Chapters

The debrief: What better reason to throw our lots in together than destiny!

A visit to the Speaker: I think it is pertinent at this point to note that we are growing tiresome of this bureaucracy.

Blackiron Blades, Bryn Stables, and the House of the Morninglord: A commitment to adventuring

---

The debrief

Bryn Shander stood lonely atop a cold wind-lashed hill, the concentric 30 foot wooden walls holding at bay anything unwelcome. But for Arlington and his crew the sight of the town that was the first stop for most visitors to Icewind Dale was welcome indeed.

---

Jankx led everyone between the two concentric rings of upright wooden poles, through the gap between filled with dirt and rubble, nodding to the dwindling handful of defenders stationed on the wood-planked walkway above. The Bryn Shander crest hung overhead, twin antlers above a vertical shaft of golden wheat on a white field, signifying the town’s strength and prosperity on the vast, snowy tundra. It was heading toward dusk, and guards were preparing to barricade the wall’s 15 foot tall hinged gates. The gates were closed when it’s dark outside — which is to say more often than not. “We’ll head to the Northlook, I know the barkeep there,” Jankx mumbled through his near-frozen blue-tinged lips.

Jankx continued ahead, taking the main-road to the north end of town, his beyond-weary companions trudging down streets that were covered in deep snow everywhere but the most heavily trafficked areas. Locals shuffled past with heads down and faces covered, minimising the time spent in the bitter cold. Bright lanterns suspended over narrow streets twisted in the wind in an attempt to add flecks of colour to the town’s otherwise drab surroundings. Morgan pointed toward an closed smithy, Blackiron Blades shingle clattering in the wind. “Pretty affordable services, as long as you don’t mind the quality so much,” Jankx explained.

Eearwaxx stopped at every ice-covered noticeboard to pin up his flyer, replacing some that had been torn or removed. He was pleased to see Jankx had added his own bill-of-services and straightened those he found — it was good to see the two advertisements together.

---

Jankx had settled in Bryn Shander on his arrival some months ago, finding the locals just the right mixture of welcoming and stand-offish — perfect for his needs. However the longer he had stayed the more the friendliness in this settlement has dwindled. The unyielding winter — blamed by many here on Auril the Frostmaiden — had greatly reduced the number of visitors to Bryn Shander, and local trade suffered for it, eating away at the locals' sense of humour and goodwill.

Still, there was no safer place in Icewind Dale to spend coin or spend the night. Which meant Jankx had naturally drifted into the one place that was perhaps least safe, and where he thus felt most at home: The Northlook Tavern. The Northlook was the establishment most frequented by mercenaries and adventurers, and as such it’s the rowdiest and most dangerous place to stay in Bryn Shander. At the same time, its taproom is the best spot in all of Ten-Towns to get leads on profitable ventures, along with the latest news and rumours.

Arriving at last at the Northlook, Jankx stepped aside for Tarquin who made it known he wished to be first through the door. The bard stepped into the drying-room antechamber, stomping snow and crystals of ice from clothing and hair. He motioned to Eearwaxx to give him a bit of a once-over, and Eearwaxx was only too happy to oblige, sprucing up everyone’s appearance with a quick mend. Some (Morgan) were covered in remnants of blood and worse, while others (Octavian) had already done their best to be presentable.

A crude sign explained the rules of the tavern: “No weapons unsheathed. Except knives, and only by agreement.” Gear both safe and deadly was strewn around the room, Jankx explaining that an honour system meant no-one took anyone’s stuff. “Those few that tried didn’t try again,” he grinned. Morgan immediately shrugged off his pack, but kept the lantern and his weapon. Octavian kept everything.

Tarquin pushed the inner doors open and almost fell over in the wave of warmth and rowdy conversation that greeted him. His eyes watered in the warmth and smoky atmosphere, and he’d never felt more at home. He was accustomed to being the centre of attention when he entered a tavern, but was surprised to find barely a head turned to watch. He did notice a few elbows twitch and heads scratch — attention was being paid, just not in an obvious way. Everyone here was very alert, but also very good at not showing it. Tarquin smiled as he walked directly to the bar: not the sort of establishment for grand entrances.

The moment Jankx entered a sharp voice cut through the noise. “Jankx, you’re back.” Scramsax, the inn’s proprietor, stood at the bar already filling a tankard as Jankx tipped his head in acknowledgement. Scramsax’s gaze quickly sized up the new arrivals, his eyes taking in every detail. Scramsax knew full well the cycles of an adventurer’s life, and often cuts a break for customers who are between jobs, allowing them to stay here on credit and then presenting them with a bill inflated by interest charges to be reckoned with as soon as they make their next payday. Those who don’t settle their accounts discover that the old mercenary still knows how to handle a blade, and that he doesn’t take “later” for an answer. Recently, in return for board and keep, he’s been happy to pass those unsavoury chores over to newcomer Jankx, who has shown a keen ability to track down even the most recalcitrant debtor.

---

“It’s good to see you again, Jankx. You look a little worse for wear, but I’m sure a drink will fix that.”

“A little. These are my companions. You probably already know their names,” Jankx grinned, but introduced everyone briefly. “A table, drinks, and food, if you can manage it.”

“We’re busy, but there’s always room for my favourite collector — on your tab?”

“Absolutely.”

“You do know you’re in arrears?”

“I do, and you know who’s going to chase that up if I don’t?”

Scramsax laughed as six drinks were lined up on the bar. “Straight from Good Mead, could be the last delivery for a while from what I hear. So enjoy it while you can.” Morgan had drained the brew before Scramsax had finished speaking. “You’re a quick one, young man. Another?” Octavian pushed his mug to Morgan before Scramsax could pour. “I’d like a mead, if I could?”

“What have you got that’s hot and alcoholic?” Arlington asked. “Preferably mulled wine?”

“We can do that for a friend of Jankx,” Scramsax said. A barkeep poured a mug of wine, plunged a hot poker into it for a moment, then carried it over to a grateful Arlington.

“What about rooms, Jankx, or are they all going to squeeze into your crib?”

“I would prefer a room of my own, if it’s all the same to you,” Arlington interjected.

“I think, my good man, that we can all afford a room each,” Tarquin agreed.

Scramsax raised an eyebrow at Jankx. “So worse for wear, but better for coin by the sounds — had a little bit of luck out there, did we?”

“Luck came nowhere near it,” Tarquin boasted, flipping a coin to Scramsax with a grin.

Jankx groaned. Some facts were best left muddied, but it was too late now. “Well, yes and no, I mean it’s not all liquid.”

“What happened to you out there?”

Jankx shook his head. “Ah. I don’t rightly know. A lot. I’m not sure that I’d care to repeat it, but it is a story. It had a few twists and turns we weren’t expecting, that’s for certain.”

“But you’ve come back with a sack of gold by the sounds of it?” Scramsax pressed.

“Let’s just say we’ve come from the pass, and our business there was partially successful,” Arlington said.

“Pleased to hear it. Now sit yourself down and let us feed you.”

“And then run me a bath?” Arlington asked, his hopes dashed when Scramsax burst into laughter. “Not even for a gentleman of your stature.” Even Morgan looked crestfallen.

“There are houses around here that do have baths — and more,” Jankx said, “So if you’re looking for that sort of thing, I can sort you out.”

“I’m going to sit down, drink this wine, have a bath, and then sleep for a week,” Arlington said as he stretched his shoulders.

“And somewhere in there, I’m sure we can give you a story,” Tarquin said to Scramsax with a smile.

---

After some shuffling of protesting patrons a table was cleared and everyone collapsed with a grateful sigh. To be warm, with real food and drink, was to be the kings of the world. “As I said, probably not the nicest place you’ve ever seen, but it suits us to a tee,” Jankx smiled.

As the second round of food was being served, a large man with one misshapen ear walked over to the table and plonked himself down next to Jankx.

“Goosear. Good to see you again,” Jankx smiled thinly. Everyone did their best not to stare at the man’s ear anew, which now took on the unmistakeable shape of a goose.

“Long time no see, my friend,” Goosear replied.

“Been keeping out of trouble?”

“Certainly have, as per usual. Though not for much longer if things pan out the way we expect. Have you heard what happened at the Council of Speakers?”

Arlington leaned in at the mention of the Council. Each of Ten Towns was an independent settlement that elected a leader, or speaker, to represent its interests at meetings of the Council of Speakers, which are infrequent and take place at the Council Hall in Bryn Shander. These meetings are called to discuss matters of shared interest and to settle disputes between towns. If he wasn’t wrong, a meeting wasn’t scheduled to talk place recently, so if one was called it was for an unusual reason.

“I’ve been away for a week, a long week,” Jankx said, “So I’ve missed any action, or gossip.”

“Was Trovus here?” Morgan piped up. He’d taken a liking to the dragonborn speaker of Caer Konig, respecting his brawn and good humour — and his bluntness. They’d shared more than a few drinks (Trovus being perhaps overly partial to a long night on the tankards) back at the Northern Light. Which reminded him — he needed to get the lantern back to Allie and Cori.

“He was. Most were in fact — and it was closed door, which is unusual to say the least,” Goosear continued. “‘Course we had ears on the ground—” (everyone tried even harder not to stare as Goosear rubbed his…goose)—“not mine, of course, but we heard a few things. Does not sound good. Does not sound good at all.” He paused and looked around the group. “We’re talking sacrifices.”

Tarquin leaned back. “Sacrifices? And I guess that doesn’t mean austerity measures?”

Goosear stared at Tarquin for a moment. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you? You from ‘round these parts?”

“Oh I get around. Tarquin — Tarquin Rose,” Tarquin said extending a hand.

“Milas Goosear,” the visitor replied, scratching his ear.

“Do we trust this one Jankx?”

“Yeah, he’s alright. He can talk your ear off—” Jankx stopped suddenly, almost blushing before continuing in a hurry, “—if you let him.”

“Only stories that are worth telling,” Tarquin quipped to a stifled laugh from Arlington and Octavian, who was shrouded beneath his hood.

“I’m sure they are. Well, Tarquin Rose, if you were from around here you’d know there’s been plenty of austerity measures. Warmth, which is a precious resource, food, even livestock. And nothing has worked, which you’d also know. You might not have noticed, but it’s damned cold out there, and it’s only getting colder. And the other thing you might know, is that some of the other towns — Dougan’s, Targos, even Good Mead — they’ve been giving souls to the Frostmaiden to try and stop this. How’d you like those austerity measures?” Goosear finished grimly.

Tarquin frowned, and Jankx let out an involuntary gasp at this news. There’d been rumours, but to have it said so bluntly.

“The news from the Council is that now the other bigger towns are starting to consider it too. Including here.”

“And how are they finding these volunteers?” Jankx asked.

“They’re not volunteers. You know better than that, Jankx. Maxildanarr over in Targos is on a nice little earner with the money he’s earning to exclude people from their list. Pay enough, you don’t get picked. I don’t think that’s going to happen here.”

“How is it happening here,” Tarquin said, serious now.

“It’s not, yet. But they’re considering it, that’s the problem.”

There was silence whilst everyone considered this, then Arlington spoke. “What demonstrable positive effects have the sacrifices been having on the climate?”

“Well, none. Sir. You look like a sir,” Goosear added, noting Arlington’s good quality furs and straight back. “It hasn’t been having enough of an effect, because there hasn’t been enough sacrificed. There’s ten towns, and only three are ‘contributing’. That’s what the druids are saying.”

“Are we listening to druids now are we?” Tarquin said wryly.

“We’d rather not,” Goosear grunted.

“What?” Octavian blurted before coughing and lowering his voice an octave. “What are the druids saying?”

Goosear turned his attention to the hooded figure. “What have you got under that hood there, Jankx?”

Jankx knew the patrons of the Northlook had seen all kinds, so he wasn’t too worried. “He’s also not from around here. I don’t know if you’ve seen a bloke like him, been a while since one’s been in.”

“Just a little fella aren’t you. Show yourself and I’ll answer your questions. Don’t much like talking to those I can’t eyeball.”

“Just keep talking, in your human way,” Octavian muttered.

“He’s got a little attitude,” Jankx groaned as he lifted a candle to light Octavian’s hood. Octavian pushed his shroud back and met Goosear’s gaze.

“Oh. And you can speak?”

“Can you?” Octavian snapped.

Goosear leaned in close. “You’re not one of the Icewind kobolds, are you,” he said matter-of-factly.

Octavian leaned in just as close. “Hm. And what are the druid’s saying?”

“Well Auril’s druids are demanding that we make sacrifices, and that if we make sacrifices that will keep Auril at bay.”

“Who’s druids?” Arlington asked as Octavian scowled at her mention — Auril was not on the good side of the scale.

“Auril. The Frostmaiden. She’s the cause of all this. You really aren’t from around here are you, any of you,” Goosear growled.

Arlington looked perplexed. “What’s their explanation for the sudden need for this inflation in tribute?”

“Have you been outside sir?”

“I have.”

“Have you noticed the weather?”

“I have…”

“Have you noticed it’s getting worse?”

“Yes — but why now. This ‘being’ has been around…forever? And this last few years she’s decided she needs souls and what have you?”

“That’s what her druids are saying. And how are simple folk like us to know any better? We have no idea — but something has happened and they demand satisfaction in the form of lives.”

Arlington scoffed. “Sounds to me like a nice little racket for these ‘druids’. I think if anyone needs to be questioned — rather than obeyed — it’s them.”

“Be my guest, sir! If you are willing to dare the cold-light walkers and Auril’s druids — we won’t stop you,” Goosear said. “Up in Lonelywood you’ll find ‘em.”

Arlington leaned back in his seat, pondering this nugget. Lonelywood was the last reported sighting of the White Moose, so maybe there was an opportunity here, he mused.

“So tell me, Goosey,” Tarquin said, finishing off a mouthful of indeterminate (but delicious) meat, “What’s the feeling around town? Have we got groups of people saying they’re going to do something about it, or is everyone just sitting back getting ready for the new era to begin?”

“Oh no-one’s happy. Lot of arguing either way,” Goosear said waving his hand around the tavern, “Lot of rumours, nothing official, but word is spreading quickly.”

“Well you’re a hardy bunch up here, but if you want a bunch of heroes to get out there and save the world, perhaps you could get some money together and look for some,” Tarquin grinned, looking at Arlington for backup. After all, Tarquin considered, I’m not the leader of this pack but I’m not exactly sure what we’re doing.

Goosear paused. “You want me to pay you? Is that what you’re suggesting? Jankx, is that what I’m hearing?”

“Yes! That is what he’s suggesting — it’s pretty obvious!” Octavian blurted. Once again he was reminded of the mysterious way of the humans, who talked in every way but directly (Morgan being the exception that proved the rule). Tarquin burst out laughing.

“Cards on the table, little one,” Goosear said wryly, turning to Arlington. “But sir over here suggested maybe he’d go and interrogate the druids, no payment required.”

“Well — we’re good-hearted souls, and full of benevolence, but it doesn’t sound like it’s our problem,” Tarquin said.

“It will be your problem when your name is drawn from the hat,” Goosear snapped.

“Here’s my situation,” Arlington said eventually. “I’m more than happy to go and ‘have a look’ at these druids, shake them down, see what’s going on. But as of our arrival in this particular neck of the woods, none of these gentlemen are in my employ. Now, unfortunately my funds are at such a state that were I to reemploy them for a further venture, I would need to, in fact, be compensated by whomever was…” Arlington smiled weakly as his voice petered out.

“I was idly wondering, Arlington, exactly when we would see any money,” Tarquin said, leaning back in his chair.

Goosear leant forward on his elbows. “Not my business, sir. But one thing now that you’ve finished your little speech: do I look like the kind of fella that’s going to pay a bunch of other fellas to go and do anything?”

“He does have a point,” Jankx said quietly.

“Coming with us are you, Goosear?” Tarquin asked.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. In my home. If you want payment go and talk to Speaker Shane. You want payment? She’s your woman. Jankx I wish you well,” Goosear said taking his leave.

“Well,” Tarquin said, “that was interesting. You might have guessed, I was trying to see if people were disgruntled. And to me it sounds like we’ve arrived just in time to get in front of anyone that might pick up the pitchforks and try something.”

“I think everyone here is thinking they’re unlikely to be the ones that get picked — at first. But Goosear is right, no-one here’s got the kind of coin to put together the kind of venture we’re talking about. We’d have to go see the Speaker, and I don’t know why she’d trust us.”

“Maybe we should just take our chances and try and make it back south through the pass,” Arlington sighed. He was tired.

“It’s funny you should mention that,” Tarquin said, “I do have a small poem I wrote about that pass,” Tarquin grinned.

Octavian shook his head. “Usually we don’t have to be paid, because you guys generally just murder everyone and take their stuff. So we can just do that again?”

“It’s true, I think you have a point there,” Tarquin laughed. “I was just seeing the lay of the land — you never know what you can get until you ask.”

“It’s not really an either/or situation,” Jankx agreed.

Morgan returned from the bar and delivered a fresh tankard of mead to Octavian. “You were doing plenty of murdering too, to be fair.”

“Oh! I don’t consider myself about the murdering. When you have a destiny — and Tarquin, you being a psychopath might get this a little more — I need to do what I need to do.”

“I must admin,” Tarquin said, “I do understand that you need to do what you need to do. I don’t understand how it involves killing all the time, because sometimes there are other things you need to do.”

“I don’t want to kill all the time, but we do need to get information. I want information — especially about druids — and you guys seem pretty keen on information as well.”

“Information is the root of all stories,” Tarquin agreed.

Arlington cleared his throat. “If we are to go on a mission that is self-funded, i.e. pillaging, it would a great boon to us, I think, if we were deputised in that action so as to avoid in complications afterwards that might hinder our accumulation of said pillage. Let alone hinder the continuation of our lives.”

“I’d be quite happy to be a representative of Bryn Shander,” Tarquin agreed.

Morgan wasn’t so sure. “The problem is each Ten Town has their own Speaker and their own governance. Being deputised here isn’t going to stop anything happening to you if you happen to murder someone in Easthaven.”

“Well I’m sure through this Council of Speakers we can arrange something,” Arlington said.

“And at least it might help us get back through the gates here should things really turn nasty,” Tarquin added.

“Never-the-less we need to speak to the Speaker here because they will know what is happening,” Octavian said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “And we know more about other threats. In fact when we get back to our rooms we need to go through these books and scraps of information. There is something going on here,” He lowered his voice further still. “We just saw a d-r-a-g-o-n…” Octavian said, finishing in draconic.

Tarquin nodded. “So, Jankx, you know the speaker?”

“I know where she lives. But it’s not like we’re friends.”

“Jankx, Jankx, let’s just get this straight. Is this going to be a problem?”

“Not a problem to get an audience. But it’s well above my pay-grade what happens next.”

“That’s fine, so long as we’re not stepping into bad-blood.”

“I’m not going to be arrested. Yet,” Jankx smiled.

“Good. Well, gentlemen,” Tarquin said making sure he had everyone’s attention, “I think that, looking around, that we could call ourselves not just lucky, but rather industrious, as a group. For me, I think there’s a real opportunity. Under the leadership of Arlington, of course,” he finished with a mock tip of his hat.

Morgan turned to an invisible Ezra. “I don’t know why Tarquin talks like this, but I don’t think he’s any worse than the others.”

“He can’t help himself,” Octavian hissed. Morgan turned and nodded. “That’s what Ezra thinks as well.”

Arlington dropped his head. He liked Tarquin, but this was all a little mutinous. He placed his hands firmly on the table and looked up. “I think we need to put our cards on the table here, gentlemen.”

“Not here,” Morgan said quickly. “I think any conversations we want to have about this stuff, and particularly about coinage.” At the mention of coinage a patron at the adjoining table tilted their head. Morgan turned and stared a warning, before slowly turning back.

“Do they have a private lounge?” Arlington asked hopefully.

Jankx laughed. “See that table in the corner? That’s about as private as it gets. Let’s go upstairs — once we’ve finished eating.”

As everyone finished their meals, Eearwaxx wandered away to explore the room. It was a typical Ten Towns tavern, but he did find one thing of note. Stuffed and mounted on a plaque above the hearth was a huge, battle-scarred knucklehead trout. A plaque below it read: Ol’ Bitey.

---

Eearwaxx drew closer to have a look at the trophy. Knucklehead was a staple food of Icewind, caught mainly in Maer Dualdon and Lac Dinneshere, and their ivory-like bones were used to craft scrimshaw — a common hobby in Termalaine, even an occupation in the days before the South was mostly shut off. Ol’ Bitey was far-and-away the biggest knucklehead Eearwaxx had laid his eyes on.

As Eearwaxx drew closer he stopped suddenly. The trout’s eye seemed to have moved and focussed on Eearwaxx?? He took a few cautious steps forward and froze. This time he was sure — the fish’s head slowly turned to face him. The young wizard froze. He looked around but no-one nearby paid any attention. And then, much to Eearwaxx’s astonishment and delight, Ol’ Bitey started to sing to him:

Ol' Bitey’s one eye winked then went still. Eearwaxx winked back, then rushed back to the table with eyes aglow. “There’s a fish! Above the hearth! It’s magical — it talks!”

“Oh really?” Tarquin asked.

“Yes! You sing a lot — you can probably use the words it spoke,” Eearwaxx said repeating them line-for-line. “I’m a bit worried it’s falling apart, it has a lot of stitching. Maybe I should mend it?”

Tarquin smiled at Eearwaxx fondly. He knew the boy hadn’t been drinking, but he was likely suffering from a little bit of exposure, not to mention several near-death experiences. Possibly also a little light-headed with the transition from the freeze outside to the heat in here. “Might be time to get you upstairs and into bed,” Tarquin said kindly.

“I’m ok. The fish was magic!”

“Anything else talking to you?” Jankx interjected with a grin. He pointed to his chair: “Is the chair saying something?”

“Don’t be silly!”

“Jankx — does the fish actually talk?” Morgan asked. Jankx turned to Morgan and winked, shaking his head. “No.”

“Bed time, Eearwaxx,” Tarquin repeated. Eearwaxx scowled and walked over to Scramsax. “What’s the story with the fish?”

“Ol' Bitey?” Scramsax smiled as he polished a glass. “Well, that’s a tale and a half. He’s a mighty specimen isn’t he?”

“Is he magical?”

“Magical? Noooo, he’s just a big knucklehead. I paid a pricely sum for him too — worth every penny. Ol' Bitey pulled many a fisher into the icy depths of Maer Dualdon before it was finally caught by a rogue named Kintyre and her companion, a druid who called himself the Maverick if I remember rightly. They hauled Ol’Bitey to the Northlook in the hope of having it cooked for them, but I bought it from them and had it stuffed instead.”

“But he talked to me,” Eearwaxx protested. He repeated the rhyme again.

Scramsax looked blank. “Let me get this straight. My fish — Ol' Bitey over there — sung that to you?”

Eearwaxx rolled his eyes and cast a quiet detect magic, and the entire room lit up, particularly his companions. It was impossible to pinpoint if the trophy-fish was part of all the auras.

“Find anything, young wizard?” Scramsax said with a grin.

Eearwaxx frowned. “Why is it stitched up?”

“Well it needed some repairs after the battle. Magically preserved — I’ll give you that.”

“I can mend it for you?”

“No! Battle scars aren’t to be mended, young wizard. But tell me again — it spoke to you??” A few of the nearby patrons laughed softly into their drinks.

Eearwaxx sighed, accepting defeat just as Tarquin approached. “Is he telling you a tall one?” Tarquin asked Scramsax.

“Very tall — an entertaining story about a singing fish,” Scramsax laughed. “Have another drink my young fried.”

“I think he’s seen a bit too much of the snow,” Tarquin laughed, dragging Eearwaxx upstairs behind the rest of the crew.

---

“May I suggest, gentlemen, the single rooms we’ve taken — we might want to double up,” Tarquin warned as the rooms were being surveyed.

“We’ll just stay in our own rooms,” Morgan frowned.

“He think these other people might kills us,” Octavian explained.

“What people?”

“Oh any of them,” Tarquin declared. “There’s the money we made clear we have—”

“—and the sacrifice,” Octavian added. “They were speaking quick casually about how in other towns they are murdering people for Auril.”

Morgan shook his head. “That’s in other towns. He also said the Speaker here hasn’t made it public. So they’ll still be working out the details, won’t they?”

“Yes and if I was a Speaker the best way to make it public is to say ‘don’t worry, it’s not you’,” Tarquin said. “As a student of history, all I would say is it’s never something to worry about — until it’s too late.”

“Well I’m not worried about being sacrificed, but you sleep where you need,” Morgan said firmly.

“I’ll stay with you, Tarquin,” Octavian said, “I would prefer safety and someone on guard.”

Tarquin nodded agreement. “I’m not expecting someone to knock down the door, but I want to be prepared in case someone wants to knock down the door…”

Everyone gathered in Arlington’s room to review the discoveries from the Sunless Citadel, and plan what move to make next. Arlington called for everyone’s attention.

“Gentlemen. Before anything else, what I want to know, as I hinted downstairs, is what everybody’s intentions are. I came here to hunt a moose.”

“Is that what this has been all about?” Tarquin asked.

“Well, in short, yes. But. Having experienced what we experienced over the last few days, I have realised that there are perhaps bigger and better trophies out there that might be pursued.”

“I like where you’re going with that.”

“None of them,” Arlington continued, “are druids, however.”

“Perhaps the druids will help us along our way.”

“Well that’s what I’m thinking.”

“Anyway Arlington — I’m in,” Tarquin said firmly.

Arlington looked surprised at the rapid declaration. “Well what’s your agenda?”

“My agenda is to chase the dream. Before it was a little moose, now it’s somewhat larger.”

“I don’t know what that means, either,” Morgan whispered to Ezra.

Arlington turned to Morgan. “And you?”

“Well I just replied to your job ad.”

“But what are you doing up here?”

“Ah. That’s a long…I’m not sure,” Morgan hesitated. “I got told by…by someone on good authority…probably looking into my past is the best way of looking at it.” Morgan looked down at his feet, clearly unhappy.

Arlington waited a moment. “And is that likely to be furthered by seeking these druids?”

“I don’t know. It might be. I was sent up here by an oracle.” Arlington’s eyes glazed over — as Tarquin’s lit up. Morgan continued: “I’m not sure what I’m going to find here. I’ve been here a few years and have found nothing, but this is the closest to something ‘not normal’ that’s happened. So I’m happy to be with you fellows for a while, because things have happened.”

“Well that’s about as straight an answer as we’re going to get from you I imagine.”

“As to what I need to do soon,” Morgan said, ignoring Arlington’s slight, “Is to take this lantern back to Caer Konig. One of the leads we found was something lay to the east of Caer Konig, which is strange as it’s a whole bunch of frozen nothing. But there’s a couple of woodsmen, like your ilk Arlington, that we might be able to talk to that might know more.”

“Unlikely to be quite my ilk,” Arlington corrected huffily.

Morgan turned to Eearwaxx who was leaning quietly against the wall in a corner. “You’ve been quiet Eearwaxxx. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care, what else am I going to do?” the young wizard sighed. Everyone was reminded just how young he really was.

Morgan sat down next to Eearwaxx. “You’ve almost been killed three times since you’ve met these people.”

“Who? Me? No I haven’t! I’m good.” Jankx laughed — he’d met plenty of teens in his time, and they were always indestructible in their own eyes.

Arlington gave up on trying to get further commitments, and the discussions began.

It was generally agreed that the Duergar appeared to pose some threat to Icewind, though most of that was based on the boasting of Nildar and his ostensible brother, Durth. In his note Durth boasted of his father ‘reigning over this dark land’, and Nildar had ranted about his father destroying Ten Towns — ‘your doom soars on dragon’s wings! — no less.

“I think this is something that we need to discuss, Arlington,” Tarquin said. “If we’re going to go and offer our services, should we also be indicating that things are more dire than they seem?”

“I’m not sure which of those clues indicates that,” Arlington replied.

“Ah, the dragon out of town that we saw, and the promise to rain down death on Ten Towns?” Tarquin deadpanned. “Those ones.”

“We killed them,” Arlington said, meaning Nildar and his Duergar.

“No, no, not the dragon. That we saw just outside of town. Being a manifestation of the threat that was written in the journal.”

“And the dragon was mentioned in relation to Nildar’s father, not Nildar,” Morgan said, agreeing with Tarquin.

“It strikes me that both Jankx here, and our little scaley friend, were developing quite a strong moral backbone when we were downstairs, with their concern about these things. Particularly the sacrifices. Do you really think it’s prudent to warn the powers that be that the situation may be more dire and therefore perhaps accelerating their descent toward this sort of chaos?”

After unravelling Arlington’s rather proper manner of speaking, Jankx nodded slowly, as did Octavian. It made a kind of sense — more danger might mean more sacrifice.

Tarquin wasn’t so sure. “Personally — personally — out of chaos comes opportunity.” Octavian groaned as Tarquin continued. “If we were looking to leverage any sort of payment for our services, one might think that when the chips are down, the booty might flow.”

Morgan shook his head. “How much money do you need?”

“I don’t need money, but by virtue of becoming in an arrangement we can perhaps secure ourselves things like not being at the top of a list.”

Arlington frowned. “I asked you what your agenda was, and you said it was finding exciting tales. It now seems that your agenda is perhaps finding an exciting pot of money.”

“Arlington my good friend, as you well know, all good quests cost money.”

“Cost money. But money should not be our goal.”

“Of course! I’m just looking at ways to secure our party,” Tarquin nodded.

“At the cost of what!” Arlington growled. “The people of this town? If we tell them there is a dragon around, they will only start sacrificing faster.”

“I agree,” Eearwaxx piped up.

“No! They’ll look for people to go and do something about it!” Tarquin cried.

“That may well do that, but they will start sacrificing people of the village.”

Octavian raised his voice to interject. “Why would they sacrifice faster? The dragon is a threat, sure, but what they’re sacrificing to is to Auril — who doesn’t control that dragon.”

“I think our little friend here’s implication was that the dragon was a manifestation of Auril’s threat.”

“No—” Tarquin started, but Arlington’s hackles were well raised and he shouted him down. “YOU SAID THOSE WORDS! You said ‘manifestation of the threat’!”

Tarquin paused to allow Arlington some space. He raised his hands innocently, “You misunderstand—”

“Oh I understand!”

“—I’m not interested in a descent into chaos. Chaos is already here,” Tarquin finished, grinning evilly.

Arlington stared at Tarquin, unimpressed.

“Forgive me if I’ve stepped on your toes,” Tarquin continued, sensing that perhaps a truce was called for. “I’m not looking to cause trouble here, I’m looking to help.”

“Help who?” Arlington huffed.

“Well, you know, help build the story, help find the story, help spread the story. And we can’t do that unless we go and face the story.”

“I’m all for pursuing this endeavour,” Arlington said, “Perhaps I should have said that at the outset. But what I’m not all for is heightening the hysteria of the powers that be in the process.”

“Well if you don’t want to tell them about the dragon, that’s up to you. Personally I think we should tell them that we just saw a dragon.”

“We saw several,” Eearwaxx mumbled.

“If the dragon isn’t a manifestation of the threat of the deity, how is it related?”

“Well that’s something to find out, isn’t it,” Tarquin smiled.

Octavian held his hand up as he paged through his tome, Lore of the Great Wyrms. “Before we killed him, the druid in the tree boasted ‘Auril’s truth will be revealed to the unbelievers! Even now her druids gather in the endless winter!’. Right. So now we look at the dragon Ashardalon. An undead dragon. His history is tied to the Gulthias tree where we found the druid. So I’m making a very simple reflection that there might be something to do with Auril, the druid, and this undead dragon.”

It was a complicated thread, but once unravelled there was a possibility there. Octavian read the entire section on Ashardalon ‘the Undying’, elaborating on the details that were of particular note.

“So the place we were in is the sunken citadel from the story,” Morgan said with wonder. “We were there.” Octavian nodded, impressed at Morgan’s quick comprehension. Octavian continued reading, and Morgan’s face grew very still with the mention of mention of ‘extra-planar Dark Powers’ that had suffused Ashardalon’s heart. And when Octavian the segment of Gulthias which mentioned the ‘Shadowfell realms such as Barovia’, Morgan jumped to his feet.

“I’m from there!”

Octavian looked blank, as did everyone but Eearwaxx. “It’s a shadowfell realm, like Octavian’s book says,” he said. “It’s a real place, but no-one really knows how to get there. Only the Vistani wanderers are said to know the secrets of travelling there.” Octavian was stunned that Eearwaxx knew such detail, given his own complete blank.

“That’s my home,” Morgan repeated. “I don’t even know if it’s still a shadowfell realm, now. You can only get to it through a portal, in a town near the desert called Parnast. It used to be separated from this world, ruled over by a vampire.”

“Gulthias?” Octavian asked, “The book mentioned that he was turned into a vampire!”

“There was a tree there with that name — my father and his companions destroyed it, or so he tells. They freed Barovia from the curse it was under, so travel there is now possible. Or so I believe.”

Octavian was rapt in this tale, as was everyone. A mysterious hidden realm, ruled over by a vampire lord, and now free. Tarquin scribbled furiously into his journal, determined to learn more of this fabled land and Morgan’s father.

“The one thing that was always of concern to my father,” Morgan continued, “Was the things that he referred to as the ‘Dark Powers’. He told me they had been locked away, protected by an order of Paladin’s that stops them from getting out. My sword holds their crest,” Morgan said, lifting his sword and displaying the icon, a rising sun overlaid with the head of a silver dragon.

---

Morgan couldn’t stop talking through his excitement. “Maybe this is why I’m here. This is the first clue since I was sent here by one of my father’s friends. An old elf from Candlekeep.”

Tarquin was trying to link all the stories, but he tried his best to note down all the details. There were a lot of pieces. He sketched the sword and pommel.

Octavian was just as fascinated. “The interesting thing is that, as opposed to the rest of us it seems, you were sent. Someone knew that some of the things we’re encountering were happening.”

Tarquin turned a quizzical eye to Octavian. “But you weren’t sent? Why are you here?”

“Oh I was told I have an incredible destiny, and that I should go and investigate my place in the world, and that from there I will come to greatness. I dreamt of a power that was drastically unbalancing the great druidic equilibrium, and awoke knowing I should travel to the far north to seek the greater truth that lay here.”

“Mine wasn’t quite that grandiose—” Morgan said.

“Well of course not for you, whereas my greatness is foretold,” Octavian said without any trace of ego.

“That is a very grand path that you are treading then,” Tarquin nodded. “And it is one that I would be quite happy to tread with you.” He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the stories to come.

“And I am glad there’s a chronicler,” Octavian smiled.

“Well Arlington, it sounds like our paths have already been laid out before us. Here I was trying to convince people and they were already marching down that path.”

“Does any of this make any sense to you, Eearwaxx?” Arlington asked, “Were you sent here by oracles and mystical visions?”

But Eearwaxx was fast asleep in the corner of the room.

Arlington nodded to Jankx instead. “What about you Jankx? Are you going to reveal that you were mystically sent here?”

Jankx laughed softly. “No, I don’t think…although I don’t know now. I didn’t think I was. I’m really on the most mundane of quests. My family has lost something that I am trying to recover. It might actually play a part that I didn’t understand, in this. I am as shocked as anyone. I thought I was just tracking down a common thief, but the rock that was mentioned in Nildar’s chardalyn journal — the ‘space rock’ — that is what I seek. That can’t be just coincidence, it seems there is more to the story of that rock than my family let on. It seems to be connected with whatever is going on here. I don’t think I was sent, but now that you mention it maybe I was. I just didn’t know it until now.”

Arlington nodded. “My next question to everyone was going to be ‘why is this our problem’, but that seems to be slightly moot now.”

Tarquin turned to Arlington. “I suppose it goes back to asking you, fearless leader: is it just a moose we are after?”

“A moose is all I’m after. I fail to see in what version of events I am still your fearless leader,” Arlington said tiredly.

“You have brought us all together,” Tarquin replied.

“Purely by the will of beings from other worlds as far as I can see.”

Arlington’s dispirited tone and moose obsession reminded Octavian of something. He pulled out the note Tarquin had recovered from the scroll-case in the library, marked with Dzaan’s seal, and read it aloud:

…due east of Caer-Konig. A spire broken from Ythryn’s descent! Perhaps only rumours — Tafferac was hunting her ‘moose’ at the time — however we should explore fur…”

“Why does the ‘moose’ have quotation marks on it?” Octavian asked.

“As far as I know, a moose is a moose,” Arlington chuckled, feeling he was losing control.

“Doesn’t seem to be, if this note is anything to go by” Octavian said ominously. “Perhaps you are just as wrapped up in this as the rest of us.”

Arlington paled. “I would assume the moose was in inverted commas because the writer of the note didn’t believe the moose existed,” he said weakly.

“Then what are you really pursuing?”

“A moose that I know exists,” Arlington said defensively. “What are you pursuing?”

“Glory,” Octavian said firmly.

“A dragon,” Tarquin said just as quickly, the majesty of Arveiaturace still fresh in his mind. “All I know is that if there are dragons involved, that’s what I want,” Tarquin continued. “For some of us the story is big, for me the story is big. And it isn’t just about the story, it’s about the beast at the end. And I’ve seen that beast, and that’s what’s driving me.”

“Sounds like destiny has brought us together — even you, Sir Arlington,” Jankx said.

“What better reason to throw our lots in together than destiny,” Tarquin grinned.

“Well if you are all set on seeking fortune and glory, I guess I could come with you,” Arlington sighed.

Tarquin looked at Arlington anew, realising that the great hunter was perhaps a little older than he had thought, and a little worn down by the journey so far. “Perhaps we should all get some sleep,” Tarquin suggested.

Before bedding down it was agreed the next steps were visiting Cobberknocker and seeking an audience with Speaker Duvessa Shane, both in Bryn Shander. It made sense to head to Easthaven next to find Erky Timbers and find out what he knew, as well as following up on the note from Durth about being hidden on the Easthaven ferry. And returning Morgan’s lantern was last on the agenda. Morgan also vowed to spend time studying the jet-black red-tinged sword recovered from the warrior, and Octavian the gnarled mould and mushroom coated staff the druid had clutched.

It was a long list, and no-one doubted it was destined to fall apart quickly, but it was a plan.

---

A Visit to the Speaker

Tarquin jolted awake to the sound of Octavian screaming.

He sat bolt upright and peered over to see Octavian thrashing about on his bed in the throes of a nightmare. Tarquin hustled over and shook the kobold out of his slumber.

“The stones! The stones!” Octavian panted, his heartbeat racing.

“What stones?”

“The druids — they go to the stones,” Octavian said urgently. He rapidly regained his equilibrium, slightly embarrassed that Tarquin had seen his panic. “Don’t worry, in the morning I will report to Arlington.”

“Ok…sleep easy,” Tarquin said with a twinkle. He moved back to his bed and lay down — but kept a single eye on Octavian until he was satisfied his companion was sleeping again.

---

When Octavian woke again it was dawn. His head throbbed with a heaviness that would normally mean overdoing it the night before. But he hadn’t, and he felt a nagging weight that he couldn’t attribute to anything, not even the dream. He shook his head a few times but the pressing wouldn’t go away. He grunted and tried to shrug it off as he prepared for the day.

Tarquin watched on, seeing Octavian struggle. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Octavian said, somewhat subdued, “Everything is…fine. Weird night.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“I remember I could see stones, a menhir, like a henge. And the druids, white druids with ice-blue eyes, I assume Auril’s though I could see no symbols. And they were sacrificing something at the stones,” Octavian grimaced.

Tarquin was scribbling notes into his journal. “Was this a dream, or a vision?”

“I think a vision.”

“How long have you been having them?”

“I have had them all my life, but very rare — three or four in my whole life.”

“And you are sure this is a vision?”

“I think so, but you are never quite sure.”

“Then it is fortunate that we have a party and we have fallen in line,” Tarquin smiled as he wrote.

“There is something at work here,” Octavian nodded, “Everyone has come together, seemingly coincidentally, but everyone has a reason to be here. Probably more to help me, I’m guessing,” he added.

“Of course,” Tarquin said with a chuckle. “Tell me — why are you here, Octavian? What do you need to do?”

“The original reason I was here, apart from burnishing my glory and putting myself out there as the greatest of my tribe and maybe even species,” Octavian said thoughtfully as Tarquin struggled to control his mirth, “Is that the druidic powers are out of balance. That it is not right, what is happening here.”

“In his valance, he screamed it is out of balance,” Tarquin said, trying the rhyme as he wrote. “Well my friend this is all very interesting. Shall we to breakfast where you can tell the others?”

Octavian nodded and followed the bard out of the room, noting as he passed the words on the journal’s opening page:

The last line caused Octavian to look afresh at Tarquin as he descended. What dark secret followed his companion?

---

Scramsax was preparing a huge vat of porridge and root vegetables in the kitchen as everyone slowly arrived. The common room was empty, there not being many — or any — other residents. The keep looked fresh despite his long night. “Your meals will be ready shortly,” he nodded as Tarquin and Octavian were first to arrive.

Tarquin nodded a greeting. “Thank you Scramsax. I was having a chat with my good friend here, and we were just wondering if there were any standing stones nearby?”

“Standing stones?”

“Tall. As if they were placed by big men.”

“None ‘round Bryn Shander. But there are those down at Dougan’s,” Scramsax said with a scowl. “I’d stay well away from those if I were you.”

“Why?” Octavian asked.

“Well nobody really knows why they are there, nor how they got there. No-one know nothing. And you know what Dougan’s is like — or maybe you don’t?”

Jankx had arrived and nodded. “It is called Dougan’s Hole, that’ll tell you enough won’t it?” he grinned. Those who had been in Icewind for a while knew Dougan’s Hole was the smallest of all the settlements, and when people talk about Dougan’s they talk about cousins marrying cousins.

“I see,” Tarquin said. “And did they have a representative at the recent meet?”

“No they didn’t,” Scramsax confirmed. “They keep to themselves, mind their own. And they’re already sacrificing.”

“So they were the point of the sword. We’re playing catch-up here,” Tarquin said.

Scramsax leaned in. “I’m not one to spread rumours, but some have said there are folk there with two heads — make of that what you will.”

“Ettin-blood,” Octavian said matter-of-factly.

“As for the twenty stones, as I say, I advise keeping your distance.”

At the mention of twenty, Octavian sat up a little straighter. His vision had exactly that many stones.

---

Everyone but Eearwaxx arrived at the breakfast tables and tucked into the food. A real bed followed by a real meal. Tarquin eventually delivered Eearwaxx a bowl of grits, kicking the bed until the young wizard woke and dragged himself downstairs.

Outside it was snowing heavily, so much so that seeing the other side of the street was impossible.

Octavian called for attention. “Gentlemen. Last night I had a dream — perhaps stronger than a dream, a vision — and it was all centered around one of the pieces of the puzzle. And that is that there is a place here where the Druids of Auril are sacrificing people — which I am sure has something to do what is occurring here. It is centred around a stonehenge of menhirs.”

“Which is down near Dougan’s Hole,” Tarquin added.

Eearwaxx held his hand up. “I’ve been there on my Ten Towns travels. Once. It’s a strange place, the only town where no-one came to buy my services. They’re a bit secretive there.”

“And did you see these stones?” Octavian asked.

“Oh yes, they are there. They’re just outside the town. It was a while ago, I was young. Those stones are huge, and they call them the Twenty Stones of Thruun. I think they were in a triangle shape, with a single stone at the centre. Normally a central stone is for sacrifice,” Eearwaxx reported bookishly. “Not a nice place.”

Octavian spluttered as he choked on his drink. A single central stone was the sacrificial alter in his dream.

“Sounds like they’ve been sacrificing there for years then,” Tarquin observed. “It just so happens now they have a reason.”

“They’ve run out of virgins, that’s for sure,” Eearwaxx said to everyone’s surprise.

“Well let’s get you sorted before we go there then,” Tarquin quipped. Eearwaxx blushed bright red, as Tarquin clapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine!”

“I know, I’ll be right because I’m a mighty magician,” Eearwaxx said, his voice shaking slightly.

“So are we changing our plans?” Arlington asked.

“I am just saying it so you know everything relevant,” Octavian replied.

“Best to share it with the rest of the party,” Tarquin nodded.

“I also noticed something last night we may have missed,” Morgan said. “The scroll case that spoke of the mystery Spire had the name ‘Dzaan’ written on the outside. And Dzaan was the master of that gnome we rescued and released — Erky Timbers. I don’t know, another lead. There seems to be a whole lot of connected things. Anyway, I think seeing Speaker Shane is a good idea, and I want to visit the House of the Morninglord and find this Copper Knobberknocker.”

“I agree,” Jankx nodded, “He is definitely someone I want to see.”

“I also think that given we are going to be travelling around, and given we have come into some money, we should visit the stables and see if they could sell us to ride or pull us around,” Morgan said.

“Mother was supposed to deliver a dogsled,” Arlington sighed.

Dogsleds were common in Ten Towns, the main method for transporting goods and people (that could afford it) between Towns.

“I’ve seen people riding what looks like a big chicken too,” Octavian said.

“Axe beaks!” Eearwaxx piped up. “Domesticated of course. I’m an expert at riding them.”

“I am absolutely not riding one of those,” Arlington said definitively, “They are not a civilized ride.”

“So does that mean you’re going to be on the sled?” Tarquin asked.

“If at all possible. That was my intention from the outset of this endeavour.”

“I think it’s a great idea, Morgan, to think about getting dogs and a sled,” Tarquin said. “Though we don’t all need to ride the sled, so perhaps some of Eearwaxx’s axe beaks too. They look like a very dramatic mount, I’m interested in having a go myself!”

“Before we go spending all our funds,” Arlington said, “Jankx, if you will, can you remind me of how much I had agreed to pay each of you for our previous expedition?”

Jankx thought for a moment. “I don’t believe we ever settled on a figure,” he said. He was a little shocked when he recalled this — before recalling he took a calculated a gamble based on Arlington’s obvious background of wealth. A gamble that had mostly paid off, he reflected now, though not in the expected manner. “We were to collect your delivery, and then hunt the moose and be compensated accordingly. It was more of a handshake agreement.”

Arlington nodded. “In which case, gentlemen, can I ask you what you would agree to be a fair fee?” He ran his eye across the group.

Octavian was first to speak. “For the original job — one gold.” Arlington turned to Morgan, who responded quickly: “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Jankx? The fee will be the same for all of you,” Arlington explained.

“Yes. I feel that one gold was what made sense for what was promised, which was a short escort journey. It may not have been appropriate for what occurred, but yes, one gold for an escort. I find it hard to challenge that. If we had have continued to the moose, it would be a far larger sum.”

“I have now cancelled that part of the contract,” Arlington announced, “On account of not receiving the hunting wherewithal from my mother that I had expected — having lost most of it in an avalanche.”

“In that case, since we are no longer hunting moose,” Tarquin said, “I’m quite happy that we take a small fee for our escort mission. Notwithstanding the fun and games we had beyond that. One gold it is!”

“Are we getting more gold?” Eearwaxx said with surprise. “Weren’t we given our bags of coin last night?”

“Eearwaxx, dear boy, you ask a question: why are being given more gold? Let me answer you with a question of my own: Do you know what is embroidered into the label that my mother stitched into the back of the very britches that I’m wearing?”

Eearwaxx slid over next to Arlington and peered down the back of his pants. On the inside seam was a label: “A.P.B.” he read aloud.

“Do you know what that stands for, Eearwaxx? Always. Pays. Bills.” Arlington flipped a single golden coin to a grinning Eearwaxx, then shook out his coin purse and passed everyone their fee.

---

The snow was piled up chest high outside as everyone strapped on their equipment and rugged up.

“Might I say that the deeper the snow gets, the more they’ll be pointing at us,” Tarquin observed conspiratorially.

“What I’ve always said is: the deeper the snow, the clearer the tracks,” Arlington countered to general awe. “Note that one down, Tarquin.”

“Is there an outfitter, or person who sells magical things in town?” Morgan asked as he secured his armour.

“Magic, no. Blackiron Blades have weaponry and adventuring needs, but I’d hesistate to call them an ‘outfitter’. There are a few seamstress stores, though they are in low demand. People tend to have one nice set of clothes which they keep for years.”

“Wasn’t Ten Towns famous for having adventurers in it?” Morgan asked.

“That’s us,” Arlington quipped.

“There have to be people here more qualified than us.” Morgan knew the Shorard sisters were struggling in Caer-Konig, but he had assumed the larger towns were doing better.

Jankx grinned. “Yes, once. But not for some years now — the winter has slowed trade down to nothing. We’re the only guests here, for example.” Scramax grunted agreement from the kitchen.

“Which indicates both opportunity and threat, to us,” Tarquin observed. “We made a bit of a show last night, so we should stay together.”

Jankx nodded. “Bryn Shander is safe enough, but the other Towns may be less so.”

Arlington stood ready at the tavern door. “Given the council meeting was only a night ago, if we get to the Town Hall soon there is a good chance there may be a quorum of Speakers still in place.”

“Sounds valid,” Tarquin agreed. “The earlier we can get there the higher the chance we can catch some of the ambassadors from outlying towns.”

“More the point is that we manage to get ourselves deputised more broadly.”

“Agreed. Recognition is the key to safety,” Tarquin said, always looking to have the last word.

“Before we go,” Octavian said, pulling out the druid staff. “This staff — it’s magical, and has some powers I will put to good use. Speaking to plants, clouds of spores…”

“To what end?” Arlington queried.

“So that if people are attacking us I can cover them in a cloud that will hurt them.”

“Ah — dangerous spores!”

“Yes. You guys are pretty good at murdering, so I think the main thing is the speak with plants.”

“I was going to pull you up on that. You count yourself as a ‘druid’, what benefit does one get from speaking to a shrub?” Arlington said, managing to keep his scepticism tolerably low.

“Where it can help is, not that shrubs have great powers of conversation, but something like: ‘Has anyone come past?’. ‘Yes.’. ‘Was anyone injured?’. ‘No’. That kind of information.”

“So the same kind of thing you could get from a leaf of a plant and seeing if there were any blood droplets on it,” Arlington nodded.

“Yes, though I would get the information even if there were no blood droplets, where you would not. That’s the difference.”

“Well. It may be of use yet.” Others weren’t sure if Arlington meant Octavian, or the staff. Octavian read it as the former and rolled his eyes.

During this conversation Morgan had strapped on his breastplate, a beautiful and worn piece of armour, it’s demonic motif a stark contrast to the golden sunburst on his main weapon.

---

Morgan also fastened both his sword and the warrior’s blood-black longsword to his back. Unlike Octavian he didn’t offer any details about the new weapon.

---

The black sword reminded Tarquin of something. “Chardalyn — was there something we were going to do to see if they were of value to our gnomish friend?”

“Yes, it was on our list of things to do,” Arlington said.

Octavian, seeing Tarquin’s curiosity, passed Tarquin one of the three shards he had collected. “See what you make of it.”

Tarquin nodded his thanks, then addressed the group. “Just to be clear. The purpose of going to see the Speaker is to, in part, announce ourselves as being worth adventurers willing to journey out to deal with the dangers that are leading us to have to sacrifice people.”

“I think that’s a very pertinent point,” Arlington jumped in, trying to establish authority. “Because they may all be convinced that following the example of outlying towns and sacrificing in line with the druid’s advice is a good thing to do. So we need to not just say ‘we will go and get the druids for you’, we need to say ‘the druids may be wrong’.”

Morgan frowned. “I don’t spend much time in Bryn Shander, but I’ve been up here a while, and the people are mostly good people. So I think everybody’s getting a bit panicky that there’s suddenly going to be human sacrifice in the streets of Bryn Shander. Jankx can correct me if I’m wrong but this place has a pretty good reputation as far as hospitality is concerned.”

“Of the Ten. It’s relative,” Jankx warned. “What I will say though Arlington, and Tarquin, is that it’s not so much that I fear that we will be sacrificed, I fear that we will be turned away. That is something that you two in particular may need to have a plan for. Why would we be received for such an audience? What are we offering? Why would she speak to us?”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to express,” Arlington agreed.

“I assume most adventurer’s are up here for their own selfish reasons,” Tarquin suggested.

“Correct,” Jankx nodded, “But there is less to be selfish about now.”

“For us to be of us, then we perhaps need to be thinking of the needs of others.”

“We need to be addressing what their wants are,” Arlington stressed.

“What we do have,” Jankx said, “Is information. We know stuff, unfortunately, because of the last week, and I would say that is something of high value. Any token, or something that verifies we know something, that would be a good entry point. And I don’t think there is any great reason for it to be kept secret — but I am guided by our leader.”

Jankx was somewhat surprised to see Arlington looked over to Tarquin. Jankx’s eyes drifted to Octavian, eyebrows raised, as if to say ‘oh my god, he’s throwing the ball to the psychopath’. Octavian nodded sagely as Tarquin bowed.

“We have information. I am of the belief that if we give them something in good faith, then we stand a better chance of being deemed worth of their time,” Tarquin announced.

“Is speaker Shane unapproachable, Jankx?” Morgan asked. “Because if we want to speak to Speaker Trovus, we just find him at the bar.”

“No she’s friendly enough, but she’s also not someone you will find at the Northlook. Big towns like this take a lot of administration.”

“How big is Caer-Konig?” Tarquin asked, hinting.

“Under two hundred,” Morgan said, quickly realising that Bryn Shander was at least ten times that. “In any case, if Trovus is here we can speak to him. You might like him, Octavian, he’s a dragonborn. Like you but six and a half feet taller.”

Octavian was stunned. “What? A dragonborn is in charge of your town?”

“Well he’s the Speaker — it would be debatable if he’s in charge. And he’s kind of the sheriff as well.”

“And the publican,” Tarquin laughed.

“No that’s Allie and Cori’s job,” Morgan answered deadly serious. “And the Hook, Line, and Sinker I guess, but I don’t like those guys.”

“Tarquin,” Arlington said, bringing the conversation back, “What I want to know is what are you planning to get out of this exchange? And what are we planning to put in? It’s a trade, right? She’s going to want something, and I’m afraid I’m not even clear what it is that we want.”

“Favour,” Morgan said simply.

“What we want is a contract, with some recompense, much like we were offered at the beginning of our terms with you—”

“I PAID MY DUES!” Arlington yelled.

Tarquin flipped his sole coin in the air and grinned as he continued, “—and that contract will be to seek out the source of the problems here.”

Octavian waved his hands. “I don’t care about payment. We’ll end up murdering and looting, more the point is we need their help and insight. Supplies, advice, local knowledge. We don’t need money, we need thoughts.”

“We also need to have a key to the city,” Tarquin added, “If things do get bad here, we need to be able to say ‘this is our place’.”

“Have we got a strong enough offering? Do they want the service you are offering?”

“Well we just saw a dragon.”

“I know! But if just say ‘we saw a dragon, give us carte blanche for murder’ I don’t think that’s enough.”

“No, no, but you are a great hunter. For gods’ sake pull yourself together man!”

“He hasn’t even hunted the moose,” Octavian grumbled.

Morgan had been chatting quietly with Ezra when he suddenly laughed. “Yeah I know, it’s just like they used to talk about.” He turned to the group. “Our father used to regale us with stories about his friends when they first came to where I live, Barovia, and they got involved with the politics of the biggest town in Barovia — Vallaki. And though it all turned out ok in the end, the one thing they did wish is that they’d never got involved in any of that. And I can’t help but think that’s relevant now.”

“I bet they had one person, though, that could make the hard decisions,” Octavian deadpanned.

“His advice was: don’t get involved in the politics of the towns. That will sort itself out. Let’s just go out and do something and come back with the result,” Morgan said.

“We just did,” Tarquin said seriously.

“Let’s continue doing that,” Jankx said.

Tarquin nodded. “But we should let them know that we are going to keep doing that. And we should let them know that it’s in their interests.”

“People in the Ten Towns talk,” Morgan said, “It’s a small place — if we go out and do things people will hear. You don’t even need to speak to the Speaker.”

“I understand that, Morgan, but I have the need to give the story direct to the Speaker. Because we don’t want to be the subject of whispers.”

---

Everyone was finally ready. Before Tarquin could get out the door, Arlington whispered in his ear, “Tarquin, you are the leader of this expedition for exactly as long as it takes for you to speak to the Speaker and for us to get out of here.” Tarquin smiled and stepped outside.

Jankx led everyone out into the cold and toward the Town Hall in the centre of Bryn Shander. Despite the heavy snowfall, there was no wind, so the streets were strangely silent. Only the creak of snow on rooftops and the occasional passing citizen broke the dense quiet.

The Town Hall was only a thousand feet away, but it felt like an arduous journey. By the time Tarquin shoved open the front doors everyone was gasping for breath. Inside was a large, wood-lined entry hall, with double stairs leading to an upper level. Two industrious functionaries sat behind a long welcome desk, each scribing into large books. A bored security guard lent against the far wall, idling watching as everyone shook the snow from their clothing.

Tarquin led Jankx and Arlington to the counter, and one staffer looked up expectantly. “Can we help you, sirs?”

“My good man,” Tarquin bowed slightly, “We are looking to speak to the Speaker.”

“I see. And do you have an appointment?”

“No, no, but I think it would be in her interest to hear what we have to say,” Tarquin smiled.

“Yes of course,” the man said, picking up his quill, “Well, as you can imagine, many people wish to talk to Speaker Shane, and there is quite a waiting list. So unless you have an appointment, or some other very good reason, I’m afraid she is rather busy. Perhaps I can put you down on the list and we can contact you when time is due. How does that sound? Your name sir?”

Arlington poked Tarquin in the back, noting he had drifted off during the blather. Tarquin pressed on. “We are here to give something of import, and in a normal circumstance I would press my case, but in this case our story is what presses. And if you do not wish to inform the Speaker of the dangers that are impending. We do not have time to tarry with a functionary. Give us the Speaker — now.”

“Very good sir. Now, here is the ledger of bookings. In this column we have residents, and on this side we have—”

Octavian interrupted. “Tarquin! Don’t worry. I can control the weather from another town. Let’s go! These people can just freeze to death,” he said, thumping the staff on the desk. The man recoiled at the sight of the gnarled and spore-covered weapon.

Tarquin turned to the assistant and grinned. “We bid you farewell — this sounds like it will be another town’s story.”

The staffer raised an eyebrow. “Sir. Please ask your colleague to remove that thing from my desk.” Tarquin nodded and Octavian withdrew.

“Thank you sir. Now as I was saying, if you do have a pressing need that bypasses our usual methods, then you will need to communicate it to me, and threats will not help your case,” he said, glaring at Octavian.

Tarquin nodded. “It is not that we are here to cause a ruckus, we simply have words of great import that need to be told directly to the Speaker.” Arlington coughed, but Tarquin pressed on. “We have been places this past week, we have seen things. We carry messages and tokens. But we will take them elsewhere, to another town that is willing to hear us out. If Bryn Shander has no time for understanding the danger it is in…so be it. What is your name, my good friend, that I may tell it to others?”

The man looked somewhat affronted but maintained his dignity. “Of course. My name is Godfrey Riddlecarol. You may tell that to anyone that you wish.”

Octavian sidled up and whispered — loudly — to Tarquin. “Oh! He was in the vision. He will be the first to be sacrificed.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Sir. I have told you one already, please step back.” Riddlecarol turned back to Tarquin. “At least you will talk with some semblance of sanity. Now. As much as I would like to help, thus far all you have shown me is honeyed words. I see no proof nor evidence that we should grant you a special audience.”

Arlington reached out to Tarquin’s shoulder, seeing Tarquin was in danger of escalating things, but Tarquin shrugged it off. “Good Godfrey, you stand in the way of our story. If the Speaker does not wish to know of the dragon, then so be it!”

Riddlecarol immediately held his hand up to his lips to hush Tarquin. “Please sir! I can tell that you are not from around here, but please sir, no more on this subject.”

“The dragon?” Tarquin questioned.

“Sir! I have asked you once,” Riddlecarol hissed, glancing over to the guard.

Tarquin was confused. Was the dragon off limits, or was there something more he was missing? Why would merely mentioning the dragon — a dragon that threatened to destroy the Towns — cause such a reaction?

Arlington tightened his grip on Tarquin and leaned in to speak. “Godfrey. We do not seek any assistance from the Speaker. We merely offer our assistance — at no cost.”

“I see,” Riddlecarol said, calming down somewhat.

“We have gained insight into the mechanisms behind the plight that effects the north, and we attend to aggressively pursue the cause. We merely wish to seek the Speaker’s, uhh—”

“Blessing,” Morgan hissed.

“—blessing in doing so,” Arlington nodded.

“I see. So you are offering services, not that services be offered to you?”

“This is correct. Do I look like someone who needs your service?” Arlington huffed.

“Well your friend here seemed to suggest that was the case?”

“I feel you have misread the situation egregiously,” Arlington frowned.

“Me?” It was Tarquin’s turn to huff. “My good man, I did nothing of the sort. I understand it is your way to stand in the way of seeing the Speaker. We come—”

“Sir, may I just speak to your friend,” Riddlecarol interrupted, turning to Arlington. “You seem to be a man of stature. Can you tell me what it is you are offering Bryn Shander?”

“We will pursue the causes of the eternal winter that has beset the north, with or without your blessing.”

“Do you follow Macreadus’s approach?”

Arlington was momentarily nonplussed, but Tarquin saw an opportunity. He pulled out the sample of chardalyn and placed it on the counter. “We have surpassed Macreadus’s aspirations already.”

“Well I would hope so. And what is that?” Riddlecarol asked, pointing to the stone.

“This is what Macreadus has sought, and not found. This is just what we found last week, and now we go further. If you have no help for us in terms of giving us access to the Speaker—”

Riddlecarol held his hand up. “Enough. You are the leader of your troupe?”

“This is our glorious leader, and you will abide him,” Arlington growled.

“Very well. Let me lay out what I have heard. You seek an audience with Speaker Shane. And what you are offering is assistance, perhaps to do with the rock that you have placed on my counter,” Riddlecarol said distastefully, “Which will help you end, or at least mitigate, what we have been experiencing here.”

Tarquin was steaming. Arlington poked Tarquin again. “I think it is pertinent at this point to note that we are growing tiresome of this bureaucracy. And that our leader here has no time for your wordplay, and that if you are of a mind to expediate this process, then we are also. So if you could see your way to providing us with an audience, I think that would alleviate the constipation, frankly, that is this interchange.”

Riddlecarol lent back. “I see your frustration, though I do take slight offence at your tone. I am merely doing my job. None-the-less, I am convinced. There is a spot available this afternoon — but it is reserved for residents. So I must ask you: there are six of you I count, are any of you residents of Bryn Shander?”

Arlington had rarely seen someone so rigidly stick to the inanity of administration. “Jankx,” he grumbled, “Sign the piece of paper for the man.”

Jankx stepped to the counter. “Your name, sir?” Riddlecarol held open a ledger of residents. Jankx hesitated for an instant.

Eearwaxx, skulking in the corner of the room, was so bored he felt he was losing his mind. He saw Jankx pause and decided to take things into his own hands. He waved his hands and the two functionaries and guard dropped to the floor, sound asleep. “Can we go now?”

Everyone spun to look at the wizard.

“Well that worked,” Arlington smiled.

“I’m fast beginning to think this town needs a regime change,” Tarquin laughed. “Quickly, let’s find the Speaker.”

“One minute — get moving!” Eearwaxx cried.

Arlington and Jankx rapidly checked the back rooms but found them all empty of people. “Upstairs!” Only thirty seconds remained.

Octavian and Tarquin rushed up the stairs, and quickly scanned for light from any of the closed doors. One leaked yellow light, so Octavian ran over and flung the door open. Inside sat a young woman reading open scrolls and writing in an open book.

---

“Speaker Shane?” Octavian asked. The woman, taken by surprise, nodded as Octavian yelled “She’s here!”

Just as he did the sleeping staff roused themselves and started their own yelling. “The Speaker is in danger! Help! Help!!”

Morgan stepped forward to block the stairs. “She is not in danger,” he said calmly. The yelling continued.

The Speaker jumped to her feet, shrinking away from Octavian just as Tarquin entered. “Who are you? What do you want??” she cried.

Tarquin bowed low with a flourish, very respectful, and laying his sword on the ground. He looked up and met the Speaker’s gaze. “We have a message of great import.”

“Help! They are in the room!!”

“Be still, madam,” Arlington urged.

“You need not worry,” Tarquin added, doing her best to assuage her fears and bring his charisma to bear to focus all her attention on himself instead of his rather more lethal looking companions. “We have an urgent message for you, for the town of Bryn Shander. We come bearing that important message.”

The Speaker hesitated, wanting to believe Tarquin. “Your abrupt arrival and the cries from downstairs say I shouldn’t trust you, but—”

“I’M BLIND! I CAN’T SEE!! AHHHH!!!” came the cries from the lower floor, interrupting Shane. Eearwaxx had added a spray of colour to the room below, sending the functionaries into a world of darkness.

Morgan spun to Eearwaxx. “What have you done! Stop it!” he hissed before turning back to the victims.

“I don’t have fireball yet,” he said innocently.

“It’s enough now! They’ve found her, they’re just clerks, they’re not hurting anyone!”

“I’m not hurting them either,” Eearwaxx said.

“You’re freaking them out!”

“Alright, alright,” Eearwaxx said sulkily.

Upstairs Shane was angry again. “What are you doing to my staff?!”

Tarquin tried to calm her. “No-one is being harmed, you have to excuse—”

“They’re screaming! How can I trust you?!”

“She does make a good point,” Octavian said quietly, wondering what on earth Eearwaxx was doing down there.

“The urgency of our message to you—”

“I cannot listen to you whilst they are crying out this way! Prove to me they are safe!”

Tarquin spun and pointed at Octavian. “Quickly, fix this!”

Octavian stepped outside and yelled. “Eearwaxx! Stop that!!”

Eearwaxx heard the message and understood. “You’ll be alright, gentlemen. Just sit down.” He cancelled the spell and the staff all collapsed into a huddle, terrified. But their screaming stopped.

“It is merely that they were in the way of this important message to you,” Tarquin tried.

“What is the meaning of storming in here, scaring my staff, how is this to make me trust your intentions?”

“As Tarquin has said,” Arlington said, “The urgency of our message cannot be understated, madam. Please forgive us for the manner of our approach.”

Tarquin nodded. “Our bond is our trust, and we stand here ready to serve the town of Bryn Shander in the face of the dangers we have observed.” He felt the Speaker start to soften slightly. “Not last one day ago did we see a dragon at the outskirts of Bryn Shander!”

Shane stiffened. “You are not from here are you? Do not talk of it. If you knew the custom you would know that we do not speak of it.”

“The custom will be your doom,” Arlington growled.

“It hasn’t been for these many years, and it shall not be unless we break that trust. So please. If that is all you are here for then I have no time for you.”

Tarquin was again at a loss. What was going on here? Why would no-one talk of the dragon? “The child of a dragon. A dragon. We have found much in the past days that would warn us,” Tarquin spoke quietly but insistently, “And indeed appears to converge with the troubles that have beset this town. The unending winter, the sacrifices, the actions of druids, are linked with where we have been this past week.”

“Sir what is your name?”

“I am Tarquin Rose.”

“And I am Speaker Duvessa Shane, Tarquin Rose. And this is my town. You speak with silvery tongue, but you speak of things you should not. I acknowledge the druids and the winter are a threat. But what can you offer beyond words?”

“We will not tarry long. Indeed we are venturing forth in order to find the source of the unending winter that has caused the dwindling of the shining light of Bryn Shander.”

“You speak a good story, Mr Rose. But what is it you want from me?”

“Our coming here is merely a courtesy, Madam,” Arlington replied.

“It is hardly a courtesy,” Shane scowled waving her hand to the chaos downstairs.

“We go forth with or without your blessing,” Arlington added.

“What is you ask? You are asking for my blessing?”

Tarquin smiled warmly. “What we though we were doing is bringing important information to you, so that when we venture forth we shall be able to return to this fine town and be sure the gates will not be barred to us as the winters closes it’s hand upon it.”

“The gates of Bryn Shander are not closed to any but those that seek to bring harm. You, and all, shall be welcome on those terms.”

“Further, we seek to avoid some of the depredations that have befallen some of the other Ten Towns. The fear and mistrust, the returning to the ill ways of sacrifice. These are in part the source of some of discontent in your town, not just the long cold arms of winter.”

“Go on,” Speaker Shane nodded.

Encouraged Tarquin continued. “We travel to Dougan’s Hole to hunt the druids that work against the best interests of the Ten Towns. What we have seen already is that the druids rise, in the name of the Frostmaiden.”

“Oh we know that. That is why many have turned to these unsavoury practices. I am fighting hard for us not to do that, but many think it is the only way.”

“As a leader of men, you know the power of stories. And if these stories have filtered through to the minds of other towns, then perhaps it will seep through to the minds of Bryn Shander.”

“It already does.”

“We seek out the druids to cut off at the source the threat of those stories. We seek to turn back the winter. These things we do not for wealth, not for just for our glory, but for the greater good of the Ten Towns. We are a part of your story — will you be a part of ours?”

Speaker Duvessa smiled for the first time. “You words weave a spell, Mr Rose. I would dearly love all the assistance we can get.”

Tarquin took a gamble as he continued, needing to unravel the mystery of the dragon. “I do not know what this deal with you have with the dragon. But we have met it’s child, and soon it will have power nearby. In an understory below the ground, a cavern of power from the past.”

Shane sighed. “Mr Rose, I must say, you speak a compelling tale. But I hear little of substance. We all have sought the goals you speak of, but we all have failed. And though I am loath to talk of it, but the dragon of which you speak has been here for many, many decades, and the Ten Towns have never been threatened by the beast. If you have evidence that the Ten Towns are suddenly under threat, I would see it. If you believe she will turn on us, I would know why. Show me what you know.”

Tarquin pulled out the chardalyn again, and opened Nildar’s journal. “Here is your proof. We have seen druids, and Duergar, working in league. Look here: ‘Your doom soars on dragon’s wings! My father will destroy the ten-towns!'”

The Speaker paged through the book, growing more concerned the more she read. “The Duergar have of late been causing trouble. But this dragon of which they speak. This is not our dragon, I am confident. She would never ally with the Duergar, she is too powerful and has no need. This…this is something else. Something worse.”

“Which dragon is your dragon, madam?” Arlington asked coyly.

“I will not speak her name, sir. But it sounds as though you have seen her?”

“Oh we have,” Tarquin said, a sparkle in his eye, “She rose up before us. Arveiaturace.”

“No! I have asked you politely, now I must demand it!”

“I will say no more,” Tarquin conceded quickly. “But is this your dragon?”

“Yes. As I have said, she is no threat to us. But if there is another, we would have very little protection, and if this other is working with the Duergar, well…I thank you for bringing this to my attention. If you gentleman are willing to investigate and neutralise this threat then you have more than my blessing, you have the blessing of all Ten Towns.”

“Then our meeting is done,” Arlington said bluntly.

Tarquin bowed low again. “And this is all that we sought.”

“May I ask that next time you seek this kind of blessing, you do not harm innocent people?”

“Please forgive us. Our intent was not to cause harm.”

“Ask not for forgiveness from me, ask from them, for it is them that you have harmed.”

“Their bureaucracy is a stagnation on this town that you should address,” Arlington snarled.

“Enough, enough,” Tarquin said, the peacekeeper this time.

Speaker Shane sighed. “I will pass on messages to the other Speakers that you may pass freely as part of your investigations. I wish you the best of luck, gentlemen.

As everyone turned to leave, Shane called out to Octavian. “Did I hear you say ‘Eearwaxx’ when you called out earlier? The itinerant wizard?”

“Yes, the old man.”

“Hm. I was going to ask for some assistance, but perhaps I won’t after that display.”

“Why, because he is too powerful now?”

“No, because I don’t like his methods.”

Octavian grunted. “Look. We were all very frustrated, we just wanted to talk to you, and that man said we had to take a ticket, and we were going to go on an adventure, and I had a vision last night that the druids are going to kill everyone here and I thought that maybe we should warn you, and they stopped it, and Eearwaxx got frustrated, and—” Octavian shrugged.

“Please stop talking. Have you ever run a town of twelve-hundred souls? Do you have any idea how difficult that is, and how little time I have for idle conversation—”

“Maybe you should stop talking!” Octavian snapped. “I am Octavian Malleus Orichalcum, the greatest kobold of my generation — perhaps of all of history. I ran whole hives!”

Speaker Shane sat down and started back on her books. “Thank you gentlemen.”

Octavian stormed out, turned around, and stormed back in, only to be manhandled out by Tarquin and Arlington.

“Mr Rose,” the Speaker called as Tarquin was last to leave. Tarquin turned to see Shane pressing her seal into a rolled scroll. “This is your passage. Show it to any other Speaker and they will listen. Now go — only return if you have something of import.”

Tarquin bowed low again and backed out of the room. “And remember — ask for their forgiveness!” Shane called.

Morgan approached the huddled functionaries and knelt to meet their eye level. “Are you ok?”

“Well less ok than when we met you,” Godfrey said bravely.

“Sorry about that — truely, I am sorry,” Morgan apologised.

“Well. So you should be. I don’t ever wish to see you again.”

“Fair enough,” Morgan grimaced.

Tarquin gathered everyone and led downstairs in a dignified phalanx, grabbing Eearwaxx. Morgan asked for a moment and quickly moved upstairs and knocked on the door. Shane’s voice answered from within. “Godfrey?”

Morgan pushed the door open. “I’m with the group downstairs, Speaker.”

“I have said all that I wish to say…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering if you can tell me if Speaker Trovus is still in Bryn Shander?”

“No. He was here, but he left a morning ago — he has the longest journey home.”

Morgan nodded. “Thank you, Speaker,” he said, and carefully closed the door.

The workers were still clustered together silently as Morgan re-joined the group. At the door Tarquin turned and nodded. “Thank you for your time.” Godfrey couldn’t conceal a scowl.

Arlington pulled Tarquin aside as everyone stepped out into the snow. “Tarquin. Your pen is deft, but your tongue needs practice.”

“I must admit, I am not used to dealing with the menial people who get in the way. And quite frankly they seem rather impervious to my charms!”

Tarquin turned to Eearwaxx and clipped him over the ear. “Ow!”

“How did it go upstairs?” Morgan asked.

Tarquin pulled out the Speaker’s scroll. “This is our passage.”

Morgan frowned. “That could be a trap. Remember what I said before: don’t get involved in the politics of a town.”

“This is our pass to ensure we don’t get involved,” Tarquin smiled.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said sceptically, “That’s exactly what my father and his friends said too.”

“One other thing we did find out is that that there is some unholy truce with that dragon in the snow, the mother of Calcryx,” Tarquin said.

“That she won’t attack all the Towns?” Morgan asked.

“That seems to be the conceit in which they live, yes.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It seems to be, yes. But I’m not one to second-guess a dragon.”

“Didn’t someone tell me a few days ago,” Arlington pondered, “That the one’s that are coloured are the bad ones?”

Octavian nodded.

“And she’s white?”

Octavian nodded again.

“So does that mean the Ten Towns have fallen under the thrall of an evil dragon already?” Tarquin said, eyes wide.

“To me it just means they have a truce,” Morgan said, though he could see Tarquin’s logic.

“A bit of a truce of uneven proportions, wouldn’t you say?”

Arlington agreed. “I think, Tarquin, that you’ve hit the nail on the head. At some point we should cut the head from that beast.”

Tarquin nodded with a sly smile. “And she certainly responded to the words in the journal. She did seem to think there was another dragon.”

“Perhaps only because she wants to believe that,” Arlington said. “She wants to believe that because she’s made an alliance with an evil dragon and doesn’t want to think the evil dragon with which she’s made an alliance is the bad guy. Which to me sounds, frankly, stupid.”

“But it’s not the dragon that’s causing the weather, it’s Auril,” Morgan said.

“Who says?!” Arlington said.

“Have you ever heard or read of a dragon that does this?” Morgan said waving his hands at the catastrophic amount of snow.

“Have you ever heard of a god that does?”

“Of gods that have vast effects on major areas of the world at a whim? Yes! That’s what gods do.”

“So they say — people blame the weather on gods, but that doesn’t mean the gods actually enact anything.”

Morgan stared with incredulity.

“Gentlemen,” Tarquin interrupted, “Eye on the prize. Druids are the first step — if we should have to take down a god after that then so be it!”

---

Blackiron Blades, Bryn Stables, and the House of the Morninglord

Octavian pushed open the doors to the Blackiron Blades hoping to find some nice upgrades. He was surprised to find the furnace wasn’t running, it being just as cold in here as outside. He glanced at the decrepit weapons and armour mounted on the walls and groaned softly.

A bald, black-bearded dwarf sat with his feet up on a well worn wooden bench, snoring gently. From a deeper room came the sound of someone hammering.

Arlington turned to Jankx. “Is this really the only place to buy bolts in this town?”

“It’s the only vendor. You could try trading at the pubs, but this is it. Here you’ll find blankets, pitons, but not much else.”

With a snort the dwarf woke and almost fell of his chair when she saw he had visitors. “Customers! Welcome — Blackiron Blades at your service! My name is Garon the Hammer — I think you can guess why I took that name!”

“Hello good sir, where is the actual shop?” Octavian asked politely. “Is there another room with the good stuff?”

The dwarf glanced at his arrayed stock. “Well, not as such, this is my current stock. Mostly adventuring equipment as you can see. But of course we are a smithy, so we can craft for you on request,” he smiled weakly.

“How about sleds? Dogs?” Octavian asked.

“Oh no, we are a smithy, not a stable. Talk to Baterich if that’s what you’re after.”

Tarquin put his hand on the bench and lent in. “Good sir, the Hammer, if you were to turn the ovens on, is this what you would give us? This quality? We’re after some basics but if this is all we can expect…?”

Garon eyed Morgan’s swords. “Well. We do all our own crafting, but I fear nothing of the standard of that kind of weaponry.”

Tarquin nodded, then pulled out his lump of chardalyn and dropped it on the benchtop. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are there any artisans in Ten Towns that could work with magical metal?”

Garon blanched and shrank back from the specimen. “Oh, no. I can’t work with that. But — Elza!” he called to the backroom. “Elza some customers have questions!”

A second dwarf entered the room, wiping her soot covered hands on her leather jerkin. “Gentlemen, how can we help?”

“Good madam, we seek assistance in crafting magical weaponry,” Tarquin said with a bow.

“Well as Garon might have said, that’s not our business. But if you go and take a look at the billboards around town you’ll see a wizard advertising his services. Earwix I think it is? Or was it Erwax??”

“That’s me!” Eearwaxx piped up, excited that his pamphlets were working.

“That’s you? Well, gentlemen, you have your wizard already!” Elza smiled.

Tarquin shook his head, then pointed to the chardalyn. “Eearwaxx isn’t that kind of wizard. We want someone who can work this.”

Elza pulled out a jeweller’s eyepiece and studied the sample closely. “My goodness. This is quite something.”

“Do you know what that is?” Octavian asked cautiously.

Elza glanced over at Garon. “Garon — be a dear and go out back and sort out the tools would you?” Once Garon had shuffled off, Elza turned back to Octavian. “That’s chardalyn. Only found up here past the Spine and worth a pretty penny.”

“Do you know it’s properties?”

She checked Garon was out of hearing and leaned in again. “There are others looking for chardalyn, you know. The Duergar.”

Octavian nodded. He pulled out a gold coin and slid it over the bench to Elza. “This is for you. If anything comes across your desk, anyone wants to trade something unusual, we’d like to know who that is.”

“Be careful of the Duergar,” Elza said, stashing the coin. “They are no friends of ours, and they have made it clear that any chardalyn belongs to them. They are collecting it to build something.”

“Do they come into town?” Tarquin asked.

“Very occasionally, and only undercover of night. If you ask around no-one will have seen them. They came in here though, specifically seeking that,” she said, pointing to the shard of rock. “If they find out you have it, they will take it from you.”

“Well we found out they had it and took it from them,” Tarquin grinned.

“Men of substance!” Elza laughed. “It does bring to mind — if Eearwaxx here can’t help you, there were several strange, robed types in Bryn Shander in recent times. High-and-mighty they were, I don’t much like that. The Arcade Brothers? Arcane?”

“The Arcane Brotherhood,” Octavian said.

“Yes! Now they came in here too, not long after the Duergar first appeared. Hooded and demanding they were. They asked a lot of questions — and spent no money. About ice and magic.”

“How many, and what races?” Octavian pressed.

“We saw three — a tiefling and two humans. They didn’t seem to get along too well.”

“And what direction did they go?” Arlington asked.

“I have no idea. They walked out that door and I never saw them again. But if you can find them, perhaps they can help with your weapons.”

“And when was that?” Tarquin asked.

“Several weeks, maybe a month?”

“Very, very interesting. There’s more coin for you if you hear more.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open and mouth shut, don’t you worry. Other than the locals you’re about the first customers in weeks.”

Jankx smiled. “Well we’ll be spending some coin, unlike the mages. Let us look at your basics — rations, pitons, snow gear. And particularly any crossbow bolts you might have.”

“I’m looking for something 15”, one-and-a-half ounce, with a broad hunting head,” Arlington snapped.

“Well that is very precise, sir, but I’m sure we can find something for you. Garon! Bring the bolts out here!”

Garon reappeared with a motley collection of bolts.

“No,” Arlington said and laid one of his existing bolts on the table. “Straight, round, and fletched. If you can make to this quality, I will take two-score. If not, I will take none.”

Garon picked it up reverently. “If I can take this, as a reference, I can make you more. With Ezla,” he said hurriedly seeing her frown.

“Take it — and I’ll take the five best of yours in exchange.”

Garon nodded eagerly. “Give me a two days and we’ll have your bolts for you sir!”

---

Next stop was the stables at the south gates. The noise — and stench — of dogs and axe beaks rose over the silence of the snow, penned behind the stable building. Morgan had a skip in his step as he approached, excited at the prospect of riding one of the beaked creatures. Eearwaxx was excited too, hopping from foot to foot. Morgan clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

“Have you got a working relationship with these people so we’re not paying outsider prices?” Octavian asked.

“No. If you haven’t paid a bill at the Northern, I know you. Or if you’re sleeping around, I know you. But otherwise - no.”

Arlington pushed his way inside the building. Arrayed around the walls of the large room were shelves covered with an impressive collection of scrimshaw figurines, large and small, as well as the accoutrements of a well–run stable.

A very tall, well-built half-orc was working in the large open room, folding saddle cloth. “Well met, gentlemen. How can we help you?”

“Which is your best team of dogs?” Arlington said, straight to the point.

“And Axe Beaks!” Morgan chirped happily.

“Dogs and Axe Beaks eh?”

“Do you have anything else?” Octavian asked, not keen on either.

“Nope. Dogs and Axe Beaks. Best you’ll find in Ten Towns, mind you. My pride and joy. Name’s Baterich Oxglove.”

Eearwaxx was perusing the scrimshaw, impressed with the details of the mostly whale-bone carvings. “Careful with that young man. I’m a collector of sorts, as you might guess,” he said with obvious pride. “Animals and scrimshaw.”

“I was about to say — a fine collection!” Tarquin enthused. A collection of six figures behind the main counter drew his attention before he was distracted by Baterich.

“So gentlemen. How many dogs, how many Beaks?”

“Six dogs, a sled, four Axe Beaks,” Arlington answered.

“Quite an order. You’re buying me out — almost. Lucky I’ve been preparing for a day like this for some time.”

“I can imagine things have been pretty lean here,” Tarquin said sympathetically.

“They have. Be that as it may — I’ll let you know I don’t let my animals out with just anyone. These are my babies. If you’re intending to run them down, or starve them out, or just to get from A to B — you’re not having them.”

Morgan shook his head. “Never. I want a permanent one to look after.”

“You want a companion,” Baterich said with a warm smile. “A friend — a friend for life.”

“Yes! How long do they live for?” Morgan asked.

“Longer than we do,” Baterich said. Morgan was about to disagree then thought better of it. “That’s great,” he grinned.

“We’re not here to abuse our rides sir. We are here to enter into an agreement,” Tarquin said.

“Very good. I will shake each of your hands and that will seal our pact — I will make the sale to you and you will take good care of them. Even though you are buying them, they are still my animals.”

“Done,” Arlington said as Morgan shook the giant hand with a serious look.

Baterich led everyone to the yard.

“They will have been trained in specific teams, and there will be a female dog that is the leader,” Arlington said, pointing to the likely candidates.

Octavian cast a quiet spell and gave a sliver of food to each dog, checking with each their friendship with the other dogs and those that would work well together. Oxglove watched closely and nodded approvingly as Octavian pointed out his choices. “I see you have the touch — unusual for a kobold, but you’ve got it. That gives me comfort that the dogs will be in good hands. These two are brothers, that’s their sister—” he continued with pride.

While Arlington and Octavian fussed with the dogs, Oxglove led the riders over to the pen. “I imagine you’re probably less familiar with this kind of creature?”

“I defer to your expertise,” Tarquin agreed. “I’m hoping you can give us a quick run down.”

---

Up close the Axe Beaks were quite intimidating, standing taller than a human and with a very large, very sharp, beak.

Baterich explained the basics, highlighting the main difference between this and a more traditional ride. “Two legs, not four. Which means what’s going to happen is you’re going to fall of the back. You’re going to fall off the side. It’s unusual, very different to a horse. Balance, gentlemen, it’s all about balance. Trust the Beak. Don’t use your own weight, let the Beak do the job.”

“Do they have names?” Tarquin asked nervously.

“Matter of fact they do! What I’m going to do is single out six of my favourites that I think will suit your various sizes.” Baterich walked into the pen and wrangled six of the huge chickens into a group and led them over. “Now let me see who we have here. This one here is Donald, this is Marco. Ashy, Bally, Marty, and Jory!”

“Jory,” Tarquin said immediately, grinning widely as he singled out the bulkiest of the lot. He rubbed Jory’s neck as it preened. Those names couldn’t be a co-incidence he thought, suddenly remembering the figurines he’d noticed inside and laughing.

“And I’ll take Donald,” Eearwaxx said, patting one of the less weighty beasts, who had an interesting feather pattern that seemed to shimmer. “Do they bite?”

“Oh yes they bite,” Baterich grinned. “But they won’t bite their rider, unless you mistreat them.”

Morgan scanned the remaining Axe Beaks and found one that drew his attention. It seemed a little crankier than the others, a little stern, but also look fast. He reached up and looked in the eye — and was smitten.

“Ah you’ve taken a fancy to Ashy I see — a little tricky, a little harder to handle, but once he gets going, my goodness, whoo-ee,” Oxglove said.

“Nothing worth doing is easy,” Morgan agreed.

Jankx hung back, feeling no connection whatsoever to these towering beasts. But then an solidly build Axe Beak turned and walked over to Jankx, tilting it’s strangely bald head with curiosity. “I see Marty has taken a fancy to you,” Oxglove observed. “He’s a fine choice, stoic and sensible.” Jankx nodded nervously as he reached a tentative hand out to scratch the Axe Beak’s neck.

“Well. That’s a fine collection of ‘Beaks you’ve got,” Oxglove said. “Now that you’re my customers I’ll tell you about those names — I don’t know if you know the stories of Stormwatch?”

“Sir,” Tarquin bowed, “Not only do I know them, I have retold them time and again.”

“Fantastic stories all of them, I’m a big fan. In fact come inside and I’ll show you something!”

He led Tarquin to the six figure centrepiece. “My pride and joy — Stormwatch in all their glory.”

---

Tarquin lent in and studied the characters. They were beautiful, detailed, capturing those heroes that Tarquin knew only too well. A monkey wielding a staff, a grinning halfling, the robed ‘book-keeper’, the two warriors…and Jorin. He picked up Jorin carefully and stared at it for a few moments, feeling the shadow looming darkly. He put Jorin down with a sigh, resettling his shoulders.

“Are these your work?” Jankx asked Oxglove.

“Oh no, I commissioned these. I’m an amateur at best — these were done by Harrowhill down in Lonelywood. That’s the scrimshaw capital of Ten Towns — and all of Faerûn I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Has she travelled to Waterdeep?” Tarquin asked.

“I couldn’t say,” Oxglove shrugged.

“Well the stories are larger than life, but fact is stranger than fiction. And these are a fine likeness,” Tarquin smiled.

“Well I’ve never had the honour of meeting the gentlemen myself, but I do love those stories,” Oxglove said. “Anyway enough of this. You’ve made your choices, time to talk business. So — the sled, fifty gold. One rider, a seat for two guests, and capacity to carry plenty. The dogs — fifty gold each.”

“Whoa!” Arlington gasped.

“Listen. These are the best dogs in Ten Towns, as I said. You’re getting yourself and absolute bargain and they’ll run their legs off if you treat them right. And the ‘Beaks are seventy–five apiece.'”

“I think this is all excellent,” Tarquin said, silencing Arlington’s protest. “Of course, because we’re doing such a big deal — we’ll take the lot if you throw in one of the birds as a bonus on the group. Four for the price of three, but not Jorin — he’s obviously the biggest!”

Baterich thought about this. “I’ll throw in Marco cheap, because he’s a little ‘un. All tackle and saddles included. Seems like a reasonable deal to me, and I hope it does to you too.”

“Done! Sold at that price!” Tarquin clapped.

“So 440 gold it is,” Octavian announced.

Baterich narrowed his eyes, but he was smiling. “I see what you’re doing. 450. Let’s do it. Return in the morning and they’ll be ready for you.”

Octavian turned to Jankx and nodded, and the deal was done. A commitment to adventuring, Jankx mused.

---

The final stop for the day was the House of the Morninglord. Morgan was particularly interested in the worship, and Jankx wanted more information about Macreadus’s ‘space–rock’, which he strongly suspected — or hoped — was the artefact his family had ‘misplaced’.

The chapel, a modest, converted house, lay in the north–east corner of Bryn Shander, close to the market square. A holy symbol hung above the doorway, covered in snow which obscured any detail. Morgan made a holy gesture, and Jankx was quick to notice that no-one else did.

Working away in the courtyard was a rotund figure, futilely trying to clear the snow on the path leading to the entrance. He muttered and cursed as drifts of snow immediately covered his work. The resemblance to a teddy-bear was obvious.

“Mister Knobberknocker,” Morgan called. The figure didn’t stop his work. “Who is it? What do you want?” he said gruffly.

“Well actually we’d like to speak to you about your friend Macreadus—”

Copper spun around and jammed his rake into the snow. A gnomeish face peeked out of the fur–lined hood. “What do you know — have you seen him? Is he alright??”

“We were hoping to enquire with you as to his whereabouts,” Tarquin said.

“I see. Well, come inside, come inside. I’m not having any luck with this ridiculous snow anyway,” Copper grumbled.

Everyone followed but Morgan, who put his hand out for the rake. Copper raised a hidden eyebrow but handed it over. “Where do you want it? Off to the side?” Morgan asked.

“You’re going to do the work?” Copper asked.

Morgan nodded and went to work, doing more in a moment than Copper had in hours. “Oh thank Lathander that you’ve come along!” Copper said with relief. “Just keep it nice and straight along that edge there if you can!” he said, unable to control his desire for order.

“Our friend is a follower of the Morninglord,” Jankx explained. “It is his pleasure to serve.”

“Well he’s come to the right place. Or maybe the wrong place,” Copper said. “Probably both.”

“Why do you say that?” Jankx said curiously.

“Oh don’t talk to me about it, talk to Mishann.”

Inside the chapel a human woman was organising the dozen or so pews, readying for a service. “Mishann — we have guests. And some worshippers.”

Mishann turned and bowed. “Of course! You are all welcome in this House. Please make yourself warm and comfortable.”

“Thank you for your welcome,” Tarquin said, also bowing.

“Are you all worshippers of Amaunator?”

“Our friend is, he’s just outside helping with Copper’s work,” Jankx said. While not a religious man, he realised there was something amiss here. Amaunator? Not Lathander?

“He’s taking his observance out on the path,” Tarquin added.

“Ah, paying his penance in the cold,” Mishann nodded. “I look forward to meeting him — it’s not often we get new worshippers, let alone such devout ones.”

“Indeed,” Tarquin smiled. “Perhaps it is best to say that we haven’t come here strictly to observe, but instead to enquire. Copper’s name has come up in passing. We are adventurers,” Tarquin said, striking a pose for good form, “And on our most recent quest we found reference to Copper Knobberknocker, and to Macreadus.”

“Ah yes, Copper’s great friend. I will leave you with Copper — it’s private business. Let me know when your friend is ready to worship.”

Outside Morgan was busy at work when he found he had an unseen ally who was also making short work of the snow. He looked over to the front porch where Eearwaxx tipped his hat. Morgan grinned and doubled his efforts.

---

Tarquin called Copper over and explained what had been found in the Sunless Citadel.

“My name in a Duergar journal?” Copper said with surprise.

“Nildar was the name of the Duergar,” Jankx said.

“Wait a minute — I know that name. He and his filthy cronies came here looking for Macreadus! Wanted to find him, said he had something they wanted. I said no, they beat me up,” Copper explained. “Eventually I told them.”

“Well you wont’ have to worry about him anymore,” Tarquin said.

“Taken care of him have you?”

“We have,” Jankx nodded. “What did they want?”

“Good riddance. They wanted Macreadus’s chardalyn. He used to experiment with it, trying to finding a way to end this,” Copper said, pointing to the sky. “Eventually he started working on a thing he called the ‘Summer Star’, supposed to end this accursed winter and return the sun to the sky.”

“Where was he working?” Arlington asked.

“Well he started here, but things got a bit hairy with the star — a few close shaves. So we moved out to a cabin north–east of Lonelywood. A black cabin in the middle of nowhere. No–one to disturb us, or his work.”

“And he was making this ‘star’ out of chardalyn?” Jankx prodded.

“No. Not chardalyn, that was the irony with the Duergar. He was using something he sourced on the black market, a lump of extra–heavy black ore of some kind. About as big as your head.”

Jankx knew exactly what this was. “And he still has this ore?”

“Far as I know. I was fed up. Tired. He was going mad when I left him, completely obsessed. Wouldn’t listen to reason. I tried to talk him down, tried to get him to come back with me,” Copper looked forlorn. “Crazy old fool.”

Tarquin scoffed. “Let’s back up there. Nildar came in, squeezed you for information, and you gave over, huh?”

“Listen now,” Copper growled. “I’m not a big fellow like you, and if you had a couple of Duergar making short work of you you’d talk too!”

“Have you seen Macreadus since that visit?”

Copper looked at his feet. “No. I haven’t.”

“Have you looked for him?” Arlington asked.

“Look. We had a falling out. I might have said a few things I regret. And I might have told Nildar…” Copper supressed a sob.

Tarquin looked around the church. Copper didn’t seem to be harbouring any guilt beyond the hear–and–now. No fear of the gods in this one, he mused.

“Tarquin,” Octavian said, “We could do this man a favour. We’re going to be going out adventuring, we could check up on Macreadus?”

“I think it’s only right that we do,” Tarquin nodded. “After all, we’re interested in this chardalyn — or Jankx’s rock — too.”

Copper sighed. “Obviously I should have checked on him. And obviously I feel bad. But…it was quite a fight we had. If you could check on him, perhaps we can "

“What did you fight over?” Arlington asked.

“Everything. He was losing his mind to his ‘star’. I would suggest things, improvements, and he would shout me down. Obsessed and cold, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t come to bed, wouldn’t talk. I told him it was a choice between me and his project, and you know what he chose. Saving the world was more important. I thought leaving him would force him to come to his senses.”

As Morgan and Eearwaxx entered the nave and stomped off their snow, Octavian got Copper to mark the rough location of the cabin on the rough map obtained from the Blackiron Blades.

Eearwaxx perked up when he saw the mark, remembering the fish song. He recited it for Copper - “Does this sound like the place?":

Copper looked surprised. “That does sound similar — a frozen river, plenty of snow. Is that your own poem?”

“No,” Eearwaxx said, “A fish told me it.”

“A fish!?” Copper laughed.

Eearwaxx walked back outside.

“If you find Macreadus, tell him to come home,” Copper pleaded.

“We will,” Jankx assured. “Is Bryn Shander his home?”

“I’m his home. He should know that.”

Morgan had been studying the chapel since entering. He quickly noticed that the iconography around the nave was not quite what he expected. Instead of the sun rising over the fields in Lathander’s glory, it was just a plain icon of the sun itself. Everything felt slightly off, slightly wrong.

Copper called Mishaan in. “Here’s your worshipper, Mishaan.”

Mishann smiled warmly and folder her hands into a holy symbol. Morgan hesitated as once again the gesture wasn’t what he expected.

“In Amaunator’s glory I welcome you to the Church of the Morninglord,” Mishaan smiled. “I am very pleased to welcome you.”

Morgan smiled weakly and bowed slightly. Amaunator?

“It is not often that we have Southerners who worship Amaunator, I look forward to hearing your awakening to his glory.”

“My apologies, but I don’t, uh, I don’t recognised that name, Dawn Mistress,” Morgan said warily.

Mishaan stiffened at being addressed thus. “Oh, no, no, no. This isn’t a church of Lathander. This is Amaunator. Are you confused?”

“I am, actually. Sorry. Yes. This place was referred to as the House of the Morninglord,” Morgan stammered.

“Yes. Amaunator is the Morninglord, the lord of the sun. Not Lathander. Be sure not to confuse them — only Amaunator will return the sun to it’s rightful place over Icewind Dale.”

Copper snorted.

“Oh.” Morgan was crestfallen. He had come hoping for spiritual fulfilment, and instead found conflict. “I can only apologise then.”

Mishaan looked sternly at the young warrior. “You do know Lathander usurped Amaunator’s light, do you not? A latter–day thief stealing Amaunator’s glory. If not you should perhaps read up on it, young sir, because you are worshipping the wrong god.”

“Um. I don’t mean to be rude, but I worship the god that I intend to worship.”

“Well. That is your choice, of course. But you are making a mistake. I would be more than happy to talk to you about the reasons for that, the rock–solid theology behind it, and bring the light to you. It may take some time, but a smart young man like you I’m sure will come to the right conclusion when faced with the undeniable evidence,” Mishaan smiled.

Morgan felt his hackles rise. “I have seen tangible evidence of what Lathander can do,” he snapped, thinking to his father’s good works in Barovia.

“Lathander is merely a shadow. It is Amaunator that is providing any power that you may have sensed.”

Morgan sighed, seeing it was a fruitless task to talk further. “I apologise for wasting your time.”

“No bother. We in the north know the truth, you southerners will one day too.”

“May your god be with you,” Morgan said politely.

“And yours with you, young man. I will be here — you are only young, there is time,” Mishaan called as Morgan backed outside.

“Well that was disappointing,” Morgan grimaced. He glanced up at the snow covered holy symbol outside just a lump of snow dropped revealing the definitely wrong sign.

---

Eearwaxx turned to Morgan. “She’s right, most everyone here worships this god. I’ve seen the symbol in most Towns. Are you worried?”

“Not worried, just disappointed. I worship a god referred to as the Morninglord, but apparently so is her’s. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

On the way back to the Northlook, Eearwaxx excused himself. He visited the Town Hall again and apologised to each of the functionaries who were still wary after the morning’s events, and also managed to talk his way into seeing Speaker Shane. He apologised to her too, explaining why he had perhaps overreacted, and made up for it by tending to some small magical services she requested. He left on good terms with everyone, much to his relief, and retired to the Northlook.

---

Baterich Oxglove was as good as his word, having the dogs and Axe Beaks ready at the stables the following morning. The Axe Beaks were saddled and ready, and Oxglove reinforced his earlier guidance. Morgan and Eearwaxx had no trouble at all, instinctively feeling the method. “Very good young wizard!” Oxglove said approvingly. “And you’re a natural too I see,” he called to Morgan, who was strutting around with ease aboard Ashy. He had reached into his past and applied that knowledge accordingly.

Tarquin was less lucky, starting well before overbalancing and toppling into the hard snow. After a few more tries he was feeling good, drawing on the lessons his father had given him on riding a dragon which strangely seemed to apply here.

Jankx on the other hand could barely get aboard. He struggled with the stirrups, the saddle, the reins, everything. A city man riding a country beast. With Oxglove’s help he eventually managed to mount up, and cautiously managed to do a single loop of the enclosure. He felt almost entirely unsure of what he was doing, but the Axe Beak seemed to be smart enough that if he let it alone all would be well. Or well enough.

Arlington took his place at the driving position on the sled as Octavian relaxed into the passenger seat, feeling semi–regal. Appropriately, he thought to himself with a smile.

With everyone ready, Oxglove gave a fond farewell to each and every one of his animals, a tear in his eye as he did. “Gentlemen I put them in your trust, and in your care. Please do them no harm, please love them like I do.”

“Oh we shan’t bring these animals to harm,” Tarquin enthused from atop his mount, “And I hope that the gold softens the blow!”

---

Excitement was high as the expedition set out for Easthaven, but only moments later was waylaid by two spear–wielding armoured guardsmen flanking an officer.

“Whoa there, gentlemen,” the officer called, slipping back his hood to reveal a balding head, neat goatee, and stern expression. “I have heard about your little excursion to the Town Hall yesterday. My name is Markham Southwell, and I’m Sheriff around these parts in case you weren’t aware.”

---

“Ah,” Tarquin said. “It’s great to meet you!”

“I was warned of your tongue — please don’t patronise me with sweet-talk.”

“There was no harm done, and that was never the intent. If there was any misunderstanding — we apologise.”

“There was some harm done, but I do accept your apology, and I believe some of you have made further apologies to those affected. None-the-less, I wanted to let you know not to try that again — it will not end well for you.”

“We have no need. We have the passage given to us by the Speaker to come and go. We are working alongside the citizenship of Bryn Shander — we seek to cast the winter aside and look for sunny days. So we wish you well and will be on our way!” Tarquin finished with a flourish.

“The Speaker told me you were working for us, and I appreciate that. But I will tell you: I don’t care about scraps of paper no matter who gives them out. I only care that people do the right thing. So do that and we shall be on good terms, gentlemen.”

“You have our word, sir,” Arlington nodded.

“You have a responsibility to look after the good people of this town and we understand that. But don’t be worried about us,” Tarquin added.

“Very good. I look forward to learning more about this mystery ‘dragon’.”

“And hopefully next time we can bring the information and no-one is going to jump up and down and worry about it,” Tarquin smirked.

“Tarquin! That’s enough,” Arlington hissed.

“Stop helping,” Jankx added quietly.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Southwell said, stepping aside and waving the Bryn Shander gates open.

“To Easthaven! Let’s find that diminutive gentleman, gentlemen!” Arlington announced as he mushed the dogs forward into the wild.

---

Session played: Aug 01, 09, 15 2022

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