak to Umarra herself (!!)._

Tira would possibly know more about where Lahaka went, but she recused herself from the Games and was not available.


*Talking to Orik*
Orik didn’t remember Lahaka until his memory was jogged through prompting.

“Oh yeah. I was planning on getting together at a later time, but I never saw her again.”

Rey: Do you think Loris knew where she went when she disappeared? Or knows where she is now? Dunno. They used to be an item, so maybe.
Melinde: Was the relationship between Loris and her amicable? Dunno. She was all over me that night, though.

_My thoughts: What if Loris had not been not using Lahaka for some purpose but was really fond of her, or just resented the appearance of his being a cuckhold, and so was moved to remove Orik and replace him with a changeling who then was supposed to throw the match to Varmint Patrol? Far-fetched but not impossible. It would tie into changelings to replacing people – specifically Orik – at the Games.
_
We reassembled in our room and traded information. That evening we would be looking for Leef to get us in to some forbidden places. More bribery, apparently, but the Flows know I am not above it if it means understanding the truth.

It finally occurred to me that Lord Chosik’s offer to help us included materials. We decided to requisition some potions and certain specialized clothing:
    • Gaseous form
    • Invisibility
    • Sleep bombs
    • Water breathing
    • Silence cloaks/boots
We sent a courier with the request. Over dinner and some rest, as we waited for the reply, we talked about our plan for the night.

The evening shifts are more lax than the day and get better for us as the graveyard hours go by. Leef will be on his own shift tonight, and Officer Vereene will use him to make friends with his friends: that and money should get us upstairs closer to the high-security area in the center.

We shall see what we can.


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Aug 4, 2018)

*The Journal of Eleanor 03*

Rest Day
Ah, our order of liquid mischief has arrived. What do we have here?
    • Four water breathing distillates which typically last an hour each
    • An invisibility mix, another hour, I have read
    • One mid-level healing drought

I’d spent much of the day receiving details about these people’s recent pasts, filling in gaps where I have missed information. After a bland lunch livened by the spices I always carry, we demonstrated one another’s abilities a bit more thoroughly with light sparring. I use illusions to call upon mine as it is quite wearing to actually cast higher-order spells. We are not a fighting force, not yet, but we are a step closer to behaving like a team in the future.

That evening, an early and uninspired dinner of “meat rolls” later (what are we, apprentices?), we decide to use the potions to swim to the location with the hole leading up into a non-arena area. We would need to leave the Village unobserved.

The ambassadors slip away before I even realize they are gone leaving Officer Vereene and myself. I make a great show of my unhappiness with our performance yesterday, an easy temper to feed as I am still sparks and thunder about it. Officer Vereene manages to move off as well, though I find out she used our sole invisibility potion – as precious an item we have down here – to merely walk away. This is akin to using a wish ring to order breakfast (although down here, it would be tempting). Where did she get it the elixir? Why did she have it? Oh yes, the Ambassador Rey collection. Easy come, easy go. This will become my mantra around these people, I suspect: they are not fastidious with details nor rigorous planners. They are resourceful, and fearless, but impulsive. I must find some way to contain that.

My ruse works and I am left alone: no one wants to talk down the mad storm woman. I go soak myself in the river, swimming noisily back and forth. I am wearing too much for this to be entertaining to the puerile, so people tire of me and wander back to what they were doing. I retrieve the rest of my gear and submerge.

It is a winding trek to the room the two ambassadors had discovered the previous night. When we emerge to considerable stench, I realize we have decided to infiltrate their toilet system. Flows and essence! this was not in the job description, and I mentally increase my fee before mist-stepping into the room above as quickly as possible, taking Ambassador Rey’s rope and grapnel with me. I tie it off on one of four chain rings spaced … hmm, equidistant … around the room….

This is not a toilet, it is a torture room or at very least one where bodies are suspended over the hole presumably for bloodletting.

The party climbs up behind me. The scent is earthy, the air tingling with magic but also rot. It is well-lit with ever-burners on the walls and I can see into the next room. Boxes, no, _coffins_. Oh yes, they are already beginning to vibrate. We arrange ourselves to meet them, and here they come, greenworm-infested corpses shambling to their feet.

“They were sealed into the coffins, sealed in with the worms,” a woman says, her voice shaking with emotion. It is my voice but not me, not my thoughts. “By the blood of Our Savior, who would do this?” I continue. I feel tears!

It is Eleanor again. Not Lucienne, not me, but this woman from another life, the one from whom I am merely wearing her name.

People became theseworm-infested creatures, but what am I becoming right now? Who isthis? Who is Our Savior?

I have to snap out of this. I lash out with a Witch Bolt raising the hair on everyone’s arms and swirling the air in the tiny chamber. The ambassadors line up behind Mel who has bottlenecked the horrors in the corridor, and they throw their own lightning and frost. I am unnerved, even frightened, fighting my fears as much as these shambling nests of disease.

Ambassador Rey looks back at us. She is also wide-eyed and pale as I had not seen on her before nor imagined her able to wear. Her look is one of, “Wish me luck,” and she pushes ahead to one of the things. She melts it with a touch! It stiffens, the worms burning. The current in the air isn’t from me, or not solely so: the ambassador is wielding lighting not merely with a magic spear but something else, something intrinsic to her. Fascinating.

With her lead and Officer Vereene’s armor, we kill the monsters.

Two corridors lead out ahead as does the unhidden side of a secret door on the side. Stairs roll up to another secret door behind this one seeming to exit somewhere within the round, closed-off area of the first floor. I think we should investigate there but our paladin is concentrating and predicting that each of the hallways leads to walking corpses, one direction far worse like a volcano next to a bonfire.

“We must burn every unclean thing here,” she says, and everyone begins to nod. Everyone but me: I think we should move up into what is probably offices or storage or someplace civilized so we can talk about this and, with luck, perhaps arrest ringleaders right there on the spot. Failing that we should retreat and bring news of all this to the surface world. But Ambassador Rishkar pronounces the worms-corpses anti-nature creatures and so must slay them now, and Ambassador Rey hopes still to find Lord Chosik’s sister here – at least as a body – so they move forward.

We take the lightly-cursed corridor first to an old, desiccated combat training room. Six worm zombies are here which we dispatch. All but one who turned out to be important for it managed to crawl to a double door, open it, pull itself into the short corridor behind and open yet another double door which led into…. 

I think I’ll call it the Cosmic Evil Ripening Room.

A simple altar ofstone squatted in the middle of this oval chamber. It faced a largeset of stone double doors. On the altar are two scrolls glowing withan unnatural green light and casting green beams into a gem whichfocused the ray onto the doors, bathing them in the same green glow.I sense the temporal magic: this is a time-speeding spell. Whateveris behind those doors is not being held in stasis – at least not bythis process – but rather is being _accelerated_. The scrollsare not actually in this time shard and so cannot be destroyed. Theoverall spell is necrotic but also evocational.

A being who I imagine to be the Faceless One, based on listed descriptions, comes out of a door in the back.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"The future"

"I am interested in the future."

"Indeed?"

Mel is charging but is stopped by an invisible barrier in front of the being.

"Is your future pain and suffering for the people of Greyhawk?"

"Quite the contrary: I bring glad tidings, a world without pain."

"A world withoutfree will," I return. "A world without hope or light. Yes, I recognize yourspecific brand of evil."

But the creature, I immediately sense, is more powerful than we are prepared to do battle with. He will kill or capture one or more of us, I feel it not only in my bones but as a buzzing sensation up and down Thoth, my silent armband, who is already preparing to remove the two of us. I don’t know wherethis information is coming from, but it is almost certainly tied towhy I know that the energies here are temporal.

“Retreat! Everyone retreat!” I command.

The Faceless One casts a black field of sharp, writhing tentacles behind Officer and Vereene and me. It snags and slices Rey, but she electrocutes the ground and pulls free, running away. Rishkar dances through the things which don’t seem to be interested in him for some reason. They also leave me alone as I charge through.

That left Officer Vereene facing the Faceless One alone with her escape route cut off and the party retreating. But I could see in her eyes a sort of elation: she wants to die, or at least to die in this way, perhaps facing an unbeatable foe while securing our escape.

Paladins! Flowsbless them.

As my final action, I fire a Haste spell at her.

“Use this magic, Melinde. Run!”

Thankfully she sprang alive and raced through the tentacle field right past the rest of us running for our lives back to the stream from which we crawled.

The Faceless One has in the meantime walked behind us and now enflames the entire corridor. We have no choice but to continue running through necrotic fire sucking our lives away.

Ambassador Rishkar,however, turns and – I don’t know what part of his soul or spiritor chakra he has that he dumped into the spell, but he concentrateslike never before with that Ray of Frost of his and somehow freezesthe cult leader to the wall. This also succeeds in dropping theflames.

Everyone dives into the water.

I feel overcome, just exhausted. Officer Vereene, still Hasted, helps me swim further down the stream.

…into a functionally invisible gelatinous cube taking its afternoon constitutional there. Desperation drives Officer Melinde, and particularly Rey, straight through it – tearing it to pieces – and we wash up on the beach beyond.

As we lay there gasping, I notice some symbols carved into the walls of wherever we now are.
- a triangle with a circle on top, a little like a pawn from the Royal Game
- some waves
- a circle with a jack through it
- a spiral
Bits of bone remain in the grooves of each one indicating they were carved from the many bones around us.

Hmm. The spiral looks out of place from the others. It would have been an onerous task to carve that into stone and as well as it was done. Curious.

“Catastrophe,” a woman says. “Remember?”

It is I, or a rather a translucent version of me, in a very strange metallic outfit. I am holding a metal-wound staff of some sort. “Thee burn away precious minutes.”

“What?” I say to her.

She disappears.

“What was that?” asks Ambassador Rey. Of course, only I can see the apparition.

“We have doomsday to avert. We must get back to the village.” The half-elf nods to a passage, indicating, _Yes, it’s right there_. “And we must leave the Games. We need to tell everyone what we have found.”

“That would mean forfeiting, withdrawing from here permanent-like,” says Officer Vereene.

I nod vigorously. “The good we can do here is slight compared to what an activated Royal Guard, Watch, Church of Greyhawke and all the other organizations I intend to alert can bring to bear.”

They still do not look convinced, particularly the paladin whom, I have no doubt, honestly believes she can wade into any problem requiring something evil to kill and simply handle it. I suppose she is still here so it is working for her so far.

“Each one of you has deposed to me and others your opinion of the magnitude of the danger these worms bring. My own research has borne everything you say out. We do not have a problem with a couple of corpses lurching about somewhere in a tunnel: this is a powerful cult leader with an artifact building a disease bomb in the middle of the city. This is beyond our skills to deal with.”

“We will be prevented,” Officer Vereene says. “They know about us, and to be right there in the middle of the Arena, they are obviously tied into Loris’ operation, and so the guard here is going to nab us.”

“They’re welcome to try! But keep this in mind, Officer Vereen: you, all of you, are extremely well-known. You might be the most famous people down here other than Orik’s Warriors. Two of you are ambassadors. I am working for the palace. You are a member of the Watch. If they cause a scene with us, then they are pointing out for us whom to fight, a great risk. I suspect they are, instead of looking for us, speeding up preparations for their attack or abandoning it altogether and fleeing.”

This seems to convince the girl, so we go to the Grey Wardens nearest the exit and tell them we are forfeiting the match. We have been summoned by Lord Chosik and must leave for the surface immediately. This very much confuses and dismays the guards, but they allow us to leave. One of them on the way out confides that he bet a hundred clinks on us. Ambassador Rey rolls her eyes and hands him a palmful of gold coins. I believe she has made a lasting friend today.

We go our separate ways to alert the city.


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Aug 8, 2018)

*Eleanor's Journal - Part 04*

I take my leave of my companions.

Officer Vereene is heading to the Watch.

The ambassadors travel to locate Lady Etona, probably near her temple or down by the docks where she seems to be ministering to the poor there? Nothing I know of Sehanine – or elves in general – allows this to make sense to me. Elves do not preach their gods unless insane, and they do not concern themselves with the trivial, noisy, short lives of us human specks.

“You are not human,” she says. It is that woman, me, again, but not me, someone who might look like my sister if I had one. She is dressed regally, though in fabrics and jewels I have never seen the like of before. And she is shocked at her pronouncement. And, I now see, merely the reflection from a mirror I am gazing into. “Lucienne?” she says – I say – touching lips.

“Ma’am?” calls out a food cart owner. He has been saying it several times now. I recognize his voice.

“Landrau,” I say shaking off scene which evaporates. “Just thinking of … official court business.” It is a little joke between us. Landrau is one of those people gifted with the ability to not take anyone seriously while at the same time letting you in on the joke. I like both him and his unique product very much.

“Oh,_ official court _business. Madam President looks parched. Her usual?”

I don’t know what a president is, but it sounds like a title so I laugh. “Official, trade secret, palace, utensil business. And yes, a small pineapple juice as usual, please.”

“Utensils. Mmm.” He hands me a cup with the exotic yellow liquid. “No ownder you were wool-gathering. It’s been turning winds all day. Somethin’ up?”

Copper coins clatter on his table. “Yes, you could say that. Keep an ear to the juice trade these next couple days, won’t you?” A silver bounces among them now. That is professional courtesy: he would help whether I paid him or not, but I know he can do more with more, so I am helping my own cause with the coin.

He scoops them up leaving the silver coin spinning, one brief movement that makes me smile at his fingers’ cleverness. “Always lovely to see you, my queen.”

A final grin and I am hurrying to Loris Chosik who, regrettably, is in the middle of hosting a gathering when I arrive. Terrible manners my interrupting like this, but there is nothing to be done.

Lord Chosik is surprised and concerned to see me, so he takes me to his study where he hears my story. He becomes as alarmed as I had hoped, asking that the party meet him at the Hall of Justice in three hours. He has much arranging to do.

I go to Lady Zinia. Over enforced tea and through polite chit-chat lasting eight minutes exactly, I am able to bring her up to date in what may have been my fastest briefing ever delivered to her. Zaro also has news: she tells me that Elgios is a member of the Circle reporting to the Loris himself! And we are to meet him at once at his house.

I run and retrieve the others, Lady Etona included – she was at her temple – and we dash to the house of Elgios. He seems relieved to see us and takes us into his small mansion.

“I have for the first time in my life been subject to multiple assassination attempts in a single week,” he begins after we summarize for him what we know. “The Age of Worms is a prophecy of doom. Most such divinations are rubbish, but this one can be traced back 2000 years, and several of the predictions have come true. There are in fact a mere two left:

“_And on the eve of the Age of Worms, a hero of the Pit shall use his fame to gift a city to the dead._ I fear that eve is today, and that city is Greyhawk.

“The other concerns the _reunification of a tripartite spirit_. More mysterious, but you are closer to the actual machinations of the prophesy unraveling itself, so perhaps you will understand it? No?”

We are collectively shaking our heads.

“Someone,” I begin, “some organization is making this nonsense true.” I turn to the others. “Have any of you detected any connection between the Asmodi and any player in this Age of Loris narrative so far?”

“No,” says Lady Etona. “The Asmodi were simply trying to retain a member who traveled with us in their ranks. He reneged on payment to them and the powers he borrowed were lost. I consider the matter closed, but they do not. We will have to meet with them to inform them of their error.”

“After our current problem is dealt with,” adds Ambassador Rey.

Elgios opens a safe and extracts an amulet. It is a silver disk with a ruby in the middle attached to a gold chain. “I know you are on a mission, but we must stay in communication. Activate this at any time to send a message to me and my trusted companions. We can use it to track your location and potentially summon you to us.”

He tells us further that the scrolls powering up whatever was behind the doors might be the Apostolate Scrolls from Kyuss, God of Worms. They purportedly allow the ability to contact Kyuss for the purpose of sacrificing. They will summon an ulgustasa, a great, green worm undead monstrosity.

We have 34 minutes left, just enough time to get to the Hall of Justice without running. Lord Chosik is there as we arrive.

The Justicier will assemble troops, he says, secure search warrants for the arena and question Loris and Okoral. All troops, including us, must submit to a Zone of Truth which we willingly enter. I confess to making ready for battle as each of my party members submitted to the test. I don’t really trust any of them yet.

We are all clean. Or not Changelings, anyway.

Two squads of 30 each have assembled under the overall command of Captain Stor. They will accompany us to the arena.

Stor is well-known to me: captain of the Watch, older at about 40 years, handsome, soft-spoken with a gift for calming men and exciting women. His is a long and storied career.

He is currently carrying two long swords and wearing heavy armor covered with layers of protection runes. Stor is anyone’s perfect embodiment of a hero and has certainly been helpful to my Lady Zinia in the past, so I am grateful enough that he is here.

We all troop in to the arena, Stor clearing the way. “Hello, Tom. We need to get through here, a priest of Vecna is attempting to infect the populace with gods-knows-what,” and “Hey there, Venset. There some kind of cult leader in here causing mischief – we need to see what’s going on.” he says to Grey Wardens in front of him and they fall aside. His aim is to arrest Loris and Okaral. We find them readily enough: Okaral is chained at Loris’ feet. Unless this is a ruse, some of our work has been done for us already, as one of these men is clearly guilty of something. Loris clears this up in a moment.

The captain has brought two lieutenants. His first one takes some men and goes through the secret door. The second one heads downstairs with a squad and myself, going down into the Village with the idea of rousting the warriors there. Officer Vereene would be the best person to do this but she is sticking with the captain.

“Lo, here is the apostle you seek!” Loris is shouting as I descend. I hear madness in that voice. We have our man, and he is undefended. He will be swiftly taken, I am sure. But where is the cult leader?

Halfway down to the Village I am almost knocked off my feet by an earthquake. A terrible buzzing – I feel it on my skin and inside my brain as much as in my ears. The scrolls … something unleashed … time is wrong, or right after being wrong. The men around me freeze into place, stopped in time, and then everything flies forward, time frantic, then … then normal.

It has happened. It has been unleashed.

I race down the rest of the way to the Village. “Heroes of Greyhawk! You are summoned to defend your city! Fly! Fly!!”


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## SolidSnake_01 (Sep 2, 2018)

*Egan's Journal: Return to the Cairn*

When the heroes left Diamond Lake almost a month ago, Egan had a clear path. He wanted to search the cairns to find out the source of their magic.  And, in doing so, either learn their meaning and make peace with it, or find a greater purpose that could lead him forward.  He was affected by his sisters death, but was a fatalist at heart. For him, there was a reason she died in the Whispering Cairn, and he felt like it was to lead him there.  The path of deal-making with a devil was not something that made him proud, but, driven by helplessness and guilt, he knew there was a reason for that as well.  After renouncing the devil’s power, and ultimately running off the pursuers, he returned to the only other path he knew, hard work and study.

Albeit, far from hard, he had some gold from his recent adventures, and a place to stay in Diamond Lake, he still had no leads and little help with his arcane investigation.  He had to turn to Allustan once again and make amends.  

The reunion was not unfriendly, and Allustan had relied on Egan before to investigate the Cairn with some success.  The sorcerer quickly regained a working relationship with Allustan and put his mind to work on some of the ancient writings.  After a few days of repetitive head-banging and dead-end texts, Egan and Allustan headed into the Cairn itself to look.  

Much as before, the Cairn whispered ancient words of the Wind Dukes, making a endless monologue of seemingly meaningless sound to the untrained ear.  Allustan bestowed a spell of comprehension to Egan, and the two went to work observing the various runes and writings.  Egan led the elder wizard to the hidden burial chamber, and even the the rooms where he found his sister in eternal sleep.  The two uncovered some information that had been overlooked before, but the mechanical blockages of the tunnels were more than they could handle.

A day later, and with a small pot of gold dispensed with the dwarven mining team from the lakeside mining town, the teacher and pupil had returned to move some debris.  After extensive clearing of some of the collapsed tunnels, Egan uncovered a message referring to a book, a codex more specifically, of the ancient Wind Dukes.  Later that day, an altar was uncovered from another collapsed area.  Neither human dared interact with it.  In fact, Allustan placed a wizard’s ward on it to alert him if it was used, and he sealed the chamber with another ward.  

The dwarf team camped inside the entryway to the Cairn, and Egan worked late into the night, studying the runes of the architect’s quarters.  Within another day, most of the debris had been cleared.  The broken elevators were beyond the dwarven team’s skills, but Egan secretly vowed to get them working again.  The flooded section remained submerged, and the team had yet to be able to fully examine it.

As the sun set on the third day in the Cairn, Egan found himself dozing off in the architect’s quarters.  He had arranged the sparse furniture to make a cot-like bed, and had even tried to keep the room warm enough to rest in.  Allustan had said the orange substance that seemed to seep from the central feeding trough was safe to eat, but Egan wasn’t sure.  He was weary though, and laziness overcame him.  He dipped a finger into the orange goo, then tasted it.  It was sour, something like yeast but more like citrus too.  A couple of handfuls later, he felt quite full.  After burping loudly and appreciating the echo, he lay down on the stone cot and drifted off to sleep.

As he rested, he dreamed.  An armored figure came to him and granted him a boon.  The armor was ancient and covered in runes, much the guardians of the resting places of the Dukes of Aqua’a.  He stood from his cot and followed the armored specter to a mural.  A wall of stone depicting a duke handing a book to a diminutive air elemental.  He followed the specter as the mural changed and shifted.  The small elemental carried the book to another wall with a stone basin and deposited it above the basin.  From there, the basin flowed with a strange luminous water.  The specter motioned to the basin and spoke a word: Drink.

Egan nodded and complied, extending his hands first then submerging his face in the cold luminous flow.  As he did, he woke, coughing and sputtering as his face was soaking wet.  Realizing suddenly that he was no longer in his sleeping chamber, he jumped back from the water before him.  Luckily the dwarves had placed ever-burning torches at each room, and the dim, bluish glow flickered across the now-rippling pool before him.

The room was part of the Cairn that had not been fully repaired yet.  Flooded by some unknown source, Egan and Allustan, had left this part for a later date.  Egan knew he was here for a reason though.  Something was hidden in that water that he needed to find.  A book and a basin, perhaps more.  

Steeling himself against the cold chill of the water, he waded in, taking the magical torch with him.  A few brief dives revealed some more runic language, which he was beginning to recognize but still could not read without Allustan’s magical ward.  He followed some similar runes to ones he had seen above in the burial room.  After a point though, he could no longer hold his breath, and he had to emerge, empty-handed but with a purpose.

The next day, he brought his team to the flooded space.  Allustan suspected an underground spring with a failed pipe, but the dwarves disagreed.  A couple spells later and Egan was breathing water and reading the runes easily.  He followed them to a niche in the wall, much like the dream, it was a small basin, likely once used for drinking.

He inspected it quickly, though found nothing.  He mimicked the motion of submerging his head in the font.  As he did, some hidden force grasped his head and held him there, forcing him into a flow of water that rose from the basin, almost as if it were trying to drown him while already underwater.  The grasp initially startled him, but he knew he could not drown with Allustan’s magic.  

Instinctively, he tried to push himself free, but was unable to break the grasp.  His hands began searching the edges of the basin, feeling the cracks, the edges, the divets.  His eyes were stuck looking into the basin, and so his other senses took over.  After a few minutes, he began to feel a bit trapped.  Surely Allustan would come into the water after him, but what if he didn’t?  What if the dwarves led the old wizard down another tunnel to check for pipes?

Instead of panicking, which he was prone to do, he thought of his sister.  She always told Egan to not believe everything that he saw.  Mustering all his nerve, he calmly let go.  He stopped fighting the pull, and his body floated, weightless, like a leaf on the wind.  As he drifted, he felt the flow of the water on his face, passing upwards, as if a fountain, then catching the edges of the font and swirling away.  Without thinking, he let his hands stroke the stone, following the flow.

Something clicked above him, a small drawer, or slot, opened.  He still could not see it, but he raised his hands and gingerly felt the edges of a rectangular slot in the wall.  Sliding his fingers ever so gently into the space, he felt air in the pocket, as if the water was being expelled.  Reaching further, his hands clasped onto a small rectangular shape, a book!  Unsure if it was trapped or magically warded, he feared to move it.  Moments passed as he contemplated his predicament.

Finally, without any other real resolve, his fatalist took over.  He felt it was a sign, and if he found this book, then he was to use is.  He grasped the edges and pulled it free from the nook.  As he did, he felt his body suddenly surrounded by a bubble of air.  The hidden watery grasp, vanished and he breathed in a warm, fresh breath.

Raising his torch, he looked at the font, realizing now that there was a pattern to the decorations that his hands had followed, and a small cubby for a book.  In his hand lay a silvered tome, small enough to fit into a large pocket and not very thick.  It was decorated with scrollwork that looked like wisps of air, storm clouds and a series of interlocking circles on the front.  Indeed, this was the codex from his dream.

Elated, he swam back to the encampment to discuss his find with Allustan.  Upon returning, the older wizard was busy with assessing an aqueduct that was seemingly not draining.  Just as Egan had feared, they might not have come back for him if the spell had worn out while he was underwater  A quick private discussion led the two men aside to explore the tome.

Allustan determined that the tome was a relic of the Wind Dukes and that it likely had belonged to the architect of the Cairns.  Within were many writings in the elemental language of the Aurans.  The tome, though small, expanded magically when opened, and the pages extended well beyond the original size.  A quick glance showed that there were theories of magic as well as the lore of the many planes.  Truthfully, the knowledge was an explanation of many phenomena based on the elemental properties of air and gases.

Deeper into the tome, they discovered some minor spells that had been recorded and a series of rituals.  Being untrained in such magic Egan relied on Allustan to explain it.  Within an hour or two, the dwarven team was ready to move back to their campsite to rest for the day while the two pored over the codex.  Late into the night Allustan studied, and when Egan woke from a drifting sleep, he found the old man likewise snoring over the book.

Egan took the codex and hid it in his belt and slept once more.  As he slept, he dreamed of a great circle of 5 rings with lines interlocking.  He dreamt that he traced them out, and stood above them reading from the book. He did not understand the words, but, placing his hand on the nape his neck, he raised the codex in a final gesture and felt enveloped by light and the rush of wind.  A silence followed, and he dreamed of his sister alive, watching from the gaping door of the Cairn, looking unusually calm and not alone.  She was surrounded by figures, clad in flowing robes with indistinct features, each singing softly in whispering voice of the wind.

He woke with Allustan shaking him.  Around the camp, there were lines on the dusty floor, circles within circles.  Allustan waved a hand and cast a spell, then coughed aloud.  The faint blue glow of a magical aura began to emanate from Egan once again.  The small man looked at the room, quite the same as he remembered from his dream, and felt a sense of calm, of home.  He turned to survey the floor and, as he did, Allustan mumbled under his breath.  The older wizard touched Egan’s nape of his neck and a crackle of electricity could be heard in the cave.  Both men jumped.

With a look of astonishment in his eye, Allustan conjured a small mirror for Egan to look.  On the nape of his neck, five rings, interlocked, were darkly tattooed on his skin.  Indeed, as he wondered, he opened the Codex, suddenly the words were clear.  He could read them and understand them.  He flipped to the end where the the rituals were inscribed.  Indeed, the same finding with the previously alien writing.  He felt that somehow he had been accepted, bonded to the codex, and to the Dukes.  

A quick discussion, and Allustan agreed.  It seems that Egan had unknowingly sleep-walked, perhaps even through astral projection, and performed a ritual in his sleep that bound him to the Wind Dukes.  In return, he had gained their sight and their awareness.  Allustan likened the binding to the oath he took with the Asmadi, but it was not clear what the Legacy of the Dukes required in return.

Egan set his mind to reading and learning.  He had come to serve his sister’s memory and prevent her fate from happening to another, but he had found much more.  What would the pact entail?  What knowledge and power lay within the codex?  And what would he do with his newfound abilities?

The days seemed to speed by at this point. He spent most waking hours reading the codex, learning the magic and knowledge within.  It was hardly a surprise that Allustan had to tear him from its pages a few days later to show him a new discovery.  The dwarves managed to excavate a section that had previously been collapsed in the  main entrance hall to the Cairn.

Behind the cave-in, there was a stone and metal opening, about 6 inches in depth and about 8 feet tall and 4 feet wide.  It was ovoid and clearly inscribed with Wind Duke magic.  After some testing and more scouring of the codex, the opening seemed to fit the description of a portal of sorts that might connect this cairn with others.  Egan wryly nicknamed it the “Wind Tunnel.”  He and Allustan worked tirelessly on the runes, and, after only half a day, determined how to activate the portal.  When it sprung to life, the center became a hollow nexus of air, like the eye of a hurricane. 

Neither of them had the gall to utilize it, but secretly Egan yearned to step into the stone hyper loop and see the other side.  Sadly, Allustan’s caution was enough to hold Egan back.  The old man had a point.  There was no guarantee that the other end was not broken or obstructed or a hole in the astral plane.  

Egan felt certain that the runes indicated that the portal could be taken to multiple sites and that they were other Cairns, but clearly the portal had not been used in centuries.  As the day set, both men took a stroll outside in the evening mist that surrounded the lake.  The discussion was jovial, reminiscing about Egan’s sad attempts at magic in the past.

As they took the hill above the Cairn’s main entrance, a glow of fire, and then a loud explosion, unlike the usual sounds of Diamond Lake erupted from across the water.  Something was happening in town, something large and destructive.  The explosion lit the lake in a eerie phosphorescent glow for many moments as some chemical-like fire burned hotter and brighter than normal flames.  

Allustan fell into a trance, his eyes glazing over as he began to scry.  He mumbled and cursed as he did.  Just as he finished, Egan spotted a dark shape, larger than a bird hovering over the white-hot burning object.  He knew immediately that it was a dragon.  Fear began to grip him again.  They were just beginning to find the secrets of the Cairn, and now this beast was invading Diamond Lake.

His mentor looked gravely at his pupil and sighed.  “We part ways here, Egan.  I must go face this beast.  It is seeking out a wizard, and I am the only one by that description.”

The calm of the Cairn’s whispers seemed dull as Allustan quickly gathered his things.  He gave a few words to the dwarves, who took note of the destruction, and promptly gave Egan notice of their termination of their agreement.  The wizened old man vanished with a small pop as he teleported away.  The dwarves took a bit longer with their tools, but they offered to allow Egan to come with them into the hills to hide out.  Egan declined.  He knew his place, and the Cairn would lead him where he needed to go next.

Once again, he was alone except for the quiet company of the Cairn.  Little did he know that trouble would soon be coming his way, and even less why he would be the target.  His mind reeled at the thought of losing his hometown, but his heart felt at home in the Cairn, and Diamond Lake could never replace that.  For a moment, he wondered if his sister had felt the same thing when he had left her on that fateful night.  Why hadn’t she left?  Why did she stay?  How did she make it to the architect’s chambers, alone, unguided?

Perhaps, she was not awake when she went…and then…perhaps she was guided by the same force as he.


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Sep 20, 2018)

*Journal of Etona  19*

(sending Journal to players because of persistent formatting errors on this website's part).


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## SolidSnake_01 (Sep 20, 2018)

*Journal of Etona 19*

It is a writhing monstrosity towering twenty feet high. The worm in the space of a few seconds eats Orrick, blazes green, then a wave of that color explodes out through the crowd. I feel it go through me and it is terrible. I feel poisoned.

“No, not you, little one,” She whispers to me in a second of total silence, of stopped time. Angivre flares and lights a tiny scene, now, where I am surrounded by my father’s garden, at the table he made for me, and the Moon at half over a summer’s night. She is there also, across from me, eating a _poam’e_, an ‘apple’.

She wipes Her divine lips and says only, “Here there be dragons.” As She evaporates, She adds, “Save the blue woman.”

Then Rey is before me fighting through the nausea herself. I am back on the arena battlefield. Melinde, Rishkar: we are all ill, but, that is all. Where the wave flows over spectators, however, some double over, some clutch their head. All are screaming.

They are beginning to transform into something …. 

The fire wizard, Kellek, is cursing and raising white-hot, blistering walls of fire at the thing. So immersed is he in rage and the summoning of great gouts from Hell that he doesn’t see the writhing, crisping monster inside the conflagration pick him out and lunge for him. He, too, gets scooped up and devoured.

I am far out of its range, close to the side of the arena where Stor and Loris are, so I see another astonishing sight: Loris’ skin bursts out with purplish fire that hurts the back of my eyes to look directly at and, and … _resh!_ He doffs his skin like it was unwanted clothing!

Orakal is open-mouthed. If he was ‘the bad guy’, he was not bad enough: his master is some kind of death knight.

Stor plunges his sword into Loris, all the way up to the hilt, but whatever this skeletal creature is now just cackles madly.

It is not through, however.

A few years ago I ran with another group of friends likewise outside of my own people. We also battled these worms; we, too, saw wonders. I pine for one of them even now. I wonder if she still thinks of me, her wild little friend. And we fought world-destroyers and liars as now. Among these was a devil, a denizen from Dis. The occasion of our killing it showed me my first Nightmare.

Like this one here in the arena, it flashes into being, a ripple that becomes fiery hooves, mane and eyes. It is a real, ride-able steed summoned from Hell.

The thing that was Loris jumps onto it and flies off into the afternoon sky, a comet blazing up to taunt Pelor, or would were not thickening purple and green clouds boiling out directly over us. The worm, or perhaps Loris, has brought its own weather.

A few more well-placed _arquae_ from Angivre save a small knot of people. And then I see that Eleanor has arrived, half the heroes in the Village are behind her. They see what people are becoming, ghoulish things with white eyes and a decidedly un-zombie look of purpose, and they charge! But the royal investigator herself does not: she has her eyes locked on the clouds, starts to says something and gesture but is jostled by a steady stream of those she’d led up from the area’s depths. She finally moves to where she can square her back against a stadium wall.

Moments later a strong wind rises, and I think the clouds are clearing. Is she doing that?

Rishkar, meanwhile, is also roasting this towering worm. I dash over and lend Silver to his effort. But three of these undead things that had been the Free City’s citizens follow me. Faster than the worm-infested bodies we have fought before, they are nevertheless not swift enough. All fall before the Silver.

And worm falls before Melinde, Rey, Rishkar and me.

We have no time to reflect and begin immediately cutting a path to one of the main gates that people are swarming to. A group of the undead creatures that Melinde is yelling are _wights_ follow.

We engage them at the gate, cutting them down and allowing people to stream away. A figure arises out of the ground as we do, a phantom of some kind. It materializes a clawed hand and it plunges it into Melinde’s chest! She crumples at first and I want to race to her, but she faces the thing, head up, eyes slit, a snarl on her lips. She rights herself, stands tall, and drives her sword into the being. She is making her last stand.

“Not while I have breath!” I yell and my Angivre channels my rage into a bolt strides long. It enters the monster’s chest, gathering there and reeling the rest of the Silver behind it like a fishing pole, and then explodes out utterly annihilating the phantom. The other wights flee from a paladin drenched in the holy lights of Sehanine and her own Heironeous.

Among the tumult of fleeing, crying people, Rey and Rishkar and Eleanor were battling for their lives, but the tide has turned.

As if to underscore that fact, the unnatural clouds move off revealing sunlight. Eleanor probably believes she did this, and perhaps her efforts helped, but I see Baerov, a druid I knew from my days as traveling priest. He is hundreds of paces away so I cannot contact him, but I have no doubt he also lent a hand in whisking away the darkness. Like Verdre, his path is the storms. Far more likely than the officious sorceress who was, anyway, busy escorting an odd trio of halfling, gnome and dwarf away to royal parts of the city to have spent more than thirty seconds gazing skyward.

Melinde and I make sport of harrying the undead through the night with Rey and Rishkar grimly guarding our flanks.

******************************​Morning. Wreckage. Pain.

My mind feels like this city.

How did I think I could fire a hundred Silver without penalty, each one taking a little bite out of my will as it did?

And Greyhawk, hardly a beacon of justice and goodwill in the first place, is stunned. It will wake to fear and consequence and all the responses frightened humans can muster. There will be suffering above what has been inflicted here this arc for a long time to come.

Our young paladin meets us the next morning along with a representative from Chosik. They both urge us to leave the city: no more good can come from us being here now that the wights have been hunted to extinction. We are now outsiders in considerable danger. More upheaval comes. Its first caress today is Melinde’s news that she will remain behind in her new position in the City Watch. My impression of Greyhawk has just risen a notch, though I am unexpectedly disappointed. She is noisy, willful, prideful and angry, but I have seen the girl beneath and in so doing glimpsed the woman she could become.

“Will you hunt this Faceless One?” I ask her.

She smiles wickedly. “Oh yes.” And then she scowls. “Though I’m sure he’s fled already.”

“Listen, Melinde: if you find anything about Phreet, will you tell Estee? If you find a hidden lair, take a sensitive there, a priest or a wizard. Maybe, maybe she is there, my little sister, somehow trapped in a jar or bound to a totem.” She looks uncomprehending. “I know. It is, we do not know what we do not know about where she is or if she even has a physical form anymore. I am only asking you to remember her when you are looking for captives or beings in chains when you and your people turn that arena inside out. Please look. Please save her if you can.”

She nods solemnly. “I swear it.” And she does, I see it in her eyes.

I hug her, and it is like hugging Rey or a startled cat. “You listen to your _caer’e_,” I whisper to her. “when you swear this oath to me. Not your mighty god nor your captain nor your friends nor even me, but to who you are.” I draw back. “It is why you are special.”

I do not know if any of that is true, but perhaps hearing it will make it true for her.

I say goodbye to Estee who is remaining in the city to deal with, I believe they are called _converts_? People who have opened to Sehanine because of me? This was not my aim, exactly, but it is gratifying, if unsettling. It has happened before, but ever with humans. It is what they believe I do, I suppose.

I greet two I recognize who are even now helping Estee rebuild our small temple area.

“Where will you go next?” he asks me in our tongue.

“South, at first,” I reply. “Since the treaty is to be ratified now, we can deliver ‘Ambassador Rishkar’ back to his home. That is Rey’s priority, and I want to meet up again with Verdre. Then, then … home.” The word causes me to tremble.

“The Mirror of Sehanine,” he says. I can only nod. “It is not my place to say, but you have earned it. What of Rey?”

“I think she is coming, too. I really want her to. There is human expression: ‘I cannot wait’. Obviously this is not true – I can and must; that is the way of things – but I understand the sense of it. It is a longing, an excitement. And I want to catch up to Ziki, if she is still heading there.”

He begins to bow. How silly: I hug him and hold him close. “Thank you, Estee.” We elves turn pale when we ‘blush’; it is the opposite of the human word used to describe it for us. He looks like chalk, and I laugh at it – though not at him, he knows this – in fair imitation of our Mistress.

******************************​The “Free City” recedes behind us. Outwardly calm, I know it will not be the same there for many human generations. Will it rise again better or worse for its punishment? I am sure I have no idea.

We leave the road some two miles from the gates and do not tread on it again until we reach Diamond Lake days later. Rey and I shake off what has happened after a day and we play games together; she would call it _training for the hunt_ but there is too much laughter for such a stoic endeavor.

Our smiles drop near Diamond Lake, though.

We all smell it first. Then we see. Cresting a rise affords us a look down at the town: smoldering ruins.

Before I can even close my mouth that had fallen open, we hear soldiers approaching. They are known to us, and we to they: from Greyhawk’s garrison here, Sergeant Beejum and two men.

“What,” I stretch my arm out to indicate the destruction in front of us, “is this?”

“Lady Etona,” he starts. _Lady_ Etona. Word travels quickly. “We were attacked. A dragon, a frickin’, dragon! Oh, uh, pardon, my lady. Black as pitch. It flew around spitting this green slime everywhere that melted whatever it touched.”

“Ithane,” Rey breathes, and there is a hiss from Rishkar.

“We tried to fight it – Williams got a lucky hit with a ballista; we buried what was left of him when we could get near him – but we’re not equipped to take on a frickin’ dragon! Oh, pardon, my lady.”

“What did she want? Did she say anything?” I ask.

“She kept bellowin’, ‘Bring me the wizard’ over and over again. So Allustan, he thinks it’s him, he goes to meet her, and she jus’ looks all cross and blasts him. That old man lived longer than he should’ve, but he’s ….” He trails off shaking his head, and then he sees my expression. “Pardon, my lady.”

I look to Rey. “Allustan is dead,” I say. She understands all the ways this hurts. Not the least: another friend slain. People who associate with the two of us die. We had discussed it on the first day traveling from Greyhawk.

“Why is Allustan dead?” Rey murmurs to no one in particular, but her voice carries.

“That’s just it,” replies one of the sergeant’s men. Restan. Yes, that is his name, Restan Pereatha. “She – well, the voice was female, I guess – she kinda screamed after she killed Master Allustan. She flew up and melted the sheriff’s place, Boyer’s bakery, a bunch of houses and half of Madame Z’s. And then she yelled, ‘No! The wizard, the young one!’ That’s what she said, over and over. ‘The young one’.”

“Egan,” says Rey, her eyes widening. “Where is Egan?”

They look nonplussed at one another, and then Sergeant Beejum says, “Oh, Master Allustan’s apprentice! The guy who hired those dwarves.” The other two nod and make ‘Oh, yeah, right,’ noises. He turns to Rey again.

“We don’t know, uh, ambassador. He was always out of town somewhere, kept comin’ in for supplies and goin’ to Master Allustan’s.”

“He is at the Cairn,” I say in Elvish and Rey nods.

I hear a growl in the tree next to me and see a purple-tipped tale only visible to the three of us from our angle. Thank the Goddess! Not everything has gone wrong.

“We will look into all of this, Sergeant Beejum,” intones Rey sending them off. “Is the captain …?”

“Yeah, captain’s OK. Most of us, actually: she didn’t really the garrison.”

“I am glad to hear this,” Rey replies and then turns back to us.

Once they are out of sight, I say to the branches above me, “Cousin!”

Verdre, now in her normal form, jumps down and allows me hug her. I don’t want to let her go, not anymore.

“You’re back,” I say into her shoulder.

“Indeed,” she returns. “And I have much to tell you. It is good to see you as well, Rey. Thank you for bringing back my Etona to me.” She weaves a gesture to Rishkar who returns it, and she says, in Common: “And it is well for me to meet you again, guardian. Pleased am I that you still tread the breathing earth.” He nods. “We must deal with Ithane’s fallout. The factory on the outskirts of this town is spewing poison into the lake. The very water is on fire.”

“The water is on fire?” Rey echoes, her face showing deep puzzlement. “How can that be?”

“Verdre,” I say, “we need to find our friend, Egan. He is at the center of this destruction, somehow.”

“I will be working to stop the death of the lake here. You do what you must, Etona. I am aware of your den near the Cairn and will check for you there each _mirren_ if you do not locate me near the human factory. The Briarwood Lodge should know where I am. We will find one another.” She kisses my forehead. “Her light shine on you, cousin.” And she is a purple-tinged big cat of some kind again racing off.

“What is it?” Rey asks seeing my surprise.

“She has never blessed me in our Mistress’ name before.”

******************************​We pass through our ‘den’ – our headquarters, our common home in the area – where I check to make certain our two artifacts are still concealed in the old well. They are. We proceed to the Cairn.

As we approach, my feet notice the ground beginning to grow soft, the soil changing to a watery clay which squishes between my toes. The very air seems to be bit more opaque, and there is a scent in it of decay and something sour. Eventually we walk into a low mist clinging to the ground. Rey and I exchange glances as we discover these changes to the land.

Rishkar hisses. “This cannot be. It is a corrupted version.”

“Of?” I ask.

“My home.”

Another half mile – the Cairn’s outline fuzzy in mist that has risen – and Rey says, “Ithane is here.” She drops to her knees and begins whispering with her eyes closed in, I think it is Draconic? Whatever she is saying makes Rishkar’s head snap up. He assumes a low combat-ready stance and looks all around. I hear her say the word “Ithane” quite clearly.

On the back of her neck, her dragon mark begins glowing blue. I point to my own back and she looks at me, puzzled. I gently pull her cloak over her head and whisper, “You’re glowing.”

We approach some boulders for a clear view of the scene in front of us.

A small band of _skritt _– humans call them ‘kobolds’ – are interspersed throughout rocks in front of the Cairn. Behind them is a barricade in front of the opening of the cave. We hear chanting, at least two voices, form there. Rishkar mutters the word _ritual_. I can see writhing, dancing kobolds silhouetted in front of a bright, rainbow light behind them stretching across the cave entrance. 

Draped across the top is Ithane.

She is large but not as much as Seraph, at least not from this angle. There is something _diminished_ about her. Still, she isn’t not dangerous so we plot a course around the front of the cave to the left, stealthily creeping up to a side view of the cave and the mysterious colors and the kobold activity there.

Oh! There is Egan! He is standing behind the wall of color. It looks very much like it is keeping the kobolds out. Ithane herself confirms this when she speaks:

“I can smell your fear, wizard. It will be only a few moments more. The best meals are the ones that have been marinating in their own juices. I am in your debt: thank you for this delicious anticipation.”

We whisper to one another. I have never whispered this quietly in my life.

“They are trying to get through the color wall.” Rey hazards. “To nab him once it goes down.”

“What if we kill them all first and then run in from Ithane?”

“It is a good start ….”

We form a plan to wipe out most of the kobolds we can see. It will be a quick strike and then a retreat into the scrub at high speed, splitting up, make sure at least one of us lives. It isn’t my best plan ever, and I am frankly surprised when both of them agree. Rey keeps looking at Ithane and gripping her spear. But she isn’t …. Surely not ….

Rey quietly kills a skritt in front of her. No activity from the others.

“Your charlatan powers are pitiful against *Dragotha*,” Ithane brays.

A dragon with a master.

That’s why she seems … small somehow. And her eyes are black on black. She’s not, maybe, completely a dragon anymore?

We all attack. Three more skritt are dead instantly. And battle is well and truly joined as Ithane, furious, takes to the air.

“Rise, my pets! Rise!” she bellows, and marching down from the top of rocky hill forming the roof of the Cairn are worm-infested skritt. I also hear movement out in the mists back from where we came.

It is a blur of activity:

Rey runs dodging a variety of traps the skritt have lain. Obi appears out of nowhere. A massive worm-infested boar emerges from the mist and knocks her down, a raging thing careening through the fog at astounding speed. Another rises up and smashes the palisade in front of the cave entrance. It is then that Egan comes out, the color wall gone, and summons some kind of localized whirlwind charged with flashes of lightning. This keeps away Ithane, at least for a moment, Obi goes is pounded again and again and goes down. Rey looks battered as well. No one seems to have noticed me, not even the worm-kobolds walking just three strides in front of me, even after I take down two more skritt and harry a boar!

“Get into the cave, lasses!” shouts Egan, “and, eh, you also, lizard – brave lizard man! How er’ ye still alive, man?” But there is no time: Ithane zeroes in on Rey. I take aim, a hopeless arrow to fell a dragon but one carrying my very soul. If I can distract her….

I don’t need to. She is knocked out of the air, a web of sparks dancing all over her as a great blue form whooshes by. I am stunned to hear a cheer go up from from Rey, a single whoop, but for her it is like a celebrating tribe.

“You!” Ithane says. “I will enjoy this,” and she rockets up into the sky, into Seraph. They bite and claw and cast their breath weapons against one another until they disappear past the tree line and we can no longer follow them.

“Do ye want to go after them?” Egan asks Rey who nods. He gestures and she rises into the air. This is a day for unique sights.

Ithane flies back, gashed and wounded, but alone. Seraph is nowhere to be seen. Rey drops out of a fold in the fog onto the black dragon’s head and stabs. Ithane, snarling, grabs her in a claw and begins squeezing.

Remember the soul arrow my Angivre was to launch? She and I summon massive Silver – I feel my blood cool, my head aches: I will pay a price for this, I know – and we let it fly. It pierces Ithane’s skull and she falls, Rey never letting up stabbing her again and again such that lightning once again flows all over the dragon’s twitching, expiring body.

We limp back together, I touch Obi’s fur and concentrating, pulling what is left from my small reserves, and she breathes more cleanly. Her wounds close to drip blood and not flow with it. She will not die.

We have much to talk about, but it will have to wait. Seraph is down somewhere, and Rey means to find her.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Sep 20, 2018)

*Rey's Journal*

*Return to Diamond Lake*

We arrived at Diamond Lake and were greeted by...devastation.  Buildings were burnt to the ground, the foundry was burning and the lake was on fire.  How in the world can water be on fire? The garrison, or whatever was left of it came and found us.  A black dragon had come yesterday and demanded the wizard.  Allustan had gone to meet her and perished.  He was not the wizard she wanted.  She’s demanding the young wizard, whom I can only guess is Egan.  Ithane would not know that Egan is powerless these days.  According to the garrison men, Egan is hiding out in the Cairn.  I missed him in Greyhawk, more than I thought I would but how does trouble follow him everywhere?  He’s a magnet for it.

Etona, Rishkar and I headed to the Cairn to rescue our friend.  Or die.  I am not sure we could take on Ithane and win.  But I seem to be the only one NOT surprised by the coming battle.  I somehow knew we would end here.  Seraph has battled Ithane before.  I didn’t know it then but Ithane was the black dragon she had battled while ill with mercury poisoning.  Seraph sent me to find Ithane those months ago.  Meeting Etona then Egan, I do believe were all part of her plan.  We destroyed Ithane’s eggs in the swamp and created an alliance with the Lizardmen.  This battle was coming.  Maybe that is why I was so on edge in Greyhawk?  Who knows.

We headed toward the Cairn and witnessed three kobolds chanting at a prismatic wall.  Strange little dragon creatures.  In another time I would have wanted to speak with them.  They are oddly adorable, although in my experience cunning too.  Above the Cairn rested Ithane.  She is larger than Seraph but it was her eyes that sent a curl of fear through me.  Her eyes were orbs of black.  She exuded evil. 

I kneeled and called to her, my Mistress Seraph.  I did not know if she was nearby or if she would heed my call. _Mistress, Ithane is here.  Ithane is here!_ I could feel the tattoo heat and spread warmth throughout my body, pushing aside my fear.  Time to face my destiny.

We chose, upon Etona’s insistence, stealth.  Our plan was to circle around and pick off kobolds, hiding our position until the last possible second.  If Ithane spotted us, we would be dragon dinner.  We had a second of surprise but they were ready for us.  I saw a worm-infested dire boar and froze.  The last time I felt this kind of fear was the first time Seraph turned her eyes on me.  My spear did not strike true and I knew for sure this battle would be my last.  Obi fought beside me, clawing at the boars as worms dug into our skin.  It all became a blur.  Then.  She came. My Mistress.  I saw a streak of blue lightning and Ithane was blown into the hurling wind in front of the Cairn.  I knew she had come.  She had heard my call.  All my fears vanished in that instant.  The direboar charged and Obi went down beside me.  I could not heal her but cast the worms out.  Egan has regained some power, not his _Asmodi_ powers but a new one.  He shoots lightning as well.  He pointed to the sky and I nodded, and in a moment I was flying.  Next thing I knew, I was in Ithane’s mouth, her teeth piercing into me, the acid burning me.  I did not see Seraph but Ithane had been badly injured, clawed and scorched and bleeding.  I would have to finish it, for Seraph and to save my friends.  I could not fail. I stabbed at Ithane with my lightning spear.  The very spear we took from her and imbued with Seraph’s lightning blessing. I wonder if she recognized it.

I am never alone.  Tonight I am reminded of that once again.  Specifically Etona’s silver came flying up from the ground, through Ithane’s head narrowly missing my own.  It brought us down.  Ithane had me once again, this time in her claws.  I could feel tearing into me and squeezing my life away.  One last strike was all I had.  So I put everything into it and stabbed her in the eye.  It was enough.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Oct 2, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: Introductions*

It has been a long time since I have put my thoughts to paper. Some of my instructors counseled me during interrogation training that it was a risk to do so. That your thoughts, once they leave your mind, can be used against you. Except for the Boss. I mean Jade. That is her name after all. For some reason, she was the only one who did not believe that. She told me one day after dismissing class that writing down your feelings can stave off the madness only soldiers come to know. A sickness that endless war infects us with. I haven’t written anything down since my training for fear that it would fall into the wrong hands. How ironic that such fears were so misplaced. I ended up divulging my past freely to the first person that showed me kindness, and now many of my brothers have suffered for it. But let us not dwell on the past, I want to look toward the future. A future where decent men are not used as pawns in the Great Game. _The strong do what they will and the weak suffer what they must_. I want to change that, but I am going to need some help. And money...lots of it.

Which brings us to the here and now. I’ve done my best to avoid detection for as long as I can, even moving to the bustling metropolis of Greyhawk. My hopes are to recruit candidates from the Champion’s Games. Though “civilized” in nature, I know all too well the formula for contests such as these. Bodies are broken and spirits are shattered. _Purpose_ is usually lost in the process. It is from these individuals that I need to determine whether they can rise again. Instill in them meaning and help them see the greater picture. The War Dogs are finished, but I am not.

Any successful organization will need a base of operations. I have managed to secure a hostel down in the Slum Quarter. The location puts it in close proximity to the Southern Gate and far enough away from the Thieves Quarter to avoid further taxation. Though the building is quite dilapidated, I was not able to buy it outright. The owner, a member of the Council of Greyhawk, has agreed to rent to me at a “fair” market price. He is leveraging the influx of visitors to inflate the price. A very clever man this Thran Chozik is. He would probably be able to sell snow to a frost giant. Though with men like these, money is not everything. I knew at some point my skill would be utilized and so I too did some bargaining of my own. It seems like his sister has been missing for some time, a point that triggers deep emotions. He has hired me to look into her disappearance, reducing the rent I would have to otherwise pay him. Clearly this was important to him. So important that he could not wait for my report. He has engaged a separate group to perform a similar task. These individuals are brave, but not subtle. In the short time they have been in Greyhawk, they have set political institutions ablaze with their discoveries. Exposing a changeling cabal within the government of Greyhawk is a recipe for civil war. I would know, I used to do this type of work.

Nevertheless, I continued my work and came to one inescapable conclusion: Loris Raknian was likely responsible for Lahaka’s disappearance. In my profession, proof is not necessary. I suggested an elegant solution to Councilman Chozik’s problems, but he declined. He said that other individuals were already looking into Loris’ wrongdoing and that he would pay for his crimes in a public forum. I imagine it is that same group that exposed the changelings. Initially I was intrigued to see what they would be able to uncover, but that feeling quickly evaporated once wights came pouring out of the arena. Reports are conflicting, but it would seem that a giant worm erupted from the arena floor and consumed last year’s champions. A few individuals that survived describe a green wave of energy that emanated from the monster and transformed living spectators into an undead horde. Predictably, the higher quarters sealed themselves off quickly, forcing the problem south. I had to take care of a few of these things myself before the priests finally arrived to dispel them into the sewers. I am very sure that this problem has not been completely eradicated. On a positive note, the hostel is still intact and one of the young men I saved was so grateful for my intervention that he has pledged to come work for me. His name is Keth and he is a hard worker. I have promoted him to manager of the “Fox and the Hound.” I know, there is a bit of irony in the name but it felt right. Gray Fox and his Dogs of War.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Oct 2, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: Fated Meeting*

After the chaos subsided, Keth and I came out of hiding to assess the damage. I was helping the young man hoist our new sign up over the entrance when I spotted a familiar messenger. It was the same man Chozik used to summon me...before Martial Law was declared. Interestingly enough, this courier escorted me to the Garden Quarter. Though devoid of obvious opulence, the mansion was an architectural masterpiece and most definitely not Councilman Chozik’s home. The servant who maintained the home was an elderly elven man who escorted me to a foyer where two men awaited. 

“Treig, I would like for you to meet a friend of mine,” Chozik said as he gestured towards the other man in the room. “This is Elgios and he and I have a special assignment for you.”

The other man had short-cropped auburn hair and a scarlet robe adorned with gold jewelry. He looked like he hadn’t spent a day in his life doing any physical labor. I lit a cigar, drawing the smoke into my lungs before exhaling. I saw Elgios’ facial expressions change subtly as he stared at the cigar. “What do you need?”

Chozik’s face grew dark before he continued. “There is a man in Diamond Lake by the name of Allustan. He is a trusted friend of Elgios and we need you to deliver a package to him.”

Something in my face must have changed because both men seemed to notice.

“It is nothing dangerous, just research I have been working on,” Elgios responded.  I couldn’t help but smirk. 

“Councilman, in my line of work, information is the most dangerous thing you can carry. Perhaps we could dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business.”

Chozik was clearly not accustomed to being spoken to in that fashion, but he hid his anger well. “Yes, as I was saying, we need you to transport this research to Allustan. The case is sealed with magic for...security reasons. At this moment, we are unable to transport you to village. You will need to use mundane means to make you way there. I also want you to check on the status of the Mines. Report if there are any issues with ore processing and output of the Smelting House. Contact me with this,” Chozik said as he handed me a smooth stone with a single magic rune upon it.

“The building,” I said nonchalantly.

“Excuse me,” Chozik sputtered incredulously. 

I took another long breath, the embers of my cigar flaring to life as I filled the air with more smoke. “I want the deed to the hostel. If I do this for you, the building is mine.”

“I am not sure what you are accustomed to in your dealings, but-” Elgios laid his hand on Chozik’s sleeve. “That is fine.”

I left Elgios’ home with a secured victory. Or so I thought. My plan had been to pack up my things and commence my travels immediately, leaving Keth in charge of the Fox and the Hound until I got back. That was until I was ambushed by a pale-faced ranger and his shadow mastiff. The man was of no consequence and I easily subdued him before he evaporated into mist and escaped. More reason to get out of the city as soon as possible.
______________________

Everything was as it should be. Keth had his instructions, I secured a fairly swift horse with a contact at a nearby stable I knew, and I had finally secured the necessary supplies...many of them quite expensive, given the recent unrest. It felt good to be back on assignment. Having a mission and a purpose. This time, it was my own and I decided how it would go.

I was finishing my preparations when a stranger walked into the hostel. It was odd given the fact that we were closed for the evening, but I tried not attract any attention to myself. He was young and his skin pale as well, indicating his shared ancestry with the assassin who tried to relieve me of the case. He also had long white hair and was dressed in very expensive clothing. But something was different about this one. Unlike Elgios, he had seen hardship...and dealt with it.

Keth gave him the runaround and so he left, but not before giving the young half-orc a noble token in the event the owner of the establishment “returned.” I was relieved that nothing occurred and was about to follow the man out of the hostel, until he was ambushed. Apparently my assailant wasn’t finished with me. He pinned the man to the door with a magical viscous substance. After a quick curse, as it was obviously me he had hoped to target, the man ran in and drew his blades.

“Let’s try this again old man. Give me the case.”

“Son,” I replied. “I am going to have to put you down this time.”

I did. He lasted only a few moments after I closed the distance between us, caught him around the throat, and choked the consciousness out of him. I was so focused on ending the fight quickly, I didn’t notice his canine friend enter the establishment. That was a tactical error which cost me footing as the shadow mastiff wrenched me to the ground. I was probably going to be fine, but the man encased in tar held out his hand and fiery chains shot out, lancing the mastiff. They wound themselves around it, crushing it, and drawing it closer before we were enveloped in magical darkness. After exiting and discovering our enemies had fled, Jordan introduced himself to me.

“Are you the owner of this establishment,” he asked.

“I am. My name is Treig and you have my thanks,” I replied. “What can I do for you?”

“I was interested in speaking with Elgios on a matter of some personal interest to me. Unfortunately, after securing an appointment, I discovered he had been murdered.” Jordan waited for the event to settle before continuing. “I understand that you were the last person to see him while he was still alive. Did he disclose any information to you about what has transpired in our city?”

“He did not. I am actually leaving town as Greyhawk has become quite unsafe with all the recent events.”

“It would seem that you do know something Treig or have something of some import,” Jordan stated flatly. “I am willing to provide you with protection on your travels in exchange for useful information.”

_I don’t want to fight this man if the other assassins are still around. There is no way he could have cast the darkness spell and escaped by himself, which means he has help. Fighting more than two enemies at once would not be ideal. Let’s try a different strategy this time: the truth._

“Truth be told, I know very little. However, I am on my way to Diamond Lake to meet a close associate of Elgios. His name is Allustan and he might have the answers you seek.”

This seemed to satisfy Jordan because the next thing I knew, we were on the road in a comfortable carriage drinking very good wine. This was going to be a good trip after all.


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## SolidSnake_01 (Oct 2, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: Sojourn*

I could not remember the last time I traveled in such comfort. Sleeping on rocks and having no shelter from the elements had been my routine. This was something else. Velvet pillows covering two benches that could easily have sat four grown men on each side, freshly prepared food for the journey, and a nearly unlimited supply of alcohol. I should have probably been more careful, but Jordan was such an easy person to talk to. We spoke mostly about politics and war, the two subjects that I understood all too well. He never interrogated me for personal information, he simply allowed me to carry the conversation wherever I desired it to go. I did try and find out more about him, but he was very deft at deflecting from his own past. It went on like this for days and I felt as though I had missed my opportunity to bring up the fact that he could summon burning chains from the Nine Hells. I know nothing about him, but I am piecing things together during our journey. My mind is always working that way. I need challenges to hold my focus, lest I turn that perception upon myself and drift into the abyss of sorrow. _A warrior’s most dangerous weapon is his mind_. 

Sadly, I think Jordan’s story is not unique. Desperation comes to every man at some point. I see myself reflected in his eyes. He believed in something as I did. And when evidence of its corruption was revealed to him, he didn’t search his own soul, he found comfort in another system of faith. Good and evil. So simple and simultaneously so ridiculous. I have seen dying men on the field of battle cry out for aid and many of them would have been willing to take it from anyone or anything. The instinct for survival is a powerful one and some men are willing to do anything to hang on to life. They tell themselves that they can make a difference, that they will change, that they will be better...if only they are given one more chance. Oftentimes this is not the case. It is difficult for many men to rise above their own nature. I, myself, am a product of violence. I have been given advantages, but important things were taken from me. Am I condemned to remain in a perpetual state of conflict? Perhaps. But now, I feel as though I have free will. I can choose my path and I would like to see a different world. We all deserve better, especially Jordan.

The wine makes me melodramatic. This is why I avoid drinking. In fact, I had been so engrossed in my own thoughts and with Jordan, that I hadn’t even registered the cry of alarm coming from the driver.

“Uhh-sssirs-you best come out here.” The fear was palpable.

Jordan put his wine glass down and apologized to me before exiting the coach. I was a bit more cautious, opening my carriage door and looking out. Floating above the road in front of us was a darkly robed figure with an outstretched skeletal hand. I could not see its face, but two red glowing eyes stared back at us. This seemed fairly normal to Jordan, which was a bit disconcerting. As Jordan approached the figure, he began to speak Infernal. How is it that I could know this you ask? Well, I have participated in wars on and off Oerth and was trained by a wide range of individuals. In order to survive in any conflict, you need accurate intelligence. If you don’t know what people are saying, that becomes quite difficult.

The entire scene was too convenient for me. If I were arranging an ambush, this is almost exactly how I would do it. That is when I noticed it. The creaking of the front wheel and the soft footsteps on top of the carriage. So I did what any reasonable person would do, I lit up a cigar and took a deep breath, making my adversary believe that he had the advantage. That was until I flicked it out the window and it exploded into a cloud of golden dust. The invisible enemy was nicely outlined for me and as I had no idea what or who he was, I wanted to question him. Three poisoned-tipped arrows to the chest took care of that. He fell unconscious almost instantly and tumbled off the side of the carriage. I really have to thank Gengi personally for the quality of his ingredients. No one does Drow poison like that man. I wonder if he will be amenable to joining my plight in the future...I should really ask him when I get back to Greyhawk.

Unfortunately the fall seemed to stir the now visible man. He had an exotic sword slung over his back and a brand of three overlapping triangles burnt into the flesh of his arm. That wasn’t really what caught my attention. Three women clad in strange clothing materialized above the ground where they remained suspended as if they were resting on solid ground. One had bandages covered in magical runes around her eyes, one around her mouth, and the third around her ears. A giant with similar garb stood imposingly in front of them to block access to the trio as they wove spells to confuse us. The distraction of their arrival gave my opponent long enough to recover and activate the magic of his sword, which wreathed him in flame. He was unprepared for what I was capable of and I quickly disarmed him, and sent his magical blade hurling away as I pummeled him into the ground. Jordan, meanwhile, attempted to deal with the giant and the three sisters. He fared less well after being blinded and thrown through his own carriage. What was remarkable was that those magical chains he summoned before wove around him to protect him, creating makeshift armor and a shield. The blade he summoned also seemed otherworldly and it was unclear who was in control at times...the sword or him. In any event, the battle did not last as the enemy was unprepared to deal with our counter assault. It was unclear if they were after the case or on a mission of revenge against Jordan. I lit up another cigar and watched the armored man extract himself from the ruins of his carriage.

“Need any help,” I asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Jordan was not amused. I think he took the vow of protection quite seriously and rightly concluded that it was me who saved him and not the other way around. This made his tone take on an edge.

“Were they after you, Treig? What are you carrying?” It was unclear if Jordan was demanding or asking.

“As I said before, I don’t know. Something to do with the events that had transpired in Greyhawk. Are you sure they are not after you?”

“All my enemies are dead,” Jordan responded.

I did not press any further, but redirected Jordan to the task at hand. Getting to Diamond Lake. The loss of the carriage was of no concern to the hellish knight. He summoned a fiendish steed and we were on our way. I asked that he remained on the road, while I scouted from the cover of the adjacent forest. We were a day’s march from the village when we spotted a wagon headed our way. It was filled with an odd assortment of junk, but one thing caught our eye. A sign that looked fairly worn and battered read “Emporium.” Jordan stopped the driver.

“Yes, m’lord,” the villager stammered.

“What has happened,” Jordan asked.

“A dragon m’lord. A great black dragon attacked our village. Best not go that way,” he stated.

“What of the man they call Allustan,” Jordan inquired.

“He fought valiantly, but alas, he fell like so many others,” the villager replied.

Jordan was a noble. Of that I have no doubt. Likely born into privilege and groomed from a young age to ascend to a position of leadership most men would kill for. He was schooled in dictation and etiquette. I am sure that he knew at least fifteen different ways to say the word “no.” Expressing himself did not seem to be a problem for Jordan. His response, more than the news of current events, left even me speechless. All he said was “f**k.”


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## SolidSnake_01 (Oct 4, 2018)

*Journal of Jordan Cranden II - Entry I*

How can I explain what it feels like to know that you might find answers. How can I communicate the passion, the rage, and at the same time, the hollowness and the trepidation. After centuries of searching, perhaps I have finally reached the point of lucidity.

Fate...such a cruel mistress.

I had made contact with Elgios a while back. He was a wizard of some repute - learned, scholarly, and powerful, if a tad young. But then, my frame of reference is an unfair lens. Elgios was just the sort of man that might be able to help me.

Of course, he needed to be alive to do that. His untimely death robbed the both of us. Inconvenient as it was, this temporary hurdle was just that. I could not escape the conclusion that the timing of his end could very possibly be connected to recent events - especially if his investigation led where it very well might.

I was unsuccessful in convincing the constable to share his evidence but one of the soldiers had let slip that Elgios’s last known contact was with a man named Treig. Perhaps I was out of practice - normally such a trivial clue was merely the first among many ‘secrets’ I could elicit. Alas, at least I was able to locate the contact. Apparently he was the owner of a hostel in the Slums, The Fox & The Hound.

Normally I’d send a messenger. Why didn’t I just send a messenger? I know why. But I try to suppress it, deny it, deny its hold over me. She was my love, my drug, my addiction. I could not leave this to a mere messenger.

Two men, a human and a half orc, waited in the antechamber when I arrived. No one was at the counter. The two seemed to be holding a private conversation. I rang the bell on the front desk. I really was addicted - me waiting for...just waiting in the first place. The half-orc eventually broke his conversation with the human and walked around. I was anxious but could suppress the sense of urgency easily enough - after all, what’s minutes compared to centuries.

In rough speech typical of the orcish accent: “Need a room?”

“Actually I’m looking for the owner of this establishment. I was told to ask for Treig.”

Again with the guttural accent: “He’s indisposed at the moment.”

I felt like expressing my annoyance in Infernal to really nail the point home...maybe with my sword through this creature’s thick skull. But then, of course, Treig would never get my message, or at least not the one I intended.

A constant reminder: I was not that man from long ago. People no longer jumped for me. I suppose this is what I wanted though. More honest...if utterly obnoxious.

“Please pass along a message.” 

I left a few copper and my token, an iron disc intentionally rusted with the image of a burning sun with a broken crown, the crown polished smooth and black. My take on both the kingdom of Aerdy as well as the Knights of the Order. Not many of today’s day and age would pick up on the reference.

I turned to leave and noticed scratching at the door. There were strays in the area. I didn’t pay it much mind. With the undead plague set off in the Arena not but a day ago, undead were a possibility, but there should have been cries of alarm if that were the case. Besides, undead, were the least of my worries.

I didn’t have time for distractions, I had to establish Elgios’s other potential contacts and who else knew of these Worms. Who or what summoned them in the first place? That they were related to the illness Natasha and I contracted was incontrovertible. Yet there were also differences. By all reports, the transitions that took months for us were taking but minutes for the poor citizens of Greyhawk. I’m not one for sentiment, but I know. Oh how I know.

I pushed through the door designated for ingress not blocked by whatever canine was wasting its time at this shack and...

Well, there’s no other way to put this. I was blasted in the face with an orb of tar. Ok, the legs, but the face really does have a more dramatic flare. The material was stickier than a devil’s web of lies.

In the interest of full disclosure, it took profound effort to not summon Beherit, teleport to the sniveling mage, and end his very existence. But to draw that kind of attention, in the middle of the free city no less...hell, I’d have every inquisitor hunting me from here to the Golden Sea - I don’t mean to invoke the Nine Hells...who am I kidding, yes I do.

Then I noticed the dog. Not really a dog actually, a shadow mastiff. I had only heard of such creatures. It was barring the other door. Intelligent bugger. So this ‘trap’ - was this meant for me? It was almost comical.

But no. The other man in the antechamber. Quicker than thought he had engaged the mage and completely incapacitated him. He had the skills of an assassin, one that could go where most men couldn’t. This man was a killer. You might say I felt an instant kinship with him - someone who dismissed the fictions so many cling to.

But then the dog attacked. Without thought, I summoned the chains of Mephistopheles. Why? Clearly this man believed the mage and his mutt weren’t after me, but him. I owed this man nothing. Was it all for an answer? Was it that old knight in me, buried so long ago. Was it curiosity? Maybe it was pure vindictiveness. I cannot say.

The chains impaled the beast and ripped it away from the man. I summoned more. Out from hell they erupted, constricting the beast, pinning it, suffocating it. That sick pleasure washed over me. Sometimes it was hard to know where Beherit began and I ended. I could feel his will, urging me to summon him. I could feel his hunger, to feast on yet another soul. How many had he consumed over the years...over the decades...over the centuries. Even resisting his influence it had to be hundreds. Inside this hostel, my exposure was thankfully limited. Rumors would spread, I knew. I had traveled this road before. No good deed goes unpunished after all. But I could stifle this.

But then a third party showed. He was the one who summoned utter darkness. Not before a slight nod to me, though. Perhaps he could feel the strength of the one who owned me. Perhaps not. The shadow mastiff evaporated and all three were gone by the time the tar lost its adhesiveness and I left the darkness.

The man with the eye patch was indeed the owner - this Treig character. He was forthcoming enough. He’d briefly met with Elgios. He was vague with the details but I hadn’t expected much to begin with. The fact that he had such skill made him somewhat interesting to me. I offered him my protection for information. Honestly I didn’t think he much needed protection, but I could legitimately aid him, even if it was just with resources. Surprisingly, he agreed without bargaining or interrogation. He ignored my chains - in every sense of that word. I ignored his techniques. He explained that he had a delivery to make to Diamond Lake and a mage there would likely have additional information. That nugget alone was worth all my efforts - all my efforts and then some. I escorted him to my residence and after arranging my carriage and supplies for the two of us, we were off. It was night but I intended to waste no time.

For a man of his caliber, he was pleasantly conversive. I knew better than to pry and subtlety steered the conversation to more neutral topics. Treig was a student of history- at least in so far as history was related to violent conflicts. Of course, violent conflict pretty much defines history, so we were like a couple of old friends at a reunion. I had to be careful with the degree of intimate knowledge I shared with this man. What impressed me - even more than his skills as an assassin - was his ability to intuit motive from the history of war. Treig indeed knew the way the world really worked.

On the fourth day of our trip, our conversation was quite rudely interrupted. The driver was clearly terrified by the way he called for me and the fact that he halted the coach in spite of my instruction.

A wraith-like fiend hovered in front of the path just beyond the coach with its palm outstretched in clear instruction. Was this a messenger? I couldn’t ignore this. It may be related to Treig and his delivery, but the extraplanar - albeit outerplanar - character of this entity made me question.

“What do you want?” I asked in quite impolite Infernal.

It didn’t respond. I waited for a moment, then asked again. My investigative mind itched- was this magic? An illusion perhaps? I backed up while not breaking eye contact with whatever this was. I instructed the coach to back the carriage up, turn it around, and flee figuring the footman would toss my bag out as they fled. Whether this turned violent or not - whether because a minion would make a demand or this was an elaborate trap, there was no reason to involve the servants. Besides, the fewer witnesses the better - I’d prefer not to eliminate innocent bystanders.

Again, Treig proved his skill. He had lit up a cigar from the stash he had stowed and upon blowing the embers they expanded into a cloud of golden dust which proceeded to outline an invisible creature atop the carriage. Useful that. Faster than I could blink he had flipped atop the roof and fired off several bolts from a concealed crossbow at the figure. A Suelese man materialized - unconscious- and crashed to the ground below. At virtually the same moment I heard harmonic chanting from the nearby treeline and a group of three women appeared. But these were no ordinary spellcasters. These were Yuen’s witches! I knew of the Suel Prince. It had been many years since I last visited Suel, but I kept tabs on their royal line - they had much tighter control over their kingdom than did my own ancestors over Aerdy. I actually rather admired the emperor. But his progeny were all political intrigue vying for their father’s mein. Too reminiscent of the Rauxes. The witches - and their identity could not be doubted, were marked, each lacking a means of communication. One had no eyes, one no ears, and one no tongue. They had runed bandages masking their mutilation but Yuen’s signature was overtly obvious. They acted as one - each member performing a different component of the spell. At first they attempted to muddle our minds. Failing that they robbed me of my vision. No matter. I could feel their taint.

Their pet giant was another matter.

In perfect Suelese, I threatened: “Go back to Yuen and tell the sniveling prince that he has no dominion here. Tell him his prey was elusive. If you do not, you will all die.” 

I hadn’t realized it, but the last bit I had unintentionally said in Infernal. Regardless, they seemed to understand but dismiss the threat.

The servants had not yet fled - it was slow and difficult to reverse a carriage. But between the witches, the giant, and whatever it was that Treig was engaged with, I could not afford to remain unprotected for any longer. I summoned...the Devil.

As part of my pact, I was ‘gifted’ a shield, a suit of armor, and Beherit. When I summon the Devil, metallic chains doused in brimstone erupt from the depths of the Nine Hells and bond to me. They articulate and interconnect forming my armor and shield. Then Beherit appears. No appears is the wrong word. It’s as if he is drawn from a mortal wound in reality itself. The whole process is itself is an act of violence.

I was the Devil.

I reiterated to the driver to leave now. That mercy would have consequences. No good deed goes unpunished. My determination, my will, my rage - I unleashed them like a wave. I called upon the foul power that now fueled me. The fear and despair were so great that the giant stopped in his tracks. The witches seemed unaffected. Of course! I should have anticipated that Yuen’s concubines would have experienced a fate at least akin to my own. Fear had no hold over the likes of us - who laughed at such frivolities.

The blindness proved troublesome. Even in the giant’s fear, it was still able to easily grab me and launch me into my own fleeing carriage. First my clothes. Now my carriage. With a grin only the sadistic could sprout, I exited the ruins of my carriage’s cabin. I had not enjoyed killing for a very long time. I would enjoy feeding Beherit this day. Beherit thirsted. It needed.

But Yuen’s squad opted for retreat. The hovering witches were atop a flying carpet. The giant and the man Treig had been handling all jumped aboard and the squad flew away at top speed. I only caught sight of them as they crested the treeline. Then they were gone.

I looked over at Treig. He seemed uninjured. My armor had largely protected me. The carriage was gone, but I had called my steed a few days ago and mentally instructed it to make its presence known. We were about to enter a more heavily wooded area and Treig wished to scout ahead. So instead of my protection, I was now in this man's debt - twice over. I was intent on banishing my equipment but Beherit had other ideas. He had felt the murder in me. With much effort I was finally able to dismiss him. He didn’t like it.

We made camp for the night deep into the wooded terrain. I asked Treig about Suel, but he was vague again. There was something about the whole thing that felt wrong. Was this group connected to the first? I assumed they were after Treig, but maybe not. The witches... Natasha was a witch. Was there some connection? It seemed odd after all these years. And from Suel no less. While I knew of Yuen, I highly doubted he knew anything of me - or would even care to know in the first place. But that just made the whole encounter that much more bizarre. And then, they fled. We were outnumbered and they had the upper hand. Why? Why would they flee.

These were my thoughts when we ran into a farmer, driving a cart of junk down the road. I caught sight of what appeared to be a scorched - or, no, a decayed? - sign post. I asked the peasant about Diamond Lake and he explained the town had recently been attacked...by a black dragon!

After years of boredom, death, mayhem, and destruction, in only a matter of days, I somehow appeared to be getting closer to the middle of it all. My cynicism grew: 

“What about Allustan,” I inquired.

The peasant droned on about the mage’s heroism and then actually answered me: dead. I’d normally be more eloquent, but only one word could come to me: 

“F**k,” I heard myself say - and not even in Infernal.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Oct 14, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: Diamond Lake*

It didn’t take us long to reach Diamond Lake, or more precisely, what was left of it. The dragon was almost surgical in its destruction, not the work of a mindless beast. Still, the real victims in these types of conflicts were always the same: the villagers. I could see them shuffling about as the Garrison attempted to demonstrate the facade of certainty. But even these trained soldiers looked lost. And why shouldn’t they be? A single creature had rendered their carefully trained security force impotent in a single day. What would the citizenry think? This dragon had done more than level a few buildings, it had shaken this town’s faith in its Institutions. The damage would take much longer to repair.

Jordan and I must have had an air about us, because we were confronted by an especially gaunt and frightened-looking soldier by the name of Leif. It isn’t often that I am contacted so openly by my employers, but the hysteria around us was probably sufficient to shield our conversation.

“Sir, I am sent by Elgios to inform you that there is a change in plans,” he said to us. “I was told that men fitting your description would arrive today and that I was to escort you to the Whispering Cairn to deliver the package to Allustan’s apprentice, Egan.”

I stared intently at the the man as I spoke. “Where is Allustan,” I asked. I was wrong in my initial assessment of Leif. He was pale and he appeared nervous, but he was not afraid. I know what fear looks like and he didn’t have it.

“He is dead sir,” Leif replied. “Crushed by a collapsing building.”

“Then show me the body,” I responded.

I noticed that Jordan was not paying attention to what we were saying, but he was fixated on this man and something nearby.

“The Garrison is trying to clear the debris, but it will take time.”

“Jordan, could you keep our friend company while I determine our course of action,” I asked. When you lose your way, go back to the beginning. The man nodded and began his distraction.

Meanwhile, I contacted Councilman Chozik to get some answers. I wished the Sending Stone went directly to Elgios, but alas he was not the one who was employing me. The politician was as useful as I thought he might be. He suggested that I make contact with Allustan’s apprentice to give him the case and see if there were any artifacts of note in the Cairn that could be recovered. I reported that the Mines were completely intact, but that the Smelting House had been damaged in the attack. In hindsight, I wished I had kept that portion of the assessment to myself because Chozik wanted a detailed report.

As I came back to the group, I noticed something curious. Jordan had placed his hand upon Leif’s shoulder, a pale blue light suffusing the man’s body. The soldier jumped a bit.

“I am well sir,” he stammered.

“Of that, I am not certain,” Jordan stated. “Lead us to where you believe Allustan’s body to be.”

Leif nodded and the three of us began our trek through the devastation. The streets were all but deserted in this section of Diamond Lake and that is why it became so obvious that it was Jordan who was leading us and not Leif. I had pondered questioning the man, but decided against it. The nobleman weaved his way through the alleyways and the rubble until finally we came upon a larger building. I was about to ask where he was taking us when the wall we were facing exploded outward, revealing a floating ghostly apparition. Debris swirled about it as it wailed in agony. Looking around, I seemed to be the only person concerned about these turn of events. Jordan was not. He strode over to the spectre and rolled up the sleeve of his silken shirt to reveal an elaborate tattoo of a chain wrapped around his forearm. It glowed an unearthly red as he raised his palm towards the creature and spoke in Infernal again. The spectre’s outward pain subsided and the debris swirling about it hovered, motionless. It followed Jordan like a docile pet. Strange, but useful.

Not wanting to be in the village much longer, I asked Leif to lead us to the Smelting House. 

“It is very dangerous sir. The fire has come alive.”

Perfect.

Leif was right. We came upon a hellish scene. The Garrison had created a fire-line in an attempt to save the surrounding buildings from the conflagration. Near the shore of the lake, an elven woman was weaving magic to divert the effluent from the water. It seemed to be taking all of her concentration to save that polluted ecosystem from any further trauma. But that wasn’t the worst part. A roiling mass of pitch was devouring members of the Garrison as they fought the blaze. It dissolved soldiers with a touch, growing larger as it consumed them. I was going to suggest a strategy, but Jordan had plans of his own. He and his poltergeist made quick work of the ooze without sustaining any visible injury. Impressive.
________________________

Diamond Lake disappeared behind us as we climbed the slope towards the Cairn. The smoky, acrid air that clung to the village was washed away by the elevation. Although I was happy to leave the smoldering ruins behind, what we found was not all that much more inviting. Near a small copse of trees, a crater had been formed by the body of a black dragon. It had clearly fell from a great height judging by the impact. Around the the fallen creature were a group of chanting black-scaled kobolds. The ones performing the ritual were being guarded by more heavily armed members of their tribe. I acted without thought; the Transcendent Order would have been proud.

I closed the distance with the nearest guard, wrapping him up with my arm while I unslung the crossbow from my belt and emptied the contents into one of the nearby shamans. The poison took effect quickly, constricting his muscles and stifling his ability to speak. This ended the ritual and allowed Jordan and his new friend to systematically butcher the remaining enemy force. I kept one of alive for interrogation, but not before he could signal his companions with a magical flare. What surprised me the most was Leif’s recklessness during the battle. The enigma became clear to me once the conflict had ended. The ghostly apparition of Allustan emerged from the possessed soldier and disintegrated the body of Ithane. Leif finally seemed like himself, awaking from a long slumber. It was a tragedy that he became self-aware moments before Jordan cut him down. I trust every man, just not the devil inside them. Jordan truly was alone. Whomever he had made his bargain with had all but ensured it.

Attempting to remain calm in the midst of the madness, I tried to make good on my word. “Allustan, I have a package from your companion Elgios. May I leave it with you?”

The ghost looked almost confused for a moment, straining to cling to a life he had lost. “No. My time is at an end. Bring it to Egan. He is at the Cairn.”

I nodded and looked over to Jordan. He was wrestling for control of himself. “Whenever you make it back Jordan, we have to leave. They have signaled for reinforcements and our position is compromised.” He knew what followed, I didn’t need to say it aloud. I wonder if he was hoping for death, instead of dealing with the choices he made. I let him stare at the boy’s body for far too long before we left.


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Nov 10, 2018)

*Journal of Etona - 20*

“Do you see it?” I call.

“You were correct: here in about an hour,” she replies from the top of the Cairn hill. A solid bank of dark blue clouds flaring with lightning is approaching from the mountains.

From where Seraph lives.

Has it come to collect whatever soul the dragon possessed?

Rey comes back down the hill wearing an expression I had not seen before. It is alarming.

“We will be drenched,” she continues. “If there is anything like a trail, it will be lost.” Worry makes her voice crack. “But I think I saw it, where she came down.”

I am still not clear on all the little creases and folds of her relationship with Seraph, so I ask something probably pretty stupid.

“Do you want to find her … alive?”

Rey stares at me.

“Yes,” she states hardly believing my question. But her eyes widen as she understands. I had helped her kill a dragon. I would lend my effort to that cause again, if she wished. And perhaps it is what I want to do now….

I squeeze her hand. “Then we’d better hurry,” I say.

She takes off with Rishkar in tow, but I tarry to locate Egan.

“Are you coming?” I ask him.

“Nay, lass, eh, if ye don’t mind. I think I need ta stay here and make sure the Cairn doesna’ go anywhere.”

“You have enslaved yourself for some powers again, I see.” He smiles sheepishly so I continue. “I would speak with you about this when we return.” He shrugs. Infuriating boy.

***

The wind pushes us along. Whatever awaited us will have us scented. Though perhaps not: I smell _[eclai’ir_. The Common word for it is a funny one I cannot remember, something with z’s. ‘Ozum’ or something like it. They both mean _lightning-burned air_.

There is something else in the wind as well, an acrid scent, burning not from heat but more like the fumes of Diamond Lake refinery. It is chemical like the lab in Seraph’s lair.

I hear something even through the gale and alert Rey but she has also already caught it: faint sound ahead coming from where we are going, which is toward a naturally-occurring basin made deeper by something recent and unnatural. The sounds are voices and, too, the ground physically bubbling. Something like heat shimmers the air.

“It is Ithane,” Rishkar says. “She was here. This is her scent. I also smell _k’sheek es’serast_.” 'Mistress Seraph' in his Draconic tongue.

A ring of this nasty soup the ground has become forms the perimeter of the basin. As we watch a moment, getting our bearings on the scene, it seems to be growing, moving slowly towards a rocky middle on which we see a humanoid form, very tall and very blue. It is certainly not a dragon nor even anything like its kin, but details are hard to make out because a whitish smoke swirls in the breeze.

We see the owners of the voices: more kobolds peering over a ridge on the far side.

Rey runs heedlessly down into the basin. _So this is how she must feel most of the time_, I think as I watch her retreating form, no plan, no fear, no thought. I run down after her firing volley after volley at the glaring kobolds. I try to hit the rocks around them, freezing and exploding them in equal measure. Killing them might provoke anger. Scaring will provoke fleeing.

“We have slain a dragon today: your mistress is dead. Will you join her?” I yell.

No response from them. Rey catches my eye. I glance at her face which has assumed a ‘What are you doing?’ look. ‘What?’ I mouth back.

She cries out something in Draconic.

Oh. They don’t speak Common. Right.

But they also seem unimpressed at Rey’s words as well which are halting: she doesn’t like to raise it, I know, and her Draconic is not exactly theirs. Fortunately our weapons and Rishkar’s bolts make our case for us, and they withdraw.

We arrive at the figure who is just getting to her feet with obvious pain in front of us.

She is unearthly, supernatural. Over seven feet tall, her height seems correct for her, not freakish and not an illusion. Her skin is pale blue like the waters of a shallow shore. Her eyes are solid cobalt, glowing beneath unruly, raven-black tresses. Her lips are dark blue. She should be resplendent in her shimmering blue-silver metals that appear to be woven rather than linked by chain, but they are torn and melted, and dark red blood seeps through the gashes.

She has horns. It should have been the first thing I noticed, but her presence is so commanding – even limping and grimacing – that this detail takes a moment to register. The horn that is still whole is curled, aquamarine, blending into midnight as it retreats under her mad hair. The other is broken, leaking more blood.

She walks on obviously fractured legs to Rey, utterly ignoring Rishkar and me, her mighty pride not allowing any other course of action. Yes, this is definitely Seraph.

She says something to her in the dragon-tongue. Later, Rey would relate the entire conversation so I will notate it here.

_“She is dead?” Seraph asked. Rey nodded. “She was weak, not merely weak-minded – the acid-spitters are all insane – but physically weaker than she should have been. It is why I am still alive.” She spat this last out as if it angered her to admit it. “You killed her?”

Rey nodded again and added, “With help from my friends.”

“Mmm. You again,” she said to me though I did not the words. “Little Moon Girl.” She turned to Rishkar. “What of you?” she demanded. “What marks of yours are left on Ithane’s body?”

“Fire and frost, mistress,” he said, presenting his icy blade and bowing low to her. She nodded and was about to say something more but then coughed violently. Dark red blood hit the ground. It had metallic flakes in it._

“Mistress!” Rey said and stepped forward. I also started but she stopped both of us with a hand and switched to Common.

“Yes, yes,” she berates us, waving off her pain. “Attend! I have three tasks for you. We complete the first now. I cannot get to my lair in this condition so you will take me into the Cairn, somewhere I can sleep in peace for some time.”

“Rishkar,” Rey commands after thinking a moment, “you can fashion your hovering disk into a proper throne, can you not?” The serpent man bows again and summons the disk. It shimmers in the shape of a large reclining chair such as I had seen in Greyhawk and also in the Fey city I traveled to years ago. She forces herself onto it in a quick, graceful motion, huffing in pain just a single time. Then she settles, satisfied as it rises up again, queen of all she surveys.

As Rey and Rishkar move slowly back to the Cairn, I act as scout and ward, harrying those kobolds drawing too close. They are still out there, packs of them. We have been hearing summoning blasts from makeshift trumpets for the past hour, but we do eventually make it to the Cairn.

Egan is nowhere to be seen, but with the obvious activity outside I am sure he has retreated within. I stay just above the cave entrance – where Ithane had draped herself, incidentally – and watch. And wait.

They come, dozens, maybe scores in number. They are far from the entrance, but they do not know Angivre’s reach. I show them.

I _make _to show them, that is, but the Silver does not come.

“Why?” I whisper.

I run back to the others.

“They are gathering outside,” I tell them “but they are not ready to push forward. They seem to be waiting for something.”

We descend to the room where we had found Egan’s poor sister, dead on a dais meant as a bed to a demigod. The place has been considerably cleaned. In fact, the entire Cairn has been built out, lit, swept and made habitable, but it was still underground to me so I focused on my breathing. Rey needs me now.

Speaking again in Draconic, Rey related Seraph and her own words to me later.

_“One task complete,” Seraph had purred as the floating throne pulled up alongside her place of rest. “Very good. This is suitable. You have not failed me. You must not fail me.”

“I will not, mistress.” Rey was all but shaking.

“Yes. Well, it is time to reveal some secrets before my other tasks. You should know your father was one of my servants.” At Rey’s surprise, she’d continued, “Surely you did not believe you all lived in my shadow for so long with my having no knowledge of it? And he none of me?”

She had wondered that but had dismissed it. Faerellan, her father, had been a skilled ranger. Her more domestic mother, Emily, and little brother, Sanka, (e’isk in Elven, based on the word for pine needle) never strayed very far from home, so Rey had assumed that their little family had never been noticed. He had never said anything about a dragon.

There had been a rich blue in several places around the house, a difficult color to make, particularly that shade. Where had it been? In clothing? Pictures? She couldn’t remember.

“I knew him well,” Seraph continued. “He was unexpectedly useful to me.” She regarded Rey for a time. There was silence in the chamber. Then she said quietly: “Close, even.”

“He never mentioned….” Rey started.

“Very close,” she overrode Rey._

She utters one last word, in Common.

“… daughter.”

Rishkar hisses, his tiny eyes as wide as I have ever seen them.

“Rey?” I say but she cannot hear me. Her shock has frozen her.

What about a daughter? Do we need to save or kill or have tea with Seraph’s daughter somewhere?

But no, that was not it at all, of course. The reality is unreal.

It had bizarrely all fit, Rey would tell me later when we talked about it: her human ‘mother’ never very close to her, even a little afraid of her, as was her ‘brother’. They had always behaved like favored servants to her father. Not kin at all.

And it explained all those other curiosities: her own body; her mind and how it worked; her natural grace; her strength which exceeded even her own father’s when she’d had but her dozen years behind her.

And of course the dragon mark. The magic she wielded without memorizing thick tomes, without a bargaining with a supernatural patron. Without a goddess to watch over her.

“Daughter? Rey? Do we need to find–,” I begin but she raised a hand at me. She faces me and all I see is lost. I want to go to her but it is not my time: this doesn’t involve me. I nod once and she returns it. _Later_, we have just agreed.

She faces Seraph again.

“Mother,” she says.

Daughter.

Rey –

*Rey is her daughter??*

Seraph chuckles. It sounds like wasps in a paper hive. “Mother. You acknowledge it quickly, my daughter. You were always decisive. It is why you succeed.”

My attention is riveted to Rey’s face. _It is somehow right_, says her expression. _Alien, horrifying, exhilarating, but correct._

She is a dragon’s daughter.

She doesn’t look like a dragon. Not at all. She never has. She’s not a dragon.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Rey continues.

“It is time. You must carry out my two remaining tasks.”

“I must protect you,” Rey replies.

Seraph laughs until coughing again.

“That would be a waste. No. You must find the monster that infected Ithane and kill it. I have reason to believe it is also a dragon or assumes our form. Whatever it is has been tainting the lands for hundreds of miles in every direction. It is subtle, something that only we may sense, though perhaps elders among both of your peoples,” she nods at Rishkar and Etona, “have also noticed. You must bring this thing’s end.”

“I will,” Rey says pounding the butt of her spear on the ground. “What is the third task?”

Seraph closes her eyes. The air stirs. Something is happening. “You must slough off that human shell.”

“What do you mean?”

“This.”

Flare. White. Impossibly white. From … eyes? I hear a roar, a Seraph-as-dragon roar, and Rey cries out just as I am pushed off my feet away from them. Squinting through slitted fingers, I see Seraph has once again become dragon and is consuming Rey! But I can see Rey and Seraph is … what am I seeing? She has Rey’s forearms. She is still humanoid but the dragon is an ethereal image superimposed on the top. Humanoid Seraph has her jaws clamped down on the back of … her daughter’s … neck. Rey is on her knees, back arched, electricity flowing out of her mark, out from between Seraph’s teeth. It chases me yet further away.

Through pulses of current, I watch Rey’s body change: skin parts, bones move, muscles stretch. She is crying out, an unending bellow of pain. Stop! Stop! I yell, perhaps, I don’t know.

The woven armor during this torture slithers onto Rey. Its metal fangs bite into her at several points.

Finally Seraph releases her, quivering, to the ground. She wipes her mouth, smiles, and rolls back on her throne. I think she passes out.

I at Rey’s side in an instant. Her skin is very hot, hair singed. I can smell burning stone, roasted hide and even flesh. Her pulse is shallow and fast. O Silver Mistress what can I do? But she comes to suddenly, looking all around. She recognizes me after a wild moment and grips my hand.

“I’m here,” I say.

She sees Seraph, a collapsed heap that had rolled onto the Wind Dukes’ architect’s bed.

“Mistress? Mother? Mother!”

Seraph slowly, deliberately, blinks. Her lips are moving; Rey bends down to hear.

“I will, I will,” Rey says to her.

Seraph’s breathing slows to almost nothing.

“Okefsklur. Dragonsleep,” says Rishkar. He looks at Rey. “She regenerates.”

“What did she say?” I ask a moment later.

“’Daughter, whatever happens, return.’ I will, mother. I will.”

***

She has gently shaken me off. She wants to be alone, but she is also blazing with the task she has been presented with, so I give her space. I watch her as we return to the stairs. She is off-balance, but not from weakness. She is–.

Is she …?

She is _taller_. Is that right?

Yes. She is distinctly two inches or so taller.

Also, when she blinks there is something there that wasn’t before. An extra, slight movement under her eyelids. Because I am her subtle and tactful friend, I point it out of course. Imbecile. As if she hadn’t enough to worry about, had not had her entire world tossed out for this new one, and here I am with my little observations. No wonder she is keeping her distance. I do manage to not blurt out something else I notice, so faint that I didn’t think it real at first but I do now: her skin is tinged blue. It is not uniform: some kind of marbled pattern. I wonder if it is a pattern of some kind. It is very faint and is probably not even noticeable to most people, but now that I see it, it is obvious to me.

Her scent has changed subtly, too, though that might be the _eclai’ir_.

What do I do with a transformed friend becoming physically more like her maleficent mother?

***

When we get back to the surface of the cave, there is a kobold, black-scaled – one of Ithane’s – bound and muttering to itself. Egan has apparently captured it, but where is he?

The creature is huddled by the tall, round, standing ring of stone that has rested on its stone platform for who knows how many centuries. It had always looked to me like a raw and oversized version of a human waystone, quite dead. But that was before. It is active now.

I had never seen one working, but I read about them in a Fey library where there were also drawings and paintings. They could be almost any color. This one ripples with black liquid filling the ring, impossibly held upright by whatever magic is carved into the now-glowing runes all around.

We creep towards it until we finally spot a human man, but it is not Egan.

Swarthy, grizzled, wearing worn clothes, weapons and an eye patch on the left eye, he looks right at me. He should not have spotted me. He was putting a backpack together, I think, when he did. He does not seem surprised and doesn’t go for his blade.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Trieg.”

“From Greyhawk?”

He laughs. “Yes, I suppose. Also from Greyhawk. As are you, I guess, at least recently. You’re Etona. And you’re Rey, and you, Master Rishkar from the southern swamp.”

“Why are you here?”

“Need to meet a young wizard.”

“Why?”

He eyes Angivre as I loose her and bring her into my hands. “I have a package for him.”

“Is he expecting it?”

He smiles. It would be charming in other circumstances. “I don’t really know. But I have to get it to him. It’s from Alastar.” He stands and raises his arms in a friendly gesture.

“So you are a courier and nothing else?”

“Simple courier today, yes. But everyone is something else.”

A growing racket outside has been tugging at my attention. Rey doesn’t seem overly concerned by this man and so heads in that direction. I turn to follow, just for a peek outside and perhaps a breath of fresh air, if it can be managed, but when I turn back to throw a last check on Trigg-er, no ... the courier, I see him striding into the black like he was heading to his bedroom. Something churning on the surface of the waypoint, but a blast of sound from the cave entrance pulls me away running.

***

A revenge army is here, I gather, to take Seraph. Led by a dragonkin in heavy armor, quite a lot of kobolds have assembled – certainly more than we can handle. Rey looks worried and not for herself. I place a hand lightly on her shoulder, expecting it to be shaken off, but she rests her own hand over mine. It is still hot. She looks back at me. Her expression says it all.

“They will gain these tunnels dearly, Rey,” I say. “But we could use need reinforcements. Is there way to get word–.”

They come out of the blue, flashing clouds, out of the wind. Dozens of them. Golden eagle heads on humanoid bird bodies. As they arrive, lightning begins touching down all around the Cairn, bolt after bolt.

Ithane’s lieutenant – the dragon kin who would normally be an impressive figure – is attempting to valiantly lead his troops into battle, but the wind is knocking him on his tail. And really, trying to do anything valiantly with kobolds is a wasted effort. After a few moments, the entire assemblage largely retreats.

A trio of the bird-men land directly in front of us. They nod to Rey who returns the gesture.

“We are here to safeguard our Mistress,” one of them chirrups.

“Then we will help,” I say and draw back the Silver. Only it fails to appear. Again.

Suddenly I cannot get enough air.

“What is it?” I ask her, stroking her along her curve. “Should I not be here? Should I not be protecting?” Angivre has never spoken to me before and does not deign to do so now.

“I must meditate,” I announce to Rey and stride quickly off into an alcove.

“What? Now?” I hear her outraged demand behind me.

I settle down where we found Egan’s sister’s sleeping bag and reach out my thoughts. I am vaguely aware of Rey kneeling down next to me, but she doesn’t say anything.

_Memories, emotions, sounds of my body slowing; these I pass through. When She comes to me, it is sudden, I am energized, my skin tingles, my spine arches. I feel Her cold fire in my blood.

A game piece appears in the darkness behind my eyelids, one such as used by elves of the Fey to play one of their myriad games. This one emanates mists and lightning but it does not represent Rey: I feel sure it is Egan. It moves into a shadowy part of the board I cannot make out.

I am Angivre firing an arrow after him, not to strike but to light the way. I become that arrow passing above many figures now: a knight shaped like a dragon; a piece that looks like part of a fortress surrounded by wailing ghosts; and then above the wizard that is Egan.

Off in the distance – not in front of me but to the side, trying to intercept us – is yet another game piece: ancient and armored with a blade that burns red, a ruby crack in reality through which souls are crying out. This figure is leaping to us from another board, trying to join our game. The board rotates a quarter-turn and it seems like we are running now toward his, except the dragon piece has leaped to yet another board herself. I do not know which way to go: I cannot make out which piece is most important so I travel up and explode into moonlight. I illuminate everything, all boards, for an instant, and understand._

I awaken standing on my feet, Rey holding me up. I am panting and leaning on her. Faintly, I hear the cawing of ravens, one of Her signature echoes, in my head. Its sound pushes the flash of understanding right out of me.

_Why give me answers and then snatch them away again?_

“There are games to be played,” I say to Rey once I catch my breath. I am soaking wet. “And the pieces are setting up. I see Egan – he seemed to be in the lead – but two more are coming. One of them might be Trelaine, the courier.”

“Trieg.”

“Yes, Trieg. If so, there is something of ghosts and stone about him. I do not think he wields the crimson sword – that is another. We must follow them; we must go through the waypoint.”

“You are talking crazy. You realize that, right?”

“Am I?”

“It has been a crazy day,” she concedes.

“I was just thinking that, too,” I say and grin. This finally draws a real smile, her first since we encountered her Mistress a mile off from here.

But it is true: Diamond Lake attacked; Alastar slain; Verdre back from the Fey; Egan with new powers presumably from yet another master; *we killed a dragon!*; we saved another dragon and it is _Rey’s actual mother_??; Rey has transformed subtly into something else and perhaps she is not finished; bird men of legend arrive to attack Ithane’s kobold army here to kill Seraph; there is a stranger in the Cairn not here an hour ago who has a package for Egan; the ancient waypoint seems to be active now; as clear and compelling a vision as I have received in weeks, perhaps months; we are to pursue the stranger and Egan and another with a red blade promising a new reality through this unknown waypoint, all according to Her Unknowable Mocking Laughter of Truth.

And I have not yet even had dinner.

We walk to where the kobold prisoner is muttering to itself. After the briefest of discussions we decide to give the creature to the birdmen, which Rey does.

“I will enter first,” she commands as she turns to go escort the little monster to the entrance of the cave, probably to its messy doom.

_Of course you will,_ I think. _I am sure you have your own reasons, but your few words ever sing with self-sacrifice and protection. You are ready to take the lead, possibly to oblivion, at my say-so. Do you see my looks of wonder, I wonder?_

She returns just as I am striding into the waypoint, a mischievous grin on my face just for her. She runs towards me, alarmed and exasperated, and …

It is as if a hundred giants breathed in, vaguely saying the word '*WOP!*' all at the same time.

The passage is smothering, dizzying. But it was also quick, at least from my point of view, though perhaps years have passed. I have no way of knowing.

I came out into a dark corridor, the waypoint forming its end. Ahead of me is Trieste, no. The, uh, courier. I will get the name correct one day. Rey is but a moment behind me; she emerges with an arm outstretched. I take her hand.

“What now?” she asks.

Yes.

What now?


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Nov 11, 2018)

*Rey's Journal*

*​Revelations*

My mind is spinning.  There is so much to process.  So much that makes sense and so much that does not. Where do I begin?

As soon as Ithane went down, I left her to find my friends.  A storm was brewing, I could see the darkness and clouds rolling off Seraph’s mountain toward us.  I NEEDED to find her quickly, before all tracks were washed away.  Etona and Rishkar came with me.  I could sense kobolds around me as I ran toward her but they did not intercept me and I did not wish to waste my time with them.  What I found was….Seraph and yet not Seraph.  I found her in a crater, one she had created.  But there was no dragon there.  Instead there was a beautiful woman, dare I describe her as such?  She was 7 feet tall, with raven black hair and blue...everything. Blue-ish skin, blue armour and blue eyes.  I recognized her eyes.  I could see that she was in pain, she was bleeding and carried herself as if bones were broken.  She said she had three more missions for me to complete. The first one was to take her to the Cairn where she may rest and heal.  After her first step I requested Rishkar summon his floating disk for her to sit.  Seraph seemed pleased.  The trip was fairly uneventful. Etona scouted ahead warning off kobolds.  There were a few who were aggressive but did not engage us. 

Seraph knew her way around the Cairn. I do not know why this surprised me, I know that she knows everything.  She wanted to rest in the Bed of Eternal Rest where we found Egan’s sister those many weeks ago.  The Cairn has been cleaned out since we were last here.  I assume that is Egan’s work.  We made our way to the Architect’s Lair and Seraph made her way to the bed. But before she rested, she turned and faced me. 

This is the moment when my life changed.  In a moment, all that I had known about myself shifted.  Seraph called me “Daughter” then waited for my mind to catch up.  There were so many memories and thoughts that burst forward I am surprised my head did not physically explode.  Flashbacks to my father, I knew he had secrets.  He never mentioned a dragon but I distinctly recall cobalt in our house.  The relationship with my mother and brother.  Although our home was cheerful, she was rarely warm towards me like she was to my brother Ryan.  And father was the opposite, warmer to me than to my brother.  I always thought it was because Father and I shared the same interests, where Ryan and mother were content to stay home.  Mother taught me her herbs and gardening early on but gave up on me as I left childhood behind.  I became the family’s hunter while Father was gone for weeks at a time.  Daughter...it wasn’t luck that she saved me that day I walked into her den.  And the grief that I felt from her was real, and not in my imagination when I told her of my family.  My Mother.  Seraph watched me with her knowing eyes then simply nodded as I accepted it as fact.  Oh, how I miss my father right now.  What I would give to have one more moment with him.  One more hug and a thousand questions.

My mission: “Find the monster that has infected Ithane and bring its end.” Then she turned and bit me.  My entire body was set on fire.  I could feel electricity raging through me. My eyes, did I have them open? I saw pure blinding white.  I do not know how long this lasted, a lifetime or a few seconds.  When I awoke, Etona was staring down at me.  I think she was patting sparks out of my hair.  I went to Seraph. Mistress, Mother.  “Come back to me,” she says as she lays back.  I will Mother. I will. Rishkar says she is in a dragonsleep. She will heal.

We head back upstairs.  I'm having some issues, I feel dizzy and clumsy, then I blink and I'm further than I should be.  Etona also seems shorter. She says I am changed. Something about my eyes?  There is a kobold prisoner but likely not the work of Egan. There is a strange man in front of the living black mirror looking at Egan's pack.  He says his name is Treig and he has a delivery for Egan. He is dressed in worn clothes, ragged and has an eye patch. I don't sense a threat in him but a controlled purpose.  By this time we are all certain Egan has entered the black mirror.  

I hear the kobolds outside. They have amassed an army with dragonkin as their leader.  They are here for Seraph.  We are outnumbered.  Three, maybe four of us against thousands.  Then the dark cloud descends and from it emerge the bird people.  I am not surprised when they know me. They are here to protect Seraph.  I watch as they send the dragonkin tumbling with their wind and shoot lightning at the kobolds.  They will protect Mother.  I turn towards Etona who needs to meditate.  Whatever she sees is not positive. When she wakes, she tells me we need to follow Egan and there will be someone wielding a crimson sword to join us.  Today has been a crazy day.

Rishkar bids us goodbye.  He needs to return to the Swamp and help rebuild his community.  I count him as a friend and will miss him. I do not believe he can reciprocate those feelings for me.  I am glad he can return to his lizardkin. After some discussion Etona and I decide we cannot leave the kobold here.  She doesn't want to kill it and I don't want to leave it unsupervised.  I take him to the bird people for interrogation. Killing it may have been kindness. I return just in time to see Etona step through the black. I'd feel exasperated but...this is Etona. Luckily there isn't a monster on the other side. We do find Treig. He looks like he disposed of a guardian for us.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Nov 12, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: Whispering Cairn*

Using the cover of the forest made my approach to the Cairn a bit easier. I let my kobold prisoner take point and directed him from the shadows. Stealth was necessary as the Ithane’s minions had begun to amass near the entrance of the Cairn itself. Ithane had probably cleared the surrounding foliage on purpose, improving visibility for any enemies attempting to move towards the threshold. It is what I would have done. I had to improvise if I wanted to get there undetected. So I sent my prisoner running towards the Cairn out in the open as I snuck along a more circuitous route. The plan worked as the frightened mass of kobolds let up a cheer as they saw their companion speed towards the entrance. They must have believed that he was attempting an assault on their enemies alone. No one came to help him.

I reunited with the kobold inside. The rock was worked many centuries ago, but the recent traffic was obvious. Someone had removed any trace of rubble and debris, returning this ruin ever closer to the majesty it once possessed. The only personal items I noted close to the entrance were a backpack and a staff near a mirror with a black, rippling surface. Inside the backpack, I found a journal with the Egan’s name. I looked up at the mirror and sighed heavily. Outside a storm was brewing, which is the only plausible explanation I could find to justify how a diminutive elf was able to sneak up on me. She had a silver bow in her hands, though oddly enough it wasn’t strung. Interesting.

“What are you doing with my friend’s effects,” she demanded.

She was flanked by a taller woman of elven ancestry who carried a spear that was crackling with electricity and a lizardman holding a glowing blue sword. I knew who they were. In fact, all of Greyhawk did.

“You must be Etona,” I responded. “That makes you Rey,” pointing to the warrior with the spear, “and you Rishkar. My name is Treig. I am looking for your friend Egan.”

“What do you want with Egan,” Etona asked suspiciously.

“My employer asked me to deliver sensitive information to Allustan, but unfortunately he has passed on. Because of this, I am looking for his surrogate, Egan.”

“What kind of courier travels through a kobold army to deliver his package?” She seemed perplexed.

“One that is well paid.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the sounds of battle outside. I had known war well enough to know its call. Both sides were beginning to gather for an assault. Egan’s friends seemed perturbed by the inevitable. Kobolds do not travel in small groups.

I looked again at the mirror. I wondered if it was worth it. The money. But it was never about the money was it? You gave your word; the only thing that matters in this world. Come on old man, let’s get this over with.

With an audible groan, I plunged into the mirror. The black substance washed over me like icy water and in that moment I felt myself falling. It was in the void that something lashed out. Untrained men would have been distracted by the experience, but magic was not new to me. I grabbed the creature’s arm before we arrived at the other side of the portal, forcing it out with me. It was an emaciated humanoid, dead for some time, and hungering for the taste of life. Without anyone to see the conflict and as I was not worried about killing something that was already dead, I made quick work of it with the Boss’ enchanted blade. The fight did not take that long, but the effort took my breath away. I had to lean against the wall and light a cigar to calm my nerves. That’s how Egan’s group found me. Among the remains of the ghoul...smoking. The corridor extended further in and everyone seemed eager to find the wizard’s apprentice. It seemed odd to me that I found myself here. Among ancient ruins with people I didn’t know in search of something I couldn’t quite comprehend. We used to make fun of these people on patrol. Adventurers is what we would call them.

I wonder if Jordan is alright.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Dec 12, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: The Spider and the Web*

Egan’s friends had shrunk in number since we made our initial introductions. I was joined by the elven duo: Etona and Rey. I would have said they were sisters given how close they seemed, but their physical appearance eliminated that as a possibility. Not that I am an expert in Elven ancestry mind you, but even I could tell. Etona continued to be suspicious of my intentions, while Rey seemed to accept my presence as proof that I was a part of their group. I was flattered.

The portal had transported us to another Cairn altogether it seemed. More intricate glyphs dominated the walls and the worked stone hadn’t been touched by the living in some time. What worried me most was the convenient placement of rather sharp works of art that littered the adjacent rooms.

“Don’t move,” I commanded as I held up my arm. My new friends stared at me with concern.

As I inspected the floor more closely, my paranoia was rewarded. I found pressure-plates triggering something horrible. If I had to guess, based on the people that built the structure, the trigger would activate a gust of wind that would fling intruders into the wall of spikes. I marked the traps for the elves.

“How did you know,” Etona asked. “Have you been here before?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve never been here before.”

“Then how could you know,” she continued.

“It is what I would have done,” I replied.

We were about to make our way deeper into the complex when we were joined by Jordan. I had mixed feelings about seeing him again, but they were mostly positive. That was not the case for either Etona or Rey. He wandered through the darkness in his demonic suit of armor, the spiked chains writhing about him. Not a good first impression. It took some convincing for the women to agree that he join us. I made a compelling case about his battle prowess and how useful it would be in this dangerous environment. Eventually, Etona relented but remained behind Jordan as he led the expedition through the tomb.

We travelled for some time, passed strange and exotic rooms before finally coming to the scene of battle. Scorch marks lined the walls and strange insect tracks littered the ground. Rey and I...if I’m being honest it was mostly Rey...followed them as far as she could before they disappeared. 

“Egan was here. These marks,” I said touching the ash on the walls, “were created by magic and are as fresh as the tracks. He was probably ambushed here and carried off.”

My suspicions were confirmed as further exploration brought us to a large antechamber filled with columns and shadows. From the darkness a voice whispered in our minds.

“Are you here for the flesh bag?”

“Do you mean Egan,” I responded.

“If that is its name,” it rasped.

I kept him talking with Etona’s help to locate his actual position in the event we would need to act. She was able to extract quite a bit of information from the mad spider. It’s name was Fly Catcher and it seemed to believe that the Cairn belonged to him. He did indeed kidnap Egan and held him within a Shadowfell prison for safekeeping. What Fly Catcher didn’t seem to comprehend was that humans needed sustenance and the appropriate environment to survive, which meant that we didn’t have much time to rescue him. It was willing to exchange Egan for an artifact that was stolen by a man named Moretto. Fly Catcher identified the man as a ghoul that managed to bypass all magical protections erected by the spider and the Wind Dukes. Apparently Moretto was located at the base of the Red River, an underground waterway that ended in a waterfall which fell into a deep chasm. I only had one question.

“Tell me again about those defenses you were talking about earlier.” I took a long drag on my cigar and exhaled, the smoke forming a haze in the air around us. “Take your time.”
_____________________

Following the river proved to be tremendously difficult without a vessel. There was no shoreline, as the river cut directly through the rock and tumbled into a waiting abyss. However, we were able to divert some of it through an aqueduct that was built by Wind Dukes, seemingly for this express purpose. Getting to the mechanism that dropped the water line came at great cost to Rey, as we had to traverse a thunderstorm to activate it. Had Rey not absorbed the lightning that danced within, many of us would have perished. 

By diverting the river, we were able to safely access a doorway which allowed us to continue onward. Past the threshold rested more statues of the Wind Dukes, tall androgynous men with a far off gaze. As we walked passed them, one of them sprung to life and seized my arm. It was solid stone and had a grip like a vice. Possibilities streamed through my mind, forming a strategy. I was calculating the odds of not bleeding to death if I cut my arm off, when I heard a voice behind me. It was strong and calm. It was Rey.

“Icosial!”

The statue let go of me and returned to its original position, motionless once again. I looked back at the elven warrior with renewed admiration. _Eyes are useless when the mind is blind_. The door the creature was guarding took us to another portal, similar to the one I had stepped through initially. Part of me wanted to go through it, but my military training compelled me to clear the rest of the floor before stepping into the unknown. _Leave no enemy behind you_. This proved to be foolish. All we found were Ice Golems and Oozes. I called a tactical retreat to the portal once I assessed how strong our adversaries were. There was a moment when I thought that Etona was going to leave Jordan to the mercy of our enemies, but Rey’s intervention swayed the archer. When we regrouped, I was sure that Etona was disappointed at Jordan’s condition: the fact that he was still breathing. To be honest, the entire dynamic made me uncomfortable. That is why I volunteered to go through the portal first and scout.

A familiar icy sensation washed over me as I stepped through, finding myself at the base of the waterfall. The thunderous sound of the crashing water filled the cavern. I thought better than to explore it alone, so I went back to retrieve my new companions. When we returned, a figure stood out in the darkness, wreathed by a sickly greenish glow emanated from a lantern he carried. Etona and Rey immediately slunk into the shadows as Jordan and I moved closer to the individual. A chill, much like a fever, coursed through my body the closer I moved towards him.

“You must be Moretto,” I said.

The figure nodded. I did not detect much of anything from him. He was a man of average build, pale skin, and no visible weapons. I did note a satchel laying on the ground next him as he spoke.

“And who might you be.”

“My name is Treig and this Jordan,” pointing to the armored man next to me. “We come in search of an artifact for Fly Catcher.” I caught his eyes moving subtly towards the satchel before laughing. “He has captured a friend of ours and says he will return him if we were to deliver the item.”

“And what do I get out of this arrangement,” Moretto asked with smirk.

“What do you want?”

“Information,” the ghoul replied. “I am on a journey to the surface in order to learn more about a Prophecy. It foretells of a new Age where the living shall be turned into undead. What do you know about this?”

“Quite a bit,” I replied. “Green worms transforming living creatures into the undead have been reported in Greyhawk and near Diamond Lake.”

“Are any of these undead creatures intelligent,” Moretto interrupted.

Rey stepped forward. “None that we have encountered thus far, save for a dragon we believe is controlling them.”

“Dragotha,” Moretto wheezed.

Etona’s eyes widened. “What do you know about this name,” she demanded.

“Dragotha is a dracolich that was once a great red dragon. She too has been referred to in the Prophecy.”

“How can you know this,” Etona asked.

“I was once a resident of the White City. Now an outcast.”

“I have heard of it,” Treig stated. “It is rumored to be a city comprised entirely of undead deep underground.”

“Yes,” Moretto nodded. “Made from the bones of a fallen Titan. But that is a story for another time. I am happy to relinquish the artifact for the information you have granted me. I would be most grateful if you could aid me in my quest to the surface by disposing of Fly Catcher.”

“We must confer before agreeing to your terms,” Etona said while ushering everyone away from the ghoul.

Etona had reservations about aiding an intelligent undead creature. Her religious beliefs clearly stated that all undead were an abomination to the natural order and had to be destroyed. She worried about the unintended consequences of such a powerful entity loose upon a civil society. She saw no harm in a deranged spider that wished to stay in a tomb.

“Etona, my short existence has taught me that at times you have work with unsavory individuals to achieve your goals. In this case, I don’t trust that Fly Catcher will follow through on our arrangement or that Moretto is divulgining his true purpose. That said, Moretto is a more rational actor with valuable information on Undead Lore. It seems to me that making an ally of him is more valuable than honoring our bargain with someone that has extorted us through kidnapping.”

I could tell that Etona did not agree with the idea I had proposed, but Rey’s enthusiasm was enough to tip the scales. I would have to file that away for another time. Once everyone came around we informed Moretto that we would assist him in reaching the surface. However, we stipulated that we would not purposefully kill Fly Catcher to facilitate his journey. He seemed only mildly disappointed with the result but agreed.

“The Seal cannot be moved without a specific phrase to unlock it. To touch it without deactivating the magical warding glyphs would be suicide,” he said to me as I reached for the satchel. His voice was nonplussed and mostly curious. It was as if he was watching an animal stumbling upon an object he had placed in its path.

I hesitated before moving the exterior of the satchel so I could get a better look at the Seal. It had three runes on it that I recognized from throughout the Cairn, but the alphabet was in Auran. A language I did not understand. I knew that one of the runes was Icosial’s personal sigil and that another referred to Pesh, the final battleground of the Wind Dukes. It was there that used the Rod of Seven Parts to banish the forces of Tharizdun to his eternal prison. I just couldn’t put it all together...then it hit me.

“Rey, do you speak Draconic,” I asked almost rhetorically.

She nodded. Of course she did. Rey can do anything. It took myself, her and Jordan’s combined intellect to manufacture the appropriate phrase in Auran using the Draconic alphabet. I didn’t want anyone else to be annihilated if I pronounced something incorrectly. It would be such a sad end to anyone’s story. So I drew a calming breath and spoke the words. Nothing. Gingerly, I reached in touched the Seal. Nothing. I let out an audible sigh and smiled for the first time in a long while.

We set off with Moretto towards the portal, carefully retracing our steps back to the chamber we first encountered Fly Catcher. Stopping a ways before the its lair, I brought everyone together and whispered softly so my voice didn’t carry.

“Here’s the plan.”


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Dec 22, 2018)

*Journal of Etona - 21*

The courier seems to be waiting for our arrival. He is enjoying a _sandwich_, a Greyhawk invention I am still wary of. Bred does not wholly agree with me but it is very important to the humans so I have tried to like it in the past.

“I am glad to see you again,” I say though he cannot hear me. In Mirror cant, I gesture to Rey: “I am glad to see anything again,” though I don’t think she heard me either, and her cant is stumbling, so there is no joke to catch.

We cannot hear one another: this is the problem. The wind is a swirling vortex of air and smoke, a tunnel of howling. Its sound is so unbearable, the stone above me so massive and thick, it makes me cry out in alarm. I want to go back, but that is not the way we must tread so we run through this column of angry air … and right into a summoning trap.

My Mistress of Obstruction grins. At least one of us is having a good time.

Jumped by magical weapons of smoke, we quickly realize that fighting them in this din without even being sure they could be damaged was futile. One of them lashed me on my way through, but though it stung it merely had the effect of making me feel light on my feet. Probably part of the trap, were I to remain in it. The creatures resembled _manta rays_, an animal Verdre sketched for me when she had returned from visiting the ocean for a few months, drawing everything she saw there.

We get out aided by Teegan who had already slipped by without trouble. I have the sense he has been here before. The room we land in looks like it had been outfitted by _faeriquenti_, high elves, studying under Dwarven trapsmiths. Machines of sleek rotating knives are parked in different corners of the room awaiting the hapless step of tender flesh. The nearest would probably have activated already but its pressure plate was broken, a fact the courier found by crawling slowly along the floor like a snake looking for its nose.

Behind us, something else steps through the din we fought past. I am expecting Egan or possibly another ally of Seraph, but no. Not at all.

Massive, dripping with burning blood: an eight-foot, masked, armored apparition of writhing chains and black spikes steps into our room. The Asmodi diplomatic corps have finally arrived.

Rey is en-guarde in an instant. I draw the Silver and begin raising protections for the three of us.

But the human could not have looked less concerned.

“’Lo, Jordan,” he says to the thing with a nod.

Jordan? That’s not a name for a demon nor even for a devil.

“What is this?” I say to Greet.

“Glad you made it,” he merely continues. “These are Etona and Rey.”

So the courier is part of the deception. They will kill us and proceed to Egan.

The hell knight bows at us, its head tilting to take in Angivre’s Silver and Rey’s sparking spear point both leveled at him. Little dribbles of electricity pour off Rey and spark along the ground. I feel the air charge up.

It removes its outlandish helmet revealing, to my surprise, a human face. With a gesture, the chains surrounding him retract into his armor … no. Again, that is not what happens. They pull back into his very _skin_. I will not quickly forget that sound.

He speaks.

“Good to see you, Trieg.”

Trieg! Was that his name? That wasn’t right, was it?

“Jordan is the man I have been traveling with. He helped me get here in one piece.”

“So you have a package,” I say to Trieg, “that comes with a devil. Let me guess, you two need to get this infernal present – likely something that tears spirits from bodies – to Egan preferably after slaying us.”

A sound, deep like the waking of an immense beast, echoes through the room. I dart my eyes quickly so as not to lose the two ‘men’, and am surprised that it comes from Rey. She is all but twitching to attack, but what holds my attention for far too long is a faint image of a dragon coiling to strike superimposed over her. They see it too, and fidget.

“I don’t think he’s a devil,” the courier says.

“No,” says the apparition, “I am not.”

“You are merely from a devil,” I press. I remember young Ptolmas Ohm’s dealings with – and ultimate demise at the hands of – Mr. G: a chatty, deal-making imp bent on setting up contractual obligations to damn people in Fardale. My tribe had run-ins with him before. “The Asmadi has sent you.”

“Again, no,” he politely replies.

“You are _not_ from the Asmadi?” I ask, incredulous.

“Definitely not. They are neither friends nor allies of mine.”

“You are from a group like the Asmadi.”

“I assure you, no.”

“You may assure me of nothing, devil. What do you want with Egan?”

He looks displeased at my words: I think he might not like being called a devil. I am pretty certain he is not a demon, however, or an elemental or some outré being like that. Perhaps he is merely showy? Or cursed?

“I sought a mage in Greyhawk who was murdered. I was asking him about the events of the arena….” He stops when Trigger points to Rey. “Rey. Ambassador Rey. And the archer with the silver bow. You two. Hmm. The mage, Elgios, was connected to Allustan, the mage in Diamond Lake who, it further turned out, was also no longer living. His ghost, however, sent me on to the apprentice, this young man, Egan.”

“Why were you seeking all these mages?” Rey asks.

“The worms. It is all about the worms,” he replies. “What can you tell me about Egan?”

He must be kidding. “Nothing,” I say, but I do him the courtesy of stowing Angivre.

“Why are people after him?”

This causes me to pause. I look him up and down.

“Because Egan attracts trouble,” I reply. He smiles a little at that.

Rey, who had stepped between me and the knight, stands down, and we can all feel it: the charge in the room dissipates. What would she have done? I’d never felt anything like that from her before, and the outline of the dragon was new, too.

There is no help for it but to find Egan and deal with these men, and with the boy himself, when we see him.

The humans up front, Rey and I behind them, we move through the complex. We traverse a large room of spectacular purple and exit through another door. The hall on the other side leads eventually to a split: one direction reveals the river we’ve been hearing snarling behind the walls and the other that we actually take to a corridor where Rey is looking intently at the walls. This drops Trent to his favorite position – on the floor – and they say at the same time:

“Egan was here.”

“These marks, created by magic, see how fresh they are?” he says.

“He was carried off,” Rey adds.

I move forward, also low to the ground (I didn’t say his favorite position was unwise). The way ends in a round chamber cloaked in shadow. Or rather, shadows. Or, actually….

My Twilight does nothing to dispel them. Also, they crisscross but aren’t straight enough to come from the columns: there are little wiggles here and there that don’t belong. I must be transfixed for Rey comes up beside me and whispers:

“What do you see, Etona?”

Trent freezes behind us. He is wise to take my wariness seriously.

“They are like shadowy webs, but nothing–.” I draw back the Silver and illuminate a patch with her glowing flechette.

A dusty voice booms, “What are you doing? Why do you attack my home?”

“We are not attacking anything. Who are you?” I ask.

“You do attack. Like the other flesh-bag I have, one of you, a magic wielder like you. But he is mine now to do with as I please. His life relies on what you do next.”

I glance at the hell-knight but he doesn’t seem to be expecting this turn of events.

“Well, first of all some introductions: my name is Etona Aspianne. I am priestess of Sehanine. Who are you?”

“I catches the flies that would foul the tomb. I am guardian. I am protector, intruder.”

“We do not come to steal or corrupt, guardian,” I reply. “We are here merely to find our friend and leave with him. If you allow us this, you will not see any of us again: you may peacefully return to your duties.”

“Your friend came to steal and befoul!”

“If you have our friend, Egan, then that is not his aim. Have you spoken to him, calmly and without accusation, to find out why he is here? What he is looking for?”

“He is a thief, like the other one, like all the thieves! They come and try to steal. Why else would they be here?”

“Flycatcher, I sense you are one of My Mistress’s children. You defend your home from strangers, defend this tomb from robbers. Your cause is just, and we are not enemies. We do not seek to disturb you, but I must have my friend back, if it is he. May I know this much? May I speak with him?”

“Mmm. Mmm. I will permit you talk of the mind, but it does not work on the fae. You, human, I will permit talk of the mind. Hear him.”

The face of the courier – who I am increasingly believing is more than a mere package-deliverer, if nothing else, and there is plenty of _else_ in the way he moves and watches – is suddenly slack. His eyes widen slightly. He is hearing something I cannot.

After a moment of this, I break the silence. “What are you sensing?” I ask him.

“Does he have a brogue?” says Trigger.

“I don’t know, does he?” I ask Rey.

“Yes.”

“Then it might be Egan,” he replies. “He sounds healthy, I suppose, but confused.”

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to know who I was, where I was, and where he was.”

“Tell him –.”

“No!” the flycatcher interrupts. “It does not in working that way! Your friend speaks out, but only I may speak in.”

_Naturally. Resh! By my Lady’s radiant bottom!_ I turn away in a huff and walk a few paces towards the darkest part of the circle just outside the columns surrounding us in this room. I know I can capture that shadow sight again if I focus.

Focus. Sink into darkness. Become that darkness.

Become.

A figure, as if through layers of fine black netting, stands in front of me. I feel his presence as much as almost see him.

“Egan?” I call, my hands outstretched. “Egan!” The figure turns toward me. It could be him.

“Cannot I speak with him?” I cry out.

“No with fae,” it says. “I told you, not in working with elf heads. Humans, yes. I make the bridge. Here. Hear.”

“How do we get him back?” I ask. “What must we do?”

“Powerful adventurers can aid me, can help me! Yes. We make trade. Your friend for my property. A ghoul has taken it, the cowardly sneak. My sacred texts! He has swiped them – swiper, no swiping! and run back to his lair.”

“Where is that?” I ask.

“At the mouth of the river.”

“Does this creature have a name?” Rey asks.

“Morato.”

We agree to think on it, but there is another door out of the room to check out first. It bristles a warning as we approach, however. Trellis backs away and I feel my hairs standing on end. More electricity – it has been a charged day – with a heavy dose gathered at the handle. Stay away, it warns.

But Rey seems drawn to it. She approaches, hand out, until a small arc of lightning jumps to her. She plays with it, caresses it, like a mouse running across her fingers. She is like Ellen, that lightning mage in Greyhawk and perhaps Egan as well. Is everyone in this area going to spark like a Dwarven generator? Is Seraph responsible? Is she raising an army of sparklers?

I do not think so, truly. But it is remarkable that in the space of one week I have encountered more beings wielding the liquid light than all my years before.

With her other hand, Rey simply opens the door. A tiny thunderstorm in a round kettle of a room lay beyond, another door past it. Rey takes a breath and walks in.

A bolt lashes out immediately fastening onto her. It clearly hurts, but she is going to bear it for us to allow us to get across. We scamper out the mercifully unlocked other portal. Rey wills herself, body rigid with the storm’s energy, to march where she can hurl her body out, cutting the connection. I rush to her side but she doesn’t let me touch her yet. 

“Wait,” she whispers, and I watch as little whirling winds of electricity flow from her feet off into the dark. After a moment, she lies on her back and says, “OK.”

I check her up and down, especially the burned patches on her hide armor beneath this new dragon plating. They are a little tender, she indicates, but nothing like what they _should_ be. She _should_ be dead.

“You’re amazing,” I say to her in Elven.

“I don’t know how much of this is me anymore,” she replies with a gesture to her body. I lace my fingers through hers and hold them there a beat before helping her up. I look into her eyes, to her odd extra blink under the lids.

“That won’t ever matter to me,” I say.

Beyond is a stone platform just long enough for all of us to uncomfortably fit and peer down into a stone channel. A metal rung ladder leads down. We discover, through experimenting with a turning handle, that water flows into here. The handle raises a barrier letting in the nearby underground river we hear churning in the dark, the one we went past just before entering the flycatcher’s room.

It is dark and cold, and I feel buried here. Treeve, ranging back and forth along the channel like a puma in a cage, was muttering with the Hell-human, but I feel myself suddenly succumb to the deep. I cannot bring myself to care about whatever they were bandying about: they all seemed to end in plunging down a great freezing waterfall in the pitch black, scattered among whatever was down there in the eternal dark.

My people do not recoil from the twilight of the woods that sends humans scurrying into their homes after sundown for the simple fact that even on the cloudiest night of _dobrun_, the new moon, it is merely dusk for us. Not so here. Here is the realm of the Drow, my fallen cousins who were consumed by the blackness of the Underdeeps; here be the Dwarves who drink and sing and build, the constant hammering of construction to cover the unease their pounding hearts beat out in living in true blackness. Underground is death, and we are treating it like solving an interesting puzzle, as if we were not here to offer ourselves as sacrifices to the great smothering deep. A plan is being worked out, something to do with Obi and chains. There is an other shore of the roaring watery death to where we must travel. The ghoul is over there, the humans somehow divine.

Numbly, I realize I have categorized the hell-thing as *human*. Something has alerted my unwaked spirit which has informed my wakened one. He is a man under the armor. Whether he is here for good or ill remains to be seen. He may be the one jumping from the other board, the one carrying the crimson crack in reality.

Angivre’s glow, though not extinguished outright, is faint, a wan thing down here, and I must supplement with Twilight spells. She would not go out, would she? No. Not as long as My Mistress is in the world, as even down here she must be. Right? Or does Her face not matter here save for perceived betrayer of her cousin Llolth, a being once as _faeyre_ as she?
A touch on my shoulder. Rey. She sees my wild eyes in the gloom.

“You do not like it down here.” I shake my head, no. Her hand moves to mine this time. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and I must whisper because there is something muffling about the deep that forces silence. I do not want to be heard; I do not want to be discovered.

So she begins to sing to me, a quiet little ditty. It is the sort of song you would sing to yourself to pass time. It is in Common, though as I listen I believe it hales from another tongue. It is about caverns and crystals and the paternal foundation of kind, reliable stone. It is about ages passing in chaos above and merely echoing calmly below. Life here trickles, the lyrics remind us, and once it is over, merely sleeps.

I have heard it before though with different words: a song that human mothers sing to their children in Fardale. The theme is similar: do not miss the wonder of lightless places.
She sings this softly, almost under her breath, only for me. She sings while she is leading Obi and me to the broken bridge, while she shows me where to grip Obi’s mane, and with gestures directs the owlbeast to the other side.

“You are just full of surprises today,” I say when she finishes and we are prepared to do something unbelievably rash.

“I have to try to keep up with you.”

Obi slams a claw into the rock wall and tests her weight. It holds. Another claw, another test. Again. Again. She is dogged, unhurried, and as cautious as I could wish for. With this noisy, slow progress we make it across the umbral river, my pale Twilight spell on Angivre’s tip serving as our illumination.

I scritch Obi behind an ear before I slide off, and she prr-oots a bit before she goes back to retrieve much-heavier Rey. That one is an exhausting journey by the sounds of her wheezing hoots emerging over the roar of the flow. With a final leap from a wall, she dumps off her master, shakes her great fur and feather hide, and plops down onto the ground, thoroughly spent.

The men are waiting for us on the other side.

Trieve raises his eyebrows. “That was probably the easy bit.”


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Dec 31, 2018)

*Gray Fox Journal: The Rod of Seven Parts*

I dredged the bank of the river for a few moments before I found what I was looking for. I am sure to everyone else I must have appeared insane. Something that I have become accustomed to at this point. Then I found it, a smooth flat stone almost exactly the size of the Seal. I placed into the satchel we found earlier and nodded to Moretto. He began the incantations and waved his hand, transforming the image of the stone into an exact duplicate of the Seal. I checked its authenticity from a slight distance before bringing the group together once more.

“In order for this to work everyone has to function as a team,” I said carefully as I looked everyone in the eye. “We do not know each other well, but we do know what we are all capable of. Fly Catcher does not and so he will be taken by surprise should he choose to engage us.” I paused momentarily to let it sink in. I had given this speech hundreds of times to new recruits. This situation was a bit different; I was not in command here. “Stick to the plan and we will make it out alive.”

They looked ready. I nodded to both Etona and Moretto to begin their incantations before walking into the shadowy lair of Fly Catcher with Rey. 

____________________

Moretto was right. Fly Catcher had spun dark webs all over the room that connected this space to the Shadowfell. I didn’t see it before because I wasn’t looking, but it would be problematic if we were walking on the ground. Thankfully, Moretto’s levitation spell prevented us from making contact with Fly Catcher’s trap. Once Rey and I had floated into the center of the room, I called out.

“Fly Catcher! We have the Seal.”

I cackling whisper spoke from the darkness. “Place it on the Dias.”

The spider was indicating that I take the Seal to an adjacent room, cutting me off from my companions and potentially landing me in a trap. Not a chance. I need to keep him talking so Etona could get a fix on his location.

“Fly Catcher, we have met your demands. We need to be assured that Egan is safe. Bring him from the Shadowfell and I will personally hand you the Seal.”

The spider paused before responding. “No tricks, fleshbag.” The shadowy webs covering the floor writhed pulling something up from the floor. It was a humanoid creature, its voice muffled by the magical entanglements wrapping its body. All we could see were its eyes, wide with fear. “There, now give me what is mine!”

I did not waver. “We have no way of verifying that it is Egan. Release him, unharmed, so that we can make the exchange. We want a safe resolution to this situation.” 

I’ve never heard a spider frustrated before. There is no way to describe the sound. Something between the hiss of a snake and the growl of a feral cat. Unpleasant.

_Gotcha_. I knew that if I had his location identified, Etona did too.

The shadowy tendrils released a shocked Egan to the floor. I looked back at Rey to make sure she was ready and then floated over to his form for inspection.

“Egan are you alright,” I asked carefully.

“Wha-what’s happening,” he stammered. “Who are you-”

Fly Catcher cut the man off with a hiss. “There, I have done what you asked. Give me what I asked for! Place the Seal on the Dias!”

Here came the tricky part. “Fly Catcher, I am going to ask Egan to move towards Rey as I do what you ask. While he is moving past me, I am going to give him a case. This was a package that I was supposed to give him earlier...before the unpleasantness occured. It has documents in it, that is all. I am telling you this openly so you know I am being truthful.”

“No tricks!” I could almost see Fly Catcher now. He was on the ceiling, in the corner of the room. A good vantage point to ambush us.

“No tricks.” I lied as I pulled a cigar with a red band from my pouch and lit it.

As I passed the confused sorcerer, I handed him the case. I wanted to be sure to fulfill my promise in the event that he perished during this encounter. I kept moving towards the Dias as I was instructed to and threw the satchel into the alcove from the edge of the doorway. As it floated through the air, my mind replayed the conversation again and again. Why didn’t he want me to hand it to him directly? Too dangerous to give up his position. That made sense. He wanted it placed in a location he could observe and then retrieve it once we were gone. That made sense too. He was paranoid, but he wasn’t stupid. Then why was he pushing that I put in the Dias? S**t, I didn’t think of it. The satchel landed with a heavy thud into the alcove.

“Betrayal!” The scream echoed from the darkness. “I knew I should not have trusted you! That is not the Sea-”

I didn’t give him time to finish before flicking my cigar. It detonated in close proximity to his face, the flash momentarily exposing the creature known as Fly Catcher. I had heard stories of the cursed Drow men who had angered Lloth. I had just never seen one up close. He was half man and half spider. Whether man or spider, zealot or atheist, it mattered not. I closed the distance between us and leapt onto his back. My blade buried itself into his flank, drawing green ichor which sputtered as it touched the ground below. I thought to ask for his surrender as my other arm wrapped around his throat, but then I realized from the blood coming out of his ears that he wouldn’t be able to hear me anyways.

I grunted in pain as Fly Catcher bit down on my forearm with his fangs. I could feel the poison coursing through my vein, seizing up my muscles. With my last moments of freedom, I cried out to my companions.

“Now!”

A flash of radiant light burst from the other side of the room, rolling over the shadowy webs and disintegrating them. _Well done Etona!_

Rey and Obi, now uninhibited by the hostile terrain began to engage Fly Catcher in brutal melee. Stabbing and slashing at his segmented body. Hellish chains erupted from the darkness as Jordan lent his aid in keeping our foe from fleeing.

As the tide began to turn for Fly Catcher, he did what any sane person would. He attempted to flee to sanctuary. I had other plans. Shadows gathered around him like a cloak, yearning to transport him back to the Shadowfell. That is, until the spell Etona cast upon me roared to life and bathed us in silvery moonlight. The darkness receded, abandoning us in his moment of need.

“No! This can’t be,” he wailed. In a frenzy, he attempted desperately to throw me off. I would have laughed if I could. The poison that he had paralyzed me with made that impossible. I clung to him like death.

Fly Catcher scurried towards the Dias, passing the waiting phalanx of my comrades. They made him pay in blood and undid the effects his venom had wrought upon me. In his weakened state and with an advantageous position, I put the creature down. After collapsing in a heap, Fly Catcher’s body began to fade into dust. All that remained of him was a pair of dark metal bracers with an intricate pattern of webbing on their face. Both Rey and Etona rushed to my aid.

“Is he gone,” Etona asked with a mixture of sadness and concern in her voice.

“He’s gone.
_______________________

_Making peace is harder than making war_. This thought came to me as I watched silently the conflict between Etona and Jordan. We had already bid Moretto farewell by this point, having vanquished the only foe capable of preventing him from reaching the surface. What remained was a dissolving alliance brought about by the destruction of a common foe.

We now had in our possession an item that may lead us to a piece of the famous Rod of Seven Parts. An artifact that was presumably powerful enough to challenge a God. The Wind Dukes had used it to defeat their enemy: Tharizdun. Apparently Jordan’s new life plan involved assembling the Rod to destroy the Arch-Devil Asmodeus, who he blamed for Universe’s ills. Which was another way of saying his own. It is amusing to see the words “justice” and “vengeance” so easily interchangeable. Jordan did reveal quite a bit about himself in these moments: that he and his betrothed were infected with the green worms of Kyuss. That Asmodeus came to him coincidentally in his time of need. And that his family’s legacy was destroyed by all of these events. He has not seem to move on from this trauma. Instead, he has obsessed over every detail, putting together an image that is to his liking. I have seen this many times before. The horrors of life are disturbing to us and so we concoct rationalizations for random events. No one wants to be told that their friend died for no reason, that the wicked sometimes triumph over the righteous, and that the universe doesn’t care about them. It is disquieting to realize that you are not special. The bottom line was that Etona did not trust Jordan with that kind of power and I didn’t blame her. And since neither he nor Egan would ever stop until they had the artifact, I knew where this was going.

“Let’s give it to Rey,” I said.

Everyone stopped talking. Even Jordan.

“She can decide what to do with it,” I continued.

Jordan and Egan couldn’t be trusted with that kind of power. They wouldn’t know how to manage it for vastly different reasons. Etona would probably throw it into a lake, having no concept of its importance. But Rey was afraid of it and what it would do. So she was perfect.

Once the group agreed that Rey would be in charge of holding the artifact, everything fell into place. Egan provided magical enchantments that allowed us to fly down the waterfall and towards the area Moretto had mentioned previously. The Seal showed me the way to Icosial’s tomb and cleared a path through the danger. We found ourselves standing in a hidden chamber after a long journey. A sarcophagus floated its center, among murals depicting the Wind Duke general battling the forces of chaos. As I approached, the white marble sarcophagus descended to the floor allowing me to place the Seal in its appropriate place. The top slid open and inside was a pair of swords, a ring, and a fragment of the Rod of Seven Parts. Even I couldn’t help but marvel at the treasures before me. I was jostled from my reverie by Jordan. He was trying to get my attention and pointing at the far end of the room. As I looked up, I saw the form of a demon covered in blinking eyes, framed by a pair of leathery wings. All its eyes were fixed upon me. I heard Jordan say “Oculus Demon” in a voice tinged with fear.

“What do you offer,” it asked.

“What do you want,” I countered.

“My freedom. Give it to me Seal-Bearer and you may take whatever you like,” it replied.

It seemed simple enough. Like a transaction. It had something we needed and we could give it something it wanted. Simple. Then why did I feel so uneasy with what it was saying? Everything is a test. 

“This is a test isn’t it?”

“Yes. What do you offer,” it asked again.

I was sure by the look on Jordan’s face that in a fight with this creature, we would lose. All the sacrifices we would have made would be for nothing...that’s when it struck me. I knew what I had to do.

The scarf felt crisp against my hands, the blood long hardening with time. It turned the silk rough and stained the white into a dark maroon. I am not sure how long I held it in my hands before depositing it in the sarcophagus. A part of me regretted the decision instantly. It was the only thing that still tied me to Jade. _I’m sorry Boss_. _I can’t carry you anymore_. My vision blurred as I reached in and took the fragment of the Rod. I handed it wordlessly to Rey and saw the demon nod in approval. I couldn’t hear it clearly but the party seemed to debate the merits of sacrificing another item for the ring and the swords. I didn’t care. I felt hollow and numb.

We departed shortly after Jordan attempted to “sacrifice” his cursed sword. The demon chuckled and unsurprisingly it did not work. On the way back, there was more talk about what to do with the Seal and the dangers of other explorers acquiring the remaining artifacts. The group once again settled on Rey giving it to her Draconic mistress Seraph. I did not offer any argument and began to hand the Seal over to her when I felt something come over me. A powerful force was drawing me towards something Rey was carrying. It was not the Rod; I could see that object. No it was something else.

“Rey, do you have anything else from the Cairn on you,” I asked.

Rey nodded and produced a talisman and a circlet. Both of them glowed with a silvery light. Before I knew what I was doing I had exchanged the Seal for the circlet and placed it on my head. A part of me thinks it was the magic that compelled me to do so, but the honest part of me knows that it wasn’t. I was hoping for anything to make the pain stop. The circlet did not help in that regard. It made things worse, for a moment. All of my unprocessed grief came rushing up to me at once. I saw the battle against Jade play out from every direction. Time slowed and insight burst through me like a torrent. _You knew that you were going to die that day, but you stayed anyways_. _You were waiting for me_. _It had to be me that did it, right Boss? I’m sorry_. _Thank you for saving me again_.

I awoke to find everyone staring at me. A damp sensation rolled down my cheek as I got my bearings. No one said anything. Neither did I. We exited the tomb through the portal that gained us initial entry. On the other side were the avian creatures that Rey had previously described as Seraph’s protectors. Two of them pointed to me, obviously puzzled before getting their superior. _How would I know that?_ I don’t even speak their language. The larger eagle-humanoid returned, unable to contain his shock.

“It is not possible. Why would he have such a blessing?”

I had no idea what they were talking about.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 1, 2019)

*Journal of Jordan Cranden II - Entry II*

Much has happened in the last few days. Where do I begin? Perhaps I should continue where I left off - back at Diamond Lake.
_________________

My mount arrived shortly after the fightenend peasant departed. Was I seeing things?  Was someone atop Ember? But as the mount approached, the figment dissipated - it seemed that the hellfire that coursed through the creature had merely given a puff of acrid brimstone vapor that took humanoid shape.  My mind was playing tricks on me.  I could never quite shake the feeling that Asmodeus was keeping tabs on me.  But such was an exercise in pure hubris.  I was just another soul, trudging its way closer to payment.  Whatever purpose I served  was over and done with long ago.

Our trot through the remaining forest was in solitude. Treig had gone ahead and did not rejoin me until we reached Diamond Lake.  I suppose I was no longer really fulfilling my end of the agreement.  I was still perplexed by the Suelese Witches, though.  The deaths of not one but two prominent magi with sage-like knowledge of these worms - this was a tremendous amount of effort to keep a secret...and now Suel?!?  I had long been searching for connections between what happened all those years ago and the Outer Planes.  Was this more tangential evidence?  To attract powers around the world, it certainly had potential.  

It was slow going.  Ember's forge-hot hooves left unmistakable tracks - no not, tracks, brands in the earth - especially on stone.  It wouldn't be hard to piece this together - for anyone that cared:  my servants telling tales of a man transformed into a devil out of the Nine Hells.  A devil whom had been heading towards Diamond Lake with tracks branded into the stone for anyone to follow.  How about the fact that he personally took on a giant and a trio of hags?  That's probably how the story would be told.  Never mind the fact that I was escorting someone who had the very communications of the magi in the first place and he did all the heavy lifting in the fight.  Such a bittersweet symphony of irony.

Amidst my musings, I realized I was finding Ember's heat strangely reassuring.  I'd been summoning him now for over several decades.  I could never know exactly what would greet me when I performed the summoning ritual.  It was a bit ironic - to feel sentimental about a creature that would as soon as kill me as serve me, but for the magic that summoned it.  I was so intertwined, now, with the Nine Hells.  At one time, I rode atop Hope - the prized stallion of the Aerdy line.  He was magnificent.  The Rauxes had long since squandered his line and breeding.  Such a shame.  

My mind had wandered all the way back to Kargoth by the time we reached Diamond Lake.  The town was a smoldering ruin.  Townsfolk meandered around aimlessly - those that weren't trying to put out fires.  Half of the town had been razed and the other half was in the midst of fiery destruction.  The useful were trying to contain the fire.  The dragon's attack had truly been recent - within the past day.  But the shouts and screams coming from the group tackling the fire sounded a lot more like shouts of alarm.  But something else was out of place - something far less mundane.  Anger.  A white hot, righteous, soul-ripping anger.  It came from the opposite direction of the fires in the quiet section of town.  Whatever was going on, that anger needed direction or containment.  

A magi was channeling water from the lake towards the fires and Treig was speaking with a town representative.  I didn't catch his name.  The fires could wait - the vulnerable would have already been evacuated.  The fire fight was about property salvage and the fate of the town, itself, had already been sealed.  When Treig and the representative approached, I advised I'd be heading to the razed section - much to their surprise.  But they followed, nevertheless.

The anger was like a beacon - a siren's call.  How could they not feel it - even without supernatural spiritual awareness.  I feared this anger might literally wake the dead.  And then I felt a more subtle signal...coming from our guide/representative.  Such a shame, that.  He'd probably been infected by a worm from the undead dragon.  Such a small signal must have been drowned out by whatever had died in this section of town.  Our guide would have to be put down.  But not yet.  Judging by reports from the arena, he'd only have a few hours.  But for now, he was still useful.  

We were close to the anger now.  My mind momentarily wandered - how many had been infected.  How many would have to be put down?  Death comes to us all.  And then the anger exploded through the nearest wall of a still semi-standing structure.  I wasn't paying attention.  A whirlwind of debris from the angry spirit pummeled me.  The guide was still sentient enough to possess self-preservation and fled while Trieg steadied a crossbow bolt at it.  But this was beyond any of them.  I summoned the infernal energy that powered me and bent the creature's will to mine.  "Yes.  YESSSSSSS.  You are angry.  You ARE ANGRY!!!  Take vengeance on those that have robbed you of your most precious possession - your life.  Take vengeance on them."  I could feel that anger turn cold.  I could feel it channeled into a point, as if it was chambered into a crossbow and ready, waiting.  The maelstrom of debris whirling about the creature died down.  Just a few pieces now wantonly swirled lazily about.  "I will take you.  Follow me."

Treig looked on non-plussed.  But the guide was awestruck.  We returned to the burning section of town.  Several newly cauterized corpses littered the ground.  Apparently, this property was worth their lives.  I understood sentiment - I had once attributed it to worldly possessions as well.  We could see a group of the fire brigade losing ground to what could only be described as living fire.  Someone explained that when the fires hit Allustan's laboratory (the recently deceased town magi), that something came alive and was now continuing to spread the fires.  It consumed anything came in contact with it.  I wanted to summon the armor, but there were too many around.  I'd need to be careful.  I tapped into the frozen layer of Hell and encased myself in unholy protections and then cautiously approached.  The living fire overran and consumed several more of the brigade and was upon me.  This was no elemental.  It was more of an ooze - an ooze ablaze, and the fire seemed to feed it!  It swung a pseudopod.  I had anticipated this and prepared a Ward.  My miscalculation was painful.  It wasn't fire.  It was ON fire, but it was not fire.  It was acid.  Its 'pseudopod' washed over me eating through my garments, travel pack, satchel, sizable sum of money I brought on the trip, and all useful equipment in a fraction of a second.  My magical protections were undone and my naked flesh exposed.

Most men would have screamed.  But what few realize is that third degree burns - whether acid or otherwise - are actually quite anesthetic.  Besides, the transitioning second degree burns were nothing in comparison to the chains that ripped through my body and soul on a regular basis.  I was furious - mostly at myself.  "This is a direct manifestation of what killed you, spirit"  With my release, the undead pounded the magical creation with debris and with the help of a few of the townsfolk and Treig's crossbow bolts, the creature was destroyed.  I wasn't anticipating using up my entire healing reserve just for this, but so be it.  My skin regenerated.  I'm sure the sight of a mostly naked nobleman followed by a vengeful spirit was quite a sight, but I paid them no mind.

Our guide, apparently his name was Lief, had explained to Treig that his instructions had changed with the death of Allustan and that he should instead deliver the package to the magi's apprentice, Egan.  The fires still raged but were no longer being actively spread.  There was something very peculiar about the spiritual signal from Lief.  The signal was not proliferating as I expected, but then, my encounters with the worms had been so long ago, and the reports could be exaggerated.  Regardless, he still seemed to be of sound mind and body and bid us follow him out of town.  And yet, I could not shake the sense that somehow this was a trap.

How did word of Allustan's death spread so quickly that with us - on our way to Diamond Lake - passing only one person, informed us of the recent news - how did Treig's employer acquire the information so quickly to give him new instructions?  Was this man somehow in league with Suel?  In my experience, most that had ever tried to play the Great Game found that when I 'stumbled' into the center of their web, that I was actually a spider, myself.  Moreover, the quickest way to learn a web's design was to tread upon it.  And so we departed, leaving the ruins of Diamond Lake in our wake.  And the spirit's anger churned in misery and vengeance as it left its worldly home behind.
_____________________

We traveled North.  A storm was gathering - far too quickly to be natural, but not so quickly to prevent our travel.  We crested a hill and there beyond the copse of trees was a crater.  At its center - a dead black dragon - presumably the remains of what razed Diamond Lake.  But it was not alone.  A clutch of similarly scaled kobolds were performing some sort of ritual - their rhythmic chanting barely audible above the gathering winds.  This abomination could not be permitted unlife again.  Treig had already begun his approach.  Partly to mask his approach and partly because I held no fear of these creatures, I broke from the treeline at a determined walk.  Once I had gathered the attention of those kobolds nearby, I summoned my armor so none could mistake me for the threat I was to them.  Treig had already engaged with one of the kobold shamans.

"Spirit, these are the ones responsible!  You see the dragon there, it and its clutch caused your death.  Take your vengeance!"  Even though we were heavily outnumbered, the kobolds proved no match.  Even the shamans were powerless against us.  The kobold's intent was revealed when one recently killed dropped a glass flask.  The flask shattered upon hitting the ground and a green worm wriggled its way into the dead creature's body.  Beherit quickly ended any potential threat the worm-infested dead body could offer.  Two surrendered by the end.  I beheaded the first.  The spirit was destroyed during the battle but perhaps its soul could now rest easy having exacted vengeance.

The most surprising part of the fight was not the kobolds nor even the worms, but Lief.  With reckless abandon he attacked the kobolds - though ineffectually.  His self-preservation was apparently waning.  I feared Beherit would drink yet another soul this day.  At the end of the battle, it all became clear.  Lief had not been infected.  He had been possessed - by the ghost of Allustan.  Allustan emerged from the soldier as the last kobold surrendered.  

This man, this guide, this soldier, he was not infected!  The dragon, the kobolds, the undead, and the living alchemical acid had all been destroyed.  Who knows, perhaps he'd be able to live the rest of his life in peace and put all this behind him.  His name was Lief.  Relieved of my cynicism, for the briefest of moments, I became that Knight Protector of long ago - romantic, idealist.  And then I heard Beherit's laugh - a profane, dark, infernal sound inside my mind.  Taunting with both hate and contempt he said, "But you promised me a drink."

I had wielded the sword carelessly.  He did not drink the souls of the kobolds who'd died.  I thought he was dormant.  His eyes were closed.  I stared out of a body I no longer controlled. In the midst of battle, seeing a green worm in the flesh, Allustan's ghost - in the midst of it all, I had lost control and Beherit had taken over.  Had I decided to behead the kobold.  Had I not decided?  I hadn't really given it much thought.  Was it just?  Perhaps.  But had I made the decision?  When had I lost control precisely.  A prisoner in my own body, I watched Beherit's eyes open and the sword flare to life.

It all happened in slow motion.  I tried to cry out, but no voice came.  Beherit had complete control.  Like a child, Lief was awakening as if from a dream.  As he was turning to look around, Beherit impaled him from behind.  It was a mortal wound.  Entering in through his lower back and sprouting forth from his upper chest.  I could feel my arm twist and curve as it moved with supernatural strength.  Beherit sheathed in Lief's flesh unleashed hellfire and molten hot chains - the pinnacle of pain as they tore Lief's soul from his body and consumed it.  The only outwardly visual manifestation was hellfire erupting from every orifice of Lief's body, and while horrific, it was nothing compared to what happened within.  I had experienced this.  I knew the pain.  The husk of his body collapsed to its knees and then completely to the ground as it disintegrated into ash.

Treig witnessed this all silently.  Even he was taken aback by the savage horror of it all.  And it all happened so quickly, even if he wanted to, there was little he could have done to stop it.  A testament to his composure, he addressed Allustan.

Meanwhile, my soul screamed in its shackles.  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Like a caged animal I tried to claw my way into control.  But Beherit's control was absolute.  I growled curses and profanities at Beherit - in infernal and abyssal alike.  I became like the angry spirit.  Comprehensible speech ended.  My soul projected rage-filled emotion.  Any empath would have likely been knocked unconscious.    

But it didn't matter.  Lief's ashes quickly scattered to the oncoming storm.  I lost track of Treig and Allustan's ghost.  Chuckling, Beherit released his grip on me and I was myself once again.  I must have been standing their locked in position wrestling for control for a long time, because my right arm was completely numb.  I saw Treig cresting the rise of the next hill towards the Cairn.  Beherit still sat in my hand, his eyes closed once again.  I threw the blade away as hard as I could.  It was petulant for its futility.  Beherit sliced a gouge into the earth and then disappeared - summoned back into its soul sheathe, inside of me.  I was drained, the mental effort and turmoil exhausting me.  This is who I am, a menace, a murderer.  There was the path I chose instead of insanity, undeath, and chaos.  I cannot claim innocence.  My choices led to Lief's death, and so many Liefs before him.  I don't know why I was so affected this time.  Perhaps it was the realization of his salvation, only to personally take it away.  The cruelty of it all was particularly wicked.

Stealing myself back to cynicism, I knelt down over where Lief had fallen.  The storm was picking up.  I wanted to say a prayer...but who would I pray to?  Who would listen to the likes of me?  I disgusted myself.  I blanked my mind the way I had learned from a Suelese monk so long ago - when I was still fully human seeking a cure.  I heard myself say:  "His name was Lief".  And I wept.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 2, 2019)

*Rey's Journal*

*Icosial's Tomb*

I find myself frustrated by the group. Perhaps it is the environment we are in.  Although I am adept in the caverns of the world, I much prefer be on the surface. With trees and sunlight and heck, on top of a snowy mountain.  At some point, the caves feel like they are collapsing in.  I snapped at Jordan today.  He was telling us the story of his undoing.  He and his love were infected with the green worms. At some point after her death but before his, a devil came to make a deal.  Jordan agreed and as a result, destroyed all he held dear.  He has not gotten over it and he wishes to use the Rod of Seven Parts to defeat the devil he made the bargain with.  Instead of empathy, I snapped at him.  He didn’t deserve it and I should apologize.  It has been a trying day. Another one.  Maybe I should meditate on what has happened so far.
_______________

We entered the black mirror and found Treig resting.  Passing through a wind tunnel, we were attacked by mist creatures, at the very least they reminded me of the wind guardians at the top of the Cairn those many days ago.  But before I could respond, I saw both Treig and Etona step out of the tunnel and the hostiles blew away.  So, not being suicidal at the moment, I did too.  They weren’t an illusion because I felt the hit, but perhaps they are a security measure.  Treig seemed familiar with this place, immediately looking for traps. Or perhaps the wall of spikes was a giveaway.  Still, I am glad that he (thus far) is on our side.

It was then that the devil creature entered.  I do not have words to describe him. Fiery chains that erupted from his body swung around him in a mad frenzy.  Yet Treig greeted him as a friend.  Jordan is his name.  He withdrew his chains...into his body.  It sounded terrible.  My first impression of him was terrifying. I would not call him an ally or a friend. Ever.

There was a meeting with a shadow spider who called itself Fly Catcher.  Not particularly creative but there you go.  It has Egan, and for some odd reason, chose to show Treig the shadow prison he is currently in.  Poor Treig.  As a courier, all he wanted to do is deliver the case and move on.  Yet a man of honor, because he could have given it to one of us once he saw Egan and he didn’t.  Instead he bargained for Egan’s life.  I admit I wasn’t paying close attention to the conversation.  I thought I might see or not see webs and shadows.  I’m pretty sure Etona saw something, but we didn’t have time to talk.  I heard the Fly Catcher utter “Icosial” twice.  The name feels familiar to me, but I cannot remember why.  It then repeated the name a third time and said the name would deactivate the tomb’s defenses.  

There was a room we needed to go through made of lightning.  I felt drawn to it and knew with certainty that I could handle it.  I may have misjudged how much lightning likes me or I like lightning.  It still hurt.  But we managed to get everyone through the room with no harm to the others.  I wonder what’s changed in me.  I still feel slightly off balance and am moving at variable speeds. I am much faster getting from here to there than I think I should be.  I have this urge, this need for open space to run.  To recenter myself and see what I can do.  I am changed, I know this, yet I do not know HOW I am changed or what has changed.  I am eager to find out. But first, this cave and the whims of delusional spider.

Etona was struggling.  I know she does not enjoy being in closed spaces such as this.  I thought for a moment that she would faint when we suggested she climb on Obi to traverse a red river.  But she is stronger than she thinks and did as asked. Past the raging river, we entered a room with more doors and stone statues.  As Treig walked by, a statue grabbed him.  He attempted to free his arm but was unsuccessful.  For a second I considered attacking it, but the name popped into my head. So as I made a move towards them, I uttered “Icosial.”  To my surprise and Treig’s, the statue released him and stepped back.  We found a black mirror behind the door it was guarding, similar to the one that brought us here.  It is a portal, but to what we do not yet know.  Jordan and Treig wanted to check out the rest of the room before we moved on.  The rest of the hall outside the door was frigid.  I normally would not have done this, but it was so cold I stayed close to Jordan.  He may be a kind of devil but he exudes heat and fire, very useful in an ice room.  In their efforts to investigate every room, they blew up a door.  The explosion pushed us back and the ice floor collapsed under us.  Once again, I had that moment when I moved further and faster than I thought I would.  We retreated.  For a moment, I thought Etona would close the gate and leave Jordan to battle the animated stone soldiers and blobs.  I asked her to wait.  I am not a fan of him but we do not leave allies behind.  Hopefully I made the right decision.  Shortly after we encountered the ghoul Fly Catcher warned us about and Treig once again, took charge.  He does it naturally and is good at it.  He has led men before, it is very obvious.  After some bargaining and a good bit of luck, Treig took possession of the Seal. I was surprised Jordan did not volunteer himself for it. It was then that Treig pulled us together and shared a plan to trick Fly Catcher.  

Treig and I entered the room, given levitation by the ghoul Moretto.  He was surprisingly different from the ghouls I’ve met before.  From the White City and very well spoken, he wished to go to the surface world.  To explore? Cause chaos? I do not know.  He knew of the green worms and spoke of a prophecy. Moretto helped us to help himself.  He had not been able to get past Fly Catcher and the cave’s defenses.  The levitation allowed us to float above the shadow webs that would grab at us.  Fly Catcher demanded Treig place the Seal on the dias, which he refused to do until Egan was back with us.  Egan emerged from the floor covered in shadow web, and was released.  In the midst of this, Treig stopped and handed Egan the case.  His mission, it seemed, was complete.  Treig toss the Seal onto the dias and Fly Catcher knew immediately that it was fake.  Treig threw his half-smoked cigar at the spider. It exploded and I had my first view of Fly Catcher.  If I thought Jordan was odd, Fly Catcher was worse.  I have only heard of these creatures, Dark Elf torso and head on a spider’s body.  Treig jumped on it and was bitten, and was paralyzed ON the creature’s back.  Etona lit up the room and destroyed the webs, allowing us to step on the ground.  My attempts to attack it failed but was able to touch Treig and he finished the job.  The creature disappeared into dust.  I think Etona was sad we had to kill it.  She wanted to talk with it.  Sometimes, I do not understand my friend.

Then the discussion with what to do with the Seal and the potential Rod of Seven Parts began and here we are.  Jordan believes that the Arch-Devil planned this, and infected him in order to set the stage for his dominance.  He wishes to use the Rod to destroy the Asmodeus.  How much of this is true and how much is Jordan’s fantasy? He has been alive for a thousand years and has had a long time to dwell on the loss of his betrothed.  How much of our lives are dictated by forces greater than us?  What part do we play in our own destiny? All questions for a different day.

Etona doesn’t trust Jordan with the Rod, and honestly, neither do I.  The man has vengeance on his mind and the Rod of Seven Parts is more than that.  Egan wants it, but for different reasons.   Etona doesn’t seem pleased that Egan is once again beholden but the Wind Dukes are much better than the Asmodi. I’ve been meditating and doing my best to tune out the arguments, especially once I snapped at Jordan.  Then I heard Treig say my name.  He nominated ME to hold the Rod, claiming I was a neutral party.  I disagreed. I too have ulterior motives.  I have been charged to find the monster that infected Ithane and bring its end.  Etona, of course agreed to it because she did not want Egan or Jordan to have it.  I nominated Treig.  After all, he is the carrier of the Seal and rescued Egan for us. Yet, they agreed that I am to take possession of it.  I feel like a pack mule.

Treig knew exactly where to go.  We went even further down the waterfall and Etona grasped my hand so hard I thought she would break my bones.  We entered a hall with rainbow lanterns and a sarcophagus in the center.  It reminded me very clearly of the Cairn, except the sarcophagus was floating and the walls were well lit with beautiful carvings of the general being lifted into the After, if you believe in that sort of thing.  Treig placed the Seal on the sarcophagus and the top slid open. In it was very old clothing, the bones having turned to dust, a set of swords, a ring and what appeared to be a fragment of the Rod of Seven Parts.  As Treig reached in, another unworldly creature emerged from the wind clouds and demanded what we had to offer.  All hundreds of its eyeballs were trained on Treig.  After a moment’s hesitation and an obvious heaviness of heart, Treig placed a red scarf in the sarcophagus and grabbed the Rod.  Then the thing looked at me and asked what I had to offer. I froze. I couldn’t think of anything of value, then I did and I knew I couldn’t.  The only thing I could think of was Obi and the orb I carried him in.  Grief rose within me, threatening to drown me. I haven’t felt like this since..that day.  When did I allow myself to get attached to others again?  Etona, Egan, Mel, Obi, and of course, Seraph.  Seraph was the first and I didn’t even know it.  I looked at the ring, but I could not do it.  When I looked at Treig, he was looking at me and shook his head.  Heeding his silent advice, I backed away.  Jordan, on the other hand, looked so hopeful for a second.  He asked us to leave the room, which Etona refused.  She wanted to see his flaming sword.  In the end, the demon did not accept his sword, or the devil attached to it.  

 As Treig approached me with the Seal, he suddenly asked what else from the Cairn I had in my possession.  I showed him the circlet and the stick with the ring on it, which Jordan identified as a Talisman.  Treig took the circlet from me and placed it on his head.  Unusual, but it had been an unusual day.  Then he froze.  When he came to, he did not speak to us and we did not disturb his silent thoughts.  I know the red scarf was important to him and want to thank him for his sacrifice.  I do not know when and how to say it.

Our return to the real world was uneventful until we reached the Cairn.  There the birdmen guarding Seraph saw Treig and started whispering.  Shortly after, the General arrived.  Treig was chosen by the Wind Dukes for his sacrifice.  He just doesn’t know it yet.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 3, 2019)

*Journal of Jordan Cranden II - Entry III*

"What do we do when we fall off of our horse, young prince?"

In a dejected tone:  "We get back on again."  I was a child again reliving my early lessons with the battle master of the Knight Protectors.  It was tradition for the battle master to personally train each of the Aerdy line.  His name was Zarell and he still had the most gravelly of voices I've heard to this day.  

"But Hope doesn't want me to ride him." I heard myself complain as the memory played out.

Zarell was traditionally both stern and taciturn, but he asked:  "Why do you say that?"  Such patience that man had.

"Because he thinks I'm too weak."  

Quicker than a striking snake, Zarell, had closed the distance, tripped me - putting me back on the ground of which he had just had me stand up from - and had his iron like grip around my throat.  I recall the panic and confusion.  I was suffocating. I realize now he could have made me go unconscious in seconds if he'd wanted to by preventing bloodflow, but he merely compressed my windpipe.  

With such fierce determination it made me momentarily forget the position I was in, Zarell said:  "Then prove him wrong!"

I remember the confusion.  Was this betrayal?  No.  It was a test.  But he was Zarell.  I was a child.  I could not hope to overpower this man - our battlemaster!  I grabbed his vice like hand feebly.  I tried to swat at his wrist to no avail.  The man was simply iron.  I was starting to gasp.  

With righteous anger Zarell screamed at me:  "You will be head of the Knight Protectors, Jordan!  You must shed all weakness.  People do not follow weakness.  Hope will not acquiesce to weakness.  Weakness invites pain.  Weakness invites usurpation.  Is that what you are?  Weak?"

His words sparked something inside me - a white hot righteousness.  I heard my child voice choke out with similar determination to Zarell's "I am a Cranden!" and somehow I managed to twist in his grip while wrapping my legs around his arm and kick off of his torso using my shoulder for leverage on the ground.  This resulted in a rather messy roll with Zarell now on the ground having no way to prevent his fall at an angle since like any good battle master the maneuver did not result in his grip weakened in the slightest- but it did relieve my windpipe from its crushing force- and so he had no pillar of support on that direction and it resulted in me on top of him.

Zarell's grating laughter - as unpleasant as it was rare - filled the training grounds.  "And so you are, my young prince.  And so you are."
___________________

Ember had stopped walking rousing me from my memories.  After the most recent domination by Beherit, I had left the battle ground and its accusations behind.  I knew this episode would stay with me like the early ones.  The weight on my conscience was jarring in the early years but over time one develops callouses.  Lief's death was like those first, though - raw, provoking a crisis of self.  I accepted the deeper emotions this provoked far faster than early on, however.  I was at peace - or whatever broken emptiness robs one of their emotional reserve that I had convinced myself was peace.  

The storm was now causing short bursts of gale-force winds to buffet Ember and me, but that was not why he stopped.  A man stepped out of a nearby group of trees and hailed me.  It was not Treig.

I walked Ember to within 20 feet and then dismounted.  Ember looked on with the pupil-less eyes of his namesake while I approached.  I stopped perhaps nearby but said nothing. I was no longer in my armor and Beherit was soul-sheathed for now.

"Beherdan, I have a proposition for you."

Before I continue, you must understand something first:  one does not just casually mention Beherit.  The former devil prince was a subordinate to Asmodeus, and challenged him for rule over the Nine Hells.  Beherit lost.  Few if any have ever seen my sword and lived to tell the tale, never mind knew it was sentient.  Of the remote few that have survived or witnessed encounters with the sword and would make the connection, fewer still would know exactly what the sword housed.  Either, this man had spent a great deal of time researching or he had insider knowledge from the Asmodi.  In either case, my hackles rose.  I could feel the chains writhing inside me like a coiled snake ready to not just spring but impale this man.  I could feel Beherit's hunger.

I said nothing.  I searched my memory for a prior encounter with him but found nothing.  Like me, he had the pale skin and light coloring suggesting an old Aerdy heritage.

The man was practically cavalier in his tone.  I'd say he was unafraid but that wouldn't accurately describe the situation.  This man wasn't even deferential.  Perhaps he did not know who I was, not entirely.  But then he called me...he called us Beherdan.  Regardless, for all of his research or knowledge, he exercised no caution.  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or strike.  "I would like you to bring the Gray Fox to me," he said.

No clarification was necessary.  "Who are you?" I replied.

The man did not miss a beat:  "My name is Darius Argosson.  Please understand, I mean the Gray Fox no harm."

I recognized the family name - a minor Duchy of Urnst.  But I did not know the connection he might have with Treig.  I had only heard of the Gray Fox in passing - a soldier of fortune having developed a certain renown.   I had now witnessed his prowess first hand on more than one occasion and to say he was proficient would grossly under represent this man's skill.  As I identified in those first moments back in Greyhawk, Trieg, the Gray Fox - whatever one wanted to call him - was an assassin.  He was ruthless, efficient, and did not trifle with mental and moral handicaps most self-impose.  

My hackles did not lower.  As with Lief delivering new orders to Treig in Diamond Lake, there was something off.  How could anyone have known where to find us let alone this quickly?  I didn't know I'd be here until a few hours ago! 

As if reading my thoughts, Darius continued in a deflective way:  "He has entered the Whispering Cairn, a place I cannot go.  I can reward you for this service."

I was silent.  The gathering supernatural storm began to intermittently release large rain droplets each making a loud 'thwack' sound as they hit the ground - or hissing sound as they hit Ember.  I regarded this Darius Argosson.  "If you are familiar with the Gray Fox, then you must also know that there is no 'forcing' him to do anything.  I will pass along your message, but that is all.  I need no _reward_."

Again, without missing a beat, Darius responded:  "I accept.  Perhaps I can assist you, then...on your trek inside.  It's the least I could do, after all."

We established what precisely he was offering - a selection of spell effects that might aid me in entering the Cairn undetected, and I accepted.  I would know if the spells he was casting were not what he proposed and if that happened...well, if that happened, I would let Beherit drink him.  But true to his word, he made me invisible and cast a spell that would obfuscate my tracks.

The droplets were coming down more quickly now.  I tied Ember to one of the trees using his fireproof reins and crested the next hill watching Darius melt back into the shadows from whence he came.  I was not surprised to find a small kobold army amassing preparing an onslought.  Shortly before Beherit had taken over earlier, I had heard Treig mention that reinforcements were on their way.  While I wasn't concerned with a few handful of kobolds, a few hundred was another story.  On top of the small army, there appeared to be several half dragon or dragon kin lieutenants corralling them.  I looked beyond to see what was holding them up and spotted several bird men flying in the sky.  They must have been the ones to summon the storm.  Several lightning bolts lanced through the kobold ranks and my suspicions were confirmed.  

As much as I savored exploiting these boons of magical stealth, leaving these bird men to fend off the army meant two things:  I'd be leaving the outcome of the battle to fate - a vengeful and hateful mistress to me over the centuries - and I'd be trusting that whatever business Egan had in the Cairn was in good faith with the birdmen rather than provocative of their ire.  Most importantly, the apparent single exit to the Cairn would be blocked - either by hostile green worm worshipers or these avian elemental defenders. I had to ensure the destruction of the army as well as allegiance with the guardians.

I used the magical protections to skirt the kobold force and approach the Cairn along its cliff face.  I moved behind the birdmen and then, invisibly, simply walked into their ranks unannounced.  I positioned myself in the direct center of their front line.  They didn't hear me approach until I was within a few feet because of the noise from the storm.  But hearing my armor and noting my invisibility, they thought me some sort of air elemental champion and a cheer went up among their ranks.  I did nothing to dissuade them of this delusion.  There is simply no way this would have worked without Darius's spells.  Perhaps Lady Fate had given me a moment's respite.

The magi among the birdmen summoned a large _Windwall_ that made the army's missiles useless.  In addition, the wall closed off our primary front.  At the urging of their lieutenant, a few kobolds tried to push through the wall and were unceremoniously launched into the sky amidst pulverizing debris.  The impact of their return trip to the ground killed any that survived the flaying.  The kobold army was reduced to approaching in near single file ranks from either end of the wall.  Never the less, their dragonkin leaders adapted quickly and within moments had directed a few squadrons around the wall.  They now numbered only in the dozens, but more waves were on their way.

My engagement with the first wave ended the invisibility.  While this may have provoked surprise and wariness amidst the birdmen, it provoked terror amidst the kobolds.  They didn't expect a devil to tread among them.  Moreover, the guardians could not mistake my intent.  I slaughtered kobolds by the handful.  What few kobolds remained could not get past to me to the guardians' spellcasters.  I was the second wall.  Whether they liked their deceptive ally or not, my service to their cause was unmistakable.

This strategy was potential sustainable, but highly inefficient.  I needed to take out their lieutenants.  Kobolds are about as far from courageous as is possible.  If I could remove the drivers, the army would disintegrate.  What I needed was a duel.  Make an example of one of the dragon men would frighten the other lieutenants into fleeing.  As it turned out, the largest among them standing eye to me in my armor, with wings half again as wide as the creature was tall had the opposite idea.  I was the only thing standing in the way of his army.  If he could remove me, the kobolds would overwhelm the guardians and as soon as that wind wall went down...the battle was won.

Pity, the fool.

The black half dragon brought spells, acidic breath, and flight to bare against me.  The creature was powerful, no doubt.  After its initial ranged onslaught,  rather than attempt recovery, I issued an Infernal challenge binding it to me...preventing its escape.  It must of thought it had the upper hand as rather than attempt to break the spell, the creature continued the battle.  Another wave of spells, and it closed the distance to drive its over-sized lance through my heart.  This was the opportunity I had been waiting for.  I unleashed Mephistopholes' chains and Beherit's eyes opened in unison.  Each strike against me provoked a hellish rebuke.  In horror the creature realized its error.  But it was too late.  Its only escape was to step into the _Windwall_ and let its wings carry the creature to safety.  But it had already sustained heavy damage from my attacks.  Its hide was thicker than the kobolds but it was not enough.  The debris knocked it unconscious.  Rather than a controlled retreat, the unconscious half dragon was rocketed into the sky, its wings flayed to ribbons only to come crashing back to the ground.  I had needed to make an example of this creature.  To end the fight to quickly would not emphasize that even after the full weight of everything their most powerful could muster, there was no victory for them.  The shattering of bone.  The explosion of internal organs.  My complete and utter victory was precisely the example that was needed.  I retrieved the creatures lance - the symbol of his power.  With measured tone, I held aloft and shouted my victory peaking with it being driven through the half dragon's ruined skull.  

The kobold army fell into chaos.  In moments, the second wave of kobolds had tossed their weapons away and fled, a few well placed lightning bolts from the avian magi exploding into the kobold ranks drove home their overwhelming defeat.  Like dominoes, the further ranks fell apart, abandoning their lieutenants.  The kobold army crumbled.

My exit was now secure and no matter what I looked like, there could be no mistaking my service to the guardians.  I waited for one of their captains, who spoke common, and explained I needed to enter the Cairn to rejoin my allies.  Allies was an exaggeration, of course, but the avian did not need to know this.  He explained that two separate groups had gone in - the first was comprised of but a single individual.  A man.  That would be Egan.  The second included three:  a human, a half-elf, and an elf.  That would be Treig and whomever he had met up with - perhaps allies of Egan?  We mutually thanked one another and I was bid entrance.  The captain pledged to continue guarding the entrance to the Whispering Cairn.  With no organized force to stand against him and his magi, my second goal was now completed:  my exit was now not only secure but guarded.

Now to find out more about these worms.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 14, 2019)

*Gray Fox Journal: Heroes*

It appeared that the circlet conferred to me more than insight into my own past. It also made me fluent in the language of the Wind Dukes. Something which would be arguably very important for anyone undertaking their quest. That person was not me. I am not a hero. That opportunity had escaped me long ago. Therefore the Circlet did not belong to me. I did what everyone would have done, I gave it to Rey. She would know what to do with it.

Removing the object was almost a relief. I no longer understood the bird-men and I was able to retreat back behind a veil of ignorance. The pain subsided a bit, but not much. _Once you know the truth, you cannot hide from it._ Rey donned it and took the Seal down to Seraph, leaving Jordan and I alone once again. I could tell that the man was suspicious of Rey carrying both the Rod and the Seal. Jordan was a pragmatic person and I understood his need to dilute risk. It would also stand to reason, then, that he knew why no one would trust him with the Rod.

“Treig, do you know a man named Darius,” he asked me nonchalantly. It seemed almost an afterthought to him.

I tried to control myself before I responded. The memories were playing havoc with my emotional equilibrium. “Yes I do. Why do you ask?”

“I met him outside the Cairn. He wanted me to bring you to him for a meeting.”

“So are you going to...bring me to him Jordan,” I asked cautiously. I felt my hand unconsciously reach towards my blade.

Jordan chuckled. “I doubt I could even if I wanted to. No, I merely said I would pass along the message. He emphasized that he meant you no harm, which means he intends to harm you.”

I felt the tension subsiding. Jordan was more perceptive than I gave him credit for.

“Who is he,” Jordan continued.

“An old associate of mine. We worked in the same mercenary company for some time. Came up through the ranks together, but he was eventually asked to leave. He became more of a liability than an asset.”

“I am curious about this lineage. Who were his parents,” Jordan pressed.

“Darius doesn’t have parents. He was spawned in the Abyss.”

Jordan nodded and politely let the topic drop. The timing seemed perfect as the adventuring group consisting of half-elven dragon royalty, a priestess of a mysterious tribe of wood elves, and a human sorcerer who would trade anything for power returned from their task. The two elven women wanted to leave the confines of the tomb, so Jordan and I convinced them to let one of the avian guardians hold the Rod within the boundaries of the Cairn until they returned. It took some convincing, but eventually they all agreed. I too wanted to feel the sun on my face so my plan was to take a short hike as well. That is until all pandemonium broke loose.

We were at the entrance to the Whispering Cairn when it happened. I felt something was wrong before I saw the reality around me begin to shift. Etona’s and Egan’s eyes seemed to glaze over, staring at something beyond my perception. The wood elf began to howl like an animal and tear at her clothes as Egan wondered further into the Cairn babbling about the beauty of ancient architecture. I was going to intervene, but Rey was already on them. She leapt atop Etona, pinning her to the ground as she grabbed Egan’s arm and kept him from wandering deeper into the tomb. That left only Jordan and I to face the real threat: Darius Argosson. His appearance hadn’t changed, but I knew he had sunk deeper into madness. He had also clearly grown in strength. Previously, he had dabbled in dark magic, but bending space and time was not something he had mastered when I traveled with him. As I studied Darius, it dawned on me why Jordan was asking me about his family. The two men had the same complexion and facial structure. I am not sure why I didn’t notice it before. Perhaps it was because I really wanted to forget Darius and all the memories that came with him.

He smiled wickedly as he surveilled his work. It was obvious that he did not feel threatened by us even in the slightest. “The Gray Fox! It is so good to see you again. It seems as though you have made some new friends.” He looked over the group casually. “I have already met Jordan, but these other three I am not familiar with.”

Whether sensing Rey’s unease or predicting it from his calculated actions, Darius focused his attention on her. “Did you know that Gray Fox and I worked together? We worked in the same Company. We were brothers in arms.”

I felt the blood drain from my hand as my fist clenched tightly. _This must not register on an emotional level_. It is what he wants. Captain Darius Argosson. Head of Counterintelligence. He called it Enhanced Interrogation. I call it torture.

“The Gray Fox,” he said pointing at me, “used to have an army. Undefeated on the field of battle. He has never failed at a mission. But in his heart, he is a loner. That is probably why he couldn’t protect his men. Now look at him. He does simple tasks for small men. He hasn’t seen the big picture yet!”

I could taste the blood pooling in my mouth. _Never strike in anger Unit 43_.

“I am an agent of chaos. A true instrument of our multiverse’s will! Do you know the history of the Seul? Let me tell it to you. They were a powerful civilization that lived thousands of years ago and one day vanished overnight. This event was termed the Rain of Colorless Fire. It changed the world forever.”

Keep him talking. “Is that why you allied yourself with Dragotha?”

“Of course! It was the shortest path to my objective. You taught me that Gray Fox,” he said with a sneer.

I am not sure whether that nickname was deserved. Many men died in the completion of our objectives. If I was truly the Gray Fox, I would have conceived of a way to succeed without human casualty. Darius’ was well deserved, however. No one would dare openly say it to his face, but we all knew it. Mindbender.

“Although I am an outsider to the dragonborn, this alliance puts me in close proximity to their master: Kyuss. Did you notice how his name sounds similar to chaos? Change is coming to this world. Real change and I will place my mark upon it. It is inevitable Gray Fox. You can be on the crest of the wave or in its path. The choice is yours, but either way we will meet again.” A portal opened behind him as he spoke.

“I leave you with this final gift to do with as you choose. The ring that Jordan took from the body of Ithane is a magical device that allows communication with Dragotha. A boon and a curse. While you may speak to the dragon, it will know where you are. What a dilemma for you all,” he cackled as he vanished.

I gave Jordan a steely look.

The madness seemed to follow Darius. Both Etona and Egan regained their sanity as he left. The group discussed what to do thereafter. Egan insisted that the information I had brought him be taken to Magepoint, home of the Archmage Tenser. Yes, that one. There he might also have some insight into what to do with the Rod fragment. Most thought it was a logical next step and asked the Aarakocra for their aid. Seraphs guardians agreed to use their powers to transport us to our destination in the morning. Unable to relax, we all dealt with the stress our circumstances in different ways. Rey went hunting with Obi, Etona put herself into a trance, Egan studied his Codex, Jordan groomed his hellish mount, and I took up guard duty. Being alone afforded me the chance to think about all that had transpired. I used the Stone Councilman Chozik had given me to make contact. 

_I have completed my objective. The package has been successfully delivered as instructed._

_Good_, came the response. _What of our secondary objectives. Did you secure any artifacts from the Cairn?_

_Yes. I will send it along. As agreed upon, transfer the Deed to my name and deliver a copy to Keth at the Fox and Hound. This is the end of our contract. If I discover that you have not met your obligations, I will look for you. And I will find you._

I didn’t give the Councilman a chance to reply before activating the Stone’s true power. It crumbled into dust before my eyes leaving a small tear in space. I dropped the gem I took from the kobold shaman into the portal. Good enough for the likes of him.
_________________________________

I was enjoying a fine cigar while watching Rey skin and spit a deer when I caught the scent of brimstone. Normally this wouldn’t have been alarming but it was coming downwind and Jordan was behind me. Devils wrapped in spiked chains appeared in front of the Cairn’s entrance, while their Osyluth companions cut off our escape. One of the Kytons stepped forward and spoke in its native tongue.

“Give us the Rod,” it commanded.

I tried to buy some time so we could mobilize for a counteroffensive. “You are outmatched Devil. Our forces vastly outnumber yours.”

It did not react, probably more worried about what the Arch-Devil who sent it here would do to it if it failed in its task. That’s when Jordan stepped forward in his summoned fiendish armor.

“Fools! Who sent you here on this mission,” Jordan demanded in flawless Infernal.

The Kytons did not respond immediately but paused in their advance.

“The item has already been secured. I am in the midst of disposing of the pawns I used to get it and returning to the Lord of Nine Hells. Do you dare interfere with Asmodeus plans?!”

The devils seemed shaken. Even I started to believe him.

Without a word, the entire ambush party vanished in a burst of flame. The smell of sulfur lingered in the air.

“We need to leave soon,” Jordan said. “The bureaucracy of the Nine Hells is slow, but it does work. We have maybe a day before they return in force.” I could see the fear in his eyes.

It was a reflex. I broke down the camp as I did hundreds of times before, giving orders and directing logistics. By the time I realized what I had done, everyone was assembled and ready to be transported to Magepoint. I was about to apologize to everyone, when Rey interrupted me. She had wordlessly extended her hand. In it she held the Circlet.

“If you are going to be a part of this group, you really need to stop blending in.”

I smiled despite myself and placed the Circlet on my head. I had only a moment to feel the change come over me again before we vanished in a flash of light.
_______________________________________________

I had heard of Magepoint only through the rumors of drunken merchants. No soldier would dare approach the sleepy village, as it was under the direct protection of Tenser, a member of the Circle of Eight. His associates included Melf, Bigby, and even Mordenkainen. This was a man not to be trifled with. I despised going into negotiations without leverage, but we didn’t have time on our side. 

We appeared at the edge of the village, the treeline behind us and the placid lake ahead. A narrow bridge spanned from the shore and led to a small island atop which stood the Castle of Unknown Depths. Magepoint lived up to its name. Our _teleportation_ spell was directed to specific location, where a wizened old gnome awaited us in a booth with the word “Information” written in magical glyphs above him. I read it in Common, but I was fairly certain that the letters would change to whatever language the visitor was most comfortable speaking.

“May I help you,” he asked us. He barely looked up from the parchment he was scribbling on.

I stepped forward and tried to inject some urgency into his day. “It is imperative that we meet with Archmage Tenser at his earliest convenience. We have with us powerful artifacts that he will wish to inspect immediately.”

“Name,” the gnomed persisted. He seemed completely unphased by my declaration. I was unsure how much weight my name carried, so instead I opted to use Rey. “This is Rey, the Dragonspeaker.”

The gnome looked up quizzically. I could see that he had no idea who she was. “And whom does she serve?”

“Seraph,” I replied.

Still nothing.

The gnome took his spectacles off and placed them on the desk. “Lord Tenser entertains a number of powerful guests. At the moment he is indisposed. Please make yourself at home in the All-Seeing Eye, our local inn. There you will be contacted by a woman named Celeste.”

“What does she look like?”

The gnome opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind. Instead he held his arm aloft and conjured a perfect image of the woman he wanted us to meet.

This was getting interesting.
________________________

It turned out that Celeste was not the only person waiting for us. She was accompanied by Elgios, which seemed like an impossibility, since Jordan assured me that he was murdered. Apparently Celeste recovered his body in Greyhawk and brought it to Magepoint, whereupon the sage was resurrected by Tenser’s personal High Priest: a man by the name of Agath. Not a bubbly priest of Pelor, mind you. This guy reminded me of a Priestess of Wee Jas I once knew. All business. Another of Tenser’s consorts, a woman by the name of Cymria, was also there. She invited us to stay in the castle and await the Archmage’s return. Etona and Rey had little interest in staying indoors for the day, but when it was discovered that the inner courtyard was populated by a forest of Redwoods, that changed. Jordan and Egan quickly disappeared into the local library to gather knowledge that had eluded their grasp thus far. I enjoyed the solitude, even for a brief moment. 

Time passed quickly and it wasn’t long before we were summoned by Tenser to his inner sanctum. The room was exactly as I had imagined it. Egan was beside himself as we waited for the Archmage to join us.

“Look at this,” Egan squealed as he pointed to a Dragonchess board. “I saw this exact configuration in Allustan’s office. He never moved the pieces and I always wondered why he kept it around. It must be an ongoing game between him and Tenser!”

The board was arrayed in mid-game. Clearly one side was being dominated. But not defeated. I moved a piece almost without thought. It seemed like the most logical step to take back ground. It was quite a gambit, but with so much lost there was no going back. _Always forward_.

I was not sure how long Tenser had been standing there, but if he was irate with my impertinence, he gave no sign. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but I heard you were looking for me. What can I do for you?”

Since no one immediately spoke up, I gave a detailed report on the events that had transpired in Greyhawk and Diamond Lake. Rey, not one for much conversation, pulled the Rod fragment out of her backpack and slammed it down upon the Archmage’s desk. I thought in that moment, all of our lives had ended. Even the mighty Tenser looked to be in awe of the artifact in front of him. Whatever insult we had delivered was lost on his amazement.

“Then the Age of Worms is upon us,” he whispered. “Balakard was not mad after all.”

“It is a dangerous artifact Lord Tenser,” I said.

“Indeed Treig. Do you know what this is?” He did not wait for my response before continuing. “This is the keystone piece of the Rod of Seven Parts. It is the largest of all the fragments. This means that all other parts of the Rod are attracted to this one. Making it the most powerful.”

“We have brought it to you for safekeeping.”

“That is not the only reason you are here, is it Treig? You are here because there are no coincidences.”

“Sir,” I asked with genuine confusion.

“Over the last few years, prophecies foretold over a thousand years past have come to be. Kyuss’ legacy endures. He was an inhabitant of the Amedio jungle far to the south. There he built a following of worshippers that were sacrificed for his ascension to Godhood. The grim edifice of his unholy transformation, known as the Spire of Long Shadows, remains to this day. A colleague of mine, Balakard, went to explore these ruins some time ago. He returned with some of his research, but alas has gone missing.”

“How does any of this help us destroy Dragotha,” Rey interjected.

“I am not entirely sure,” Tenser replied. “However, if this Dragotha is an agent of Kyuss the answers may lie far to the south.”

“With all due respect Lord Tenser, our group is not comprised of heroes. I would even go so far as to say a few of us are very far from it. This expedition sounds extremely dangerous with a possibility of yielding very little actionable information. Every instinct I have tells me that this is not an intelligent decision. To be frank, I am not even sure why I am here now.”

The archmage smiled. “And yet here you are. You are here because you are lost and are in search of something greater than yourself. You have been wondering, trying to hide from it. But there is no escaping what you are. These people that you have arrived with are not strangers to you Treig. They are your comrades. Men and women woven together by destiny. What you seek cannot be bought. It is something beyond the grasp of most, but directly before you now. What you seek is _purpose_. It is knocking at your door. Will you answer? Many lives will depend on your choices.”

I sighed and lit another cigar. “I don’t speak for everyone. We will have to discuss this before we can give you an answer. But I can say this, we don’t work for free.”

“I never said you were stupid,” Tenser replied with a grin. “What will you need?”

“Magic. Lots of magic.”


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Jan 26, 2019)

*Journal of Etona - 22*

(removed due to many errors introduced by this site)


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## SolidSnake_01 (Jan 28, 2019)

*Gray Fox Journal: Heart of Darkness*

It took some doing, but the group finally managed to reach consensus on what our immediate path forward should be. Everyone decided that exploration of the ancient city far to the south where Kyuss was believed to have amassed his power was the logical decision. It was obvious, even to Jordan. But the ancient knight couldn’t help but inject complication into the plan by insisting that assembling the Rod of Seven Parts should be our priority. His conspiracy theory was quite extensive and took nearly an hour to explain, threatening to draw us away from the task at hand. I waited until he was done before informing him that leaving the Rod with the Archmage Tenser was a part of the plan to draw enemies off of our trail while we gathered more information on Kyuss. It would be foolish to fight the Wormgod’s minions while tangling with the Nine Hells over the artifact. 

“Do you play Dragonchess Jordan,” I asked him.

“I must admit it has been some time since I enjoyed the game. Why do you ask Treig,” Jordan responded.

“Often novices to the Game will protect their most powerful piece at the expense of victory, believing that it will grant them dominance in the later stages of the conflict. We are merely in the Opening now. Temporarily leaving the Rod with Tenser is part of the larger plan to achieve exactly what you are hoping for.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Very well.”

Negotiations with Tenser were much less stressful. He agreed to nearly every request we had. It was obvious that the Age of Worms prophecy was a priority for him. That had me a bit concerned. GIven the enemy we would face and the environment we would be subjected to, we needed specific weaponry, countermeasures, and knowledge. Also, we would have to start working as a team and not separate entities that did not trust one another. Tenser provided his castle to be our base of operations, allowing us to research the Amedio jungle, repurpose our equipment, add suitable items to our inventory, and train with each other. We were even able to gain more companions on our expedition: Verdre and Kio. Verdre was Etona’s cousin and a battle-hardened druid. Kio, a student of Tenser’s, was no longer human.

“I assumed that given the type of adversaries you would be facing, it might be wise to bring individuals who would not be subject to necrotic transformation. Kio,” the archmage said as he introduced the mechanised man, “has had his spirit transferred into a construct. Consciousness in the Inanimate is not new. My time on Mechanus has greatly advanced my research.” Tenser then looked over to Rey. “I understand that you have an owlbear that travels with you. If you wish it, I could perform the same ritual I used on Kio. I doubt she would fare well where you are planning to go.”

“Once you...transfer Obi’s spirit into this object, what will happen to her body,” Rey asked hesitantly.

“We would keep her body in stasis until your return,” Tenser responded.

“What if her new body was...destroyed,” Rey continued.

“There is a phylactery embedded into the constructs that houses the spirit. It can be removed and if returned to me intact, I will be able to perform the ritual to regraft it back to its original host.”

_A ghost in the machine.
_
The archmage had Cymeria give a seminar on the composition and maintenance of constructs. I made everyone attend. In addition we ran military drills every morning. The rest of the the time went by quickly. I spent a large portion of it learning all I could about our destination by attending scrying sessions, speaking with sages, and doing my own research in the library. I also worked with Etona and Verdre to develop a silent signaling system based off of their homeland’s native language. This would allow us to communicate without alerting our enemy. 

When the day finally came for us to travel to Kuluth-Mar, we were ready. Well, almost. I had one last piece of business before we were transported. I tried to see Tenser after his meeting with some ambassadors from Mechanus. Apparently they had a piece of the Rod on their plane and were enthusiastic, as much as automatons can be, to verify that the largest piece had been found by one of their allies. Tenser confirmed that it was true and even gave our group the credit for discovering the artifact. 

After bidding the Inevitables a good journey, the archmage turned to me.

“What can I do for you Treig.”

“I know that you have given much already, but I have one last personal request. If I survive this expedition, I would like you to use your contacts in Greyhawk to secure me the position of Master of Games. It has recently become available.”

The wizard smiled. “I can think of no one better suited for the task than you.”

“I am glad to hear you say that.”
__________________________

The sickening sensation of falling into an endless void was quickly replaced by the oppressive humidity of the jungle. We had arrived as the sun began to set, per our elven companions. Etona and Verdre insisted that we journey at dusk to obscure our approach. Everyone was on edge, including Jordan. He had summoned his infernal armor almost immediately, sensing the gravity of our situation. Cymeria had transported us to the exact point we had tasked for her. Hard to do, even for a mage of her talents. Kio scanned the surrounding area before we embarked.

“Sixty life forms detected. All entities native to the environment.”

“What about those that are not native,” I asked.

“No such entities detected in range.”

He wasn’t very comforting.

As we had practiced in simulation, some of our group scouted ahead to ensure the path forward was clear of enemies while the rest took defensive positions around our most vulnerable members. It didn’t take long to find the ruins of the ancient city. The ziggurat was the only structure still standing, surrounded by an obsidian wall over thirty feet tall. For a moment, the landscape melted away and reformed. We were standing in the ancient necropolis watching thousands of Kyuss’ zealots chant his name as he sat in a throne atop his spire. And then just as quickly as the vision came, it was gone.

We approached cautiously, dodging parties of roving trolls and Yuan-ti, the savage snake people often spoke of in lore. Upon the dark barrier encircling the spire was a phrase in draconic which was repeated over and over: “Kyuss forever bound.” Apparently a group of very powerful magi, the Wardens of the First Watch, sealed Kyuss and his followers within the structure long ago. The secrets to his past are within for any brave enough to face them.

Scaling the wall was a simple matter. We did so with mundane means as I was worried our group was becoming too reliant on magical enhancements. _Always leave yourself a way out_. While atop the wall, Etona, Rey, and Verdre circled the perimeter while I kept an eye on the remaining party. The mechanized Obi also stayed, given that she was no longer very silent. Frankly, I felt more comfortable with a steel owlbear guarding my back. 

I saw it before I heard it. The chittering screams of giant worm-infested beetles scurrying back towards the ziggurat. Something had gone wrong. Instinctively I moved towards the elves, but stopped and held my position when I saw what they had called to their aid: an undead knight. It summoned the beetles and leapt atop one of them as one would a steed. The knight hadn’t moved his forces before a silver streak cut through the dark and severed the worm-ridden leg from his pelvis. _Etona_.

The divine power seemed to play havoc with both the knight and the beetle, but they recovered quickly. Despite the lack of an appendage and a grievously wounded mount, the knight pulled himself back on and rode towards the elves. Egan was saying something.

“Should I make a distraction to get their attention?”

“What did you have in mind,” I replied distracted.

Just then a thunderstorm formed inside the compound. Ozone filled the air and thunder echoed through the forest. I turned on the warlock in horror. _What have you done?!_

“What about that,” Egan exclaimed in triumph.

“Probability of survival has dramatically diminished,” Kio intoned.

I agreed with him. Our chances had been altered. The only good news was that our sniper was doing serious damage to our foes. So much so that they took refuge behind the remnants of a collapsed building. The stone prevented Etona from getting a clean shot, which meant that we would have to get this done on the ground. I looked over to Jordan, who had murder in his eyes. I think he was very close to letting the devil take control of him and collect Egan’s soul. Though I am not sure he would get it. Apparently Egan has promised it to a number of entities already. Either way, we had to get off this wall or whatever was in the jungle was going to finish what the spawns of Kyuss did not. I tried to diffuse the situation and move forward with a sound strategy, so I pushed Egan off the wall. I am not ashamed to say that it felt good.

Like the rest of us, he floated to the ground unscathed. The amulets given to us by the aarakocra let us ride the wind unharmed. We hit the ground softly with surprise. The earth shifted under our feet, green worms breaking the surface and burrowing back down again. Maybe Etona had the right idea after all. I tried to ignore the disgust roiling in my stomach and kept moving us forward. That’s when Jordan activated his ring. We were immediately surrounded by a field of ancient spirits, I imagine his ancestors. The ghosts burned away the worms, clearing a path of protection for us as we moved to intercept the guardians hiding within the courtyard.

We fell upon the wounded beetles violently. At this point, Rey had joined us on the ground and quickly moved within Jordan’s protective circle. She had a front row seat to Jordan’s savagery. Once both insects came into contact with his protective field, it melted right through their carapaces. Jordan leapt upon them, tearing them open with his burning gauntleted fists. It sounded like an egg cracking and the sight of all those wriggling worms spewing out of the broken body was enough to almost make me sick. I’ve been in dozens of battles, seen men do unspeakable things to one another. I would carry this scene in my nightmares for all time. 

Despite my nausea, we were doing quite well. Our only foe was hiding within the ruins of an old building, his allies completely annihilated. So why did I still feel so uneasy? Almost as if in response to my question, the universe showed me. From the entrance of the ziggurat, two more creatures appeared. Over seven feet tall, with pale skin, and draped within rotten feathered wings. They held aloft blades made of dark stone. Where their eyes once rested now protruded green worms. Once the most noble of all creatures of the multiverse, now reduced to thralls of Kyuss. Suddenly the phrase “Goddamn it” really had meaning.


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Feb 2, 2019)

*In the past: Verdre unconscious at the Great Tree of Rishkar's tribe*

_Verdre is unconscious in the nursery of Rishkar’s tribe, having called forth her Mistress’ radiant wrath from deep inside herself. She collapses with a curse to Sehanine on her lips.
_
She is panting in a shallow pool of hot water.

“Do you think I do not know your heart, girl?”

The voice is caustic but familiar. It is her own but layered with the unmistakable five tones of Sehanine-in-dream.

Her eyes snap open. She is in a smoky place, humid, surrounded by eggs and crawling green worms. Immediately she sits up and sets to blasting them with Moonbeams, shattering some of the eggs. Each cracks open with a tiny dying elf inside. She stares: a wiry Etona with short, black hair. Another is pale, willowy Etona with long, silver hair. Others are child Etonas and baby Etonas, all dying.

“The humans have an ironic saying,” the voice continues. “You cannot make an omelet without breaking some eggs.”

Now an Etona in front of her is _me’ara inra_, her sister-in-law, Etona’s mother Fiora. Verdre’s closest friend until she died giving birth to her holy daughter.

A twin of herself is perched atop a huge black egg in her peripheral vision. It had been filling the back part of the room, only it is not an egg when she looks at it directly: it is a throne gleaming silver and platinum though the base is black, black with pinpoints and flares and trails of everything in the heavens. The throne from fae tales forgotten by her own tribe long ago. Seeing it now makes her think she is in a ghastly and nonsensical play, and expected to say her lines correctly.

This other Verdre, atop the throne, looks down at her body. She runs her hands across herself. “Mmm, I like this one. So much stronger than little Etona’s. And so full of wrath and the self-righteousness of loss. You do not know loss, girl.” She hops down. “Listen.”

It had been there the entire time, a faint thrumming. Now it grows louder. It is rhythmic, the sound of a hundred staves hitting a stone floor in a vast cavern, the mighty sound echoing. After every few thrummms bellows a crowd, “i’YOOSS!” or something like that word.  It wasn’t one she knew. The terrible sound is all around. Sehanine-as-Verdre, who was strolling in a circle around the chamber idly dragging her finger along the wall, completes the full circuit. Below her trace, the room abruptly falls away tumbling into a milky pool beneath Verdre’s feet. It shrinks to nothingness only to reappear as a growing shape: a round hub at the center of eight endless lines of people, thousands of them, every species she’s ever heard of and more, each holding a staff, pounding it in time and shouting that word, which she hears more clearly now: “KYUSS!”

Every one of them is afflicted with dark green wriggling worms poking out from all over their bodies.

At the center of all this is a seven-foot man adorned in gold and also holding a staff, but his is not mere wood: it is black, oily, its surface undulating. As she stares, each of its folds gives off dark purple sparks where they touch, and in each spark she sees entire worlds.

The figure looks up at the two of them, or rather, at Sehanine whose eyes, Verdre is alarmed to see, are wide with fear.

“Mistress!” she calls.

There is abruptly silence below. Verdre looks back, and the figure is just a bow’s length away. Sehanine is transfixed.

Verdre runs to … now Sehanine-as-Etona … and steps in front of her. 

“Mistress, Etona! You must snap out of it. Mistress!”

But Sehanine-as-Etona looks on with a dead expression.

Verdre whirls to the eyes, catches their gaze and glares back.

“You face me now, Abyss spawn,” she says. “But I have already won. I lend my will to _yss’awara_, the Way of Things. I am part of the Way; I can fight forever. I will fight you forever.”

The figure stares fully at Verdre now. It is rot and despair, the relentlessness of every living thing decaying, its body corrupting to spawn writhing insects. It says nothing.

“I do not fear death,” Verdre replies to the void in its eyes. “When I die, from my body springs the world. You mimic the Way of Things. You have already lost.”

The black figure dissolves leaving behind delighted laughter bouncing around the room. Female laughter from behind her.

Verdre turns back around to see Sehanine-as-Tamyl, leader of the Children of the Mirror, standing tall over her.

“Good,” the goddess continues, nodding. “Soon, you will likely die for your cousin. If you last long enough, you will die for me. It is this sacrifice will hasten the defeat what we face, Verdre. This enemy of all life does not know the Way of Things. We will teach Him.”

“Who is he?”

“His avatar is Kyuss, but it is only His latest servant. You know the master as the Green Man. Yes, real, and more dangerous than demon lords and arch devils against whom they are angry ants on a volcano. The Green Man cannot be defeated by mortals or even a posse of gods tied merely to a handful of worlds.

“But that is not our task today. Today, His avatar is the one we must overcome. He is the obstacle placed by the universe and I must pass him on, a disease to kill my own children. I will watch you die. It will shrivel a part of me, but this is what love calls us to do. It is why others a thousand years hence and perhaps worlds away will continue the fight against the master, because we gave everything, here, this day, to fell a servant.

“You and Etona and noble Fiona and Skaen: all of you, my brave children, are here.” She brings the two fingers from each hand up to her temple and bends forward, pressing her forehead against Verdre’s.

A splash of images: her tribe, the shining lake of the Mirror and the beautiful forest around it; laughter from friends and family seen through one another’s eyes. She recognizes every scene, every face.

But in a single wind they become blackened ruin. Shambling, ever-hungry and dead, everyone she ever knew rove about mindlessly, creaking and writhing; Kyuss a tower above them, a temple shaped like a cactus behind him. In the sky, Her Radiant Regard, the full moon, blotches with black pools until it is blotted out completely becoming an oily sphere of corruption. She cannot breathe, her bones become brittle and crack, she withers and, with a final gasp of utter loss, she dies.

The goddess withdraws. “Do you see?” Sehanine-as-Fiora says.

Verdre falls to her feet, head on the floor in front of her. “I am a cawing crow,” She feels rare tears flow. “Please forgive me.”

A hand on her shoulder. It slides under her chin and gently pulls up her gaze to Her own. It is Sehanine Herself. The Moon Goddess. Creator of her own people.

“My Verdre. I know your heart. I desired your understanding, for with it comes your love. Rise now. I have restored my blessing to you. Return to your cousin but tarry on the way. You will know where.”

“Mistress?”

“A last question?”

“Yes. Can you not slay this enemy? Not Kyuss, but his master?”

“I and my infinite sisters and brothers must come together. That is far ahead. The quarry this night,” she calls out, “is the one in front of you now. Fell foul Kyuss and all who derive strength from him, and I will have voice for the Great Hunt to come.”

Around Verdre her entire tribe, Etona in front, stand with her. They have, she suddenly understands, been there all along.

“Go,” says Sehanine, towering now and glowing brighter and brighter, becoming the moon. “Lead. Fall if you must, but take our quarry to ground.”

***

She wakes up in the ancient tree housing Rishkar’s people. Etona smiles over her.

“Were you–?” Verdre begins.

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“We must not fail,” Verdre asserts.

Etona curls up onto her, burying her head in the crook of her aunt’s neck. Verdre realizes she has been there already some time.

“We won’t,” she whispers in reply.

_We might, my darling Etona_, she thinks. _But you will not. You have never known how._


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Feb 16, 2019)

*Journal of Etona - 22*

There was a portal just inside a room laden with statues that were statues only if one spoke a magic word to them, otherwise they were swift engines of destruction. I sometimes have a little trouble with names, so I will not try to reproduce the word here in case I am trebly: wrong, unaware of being wrong, and in dire need of speaking it. Fortunately the other three seem to know it, so I can concentrate on other things.

Before we went through the portal, Rey and the two humans had a fruitless adventure in the adjoining chamber, opening doors to unpleasant surprises, one of them a passage to the Elemental Plane of Ice or Snow or Cold. Then there was ice and lava and a monster and peril and everyone needed to get back to the sealed-off room I was in, and controlling the door to, before they died. Jodan, the cursed human who is chained to Hell in some way, was last to exit by several strides. As they were rushing back to me I saw that I could, and very nearly did, close the door on him, un-openable from his side. He probably would have died there and the world would be minus one devil’s pawn.

But I did not do that.

I look back on it and wonder why I let him through, aside from a sharp “Etona!” from Rey. But there was a second where he and I made eye contact. He saw it, the struggle in my eyes, saw me release the handle but catch it before it dropped the bars more than hand span.

Why let him live?

My Mistress has done this to me before: ordered me to save a monster, in that case one who had killed and eaten a human child. I had to step between an angry mob – some of them in my own party – and that feral man to demand that he live. Live he did. I lost track of him soon after and was unable – in my subsequent banishment from the Mirror – to ask my people to keep an eye on him.

Everything about that was unfair. _She_ is unfair, but it is because life is that way, and you must make your own rules. I have always believed that Her love for us, for merely for being alive, is unfair to Her, but She must do it anyway. So from time to time She visits wrath upon us, upon me. It is no more or less than the will of the universe.

For Jodan, I hear no such voice whispering in my ears to save the devil-man. But my vision was unequivocal: light the way for this creature from another game board; be the guiding moonlight for the battled-scarred courier; try to save Eager the Unwise; and of course, shine for my sister-dragon, Rey.

                                                                   ***

The portal opened to a cavern that was open and spacious but hundreds of fathoms deeper into the earth. A shadowy figure who could see all of us sat on a rock. He was unmoving until he spoke the name of each of our races. *Morato*, the ghoul.

He doesn’t wear the classic ghoul look: he seems like any ordinary, if quite still and pale, man. Undead to be sure: the scent of undeath is always obvious, at least to my kind. He hails, he says, from the White City, an undead metropolis that is well-enough known for there to be stories even we Mirror elves have told our children for generations. His own tale was one of banishment from there, a trajectory that has him sweeping the world for knowledge.

“What knowledge?” I asked.

“All, eventually. I am a seeker of knowledge.”

“Admirable, from a living being. From one such as you, I must know your motive.”

“I am no danger to the people you protect, priestess. I have always been a collector of lore, mathematics, magicks. The Raven Queen would end me and my pursuits for no other reason than she can – how could I help being born a short-lived human? – but she is not the only god and hers is the not the only law, and so I continue but in undeath.”

“Morato, sir,” says Trifle, changing the subject. “Do you have the book?”

“It is here.” Morato points to it on a rock next to him. “It is sealed with runes making it untouchable and thus un-carryable, but you may take it, if you can,” says Morato. “… if you also aid me in destroying Flycatcher and securing my passage past all the traps in this place.”

“And if we don’t have that on our agenda?” our courier returns.

“Then I will have to deal with all this myself which will take a very long time. Tedious. And you will not have the tome you seek.”

I glance at Rey and Treacle with a pass of my fingers across Angivre. They correctly read my question: _Why do we not simply rid the world of this creature?_

Rey narrows her eyes, considering. It is not her first choice. Trireme’s reaction is much stronger, shaking his head and mouthing "No." He is staring into my eyes, faced away from the ghoul. Jodan has merely raised an eyebrow: I don’t think incidental violence matters to him.

Why have Treig’s opinions begun to matter to me? He has some charisma, I grant that. His fellow _cuille temoer_ undoubtedly follow him whenever he leads: he is calm, commanding, casually menacing, and above all, competent. I expect he comes from some human military organization.

Since there is depth to him, I tuck away my bow in a symbolic gesture that also refuses, this time, my Mistress’s standing commandment to aid the Raven Queen and smite all the undead I meet. My Shining Lady’s alliance with the Grey Lady is well-known to most, but the Queen’s tasks are not specifically ours here in the Fade, and my Mistress would have us above all follow Her own missives. Among them is _orei orest_, “let shadows be shadows”, and of course, be curious.

Very well.

“We will not kill Flycatcher unless he attacks us,” I say. “Otherwise, yes, we must have this tome and so we will aid you.”

He agrees, and the tension that evidently I was causing leaves the room.

Morato turns conversational: he asks us questions about the surface, the Age of Worms and the undead it seems to be producing. Jodan and … Treig respond. Yes, I will remember his name now. Anyway, the ghoul reassures us that the hunger most undead carry around does not burden him.

We show him the portal back up, invisible to any who don’t know exactly where to look. At the top, he offers magick to float around. Everyone accepts but me. I prefer to use – what did Rey say in trying to get a smile out of me? – _Obi Express._

At the top, before we enter Flycatcher’s chamber, Jodan and Treig create a fake tome for the exchange. The deception cannot be helped: we must retain the real tome for the time being, and we cannot explain this to the spider-being. After some planning, it is decided that Treig will make the trade. Jodan will be out of range, Morato out of the scene entirely, Rey with Treig, and me creeping in carefully to monitor and react to whatever happens next.

Treig takes my Twilight, a stone onto which I have placed the light of _quenae sehan_, light of Her full face. This will be important in a moment.

“You have returned!” we hear the voice of Flycatcher when we enter his hall again.

“Yes, we have the satchel,” returns Treig.

“Excellent! There is a niche in the wall.”

“No deal. No exchange until we have confirmation that Egan is unharmed.”

Eager appears, wrapped in something black. He is bound, only his eyes are visible.

“That could be anyone. Release him first.”

The coil of darkness releases.

“’Oo is that?” Eager points at Treig. “And where’s that spider thing? I’m loathe ta tangle wit’ it again.”

“We are here, and you are safe for now,” says Rey, calming him. He looks at me and I nod my confirmation.

“I formally deliver this to you, Egan,” says Treig passing him a small parcel. “My task is complete.” Still floating, he takes the satchel with the false tome in it over to a door to the south, one we have not been through. Beyond is a small room with Vati runes, small statues and a niche with a little altar. Treig tosses the bag into the niche.

“As I suspected,” Flycatcher says almost immediately, “You do not return to me the tome!”

I suppose we will need to do this the hard way.

I open my mouth to speak – I would like to talk this out – but Treig flicks his cigar at where he thinks Flycatcher is. This elicits a curse from the invisible creature. Rey floats over and manages to stab the invisible creature outright, revealing it.

A drider. Half Drow, half spider. I had heard of such things – we all of us of the Mirror had, of course – but only a handful had ever seen one.

What a twisted mess. Would I do this to myself in utter obeisance to my own Mistress of Shadows, if demanded? Then again, what is a body but a tool? We are all soil, in the end. This, our druids impress on us daily.

And yet, look at it: black and twisted, a mashup of two utterly unlike creatures. And too many legs!

And yet, and yet, is that not how I thought of Obi, merely a monster?

The shadowy webs writhe and wave around us, and then I feel one become a part of this world. They are also crawling up Eager. With a word, I summon a flash of Her purifying light. The tendrils fall to ash, the webs that were still shadows simply cease to be.

We fight Flycatcher. Treig is all over the creature: he seems bound up with it somehow. It tries to fade out over and over again but the stone imbued with the light of Her full face seems to be preventing this. Blinded from another small explosion from Treig, and deafened as well, he should have been an easy mark but I could not raise Angivre’s _arquae_. My intuition all along was not to kill Flycatcher, and My Mistress appears to agree.

It retreats into the altar room, all advantage lost, Treig attached to it stabbing with multiple adept dagger strikes and grapples. Before I could summon the wits to stop the melee, he and Rey have killed it. Truly I do not know what I would have said to it had we not slain it, but I feel something would have come to me. It always has.

Eager waxes chatty to Rey after the creature dissolves into darkness upon its death. We release Moreto who leaves us, heading for Greyhawk. They will be one another’s problem now.

“So what is your interest in Egan?” Rey asks Jodan, all protective of the magician.

“Kyuss, the worms, the undead. He,” pointing to Eager, “is the wizard I have been led to from wizard before and the wizard before that. He is the last one in the chain who might have information. Additionally, his dealings with the Asmodi – the nature of the pact, what he gave up, what he learned – are also valuable in my quest.”

“Which is?” I ask.

“Ah. Yes,” the human replies. “A long time ago, my wife-to-be died from the green worms. At the peak of my madness as I watched this play out in front of me, I was offered a choice – keep living and be cured, or join her in death. I chose to live. Beyond simply wanting to be alive, I had responsibilities. But I would come to know that this choice led to suffering something worse than worms. I am cursed instead, and by the Lord of Hell himself.”

“How long have you been in this state?”

“Centuries.”

“What drives you to continue? Or are you unable to die now?”

“Oh, this physical form could be destroyed, of that I have ample proof assembled through the countless years. But I would remain in torment. So I intend to slay my tormentor with the Rod of Seven Parts, the very weapon I need, with which I can destroy Asmodeus and lift a scourge from this world.”

That prompts quite an exchange about power and vengeance and the unintended consequences of killing the Lord of Hell. I have no choice, I explain, but to stand in his way as priestess of Sehanine. A vengeful, possibly crazed man bent on killing the Emperor of the Nine Circles will only bring ruin. I believe I swayed both Rey and Treig.

“I told you all this,” Jodan continues, “because I wanted you to consider that Asmodeus is behind everything that has transpired thus far. I have the benefit of seeing the long game – I believe I am older even than you two elves, if I am not mistaken – and this is precisely the sort of misdirection and grand scheme he plays.”

Treig replies: “Maybe, but should we not fight the enemy in front of us?”

“You don’t know who I am,” replies Jodan. “… a man forced into this binding bargain but able to see the machinations of the one who did this to him.”

“Yes, but it is important to know what’s going to happen after the war has begun,” adds Treig, and I find myself nodding in agreement.

“Well then, what will we do if we find the part of the rod?”

“Give it to the arch-mage, Tenser, if he’ll have it,” says Treig.

“That would be unwise. Have you heard about the first Death Knight? No? Mm. Keep power, like the Rod, away from political figures. They cannot be trusted.”

Eager, in the meantime, has opened the suitcase. There is a note inside that reads: _Take this to my mentor, Manzorian the Arch-Mage._ It goes on:

Caius is in an ancient temple in a jungle with an end of the world cult, the Ebon Triad. Did they create the worms? They may be connected to Jubilex or the Far Realm.

“If Jubilex is involved, that might bring the attention of Hell,” says Jodan, reading the note over Eager’s shoulder.

“I should very much like to go through those doors,” I say quietly to Rey in Elven, motioning with a nod the locked big door that Flycatcher had been guarding.

“Do you not think we should resolve this first?” she replies.

“I think better when I am either in meditation or in motion. Standing here under uncountable leagues of rock is making me twitchy.”

The final part of the tomb.

Our seal should protect the individual carrying it, but perhaps not the whole party. We simply do not know.

In an effort to bypass the rich-with-traps way beyond, Eager casts fly on all of us. It is marvelous. Oh my, I see why Verdre aspires to be a bird. What freedom! Can I fire from up here? What would it look like in a real place, a forest canopy spread out in front of, green pool for me to dive into and see its wonders, then swoop back up. I love it!

We descend another four hundred feet, however, into more cold, more stone. This is not what I had in mind. It leaves me shivering and I take Rey’s cool hand again.

We are in an immense chamber, the floor of which is covered with statues. Two tremendous black doors part as Treig speaks the three words of the seal. Beyond, supported by seven stone columns, is similar space. It leads to a platform in front of a second set of enormous doors. Treig once again leads us through. It is so dark here: my Mistress’ light seems a wan and pale thing like her bearer. So much weight! Here we will die, unknown and anonymous, skeletons turning to dust in the crushing black.

I must have murmured that, because Rey pulls close, grins and whispers into my ear in a cheerful voice I recognize is an imitation of my own, “No we won’t!” The sly mockery works, and as we float to a white marble sarcophagus beyond the doors, I feel the colossal mantle lighten.

Splashed across the walls here is the sequel to the story from the central wind area early on where we tangled with the air elemental blade blender and found our original pair of artifacts at the top of the column. Monsters here are trampled beneath the heels of a spirit rising out of the stone box in front of us.

“Present yourself,” says a voice. It spoke in Infernal but Treig translated. “Speak the words of Icosial and enter within. Then prove your worth.”

A ridiculously horrible, writhing fiend appears: a monster that looks like it was made of the eyes of all the other monsters in the world. Jodan names it an oculous demon. And warns we cannot fight it. It responds Treig’s request to parlay.

“What will you give up?” says the demon, motioning to the sarcophagus that contains twin swords, a ring, and a large piece of a rod.

Treig thinks. He … the human expression is … _hems and haws_. He unties a scarf and stares at it as if was soul of his daughter. This goes on for an unexpectedly long time until, with a shaking hand, he places it into the stone box. He is radiating pain. He takes the rod part out in exchange and all but tosses it at Rey, then walks away to a corner of the room and just sits down into the floor.

Jodan in the meantime examines the rod part still in Rey’s hands. He nods. “Yes, this could be it. This is it. The Rod of Seven Parts. We have a big piece here, perhaps the largest!” He looks into the box and something occurs to him. “Huh. I wonder,” he murmurs. Turning to us, he adds, “I need everyone out of this room. I want to try something. It may not work, though even attempting it could visit terrible consequences on you, or me, even on this demon here.”

Rey, Egan and Treig edge out of the room. I remain behind.

“I am warning you,” Jodan continues. “This could easily be the moment of your eternal damnation.”

“My people do not fear your master’s impotent wrath,” is my reply. Devils are bothersome but they have never caused us anything more than irritation.

He says something unkind in Abyssal, a language perfectly architected for that, kneels and then, with a stream of nasty-sounding sounds, offers the sword. I see now it is the same one in my vision: a red crack in reality. He drops it into the box.

“Is this accepted?” he asks. The demon … snorts. Just like Verdre when she is a puma and sees something that makes her laugh! Coming from this twisted Abyssal wreck.

The blade returns itself to its sheath. Jodan grunts. “I really wished that had worked.”

Meanwhile, outside the room, Treig and Rey have noticed that the artifacts in her pack – our circlet and void catcher – are glowing silver.

“Hmm. Well. I may as well get something for my…” says Treig but then he halts. “For that.” He retrieves the glowing circlet and places it on his head, takes several deep breaths, and nods.

Jodan and I rejoin them.

“Do you see what is happening here?” shouts the former now, unnecessarily, I thought. “We are pawns of destiny! We haven’t simply stumbled onto an ancient artifact of war; we have been led to it.”

“You feel my Mistress has lead me here?” I ask him.

“Fate, the stars, your goddess: this isn’t an accident. We cannot give the rod up as if we had other lives to return to. We are here to act.”

“You may be right,” I say. “But if we are _shriv i’Hanin’e_, Chosen, we must be certain of what we are doing. I for one am having trouble believing my Mistress has dropped the fate of the Fade into my hands with such different companions and divergent interests to help me. If I was meant to save the world, I am sure I would come with my own people, or I would have met companions who actually cared about any of this,” I nod to Treig; “did not serve a dragon,” Rey; “did not serve whomever would promise him his next bag of magical tricks,” Egan; “and who did not want to run off with legendary artifacts on a fool’s errand to hand them over to the Lord of Hell, which is what you will be doing if you seek to best that entity. He is not a person, Jodan: you do not kill, trap or even inconvenience that deity without divine intervention. I should think that would be obvious to you. No, we must have guidance.”

“Tenser, then,” says Treig. “The archmage who belongs to the Circle of Eight.”

“Circle of eight _humans_,” I return. “I agree they are knowledgeable, but your species is ambitious above all else: it is what drives you.”

“Perhaps, but beings of such power and wisdom will view these artifacts in a different light than we would,” Treig continues.

“I do not want to give everything we have found to a band of powerful humans who answer to no one,” I reply.

“We could give only the Rod to him,” Rey says. “And keep or hide the other pieces.”

“I think that is a good idea,” I say. Something suddenly occurs to me. I don’t know how wise it is, but the words are already out of my mouth before I could stop them. “The tome should not leave the Cairn. What if we give it to Seraph while we pursue wherever the Rod will take us?”

The circlet and black bracers of defense go to Treig. I trust the man who does not care about – or even particularly want – them. Also, he alone gave something up for us at that box in there, something that took much from him. I do not know what that scarf’s significance was, but I recognize loss when I see it.

Rey will hold the Rod part and the Talisman of the Sphere.

We stop by Seraph and tuck the tome under her. I don’t think she noticed, though she mumbled something in her sleep just as we were leaving.

When we surface, the araqu’a are suddenly very interested in Treig, enough to fetch their captain. They start squawking about him, evidently surprised about something. I wish I knew what. I think Treig also wishes he knew what. Perhaps they can sense the artifacts we now bear. Perhaps Treig is their secret king. I would be only mildly surprised because, as I have been saying for what feels like months now, it is still

the same

crazy

unending

day.

I wonder if we are trapped in it?

And I still have not had dinner.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Feb 17, 2019)

*Journal of Etona - 23*

Jodan says there is a man, someone from Treig’s past evidently, waiting for him not far from the mouth of the Cairn. We go to see him, Treig fingering a dagger and looking grim.

All I remember is an all-too-human smile of triumph and malice, for he was an illusionist who somehow got into my head as soon as we arrived, and....

... and I am my aunt, and Mistress Moon is lying on the ground like some grand cake, and kobolds are chewing on Her, how dare they?? I am Verdre as black and green puma now and attack them savagely. I revel at the blood I spill, sharp claws slashing, coiled strength in my legs to pounce, and one after another they burst into dead meat, these helpless mice, so much more satisfying than using a bow or mere trap. How sad my people are who cannot know the scent, the taste, the touch, the primal joy of ripping the life out!

I am not Verdre, I realize, though it doesn’t matter in my wild state. I am someone else. A mad relative I used to know.

I am restrained. Crazed. I roar, I bellow, it is Etona screaming tight in Rey’s grip who was not shouting “Skaen, Take her! Take her for yourself!!” at all but rather, “Etona, shh, calm down, shh,” in her normal, calm voice.

It is some time before I can stop shivering in her arms.

I have rent my armor, removed as much as a frenzied madwoman could. My fingers bled with the effort. And I am exhausted, barely aware that there was an outside force, a man who did this to me. Two men. No, just one. The other is from memory.

I fall off whatever unstable, bony thing I seem to be on. Oh, it is Eager. Rey and I are sitting on him. He is covering his head, shielding himself from ... from me.

As I rise, I finally see that she is bleeding from numerous scratches on her hands and face. I point to myself, shake my head, not me, right? But she nods ruefully.

“Oh Rey. Oh Rey, I am so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

She smooths back my hair and says, “Your tribe must be a force of nature if their littlest member – that is what you keep telling me – could do that to me. I almost couldn’t manage you at all.”

I regard myself. Bruises, nothing more. I hold her tight. “Thank you for not breaking me.”

“I don’t think I could.”

Deep breath.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Gone,” Treig answers without looking over.

“What is his name?”

“*Darius Argosson*. Yes, I understand that look in your eyes: I want to find him again as well.”

“I think,” Eager states uneasily against the silence, “I think we need to take our story and these artifacts to Magepoint.”

“The home of the Archmage Tenser?” says Jodan.

“Aye, that’s the woon.”

“He may have some insight into what to do with the Rod fragment,” adds Treig.

“I mean no offense, gentlemen,” I state, “but I am uneasy about giving an item of such power to a human.”

“I am not human,” says Treig with a smile.

That will be an interesting conversation for later.

“You have our next moves, I see. But what is the last one?” Jodan asks.

“I have the last move as well,” Treig replies.

“What is it?”

“That stays in my head.”

Intriguing. In-Treig-ing. Oh! I suddenly understand the name, I think. Not a human, he says. And also not from this world, he has intimated. Perhaps Treig is a title and not a name?
Moves. Chess moves. I try to piece together scattered Dragon Chess games I played with Shag, connect them with my vision from inside the Cairn. Nothing comes.

“So,” I continue, “we should walk into the home of one of the most powerful human mages with a part of a legendary artifact and ask him what we should do with it?” I ask. “I just want to be clear.”

“Yes,” Eager agrees with a smile as if I was finally getting the lesson he has been trying in vain to teach me. “Aye, that’s exactly what we should do!”

“You already agreed to this, Etona,” chides Treig.

“What do we know about this Tenser? Aside from having his name on a handy utility spell?” I ask.

This prompts almost an hour of Egan and Treig relating different parts of the man’s storied life. It is all entertaining but I am not convinced. However, my Mistress bids me to be the arrow that lights the way and not some general calling troops to battle. With Rey genuinely not seeming to care one way or the other, and Jodan strangely silent after his initial misgivings, I accede.

We ask Seraph’s guardians for their aid in transporting us to Mageland, or whatever it was called, in the morning. I was expecting some method of flight or at least a map. Instead we were to be teleported. It is something like using a portal but you create the portal yourself and it lasts but a moment. In explaining the process, both Treig and Jodan try to tell me that my body will pass through another plane of existence to re-emerge at Tenser’s place. It is nigh-instantaneous. And safe ... ish.

The look on Rey’s face must have matched my own, but new experiences should not be batted away lightly, and these men have lived this long, so let us try it, I say. It may be a tea of a delightful flavor.

***

It is not a tea of any flavor unless drinking tea is like blindly falling through an icy tunnel lined with icicle shards. But by the time I recover my senses enough to be alarmed, we are already there, at Tenser’s place, in a sparking golden circle that is just fading.

A permanently unsuprised gnome is watching us from a booth nearby waiting for us to put ourselves together. He wears an expression of watching two bugs crawl along a wall in opposite directions and silently betting which one would disappear from view first. Above his head is a sign, in Elven, that reads, *Thy questions received here.*

Treig steps forward and tries to inject some urgency into the gnome’s day. “It is imperative that we meet with Archmage Tenser at his earliest convenience. We have with us powerful artifacts that he will wish to inspect immediately.”

“Name,” the gnome replies.

“This is Rey,” Treig says for some reason. “The Dragonspeaker.”

It is plain the gnome has no idea who she, or indeed any of us, are. “Whom does she serve?”

“Seraph.”

“Is this a dragon?” Treig nods, a little dejected I think. Jodan looks about ready to try his hand, perhaps introducing himself, but the gnome goes on:

“Lord Tenser entertains a number of powerful guests. At the moment he is indisposed. Please make yourself at home in the All-Seeing Eye, our local inn. There you will be contacted by a woman named *Celeste*.”

“What does she look like?”

The gnome conjures an image of the woman and we are shooed out just as the circle is coming to life again, presumably bringing in another group. 

We find Celeste readily enough at the inn waiting with that other human wizard we dealt with in Greyhawk, *Elgios*. Another working for Tenser, *Cymria*, invites us to stay in the castle and await the archmage’s return. When when we demur, she offers to Rey and myself a forest growing in the courtyard. A stand of ancient redwoods: they have much to tell, if you have the time. I will meditate there.

Some hours later, we are sent word to meet Tenser at his inner sanctum. It is a large, ornate, heavily-decorated chamber that would be worth exploring for a day in its own right.

“Look at this!” Eager cries, pointing to a Dragonchess board. As he happily talks about a game he or Allustan was playing here somehow but also remotely somewhere else, I examine the board. 

It is arrayed about fifteen moves in, I think. One side is clearly winning, but I don’t have enough knowledge of the game to guess any more. Treig steps up, glances at the board and moves a piece. It seems like a good move, not one I noticed. He walks away without comment.

Tenser arrives.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” he says, “but I heard you were looking for me. What can I do for you?”

Humble words from a powerful personage: just like the Fey Court. I am on my guard listening for Court words of power inaudible to any who are not prepared. Rey and Egan are waiting for me to speak, but an archmage who might know of the Bindings renders me unwilling to step forward.

Fortunately, Treig does so instead providing a detailed report of everything he had witnessed in Greyhawk and Diamond Lake. At his story’s conclusion, Rey pulls out the Rod fragment and thunks it onto a nearby desk.

The wizard’s mouth drops open.

“Then the Age of Worms is upon us,” he whispers. “Balakard was not mad after all.”

“It is a dangerous artifact, Lord Tenser,” Treig says.

“Indeed, Treig. Do you know precisely what this is? It is the keystone piece of the Rod of Seven Parts.

All other parts of the Rod are attracted to this one. This fact alone makes it the most powerful.”

“We have brought it to you for safekeeping.”

“For the moment,” Jodan adds quietly and I nod in agreement. Tenser regards us, taking in my bow marking me a priest of Sehanine; Rey at whom he squints and then raises an eyebrow; Eager, looking at him eagerly; and finally Jodan on whom his gaze lingers thoughtfully.

He returns to Treig.

“This is not the only reason you are here, though, is it?” the wizard continues. “You are here because there are no coincidences.”

“Sir?” Treig prompts.

“Over the last few years, prophecies foretold over millennia past have come to be. Kyuss’ legacy endures.” He walks to an oval table of granite that seems to have been made useless by the presence of an obsidian lip all the way around it, two handspans high and curving in towards the center. He gestures.

A map of the world appears. It focuses on where we are now and then the scene speeds to a jungle far to the south.

“Kyuss was an inhabitant of the *Amedio Jungle*. There he built a following of worshipers who were sacrificed for his ascension to godhood. The grim edifice of his unholy transformation,” he gestures and the scene zooms in to show a temple with a large, unusual shape on its roof, “is known as the *Spire of Long Shadows*. It remains there to this day. A colleague of mine, *Balakard*, went to explore them some time ago. He returned with his research but has since gone missing since he journeyed north.”

“How does any of this help us destroy Dragotha?” Rey interjected.

“I am not entirely sure,” Tenser replied. “However, if this Dragotha is an agent of Kyuss, then answers may be there that Balakard did not uncover, being on his own and unable to field the resources a party of seasoned adventurers like you can.”

“With all due respect, Lord Tenser,” says Treig, “our group is not comprised of heroes. Some of us are very far from it. This expedition sounds extremely dangerous with a possibility of yielding very little actionable information. Every instinct I have tells me that our going there is not an intelligent decision. To be frank, I am not even sure why I am here now.”

“And yet here you are,” Tenser says with a smile, “lost and in search of something greater than yourself. You have been wandering, trying to hide from it, but there is no escaping it. You seek that prime motivator: _purpose_. It is knocking at your door right now. Will you answer? Many lives will depend on your choices.” 

Treig lights another of his peculiar cigars. “I don’t speak for everyone.” 

“No,” I say aloud but soften the word with a smile. “You do not.”

He continues. “We will have to discuss this before we can give you an answer. But I can say this: I do not work for free.”

“Well, I never said you were stupid,” Tenser replies with a grin. “What will you need?”

“Information,” I say.

“And magic,” adds Treig. “Lots of magic.”

***

One of the things we have been carrying is a transfer stone, and it is unusually powerful, says Tenser as we discuss the artifacts. All of the souls the doppleganger imprisoned there – three of them – are still inside.

One of them is Phreet.

I take the stone to a private chamber and talk to her, meditate with her, share my thoughts with her though Tenser said she would probably not be able to hear me or even understand that I was nearby. Nevertheless, I readied her as best I could for her release to wherever lost little human souls go when they lose their fragile tether to this world.

Tenser kept the stone in exchange for freeing these souls, for freeing _me’fr-laya anu_, my little sister of my heart. 

“Thank you Egan. Thank you Rey.” For they had allowed this apparently powerful and valuable stone to be traded for its contents’ freedom. I knew Rey would support this but was unsure of Egan. He was sad but had no objections.

During this, much discussion had been happening between the rest of the party and Tenser. I relied upon Rey to speak for me, though I did ask for one item.

“We will go and explore these ruins for you,” Treig is saying to Tenser once I had rejoined everyone.

“But with stipulations. I assume you want your own men with us?”

“Yes, I will send a war-forged with you.”

“A what?” Rey asks.

“It is like a golem,” Egan says, “but with intelligence.”

My own experience with a war-forged years ago left me welcoming the idea. He had been a true friend, a leader even though he wore no flesh.

“I very much want to speak to him,” I say.

***

We take full advantage of Tenser’s open vaults: the archmage seems to genuinely want us to succeed and offers much to that end.

An enchantment allows Rey’s spear to miniaturize and attach to her bracers in addition to bringing out lightning’s explosive characteristic.

Obi will be transported into a war machine. Rey and I talk about this, and she of course spends time making Obi understand, as best as either of them can, what this means to Obi.

“It is reversible?”

“Yes. We have done this many times.”

There seemed to be little objection from Obi who apparently relished the idea of an iron hide and steel claws.

Treig stocks up on radiant _grenades_, explosive potions in hard but easily-broken shells and bolts with Lesser Restoration cast into them. Of these latter, Rey and once she arrives, Verdre, both ask for in arrow form.

I would value a new pair of waterproof, sturdy boots. These turn out to be lizard skin, extendable to the thigh, very useful in swaps and jungles. Supple, and not stitched, I daresay, by manual means.

Tenser suggests potions allowing us to become Ethereal. We would walk through the place we normally teleported through? It renders us invisible and without solid form.

“We become ghosts?” I ask.

“To others here on Prime, eh, the Prime Material Plane, yes,” Tenser’s quartermaster explains.

Jodan works with one of the priests here to fashion a ring out of which his ancestors’ spirits can issue. Once perfected, they surround him as radiant guardians. As I watch a demonstration of the finished relic, several spirits float by. At least a few resemble Jodan himself.

“That is marvelous,” I say to Verdre. “His own people rising to defend him in his hour of need.”

“Yes,” she replies, “if they do not mind being pulled back from rest to this plane of pain.”

These preparations take time, an entire cycle, but thankfully the men in our party exercise patience.

Tenser finds Verdre and pulled her to me as part of the bargain! Whatever happens, my stride has lengthened with hope and confidence now. 

Before she arrived, though, I spend my _dorse’feu_ not bathed with pleasure but rather recalling the _fierc’e_ that Darius had summoned in me, the ‘burning blood’ that some among my people are awash in during _dors’e han_, the full moon. I have known it before: when I was wandering in the wilderness bereft of friend or people, I relied on it to keep me alive. A low-level but constant hum, it fuels my training regimen, pushing myself until I ache, endlessly exercising and performing katae with a weapon I have not touched in years: a heavy lump of metal to knock the wind out of any who would challenge me: a human-made mace. It is not like the one I will use again soon – soon now! – but this clumsy one’s added weight and crude design builds my strength.

My companions, even Rey, are taken aback by the ferocity they meet in sparring with me during the days around the full moon. I annoy and amuse Treig in equal measure and almost rouse the Hell within Jodan. I do unleash the dragon within Rey. This latter I will describe because it fills me with regret. We were running and engaging and retreating one evening, Her full face overhead. At one point I was able to hide from Rey and, when she took an incautious turn, I slammed into her from concealment knocking her flat on her stomach. She roared up and saw I was already a score of steps away, silvered-eyed – not myself at all, for I do not remember any of this – and I was drawing Angivre! 

So she, having also left part of herself behind, struck back.

She leaped from sitting prone all the way to where I was crouching, a blue dragon in flight, and blasted me off of my feet when she landed. I heard familiar laughter among thunder, shock of lightning, and the slash of her spear across my stomach ... all in a single instant before I blacked out. 

When I regained consciousness, only a moment later thank the Goddess, I was myself again, and so was Rey. She was beside herself with worry, but when she saw I was all right upon awakening she witched to anger. Explaining and soothing and more explaining about my past and my role in the tribe would not let fade the terrible light in her eyes ... at first. But gradually I brought her friendship back to me.

To this very moment I do not know which upset her more: my silver eyes or her own fury. She said that on drawing Angivre, the Silver had never shone quite like that before, and there had been a terrible shriek of ice cracking as I pulled back. But it had only barely registered in her own ferocious rage.

My Lady engineered this. She wanted to push Rey to her limits to reveal her true power to herself, I hope. I hope that is what this was. So yes, Rey’s fear and anger are well justified: she saw betrayal in me for a moment, or a goddess. Could she view me the same after either?

Later, as she was going to bed, I sat down and gazed at her.

“What?” she demanded.

“I would not have fired.” It is the one thing I hadn’t been able to say before, but I was sure of it now.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes. I do.”

After a few minutes, she said, “All right. I am going to sleep now.”

“I will watch over you.”

“That’s ... not necessary, Etona.”

I just looked back at her, obviously unsettling her, but I was resolute and stayed there most of the night though I took my leave before she awoke the next morning. I believe her human half was, what is that human term, like disturbed but has other little meanings? Oh yes. I believe I creeped her out. 

I see I have not yet written why I was training with mace and clumsy human chain mail. In a turn of events I could never ever dreamed of, mine were coming back to me!

When I was Her priest, before I disgraced myself, I wore Her armor, wielded Her weapon of war and channeled Her very spirit through me. I am not what I once was, but I am crawling back, and this _dorse’feu_ urged me to remember, makes my muscles remember to be Her silver warrior again one day.

I have Tenser to thank. He has emerged generous where our offer to retain and study the Rod are concerned. His couriers and magicks have allowed me to speak to my father directly, and this alone is worth my allegiance. It is difficult to be away from him for so long. Through him I was able to ask for the reforging of my armor and mace using the materials I sent from Greyhawk. Tamyl, our leader, agreed and directed all I needed to me before we left for ... wherever it is we are going. She, too, had shared the vision Verdre had. Our people have, after these four years I have been away, once again begun to battle the worms. They are only a few days from the Mirror. She reports that the Bright continues to be poisoned as well. She hopes I will help to end all this.

And, as we said our goodbyes: “_Myaeree’Emersanine_, _Etona Aerq’e windyu_.”

Welcome home, Etona Silver-Eyes. In one phrase she acknowledged that I was once again part of our tribe and once more our priestess and speaker for Sehanine.

“Thank you, Tamyl.” It was all I could do to prevent my voice from breaking.

***

After examining the images of the jungle and its mysterious temple, we turned to talk about its inhabitants.

Surrounding the structure is a wall built long ago by a group called the Wardens of the First Watch. Its purpose was to seal in Kyuss and whatever happened to him. This was so long ago that even Tenser does not know very much about them, though the name rings a bell for me. It will come in a vision, I hope, because it is a far-off, very vague feeling.

Something has made its way out of the seal, and whatever it is brings the Age of Worms and its infections to the world.

Around the outside of the wall are tribes of yuan-ti and trolls, neither of whom would be helpful to us – Verdre and I were assured after much back and forth debate – in any way.

We are to be teleported again, not terribly close to the ziggarat. Apparently this is somewhat of an unknown since the temple is so heavily protected by wards that teleportation nearby is difficult. 

The structure is some forty feet tall, jutting from the rest of the flat jungle like a misshapen finger pointing accusingly at the sky. It sits, timeless, in that very wild place of no civilizations, though the area may have entrances to the Fae. If so, the Bright’s problems with corruption may be coming from that source.

It was designed to transform Kyuss into a god. Protected by spells neither allowing teleportation into it nor scrying beyond a look at its outer face, and surrounded by those evil tribes, it could hardly be more shrouded in unnatural darkness and dread.

As I look at the Spire of Long Shadows, I recall when I was but a girl. Skaen told me of his friend, Tuaru, a druid living in something called by the humans a desert. Tuaru was himself a human, dark of skin and, according to Skaen, tough as an armored boar. He told of plants there called kactuses or kactusi or something like that: thorny, thick, man-high reservoirs of water that bloomed six days per anoom, or year. He had some drawings of these everlasting plants. I remember them now. What sort of reservoir is this building? From what precious blood does it derive its immortality? 

But this malignant thing is in the world, and outside on the surface. It will find itself illuminated by My Lady’s Silver soon enough.

On the last day of the month we meet with Tenser again, ready for our journey. We are all wearing new or improved magical armor and weapons including Verdre’s new Druidscale and my reforged armor and mace. We are ready. I am ready.


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Feb 23, 2019)

*Journal of Etona 24*

Our full party departing for points unknown consists of:
Verdre and myself
Rey Dragon-Child, with “Robi”, her new Obi-in-war machine
Jodan, Burning King of the Past
Treig, our scowling schemer
Young Egan doing the bidding of his latest masters
And finally, Kaio the Monotone. I had hoped to have interesting conversations with him, but he is more golem than man, nothing like Loring at all.

We teleport to the Spire of Long Shadows landing – if that is the right word – much closer than we had expected. As Verdre and I had insisted, it was now dusk: My Mistress will need to witness these proceedings, and under the moon Verdre and I are more effective hunters. Rey and Treig also thought this was a good idea since among us only Egan cannot see in the dark, and My Mistress’s Twilight should be enough for the boy.

Tenser’s map roughly outlined four quadrants surrounding the wall and Spire within: a section filled with trolls; one with yuan-ti; another with swamp; and the fourth fairly bare. This last is where we appear under Her _t’quean_, or half-lidded eye. The treeline is gratifyingly heavy. I had already braced myself for heat and humidity again, so I was prepared for this as well.

Rey, Verdre and I scout the area and satisfy ourselves that we have not been seen nor are there eyes about attached to whispering mouths. We examine the mighty wall which seems to pulse, though I cannot decide whether this is a visual or aural effect.

There are symbols carved into it repeating all around its circumference.

“They say, _Kyuss entombed forever_,” translates Rey. “And the way it’s written,” she begins again to my slight beckoning, “makes me think it’s a chant spoken by several people, each one starting a couple words and then the next person starting before the first one’s ended. It’s these these markings here, they point to this kind of … what?”

It is a lot of words from my Rey, and I am smiling at her with happiness as she relates the details until she stops, looking a little embarrassed. But she is also smiling back, just a little.

Verdre, bless her, sees what is happening and helps. “So you are telling us,” she asks Rey, “that these scratches here are directions for how to speak these words? To say them in this manner you understand?”

Rey nods and we continue on, but for me I’ve just witnessed two bears emerging from their hibernation to a gentle sunny day, or a fresh moonlit evening. For one, the inclination to help someone not a member of the clan; for the other, pushing back against her reticence to speak. It is marvelous to watch. There is hope for them yet.

While we were about that, Treig climbed the wall and threw down a couple ropes. Presently, everyone is on top of the wall.

No protection up here, and Her Bright Profile makes fine silhouettes of us. Everyone must stay low.

A moment later there is a lurch and reality shimmers in front of us: we watch as through a lens hundreds or a thousand years ago come to life in a vision. A jade throne on a dais perches atop one of the ziggurat’s two grand staircases. Behind it are all the trappings of royalty: banners, a decorated facade, bonfires.

On that throne, his silver and black armor bearing skull and scythe imagery, is a man from the Flaan. With a plan. He serves Neral, god of death, and it shows. Around this temple a thriving city reaches far into a cleared jungle beyond the wall. It is disorienting. Thousands are knelt down facing the center, facing their evil king-priest. They are crying out in unison: “Kyuss!”

The image fades.

Alerting the others through Mirror cant, we three soft-paws scout carefully all the way around the wall, scoping both the courtyard and the jungle beyond. The wilderness is quiet, but there are two giant beetles in the interior, patrolling fairly close to the base of the Spire.

We come back to the group with a report. They are, according to Rey who had also been watching them and listening very carefully, insane or possibly under control. They are called _eviscerator_ beetles, and they are wriggling with green worms.

Verdre and I depart again so we can see the interior from different angles, Rey staying back with Robi. Our hope is to time the beetles’ movements such that all of us could, using the ruins between the temple and the wall, scurry into the pyramid without attracting their notice.

“I should like to slay those creatures,” Verdre says a little more loudly than she meant to, for the beetles turn and immediately come our way to investigate. Verdre always does what she likes and so this was maybe more calculation than accident, but these monsters she’s now summoned to us are more terrible than we realize. As they approach, they bring a strange and ghastly sound. It makes me nauseous, drops Rey, who has run over, to both knees and sent Verdre to hissing. The creatures turn tail and return to the temple in what Rey tells us is sounding the alarm.

They bring back some kind of armored, wormy death knight who emerged from the base of the building. I doubt it is coming to parlay so I send the Silver to blow off his leg. It gets back up and hops onto the undead war-beetle, but they do not seem to be fully aware of where my attacks hale from.

That is, until Egan, for some reason, summons a _resh-ke_ *storm cloud* alerting the entire jungle that we’re here! I shake my head, “Just like Melinde,” I whisper to Rey. “Are there any young humans who are quiet?”

The trio of monsters retreats behind a ruined building though one of the beetles is sticking out enough to continue filling it with Silvered moonlight.

Treig, Kaius, Rey, Jodan and Robi all descend to slowly approach the ruins. The ground, it turns out, is as full of worms slithering around through it as the creatures treading upon it. It is then that Jodan uses his new ring summoning up his ancestors to protect all of them. They manifest as a radiant whirlwind that burns the worms.

To provide me with cover, Verdre coaxes a fog bank out of the air positioning it between us and the yuan-ti somewhere out in the jungle beyond.

Eventually, Angivre’s bolts and Jodan’s deceased relatives put these creatures down. We may now pass into the Spire.

But first, another vision: a red dragon – *Dragotha*, probably – wings its way to the north with an obelisk from the top of the spire. Something strange and terrible writhes inside it. It is very likely Kyuss. He is gone, left to visit his sickness on the two worlds of the Fade and Bright, and he leaves behind a very literal death trap. There little point our continuing: our quarry has bolted.

The wind is picking up, and there is a heavy scent of moisture in the air.

“Rain in an arc, perhaps a bit sooner,” Verdre confirms.

We regroup courtesy of Jodan’s ancestors purifying the ground with their fury.

“We should investigate the interior,” says Treig.

“Definitely,” agrees Verdre.

“Why?” I say at the same time. “What is to be gained opening this box of ancient corruption?”

“I am here to slay undead, cousin,” says Verdre to me in Elven. She only calls me 'cousin' when she has made up her mind and it isn’t in my favor. “This is why I am along.”

“I thought it was to protect me.”

“Yes, but since you have returned to me, my Etona, I have watched you. You do not need to be under my wing. You have the _fierc’e_.”

“I still think this is a foolish venture into pain. We do not disturb a bee hive: this is a hornet’s nest, and there will be no honey for us inside.”

No one will listen to me, not even Rey – though she is sympathetic – so we go inside through the west doors.

A mural of a handsome but cruel man, armored, adorns the antechamber. He leads a swelled army forth to battle somewhere. Humans: they do seem to love death in all its myriad forms, ever seeking fresh ones out. Beyond, stone doors would normally seal the inner temple from us but these are open. And why not? Who in their right mind would venture here?

They lead to a huge chamber the width of the main bulk of the pyramid. Pillars everywhere. There are similar stone doors in each of the cardinal compass directions.

In the center….

Oh, the center!

To the eyes, a wide, black-ringed hole. To the nose: the source of the pestilent stench blasting us since we arrived, perhaps every foul odor throughout my entire life. Truly horrible. And something broke through from that realm. It’s probably around here somewhere.

Verdre _mhaek’roor_, skin-walks, some call it shape-shifts, though neither is quite right. It is a Druid word, not Elven, and it means she has just asked for, gave thanks to, and borrowed snake’s form to scout the room.

There are two sets of stairs. The southern ones lead down where the foul odor emanates. Northern stairs lead up to roof.

On the other side of the northern doorway, she will tell us she faintly hears some sort of chanting but she cannot make out the words.

Verdre straightens suddenly like a hare hearing the snuffle of a wolf. She returns snake’s form in favor of her own and strides to us. Where the rest of us see alarm, I see anger. She is standing inches from Egan now, hand clutching her scimitar in its back sheathe, her yellow slitted eyes staring into his. She has not quite returned all of snake.

“Do not … do that … again.”

_Oooh, I forgot to tell him_, I think when I realize what he did – the voice in the head. _That was a mistake_.

Egan’s fractional, speechless nod makes it so. I thank the Goddess this was not Skaen or Zrien or Tesseeki or, well, probably two thirds of my tribe. Verdre is one of the restrained ones. It is why she, too, is one our ambassadors to the other races.

That settled, for all time, Treig, Rey and Verdre return to the north door and listen. Verdre would tell me later that the words were a repeating chant, a plea to some sort of evil god. Treig cracked the door open carefully. He would report back that each of the four walls inside seemed to be glass. Worms writhe behind each one. Old, broken torture equipment is scattered about, room smells like old blood and rust. The being there has pale green skin and armor. They do not disturb him, but Treig left some of the radiant potions (the _grenaedez_ I think; sounds Dwarven) on our side of the door for the being to trip over and break.

He briefly investigates the stairs going down but the entire level below is a sea of writhing worms, a pit of corruption so vast as to have tides. This sounds to me like the work of a god. What will it take to purify it?

The southern door is trapped with a kind of sleep chemical. We pass by this. Finally, the eastern door is the other way into the temple.

“Can we leave now?” I ask.

“Yes,” says Rey, and the others generally agree. We have seen enough.

We all go to the roof, and Rey and I continue climbing until we are atop the Spire. There we are granted another vision: Culuth Mar, this city, at its height. Thousands of citizens gather. They look triumphant. That is, until a ashen wave like the stroke of a scythe sweeps from the arms of the Spire. It flows through them and rips their souls out. I can see it happen: a faint impression of each shrieking and distorted trying to hold on to the body. The very air is a boiling soup, green bubbles forming and bursting slowly, heavily, sickeningly. A single man watches, pleased, but this turns to surprise and then dismay as an obelisk at the top of the Spire – spinning the entire time – floats down to him and swallows him. His stupid expression says it all: in a burst of selfishness he has slain his own people – unforgivable enough – but worse, betrayed them all for a mere lie.

A rumbling in the ground from the west part of the courtyard seemingly banishes the vision. And what we were waiting for comes, the worm of worms, a monster like none we have seen so far. It explodes out of the ground.

“Egan,” Treig orders, “You and Kaius and Robi fly to safety over that wall there, back to where we landed. The rest of you, Ethereal potions. Meet at where we started, where they are flying to.”

He did not need to tell us twice: all of us, even Verdre who was dubious about the liquid, drink it down. Jodan tarries a little: he had a thoughtful look on his face when we faded.

The world is colorless now, or the colors are like gray but so much more if I concentrate. It is fascinating. We speak to other merely by thinking, but it is not intrusive like Egan’s mind-whisper. The world we left is still all around us but as a sketch from one of Verdre’s paper books. I can see all of us clearly enough though Egan and the two constructs are like drawings. And Jordan, still Jordan is there. He has stayed behind. I peer at his outline.

Oh, Goddess! He is staying to fight!

“We should not leave him,” says Verdre. But she transparently wants to fight – already fingering Glitter – and obviously dislikes being in this plane. She is using words calculated to affect me.

“Verdre, he is making his own choice,” I reply. Something does occur to me, though. “Treig, he definitely has an Ethereal potion with him, right? And he knows this?”

He nods to both.

It is a count of at least ten now and Jodan is still alive somehow. His armor seems impervious to the blows and teeth of the worm-of-worms. He is fighting this evil thing alone while I flee. Is this truly his choice? Or is Hell compelling him? I do not like mysteries of this sort. If it is Hell calling, then I must give him a chance to refuse, if it is within my power, and that will not be possible if he is in that thing’s belly.

I move back to the base of the cactus sculpture. Verdre’s eyes are on me. She smiles: alone among the others she sees what I am going to do and begins positioning herself to drop onto the horror’s back.

Jodan is using those Infernal chains to swing around the worm. He is surprisingly agile in all that armor.

Mistress! He has mistimed! In one gulp, the worm has swallowed him whole!

I see him in the thing’s throat. I can…yes, I can. I know what to do.

I drop back to our Material plane and call Her Rays of the Moon, focusing, focusing, into a tight beam, and I slice open a long, narrow tear. Jodan spills out, a drenched mess, slime hissing on his burning armor. Verdre drops to us then and lands on top of the worm, quickly calling her Spider Climb, Glitter in her hands.

She and I and Jodan finish killing it, the Hell-knight and his dead relatives having already done tremendous damage while I was dithering. In truth, it was Jodan and his very extended family who dispatched it.

There is no time to consider the consequences of our actions: a pair of worm-infested snake-beings – I would be told later they are called _naaga_ – slither out of the hole in the courtyard the worm erupted from and begin ascending the pyramid. They are hate-filled, fanged, humanoid heads on serpent bodies, simply appalling. At the same time, a six-armed thing appears at the top of the cactus, hissing. This pestilent place is sending its entire hideous cast onto stage.

A voice, all sharp angles and hate, is in my head. It is the six-armed thing. I swivel and draw back the Silver, trying to get a bead on it from my position. It unleashes a swarm of spells from all those arms, and I feel my mace grow heavy and armor visibly lose its shine, though _Angivre_ is unaffected, of course: she was not made by mortal hand. Jodan seems to be similarly fumbling with his gear as well, and Verdre sidesteps a black bolt aimed at her head.

Three spells at once, and it is summoning more! We must down this thing immediately.

And we do.

Well, no we don't. Rey pops out of Ethereal to plunge her spear through the thing’s throat, killing it instantly. The _naaga_ stop and stand immobile: their will must have been bound to the six-armed figure, now a gurgling casualty of Rey’s perfect strike.

Verdre takes the opportunity to set her Moonbeam on the _naaga_, lighting them up for Egan who has been silently flying back over to us. The snake-things each get off a single lightning bolt but aim them, alas for their aspirations of being worthwhile to their side, at Jodan’s shield and Rey, two targets immune to it. With Her purifying light beating them down, Angivre’s Silver kills one and Egan’s bolts finish the other.

There is yet another foe on the field, however: Rey and Jodan find themselves in the midst of a fireball blossoming from nowhere. It only singes them: Jodan probably cannot be killed by flame and Rey managed to roll out of the blast. And now, finally, Treig pops in from Ethereal and flicks a cigar at a slight imperfection in the air. It is another undead wizard.

Since she appeared back in our Material plane, Rey has been verbally harrying Jodan with a torrent of angry words about not following plans and endangering everyone and what was he going to do after the worm was dead and what was he thinking putting Etona in such peril and so forth – nothing we aren’t all thinking, though I smile at her specifically calling out my name – when she strides to the new interloper, drives her spear through its throat, too, felling it again in a single blow, and marches back to Jodan, all without interrupting her tirade.

He looks at me, a bit wide-eyed.

“Hell hath no fury,” I say.

“You didn’t need to come back,” he replies.

“You have spent too much time among devils, Jodan. You have forgotten loyalty,” I snap back, “We are all bound together now. You are one of us. Remember this the next time you decide to throw your life away.”

Our conversation has given two more heavily-armored worm knights time to slowly approach the stairs. One of them calls forth a purplish black necrotic ball that envelopes Ray and Treig.

“Rey!” I call out but she waves me away. She may well be unstoppable now that she has been revealed to be Dragon Child. I hope I never anger her again.

I will admit that Jodan is unpredictable: he now steps forth and commands one of them to attack the other. I feel my mouth fall open, because that is exactly what it does. We join it in killing its opponent. Now we have use of a worm knight, apparently for the entire day.

With no way to return to the Ethereal plane, we will have to simply walk back to our starting position. I assume we will leave – shall we call it ‘Winston’? – behind to molder at its temple, unless we can talk to it?

That might be interesting.


----------



## SolidSnake_01 (Apr 22, 2019)

*Gray Fox Journal: The Messenger*

_For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.
For want of a horse, the knight was lost.
For want of a knight, the battle was lost.
For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
_
This proverb always was amusing to me, until today.

Kuluth-Mar’s sentinels were formidable, but ultimately dispatched by our group’s preparation. We moved through the complex systematically, discovering the lost remnants of an ancient cult dedicated to Kyuss’ godly ambitions. The magical field that kept the corruption within the temple contained also seemed to alter time. We continued to perceive visions of an age long past, where Kyuss had sacrificed his people to gain immortality. Thankfully whatever ritual he had performed also trapped his essence in an obsidian monolith. He would have remained in this place for all time had a red dragon not stolen it. That must have been Dragotha, the wyrm Rey was after.

Underneath the ziggurat, there was a lake of writing green worms. It must have been the source of this world’s infestation, if not a gateway to another realm of horrors. None of us were interested in exploring much more of the temple, except for Jordan. This place had triggered something darker than usual within him. He was obsessed with “cleansing it.” As if he could. It is no wonder devils fund such easy purchase in the souls of men. Our arrogance is limitless.

We were having a spirited debate on the roof of the complex, when we heard a rumble shake the earth. That was more than enough for me to initiate our exit strategy.

“Drink your potions. We are leaving,” I commanded.

I watched as everyone quaffed their magical draughts and disappeared into the Ethereal plane. Egan weaved his newfound powers on Obi, levitating the mechanical beast across the wall with Kio. We had drilled this plan many times and had all agreed to rendezvous back at the extraction site. At least that is what I thought. Jordan didn’t drink his potion. He was just standing there as a giant translucent worm burst through the ground, screaming at it in defiance.

“What is he doing,” Etona asked.

“He intends to engage it alone,” Verdre answered.

Both elves didn’t wait long to phase back into the Prime Material plane. Though Jordan was holding his own and using his divine powers to burn the creature with his radiant powers, he was losing ground. I could see where this was going and so could they. Rey looked at me with alarm as she watched Egan fly back into the fray to assist as well.

“We have to help them,” she shouted.

_Don’t do it. You can’t save him. Remember._

“Wait Rey. Wait for our moment,” I responded. 

As I suspected, once the giant worm was defeated more of its allies joined the fray. Two of these adversaries were formidable magic-wielders. One was a six-armed lich who was disabling all of our enchantments simultaneously from his perch on the tower and another was an invisible invoker who was hurling balls of flame from the sky. I indicated that Rey go after the lich, while I tried to triangulate the invisible wizard’s position. Rey nodded and phase back from the Ethereal plane adjacent to her target. Her magical spear tore through its magical defenses, driving the blade into its dumbfounded face. Lightning arced through the metal, causing its body to seize violently before falling to the ground. Its body made a sickening sound as it hit the stone. 

In the meantime, I had located the sorcerer’s location and was moving towards him when I noticed Rey had floated down from the tower to admonish Jordan about this behavior. I was just beginning to phase back to the Material plane when a fireball exploded around the pair. That was my moment. I sent a golden cigar hurtling towards the invisible invoker and watched it explode in a shower of golden flecks. The humanoid was well outlined for Rey now. She looked over at her aggressor and took a running start before hurling her spear. It crackled as it flew through the air, impaling the creature and sending him falling to the ground below.

_I am glad she is on our side._

With our enemies defeated, the arguments continued. We were all upset with Jordan’s reckless behavior; Rey most of all. While I agreed with her, I would have prefered to have the disagreement as far away from this place as possible. Though she was right. Jordan knew that his actions would provoke us into coming to his aid, despite his insistence of wanting us to leave. I wonder if he will ever discover for himself that he used his own friends to achieve a short-sighted plan for revenge. Interesting rationalization from a man who has been constantly asking us if we were “a team.” His devilish tormentors had done their work on him. He doesn’t know who he is or what he stands for anymore. Maybe Asmodeus had won after all.

I didn’t think that things could get any stranger. That’s when a giant mechanized chicken stepped over the wall. Inside were two women: Baba Yaga, the infamous witch, and Natasha, Jordan’s betrothed. How this could be was beyond my comprehension. Jordan was equally overwhelmed by the sight of Natasha and the two of them had a long, private conversation. Etona was fascinated by Baba Yaga. None of us were surprised by this. I waited patiently for the group to decide that it was best to return to Tenser’s fortress. Jordan decided that he wanted to stay and purify the temple. No one stopped him; we were all too tired.

I was doing my best to herd the group over the wall when Fate threw further complications in my plans. A dozen shimmering portals appeared along the top of the wall in a perfect semi-circle. Another opened at the base, near Jordan. From within emerged the form of Darius, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Leaving so soon, Fox? But I have a gift for you!”

His maniacal laughter triggered something within me that stripped my mind of rational thoughts. I was intent on jumping down from the wall and ending his life when I saw twelve of my old companions fall from the portals along the wall onto the corrupted earth below. They were all bound and gagged, wholly unprepared for the horrors that awaited them below.

_Not again!_

I acted without thought, leaping from the safety of the wall and speeding towards their helpless forms. Those that were conscious, I freed from their bondage and those that were not, I lifted up from the earth and rested them against the wall. It stood to reason that the magic that kept the corruption within this place might also repel the worms from anyone contacting the barrier. It was a race against time to get to my men before the worms crawled into their flesh and turned them into mindless servants of Kyuss. So focused I was on my task, that I did not even realize that my companions had begun to engage Darius. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jordan flailing against an impenetrable barrier surrounding Mindbender. Egan was equally helpless in his magical assault, as the barrier seemed to protect him from both physical and magical attacks. That wasn’t the worst part. Darius was beginning to crack the wall. Whatever magic that had been cast so long ago was screaming out in terror. Begging us to all to stop him before he succeeded in his task. It was futile. Verdre summoned her Moonbeam, but its power harmlessly splashed around the field that Darius had erected. Etona was in deep concentration, Angivre in her hands. I could see was locked in a magical struggle with Darius, but I knew that his will was stronger. Someone had to get to him and disrupt his enchantments or many people were going to die.

_Where is Rey?_

The Dragonspeaker appeared beside Darius wreathed in lightning, electricity lanced through the man as if he was in the midst of a thunderstorm. He didn’t even have time to cry out before she drove her spear into his abdomen and twisted violently. I could tell he was hurt. I’d seen that look before.

He must have momentarily lost his concentration, because Verdre’s beam of light crashed down atop of him, bubbling his skin with the power of Sehanine.

“Magical barrier disabled. Begin countermeasures,” Kio intoned.

The mechanical man extended his hand and motioned to his eyes. Rey closed hers just in time to avoid a burst of white light exploding within the wall of force. Darius screamed out in agony before summoning a silver blade from his palm.

“I know you are in here Rey,” he said sadistically as he slashed outward. The blade cut through her armor like a hot knife through butter. Rey dropped to one knee.

Jordan saw what I saw and began desperately hurling his spiked chains against the magical wall of force. Nothing, save for magic, could get through. We would have to watch as Darius killed our friend and would be unable to do anything.

_She didn’t sign up for this. It’s not her fault. Do something old man!_

“Dane,” I said as I passed him a dagger. “Free and extract the other men from the complex. Leave no one behind.”

“Yes sir. What are you going to do,” he asked.

“I’m going to give you a distraction.”

I was running. Faster than I thought possible. Obstacles melted away before me as I trained my eye on Darius. I could see the shimmering barrier and so I touched my bandana and thought of Jade.

_If you are out there Boss, I need your help. I can’t do this without you._

I struck the wall of force with my outstretched hand but I did not stop, merely slowed down. I pressed onward, forcing myself through and found myself on the other side amidst Rey.

“Fox is that you,” Darius asked mockingly.

“It’s over,” I said as I beckoned Rey towards me.

He sneered. “I suppose you are right. Until next time old friend.”

Reaching for his necklace, Darius touched one of his many talismans. A portal appeared at his feet and he vanished. And like that, he was gone once again. 

I knew that Rey was in critical condition from how she leaned on me for support. Jordan rushed to her aid and exhausted his own strength healing her with the remainder of his power. I gathered the rest of my men and moved everyone outside the walls as efficiently as I could. Kio and Egan worked together to summon a teleportation circle. I made sure that everyone was through before I entered. Jordan waited until we were alone to address me.

“What now Treig?”

“We get some rest Jordan,” I responded.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“It’s been a long day. Why don’t we talk about it after we have had some sleep,” I said.

“After you Treig,” he motioned with his hand.

I smiled. “No Jordan, this time I insist.”
________________________________

The sickening sensation of falling was shorter lived this time and we found ourselves outside Magepoint again, near our familiar gnomish escort. For the first time he seemed startled and even flustered.

“I-I-I will alert Lord Tenser right away!”

_Now he recognizes us._

We were led back to the fortress unmolested. I was informed, en route, that my inquiry to Greyhawk had been received and that they wished me to formally apply for the position of Master of Games. In addition, an opening on the City Council had recently become available and some of the council members believed that I might be able to fill that station. Both opportunities were intriguing to me, but my plans would have to wait until after I had formally debriefed with Tenser and got some rest. 

At the drawbridge we were intercepted by a blind white draconian named Seeli. She insisted on speaking to Rey, having been sent by Tiamat. Rey was entirely too tired to spend any time with this stranger and so she set up a future date to meet by the docks. I thought that was the end of it but as Jordan passed the priestess, she spoke to him in Infernal.

“The dragon will lead you to the heart of your enemy. Follow the Dragon.”


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (May 12, 2019)

*Journal of Etona 25*

It was decidedly not interesting talking to ‘Winston’. ‘He’ has very much become an ‘it’, with little left of what was a person. We will end its torment and destroy the husk that ties that little bit of spirit left to it before we leave.

“We should leave,” says Rey.

“Do we now possess enough information for Tenser to return to him?” I ask.

“Yes,” say Rey and Treig simultaneously.

“But we can do more,” says Jodan.

To wide-eyed astonishment, Jodan describes a plan, laden with unlikely assumptions, that involves strolling into a sea of worms that formed the foundation of this temple. True, we have an undead servant under our control who could pose as our porter and guide, but other details – what is still here waiting for us? what is the wisdom of staking our lives to a recently-acquired ring whose boundaries are unknown and that works when Jodan is conscious and also wishing it? why not return later with ten times the force including sun priests to blast this place? – seem reckless.

So we are leaving. But Jodan is staying. His stubbornness is impressive. Perhaps Hell will not allow him to die. Perhaps we should kill him now to save him from fighting us later as a worm-infested version of himself, or perhaps he will succeed and redeem himself. Humans. They are always in such a hurry! It would be a trivial matter to return here, later, with exactly the group that is called for. But Jodan must do this now.

I wish him well.

As we turn to depart there is movement atop a section of the wall. Something large has hopped over it and landed in the courtyard.

It is a chicken.

“Verdre–.”

“I see it, too, Etona.”

“Thank the Goddess. But do they usually–?”

“No.”

“And the bits–?”

“No.”

I had noticed these small domesticated raptors on human farms. They resemble birds but are grown for consumption and cannot fly, laying edible eggs and are delicious themselves as well. It is hard to say what it tastes like. Chicken, I suppose. But I do not remember any of this size nor wearing what seem to be pieces of houses and spouting black smoke from a stovepipe atop the head.

It trots over to us and opens a wing…door. Out comes a pretty, apparently unarmed, human woman wearing lovely and thoroughly impractical clothes battling malice in the jungle.

Her effect on Jodan is immediate.

“Natasha!”

He pulls off his helm, banishes his armor, but that is only the beginning. His true transformation is deeper inside: the tension that seems to make up his support beams melts away, and his very skin seems to soften.

She, too, seems affected by seeing him. Joyful for an instant, saddened a moment more as she gazes on what he has become, but then rallying with happiness and affection.

“Jodan, who is this woman?” Rey asks.

“She, Natasha, is my betrothed.”

“The one from centuries ago?”

But he doesn’t answer. He is focused only on her, talking to her in an old Common tongue I do not understand very well.

“Isn’t she dead?” Rey asks Treig.

“Yup. She died from something a little like our worm friends here, I think.”

Elsewhere, I can hear Egan say to someone else, excitedly: “And it is the finest mobile chicken habitation I ever did see, m’lady. May I know yer name?”

“Why, Baba Yaga, m’dear. Who else?” comes the reply.

Eager is looking up at the little fold-out porch under the wing at a dark-skinned woman who looked like a Rehnee matriarch.

All humans know of Baba Yaga as have most elves, maybe even dwarves and gnomes, perhaps the Drow themselves: her name is legend. Was this being really she?

I needed to talk to Jodan the Infernal, the Devil’s Rook, and not Jodan the lovesick cub. I motion him to follow me. He is reluctant but I insist.

“Jodan, this is not Baba Yaga bringing your lost love. This is the ruse of the grisly lake below us sending horror after horror.” I do not have his undivided attention, but I press on. “Do you remember? You were trying to convince us to finish off this temple somehow when lo and behold she is delivered, brought by perhaps the only person who could accomplish this and who might bother: a powerful storybook character from hundreds of years ago.”

“It is amazing and wondrous, is it not?” His smile is drenched in happiness. He leaves me to return to the facsimile of his old love.

My Mistress has a reputation for tricks of this sort. But she allows us, her children, to see through illusion and live in the world as it is. I thus send Her arrow of revealing light to Baba Yaga. It splashes around her to her distracted amusement. Verdre is of my same mind. She sheathes Glitter, begins a quiet chant while wrapping her arms around her head, turning in on herself, bending over and then blossoming up and outward, eyes fixed on Our Mistress, half moon pendent raised aloft.

“Your Unerring Light, Mistress,” she calls, and he voice echoes off stairs and building, off the tower, off the black walls.

Over the course of a moment, Her face brightens. As the divination passes over us, it shifts each person into light and then to shadow again. The witch, we plainly see, is as substantial as the rest of us as is Natasha who even glows a little more brightly as we return to darkness.

“These two,” Verdre says once she has regained her senses, “appearing in such an unlikely place at this unlikely time, are as real as we, Etona,” she says to me.

It is not enough. I do not question the revelatory powers of My Mistress, of course: but what if we are trapped in an illusion that mocks Her light? I must believe. I must know.

“Then you are my friend, lovely Natasha. May I?” She nods, her smile uncertain. So I embrace her.

She is warm to the touch, murmuring that she is happy someone has come to bring joy and light to our sullen Hell-knight. Does she smell right? Yes, enticing in fact. Her skin? Yes, the soft delicate skin of young humans, cared-for hair likewise silky. It is all expected. No worms penetrate me as I hold her.

“How did you come to be here?” I ask, pulling her back to see her face.

“I was, I remember … it was a red corilax. It infected me, and I did not survive.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Yes. Baba Yaga brought me back. I owe something to her for being here.”

I have more questions – scores, each spawning more, a growing sea of beheaded hydras – but Jodan takes her away again before I can even really get started.

I look to Verdre. “One last test.” I aim directly above me and let fly Her arrow, concentrating, concentrating, higher and higher it leaps, straight up to Her home. It eventually fades, exactly as it should, absolutely everything as expected.

“We may be trapped. Or just I – I may be trapped inside a dream or a trick or a bubble of reality, and I would never know.”

“That is always true,” says Verdre. “What of it? We live in the moment.”

“Don’t be a dream,” I say to her.

“Then don’t get lost in there,” Verdre replies, motioning to my head. “Focus, child.”

As before, we assemble to depart sans Jodan, but this time at least we are leaving him a house…chicken, its ancient witch owner, and an exact replica of his beloved. He could do worse, I suppose.

But no, this wretched place is not done with us.

When I watched the human performances in the animal circus at Greyhawk, spying on them for several days as I prepared to free its animals in my misguided notion of what was a good thing to do, I became aware of a loud and deceptive man. The ringmaster. He was outwardly friendly and self-deprecating but his eyes calculated what they saw and his smile was sarcastic.

It is the very expression of the man appearing in front of us now.

I do not see him at first: I see his portals, twelve wrinkles in the air atop the wall. As I digested this new obstacle – nothing here is ever on our side – I become aware of a maleficent, white-haired man with trimmed beard and oddly pale eyes atop black armor positively woven with buckles and belts. He is somehow in the middle of the court, right in front of us, proclaiming challenges to Treig.

Gloatius. No, that’s not right. Morious? Spurious? At any rate, bodies start falling out of the portals to accompany his sneering words. They are all bound with rope, some awake, some not, and all consigned to be consumed by worms soon if we did not aid them. A single look at Treig is enough: he knows these people, they are important to him, and he is going to do whatever to save them.

Since Jodan, Treig and Rey all darted forward to save the men, I open fire on the man. But each bolt splashes away like water off a shield. Nor can anyone get physically close: when Jodan has saved all he can, he goes for Snarlius as well but is held at bay from a wall we can only faintly see each time it is struck.

A moment later, once Verdre has secured the one bound dwarf she had bolted to, she reclimbs the wall and joins my attack, summoning and focusing Our Lady’s energy. Face taught with concentration, the beam grows ever brighter, the most intense I have ever seen. It is like a god’s finger pressing down on an unyielding egg.

But our prey is unphased and, in fact, turns his attention to the surrounding wall. From his outstretched hand shoots a ruddy, barely-visible bridge of energy that looks like a girl’s braided hair but makes the air feel heavy and constricting. I feel rather than hear a terrible crack some seconds after it is trained on the wall. My ancestors cry out!

Such confidence: not only does he appear in the middle of his enemies but he flaunts his domination by attacking this ancient relic protecting the entire world. His will is strong. But he is overconfident. He has not taken two factors into consideration: Rey, and the Goddess of the Moon, neither of whom are of a mind to let him succeed.

Rey charges Maddius on the back of Robi. She vanishes just as the metal monster version of our beloved owlbear slams into the clear shield. I saw the potion in her hand; I know just where she went. It is a matter of time now before he finds a steel-tipped lightning bolt exploring his throat. I, in the meantime, will make certain she has the time.

“Use me, Mistress, as Your conduit!” I shout and flatten my palms against the wall’s black stone surface. Her awesome power, hot and biting cold and sharp and aching and delicious and terrifying floods through me as I enter into a contest of will over survival. If I may only live, Baddius has no chance to succeed, none at all. I merely have to not wither under Her potent regard.

***

I do not know what happened after. I awoke under two faces: Verdre’s worried one and Her calm, shushing, half-face above. With a start I sit up and see that the wall is whole. I hear or perhaps merely feel the thanks of my ancient kin before I gently fall into a restorative mesmer.

When I emerge, Egan narrates events.

While I was channeling, Rey had succeeded in reappearing inside the dome that Blarious had set around himself. She became the dragon for an instant: her landing a thunderstorm, her spear lightning. She wounded him enough to lose one of the force shields, and Kaio was able to direct projectiles that flashed and blinded into the battlefield. Even blind, though, Blovious cut her deep, dropping her to her knees in a puddle of blood. But Treig moved as if a team of frenzied horses was dragging him and smashed through the other force field somehow. They together broke his concentration, and the radiant spire that Verdre had never let up on drove him to his knees.

“But he did not die! He opened a portal and dove through it and closes it again from his side. More than a man, Etona,” says Verde.

“You sound like you almost admire him.”

“I admire his will. Would that my own mind was of such steel.”

I roll my eyes at this: my aunt’s mind is as weak as Obi’s jaws.

“You, however, continue to impress,” she goes on. “I saw your concentration holding the wall together. I saw tears stream out your eyes: they were mother-of-pearl, and glowing, did you know? You were channeling Her for a moment, directing Her. He was not able to crack the wall’s protective barriers, and we force his retreat.”

“And the bound men?”

“All of them safe. Treig is with them now.”

“Can we finally leave?”

“Oh yes,” put in Treig. “Yes, we are leaving now. All of us.”

Kaio spun up the teleportation circle. In a moment we were gone. I never thought I would be more pleased to a see a human castle.

On our way in, a dragonkin named *Silli'huus* accosted Rey in the tongue of Rey’s mistress. Later, Rey told me the kin had desired an audience with her the next evening, and that we could all attend, or rather, she was not asked to come alone specifically. Silli'huus also uttered something to Jodan but in a brutal-sounding language, Infernal possibly. I did not understand that either, and he didn’t explain.

I want to talk to Jodan some more about Natasha but I am distracted, unable to concentrate. We all part ways for the evening. I return to the wooded court and climb all its trees, spend some time with Glennis, the new mace. It still feels unfamiliar in my hands, so I work with him until I manage to hurt myself enough to force me to cease. Still distracted, almost a buzzing faint and far off, and my skin is cold. Am I ill now? But no, it feels external somehow.

As I spend a moment gazing at _t’quean_, Her half-moon visage, my favorite face, I suddenly know what is causing the distraction. I bring out the moonstone and set it to orbiting. As it silently moves round and round, and I feel any trace of hunger or want dissipate, I notice a vapor trail misting off of it. Then it stops, right in front of my eyes.

Normally I have to snatch it from the air: the stone has never simply halted before. It is regarding me, a crude little face like one drawn onto a snowball. It also looks like the moon, exactly like the moon, actually. Thus it goes, back and forth, ice and moon.

It moves suddenly and I am on the ground, shivering, steam issuing from my mouth, and a ringing headache where it struck me! I am sitting on ice and there is rime everywhere. I look up and it is still up in the air, above me, hovering where it had been.

I make to stand but it strikes me again.

“Verdre?” I call, but she has discovered the Hall of Maps. There is no one here to help me. And–.

And I do not need help. I know what this is, as a dreamer in a dream knows a hawk is a hacksaw. My Mistress is teaching me, that I am in reality, that I may trust Her, that I have been given another gift – or tool or burden – a new, terrible magik.

So, shivering, I pray. The cold intensifies but it is nothing to me now: I am her vessel. If She wills my freezing into a statue and then shattering into a million shards, then I will give her one million and ten.

The spell, as I take possession of it in my mind, is lovely: a graceful rolling of the fingers, a murmur in an Elven dialect from millennia ago, and a tiny, smoking moon appears. Is it so very cold up there?

I hurl it at a particularly stout tree that looked as if it could withstand a Fifth Season, a years-long winter. Its thinnest branches freeze solid, but the after-effect, I see, is short-lived and it does not harm the larger ones.

How very useful.

***

The next day, Rey pulls me aside as we are on the way to see Lord Tenser.

“I had a dream I need to tell you about,” she says.

I motion her down to the ground and sit cross-legged in front of her. “Of course.”

“It was night. Silli’huus was watching me. She was looking straight at me as your goddess –.”

“Sehanine is goddess of the moon and the night and the elves, so she is our goddess, all of us,” I remind her.

“Yes, yes. As the goddess would peer down at you, us, whenever the moon rises. That is what this dragonkin was doing, staring down at me. She was the entirety of the dream. No other image.”

I think a moment. I am no expert on dream interpretation, though many have come to me asking my advice. Apparently priests of other gods get trained in this art? That is a thing?

One thought does occur to me, though.

“In the dream, was Silli’huus lit by the moon?”

“Yes.”

“From the front or the back?”

“Back.”

A front light is a reveal, a ‘pay attention to me’. It also means ‘free will’. A back light is shadow and concealed motives. But is also means ‘sent’.

“Do you remember your state of mind when you woke up? Were you happy? Sad? Nervous? Angry? Scared?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I will keep watch over you tomorrow night and be there when you wake the next morning, in case it happens again. Neh?”

She nods, and I spring to my feet, lending her a hand to pull her up. I hold her hand whenever I can because a squeeze or a drawing her forearm to mine or a firm clasp can in a heartbeat convey so much more than any amount of words. This time: Do not be alarmed – we will puzzle this out together.

On to our meeting with Lord Tenser.

***

Rather than narrate all of the back and forth here, allow me to simply summarize what our pooled knowledge revealed.

Each of us recounted the events at the temple. This took some time. As always, I was very interested in hearing how each perceived events. One such that I did not even know was happening was Jodan returning with a large force of beings called Avengers to utterly raze the temple: kill the worms, drain the pool which had been fed by a now-annihilated fountain. After that happened, the walls simply crumbled.

I asked: “Might purifying the place summon Dragotha or Kyuss or any being attached to it?”

“Unlikely,” Tenser returned and Treig nodded. “It is completely neutralized now, and though any connected with it will know of its destruction, they would also know that returning would be futile – there is nothing left – and potentially a trap.”

“Did you set wards?”

“We did leave a few presents behind that will eventually melt into the jungle if they are not set off.”

“Was that really Baba Yaga?” I also asked. It was generally agreed that it very likely was she, especially as she has a part of the Rod and knows, somehow, in some way involving her legend, that we also have one, the largest one, the diviner of the rest. Natasha is undoubtedly part of a coming offer.

The conversation turned to Darius, yes, that’s the right name, and Jodan, and some nonsense about how Darius might be a shard of Jodan’s personality, one representing chaos, as if you can break up a spirit into pieces. I have heard such before but always it was metaphor or coming from the mouths of children attributing their impulses to a piece of themselves they claim they cannot control. We are each of us all of our deeds and thoughts. If this is a distinctly human feature, it is one that neither Verdre nor I – nor any among my people – has ever heard of.

Anyway, Darius seems to exist to destroy the world or at least bring as much chaos to it as possible. Completely mad which may explain his tremendous confidence. He incidentally has a tattoo matching one engraved into the assassin who killed Elgios.

A discussion of Baklava was next, Tenser’s loyal scout and researcher. He journeyed next to Al-Halster to investigate something called the Ebon Triad, a cult worshiping the unlikely joining of three mad, evil gods. The prince of the city is called Zeech; his adviser and a city founder called Lashonna. She is Elven. Maybe another stop for us, but hopefully we can do better than to trail this man across the world.

If we do go we will be in disguise, for the most part, obtaining difficult-to-get, Fey-linked invitations for the prince’s celebration of his coming into the world. Rey will pose as Greyhawk’s arena champion, complete with belt. I will be Treig’s … prize? No, that isn’t right. His treat? Arm treat? Candy. Wait, I have it: I will be Treig’s arm candy, there to talk to Lashonna and find out what happened to my friend Bal-Halster. No. Balthazar.

I had better get that name right. Perhaps someone could right it down for me?

Verdre would be a snake or a cat or something appropriate to the scene. She would listen in on conversations as I pass, hear what was not meant for my ears. Jodan will be infernal bodyguard: apparently that’s a thing. Treig plays … himself?

Hopefully it will not come to this.

***

Silli’huus is next. As a representative of the Queen of Dragons, she may offer something better than an evil prince’s birthday party.

We travel to the petitioners’ tents outside the castle walls. Silli’huus' tent is no longer there so we travel on to the meeting place. She is there, just setting colored piles of sand inside an arcane circle for her ritual as we arrive. She is pleased to see Rey and unperturbed by the rest of us.

“Come! Come!” she says to Rey. “Do you want to speak to the queen?”

Rey kneels down in front of the blue sand pile. At Silli’huus' gestures and words, it forms a dragon head which begins to speak. Rey told me later what it said.

“Dragotha has betrayed us. She intimidates and enslaves my children. You have a connection with other individuals who also seek her demise. Find her power and extinguish it. You may kill her as well if you like. For this I will reward you.”

“Dragotha is unliving or I would have snuffed her out myself,” the head adds.

“Where?” says Rey.

“Dragotha is in a place called the Worm Crawl Fissure, a great rift. Seek her doom there. Reconcile the differences between you and others among your friends.”

With that, it falls back into a mound of blue sand.

***


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Jul 27, 2019)

*Journal of Etona 26*

We are returning to the wizard’s city-castle as we chat.


 “The Worm Crawl Fissure? That sounds bloody miserable,” says Egan.


 “May we take avengers and a dozen sun priests with us?” I offer. “It could be a piece of pie.”


 “Cake,” says Rey. “Piece of cake, is the expression.”


 “That’ll be some time to assemble,” says Treig. “I don’t have those resources. Probably none of you do either? Yeah. Need to take this back to Tenser, see what wants to do. In the meantime, sounds like we’re going to a spoiled prince’s fancy party.”


 The invitations to this event are magical in nature: at least part of the celebration will be held in the Fey. These scrolls aid in physically transporting us there. I will rely on Verdre – and My Mistress – to lead us through any trouble navigating through – and out of – wherever this place might be. The Fey is not tiny.


 Our new identities will be as follows:


Trieg –     Himself: The Gray Fox, leader of a crack team of mercenaries, there     to pay tribute and also offer services to the prince 
Me – Selina,     Treig’s toy-of-the-week as he is mine; also Rey’s barker; also     the one responsible for drawing out Lashonna 
Rey –     Herself: Champion of the Greyhawk Arena, Slayer of the Worm,     demigod. Her most difficult assignment will be speaking well of her     own deeds. 
Verdre: Rey’s     irascible alley cat and our primary spy 
Jodan –     Posing as Darius who, it turns out, looks just like him? I guess? I     had not noticed, though most human males look approximately alike to     me 
 

 Our mission is to find out what happened to Balacard. He came here investigating the Ebon Triad but switched the focus of that inquiry to Dragotha once he got here. I believe Treig and Jodan have their own motives as well, but I leave them to their own schemes.


 Tenser is able to not only produce the invitations but transport us, via teleportation circle, to the Al Haster, complete with a phantasmal re-creation of Rey slaying the worm in the Arena!


 Al-Halster seems a typical human town of this size: walled from the world, cleansed of natural environment so that it is all human in every direction but up, offering many of the same scenes and scents as Greyhawk. What is less typical are the winged devil guards on all the battlements. We were warned the presence from Hell was…ostentatious.


 As we march down the central avenue leading to the castle currently occupied by Prince Zeech, we notice a tall, dark, unfinished building rising from the cobblestone in the corner of the city not far from the castle. It resembles in some ways the temple we had just smashed in the jungle thousands of leagues away.


 “I am compelled to build it!” Zeech will tell Treig later on in describing his affinity for a being called Hextor.


 There are two parties, apparently. One is the celebration for the prince. The other, the one in the Fey, is a trap for the prince’s enemies. Jodan’s face and adopted mannerism – Darious’ – get us to the correct one complete with both my bow and aunt. Our entrance is announced and splashy.


 Of all the members of our troop, Zeech is impressed most by Treig and spends time talking to him. I flit about chatting with others among the dozen or so assembled here, drawing attention to myself or occasionally to a scowling Rey who seems content to mainly assume poses of might. Our ‘cat’ trails my conversations listening for gossip. We are awaiting the arrival of Lashonna who was sent to take care of the group of guests: take care to thoroughly lose them in the Fey or possibly even massacre them, it is not clear.


 Shag is here! My big orange dragon chess teacher and gentle friend from Diamond Lake’s Emporeum. He has made it out alive and is, of all places, at this event! I cannot allow him to, to, er, ‘blow my cover’, yes, so I direct many hand signals to him pleading that he not notice me. Fortunately Rey, who may be known to all, engages him, asking him to act the part along in our little play.


 The festivities begin. First, dinner. Zeech’s kitchens offer us all manner of eel, insects, and slime: dishes that would seem to be more at home in the corner of a dungeon just within reach of an ancient prisoner than gracing the table of the lord. Perhaps this is a royal custom among this tribe of humans? Lower oneself to eating barely-edible foods as a connection to the wretched? Or is it an amusing joke? I find some of it overly seasoned and other plates plain enough to warrant my adding my own spices. The slime dish is the worst and causes me to leave the table and expel it from my body. And I am not the only one. Jodan loves it, though: perhaps it is served as pudding in Gehenna.


 Games are next, contests of various sorts where Zeech attempts to beat his guests. The first is target practice with crossbows. I dislike these machines, these bastardizations of a true bow, so I demur. Treig wins handily using a technique to refill his machine that keeps his hands almost a blur of reloading bolts.


 Next is an odd game where two players – Zeech and Rey – magically take over a pair of chickens. These are let loose among a gang of cats in a pit and….  


 How did Verdre get down there?


 Goddess! They are cockatrice!


 Cockatrice are wizard-created monsters that peck their targets to stone. Given how these dinner-sized, otherwise harmless raptors view the world, they are clearly the product of a human wizard’s sense of humor. How they multiplied to be found in more than one place in the world is beyond telling.


 There are two here now. Does Verdre know? Why is she down there? Surely Rey knows that the green-tailed, largest cat is her own?


 Surely Zeech knows….


 I watch in fascinated horror as one by one the cats are turned to stone. Rey, I see, certainly sees what is happening and is trying some strategy to let Verdre know? My aunt sees it differently down there and attacks Rey’s cockatrice. Cat statue after cat statue are created until there are few left, Verdre leaping again and again at Rey – she must think it is Zeech – until finally….


 Thank the Fates.


 Afterward, with the prince sulking from his latest loss, Rey yells at “her cat”. Verdre snarls back. I interpose picking up my aunt – she tolerates this sulkily – and placing her in another corner of the room.


 I would tell Rey later: “She does not care about other cats as you do. She assumed you were the other one, picking and pecking her targets and ignoring you in order to win and end the game while she takes care of Zeech. Druids in my tribe are not soft-hearted about other animals: they are prey, and the druids are ever the hunters.”


 “I though druids were guardians of the forest.”


 “They are. We are, all of us. Elves of Emersanine honor our prey for both the chase and the meat knowing it could be us in their jaws, and rightfully so if they are able to hunt us down. It is The Way of Things. So you see why she would have thought that you were Prince Zeech’s animal.”


 She relents. She is stubborn, my Rey, but not unreasonable.


 I chat with a devil guard, complimenting her and asking her about her wardrobe: do you get undressed for bed and wear a nightie or some sort of pajama or do you sleep in leather and chains? Do you sleep? Do you wear anything underneath your armor? What do you use for the dye? It’s magical, I assume, so do each of you make your own armor? When do you learn that? If so, is every devil able to create magic armor or does it come from a few who do? Do you use money or is it from those who have to those who need? Do you have money? Are the coins hot all the time? Are you hot all the time? So are you born or created or forged from other life?


 She leaves in a huff which puzzles me: I thought I was taking an interest.


 I finally get to talk to Shag. I pull him aside, hug, and we catch up. He left Diamond Lake after he was unable to do anything about its destruction or save the life of Madame Z.


 “How did you end up here?”


 He smiles. “I am interesting to people, I guess.” I am sure the money he was able to save also helped. He wouldn’t elaborate, however, and I did not pry.


***​ Lashonna finally arrives.


 Hers is an older soul than I or Verdre: an elf of some five centuries or more. I approach her once she is done greeting all of the guests: “making the rounds” is the excellent human expression. I strike up a conversation – this is my assignment – with an air of flighty curiosity.


 “You came from an errand in the Fey, did you not?” I open with. “I had thought the party was going to be there. I was surprised when it wasn’t. I haven’t visited the Fey in some time and had hoped to return.”


 “I was on an errand for our governor, Zeech, which put me in the Fey for part of the celebration.”


 “Where are all the other guests?”


 I have to say, Lashonna is very frank.


 “Most of them escaped in an unexpected cave-in, but a couple of them were crushed by falling rock and snow. I left the scene. I believe Zeech had intended them to be devoured by angry dire apes, however that did not happen as planned due to the unstable caves that he chose to transport them to.”


 Wide-eyed, all feigned innocence, I pursue: “Were any of these people your acquaintances?”


 “No, they were political opponents of Zeech. I did not know them.”


 I look to her tone, her eyes, her body language, but there seems to be no regret there. She is cool and pleasant, even-tempered, from the southern forests. These and her slightly distracted air remind me of Tamyl, my people’s _shaev’e_, (this loosely translating to “leader” though more a first among equals, an elder, but Tamyl also leads us when we must fight as a single people). Lashonna’s discussion of the trapping of other humans is matter-of-fact, though she ends each statement with a small smile, one that doesn’t rise to her eyes.  


 I let her go a while and catch up to her again as she makes her way to the balcony. No one speaks with her long, I see.


 “What do you think of the new building the prince is having erected near here?”


 “He has grand aspirations of ascending to demigod status by pleasing Hextor with a grand temple and gaining power and influence over the bandit kings. I have no doubt that his attempt will be recognized by his faith, but likely will fall short of his aspirations.”


 I lean in conspiratorially: “What do we think of Hextor?” I ask.


 She produces a wry smile: “Like many deities, they require humans to fill their cups only to dump them out again. I have no allegiance to Hextor, nor do I support the goals of conquest or dominion that it purports. Consider me a steward to the city. If his temple threatens the livelihood of the people, then I would intervene.”


 “Champion Rey told me about her trials in a jungle somewhere where she and some other heroes fought slimy things? Of some kind? In a temple that she says looked like this new one. As I mentioned before, I would like to spend some of Treig's money and potentially acquire a site here – visit it on occasion – and do not want some evil god perched over my new land.”


 “Mm, then I would consider a different town, unless Gray Fox has financial interest in the place. Leaders here are shallow in most instances and choose faiths that serve their selfish needs. Someone has to help preserve the lifeblood of the town, and it isn’t the aristocracy.”


 “So why you, if you do not mind me asking? What is your bond with this human town?”


 “My ties are, historically, as matron. I raised this village from the swamp, and I intend to live long in its history or not, but while I am here I am a benevolent clock maker.”


 “Oh, these humans and their busy, busy plans. They carve their initials into the world and then die not even knowing whether their ideas are any good, what the ramifications are, thinking only in mere years.”


 She agrees, and I turn my questions to Balacard. She freely tells me that pages of his journal along with a map of Nyr Div are all he left behind. Definitely a sign post for us, a beckoning to keep following. These documents are carefully tucked away in her human-built home among the other manors of the Al-Halster respected. Asked if we could go to her home and retrieve these, she assented with a shrug.


 The party winds down. I leave believing I’ve made at least a couple new friends. Everyone was most guarded there, so it is difficult to say for certain. Prince Zeech struck me me not as the vain, arrogant imbecile I had assumed I would find, but more a vain, arrogant, lost little boy. He will not leave a mark so much as a small stain on the world – indeed, he is being manipulated by Hextor even now – but perhaps Lashonna can influence him after all.


 We all meet, after the festivities are over, at Lashonna’s house. She takes us right to Balacard’s map and journal and seems tolerant of my little white lie enabling me to look through her other rooms, which we do. We discover nothing of interest, though I think Jodan found an aura he didn’t like somewhere near a basement.


 The map directs us to *Tillagos* where still stands a library on an island on a lake under a tremendous ever-raging storm. It was set there by the First Watch, my same distant cousins who erected the wall around the ziggurat. It is possible the island itself, from their magiks, even moves around.


 In the library is apparently information about Dragotha’s _phylactery, _her secret-of-secrets life force kept in an unknown receptacle.


 We must thus not only outfit ourselves appropriately but also find a ship and crew willing to brave the journey. Treig attends to it. Useful, that human.


 A man named *Matthias* is owner of such a craft, called _Eye of the Storm_. He and his trio of daughters, all of them strong and friendly, do business on this huge lake – more like an inland sea but for the fresh water – and they are ready and able to take us in.


 I strike up quick friendships with each of them – *Myra*, *Cleo* and *Lachle* – though particularly with Myra, the pilot. She gives me lessons.  


 I know how to pilot a boat already thanks to my upbringing on the Mirror, but those are elven craft. This heavy human one requires different skills, though I feel like I pick them up readily enough.


***​ 
 It is a beautiful, cloudless day when we set out. I will reflect, later on, that there are so many reasons I am glad my aunt is here, but among them, certainly, is her druidcraft.


 The storm, when we come to it, is vast and impenetrable. She assesses our situation and enacts two plans, one for heading in and one for getting out again.


 For the first, she summons the largest shark I have ever seen to pull us. It simply tows the boat as I steer us across shifting currents through rocks that seem designed to rip ships, and everyone else but greening Jodan – not a lot of water in Hell, I guess – row their hearts out. In this fashion we work through the maelstrom to the island, navigating thirty-foot waves, a hungry-lookingwhirlpool and boat-chewing shoals.


 Verdre has assumed the boat would not make it all the way, either anchoring or foundering, so she meditated half a day to beseech Our Mistress of Gifts With Strings Attached for an alternate way out. An enormous silver feather floated down from the heavens to land her arms.


 “We may run on the wind itself,” is all she says, smiling. That sounds exhilarating – I almost hope we will have to use it.


***​ We pass vast numbers of shipwrecks and skeletons to get to the eye of the hurricane under which sits the island. An entire city’s ruins stretch to the horizon.


 We have neighbors sharing the shoreline with us: orcs, by the look of them, washed up on shore and wringing their clawed hands about the condition of their broken vessel. Verdre hops to her feet to remind Rey that orcish annihilation is not our mission today. Anyway, it seems clear they not interested in us and in fact might not even know we’re here.


 We leave the ship and daughters with Verdre to protect them from any incursion by the local fauna. The rest of us head inland to seek this fabled library….


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Aug 23, 2019)

*Journal of Etona 27*

Jodan looks conflicted as we all hop out of the boat. He steps out and stops, some internal struggle taking turns controlling his face. Rey takes off scouting the shoreline, so I dash after her, the two of us scramble across uncountable rocks that seem to be left over from a whole other island torn up, sharpened and cast here as weapons against visitors of any sort.

Our attention is called back: a commotion back at the boat. Jodan still isn’t moving, but heat is roiling around him making the air shimmer. The rail from boat behind him browns, its paint bubbling. His chains are _writhing_.

“What is that?” screams Cleo, one of the sisters.

Jodan is bellowing in Infernal now, I think, and, yes, there is his sword, the devil-in-steel, Beherit.

One last change in his features, his aura, his body language. The Hell Knight has wholly arrived, utterly present like I haven’t seen before. This is not Jodan: this is the devil prince, Beherit.

But the island is not having it: stone shoots out of the ground and envelopes his feet. I start running back to him.

“We can’t take him anywhere,” I call over my shoulder to Rey.

Beherit is slashing at the stone which crumbles and breaks. New stone emerges but it is too slow.

“Beherit!” says Treig, calmly. “This will not get you what you want. We will. We are doing what needs to be done, and so we cannot block your own interests here even if we wanted to. Return Jodan to us. You know this is the smart move.”

The words work a transformation and Jodan, in short order, is returned to us. It takes somewhat longer for me calm down the sisters, but Verdre will stay with them and that seems to help.

We move into the island.

***​
I lay my eyes for the first time on a creature – a whole knot of them, in fact – called a _roper_. I’ve heard stories of them, these underground menaces that contribute to making life so very difficult for Drow and dwarf. I am amazed to see several of them now, right here, live: dense, incredibly hostile foliage armed with spiked tentacles and frighteningly huge mouths. Fortunately, they are essentially immobile.

They were the first creatures we met in navigating what can only be described as an actual maze of manipulated stones that make up the region of the island we are on now. They are clustered on slabs of stalactites. On their tough hides are carved runes that I recognize. I cannot read them – they are druidic – but I know someone who can. She is just a short stroll back to the water.

Verdre is surprised to see me as I stumble out of the maze towards her. Each rock seemed to be identical to every other; it took me ages to find the ocean again. In fact, had it not been the pounding surf I was seeking I may not have found it. I have only been lost a handful of times before, and at least two of them had been magical fields designed to beguile. Here, I kept returning to the ropers from different directions, though I also crept by a nasty-looking tree that seemed to be the patriarch of all ill-tempered flora in the world.

I tell my aunt of the runes and she comes with me to take a quick peek. Together we find the grotto with the ropers readily enough.

She stares at the creatures, writing down what she sees into her Infinite Book. Eventually she has enough to translate. It is a sort of druidic treatise on nature, not words of power at all, more like, “We were here” from the First Watch. Interesting though not useful. She returns to the boat, looking thoughtfully at her surroundings. She will start a new map, I know, as soon as she has time.

The rest of us proceed to the base of a cliff a ways off. There, in front of a shallow cave is a courtyard in the maze that was probably a lovely spot once, a place for a … _pik’nik_, I think the humans call it. Now it is broken stone benches and white statuary and strewn crystals. Something recently – perhaps a couple days ago – blew them all to rubble. There is some blood, and we manage to piece together the scene: these were stone golems, and they were in a fight with at least two people, probably more. A quick scouting of the area reveals nothing nearby, but there is another party of adventurers on the island.

Blue crystals are scattered about, evidently from inside the statues. Treig scoops a few of them up and we continue into the shallow cave a couple hundred yards past.

An obsidian disk is in here. Seven eyes are carved into the stone circle, three of them are filled, and four more serve as depressions for fist-sized crystals.

…such as those we just got from the golems.
…such as those stuck to the base of the ropers.

“Return my eyes to me and I shall gaze through the storm,” it reads in Orrin, translated by Treig…  courtesy of the circlet? I guess? I honestly have no idea how it performs these miracles of communication, particularly written language. Has he now an air elemental residing in that noggin? Or does the circlet actually whisper the translation? Or does it just look like Common to him? He won’t say, just shrugs.

He places a blue crystal in a depression. It fits perfectly, sparkles a little.

And so we have our assignment: we need the three other colors.

Treig believes he can excavate the ropers’ green jewels from their “feet”, a mass of arboreal foot-roots, if Rey will confer a _traceless passage_ spell to him. I think Verdre or myself are the better choices, but he does have that magic cloak. Since he is reluctant to give it to one of us temporarily, this becomes his task to carry out.

He is successful, though: he returns with crystals plucked, the ropers none the wiser.

He repeats his thievery in the opaque tide pool of the monstrous tree I passed to retrieve red crystals.

That leaves the *violet* ones. It doesn’t take us long to find them.

We spot a place in the maze that has collapsed in an odd way: the walls’ rocks are piled twenty feet high in a ramp up against two other walls forming a corner. As we approach, a river of lightning pours out of the loose shale, striking Rey who shrugs it off. She wields her spear and charges. A moment later I can see her target: something called a _behir_, a large, multi-legged, snake-like creature that hates dragons, according to Treig. He isn’t going to like Rey.

It dies a violent death. It attacked Rey ferociously, never taking its eyes off her, and she is gravely hurt in battling it. But she is made of discarded deities, my Rey, and shrugs off horrific wounds that would kill many and cripple the rest. While I am tending to her, Treig harvests the violet crystals.

We return to the black disc and insert our collected chromatic bounty. The tempest seems to hush. There is a … drawing back, something anticipatory.

Treig and I step on the disc.

Immediately, the scent of grass in summer. Warmth, and peace.
A forest is to our south where there was none before. Snowy mountains to the north.

We are not in the Fade anymore. This is the Fey.

Rey and Jodan appear a few seconds later.

The Hell-Knight begins to age quickly and in short order looks almost skeletal! He starts chanting something and, with a fiercely determined look directly at me, he disappears. Gone, as if he had taken the Ethereal Plane drought.

While we’re putting together the words to express our surprise, he reappears, youthful again. But his arm is now encased in raw, uncut red crystals. Also, something about his aura has changed. Normally he exudes tyranny and power, and considerable heat. When he comes back, these are gone, replaced – for a handful of heartbeats – with Jodan-as-human. He wears, for that moment, the same expression as when he was with Natasha. And then Hell takes over again. But not completely. There is something else now in his eyes.

“Where did you go?” I ask.

He grunts. He doesn’t seem to want to look directly at me.

“Jodan?” I repeat and step towards him. “Where did you go?”

He is saved from answering me by the arrival of four hoary beings from some Fae duke’s court. Draped in mossy Fae armaments, banners of the elements flapping, butterflies and other insects hovering around them, and shouldering the weariness of millennia, they have stepped out of the ground, the wind, and the trees.

“I am *Tilthranos*,” announces one of them. “We are the Last Resort.”

The Common words are heavily inflected. ‘Last resort’ is obviously an inaccurate translation.

“We protect the secrets of this island,” he continues.

Treig steps forward.

“We seek something called the phylactery of Dragotha,” he says.

“Mm, you seek the Fountain of Dreams, but know that should you drink of it all secrets of what you seek shall be revealed to the world; the order of the Rite of the First Watch will be undone; and great creatures of legend will be set loose upon your world.”

“What creatures, exactly?” I ask.

“They roam this place. They will roam yours.”

“And which secrets?”

“Your books which were emptied of the words for what you seek will fill again. Stories lost will be known once more; journals and drawings rediscovered: all will go back into the Fade from which they were taken.”

“How do we start this off?” Treig asks.

“Should we start this off?” I ask. I pull us aside. “What if what we will unleash is worse than Dragotha?”

“I can’t really imagine that,” says Treig. “Dragotha is a plague spreading unlife everywhere, a head that bites two heads who bite four heads, and so on. It just keep growing like a disease loose in a city, except the city is our whole world.”

“We are not guaranteed to succeed in slaying Dragotha. But moving forward here will definitely add more destruction to the world. We could end up making things worse.”

Treig spreads his hands. “What do you recommend?”

“We should try,” says Rey. “We should always try, Etona. That is what you have said to me many times, and you were always right.”

I give her a mock-withering look that communicates what I think of her quoting me back to me, but I step back from the Watchers.

“So again,” says Treig to them, “how do we begin?”

“The Fountain will know you from your deeds. You must accomplish four tasks. The first trial: claim the golden belt of Krathenos, in his keep far to the south.”

Another watcher finally speaks.

“I am *Baescoaen*. Silence the Doom Shroud’s mournful song.”

A third one says, “I am *Thoddamar*. Seek the nightmare in the Thorn Vale to the furthest west.”

And the fourth: “I am *Saeran Lai*. Harvest the living feather of the Roc King in the mountains to the north.”

“These sound like feats of strength,” I interject, “and not trials of wisdom or virtue. Is the library for any who wield power?”

“The trials bespeak their own natures,” Tilthranos replies, “and will each, in turn, challenge your heroic aspect.”

“Have other attempted these tests?” says Rey.

“Yes, but none have succeeded.”

“What happened to them?”

“Some perished. Some merely left. A few are still here.”

“What are the creatures that will be freed to run amok in our world?” I ask Tilthranos.

“You see them here. Creatures of legend, beings from stories.”

“Are any of them world-shaking in their influence? Are any, for example, the actual island we are on, or the island is just barely big enough to contain a titan or something like that? Are there any who can affect thousands or the minds of thousands?”

“They are powerful; they are beings of legend. But no, none could shatter a nation.”

I look to Treig.

"Then we accept,” he says. “Should we do then in a particular order? Does that matter?”

“The trials may be completed as pleases you. It is for you to decide.”

“OK. Can you tell us anything about any of them?”

“We have said all we must.” And with that, they each withdraw, one into the trees, one into the ground, and the last two simply fading away leaving behind a puff of steam and a curl of smoke, each quickly lost to the wind.

“If we are to set out on these quests,” I say to the group, “then we must go back to the boat for Verdre.”

“Why do we need her again, necessarily?” To head off my incredulous reply, he quickly adds, “Just sayin’, it takes time and crystals, and we don’t have much of the latter. In fact,” he pulls out the collection, “we can go back and forth only one more time.”

“Then we have enough. Anyway, we must warn the sisters. What with the time difference between here and the Fade, we could be days or weeks before we return. Much could happen.”

He sighs. “OK. We go back to the boats.”

“Treig?” He turns back to me. “This wasn’t really a request.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just, trying to keep everything together.”

“And you are doing a magnificent job.”

Poor man: it is so important that there be plans and control, as if the world could be mastered.

***​
Getting back is uneventful as Rey and I are beginning to understand the lay of the land. Verdre reports nothing amiss back at the boat. I look over her charts: she has captured the hazards of our journey in sketches within little side-boxes that point back to where they are on the map. How she memorized the details and the course we took _and_ so truly reproduced it all whilst gripped in the storm’s jaws is beyond me.

We explain to the sisters what we are about to do and what the consequences may be in terms of not seeing them for some time. We beg them to leave, for their own good, assuring them we had another way off of the island, and they finally assent.

I press a gold into each of their palms. “To spend.” I press a silver into each of their other palms. “To remember us by.” They all know Verdre and I are sent by Her Night-Shaded Majesty, and the coin resembles a full moon. “Spend that one after we come back. I want to see all of you again.” I hug each one in turn making unhappy noises at the journey that circumstance has forced them to make, but Myra assures me it will be an easier thing to return than to come.

“This place hates visitors like a hermit watching an approaching troupe of joke-telling jugglers. It will be all too glad to watch us leave,” she says. She then presses a medallion inscribed with a single eye into my hand. “For good luck, to you, Etona, and to all of you.”

“I will see you again,” I promise.
***​
One more long look at the orcs. They are dressed and armed like pirates, that is, sailors as opposed to a war party waiting to get to a destination. I shouldn’t think a band of orcs would have any interest in plundering a dangerous island for some books.

Verdre remembers she saw a cloaked figure step out of the rocks near their ship, spy on the orcs for a moment, and then vanish back into the maze.

None of us can say what is going on here.

“I am surprised you do not want to saunter over and ask them to tea,” Verdre teases.

“I might, but keeping Rey from jumping at them is taking all my energy. With _Eye of the Storm_ safely off, and they have given us no trouble at all, I am for simply returning to the disk and making the crossing back to the Fey side.”

“Sensible,” she returns with arched eyebrow.

“I can be sensible, too.”

“Of course.”

***​
Our first task after we complete the journey back, we decide, is to go and retrieve the golden belt. It is presumably on the mythical creature that lives in a fortress at the southernmost tip of the forest. Our choices to get there are around the woods or through.

It is the first forest I think I have ever seen Verdre blanch on the notion of entering. I do not blame her. Called the Doom Shroud, that name might be too lively for it. Black trees drip with ichor, smell of disease, as inviting as an exploration of Greyhawk’s sewers. Apparently there are also monsters within. How fun! We leave it to the last: perhaps we’ll be dead by then.

So, walking around grasslands where different packs of carnivorous animals are busy hunting. We see their signs: ripped up or flattened reeds; broken bones with impressive teeth marks; pieces of hide; all on a larger-than-us scale. Battles between big combatants. Rey and Verdre confer: there are packs of at least three different animals out here of any size besides the hyenas and – what did Verdre call them? – _gazelles_: fast, hopping, plains deer with unmatched grace that can turn almost in mid-air at great speed. Verdre spent some time following a herd of them, studying.

We sighted a _bulette,_ a “land shark”, in the distance. It surfaced with a spray of dirt. Its prey, a couple of dogs separated from their pack, vanished.

Not long after that we moved into an area where for miles we saw no sign at all of the bulette. Verdre was commenting on how odd it was that they seemed to have a surprisingly small roam when several things happened at once.

A hissing sound but not from an animal, more like a river of insects.
Movement all around us, suddenly there as if we had stepped out of a quiet lake into a forest fire.
A sound like that of what humans call a _cougar_.
Purple flags flapping, no, black and purple, no, tentacles not flags, on hides, on big cats with tentacles and fuzzy outlines that hurt the backs of my eyes.

“_Yukuma,”_ Verdre says. _“_Displacer beasts!”

They are on us from nowhere. Where did they come from?

I immediately tree-step away. Out comes Angivre. Verdre unsheathes Glitter with a frosty whisper that freezes the grass in front of her; Treig reaches for a handful of whatever surprising little weapon-devices he has stashed away. Rey’s beast, after locking eyes with her, simply kneels down, paws forward.

But it is Jodan who takes command of the situation. He barks at them in Infernal, his face contorted, his armor chains wave in mockery and contempt of their own tentacles, burning steel versus mere hide. He seems, as he often does when he puts on this show, like a thing summoned from Gehenna.

It does the trick: the cats are so cowed by him that Verdre and Treig’s mere snarls are enough to drive them off. Neither side so much as scratched the other.

“Will they return?” Rey asks. Verdre shakes her head, no. “How do you know?”

“They are intelligent but malign. They hunt for pleasure. There is no pleasure to be gained with us, they could see that plainly. And one among us,” she nods at Jodan, “may even seem like a master to them. You spoke Infernal?” Jodan nods. “They speak that as well. They understood you. What did you say?”

“Just some sweet nothings.”

Verdre, it turns out, knows a lot more about the yukuma. They are from the Unseelie Court, the dark fae. There is much to say about them but it would, and has at the hands of better chroniclers than I, filled scores of books. Suffice to say, they are bred for war and are now loose upon the world. This little island world, anyway.

***​
We again come upon a trail that had been running straight through the _zigzag_ (what a delicious human word) of our own. Another herd of huge beasts, though these must be slow and ponderous, judging by their wake. I come upon their droppings and tentatively identify them as herbivore. Verdre confirms, and Rey agrees. I had not learned tracking as well as the rest of my people when I was young, but the years in the woods alone before Diamond Lake sharpened my senses, and now my guesses almost always accord with theirs.

We catch up to them. They are _olifants_.

Massive creatures with enormous tusks, long gray trunks, ears like sails and legs, gray columns: I can see why few would want to attack them.

Rey cautions us to wait. She approaches them carefully. They watch warily but allow her to put down her spear, open her arms, move near. When she is within some yards, a big male begins to look agitated. The herd behind moves off. She drops to her knees in supplication. It will be easy for the bull to trample her.

“Think she’s OK out there?” says Treig.

Verdre frowns. “They doubtless sense the dragon in her. It will make her task more difficult. But your friend is talented,” she says. “Give her time.”

Rey, perhaps sensing that a change in tactic was needed, rises to her feet and roars to the male. It rears, and she bows down her head but remains standing. It probes with its trunk and she swats it away at first then accepts with a nod. She comes to its face, stares into its eye, whispers something. And they accept her.

She is in their midst now, hidden and reappearing as the others come circle them. After some minutes, she emerges.

“Etona, I think you will want see this,” she says. “All of you, come. But Jodan, maybe you in a moment. They are still skittish.”

She has charmed the lot of them, and they do the same to me. Patient eyes and close bonds with one another – and their sheer size – has me breathless in their midst.

“We may ride them,” Rey says to my astonishment. This is a gift! It is practically worth everything simply to arrive at this moment.

They travel back and forth through the plains largely unmolested by the predators here, Rey is saying, so long as they are vigilant. We had been scurrying from stone outcropping to mole hill to tree to rock pile in an attempt to foil the senses of the bulettes, and it was working but taking its toll on some of us. I could do this for many moons, and Rey and Verdre for more, as could Treig, probably, but Jodan was becoming increasingly cranky and more willing to fight the bulettes head-on with each passing hour. He is not a plains-runner.

Now we can move with the olifants, though, who are not bothered by the land sharks so long as they travel in their herd, and in this way we are their companions, and extraordinarily their riders, all the way to the keep.

***​
It is as well we met them: I am constantly distracted by the floral bounty of the island. After perhaps the fourth time I dash off – never far, to gather the treasures I have been spotting ever since we arrived – Verdre approaches me on my return.

“You have found them: goldflower, lucia, maellen,” she says. “It is why you keep running off?”

“Only for a few minutes at a time,” I reply. “Anyway, yes! Aloa-dori, trapantas, waevran root. Verdre, there are herbs here I have only read about in stories.”

“Herbs that I have only associated with fables,” Verdre agrees. “But you must let me know when you go off and forage. This is a dangerous place.”

“I am not a child, Verdre.”

“And I do not want to dampen your adult enthusiasm, but you must speak up or I will worry. And Rey will worry.”

I realized that stamping my foot on the ground would not communicate the grave overtones of maturity that I sought to convey, so I simply nod.

“You are right, of course,” I say. In the background I see Rey – trying not to be noticed – listening carefully. She breathes a sigh of relief.

***​
The keep is worked stone, built from a mountain of stone, guarded by flying stone creatures retrieving flying stones. The olifants size this up and halt. We will need to proceed on foot.

“They will be here when we return,” Rey promises.

The flying statues are animated gargoyles flapping around the fortress. A few tend to a task of fetching boulders arcing from time to time out of the open mouth of the keep, some of them rolling to within a few hundred yards of us. Each one of these projectiles is preceded with a booming noise from inside the keep, a word something like _woethraan_.

“We walk in, we talk to the owner of this place, probably Krathenos,” says Treig.

I look dubiously at a two hundred pound rock in its own crater not far from us. “Maybe we should creep in carefully, unseen, and assess the situation first,” I reply.

He nods up to the swarms of gargoyles and wide-open gate. “I don’t think _unseen _is really an option. Besides, if we march in, nothing to hide, then we start from a position of honesty. “

“We don’t know Krathenos or what this belt even is, really.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s why I wanna introduce us, all open and proper.”

“It’s only polite,” pipes up Jodan, but I think he’s making a joke.

“The spider welcomes the polite fly,” says Verdre but tossing her hair in a gesture of unconcern.

We march in through the front gate, through huge, well-lit corridors, to the throne room. A twelve foot man of stone is pacing. He stops when he sees us, sizes us up, smiles broadly.

“Adventurers,” he says with a laugh. Amusement and disdain, but a little curiosity, all contained in the single word. “Have you come to test your mettle against me?”

Treig steps up.

“You are Krathenos?”

He kneels down to look at Treig.

“Yes.” He caresses the word.

“My name is Treig. This is Jodan, Speaker Rey, Etona, and Verdre, uh, over there with the drawing pad. We are here for a golden belt in your possession. We seek to barter for it.”

“Interesting. And what do you offer?”

“What do you need?”

He laughs at this and stands up again. “My freedom. Do you have that in your pack?”

“I may. When we get the belt, and three other items, the beings on this island will be released back into the world. You will be freed.”

We explain the quest, and the quest-givers, and the four items we will be traveling all over the island to retrieve. And we tell him why we are here pursuing all this. He is a remarkably reasonable stone giant. Or perhaps they are all like this and their reputation is marred: I have never met one before Krathenos.

He agrees, but on one condition:

“Finish the other three quests first and you shall have my belt.”

“Agreed.”

***​
It is a long trek back to our next destination, the aerie of the roc king. North back where we came from, past the pestilent forest, to the hills and mountains, to a particular peak.

Once again Treig has decreed we proceed in the open.

“But these are rocs, not flying statues,” I say. “We are food to them, and if they have a king then we are a threat as well.”

Indeed, they swoop past us as we come into their territory long before we have even started the vertical climb. But there is something….

“Do you see?” says Verdre.

“Yes. Necrotic,” I reply.

The great birds are wounded, singed by death magic.

“Rey, can you be our intermediary?” Treig asks.

“It will be difficult,” she says. “They do not come close, and none are here for more than second.”

But I have already started praying.

One roc swoops through a field of healing I have summoned. Then another. A third. They pause in their surprise, and Rey makes contact. She assures them we mean no harm and would only like to speak to their king. This goes on for some time until she eventually announces they will fly us up to the royal  aerie.

There are few experiences in the world akin to flying. Some of the druids of our tribe aspire to flight above all else. Verdre is one of them. I look over to her after we are airborn: she is curiosity and inquiry and noting everything, but she is also joy personified. She will fly one day, and we will reel from her happiness.

We are gently dropped off into the cold, ruined nest where lies the dead shell of the king. The rocs bow their heads as we examine him, scorch-frozen to death by necrotic energy. No feathers are present: taken by the invaders, we assume.

We try to piece together what happened, try to assess this other group likely now our foe. The attackers killed this king right here, so either they flew through an army of these things or they materialized here. Then they got away, but there are no bodies to indicate casualties. It is possible, I suppose, that the rocs hurled one or more of their assailants into the valleys below but I don’t think so: anyone willing to take on a flock of giant predatory birds with the intention of killing their leader in his own home is well-prepared.

Since we cannot continue, Rey summons one of the four Watchers. He is aghast with what he sees.

“If you avenge the roc king,” he says, “I will give you my banner.” That is, it will serve as one of the four quests.

He further offers us some details. There are five of in this other party. They vanished from here using magic. They are a Hand of Vecna, probably heading to the shrouded Thorn Veil about two days ahead of us.

“Summon me when they are dead,” he says and then becomes fog in the wind and disappears.

***​
The great birds take us to the Thorn Veil, swooping over it until Verdre spies their passage: a twenty-foot-wide withered path through the iron-hard, blade-like thorns.

Evidently, it took them some time to make it here and get through as far as they have into the Veil, because we catch up to them.

They are not aware of us as we creep up from behind.

Will we make new enemies today?

Will we be alive this time tomorrow?



I wish I knew….


----------



## Alexander Bryant1 (Sep 28, 2019)

We attack.

No, that’s not right. Treig attacks. Just Treig. It is a profoundly Jodan thing to do – I don’t know what he was thinking. I was told later that he dashed into the middle of the entire group, throwing cigars and firing his efficient little repeating crossbow, until everyone was dead.

Well, not everyone. Just one, really: a kenku on a ledge was also firing his crossbow but missed where Treig did not.

Let me back up a bit.

Rey and Verdre had scouted ahead and came upon the scene of a whirling, dark cloud moving towards the group in front of us who, with magic, managed to blow the cloud away and reveal a flying bird-horse-rhy’nos’ferous (?) underneath which Rey immediately took a liking to. There was a djinn flying something on fire, a shield put up by the mage, two underling tieflings positioning a sort of trap underneath it which began pulling the bird-horse-rhy’nos’ferous in. Rey, seeing the lone creature beset and not winning, jumped onto its back to help it. Of course. I wonder if perhaps she feels a sort of kinship with hybrid monsters because … but she is no monster, save to those who oppose her. Verdre also leaped, but onto the flying beast of the djinn, and sought to squeeze some sense into him in the form of a boa constrictor. He and she both tumbled off as Rey and her new best beast friend performed an aerial charge that dissipated his steed. And Treig was being turned to stone.

All of the above is what I pieced together through talking to Rey and Verdre later. I first saw Verdre in connection to the fight gliding back to earth as a flying squirrel.

You see, I had not been paying attention to any of this. I was, the entire time, some distance away down the burned passage through the thorns trying to see if I could pick my way through the living mass to follow a sprite who had appeared and darted away. I could not, and anyway Verdre landed and let me know there was a battle, something Jodan had already picked up on and had trotted in to lash our opponents.

I sized up the situation, fired some rounds into the fray from a good vantage point, and decided we had had enough. We could probably down the mage’s followers but not the silver-masked one himself who could not seem to be hurt permanently: even the gaping wounds caused by Angivre’s fury were almost instantly healed. More of us were going to be transmuted into stone like Treig (a striking figure in granite but like all statues, not useful) or captured or killed. Though, not killed, not here. More accurately: before our material forms ended to become other, fae forms, a fate that had happened to one of their party, the unhappy, darting sprite who was then slain again by a restored Treig as he observed it listening in on us while we were talking about the non-aggression pact. Its body was absorbed by the plants and then a raccoon-man stepped out of a huge, swelling bulb a moment later.

***​
“Why are we fighting one another?” I call out. “If you are here to seek the library, then our goals might not be in conflict. We will step back if you will.”

The silver-masked one offered one of the roc king’s feathers. We accepted. We had an accord.

Their mouth was the fire djinn, a surprisingly cheerful being named Malhazar the Exiled Flame, who knew many details about each one of us.

“You have a reputation,” he exclaims. “And it tells us that you are far more suited to facing what is here than we. In fact, if you handle the, ah, _situation_ correctly, I don’t doubt you will complete two of the quests at the same time! Ha ha!”

“With the feather,” I venture, “that you took through unnecessary violence, that leaves only the belt. There is also no need to attack him: we have a pact with him already.”

“Ah, the stone giant. Yes,” he says, laughing. “It is how we found out about the dying here. Kufastios was a mighty minotaur, but that stone giant was too much for him even as we backed his, ah, bull-rush attack. Very impressive, but so was the strength of our opponent! And now our dauntless armored warrior is but a tiny, toothless sprite. This change has not been good for him, I will tell you. No, no. But if you have a pact with the giant already, yes, then you should be the ones to claim his belt. Yes, we work together!”

“No, we work and you try not to gratuitously set upon anything. Honestly, is killing all you know? And if so,” I remember a phrase Treig likes to use, “how is that working out for you?” The tieflings and silver-masked Vecna mage were probably lost causes, but the djinn I felt could be reasoned with, a task for later.

I leave them and our party huddles in a circle some ways away. No one is happy with the direction I am leading us.

“They killed the roc lord,” says Rey, “and using necrotic energy.”

“What of it?” says Verdre.

“What she means, I think, is that rocs are not good creatures, Rey. They aren’t gentle beings of light. And yes, I understand those people are not our friends, but we weren’t getting anywhere battling them.”

“I am not happy, Etona.”

Maybe she sees herself in the great birds, or perhaps she developed a bond with them in communicating with them. I don’t understand, and neither does Verdre: they are carnivorous foes only allied with us because there is mutual advantage.

“I thought these agents of Vecna were –,” adds Treig. He also wants to continue the fight, I sense, because he fires off his crossbow mid-sentence and plants a bolt through the minotaur-turned-sprite’s head. “…long-time foes of yours?”

We watch as the dead sprite is pulled into the thorns and spat out again from an enormous bulb as the raccoon man. He scurries away with a glare at Treig.

“Yes, they are. But … all right. We should remember what we are here for. If we are all turned into cute Fey creatures or stone, how will that further our own goals? They seem content to let us both use the library, and I doubt their purpose is more nefarious than the drowning of all the world’s life in undead worms which is what we came here to solve.”

This earns grudging acceptance.

“I will still kill them,” says Rey with an approving nod from Treig.

“Fine,” I say.

We return to the group.

“We know your name, Malhazar, and the name of this being here. Who is your master?” I nod, indicating the silver masked-mage.

“Ah,” says the djinn. “He is The Faceless One. Yes, that name again. As his has been surrounding your travels, so yours have been orbiting ours.”

“He was in the mines in Diamond Lake?”

“I believe his name was.”

What an odd answer. “Where is the next part of this task?” I ask.

“There is a cave not far from here through these odious plants.” He points to the green-grey wall in front of us, the direction they would have kept going had we not intervened.

“What is there?”

“Madness. But it is a madness you will probably handle,” he says and laughs. “Better than we, at any rate. So we are allies now?”

I take him aside and lower my voice.

“We are in cease fire. When this is all done, I must meditate on the crimes wrought here in your needlessly destructive path, and I must know what your Faceless One master means to My Mistress. But you, fire djinn, I should like to talk to again, if you are amenable, one day. Away from these others, I sense you are not entirely without light.”

He grins and bows, and their group gathers up their dead, their equipment and their capture-box, and forms their own circle some distance away.

Verdre, from her perch above, calls down to us. “I believe I can pick out a trail through this, but only Rey is likely to be able to follow. No, Etona: your chain mail will get hopelessly caught on thorns, and even if you strip and follow, Treig will not manage it, nor will Jodan.”

“I will call one of my friends,” says Rey, emphasizing the last word for my benefit.

We exchange looks. “Very well. Let me heighten your voice so that it carries.”

We move to the entrance of the Thorn Vale. I place my palm against her throat. She shrieks a terrible cry that causes me to step back. “Goodness! Er, sorry, Rey. I was unprepared.” I once more place my hand to her and she repeats the roc’s call again and again. Eventually, one flutters down to us and we clamber onto its back, Jodan submitting again to being carried in the great beast’s claws.

***

It drops us not far from where we fought, a limestone entrance steaming like a fumarole, a word Rey taught me when we visited her own mistress, Seraph.

Verde sniffs and recoils, then moves closer and peers inside.

“Two gasses make the poison,” says Rey from behind her.

"One from each vent,” Verdre says to Rey’s nod. “A wind tunnel then. Easily arranged,” says Verdre.

"Yes. But may I do it?” Rey replies.

Verdre crooks a faint smile and takes a step back, teacher studying her pupil. Rey’s long, strong arms sweep; her eyes are slits in a face contorted with concentration. She forms a corridor of wind, neatly outlined by the white malefic vapors, across both crevasses. We may now pass.

Jumping across them through Rey’s breezeway – Jodan moving past on his Hell-steel tentacles – leads us to a cavern.

And what a cavern! Its every surface is overgrown with beautiful, iridescent plants.

But my eyes are riveted down at the bottom of barely-visible steps to an altar. Behind it is a life-sized carving – black stone that does not match the rest of the rock here – of a Nightmare, an actual Hell-steed. I saw my first one almost a season ago in the arena: it carried off the death-knight form of the arena’s master of ceremonies.

On the altar lies a sleeping or dead Drow woman.

***

A Drow. My cruel but misunderstood cousins. The lost ones. Elves forced to live under the earth will go mad, and collectively they have, following their queen, Llolth – once-beautiful, once mischievous Llolth, cousin to Sehanine – also insane with the grief of separation and being buried alive. I never thought them irredeemable – as most of my kin do – but this notion was cemented when I met Lilliam.

She was a terribly shy, easily-frightened, young, lonely castaway from her own people: a Drow forced to live on the surface. She was adept at being invisible and a master of disguise besides: I had thought her a small, gray-skinned elf, the like of which I had never seen before until I realized, through patience and all-but-forcing my friendship on her, that she was Drow.

Verdre traveled with her for a time when they each separately accompanied a group of adventurers to an old, haunted, human-built keep some five days’ swift travel south of The Mirror. It had turned out that it was somehow built on an opening to the Shadowlands, and the men who had manned it had gone insane. The creatures from there moved in to join the ghosts.

Once Verdre’s group understood the nature of the problem, and allied themselves with the powerful spectre of the former paladin who roamed there, they were able to bring in a trio of cleansers: myself, a Dwarven priest of Pelor and a being from the Bright summoned by my tribe’s leader, Tamyl, a creature simply called “Te”. We permanently sealed the opening. This, however, destroyed the keep and nearly killed all of us.

I digress. My point is that my aunt and I do not share most people’s hatred of Drow. I suspect Treig doesn’t either: he is too pragmatic. Jodan? I don’t know. And Rey probably has no opinion, isolated as she has been all her life from cultural prejudice.

***

“I must go down there,” I say and turn to Rey and Verdre. “Please sweep the area for traps for me: I don’t want to get my hair mussed by something launching my head from my body.”

Rey has worn an air of conspicuous distraction since we entered. She keeps sniffing the air. After a moment she begins to examine the floor. Very carefully.

Verdre has, meanwhile, transformed into a small snake and is slowly slithering across the path I must take, back and forth, back and forth. Treig, too, is examining the walls and the floor, rapping things with a carved stick. He notices my look.

“It’s technical,” he says.

“Poison!” exclaims Rey from her hands and knees a third of the way down the stairs. “A hallucinaremic. No, a halluci– … we will start seeing things and dream awake, if I’m right about the plants here and their oils dripping into these cracks.”

All eyes goes to Verdre whose naked serpent skin is caressing those same cracks. She shimmers back to elf form and runs back to us.

“What will happen?” she asks Rey.

“Colors will grow, become like the Bright? And you might see movement where there isn’t any. And wrong shapes.” Verdre nods, unsettled. “You might not recognize anyone,” Rey goes on. “Your vision might narrow like a,” she seemed to remember something, “as like looking through a glass fish-eye lens. It’s in the ground but in the air, too. It’s only a matter of breaths.”

“This I will not permit,” says Verdre. One arm begins the waving that Rey’s had though more confidently and with smaller, easier motions. She calls a wind tunnel and extends it to the end of the cave where the air was fresh. Her other arm sets to summoning another, down the ramp to the Drow.

“Do you see? Smaller motions,” she murmurs to Rey who is watching carefully.

I smile. “Thank you, Verdre.” To the rest: “I will approach her, alone.”

“Of course,” replies Rey. “Except that I will be with you.”

Since grimacing and eye-rolling are not sufficient to dissuade her – they never are – I agree. “All right, but stay a few steps back.”

“Why would you go alone, anyway?” says Trieg. “What can you do that no one else can?”

“Apologize.”

***

“Verdre? What do these runes say?” I call up to her.

Maintaining her concentration, she comes down and looks at them. “Here lies the livery of She Who Crossed the Moon.” Her eyes widen at mine which must be moon-pies.

“Citania,” we exclaim together.

“This cannot be her,” Rey says, frowning. “She was not Drow.”

“Not originally,” says Verdre.

“Cross our Mistress of Imaginative Revenge and you may end up as anything,” I add.

Jodan had trailed after Verdre, come to stare at the Nightmare on the wall. “Who is Citania?” he asks.

I am just staring at the woman, so Verdre tells the tale.

“A fair elf, once, and priestess of Sehanine. A leader of her tribe. She carried two thousand from the failed lands to the West after the fall of the human empire of Suul. She was selected by the Goddess to bear a priestess – unusual back then, unheard of now – but so strong her feelings for life and position and her dryad lover, Meleeta, that she refused to die, somehow, when her daughter came.

“Sehanine allowed the daughter a full and normal life. But for the mother, who chose life over the Goddess’s will, she was banished from the Bright and from the surface world of the Fade. She became Drow.

“These were the days when all the gods were more wild, and My Mistress more a harsh winter than brisk autumn. For it did not end there. When the child grew older and came into her powers, she sought out her mother, very dogged according to the stories. But she could never find her. It was because her daughter was invisible to her whenever the sun or moon were out. There was only one time they could meet one another: _dobrun_, new moon. Even then, when Citania was near her child, she was reduced to the shape – and mind, say some of the tellings – of a small animal. Nether could ever recognize the other.

I heard the last part only distantly. My eyes closed, my hands on Citania’s, I sought My Merciful Goddess.

“I must go back up to the top to keep this tunnel open,” Verdre says to Rey somewhere. “Watch her.”

It is dark. Black. But there is a pinprick of white light from Her face beaming down to me. She will be with me, my Goddess of the Hunt who willed this centuries-long curse into existence.

Shadows now.

   A girl’s face, a woman’s face but not elf

_Sehanine! I am here.
Use me.
Let me right this wrong!_

Crying, sadness

    sounds,     screams in the dark

                      cruel laughter

      cries that are 

    yips
                    small

                                   fur


                                        fox


TRAPPED.

RUN.




RUN!!!


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Oct 12, 2019)

Etona is on all fours before me, growling and whining, fear from the back of her throat. I don’t know what has happened to her. Another trial from She Who Eternally Tests, I suppose. She has given herself over again, and I can only shake my head in wonder.

She is of the tribe, the Children of the Mirror, no doubt. She is one of us as completely as I or her father or Tamyl are. But she is so unlike us as well, almost human in her steadfast belief that she may change the world for the better. I do not know what to make of it, and neither did anyone else when she was growing up. She had few friends, but those she made would die for her as any would do once they fall under her spell. As I would. As I will without even considering. It is the Goddess in her.

But unlike other priestesses we have known, Sehanine makes use of Etona to show a merciful side, Her empathy and love. Why these qualities now, during a time when the world must fight, must struggle?

My niece will not allow me to approach: I don’t think she recognizes me. But her friend, Rey – the one who can speak to the beasts so effortlessly, better even than I – she has calmed her down. Etona is fortunate to have found someone such as Rey. I see in them two souls who would risk much for one another and I am glad. She is strong, my niece, our priestess, but at her core is that curious vulnerability that both draws people to her yet imperils her at every turn.

We must leave this cavern. I do not know what Etona has done, but the Nightmare is stirring from its place on the wall. Citania, if this is truly she, remains unconscious. And mastering such a tunnel of wind for so long has taken much out of me: it will fail soon.

Treig slings the Drow over his shoulder and makes for the crevasses. Good.

“Jodan!” I call to the cursed human king whose interest in the Hell steed runs too deep. “We must go. Rey, can you take Etona? Will she allow it?”

A nod from her and she gathers up my niece still making sounds of the fox. We are all moving to the cave entrance now. We approach the cracks in the ground and make it safely across them … all but one. I allowed my attention to wander to the Hell steed who is fully here with us now, galloping through the Fade towards us. Hastily I flatten the wind tunnel and tuck it below me to form a wall. This slows me enough to scrabble up the other side of the crevasse. The steed comes. I reach for Glitter….

No. I have another thought: the same wind wall can serve another purpose. I spread it in front of the Nightmare pouring all I have left into it, and the infernal creature cannot pass.

Outside, Rey’s roc is remarkably still there. What is this power? I have seen it in some at the Mirror, such as from Mae’i’lani, but it is not common to sway an animal without threatening it. Perhaps I may take lessons from her, if she will teach me, as she does from me.

Though it may be her nature, an unteachable thing. She is unlike anyone I – or Etona – have ever met.

We mount the great bird once more and it flies us away. I can see the black horse gallop out of the cave below us now that the wind is released. It ascends towards us slowly but comes on. It will follow us relentlessly to the place we must go, the dripping forest of ichor where we will end this sad tale one way or the other; the place, I hope, that will return Etona to us.

***​
The roc isn’t gong to be able to land: the diseased trees’ canopy is too thick. So we start jumping off, each with a way down in more or less safety. Rey and Treig each have a necklace of the floating feather, and Rey carries Etona down with her. I hear, crashing down through like dropped Displacer Cat, the cursed human king, cursing.

With effort, I assume my last form before I must rest: the flying squirrel I tried for the first time earlier today. My body lightens, I release all thoughts save for what I concentrate on. Not all of us keep our selves sheltered during the _hrekshasa_, the taking-of-form. My own brother frequently lost himself. He became dangerous to our tribe, even hunted down once. Fortunately, I was on that hunt when we caught him. Things were calm for some seasons after, and then he went away. He is still missing. I suspect Etona knows something, and Tamyl, certainly, as well as Dredaella, another of us reluctant to remain in elven form.

***​
As soon as I touch down, I am amazed: She is here, Sehanine. Not in body, but there Her full face shines from overhead. My muscles tingle, my veins run ice-cold with Her power.

Also, the glade has broken the spell, and my niece returns to her body. I take a moment to thank My Mistress sincerely for this.

I want to hug my niece – she is the only one who affects me in this way – but her attention is elsewhere, her mind still not completely her own. She is the cup that Sehanine’s presence is filling. I see it in her eyes – which have turned silver – that she knows what to do. My job, now, as always, is to provide her space for her spirit to roam. To fix this little part of the world in the name of mercy.


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Oct 22, 2019)

*Journal of Etona 29*

I wake, drifting down, in Rey’s arms. I smile at her.

“Hello,” I say.

“Thank the, your, goddess!” she replies. “You’re back.”

“Where did I go?”

“That is good question. I was going to fence a yard and carve a bowl for what of you remained behind.”

We touch down and she falls silent.

We are under the canopy of the nightmare forest. Black, slimy, quivering things: these are no one’s definition of _tree_. They crowd us in, covered in sticky, ebon sap, if that is what it is. It feels as if they are bending over to examine us, inching towards us step-by-step somehow, not exactly with menace but a sort of desperate hunger. They are frozen banshees wailing in silence.

I don’t have any recollection of getting here, but it cannot be important now: I see what these monstrous creatures of bark are doing to my companions. One by one they are succumbing to centuries of despair heaped on them in seconds.

Incongruously, Her full face shines on the scene. She stands at _mirren, quenae sehan_, full moon at midnight, and I sense She is here in some manner.

She wants this suffering to end.

My Lady of The Root You Trip Over Because She Shadowed It Just So is wrathful, petulant, and scheming. But She is also ever a goddess of love, and She never intends punishment to be forever. In the end She craves, as I do, a good story with a happy ending. Even in the face of – or perhaps because of – rebellion against Her edicts. Yes, She is cold white radiance, but She is our guiding light as well.

I know what to do.

***

There is a single tree here that stands out from all the other sad ones. It is larger than the others by far, and it creaks with misery. This is the dryad, Meleeta. Her hopelessness is infecting everyone except the _naen’amo Emersanine,_ Verdre and me, the Children of the Mirror. I see it in their motions, hear it in their voices.

Meleeta stands in brackish water that, Jodan discovers when he splashes into it for some reason, is infested with schools of tiny, sharp-toothed fish. He runs out out of the deadly water but then turns around again, enchantment plain in his eyes. Verdre catches this despondence and summons something barely visible, an air being of some kind, perhaps an elemental? Can she do this now? It is astonishing to me to watch my aunt grow into an arch-druid.

The elemental keeps Jodan down so that he does not wade through the carnivorous brine to a sentient tree of pain.

I look for Treig and Rey. My dragon protector has walked right up to the dryad’s trunk and splayed herself on it! The tree has opened a maw and is just … swallowing her up. This must be what Jodan reacted to. I race to her but I cannot pull her free. Verdre doesn’t see this: she is on the far side with Treig and Citiana who is waking up and looking around.

We must end all this.

I press my own hands to the bark.

“I am here to free you, Meleena. I am here to end this curse.”

Immediately branches groan and limbs shift. A woody face emerges among the boughs.

“Are you a daughter of the moon?” it says.

“I am. And I have brought Citiana.”

“Bring her to me.”

“Treig, over here. Treig? Treig!”

He had fought off the spell of this place longer than the others but was rapidly succumbing now. My cries spur him to action: he guides the priestess across the water to stand next to me. Then he just stops. The calm, faintly amused soul that is our Gray Fox leaves his eyes which become as dull glass.

How am I to do this? I feel charged with potential but have not skill nor wit to start much less complete this unknown ritual. Everyone is waiting. And She is watching.

She has led me here to end their suffering. I can only say the words I hope are true.

“Meleena and Citiana,” I call out. “In Sehanine’s name I free you both from your punishment.”

It catches me in the small of the back, a feeling like lightning and ice. It is fast, numbing my body in an instant save for my fingertips which feel like fire. I see everything truly now, and I know my eyes have gone silver again. I see the dryad and the elf as they were, young and longing for one another; I see the glade as a beautiful, peaceful place, night birds chirping under clear skies and Her full face. I see what should be.

The tree twists and the lovely dryad emerges standing in front of her lover who now stands tall before her. They are grasping one another’s hands. Citiana looks at me, and I think I know what she is asking.

“Yes,” I answer. “She lived a long life, your daughter, untouched by your past deed.”

She returns her gaze to Meleena, and they begin to age, centuries in seconds. But they are not alarmed; they are at peace, resigned. They eventually fall together, content, and lean until they are but dust in the cool night breeze.

A movement against the moon: the Nightmare is coming, but then it is not. It dissolves and rains, too, as dust on the scene.

Her Lunar Majesty’s face flares: I feel more than see it in the sky. And now another is here, a silver woman, translucent, walking among us. I am not on my knees, weeping or blind or any other of the states I would be were I standing before the Goddess, so it is not She. Verdre mouths, “The daughter,” and yes, I see the resemblance.

The woman moves to where her mother dissolved. We are the ghosts in this scene, ancient statues in a park, none of us moving, none of us even daring to breathe.

She scoops up a handful of her ash and smears it across her eyes and cheeks, then she blows the remainder across the glade. It lands on all of us, and where it touches the others I see the glowing traces of where she smoothed the soot across her own face. I imagine I bear the same mark.

As the ash scatters, her very body unravels to join it, and she is gone.

The ooze draws back into what remains of the tree trunk and hardens there.

Dawn.

I do not know what else awaits me in the world, but if I have lived for this moment – to bring Sehanine’s forgiveness to these two storied lovers – then it is enough.

Rey and Jodan and Treig have all risen to their feet, their old selves back. I begin a song, an old human ballad that I was taught by some Roma I used to know.

_Time from me passes on, and I'm growing old,
A lifetime nearly gone. I cannot unfold
Nights dark and cold.
But warm is your hand in mine,
Feeble with ageless time,
The light of love still shine,
After All These Years…_


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## Alexander Bryant1 (Jan 18, 2020)

We make for our final charge: an uneventful trip to the stone giant’s castle. He gives us his belt, free at last to be loosed on an unsuspecting world. He is no worse than a local tornado, I suppose.

It is done. We have succeeded in our quests. The library is open to us.

But it is not the place we imagined. We are not led into a building or a chamber, Tiligast at our shoulders tut-tutting us to silence. Instead, to bring the missing knowledge back into the world, we are summoned into history.

He motions us to step into a silvery circle that has faint scenes of somewhere else, somewhere not here, swirling like – what did that desert druid friend of Verdre’s call them? – _dust devils_ within the circle, each a barely-glimpsed face or place.

We step in, the silver outline on the ground swirls up around and over us. I see – or taste? or hear? or_ susse_? – metallic-brown-voice-chant-colors.

Traveling to another era past is akin to being frozen. Is there insight in seeing one’s life pass before you while your heart slows and your blood cools? When their sap runs cold, do arctic trees re-live all the time before that moment? Does reverse time move forward to us? How can I make memories if I am passing backwards through events? Am I in a bubble? Am I in the universe?

Thankfully, I do not have to ponder these questions for the rest of eternity: eventually I feel solid ground under my feet and can trust my other senses again. I _susse_ we are once more firmly in one place. I am freezing, even slightly blue as are the others, save for Verdre who does not seem discomfited at all. Shivers of ice encrust our equipment. Angivre’s slim body sparkles, and Verdre’s Glitter is faintly smoking.

We have been laid in front of a singular sight.

In the background, a _quin’e_ distant, a mile, two sides are clashing in a mighty war: a human-populated stone city built into a cliff face is attempting to stand against swarms of gray climbing creatures – ghasts or ghouls of some kind – scrabbling straight up the rock walls from a thousand feet below, and dragons – many, many chromatic dragons – diving and swooping and generally bringing the mayhem as would attend a veritable swarm of them.

Verdre turns to me. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“A storm. But more than that.” Her body, the look in her eyes: she is _yssar’e_, a druidic word meaning all senses alert, assessing something in her surroundings. She looks, bigger, somehow, or more solid.

“Yes,” Jodan says. “There is power here.”

I also note a change in Rey’s stance. She is uncomfortable, physically irritated as if her back hurt. I ignore it now. I will not, later. Treig seems merely interested, his default facade.

In the foreground, we are staring at robed men and women staring at us. I wave. One of them waves back, instinctively, and then looks at his own hand, mystified.

The leader among this group of druids, *Tylanthros*, is coming forward.

“The heroes we have summoned to save us are here!” he proclaims. “Welcome, legends.”

I look around. He seems to referring to us, which is flattering to be sure, but….

I no longer focus on him as Jodan has caught my eye. He is changed. That is, he is now normal: no sword, no stone sheath on arm, no chains and no … _Hell_, for want of a better word. He looks to me, smells to me, not unlike Treig. Utterly human.

I glance again at Treig whose own eyes are now resting on a palanquin carrying a great, gold lantern. Jodan also stares at it.

“We may now move the phylactery,” says Tylanthros, “Our chance to save the world, dearly purchased, is here.”

“Indeed.” Here it is, the trouble in the world, the quests, everything we have been needing. It is right in front of us. “So what do you want us to do?” Treig continues.

“Defend us until we can set this into the vault.”

“This is the reliquary of Dragotha,” Rey asks.

“Yes.”

“Then we should destroy it!” Her spear is out. The phylactery probably has only moments in one piece.

“No.”

“Why not?” Rey and I ask together. I continue. “Would it not deprive Dragotha of escape should we be able to destroy its material form? Would it not kill that abomination once and for all?”

“Yes. But do so and he will fight knowing there is nothing to lose. Damned already, he would be unstoppable in his fury and could annihilate all. Keep the phylactery secured away, however, and he tempers his fury; he calculates. His aim turns from destruction to recovery, and the world is spared.”

“But what if we could destroy him?” Rey pursues.

“It is too great a risk.”

“Very well,” I say, though this topic will be revisited, Rey’s eyes add. “Where do you need us to be?”

He points to the cliff city. “We must move through there.”

I nod at Rey. “We shall clear the way. The others … oh.” I look around. While we have been conversing, Treig, Jodan and Verdre have each moved off, the two up onto an overhanging hill above us and Verdre peering over the edge down into the valley. “They will, I think, escort you up the road when they finish scouting.” My aunt is actually on her knees now, looking down, slowly waving out Glitter in a wide circle above her head. She stands and continues the spell she has started, turning to me in the midst of it, nodding and waving us on. I cannot help but notice she is grinning wickedly.

Jodan and Treig are likewise occupied with opening furrows in the ground and dropping some of Treig’s little explosive toys within. Verdre interrupts her spell, and with a wave of her hand cracks open a fissure across the road to help them before returning to her incantation. I have seen these movements before: she is summoning the cold.

When we are a few hundred paces up the road, I hear wind and rain and sleet behind us. There is a sharp crack, as of a frozen lake thawing under sun. The curve in the road allows us now to see that the entire cliff face is misty with cold and caked in ice. A hundred of the scrabbling ghasts seeking to make their way to the top, finding no purchase and being pummeled with fist-sized hail and swirling gusts, are torn off the wall to splat messily below.

Further back, Jodan is ushering the group of druids and their golden charge up the path to us. Behind him, on the wide, circular outcropping where we had arrived in this era, Treig has sunk a final object into the ground and now runs toward us.

Behind him: POP POP POP POP POP POP.

One by one, little smoke puffs appear in a curving line around the outcropping, and then all of it – a small mountain of stone – crashes down to the valley floor below, burying the rest of the climbers that escaped Verdre’s hazard.

***​
The town, we see, is well-fortified to repel an attack of the sort being visited on it, though not one of this magnitude. There are simply too many dragons! And the main force of the attacking army is still on its way: these are but scouts.

I take up supporting positions in different towers firing on the swooping beasts, and with Jodan and Rey also in the air somehow, we manage to drive them from the druids scurrying as best they can with their charge towards the stone spire.

Jodan has forged some kind of bond with air elementals: he summons them now, flies, and can attack with force even pushing off from nothing more than atmosphere. Rey, too, has acquired flight, though more fledgling than Jodan: she is still unsteady but fierce as she lunges about, cries of rage and frustration with every crumpled landing. And I have never seen Verdre summon such a fierce storm of this size nor coat so much area with ice, effortlessly interrupting that effort with opening a crack in the ground. What is happening? Has being in this time brought with it abilities?

We make it to the stone bridge leading to the spire. From my position in the final protective tower, I watch Jodan and Rey land in front of me, Treig and Verdre catching up on foot. We greet what the enemy sends next: a massive worm like that from the temple, and a bone dragon right below my position. They are not diplomats sent here to parley.

Jodan and Treig engage the worm. It is astonishing how such small creatures as those two humans can so swiftly kill so massive a monster, but this is what they do. In about two minutes, the thing has writhed its last.

For our part, we three elves – well, two elves and whatever Rey can now be called – dispatch the demon, hurling it down to its death below. We have won the entrance to the spire.

***​I am about to climb down from my perch to sprint across the bridge when the world turns silver and cold and quiet.

She is here.

She is floating in the air in front of me. All of senses, and my heart, assure me it is Sehanine.

“You are here,” She says with faint amusement. “I am delighted, child. You have lent your efforts, as is usual for you, for none who will thank you or even know.”

“What may I do for my Lady?”

“I am here to give you a choice in how you aid these people. Stumble on as you have always done, struggling and anonymous. Or wait until my full face is upon this wretched swarm and reveal your full flower.”

“Mistress, if I wait, more will die. This is true, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Stand fast and help your friends and the city, and some will be saved, perhaps, that would perish otherwise. Or wait for the moon and become legend.”

“My Lady, I am here now. I will help now. I will not endanger people to fuel my vanity unless, of course, you order me.”

She smiles – I cannot read if it is approval or the opposite – and fades away. All the noise and mayhem of the present circumstance drops once more on my senses like an ocean wave.

***​
I join Verdre and Rey. The latter is grinning having just raised a spear and cried victory to the heavens. Verdre merely looks satisfied. But then she sees my expression, or perhaps something else.

“Our Mistress?” she ventures. I must have some of the glow still about me.

“She is here, and if we survive into night, promises mighty action through us.”

“I have already felt this. Haven’t you?”

I reflect on that. “Have I? Nothing like the powers you seem to be wielding.”

“Yes, something is happening to me, certainly. I do not know if it is Our Lady of Uncertain Gifts.”

A groan of pain escapes Rey. She arches her back, her hands moving to her shoulder blades.

“Rey!” I step to her but she wards me off. Something is hurting her, and in a moment it is clear what that is.

Two great dragon wings of four, five, no, seven colors erupt from her back! Red, blue and green – known ill-tempered chromatic dragon colors – but there are yellow, orange, purple and indigo as well, dragon hues I had not heard of, though I am no scholar.

I peer into her eyes.

“Rey?”

“Yes.”

“Is it still you?”

She looks annoyed. “Yes! But….” I wait for her. “Yes. It is me. But you are right to ask: I have been hearing her in my head.”

“Seraph?”

“Tiamat.”

“Queen of the Chromatics?” Verdre clarifies, and Rey nods. “What does she say?”

She hesitates. Verdre asked as a master to a student, and Rey, I see, is weighing this budding relationship.

“Please,” I add.

“She wishes me to slay as many undead dragons here as possible, and to use any means to hurt or even kill Dragotha.”

Verdre grunts an approval. I take Rey’s hand.

“If she is in your thoughts, she can influence them. I have had some experience with that myself. Rey, will you tell us, only us if you are uncomfortable with the others, if you think she is pushing you to action or moods you do not feel are your own? I may be able to … I don’t know what, actually. But please tell me anyway?”

“All right, Etona.”

I hug her until she says, “Etona?”

“Yes?”

“We need to save the world.”

“Oh. That. Yeah.

***​
The mighty stone door to what will be the resting chamber of the phylactery is ornate. Five unhappy-looking dragon heads are inscribed along its top arch.

“To pass through, you must be attuned,” says Tylanthros.

This turns out to be a process wherein each of us places a hand on a glyph in the door while the druid caretakers chant. Their faces are calm though even this short journey – through the town to this door – has cost them. I think back to my own shivering, dizzy days when I had to concentrate from dusk to dawn, but the fate of the world wasn’t in my hands, and I wasn’t relying on people I had never met.

We all enter the chamber.

Once inside, Treig wonders aloud whether we should open the phylactery. Tylanthros is troubled by this but is willing to discuss it. I know I should be on the side of these wise guardians of the world, but I am also very curious about the lantern’s contents and take up Treig’s side as to whether we should take Dragotha’s essence with us back to our time.

While we converse, Treig has Rey unfurl her new, magnificent wings. He attempts to use them to shine light in different ways off of them, her colors exactly matching those of, what did Rey call it? the reliquary, or lantern. But there doesn’t seem to be a way to shine all the lights we need in all the places simultaneously, at least not here right now.

After failing to open it, and more discussion, we are all persuaded that our purpose here is not to meddle with this relic but rather to bring the knowledge of it and its location – inside this spire – back to our time.

The druids place the phylactery inside the final chamber. Straining to complete this last work of heavy concentration after all they have been through already, the ritual of sealing begins around a ring of water in the middle of which sits the phylactery and around the outside all of the druids.

They pass around the Seal of Chaos, each pausing and raising a voice higher while handling it, until it ends in the druid leader’s grasp. He completes some arcane step and a fine white web descends on Dragotha’s soul’s receptacle.

They continue chanting.

One druid, exhausted from the ordeal, keels over, unconscious. Verdre takes his place and starts muttering something, I cannot quite hear.

Another druid passes out, and Treig has caught something out of an eye corner. His eye. Out of the corner of his eye – yes, that is the expression. He nods to Jodan and me at the water but I do not detect anything, I examine the second fallen druid. A tiny, almost invisible pair of puncture wounds bleed tiny filaments of blood at his ankle. Something is biting them, an airy presence moving around the circle.

A wet, blurbing sound raises my eyes: Jodan has created a sphere of water – another new trick from our no-longer-cursed noble – and captures the ‘wee beastie’, as Egan would say. He drops it onto dry stone and it vanishes in a way that seems to suggest it was banished or dispelled.

I believe I can counteract the toxin: it appears to be a common tranquilizer. I throw together a couple of ingredients and whip up a poultice. It works surprisingly quickly, and the druid wakes up immediately. It is possible that one of these ritualists is working against the rest of us, so I ask him in a low voice if he could point out any he doesn’t know or believes to be acting oddly or has acted oddly before. Hesitantly, he points to a robed woman, and I unveil her.

“Oh, dis ritual, is a thing you want, too, is it? Ah ha ha ha ha!”

Baba Yaga.


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