Chapters

Home sweet home: “I know just the place”
No quarter: “Nothing but a bottomless pit of mindless evil”

---

Home sweet home

“It’s only an hour to Caer-Konig in this weather,” Morgan said with a smile. He had woken in good spirits and those were only rising as he contemplated finally being able to return the lantern to Allie & Cori. He’d been carrying it now for what felt like months and now the time drew nigh. “If only we’d continued last night…” he laughed.

The road north was significantly worse the closer the company drew to Caer-Konig. The most remote Township, bar Dougan’s Hole, had little traffic now the Frostmaiden’s weave had taken hold. Arlington estimated it had been a tenday or more since anyone travelled this road.

Morgan hummed a favourite melody as Caer-Konig drew near.

---

The white, snow-covered slopes of Kelvin’s Cairn loomed large behind the quiet lakeside town, and buried under the snow on the slopes above the houses were the ruins of the Caer that gave the town its name—a reminder to the people of Caer-Konig that nothing lasts in this corner of the world. Terraced rows of houses receded from the shore of Lac Dinneshere like the tiers of an amphitheatre.

Morgan beamed. Finally.

He led the company down the slope past the ruined Caer, heart-warmed at being home, regaling the company with the tale of the orcs who overran the Caer in times past—the same orc tribe who was said to have taken Caer-Dineval. Arlington was rather less impressed—he’d been expecting more from Morgan’s hometown. It didn’t really compare to the majesty of the keep at Caer-Dineval. As Morgan’s chest swelled with pride, Arlington’s shoulders slumped. Another miserable day in Ten Towns, he thought to himself, missing the comforts of Easthaven.

“Lead us by the most direct route to a place of hospitality in your town, if you would be so kind,” Arlington commanded from under the furs on his sled.

“I know just the place,” Morgan grinned as he headed into Town. It was mid-morning and about half the houses had smoke rising from their chimneys—a little less that Morgan would expect, but it was early and he knew the Town’s population suffered like any other of the more remote communities.

“Trovus, the Town Speaker, lives here,” Morgan said pointing to house larger than most. “A good sort if a little fond of the bottle.”

“And which of these lovely abodes is yours?” Arlington asked archly.

“Oh I was living at the Inn,” Morgan smiled.

“That sound familiar…”

“Well I worked there. I think I still have a job there. Pulling pints and bouncing. And entertainment!”

“Entertainment? Doing what?” Octavian piped up.

“I play the fiddle—you know that! And occasionally, back when tourists would come to town…sometimes we’d do bare-knuckle fighting.” Octavian laughed, though he had no doubt Morgan would do well at such an endeavour.

“And what did they make of Ezra?”

“Nobody else could see Ezra until you did. It was as big a surprise to me as you. I see him all the time,” Morgan said glancing over to the otherwise invisible Ezra. “He’s here now.”

“We know,” Octavian said, glancing around nervously.

“I think he can hear you,” Arlington.

“Oh he can.”

“That’s awkward.”

“Anyway, Cori and her younger sister Allie, who owned The Northern Light, were very kind to me when I came to Town. It’s their lantern I’ve been so carefully hauling all over Icewind.” He pulled the lantern from Ash’s saddlebag and held it aloft. “Time to return it to its rightful home.”

“And why did you choose here?” Arlington asked.

“I don’t know—I started in Bryn Shander like everybody else, and I just ended up here. Waiting for something to happen. And this was the nicest town I came to—as far as the people were concerned.”

“Well I hope your credit’s still good—lead the way,” Arlington nodded.

Morgan’s obvious joy and pride was infectious, and everyone started to relax after the difficulties in Caer-Dineval. The young warrior pointed out Frozenfar Expeditions. “A supplier if we need to refill or retool, run by Atenas, a nice old fellow, and his assistant Jarthra. And that building near the dock is the Hook, Line, and Sinker. Not as classy as the ‘Light, but Glen gives out a free pint when you walk in—the hook—which compels guests to buy a few more—the line—and I think you can guess what the sinker is,” Morgan grinned. “Overturning tables and bareknuckle fighting.”

Morgan pulled Ash to the east. “Enough of all that—here’s my home.” Ahead lay a very well kept two-story building with a sharp roofline. It stood just beyond what appeared to be the town square, which was deserted—oddly, thought Morgan. Normally there would be traders here at this time of day.

He looked up to the Northern Light and saw something even stranger. The inn was unlit—no light, and no smoke from the chimney. The fire was always lit, Morgan knew. Perhaps it’s nothing. A shadow passed over his soul as he urged Ash forward.

Arlington noticed Morgan’s sudden surge of speed and studied the inn. Something wasn’t right. He cleared his throat and quietly pulled out his crossbow.

Morgan jumped off Ash and strode toward the front entrance. His mind was racing, trying to work out what might have happened for the inn to be closed up. He took the first step and stopped in his tracks.

Pinned in the centre of the door was a single white owl feather.

Morgan choked down a cry and pulled Iceblink free, Ezra manifesting alongside.

“Let Jankx go first!” Octavian cried. Jankx rushed to the door, feeling the coiled springs that were Morgan and Ezra. “The door is safe, but look at the windows—they’re frosted over, there’s been no warmth from within for a good while now.” He knew that if anyone was inside they would be long dead.

“What about the feather?” Arlington called, keeping his crossbow trained on the door. “Find the back door,” he hissed to Octavian and Eearwaxx who rushed around the sides.

“Frosted over,” Jankx reported. “I think whatever happened here, we missed it.”

Morgan had heard enough. He kicked the door open.

“Too late…”

The same voice.

Morgan buried his fears and stepped into the room. Inside it was dark, quiet, and freezing. He held Iceblink glowing aloft. The first thing he saw was bloodstains covering the bar. The second was more blood bathing the small stage where he had so often performed.

The room was empty so he ran upstairs. Arlington covered him as he moved, then quickly opened the back door to bring Octavian and Eearwaxx inside. Octavian moved quickly to the pools of dried blood and studied them. “Two dead, but only two. There is a lot of blood though—as if they were drained. Maybe ritually,” he said quietly.

Jankx agreed, surveying the horror. “They were really killed—destroyed.”

“And only a tenday or less ago,” Arlington said. “We just missed it.” Eearwaxx started a ritual casting to see if he could magically discover more about the events in the room.

Upstairs Morgan found nothing had been touched. The rooms were empty, no sign of struggle or disturbance. In Allie’s room he ripped a cupboard open and found all her clothes and belongings in order. He felt like he was losing his mind. What had happened! He glanced out the window and saw the lights shining from the Hook, Line, and Sinker. Someone must know.

Morgan stormed back downstairs, brushing past Arlington and burst out the front door and across the square toward the Sinker. Everyone followed close behind.

Before Morgan could get far a voice called out. It was Trovus.

---

“They’re dead Morgan.”

Morgan’s knees almost gave out as the truth he had been burying could no longer be ignored. “What…” he gasped.

Trovus took a long drink from the bottle he was clutching. “They’re dead! Both of them are dead. The Town has fallen apart. They were our heart and they’re gone.”

“When, Trovus?” Morgan managed through gritted teeth. He stood stock still as snow fell gently around him.

“A tenday. A witch came through town, towing undead kobold in her wake.”

“We made a mistake,” Arlington said softly and cursed. Regrets filled him, knowing Morgan must be torn apart. Too damn slow, too damn cautious. A hunter doesn’t let their prey free.

“They made straight for the Northern Light,” Trovus continued, swilling another mouthful of drink. “Paid to hire the entire place for the night. Next morning she was gone, and so were they,” he sobbed, wiping away tears.

Morgan took a few steps toward the Speaker. “Still drinking I see, Trovus,” he growled softly.

“What else is there to do?! How else am I to cope?! How am I to lead this town without it’s heart?? They’re gone Morgan!”

Jankx swallowed hard. The pain etched in Morgan’s face was heart-wrenching.

“Where were you, Morgan? Where were you??” Trovus yelled.

Morgan moved faster than light, lifting Trovus off his feet and slamming him against the wall of the Northern Light. He stared steel-eyed at the hapless Speaker. “Where. Were. You?”

Trovus looked shamefaced away, unable to meet Morgan’s glare. “I couldn’t have stopped her even if I wasn’t in my cups,” he gasped. “No-one could stop her!”

Morgan hurled Trovus across the square. The Speaker crashed to the ground in an explosion of snow. He picked himself up slowly, looking around for his now lost bottle. “There’s more,” he said softly. “We held Cori and Allie in state…” he started shaking, “We held them in state. And several days later they…they raised. They raised, and we had to kill them again!”

“Oh dear,” Arlington said softly.

“Do you have any idea what that is like, Morgan?” Trovus cried, “Having to kill your own friends?! What is going on? Who is she??”

“Eyepatch?” Morgan whispered.

“Yes. Called herself Vellynne Harpell, from the Arcane Brotherhood she said.”

Morgan turned away and walked slowly to the centre of the square. He clenched his fists and stared up at the frozen sky, letting out a howl of unbearable agony. The cry was overlayed with another voice, a ghostly reverb, an impossible sound, a sound that only those that have lost everything can know.

He collapsed to his knees. And heard a different voice, one inside his head.

“You want to avenge their deathsss. We can help you. Accept our gift.”

---

No Quarter

“Did you hear that?” Morgan blinked to Ezra.

“Yes. It’s the same voice that we heard in the Duergar fortress.”

Morgan blinked. In his shock he hadn’t realised. He turned his mind back to the words that echoed inside his head. “Who is we?” he asked.

“We are they who can give you the power you need.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Morgan said flatly. He had no time for these games.

“We are from you.”

“Why are you being so obtuse?”

“Who we are does not matter…yet. What mattersss is what we can give you.”

“I have many stories about voices like yours from the land where I come from. Many stories, personal stories, from people I know,” Morgan grunted.

“And what did those stories tell you?”

Morgan almost laughed. “They tell me that you are nothing but a bottomless pit of mindless evil.”

“That is one way to describe usss. But not the only way. We give gift, gifts that can be used to accomplish your wants and needs. Wants that otherwise might be unreachable.”

“And how are those Amber prisons treating you?” Morgan asked, taking a gamble that the voices were indeed those Viktor had warned him of. The Dark Powers of Barovia.

There was a pause before the voice continued. “We are not imprisoned in Amber. We could not talk to you and empower you from there.”

“I have made enough bargains with enough people. You can leave me now.”

“You have already accepted one gift. Would you wisssh that we take it back?”

It was Morgan’s turn to pause. What gift? His mind raced back to Sunblight Fortress when he held the dragon’s heart. He swallowed then focused again on the voice. “Do what you need to do.”

“It is your decision, not ours.”

“I have nothing more to say to you.”

“Ssso you will keep it,” the subsonic voice said almost mockingly.

Morgan shut his mind, refusing to answer.

“Very well. But remember, we are here, we are alwaysss here, for you. For the heir.”

Morgan sunk back onto his haunches, snow falling lightly. He glanced over at Ezra. “The heir to what, Morgan?” Ezra said.

“I don’t know. I thought they were talking about Octavian in the Fortress, not me.”

“No. It was you.”

“Then I don’t know what I’m the heir to.” He climbed slowly to his feet, tears frozen to his face, and walked over to Trovus.

“I am sorry, Morgan. I am truly sorry,” Trovus said softly. “I know I let them, and you, down. But there is nothing we could do. She is too powerful.”

“No she’s not,” Morgan said in a voice that brooked no argument. “I’m going to kill her.”

Trovus nodded. “I would like nothing better.”

“We need to call a meeting of the Town, we have some things to tell you all,” Morgan said pointing to the Hook, Line, and Sinker. “Organise it with Glen.”

“Give me an hour.”

Morgan stared seriously into Trovus’s scaly face. “You need to stop drinking. And if you can’t, you need to find someone else to be Speaker.”

Trovus looked down at his feet, scuffing the snow. “I know.”

“You need to stop.”

“I know!” Trovus yelled. “I know.” He turned and walked away toward the tavern. Morgan followed his path, then walked back into the Northern Light.

---

Octavian watched Morgan and Trovus, senses on high alert. “We are ripe to be ambushed,” he warned everyone. “This could be the next phase of the revenge. She’s got us all together, clustered, and she’s very powerful.”

Arlington agreed. He cast his finely honed primeval awareness out over the frozen surrounds of Caer-Konig, trying to find anything out of the ordinary—particularly undead, thinking of the kobolds. But all he could sense was fey creatures, which wasn’t his fear. “There are no undead close by, but there have been—just traces, but they were here.”

He walked slowly down to Morgan who hadn’t moved off his knees. He placed a hand on the young warrior’s shoulder. “I’m going to start cleaning up in there. Why don’t you see if you can get the fire started…and put that lamp back where it belongs.”

Morgan let out a small sob, catching his breath. He reached up and placed his hand over Arlington’s. “Thanks,” he rasped quietly. Arlington nodded and headed back inside. Jankx was still worried, like Octavian, and heading outside to check the surrounds. “See if you can find some firewood,” Arlington said to him. “We need to clean and warm this place up for Morgan.” Jankx nodded and headed out, just in time to see Octavian transform into an eagle and take to the skies.

Octavian scanned the village and outskirts, looking for unusual movement or signs of passage. There was nothing, which was what he had expected. He took the lay of the land, Kelvin’s Cairn looming to the north-west, the Lac to the south, and emptiness north. He returned as Jankx was hauling wood inside. “The trail is cold, as we suspected,” Jankx said. Octavian nodded agreement.

Eearwaxx had made a ritual circle around the blood-stains and was finishing up the incantation. He probed the arcane power floating around the blood, searching for two things: another owl feather belonging to eyepatch’s familiar, and had the blood been spread beyond this room. He was worried the bodies might be raised multiple times. He was disappointed, though not surprised, to not find a feather within his range. But he did discover that the faded remnants of necromancy in the room, strongest on the circles. Obviously used to imbue the bodies with afterlife so they would rise again. He sighed, there wasn’t enough here. He watched Arlington who was scrubbing the blood stains clean, and resisted mending everything, sensing the manual labour was helping the great hunter.

When Morgan entered, Arlington put him to work lighting the fire. The warmth made all the difference, taming the frozen air and slowly raising everyone’s spirits. Spirits that were lifted even further when Morgan removed the lantern from his satchel. It glowed softly, cycling blue to green to red like lights in the frozen sky. Morgan walked outside and hung it from the lintel above the door, bathing the entrance in warm pastel light. He looked up to the clearing skies and smiled softly as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Thank you Allie, thank you Cori.

Morgan walked back inside and looked around his companions, thankful that they were there, and grateful for the effort being put in to bring the Northern Light back to life. But something was bothering him: “How did she know? I never met the woman, only saw her from a distance. How did she know? How did she know that these two people…” his voice trailed off as it caught in his throat.

It was a good question. “The only one that spoke to her was Octavian,” Arlington nodded.

“I would say that she had access to some sort of divination, perhaps an augury of some sort. Or knew someone who did know. Or quite simply she has spies,” Octavian speculated.

“What about Erky Timbers?” Arlington said, thinking back to the conversations with the gnome.

“I didn’t speak to Erky about anything,” Morgan said.

“None-the-less that seems a reasonable guess, especially given what she did to Erky,” Octavian said. “Perhaps we discussed it without realising—after you found the lamp. Or even simply that you were from this Town.”

Morgan nodded slowly. Maybe in Easthaven when discussing returning the lamp.

“I think it’s an important question,” Arlington said, “Because we’re wondering if we can take her. She clearly has skills that we don’t yet understand. So the question is on that basis: can we take her down?”

Jankx agreed. “She might be anticipating exactly what our plans are.”

“We have to continue even if she does,” Morgan said. “I want to talk to the townsfolk. I want to tell my friends what’s going on—not necessarily discussing frozen hands and necks, but just what is going on.”

Arlington wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. “Well let’s think about that. Because if you tell this town what is going on, how do you know that’s not going to get back to her? For example are you going to tell them you’re on a vengeance spree right now?”

“No. Just what it is we are trying to do. Besides I’ve already told the Speaker that I’m going to kill eyepatch.” Morgan stared at Arlington. “And I am going to kill her.”

“That’s the only thing I’m taking as a give at the moment. And I certainly won’t be standing in your way. I just want to make sure we maximise your opportunity.”

“I appreciate that, and thank you. Now we have a meeting to attend, assuming anyone turns up.”

---

Morgan’s question was quickly answered. The Hook, Line, and Sinker was heaving, packed to the gills with every person still left in Caer-Konig. People called out hellos to Morgan, and a drink was shoved into his hand. He bathed in the warmth of acceptance and welcome from his adopted people.

Innkeep Eglendar ‘Glen’ Korr clapped Morgan on the back and led him to a small stage by the side of the common room. “It’s good to see the Northern Light glowing again, Morgan. And good to have you back, even under these circumstances. There’s so many people here I had to suspend the Hook,” he laughed. “We’re all keen to hear what you’ve got to say.”

Morgan stepped onto the stage and the room fell silent. He looked at the familiar faces in the room, noting Trovus sitting nearby and looking remarkably sober.

“It’s good to see you all, and thank you for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t get here a tenday ago. These are my friends,” Morgan said, introducing the company, who stood by the side of the stage. “Six week ago I left here to take up a job opportunity with Arlington, who some of you might know…”

Morgan continued, telling the story of everything that had happened. Or near everything. Occasionally he was interrupted with a cough from Octavian or Arlington, hinting to avoid topics like the dragon heart and an the curses. Morgan accepted all the direction as he continued.

He emphasised what the company were trying to accomplish: banishing the endless winter, freeing the Ten Towns from the yoke of Auril, and hunting down those that would bring ruin and death to their lives. The audience lapped up every word, particularly the tale of the mechanical dragon and the certain destruction that had been thwarted. When Morgan promised to show everyone the head of the dragon the crowd cheered in awe. Unveiling Iceblink drew gasps of wonder.

As the story twisted and turned the room turned their attention to Octavian and his wilderwood staff recovered from a ancient underground tree, and to the grizzled features of the great hunter Arlington Porter-Bainbridge who slew the legendary White Moose. Women swooned at the tales of the mysterious Jankx who moved through the enemy like the wind, and they marvelled at the transformation of Eearwaxx from boy to mighty wizard (albeit a man with a very unconvincing beard). Tarquin drew almost as many appreciative glances as Jankx as he strummed his lute softly to emphasise and enhance Morgan’s tale.

The mood turned more sombre when Morgan emphasised the danger still that threatened the Ten Towns, both from within and without. That there were other people—the Arcane Brotherhood being the most obvious and relevant—that didn’t have as noble goals. “The woman that came to town and killed Allie and Cori is one of those people,” Morgan spat, his voice cracking as he spoke, “And I promise you that we will take full vengeance for that and all the others killed by her and her allies.” Another rousing cry went up from the crowd, this one tinged with anger and hatred.

“What are you going to do to her? Are you going to kill her?!” Glen called of the fray.

Morgan didn’t say anything, he just nodded firmly. The cries of support rocked the room.

Morgan held his hands up and silence fell again. “My message to you all is: hang in there. Keep the faith in Caer-Konig. “Hold on for a little longer. We are not going to stop while we are still breathing. And know that we, my friends and I, are going to stop the Winter.”

The audience leapt to their feet, thumping the tables and hollering.

At the height of the frenzy Arlington poked Tarquin who whipped out the writ and presented it to Trovus. He signed it without pause. “You need our support? You need the passage of the Towns? Of course you have it.”

Morgan called for quiet one last time. He raised his mug and looked around the good people of Caer-Konig. “Let us all raise our cups to our Northern Lights, Allie and Cori.” He wiped away a tear as everyone downed their mugs, followed by an explosion of excited conversation and chatter.

As Morgan stepped down, Atenas Swift, proprietor of Frozenfar Expeditions, pushed his way through the crowd to embrace him in a warm hug. He was an elderly man, quite frail now, and weather-worn by years of adventuring. “It’s an amazing tale you tell, young Morgan.”

“It’s hard to believe it myself sometimes,” Morgan smiled.

“I remember the days when I would return from an expedition thinking the same thing,” Atenas nodded. “I don’t know if Trovus told you, but you should know that I tracked the witch-woman after she left town. It should have been Jarthra,” Atenas said, a cloud passing over his face.

Morgan realised with a jolt that Jarthra wasn’t by Atenas’s side, and as he looked into Atenas’s face he knew Jarthra must be gone. He put a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. If Jarthra was with us still he could have tracked her the whole way.”

“Did she kill him too?” Morgan said softly, his anger rising.

“She didn’t kill him. Another of her type did.”

“What?” Arlington said with surprise.

“Another wizard, a man, some weeks ago now. He came to us asking about a place he had heard about somewhere, a Spire hidden in the wilds to the east. Jarthra knew of the place and agreed to take him out there. He never returned,” Atenas said, the words catching in his throat.

“Was this man named Dzaan?”

“That was him, yes,” Atenas said.

“He’s dead,” Morgan said.

“Dead? By your hand?”

“Close enough. We watched him burn.”

Atenas gave a huge sigh, tension easing from his body as a weight was lifted. “For that I thank you.”

Eearwaxx listened to the Atenas closely, disturbed to hear more detail of Dzaan’s crimes. He had always aspired to become a member of the Arcane Brotherhood, the legendary wizards of the highest calibre, but everything he had seen of them horrified him. First Dzaan, now Vellynne, both cold-blooded murderers pursuing magic for their own greed and power. He scowled, but had an idea. He turned and walked outside the tavern.

Arlington’s ear had pricked up when Atenas spoke of tracking Vellynne, and he spoke up now. “What can you tell us about the path she took?”

“She followed the Reghed River north-east. I tracked her as far as the Spire but from what I could tell she continued on past. I had to stop near that point, my legs are too old now and the weather was closing in. If I had to guess I’d say she was headed for the Glacier, but there’s a lot of empty space out there so she could be anywhere.”

“Is there anything else up river but the Reghed Glacier?” Morgan asked.

“Nothing. I took expeditions that way in my day, and it was only the Glacier that held anyone’s interest. But you never know what she might be after. Perhaps there are unfound places.”

“How did she travel the river?” Arlington asked. “Skates?”

“You can, of course, fit out the sleds that way. But as far as I could tell she walked it. She had others with her.”

“How many?”

“Maybe half a dozen.” Atenas looked over to Octavian. “Your type. But I saw no trace of her own tracks.”

“We know she travels with a posse of kobolds,” Octavian nodded, “And she could use magics to cover her movement. To be clear—when you say she walked the river, do you think it was to get to the Spire? Did she leave the river where you normally would?”

“As I said, I don’t think she did. But she may have guessed she was being tracked and went further on only to backtrack later.”

“If there’s a trail to be picked up,” Morgan said glancing to Arlington, “We’ll pick it up.”

Arlington lent down to whisper to Morgan. “She’s got a nine day head start. I can find the kobolds but we need to move quickly.”

Morgan nodded and turned to Atenas. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“Only that before he left Jarthra told me exactly where this Spire was. He didn’t trust Dzaan and wanted me to know where he was going. I can show you, and will give you directions on the river to make your journey faster.”

“Lead the way, sir,” Arlington said.

The company found Eearwaxx outside. He was perched on a crate staring into the clear winter sky. Everyone looked up to see what caught his eye, beaming when they saw what it was. “So much for the element of surprise,” Arlington laughed, entertained despite his misgivings.

Floating high overhead was a message scripted in ten-foot high cloud:

We are coming to kill you Vellynne

---

Session played: June 26, July 3 2023

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