Chapters

The Rime of the Frostmaiden: “Either way I’m scared of it”
Into the Caves: “Maybe they’re brains in jars!”
The dead eyes opened: “That’s not crazy, it’s just necromancy”
Ravenous: “Its stomach is a volcano!”
Bloodlines: “The heir to what?”

---

The Rime of the Frostmaiden

Morgan collapsed to the ground as his exhaustion—physical and mental—overcame him. It was done. Vellynne was dead, Allie and Cori avenged. He should feel exultant but instead he was drained. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

“This is for you.”

Morgan opened his eyes again to see Eearwaxx proffering Eyepatch’s eyepatch. “Thank you.”

“It’s magic. It whispers warnings when danger approaches. You should wear it as a trophy!”

Morgan nodded as he turned the crimson patch over in his palm. He didn’t want to wear it, but he did pocket it. “That was Auril speaking, after she died, right?” Morgan said. Everyone nodded wearily, staring down at the definitely lifeless corpse. Eearwaxx gathered up the other items he found on Vellynne—her staff and spellbook, a potion vial, an owl figurine, and a set of unusual braces.

Tarquin and Octavian went to work healing everyone as best they could, which wasn’t enough but it was enough (as was Eearwaxx’s mending of his friend the guardian). Octavian pointed out that the sigils were further dimmed. “We’ve got to go.”

Morgan led the way to the southern doors. One by one hands were placed on the door, making sure each of the floating sigils were represented. The door begun to vibrate with power as each sigil made the arcane connection. Tarquin hung back, planning to be the last dramatic hand to be placed (‘for the story’), only to be thwarted when the ice and magic holding the door closed cracked open as the sequence was uniquely completed by Arlington’s Preservation sigil.

The chamber beyond had a domed ceiling engraved with Auril’s giant snowflake. Two caryatids depicting towering women stood on either side of an iced-over glacial opening in the south wall, and in the middle of the room was a five-foot-tall, claw-shaped lectern with a white-covered book resting upon it.

Eearwaxx started to run into the room only to be stopped as he entered Morgan’s peripheral vision. “Maybe we should check the room first.”

“Sure, sure,” Eearwaxx said absently, then shrugged off Morgan’s warning hand and stepped up to the book.

---

It was a tall, thin volume bound in white ermine fur over seasoned boards of white pine, sealed with a clasp and lock of tarnished silver. He reached out a tentative hand. The book was cold to the touch, the fur worn about the edges from use. There weren’t many pages and silver gilt coated on the outer edges of each. The whole is sewn to a leather binding with strips of sinews.

Eearwaxx turned his head to seek approval from his companions who were all huddled in the door. He was surprised, though perhaps shouldn’t have been, to see everyone looking terrified. Then he realised Octavian was hovering by his side nodding furiously. Eearwaxx grinned, carefully freed the latch, and cracked open the tome.

The Codicil of White was engraved on the inner cover, seemingly made of embedded ice that glimmered like filigree. “It’s beautiful,” Eearwaxx said. “A holy book,” Octavian agreed. He could feel the power of the tome, ancient and sacred.

Tarquin suddenly noticed that the everyone’s sigils had vanished. He ran his hand along the surface of open doors, noting the layer of cracked ice that had previously sealed them. “Vellynne still had all the sigils, but this entrance had not been breached. Why?” It was a good question that no-one could answer. “Eearwaxx! Take care—Vellynne didn’t open this room, nor the tome.”

The pages of the book seemed to be made of seasoned boards of white pine, and there were only two dozen. Eearwaxx carefully turned the first pages. The ancient scripts described rituals and ceremonies for the worship of Auril, along with a myriad of spellcraft—Frost Fingers, Investiture of Ice, and more.

“There’s no time for study. Just grab it and let’s go!” Arlington called. Eearwaxx sighed and closed the Codicil, stashing it in his storage.

Morgan turned to Tarquin. “Your igloos that you create outside—they’re impassable, to your knowledge, correct?” Tarquin nodded.

“Even the power of a god?” Arlington asked.

“It’s pretty sturdy,” Eearwaxx shrugged.

“Except that we are up against a god,” Octavian reminded everyone.

“It is time for us to have a brief respite from the cold,” Morgan said wearily. “At least if something—or someone—comes we will be safe until we make a decision. Why don’t you build one in this doorway. The sigils are gone, so if this door closes we have no way back inside, but your shelter should prevent that. "

Tarquin conjured the igloo to straddle both rooms and stepped back. “Shall we?”

“Thank you,” Morgan said, then looked around at his battle-weary companions. “And thank you all.”

---

Eearwaxx left the Shield Guardian outside the hut as everyone entered. “My friend can you please, please make sure the doors don’t close. If they do, wake us.”

Inside he spent time studying everything that had been retrieved. The owl was non-magical, but the braces were. “These gave her magical armour,” Eearwaxx said holding up the pair. “But they only work if you have no other armour—so I guess I should wear them.” He handed the staff to Octavian. “Her staff isn’t just beautiful, it allowed her to power up her spells. You should have this, Octavian—I’m already a powerful wizard.”

Octavian raised an eyebrow at this but took the staff. Eearwaxx pocketed the chardalyn owl figurine, and tossed Morgan a small vial labelled ‘Gertrude Harpell’s Strawberry Healing’. The final prize was Vellynne’s leather-bound spellbook which Eearwaxx set about absorbing.

Octavian turned his attention back to the Codicil. He flipped past the spells and doctrine, sensing there was something more than just religious text contained within. The tome had magic embedded in it, it wasn’t just the words on the page. He turned to the final page and gasped. “Here it is,” he said softly.

On the page a four stanza verse, Rime of the Frostmaiden, that pulsed with ancient power, godlike power, Auril’s power. The incantation swirled with energy, wanting to leap from the page and be released. “This verse will channel her power,” Octavian said as he scanned the words. “Don’t read it aloud.”

Tarquin’s eyes went wide as he silently mouthed the words, relishing the verse and meter. He desperately wanted to perform it and bring it into he world, but he understood the wisdom of Octavian’s warning.

Octavian briefly considered that the words may represent something else—a map, a hidden message—before realising that was unlikely. “This is an incantation of access, of revealing,” he said.

Eearwaxx agreed. “A ritual for Auril’s followers.”

“Calling something into being,” Tarquin guessed.

“It’s religious, so you should hold it,” Eearwaxx said passing the Codicil to Octavian. The druid nodded and secured the tome. “This will be a tool at some point—either against us or for us. Either way I’m scared of it.”

---

Some hours later everyone climbed out of the igloo well rested and ready. Tarquin had woken before everyone else and spent some time unravelling the secrets of the jug he had found upstairs. It allowed the holder to fill it with a number of different liquids, ranging from wine to acid, to…mayonnaise. He was chuffed. “My next performance will be a cracker,” he grinned.

Arlington walked into the Codicil room and examined the statues. The two caryatids flanked what was obviously an entrance, but an entrance frozen into the very heart of the glacier. “It’s a way to somewhere, but sealed into the ice.”

“It doesn’t look openable,” Morgan said, “It looks like you have to shatter it.”

Tarquin thought back to the Rime. “Maybe if we read that last verse…”

“That’s what I was thinking as well,” Octavian nodded. He pulled out the Codicil and re-read the verse. “Concentrating this power could quite possibly give us egress,” he concluded.

“‘Quite possibly’. Let’s try other things first,” Tarquin smiled.

Morgan tried cracking his ice-pick into the frozen surface, but it made less than no impact, pinging off instantly. “It’s harder than the floor—like hitting a diamond. Normal means are not going to get through this.”

“Should we be exploring the door to the north instead?” Tarquin suggested.

Morgan shrugged. “Yes, in the interests of not leaving things behind. The only caveat being if these doors close again.”

“If they do we’ll just do the trials again,” Tarquin quipped to a groan.

“Morgan can scurry up there and check,” Arlington decreed.

“We’re not splitting the party are we?” Jankx warned.

“Well then send Ezra—I don’t think sending Ezra counts as splitting. I mean he’s not really one of us, is he?”

“He can’t open the door,” Morgan scowled. Arlington rolled his eyes.

“Look. This whole place seems to be a fortress or tomb for Vassavicken,” Morgan said. “The room up north had untouched Frost Giant carvings. This room on the other hand has been defaced and replaced with Auril’s symbols. So I would suggest that in the Northern room is going to be something to do with the giant queen, and maybe treasure, but this right here is an Auril door and I think we should focus our efforts on here. And if we live we can go and look for the treasure.”

“I’m wondering if Eyepatch got all the sigils and went to the north door,” Arlington nodded, “And then went ‘oh shit I’ve gone to the wrong one’. And never got through this one. Because she’s an idiot and we’re the smart party.”

Morgan scratched his head. “I’m not sure there’s any evidence in our past months to back that up.”

Tarquin nodded. “I like the cut of your jib, Morgan.” He motioned to the glacial door.

“The book, Octavian?” Morgan said.

“Should we just try violence first?” Jankx suggested, looking to the Shield Guardian.

“It won’t work,” Eearwaxx shook his head. “Remember it couldn’t get through the other doors earlier.”

“Everyone step back—I’m going to read the poem,” Octavian declared.

“‘Revealing secrets none must know until the end of time’,” Tarquin recalled, “Let’s do it!”

“That would be now,” Arlington observed sagely. “Time has not gone beyond this point, so…”

“And remember the first lines: ‘The dead city lies below, encased in ice and snow’,” Morgan recited, getting it slightly wrong—but right enough.

Octavian nodded. “I know of nothing in Auril’s religion that would reference a holy city buried beneath the ice. It doesn’t sound like it fits in her tenets—she’s not that kind of god, one who would rule over a city or empire. She preserves things.”

“Vellynne, while we were fighting her called us fools and said ‘Ythryn will be Faerûn’s doom, and I will be the harbinger’. And we know that Ythryn is the fallen Netherese city, yes?”

Arlington nodded warily. Morgan was making a lot of sense.

“So maybe this is where it is, which is why Auril is here. Because that’s what the Arcane Brotherhood were looking for.”

“I think that Octavian might be right,” Jankx chipped in. “The tome is the key to opening it.”

Tarquin gave everyone as much extra buffing as he could, then stepped back as Octavian stepped forward. As he peeled open the Codicil and prepared to speak the words, Eearwaxx vanished…

Octavian paused.

…and a moment later reappeared, flying backwards from the glacial wall and slamming into the rear wall of the chamber. He rubbed his head ruefully. “I tried to teleport through, but, uh, it didn’t work.”

Octavian continued. As he started to chant the Rime, a cold sweat broke out on his brow.

Reaching the second verse, Octavian found concentrating on the words was difficult as he channelled the great otherworldy power arising from the recital. But he felt—or more accurately hoped—that what he was doing was right. He continued, nervously.

The two statues slowly started to rotate to face the glacier. Octavian gasped for breath, his head throbbing. He felt his voice was no longer his own, he was no longer in control, becoming part of the ritual not just an observer.

The statues raised their hands and the glacier started to vibrate with the sharp sound of ice cracking. Auril was inside Octavian, and he was her vessel. The power was overwhelming. Tarquin put a hand on Octavian’s shoulder and flooded him with heroism.

Octavian closed his eyes and the voice that finished the incantation was not his, but hers.

At the final word the glacier cracked open with a peal of rolling thunder that rattles the temple and shakes the ground. A breath of frozen air gusted from beyond the doors, laden with ancient magic…and death.

Octavian collapsed to the ground, shaken. It had worked, and for a moment, he had been a god. It felt…good.

---

Into the Caves

The massive rent in the glacier revealed a set of uneven, naturally formed steps of black ice that descended into darkness.

“Lucky we had a rest,” Tarquin grinned, “Let’s go.”

“No-one wants to check the room to the north?” Morgan said with a half smile.

The tunnel ahead was pitch black and fifteen feet high, carved out of the glacial ice, and the stairs were regular (not giant) sized. As Morgan stepped ahead the sound of his footsteps echoed freely off the ice. Eearwaxx’s guardian managed to fit, just, having to stoop occasionally when the ceiling height dropped.

After several hundred feet of descent, the company emerged into a small open chamber. Before anyone could move any further, everyone felt a whispered voice probing inside their mind.

“The heir isssss here. To release ussss. To claim their birthright…”

Morgan instantly knew the voice, and felt a very familiar presence: Barovia, but a darker version of Barovia. Like the tendrils that wrapped him before he was reborn. Whatever it is was pulling on his soul, urging him to find it.

Arlington looked around his fellows, noting Tarquin and Morgan jerked to a standstill and Octavian faltered, reaching to steady his stride against the wall. Eearwaxx and Jankx didn’t react unusually, instead looking around for the source of the whisper.

“Is there anything anyone wants to say at this point?” Arlington asked pointedly.

“It’s not me. I’m the heir of nothing,” Eearwaxx said brightly.

“I’ve told you my history,” Octavian said.

“So we all heard it?” Tarquin observed.

“Maybe it was a magic mouth?” Eearwaxx suggested innocently.

“It’s me,” Morgan said quietly.

“What?” Octavian exclaimed. “It might not be you!”

Morgan looked worried. “It is me. I’ve been hearing that voice since Sunblight.”

Arlington scratched his chin. “Aaand you thought this was the best time to tell us?”

“It’s a game of trust,” Tarquin smiled. He realised Morgan was the target, not himself.

“You trust us, don’t you Arlington? Come on. Let’s go,” Eearwaxx said heading ahead.

Arlington grabbed his collar. “Eearwaxx. Not yet. I trust you to get hurt if you go down there first.” He turned back to Morgan. “Morgan. Can you please explain.”

“What are you the ‘heir’ to?” Tarquin added, glancing at Octavian who seemed to be resigned to the fact it wasn’t about him.

“I don’t know. All I know is a voice told me I am,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “Remember when we fought the thing with the mouth in its stomach? I coated my sword in acid by just thinking it. I think that was a gift from that voice. It was gifted to me in Sunblight when I held the dragon heart.”

Octavian recalled the moment when Morgan’s eyes had flashed through the colours of the chromatic dragons—red, white, blue, green, and black—as he had held the heart aloft. He had had his suspicions then that something had changed in Morgan, and this was confirmation.

“Then in Caer–Konig, after I found out about Cori and Allie,” Morgan continued, “In my grief the same voice came back again.” He paused. “And offered a…means for revenge. I said no.”

All eyes were locked on Morgan. “Barovia used to be ruled over by a vampire. And that vampire was a servant to darker things that dwelt in the mountains. My father and his companions inadvertently freed some of those powers from being trapped in their tomb—The Amber Temple. When I clawed my way out of the dirt, after I don’t know how long, my father after a time suggested that maybe how I am could be because of these things in the Amber Temple. Dark, evil things that aren’t gods, they’re just something else.”

Arlington found his crossbow was unconsciously now pointing at Morgan, who continued. “But as my father said to his companions, and as had been said to him, it’s actions that define us, not origins.” He was used to the crossbow pointing at him by now.

“What part of that makes you an heir to anything?” Arlington said, accepting Morgan’s argument as it was something he too believed. The hunt maketh the man, not the other way around.

“I don’t know,” Morgan said opening his hands in innocence. “Maybe I was made the way I am to do something for them? In my travels before I came here, and I remember saying this to you a long time ago, I spoke to one of my fathers' companions, a great master called Zandeyr, in an effort to work out what I am and why. And he was stumped. He could not work it out. I am not alive. I am not dead. I am ‘waiting between worlds’, as he put it. And that death or aging wouldn’t be afflicting me anytime soon.”

Tarquin was fascinated by Morgan’s tale. Here stood a living story encased in a humanoid shell, waiting its secrets to be revealed.

“As a last resort he sent me to an oracle—Madam Portencia, famed through Baldur’s Gate and beyond. That oracle told me that my path would lead to a place of eternal winter, and that there I may find the answers I seek.”

“It seems you are at a crossroads,” Arlington found himself saying as he lowered his crossbow and pointed to the passage ahead. “So I have one question for you, Morgan. Do you think you should go first?”

Morgan smiled gratefully at Arlington, relieved that his words were believed. He glanced at the He stepped forward as Tarquin sung a quick melody to inspire the company.

---

Webs of brittle ice covered the ceiling corridor, the strands glistening in the light of Iceblink. “Watch out for ice-spiders, people,” Arlington warned.

“Is that a thing?” Morgan hesitated.

“Of course it is!” Octavian scoffed. Had no-one here been to the Underdark? “Every ecology has its own spiders. They can get very big.”

Morgan hunched down and continued down until the passage opened into a thirty-foot-high cavern. In the centre of the chamber were the remains of a small wooden ship that rested on the floor, of a design none were familiar with. Shallow-bottomed, with no masts, but a ship none the less. The woodwork had mostly collapsed, but the hull was semi-intact with a passenger carriage lying on the side.

“It looks like a barge we would use on rivers,” Octavian said, “But it obviously isn’t built for water. I don’t understand.”

Tarquin entertained the thought that it could be a funereal vessel, meant to be set out to see and burnt. But what would that be doing here? He was struck by a sudden memory from his stage-days. “Perhaps this is Netherese. The stories told of Netherese sky-coaches,” he explained. “They travelled overhead instead of by ground, to show their magical prowess as much as anything. A bit like Skyreach Castle.” He glanced at Octavian who didn’t react.

“That’s like saying it’s ceremonial in nature,” Arlington said. “I remember the childhood stories—it’s like seeing a magic stagecoach. How old does that make it?”

“Thousands of years,” Octavian said with some sense of awe. He was starting to realise how much of a discovery a preserved Netherese city would be. If Auril had locked Ythryn away, and it was on the verge of being uncovered…his mind spun with the possibilities. He flew up onto the deck of the ruined hull and peered inside the carriage. “There are four skeletons wearing wizardly robes.”

Morgan and Jankx hopped up to investigate. “They’ve got no heads,” Morgan reported. “Which are nowhere to be seen. and Jankx—there’s an iron safe.”

“There’s magic too!” Eearwaxx called, having detected as much.

Jankx stepped carefully around the bodies. “The patterns on the robes are similar to those we saw in the fallen spire,” Jankx he called. He knelt down to the safe seeing it had three combination barrels. Before he even realised what he was doing he found himself rotating the barrels and feeling for the catch, employing his tradecraft despite himself. Click-click-click. Solved.

“Uh. I seem to have unlocked it. I guess something wanted me to find this?”

“What’s in it?” Octavian called.

Jankx looked at Morgan, shrugged, and opened the safe. He was surprised when nothing happened. Inside was a bag, roughly two feet in diameter, and a scrap of paper. He peered at the scrap, seeing what looked like a list but written in a language he didn’t know. He passed it out to Morgan who passed it to Eearwaxx.

“Netherese,” Eearwaxx reported, “A to-do list by the looks.” He read the list aloud:

• Gems for Ivira - she likes amethysts!
• And a new robe? Visit the Hall of Silk
• Protection for the chest
• Petition Iriolarthas to rotate the weather. Has he not heard of the five seasons??”

“Iriolarthas…I know that name,” Eearwaxx said. “It was in the books in the Spire—the author didn’t seem to like him.”

Jankx turned his attention back to the bag. He lifted it cautiously out of the safe. It was a simple thing, woven with strong hessian, rather large but almost weightless.

“Is it a bag of heads?” Eearwaxx called. Jankx blanched, but the weight told him it didn’t. He very carefully opened the bag and looked inside. It was much larger inside than out. Four amethysts and a ram-shaped ring made of chardalyn lay within. “Looks like they found Ivira’s gems,” Jankx muttered.

“So they were on their way back from shopping?” Octavian suggested.

“And I wonder where the Hall of Silk lies,” Tarquin said. He pointed up at the cobwebs around the ceiling corners. “Have a look around my friends, we are near the hall of silk.”

Morgan wasn’t so sure. “Maybe it’s in the city?”

“That is a term I’m sure I’ve read in Drow mythology,” Octavian mused, slightly concerned.

“Wait a minute,” Arlington said, “If this is a flying ship—”

“—They might have just crashed here and been buried by ice,” Morgan interrupted.

Tarquin shook his head, raising his voice as he starting to get heated at the cluelessness of his fellows. “I’m sorry, but listen. ‘Amethyst’ scratched out, there’s the amethyst. ‘Chest protect’, Jankx got through the chest. ‘Silk’? Wait a minute, there’s cobwebs everywhere!”

“I think that’s a long bow,” Morgan scoffed.

“Before I said it was a game of trust!” Tarquin cried, “And now—”

Jankx slapped a hand over Tarquin’s mouth. “Shhhhh…” He pointed to one of the side passages to the north.

A cackling laugh suddenly echoed around the ice as two floating skulls floated into view, purple flame flaring from their balding domes.

---

“Maybe they’re brains in jars!” Eearwaxx cried excitedly.

“Or in skulls,” Arlington growled as he latched his crossbow just as two further skulls appeared from the west.

“Four skulls, four bodies!” Octavian cried. “These are our dead wizards!”.

A beam of scorching fire shot out of the eye socket of the nearest skull and struck Tarquin, scalding his arm. The second ray seem to implode inside the skull causing the eye to go dark. Octavian shot a guiding beam into the nearest skull, and Arlington followed up with two easy bolts thanks to Octavian’s glow. The skull was rocked but still managed to shoot out two flaming rays, both of which exploded on Arlington.

Jankx was the next target, and was scorched badly. Jankx finished off a damaged skull, extinguishing its flames as it dropped. Eearwaxx put a hand on Jankx’s shoulder just as he slipped out of view—luckily, as Eearwaxx fired a lightning bolt that crackled into both of the northern skulls. One dropped helpless to the floor, the other was rocked back but still cackled freely.

Morgan was stepped around two incoming beams, allowing Tarquin to bury his rapier into a skull’s grinning mouth. Morgan grinned and smashed his blade twice into the same foe, then the guardian slapped its massive hands together around the skull, shattering it into component bones.

Octavian tried to whip the final skull into submission but missed badly. Arlington pushed Octavian’s head down and fired twice at point blank range, killing it.

“Are they human skulls?” Arlington asked, worried they might be some hitherto unknown horrors. Eearwaxx confirmed they were as he crouched down and studied one of the fallen skulls. “No brain though,” he said with disappointment, but grabbing it just in case.

Tarquin looked around as everyone battered out their flaming clothing. “If that’s anything to go by—we’re fucked!”

The dead eyes opened

A twenty-foot drop led to the chamber directly south, so Octavian flew down to scout ahead. It was a large cavern with a forty-foot ceiling that was festooned with sparkling icicles as long as longswords. The floor was strewn with frost-covered blocks of stone and toppled pillar, and embedded in the east wall was the remains of a tower that must have crashed through the ceiling long ago. The exposed wall of the tower was cracked but otherwise intact.

Octavian was about to report back when he noticed something unusual about one of the icicles—it had eyes, eyes that were following him passively as he hovered. Octavian drew back and peered closer. It was a thin creature with wings of ice wrapped around its body, hanging upside down, doing a very good job of impersonating an icicle. And there was more than one of them. None of them moved, but their eyes were very alert.

---

“You probably can’t see them,” Octavian reported quietly on re-joining the party, “But hidden in the icicles of the ceiling below are half-a-dozen ice-demons, or something similar, and they’re very well camouflaged.”

“Oh. They’re like kobolds,” Tarquin quipped.

“May as well be,” Arlington added.

“They are not like kobolds,” Octavian scowled.

“You say six, but could there be a lot more?” Jankx asked.

“There could be, and probably are. It’s a big ceiling over a thirty or forty foot room.”

Morgan turned to Eearwaxx. “That sounds like it’s about the same size as one of your fireball spells?”

Eearwaxx nodded. “Do we have to kill them?”

“They might be non-hostile,” Morgan continued, “But in our experience that’s never been the case.”

“If they’re ice creatures maybe they have some kind of fire resistance?” Tarquin said wryly.

“If anything they would not be used to fire,” Octavian corrected as Morgan started to say the same thing.

Tarquin rolled his eyes. He would teach Arlington’s serious young men sarcasm if it was the last thing he did.

Octavian snorted. “Well you are a bard, so I would have thought your communication would be a little better?”

“I’ve been working on my delivery but you guys are not helping!”

“Enough, gentlemen,” Arlington commanded. “I’m normally quite cautious but I love this fire thing that Eearwaxx does. So let’s push the boy to the front.”

“Aim just above the pillar,” Octavian pointed as he crouched next to Eearwaxx.

“I’m worried about the blow-back,” Eearwaxx said, “So everyone stand back.” A few moments later Eearwaxx called down a massive explosion of fire in the lower chamber. Icicles shattered and melted into the floor below, and a series of very brief shrieks that were abruptly cut off.

The surge of heat above was powerful and really quite pleasant, though it passed quickly as mist floated up from the room. Octavian flew down again. The ceiling was clear, and seven bodies lay in the rapidly freezing water on the floor. “All dead!”

“What were they,” Eearwaxx called as the group climbed down into the room via Arlington’s handy crossbow wire.

“They look like ice demons?” Octavian said.

“Ice kobolds, Tarquin corrected.

“I’m thinking that’s what they were,” Arlington agreed.

“They were NOT ice kobolds!” Octavian yelled.

“Rumours start this way,” Eearwaxx said, making perhaps the first joke of his young life.

“What would you call them?” Arlington said, poking some remains with his toe.

“Ice demons!” Octavian repeated for the third time.

“How do you know they’re a demon?” Arlington said sceptically.

“Bats then!”

“I didn’t commit genocide did I?” Eearwaxx said, suddenly worried. He was quickly distracted from that concern by the tower. “Hey! The walls of that thing are made of the same thing as the Lost Spire!”

Jankx walked over to the wall, torch aloft. Eearwaxx was right. He peered through a crack in the wall to peer inside. The internal walls were covered with shifting geometric patterns that moved slowly under his light. Lying in the middle of the round room was a human skeleton in decaying white robes. “The moving patterns on the walls in here are similar to the ones in the creation room of the Spire,” he called back to Eearwaxx.

“Are we going to get inside and investigate that body? We can’t get inside through those cracks,” Morgan said studying the arm-length gaps. “Or Octavian could squeeze through.”

“Eearwaxx’s helper could smash through,” Octavian mused, “But let’s see if we can get through in a more sophisticated way first.”

Eearwaxx’s attention had already shifted. He noticed a passage leading steeply down to the south, and wandered over to it and started down, following it left and out of sight.

“Eearwaxx!” Arlington called loud-softly. “Do you go first?”

“I don’t know? I’ve already gone?” Eearwaxx called back.

“The answer is no!”

“There might be another way into that room from the other side,” Octavian nodded toward Eearwaxx’s passage.

“I feel that too,” Jankx nodded. “I don’t know why.”

“I don’t care about that!” Arlington scowled, “All I care about is how did Eearwaxx get to the front again?! I’ve spoken to all of you about this in the past.” No matter how hard he tried, keeping his young wizard safe from himself seemed nigh impossible.

Eearwaxx could see ahead more remains, this time the top section of a partially shattered tower resting on its side in the middle of a cavern. More long icicles hung from the ceiling above. “Hey!” he cried, “Another tower!” His voice echoed into the room above, causing Arlington to face-palm.

“Ezra,” Arlington said, looking hopefully around the room, “Can you bring Eearwaxx back? Quietly?”

Morgan tilted his head and called Ezra forth. He appeared in front of Eearwaxx, trying his best to look stern and disapproving. It didn’t work.

“Look at this!” Eearwaxx enthused, trying to turn Ezra to face the room below. His hands passed through the ghostly figure. “Oh that’s right. Well—turn around! Pretty cool! We should investigate.”

Ezra turned, and Morgan saw what he did. “There’s a tower below, on its side,” he reported. “And the ceiling is covered in more icicles, similar to here.”

“They’re probably ice demons,” Octavian said quietly.

“They’re not,” Morgan said with Ezra’s confirmation, and a blink later Morgan stood in front of Eearwaxx. “Eearwaxx. Seriously.”

“I’m serious,” Eearwaxx assured Morgan.

“Look. The shield guardian is great. And the mighty wizardry is extremely handy—”

“I think so too!”

“—but my friend, I think we can both agree that I can take a bit more punishment that you can,” Morgan said sternly.

“I don’t know…I mean I killed the flying ice kobolds,” Eearwaxx said defensively.

“None-the-less, it’s probably best if you let me walk into the room before you. Because then the bad thing will attack me first.”

“Go ahead,” Eearwaxx said, “Both of you.”

Morgan nodded and stepped down into the room. The toppled tower was mostly collapsed but the tip still held some of its shape. North of the tower was a fifteen-foot-diameter hole in the floor that seems to be the upper end of a tunnel. Morgan’s thoughts immediately went to the hole made by the Tomb Tapper, but this was different—a smooth ice surface dropped straight down. Another regular passage led up from the north-east.

Morgan summoned everyone. “You may be right about the wrap around passage,” he said to Octavian, pointing to the upward passage. Jankx stepped to the edge of the ice tunnel. The polished ice dropped directly down into darkness, curving away underneath the floor on which he stood. It didn’t look climbable without serious equipment to stop slipping.

Morgan moved over to the tower and peered inside. There was a small, crawlable cavity, and from the light of Iceblink he could see what looked like a small footlocker. “Jankx! There’s a chest in here.”

Jankx could see it too. He didn’t like the look of the crawlspace, nor the structural integrity of the tower remains. He sighed and started to wedge his way inside, twisting his body to fit through the rubble and detritus. He was encouraged that the tower didn’t seem to shift as he worked his way. Eventually the footlocker was almost in reach. He reversed his his short-sword and used the pommel to jerk the small chest back until he could grab it and shuffle his way out in reverse.

The wooden chest was sealed closed with a sliding bolt latch held fast by frost. He tapped it a few times with his blade but the ice was too solid. He held his open torch to the ice instead, and was pleased to see it start to melt away. “Not magic ice,” Jankx said with relief and a little surprise, “Nor trapped if I’m correct.”

Jankx carefully opened the locker. A collection of smashed bottles lay inside, along with two which had survived, and a vial of silvery ink. He passed the vials to Eearwaxx who recognised the potions as powerful healing potions, and the ink as magical ink for copying spells into spellbooks. He was amazed everything had survived their long interment.

“There’s also a scrunched up letter—written in Elvish,” Jankx said, passing it too to Eearwaxx.

“It’s Netherese,” Eearwaxx corrected as he translated it for the company. “Something informing a High Transmuter Drakareth that their position was forfeited for unexplained behavioural reasons. And that they are demoted to High Priest. Ooo, and this is interesting! It says: Accordingly, your responsibility for the Rite of the Arcane Octad will be passed to Metaltra, and your mind forcibly emptied of any knowledge of the ritual key. I wonder what that means? The letter is signed by the Archmage of the Ebon Star and Master of Ythryn, Iriolarthas.”

“I know that name,” Octavian said. “It was mentioned in the books from the Lost Spire. Someone thought he should be called ‘Iriolarthas the Insane’ from memory.”

“And it was on the letter in the safe!” Morgan exclaimed. “He was the one they wanted to petition to rotate the weather.”

Tarquin was last to descend into the tower room, having spent a few moments above composing a new rhyme that he sung as he entered.

“Not true!” Octavian growled, feeling he was fighting a losing battle against this false narrative.

As Tarquin stepped into the room he heard footsteps from the passageway behind him. He kept walking, calmly, but listening intently. The single set of footsteps echoed behind him, not matching his gait. He walked to the the edge of the ice tunnel and stopped. So did the footsteps. They were replaced with hot breath against the back of his neck. Sweat broke out on Tarquin’s brow. The icy pit lay just ahead. Maybe if he jumped he could lose his foe? He shook his head—no!

He turned and walked slowly away from the pit toward the tower. Jankx noticed something odd about Tarquin’s stance—he’d tailed plenty of people, and been tailed himself, and Tarquin was acting just like someone who suspected exactly that. This was not good. He walked cautiously over to Tarquin, suspecting an invisible stalker.

Tarquin suddenly dropped to his knees and summoned an illusion, making the floor appear to be where he was. But a moment later the hot breath was back, prickling the hairs on of his neck. He shuddered. He jumped to his feet and shook his head urgently to shake off the presence, casting a magical detection spell as he did. Nothing.

Jankx tossed a handful of sand over Tarquin, hoping to reveal the shape of whatever was following him. But there was nothing there, the sand scattering onto the floor. He grabbed Tarquin by the arm. “There’s nothing here! It’s ok!”

Tarquin stared furiously at Jankx. The breath was still there, but he held Jankx’s eyes and started to calm his breath. “Exist as long as you can, by whatever means you can,” he muttered, “Only by enduring can you outlast your enemies.” He repeated the mantra and as his mind calmed, so did the breath, fading away until it was nothing but a memory.

Jankx directed Tarquin toward the eastern exit, leading him to safety. Tarquin made sure to position himself on the side away from the ice tunnel. He noticed Jankx’s footfall was utterly silence, his boots hiding all sound.

Morgan and Arlington stepped up the tunnel and into the room above, which was strewn with rubble—and the other side of the tower wall. This side had a larger crack in it that looked like it might be able to be broken loose to allow access inside.

As they started to move across the room a familiar scent drifted around the cavern, reminding each of a tragic or fearful event from their past. Arlington stumbled as the overwhelming scent of his father’s aftershave struck him like lightning, reminding him of the time mother had locked him for days inside the tiny water-closet for misbehaviour. Morgan stopped dead as the scent of the grave overwhelmed him, the smell from before he was raised, the smell before he lived. He cocked his head to listen—what was causing this—but could hear nothing. “I smell grave dirt,” he said, swallowing away his claustrophobia.

“That’s not what I smell,” Arlington said. He only smelt shame. He dropped to one knee and pointed his crossbow to the tower, grey with discomfort.

“There’s something wrong here,” Morgan warned as Jankx entered. It was too late—Jankx overcome as he recalled the despair of his family when the heirloom was lost. The acrid sweat of loss and worry.

Eearwaxx was struck by the moment he had found his adopted father Eearl’wixx dead by the caravan, his flesh rotting with the putrid sweet smell of decay. He dry retched at the force of the memory. “This is a bit shit,” he groaned.

Tarquin hadn’t entered the room yet, and his magical detection was still active. He could see the suffering of his companions, and reflected on his own experience. “The tower is magic! It’s in your mind—a magical defence!”

“It’s working,” Jankx said sadly.

Tarquin ran the mantra through his head again and stepped into the room. And almost stumbled to his knees as the smell of ancient dragon bones and leathery scales surged through him. His father’s trophy room, the room where every great deed he had done was on display, and where Tarquin’s own insignificance was brought into sharp focus every time he visited it. The shame and disappointment of not having anything to show. “Only by enduring…” he muttered, stumbling toward the tower.

Octavian had been waiting below, hearing his companions discomfort. “Is everyone still crazy?” he called.

“Come up here,” Arlington replied.

“I’m not going to come up and be crazy like you people!”

“Just come up here. I’m the only one you can trust.”

Octavian scowled. “Tarquin! Are you crazy? Actually—ignore the question, I already know the answer.” He sighed. He knew there was some kind of magical effect affecting emotions, so he steeled himself for the worst and flew as fast as he could into the room aiming for the Tower. He was immediately paralysed by the powerful aroma of the creche, of the spoiled eggs and burning foetuses of his clutchmates. He hurtled into the side of the tower, rebounding off stunned to the floor.

“Smooth move, Octavian,” Arlington muttered.

Morgan worked his way across the room toward the tower, forcing the aroma away. A big chunk of wall was open on two sides. He looked around for something to use to lever it open.

“Just let the golem smash,” Tarquin said.

“Please step out of the way,” Eearwaxx said quietly. “Come friend, get us inside.” His voice was full of genuine sadness, both from his memory and from his worry that he may one day lose his guardian friend too.

The shield guardian strode forward and braced against the tower wall, reaching two massive hands around the chunk of wall and tearing it free. A second inner wall still blocked the way. “Gently friend,” Eearwaxx encouraged. The guardian shoved both hands hard against it until a section broke free with a shriek of tearing metal.

Before anyone could move Eearwaxx stepped inside. “AGAIN!?” Arlington cursed as Morgan hustled to step in behind.

Eearwaxx stared with wonder at the shimmering arcane patterns on the walls. They were different to the creation room, but obviously related. The body of the dead wizard lay on the floor, and he noticed something new—a slightly charred piece of parchment nailed to the wall.

---

Eearwaxx gently removed the diagram and studied it. A series of ovals were enclosed within a larger circle, and a number of arcane symbols were scattered around the ovals. “I think it’s a map,” he said softly, “There’s a North symbol along with all the schools of magic.”

While Eearwaxx was engrossed in the map, Octavian searched the body. The remains of the robe crumbled under his touch, but around the skeletal neck of the body was a silver holy symbol—a four pointed star. “Jankx?” Octavian called.

“The same as the one on the wall in the Spire,” Jankx said with perfect recall. “Arlington said it was Mystryl? Who became Mystra, the creator of the Weave.” He left it alone, wary of ancient magic.

“The smell has faded,” Tarquin noted with surprise. He glanced around and could see his companions were no longer suffering either. He had been sure the Tower was the source, but now it seemed otherwise.

“Perhaps this room shields us from the psychological effects of the cavern outside?” Octavian mused.

“Or what we see here is the inside of something projecting outside,” Tarquin guessed.

“I’m ok now and I’m still outside,” Arlington called, disproving both theories.

Tarquin shrugged and turned his attention to the swirling patterns on the wall. He determined they were the source of the magic he had detected, and had a sudden insight. The patterns were shifting between schools of magic, settling into one before moving to another. He recalled an otherwise on-the-nose group of thespians he had once worked with who had created a similar scheme for their theatre. They had claimed at the time that it represented an ancient civilisation that had created rooms of focussed magic that allowed their casters to recover their powers faster than otherwise possible. He sat down and crossed his legs, concentrating on the patterns and seeking their focus. He held his hand out for the map.

Eearwaxx passed it over without thinking. Tarquin felt the shapes coalescing, matching those on the maps as they moved. He hoped to find a match in the geometry of the room and the map, but there was no clarity to be found. They appeared unrelated. What he did sense was that the spells he had cast—illusion and divination—were returning to power in his mind. He would be able to cast them within the hour, instead of within a day! The theatre’s ridiculous postering had held a grain of truth after all.

“This is a revelation—this room is like my little hut!” Tarquin exclaimed. “These walls surge with all the schools of magic, and this is a restorative space!”

“Ok,” Jankx said, none the wiser.

“Yeah alright,” Arlington said, even less the wiser.

“That’s alright, you just stand guard out there—we need an hour and we will have our spells back.” Tarquin handed the map back to Eearwaxx. “Eearwaxx—concentrate!” He physically lifted the wizard’s head up. “Look at the walls, see how they rotate through the schools. They are all there! You can use the room to regain your spells.”

Eearwaxx was badly distracted by the map, but he obeyed. And he quickly realised Tarquin was right—his evocation power was returning, another fireball brewing. He settled down to focus, still thinking about the map. He saw that the oval shapes were similar to the shape of the Lost Spire, ovoid in shape, maybe representing each level of the Spire? But the ovals on this map weren’t divided into rooms. And the tower he was in now was round, not oval. He remained confused, but the power from the room was undeniably returning his power, so he settled in and allowed it to happen.

---

Jankx and Octavian stayed inside the tower to protect the spellcasters, leaving Arlington and Morgan free to venture up the eastern passage. They exited into a smaller chamber. Lying on its side in the middle of this the cave was an enormous head made of iron. Both adventurers were surprised to see its eyes aglow with a golden light.

“Is this like that Duergar dragon, do you think?” Arlington said, blinking twice to disbelieve. “Look up it’s neckhole.”

Morgan cautiously walked over to the head. He knelt down and did as Arlington suggested. Judging by the torn metal around the neck, the head had been sheared away. “The ‘neckhole’ is empty, I can’t see what’s inside the head. I’d guess this thing would be fifteen-feet tall if it was attached to its body. Slightly larger than Eearwaxx’s friend.”

Arlington looked around for other components, but there was nothing obvious. “See what’s around the next corner,” he said to Morgan, nodding toward the only exit to the south-east. Morgan obeyed, following a steep drop down that turned further east before starting to open into another larger cave. He reported this back to Arlington, who was getting wary about travelling too far.

“I can always send Ezra down to see what lies further ahead?” Morgan suggested, drawing a nod of approval from Arlington. Ezra bampfed into existence and wandered down the corridor. A large chamber lay beyond, fifty feet long and thirty wide. “Shadows are flickering around the room,” Morgan reported through Ezra’s eyes.

“Bats?”

“There’s nothing casting the shadows,” Morgan said after a pause.

Arlington nodded, then led Morgan back to the Tower chamber. “Octavian! Is this something you people do?” Arlington asked, after Morgan had explained the shadows.

“‘You people’?” Octavian muttered with barely contained fury, before deciding to uncontain it. “Yeah! Of course it is Arlington! I’ll just go down there by myself!” He strode forward with great determination then jerked to a halt and spun to face Arlington. “Of course I’m not going down there by myself!”

Arlington shook his head in dismay at Octavian’s antics. “I’m not asking you to go down! Do you know of these things that—”

“I don’t know what he’s describing!” Octavian interrupted. “It could be anything from wights to weird magic to huge bats!”

“Thank you. You could have just said that.”

“You are a hunter! You could have literally just gone there and had a look!” Octavian said with exasperation.

“Do you know why I didn’t?” Arlington said softly.

“I have no idea.”

“To protect you and that boy in there,” Arlington said nodding to Eearwaxx’s meditative figure.

Octavian stared at Arlington. “If you actually believe that,” he said after a pause, “You are more traumatised that you indicate.”

Arlington frowned.

“Come on Morgan!” Octavian called, stomping out of the room with his purposeful stride. He cursed Arlington under his breath, hoping Morgan was following but his pride not allowing him to turn and check. Once he got out of sight he paused, but then he saw the light of Iceblink glinting off the walls. He resumed his strident strid, almost hesitating when he reached the golem head, but instead putting his head down and continuing down the passageway. He would show Arlington.

Morgan suddenly appeared ahead of him at the turn into the shadow room, swapping places with Ezra. He put his hand up to stop Octavian. “What are you doing?!”

“Just—I need to see the things, the shadows!” Octavian whispered angrily.

“I was looking at them through Ezra!” Morgan hissed back.

“I’m going come down—”

“No! Don’t look!”

“Arlington said—he was acting like I wouldn’t know,” Octavian muttered. “I know stuff! Those things before weren’t kobolds! They’re nephrites. I didn’t want to say it, but…” Octavian trailed off.

Morgan stifled a smile. “Let’s just address things one at a time. Firstly, we don’t know the source of the shadows in the room.”

“I can work it out! I’m very smart!”

“Second,” Morgan continued, ignoring Octavian’s protest, “I know the things weren’t kobolds because I’ve seen kobolds and they weren’t kobolds.”

Octavian tried to unravel the curiously simple (if circular) argument before feeling his temper rise again. “Tarquin made a poem!”

“And the other thing is, despite what he thinks, Arlington is not the boss of either of us! In any capacity!”

“He acts like one,” Octavian said sulkily.

“I know he does but I just let him do that because it makes him feel better.” Morgan realised the truth of what he was saying. Where once he had looked to Arlington with respect for his leadership and wisdom, he now felt that he was capable of making decisions just as smartly as Arlington. He had grown where Arlington had not—if anything Arlington was now less reliable.

Octavian sighed. “I’m very close now, let me just look.”

“No! You know the one rule we stick to?”

“We’ve never stuck to that rule!” Octavian pleaded. “Eearwaxx has broken that rule every time we go around a corner!”

“And you know who has to pick up that slack?” Morgan grunted. “This person here. So don’t be like Eearwaxx, because whatever is down there I’ll be finding out first.”

“I’ll just take a quick look,” Octavian said and suddenly flew into the air out of Morgan’s reach.

“That’s what everybody says!” Morgan cried.

Octavian flew into the room, stopped with a jolt, swivelled, and flew with great speed back up the tunnel. “Shadows!!” he cried as he swooped past Morgan. “That’s what I said!” Morgan growled, running after Octavian.

When he reached the final turn back to the Tower, Octavian landed, quickly gathered his wits, and walked nonchalantly into the chamber. He glanced at Arlington. “Arlington. I know what’s in that cave,” he said casually. “I had a look—they’re not bats, I don’t know why you thought that. They’re Shadows.”

Arlington, who noted the kobold was breathing heavily, raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Shadows! The creatures! Like undead wraiths. They’re embodiments of darkness, an undead creature that is darkness itself. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were the spirits of the dead of Ythryn haunting these caves,” Octavian said, suddenly realising that is exactly what they might be.

“How many were there?”

“I only saw one because then I came back to tell you.”

“Maybe a dozen, maybe more,” Morgan corrected as he arrived.

Octavian did his best not to pale at this news. “I’m not quite sure, but maybe light will hurt them?”

Morgan shook his head. “My father told me of creatures of shadow, and how he defeated them when he and his companions were purging the evil from Barovia. Not just light, holy light—radiance.”

This time Octavian did his best not to blush. Obviously it was radiant light. He nodded at Morgan and walked inside the Tower.

---

Eearwaxx was shaking himself awake from the meditation. He took a deep breath and looked for the umpteenth time at the parchment map, but its mysteries stayed locked away. The young wizard made a decision.

He stood and walked over to the body, crouching in front of it. He traced a symbol into the dust on the floor, a horseshoe with two curved wings, then stood and started to quietly recite a ritual incantation.

It took Octavian a moment to realise what was happening. Tarquin was still sitting with eyes closed, Jankx standing guard. But Eearwaxx…

Octavian gasped and spun to Jankx. “Is that a good idea??” he said with rising panic. Jankx watched Eearwaxx continuing his chant, moving his hands in rhythm, and shrugged. He had no idea what was goig on.

Octavian rushed outside to Arlington, recent animosity suddenly forgotten. “Just so you know,” he whispered, “Eearwaxx is conducting a necromatic ritual. He’s raising the dead, or speaking with them? I don’t know much about it but that’s normally not considered a good idea.”

Arlington had to admit that didn’t sound good. He climbed wearily to his feet and strode inside. “What are you doing there boy?”

“Nothing,” Eearwaxx muttered as his spell neared its conclusion.

“Clearly something,” Arlington corrected. He sensed the surge of dark energy in the room but wasn’t sure to do about it—interrupting Eearwaxx might be worse than letting this continue. He pulled out his sword.

Eearwaxx’s chant reached a crescendo, dropped his head, then raised both hands toward the heavens. And the skeletal body on the floor rose with Eearwaxx’s gesture, climbing to its feet for the first time in thousands of years. Eearwaxx’s eyes shone with excitement. He had done it! For the first time, he had given life to that which had none!! His head spun with the possibilities as his new friend rose—

Eearwaxx cried out as he was flung to the side by Arlington. He tried to fight back but Arlington was not to be denied.

The hunter’s blade swept down with outrageous force, shattering the skeleton into hundreds of bone shards. He spun to face Eearwaxx. “NO!”

Eearwaxx was aghast at his creation being so quickly destroyed. Aghast and enraged. With a guttural, primal growl he called on the ground to wrap an icy hand around Arlington, trying to pin him before squeezing the life from him. Fortunately Arlington was just as enraged and he used that energy to force his way out of the grasping hand.

Tarquin, roused from his rest, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Eearwaxx was staring murderously at Arlington, clenching his fist as if to crush the great hunter. Tarquin acted quickly, piercing the wizard’s mind with a dissonant whisper: “This is no time for daddy issues!”

“I don’t know what that means!” Eearwaxx growled, “I’ve never had a father so fuck you!” He released the hand and knelt down to grab the necklace with the Mystryl symbol and the miraculously still intact skull of the dead wizard. He glared at Arlington and Tarquin as he stalked out of the room, pushing past Arlington who let him pass.

Morgan watched Eearwaxx emerge clutching a skull and necklace. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Eearwaxx grunted.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! Come on friend!” Eearwaxx stormed off up the corridor.

Arlington glared at Octavian, at once acknowledging that his warning had been accurate, but at the same time making it all Octavian’s fault.

“Whaat? Why? I’m the good guy!” Octavian cried and stomped outside.

“What is going on??” Morgan repeated as this time Octavian emerged.

“He is raising dead!” Octavian said, pointing in the direction of the rapidly leaving Eearwaxx.

“What?!” Morgan said.

“What?!” Jankx said.

“And Arlington got angry…and somehow he blamed me??”

“What do you mean he’s raising the dead,” Morgan and Jankx said in perfect unison.

“He’s a necromancer!” Octavian cried, then covered his mouth when he realised what he had said. “I…no, I don’t…I don’t know? Maybe? Maybe he’s just curious?” Octavian suddenly realised where Eearwaxx was heading and quickly came to his senses. “Don’t let him go up there!”

Morgan shook his head and turned to follow Eearwaxx. “One of you need to explain what the hell is going on,” he called over his shoulder. Arlington glared after Morgan, then at Octavian, Tarquin and Jankx. He had the shits with everybody, much like Eearwaxx. He pointed after Morgan and everyone sheepishly followed.

Morgan chased down the young wizard and called out to him. “Eearwaxx! In the room beyond the next there are shadows—”

“Good!”

“A dozen of them and they will kill you!”

“Good!!” Eearwaxx cried. He was almost in tears, overwhelmed with shock and anger and power and sorrow. He entered the room with the head and jerked to a halt. “It’s alive, like you!” he whispered to his guardian. His fury faded as almost as quickly as it had erupted as he turned his attention to this new wonder. “Quickly! Dig it out!!” The guardian obeyed, clearing the ground around the head (which revealed to Eearwaxx that it was just a head).

Morgan, hot on Eearwaxx’s tail, smiled as he saw what was happening. The guardian was setting the head on a proper angle, and Eearwaxx was busy mending it to it glinted as if new in the flickering light. If Eearwaxx was mending, things were returning to some semblance of normality. “Listen. Did you actually raise something back in the other room?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eearwaxx said, busy with his new project.

“It does.”

“It doesn’t. Don’t worry about it.” There was a slight edge to Eearwaxx’s voice.

Morgan glanced at Octavian, who nodded slowly. Yes, he did raise the dead. Morgan grimaced. “Did he raise something, or animate something?” Octavian shrugged, curious that Morgan would know the difference.

“Eearwaxx?” Morgan stared, demanding an answer.

Eearwaxx sighed. “Just animation. It was nothing, just bones.” Morgan nodded slowly, less worried than he had been.

“It’s not nothing,” Octavian whispered to Morgan.

“Is there any chance,” Arlington sidemouthed to Morgan, “That the light coming out of those eyes is raidant in nature?”

Octavian rolled his eyes and held his hand over the eyes. There was no warmth. “No it is not radiant,” he said flatly.

Eearwaxx held the symbol on the necklace near the head and looked up kindly into its eyes. “Are you ok?” he asked gently.

Much to everyone except Eearwaxx’s surprise, the eyes blinked. Twice.

“Can you speak?” Two blinks.

Arlington met Octavian’s gaze, both equally astonished. Eearwaxx was infuriating, but he had his moments.

“Where’s your body? We’ll have to fix that.” The eyes blinked three times.

“Yes. If this was nautical, that would mean reversing,” Arlington tried, stabbing into a darkness he had no understanding of. Octavian stifled a laugh. Stupid man.

Morgan tried his hand. “Does two blinks mean no?” The head blinked once. “Ok: one blink for yes, two for no, and maybe three for it doesn’t know?”

One blink.

“There you go,” Morgan grinned.

“That means that you’re incorrect!” Arlington tried desperately.

“No that means that it said ‘yes’,” Morgan corrected, just as the statue was blinking twice at Arlington.

Eearwaxx lent in and gently touched the cheek of the head, as if he were comforting someone. He looked at its mouth, wondering if it would repaired enough to talk. “Hmm. How to find your body…”

Octavian looked around at Tarquin, Jankx, and Arlington. “He’s insane. We all get that don’t we?” he whispered.

Morgan, overhearing, sidled back to Octavian. “Seeing how he has reacted to this, and since he got his guardian, I think he feels much more comfortable with…constructed things, than people.” Everyone watched Eearwaxx fondly chatting with the inert head, and had to admit Morgan had a point.

“He thinks those creatures are real,” Octavian said. “He thinks they’re people. “He is going crazy.”

“That’s what I just said to you,” Morgan scowled.

“Yes and that’s what a necromancer does with bodies! Have you met a necromancer?”

“Well we met one,” Morgan said, thinking of Vellynne. “But she wasn’t crazy, just evil.”

“Have you met a good necromancer?”

“Well Eearwaxx is good,” Morgan said defensively.

“Was good,” Jankx warned.

“While you think about it,” Morgan added, “I’m a product of it…probably. I don’t know how else I would be standing here.”

“Let’s not push that angle too heavily,” Arlington scratched his head.

“I repeat: he is going crazy,” Octavian emphasised.

“He’s just young—he’s fourteen! It’s a lot of power to have when you’re fourteen years old,” Morgan said, speaking from some experience.

“He just raised dead!”

“That’s not crazy, it’s just necromancy!”

Everyone within earshot burst out laughing.

“We’re a little bit too far underground for this shit to be happening,” Tarquin laughed. It wasn’t just Eearwaxx, everyone was crazy!

“If Eearwaxx teams up with Tarquin, I’m leaving,” Octavian smirked.

“Octavian—as long as Eearwaxx keeps it to machines we can live with this,” Arlington said. He looked around the others. “We have a kobold in the party for gods' sake.” Octavian barely heard the insult.

Eearwaxx was still peppering the head with questions, both inane and on point. “Does the round room with all the symbols allow you to teleport to other locations?” Three blinks. “What do you want us to do with you?” Blank stare. “Are there other alive wizards alive in here?” Three blinks.

“Isn’t that a trick question?” Octavian called, pointing to Eearwaxx.

Eearwaxx ignored the interjection. “Do you have any sense of time?” One blink, after a pause. “So you’ve been like this for thousands of years?” A slow blink. “Has anyone else been through here?” One blink. “Was it ten years ago?” Nothing. “Twenty?” Nothing. “Fifty?” Nothing. After a few more counts the head blinked three times. “It doesn’t know,” Eearwaxx muttered to himself.

“There is no sign Eearwaxx is going to get sick of this,” Tarquin sighed.

“I have a question,” Arlington called. “Do you know there are shadows in the next room?” The head blinked thrice.

Tarquin walked up to the head, glanced at Eearwaxx, and addressed the great statue. “Will you be here when we get back?” Three slow blinks. Tarquin laughed softly.

Eearwaxx understood. He looked sadly at the head, patted it fondly, and turned away. “Let’s go.”

---

Ravenous

“Octavian,” Arlington asked, “These Shadows—how dangerous are they?”

“They’re dangerous in the sense that they’re the embodiment of darkness. Undead.”

“Can we kill them?”

“You can, if you use the right thing—radiant light, like Morgan said.”

“Is that the only thing that will kill them?”

“I’m not sure,” Octavian shrugged.

“Do we any radiant light?”

“I do. My main attack will damage them.”

No-one else offered more. Arlington frowned and looked to the group. “So should we be going around them and down the hole instead?”

“That’s an option,” Morgan nodded. “I can send Ezra down the hole to see if it has a bottom.”

“Should we ask Ezra if he would like to do that?”

Morgan was surprised at Arlington’s care. “He’s fine to do that.”

“What a sterling fellow.”

“He tells me he hasn’t met anything that can actually hurt him to a lasting extent. So far.”

“He doesn’t suffer the trauma of being dispatched,” Tarquin said. “What does he feel?”

“Not a lot. Dispatched isn’t the right word.”

“Reset?”

“He…momentarily loses the ability to be corporeal.”

“I seem to remember you talking to him when he wasn’t corporeal?”

“I can always see him,” Morgan said glancing over Tarquin’s shoulder. “He’s never too far from me, and he’s with us all the time.”

“I now understand what the breath on the back of my neck was,” Tarquin winked.

“Perhaps this isn’t the time, Tarquin,” Arlington said.

Everyone stood on the lip of the borehole as Ezra floated down and Morgan’s eyes coloured over to follow Ezra’s path. The chute dropped straight down then twisted acutely underneath the ice below the room. It dropped at least 100-feet in depth, and 150 length, then opened into a bulbous cavern with walls as smooth as glass and a ceiling lined with dripping icicles. Morgan was shocked to see wisps of steam rises from two roughly circular pools of roiling water.

Ezra floated cautiously over the pools, stopping when he caught site of something moving in the water. It looked like an enormous centipede, blue-skinned creatures with fiery red spines that pulsed with heat and a mantis’s jaws.

---

Morgan directed Ezra forward, into a similar chamber to the east. This room had only a single pool, but there were two smaller creatures lurking in the steaming water, and south of the pool was a shallow crater filled with oversized snowballs. Two further chutes led out from the room.

Morgan summoned Ezra back and woke from his trance to report. “A big series of caverns down there, with three large pools of steaming water that have broken through the ice. There’s a very, very large, long creature in each pool—like a giant worm or centipede. And a whole lot of bones—a lot.”

Octavian paled. “How long are they?”

“The big one is forty-feet long, the others twenty. And they may be generating the heat that is keeping the pools liquid?”

“Oh my gods!” Octavian cried. “You are describing a Remorhaz. We are not going down there!”

“Does Ezra think they’re the same creatures that may have been under the ice in Grimskalle?” Tarquin asked, ignoring Octavian’s distress.

“It was a long serpentine shape, so maybe it was the same thing? And I suspect they are what made these boreholes. The second room also has two tunnels, one up one down.”

“It sounds just like the shadow. And it transports itself between the ice through these chutes. Did it see you?”

“I don’t think so?” Morgan said. “The second room also had a collection of what looked like large snowballs embedded in the ice,” Morgan said.”

“Eggs,” Octavian said, “Like the dragon egg in the nest upstairs.”

“Too big to get into a sack then,” Arlington said regretfully.

Jankx held us the strange new bag he had found in the ruined coach. “I think they would fit.”

“There is literally no reason for us to go down there,” Morgan said firmly. “None.”

“Except for the eggs,” Arlington corrected. “This is the second egg we will be passing up. As a hobbyist egg collector—”

“He means oviophile,” Octavian interrupted, making the word up on the spot.

“That’s the one, thank you,” Arlington nodded, “As a hobbyist oviophone, it seems a shame.”

Tarquin nodded in agreement—he was particularly regretting leaving behind the dragon egg.

“Arlington—do you know what creature Ezra described?” Octavian asked sternly.

“A…worm…in a pool?”

“No. As I said, if my books are correct it is probably a Remorhaz. Now a Remorhaz—its stomach is hotter than a volcano,” Octavian scowled, trying his best to convey the danger. “It is basically indestructible. A destroyer of worlds!”

“And there are two you say, one smaller than the other?” Arlington said, clearly still considering the option.

“We should not go anywhere near it!” Octavian cried. “If a Remorhaz eats something it is destroyed forever because its stomach is a volcano!”

“What if Ezra took the bag down?” Tarquin smirked.

“He can’t carry anything,” Morgan said.

“Gah! Where’s Eearwaxx’s owl?”

Octavian rolled his eyes. This was impossible. “Right well in that case I could fly down there with the bag, scoop up an egg and come back up!”

“To what end,” Morgan asked seriously, missing Octavian’s sarcasm.

“Fortune and glory!” Arlington said, taking up the baton.

“It’s got to be worth something to somebody,” Tarquin added.

“It would be worth a king’s fortune,” Octavian confirmed.

“Assuming we grabbed an egg,” Morgan frowned, “Given how close they are to the pools, that would be enough to grab at least one of the creatures' attention. Even if it’s not what Octavian said it is forty or fifty feet long.”

Tarquin held his hands up in surrender. “Just as we’ve parked the idea of taking all that treasure upstairs, and we’re going to go back and collect it, we’ve got to put a little asterisks next to this one too. But I agree—now is not the time.”

“So Octavian,” Arlington said, “What you are saying is that the Shadows are the way to go after all?”

“Of the two? Yes.”

“I would rather not be eaten by a giant lava worm,” Morgan agreed.

“So who’s making the decision here?” Arlington asked, abdicating responsibility.

Tarquin looked around.

“I think we should navigate the tunnel with the Shadows in it,” Morgan declared. “Even if we went down the chute there’s the other basic question of getting down safely. You would be sliding fast enough going down the tunnel that you would slide straight into the pool with the largest thing in it.”

“Into the living volcano nest,” Jankx nodded. “That doesn’t seem like a great thing to be doing.”

“We could use picks to slow the descent,” Tarquin suggested.

Morgan pulled his free and pinged it into the borehole wall a few times. “Hard as rock,” he said shaking his head, “That’s not going to work.”

“So why are we discussing this?” Arlington sighed.

“We’re discussing it because…is there a rush?” Tarquin smiled. “The only rush we’ve got is—”

“The point I’m trying to make,” Arlington interrupted, “Is that none of you seem capable of making decisions, despite the fact that you seem to have a problem with the decisions that I have been making!”

“At the end of the day I don’t need to make decisions—you’re the boss.”

“No I’m not. That has been made clear to me,” Arlington said testily.

Eearwaxx started to nod before quickly stopping.

“No-one said that out loud,” Morgan corrected.

“You didn’t have to!”

Octavian shook his head and started stalking out of the room. Arlington turned to him. “Octavian you have the con!”

“To the Shadows!” Octavian declared, hoping everyone was following him.

---

Morgan moved just outside of the Shadow-filled cavern, watching them flicker shapelessly. Before he could advance, Tarquin stepped up next to him and touched his shoulder. “This should help,” Tarquin whispered and Morgan vanished.

Jankx cast a spell to protect himself from evil (and good, should it matter) then shrunk into the shadows to wait for Morgan to initiate proceedings. He feared he had no attacks that could harm the incorporeal Shadows.

“Do you have any radiant magic,” Arlington side-mouthed to Eearwaxx who shook his head. Arlington sighed and turned to Octavian. “What would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know yet—probably kill something? I have a spell that will effect them, so let me go once Morgan kicks things off,” Octavian whispered to a nod.

Morgan ghosted into the room and was instantly overwhelmed by a psychic lash of dark hunger and trauma. He supressed a shudder and swung Iceblink at the closest shape, not feeling anything as the blade sliced through wisps of blackness but the shriek told him something had happened.

The single shriek was soon a cacophony as a dozen more Shadows joined the cry. Morgan was thankful the Shadows couldn’t see him as they clawed toward where they assumed he was. One spotted Jankx and reached its cold hands into his chest. Jankx reeled as he felt necrosis seep into his bones, but worse was the strength that was drained from his limbs, causing him to almost dropped his weapon.

Octavian saw Jankx struggling and suddenly remembered the really scary thing about Shadows was exactly that—their ability to drain all strength from their victims. He unleashed a guiding bolt into Jankx’s foe and was relieved to see the spirt vanish into nothingness. “It works,” he cried, “But there are too many for me to take them one-by-one! Eearwaxx! Get your fireball ready!”

Eearwaxx pushed forward, and for once Arlington didn’t stop him. “Burn the filthy bastards,” he muttered, pushing Eearwaxx ahead. The young wizard nodded curtly and a moment later a red glowing mote appeared in the centre of the room. Morgan saw it a microsecond before it exploded and dived out of the way as best he could. The room was engulfed in an inferno, the shrieks of sorrow suddenly cut short. Morgan absorbed what he could of the flame, managing to keep his cry of blistering pain stifled.

Arlington gave Eearwaxx a wink as he withdrew to his guardian, job done.

Jankx was swarmed by the few remaining Shadows, doing his best to step and dodge, so Tarquin threw a quick heal and some bardic inspiration his way. Jankx took that and sliced his sword through the closest, again not knowing how effective the strike was as wisps of shadow were drawn from it’s amorphous shape. The shadows tried to retaliate but Jankx’s magic protected him.

Tarquin wasn’t so lucky as two converged on him. He felt the Shadow absorb his strength and staggered against the wall to stop from collapsing. A call came from behind: “Tarquin—to the left.” A moment later Arlington’s bolt sucked all the unlife from one Shadow, and a second bolt did the same to the other.

Inside the chamber, Morgan swung and finished another. Ezra appeared and pounced on the last Shadow, allowing Octavian to finish it off with a thorn whip a moment later.

“Is everyone intact?” a still invisible Morgan asked.

“Weakness fills my bones, a shadow wails from beyond, returns whence it came,” Tarquin sung quietly as he recovered his equilibrium. He also made Morgan reappear, to Morgan’s slight disappointment. He had rather enjoyed being untargettable amongst the haunting Shadows.

Arlington turned to Eearwaxx with a stern, fatherly look. “That kind of magic we can use.” Eearwaxx grinned. He noticed that Morgan’s sealskins were badly singed so he walked over and traced the necromantic symbol onto the leather, causing everything to be mended as good as new. “You were dead anyway, so it seemed ok to cast the fireball,” he said quietly.

“That was the most sensible thing to do,” Morgan agreed. “If it happens again just do the same thing.” As he spoke he suddenly felt the dark Barovian presence, much stronger this time, reaching and silently calling. He glanced around but no-one else had reacted, so he tried not to show any reaction.

“Morgan—check the north room,” Octavian called. The warrior stepped into a long cave that tapered to a dead end. Inside were a dozen or so frozen corpses sheathed in frost. “Bodies,” he called softly, “And none of them have their heads. Like the mages we found further back.”

Eearwaxx immediately shifted into the room, breaking protocol as usual. As he stepped inside he reeled over clutching his stomach as a ravenous hunger overwhelmed him. It was like he hadn’t eaten for millennia and he had to satisfy that craving immediately. He ripped open his pack and wolfed down the first thing he could find—a slice of jerky—then another, then another.

“Is now a good time to eat?” Morgan asked warily, eyeing the corpses.

“No, but there’s bad magic in here,” he mumbled. “A spell or a curse or something. I’m so hungry.”

“Morgan, it didn’t effect you?” Octavian called from the threshold.

“No—I don’t eat,” Morgan reminded. “Eearwaxx, maybe you should move out of the room.”

Eearwaxx shook his head and moved over to the bodies. He pulled out the skull he had retrieved from the flameskulls and tried to match it to the dead in this room. It was a similar size. “Where are the ten skulls for these people?”

“Terrifyingly good question, Eearwaxx,” Octavian said. “Morgan is there any reason for us to come in there and be cursed too?”

“No, nothing.”

Eearwaxx scraped off the ice sheath that surrounded one of the bodies, revealing Netherese robes over a withered skeleton. He peered closely at the bones and noticed something. “There are teeth marks, as if they’ve been…eaten?” He cleared another body and found similar—thigh bones that had been gnawed, necks stripped of meat. And the tooth marks were humanoid. “Cannibalism,” he muttered. “I think those Shadows might have been created as a result of the trauma.” He leaned in close to smell the bones and couldn’t help licking his lips, then quickly turning away and standing.

Too late. Morgan put an arm around Eearwaxx’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “We need to leave this room now.”

Eearwaxx smiled and wiped his mouth. “Just joking! I’m fine, let’s go.”

As he walked out Octavian moved over to his side. “Did you find anything about the bodies?”

“No, but they had been gnawed on at some point.”

“By animals?”

“No by other humans.”

“You don’t mean chuds?!”

“I don’t know what that is,” Eearwaxx said with uncertainty.

“Cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers,” Octavian intoned, sticking the landing.

---

Morgan advanced south down the steep, roughly stepped passageway. As he stepped into the chamber at the foot of the descent a deep sigh issued from the darkness.

“Did you hear that?” Morgan whispered to Jankx, who nodded. Tarquin did too so he quickly boosted the front men. Jankx stepped quietly into the empty room and a voice steeped in malevolence and hatred echoed forth, speaking Netherese.

“Cursed be those who gaze upon the horror that Drakareth has become. Such promise wasted, lost in this cold sepulcher!”

Octavian and Eearwaxx quickly translated for their companions, just as it spoke again.

“Do we know this name? Drakareth?” Tarquin whispered.

“Yes! It was on the paper we found in Jankx’s safe,” Eearwaxx said quietly. “He was a High Transmuter, or was before he was demoted.”

“Where were you centuries ago when he was in the prime of life?” the voice hissed.

“Point of grammatical order—are we talking present tense?” Tarquin whispered.

“I think probably not,” Jankx said quietly, glancing south toward the source of the voice.

“Where were you when Iriolarthas invoked the Octad as the city fell. Locking away OUR power for his greed? Where. Were. You.”

“Iriolarthas again,” Morgan hissed. “According to the list we found he was the master of the city, the person who could change the seasons. And he was the one that signed the letter demoting this ‘Drakareth’. So this voice would not be a fan.”

“He was also talked about in the books from the Spire,” Eearwaxx piped up. “Also not in a complimentary way.”

Morgan drew Iceblink and walked carefully forward. As he entered the room beyond the voice continued.

“You are no good to Drakareth now! Nothing remains of him but frozen bones, ancient treasures…and me.”

A towering incorporeal figure made of shadow and darkness floated into view, eyes glowing gold in the darkness with a chardalyn crown atop its head.

---

“There!” Morgan cried.

Jankx reacted quickly, firing a bolt that whirled through the ghostly form. “Where were you when Drakareth lived!” the wraith cried out with hatred.

“Don’t go in the room!” Eearwaxx called. Morgan heeded the call, knowing what was coming. He stepped backward and summoned Ezra, who swung twice through the wisping figure. “It’s hitting but I don’t know how hard,” he said to Morgan.

The wraith ignored Ezra and floated forward to look down at Octavian. “I take your life, too late though you are,” it said menacingly. Octavian gasped as he felt the creature fill him with necrotic poison and try to draw life, but thankfully fail.

Eearwaxx unveiled the reason for his warning: a bolt of lightning that shot out of his hands and through the darkness into the crowned figure. The room was filled with a flash of light and sparks clustered around the wraith for a moment before vanishing. Arlington used the glow to precisely target his victim, dual bolts whipping through the ghost. It flinched twice, holding it’s hands aloft “Where…were…you!!”

“Not born yet, brother,” Arlington quipped as he reloaded his crossbow.

Tarquin, having stood back with the Shadows, stepped forward this time. He whipped his Dirgeblade through and through with a figure-eight of strikes. Tarquin pressed into its mind with a viscous mock. “What was your name?” he jeered.

“Drakareth…has…no name…” it sighed as the words wormed their way into its damaged mind. The wisps collapsed into the vortex Tarquin’s rapier created, coalescing into a ball of shadow that suddenly shot backwards into the north end of the room. It passed through the ice into an inaccessible cyst beyond.

Ezra sprinted after it but it was gone. “Ezra said it went through the ice—there’s another chamber in there,” Morgan reported.

“Into his crypt,” Octavian nodded.

Tarquin peered through the thick ice, seeing a small chamber just beyond. He jammed the hilt of the Dirgeblade against the ice but it was rock hard. Arlington nudged Eearwaxx. “Time for the big guy. Not the fireball!”

The guardian obeyed Eearwaxx’s command, pounding its fists into the ice. Chunks broke free piece by piece, until eventually he broke through into the cyst. There was another ice wall, beyond which a dark figure sat deadly still.

“Be ready,” Morgan warned as the Guardian went to work. It broke through some minutes later. Inside the tiny chamber an unmoving skeleton slumped on an ancient throne, the same crown fixed on its skull. In one skeletal hand it clutched a dark metallic staff, and at its feet sat a shattered crystal ball and the rotted remains of six ancient, leather-bound books.

---

“Punch something, somebody,” Arlington grunted.

“What’s the plan?” Morgan said, staring at the magical detritus and deferring to Octavian and Eearwaxx.

“Take of its head,” Tarquin whispered quickly.

“In the books,” Octavian said, “If this is related to an undead lichdom, then the eyes are the key. But I’ve never seen one.”

Eearwaxx pushed past everyone and stood next to the skeleton and a toll rang out in the small room. The skeleton didn’t move. Eearwaxx reached down and picked up the crystal ball, mending it as he did. It repaired itself into a smoky glass ball, swirling with shadow of a similar colour to the recently departed wraith. Eearwaxx held the crystal ball aloft. “Do you think it was in the ball?” He shook it like a snow dome.

“Should I take the head off just in case?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t think it’s a bad move to decapitate that thing,” Octavian said.

Morgan nodded and pulled Eearwaxx out of the way. With a smooth slice he took off the skull at the neck. It dropped with a thunk to the ice, the iron crown rolling loose. The skeleton didn’t move, still holding the staff.

“The staff is chardalyn,” Morgan warned before anyone could reach for it. He had a sudden realisation. “Eearwaxx? You’re still carrying the chardalyn gauntlet aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And don’t you have something else also made of chardalyn?”

“Maybe,” Eearwaxx said slightly sulkily.

“His dragon,” Tarquin answered, seeing where Morgan was going.

“Can we, for the sake of experimentation, try you not carrying them for a while?” Morgan said gently.

“They’re not affecting me, don’t be silly,” Eearwaxx protested.

“The thing about being affected by things is you don’t know you’re being affected!”

“Fuck. They’re affecting him,” Octavian was suddenly certain of it.

“They are not! I’ve not worn the gloves. And that’s not what they do! Come on,” Eearwaxx said, then found himself changing the subject. “But I do worry this ball, and the staff, do have potential powers. The ball was freshly cracked when I repaired it, no dust or grime. See I thought he was in this, and by destroying him this broke.”

“But then what was the black ball that flew back in here?” Morgan asked, sufficiently distracted.

“His entity.”

“That’s what he’s trying to say,” Octavian translated, “It tried to re-enter the ball and it cracked.” He muttered a quick spell of necromantic investigation and opened his eyes wide with what he thought he found. “He’s still in here! I’m sure of it—he’s my prisoner now!”” He opened his pack and dropped the ball inside—and the skull for good measure.

Octavian was full of doubt for a moment—how was that possible? How could Eearwaxx have trapped the soul with a mending spell??—before reconsidering. Eearwaxx was a necromancer now, so maybe it was true after all. He shuddered—the ways of necromancy were a dark path to be walking for one so young.

“By the way the staff is magic, enchantment magic,” Eearwaxx added. “It’s not a threat. Nothing else is, the books are long gone.”

“But chardalyn things are not good,” Morgan said, suddenly remembering the earlier discussion.

“What are we going to do with it?”

Before anyone could react Eearwaxx reached across and grabbed it. Morgan’s eyes bulged, and Octavian’s jaw dropped. But Eearwaxx simply handed it to Morgan. He took it, very gingerly, and trying not to hold it. He immediately tried to drop it, remembering how he couldn’t remove the gauntlet, and was relieved it was possible. He held it like a hot potato, hoping someone would take it.

“Let’s keep the staff and gauntlet separate for a bit,” Tarquin said.

“It is! He’s got the staff and I’ve got the gauntlet,” Eearwaxx retorted. “I’m not going to wear it.”

“You’ve said that three times now!”

Eearwaxx rolled his eyes, then cast an identify spell on the staff. He laughed, then turned to Tarquin. “As a matter of fact the staff is one of yours,” he grinned.

Tarquin looked around with surprise, then sheathed the Dirgeblade.

“You can charm people with it, you’re into that sort of stuff,” Eearwaxx explained.

“I don’t normally need help,” Tarquin grinned.

“Sometimes you do,” Eearwaxx deadpanned.

Morgan laughed and carefully leant the staff against the wall of the cave, glad to be rid of it. Tarquin shrugged and picked it up. He had to admit it had a nice heft…but he decided against learning more as he strapped it to his pack. “We could do with a rest,” he said, wanting to recover the strength the Shadows had drained, and everyone agreed.

---

Bloodlines

Eearwaxx was hungry. Very hungry. He gobbled as much whale-jerky as he could fit, sating himself if only for a moment.

Morgan led the way into the next room, empty except for another borehole that twisted steeply down before bending east. Ezra quickly scouted down, finding it opened to the Remorhaz nest with the eggs.

As Octavian entered the room he stopped suddenly as a stream of whispers assaulted his every sense. He couldn’t make out what was being said no matter how hard he tried, which was extremely frustrating, but one word was clear: “Octavian…Octavian…”. He glanced around but no-one else seemed affected, but Tarquin was staring at him hard.

Octavian smiled weakly, trying his best not to look disturbed and putting his satchel down like he was repacking it. He focussed his mind on the whispers, trying desperately to understand. But it was no good, the only thing he could hear was his name. It was quickly driving him crazy.

Tarquin saw Octavian close his eyes and move his lips as he tried to follow the whispers. Tarquin knew what was happening—another psychic haunting, just like the early aroma of despair and his false shadow. Before he could do anything to help he got sidetracked by the sight of Eearwaxx peering into the Remorhaz tunnel. Arlington seemed strangely absent so he hustled over to encourage him back from the edge.

A passage led south out of the room, another steep descent into darkness. “We continue down that way,” Octavian declared.

Morgan took the first few steps then stopped dead. The pull from the otherworldly Barovian presence was overwhelming now. He realised that whatever it was that had been calling to him all this time—in Sunblight, in Caer-Konig, talking to him, offering him powers—whatever that was, it lay just ahead.

“Come on people, let’s move,” Tarquin called from the rear wondering what the hold up was.

Morgan turned to Jankx. “It’s down there,” he said quietly, “The thing that has been speaking to me. It’s down there.”

“Do you know is it a dangerous thing?”

“Almost certainly.”

Octavian had crept closer sensing something was off, and overheard the last words. He looked over his shoulder to find Tarquin just on his. Tarquin knew something was up too, so he cast an aid spell on both the vanguard and Octavian.

“Do you want me to scout ahead,” Jankx asked with concern. “Should you go first or last?

Morgan shook his head. “Keep an eye on me.”

Jankx raised an eyebrow, but nodded. It was the first time he’d heard Morgan suggest he might need backup. Octavian too was worried—the whispers were fading, but he felt that if he was targeted by some mysterious force he may also need to be watched. He kept his mouth shut, seeing Morgan’s danger sense was at high alert.

Morgan started a slow descent as Eearwaxx sent his chardalyn dragon to fly overhead as another set of eyes. Only Octavian noticed it and he knew what it was (though not why). Tarquin put a hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder and whispered a sweet nothing in his ear, giving him some bardic inspiration.

The further Morgan descended the stronger the compulsion was. Despite his growing trepidation he knew he had to continue, had to find out. Is this what I have been searching for, was this why I was sent here? he thought to himself. He turned an eye to Ezra who gave an encouraging nod. Let’s find out.

Jankx watched the young protégé carefully, sensing the growing pressure. He glanced around his companions and made sure they understood that something momentous was approaching. Everyone looked ready, alert, and willing to do anything it took to help Morgan.

Morgan finally finished the descent and the passage straightened out, opening into a large chamber. A flat sheet of cloudy ice formed one wall of a forty-foot high cavern. Something dark and humungous was shifting behind the wall, its tentacles waving unimpeded. Everyone became aware they were not alone inside their minds. Somehow, this horror from another world was worming its way inside.

“Mind flayers,” Tarquin whispered, “Room sized mind flayers.” As he spoke everyone but Morgan felt the dark presence start to wrap its tentacles into their very thoughts, dominating their minds. Eearwaxx nearly collapsed when the first wave hit, but he recalled Tarquin’s rhyme and sung it to himself, his voice breaking, and managed—just—to force the creature out. Jankx too staggered under the assault, but he too called on Tarquin’s inspiration to shut the invasion down.

Tarquin himself had no magic to protect his mind, only his own will. He faltered for a moment before dredging up the Frostmaiden’s mantra and building a wall of determination that locked the creature’s dark mind out. Only Octavian had no trouble blocking the invasion—the Underdark had aberrations enough to train him in their ways. He tried to understand what phenomenon this was, but could only realise it was something beyond mortal comprehension, something not of this plane nor any other he knew. He swallowed and turned his eyes to Morgan.

Morgan didn’t hesitate. He strode across the room, heavy with intent and planted himself in front of the wall of shifting ice, Iceblink drawn. Ezra appeared by his side, a mirror of Morgan’s stance. He knew what this was: a Barovian Dark Power, something Viktor had warned him of. Contained to the Amber Temple in his homeland, this was the first he knew of that had somehow escaped those confines. He stared up at the dark shape and waited.

“The heir approachesss. With companionss, who will bear witnesssss.” Everyone could hear the voice, like smoke drifting over a scorched land. “We are the Ebon Star. The misssing power from your homeland. And you…are the heir. You do not trust us, You do not trusssst us. But we have never betrayed our word. Our giftsss are clear as is the cost. Your…father…and his friendsss know that.”

“The heir to what?” Morgan asked flatly. He had heard all of this before and wasn’t going to walk into their trap. Either they would answer or he would walk.

The voice paused, but didn’t answer Morgan’s direct question when it continued. “We wisssh to return to Barovia. For that we will offer something no other can: life, true life, for your brother, Ezsssra.”

Octavian gasped. Jankx, shocked, shot a glance at Tarquin who also looked stunned.

Morgan stood motionless but his mind was reeling. Life? Life for Ezra? He was momentarily lost, having not expected anything but taunts and false promises.

“Ezra will be reborn, as you were. There is no other price, only to return ussss to Barovia.”

Morgan turned to Ezra, who looked back at him equally stunned. It was too much to process, so he clutched on to the only question he could—the return of the Power to Barovia. Ezra turned back to the ice and spoke with venom. “Return you to make Barovia like it was before?”

“The fate of Barovia is not our decision, it is yours.”

“Then why do you need to return?” Morgan accused.

“Because it is our home, as it is yours. We are trapped here, by Iriolarthasss. He holds the amber gem.”

“The gem that contains you is here?”

“Iriolarthas holds it within his sanctum. With it in your possession you can return it to Barovia and we will be free. And Ezra will live.”

“What are you going to do in Barovia when you are free?” Morgan probed.

“Nothing. We cannot act without a supplicant. We will be dormant in our Temple, as our brothers and sisters are.”

“And what possible reason would I have to believe you?”

“We have never lied, as your father would know. We promise gifts, we extract a cost, and we hold our word.”

Morgan mind raced with the stories his father had told. Of Zandeyr and Garn who accepted powers from the Amber Temple to turn the tide against the tyrant of Barovia. They had paid a price, but both were good men, and both were alive. He looked up at the ice and took a different tack. “You spent centuries using Strahd to extract fear from that place.”

“We did not do that. Strahd himself did that. We have no power beyond that which we grant. How our vessels use that is their choice.”

“But you would certainly never be accused of being benevolent, would you?”

“We empower those that choose to take our gifts. He took it and did what he would.”

“So again I ask: what am I the heir to?” Morgan growled softly.

There was a long pause. The icy cavern pulsed with pressure and tension as everyone barely dared breathe.

“The Vistani have a saying…‘there must alwaysss be a von Zarovich in Barovia’…Morgan, Daughter of Strahd, Granddaughter of Barov.”

Morgan face paled and her legs went weak, forcing her to reach helplessly to Ezra for support. Her mind reeled as she tried to comprehend what was being said. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true. She looked at Ezra who held her eyes locked, equal parts shock and love.

Tarquin turned his eyes to Morgan. He…no, she, had always looked androgynous. Now that he looked it was obvious, but prejudices will always out. Morgan’s shoulders had slumped and Tarquin understood that whatever this news was, it had shaken the young fighter to the core. He had thought of mocking the alien beast, but thought better of it on seeing Morgan’s suffering. He wanted to do something to give Morgan time, so he turned to the wall. “Don’t mind us. I understand this is a very…personal…interaction. But if you should want us to go and find the key to your new home—what’s in it for us?”

There was no answer. Tarquin wasn’t surprised, but he had given Morgan a brief respite. Eearwaxx dropped his pack to the ground and rummaged around, pulling out his fake beard. He handed it to Morgan, who took it absent-mindedly before almost immediately dropping it. Eearwaxx sighed sadly. He knew about hiding and had hoped it would help Morgan too, but also realised it was too late for that.

Before Morgan could speak, the being continued. “You asked what you are the heir to? You are the heir to the throne of Barovia, Morgan von Zarovich.”

Octavian watched Morgan. He was almost as shocked as Morgan to realise that this was something Morgan hadn’t known. He…she was the heir to a kingdom, the daughter of an evil tyrant, and she had never known. Octavian reflected on how he might have reacted to such news and sympathised with Morgan. At least he knew he was the greatest kobold—Morgan was only just now finding out the burden such knowledge entailed.

Morgan stared down at the ice. She ran the revelation through her thoughts again. And with despair realised there was a kernel of horrible truth in what had been revealed. As much as she wanted to deny it, as much as she didn’t trust the aberration, as much as she wanted anything, anything, else to be the reason for the mystery of her existence…Strahd von Zarovich was her father.

She felt Ezra’s hand on her shoulder. “Did you have any idea, any idea at all? Did you know?” Morgan whispered.

Ezra shook his head vehemently. “Of course not, I would never keep such a secret from you, sister.”

Morgan was at a loss. “What am I supposed to do with this if it is true?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what it means. Because that makes me one too and…I don’t know what we will do if we take that gem back to Barovia. I don’t want it to become what it was. We both vaguely remember the horrific place it was and I don’t now if we would do anything different to our…father.”

“You’re right. As usual,” Morgan said softly.

“But as you have repeated many times, it is not your blood that counts, it is how you act. That is something Viktor taught us, and you have always acted with honour. Why would we let that change now?”

Morgan’s back straightened and her shoulders settled. Ezra’s words filled her with a measure of composure and security where none had been a moment ago. He was right—actions, not blood. She turned her face to the creature in the wall. “I’ll think about it.”

Morgan turned and walked away.

“Think hard. Thisss is your one chance to give Ezra life.”

The creature faded away behind the wall of ice, which morphed into a sworling mass of inky blackness behind its sheer face. The psychic tension in the room faded too, leaving everyone emotionally drained and exhausted from the strain of keeping it out.

Morgan turned to her companions. Her face was still ashen, but some little colour was starting to return. “I didn’t know. You need to believe me—I didn’t know.”

“You are not your father,” Tarquin said emphatically, sensing Morgan’s need.

Morgan turned her face away. “Well it turns out our father was a monster.”

“Then don’t walk in his footsteps.”

Morgan looked up and Tarquin and nodded slowly—and with gratitude. “He was a vampire, the most powerful of all vampires, who ruled over Barovia and used the Vistani to lure in victims for him to toy with. My adopted father and his companions killed Strahd and allowed that blighted place to live again in some small way. But Strahd was evil. Pure evil.”

“I have heard of Barovia, a demiplane or similar, but had never believed it to be real until now,” Octavian nodded.

“No matter what plane we’re on, we all have fathers—” Tarquin started.

“—who are monsters,” Octavian finished, trying not to think of Voaraghamanthar while considering Tarquin’s obviously fraught relationship with his own father.

“I don’t,” Eearwaxx called from half way down the passage ahead.

“Eearwaxx!” Tarquin cried as he hustled after him.

---

Eearwaxx emerged into a cavern in which every surface was polished to a mirror finish causing his mind to spin and he tried to keep his bearings. “Wow! This is weird!” he called, causing Tarquin to break into a sprint.

Morgan trailed behind for once, with Jankx by his side. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“What for?”

“I don’t know. Everything back there about me. Nobody in Caer–Konig knew either.”

“We all have our secrets,” Jankx grinned, flashing from human to merman and back for an instant.

“Thanks,” Morgan laughed.

Tarquin popped his hat on and shifted into a mind-flayer for an instant. Jankx chuckled, appreciating the quick wit. Octavian didn’t. “We have to survive here! Let’s focus!”

Eearwaxx knelt down to check the floor of the chamber which was also polished to a mirror shine. He tried to recall what creatures relied on reflections and immediately thought of vampires—unsurprisingly given recent events. “You can’t see vampires in mirrors, but I can see myself” he announced, glancing at his own reflection for encouragement.

“I guess you’re not a vampire,” Tarquin panted as he arrived on the scene.

“Nor are any of you,” Eearwaxx was encouraged to see as everyone arrived and the reflections successfully reflected.

Jankx was about to confirm as much when his eyes went wide. A dark, hulking shape was moving through the walls, ceiling, and floor, as though it were swimming through the ice, mirrored everywhere. He felt a rising panic as he turned to Morgan. “Your creature is in the walls!”

Morgan spun to look but could see nothing. “It’s not—it’s another haunting.” Jankx tried to believe but struggled to not see the shadowed creature.

Eearwaxx wrapped a rope around the guardian and fed it out as he slowly walked across the room, eyes closed and arms out to stop himself bumping into any real or imagined mirrors. Octavian followed his path, studying the strange room and determining it was crafted, not natural, but by who or what he had no idea.

The young wizard reached the far wall and grinned. “It’s safe!” he called, “There are two passages, down and up.” He called the guardian across despite panicked cries from Octavian who was worried it would break through the ice. But it too traversed the room without danger—the floor unmarked by its passage.

Everyone followed, struggling with the crazy reflections but facing no actual danger—even Jankx, who managed to convince his mind that this was another haunting despite his nervous glances as he crossed.

Tarquin turned back to look at the mirrored room and cast a spell of detection. “There’s no magic to it,” he explained, “It’s just purely a physical manifestation of reflections.”

“Stranger than magic,” Octavian agreed.

Morgan felt her confidence slowly returning. She put a hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder. “I’m ok now, but thank you for leading. Best let me go first.”

“If you want,” Eearwaxx shrugged happily. Octavian glanced at Morgan again, hearing now a feminine note to her husky voice that he had previously waved away. He wondered if Morgan’s voice had changed before realising it was his perception that had changed. He recalled Morgan telling the tale of her voice being gravelly because it spent an indeterminate time filled with grave dirt.

Morgan advanced to the threshold of the cave to the north. In the centre of the left branch was a giant-sized ivory spear, glowing with a faint, cold light, with its tip buried in the ice at a rakish angle. Crumpled in the far reaches of the chamber were the frozen remains of a frost giant. “Dead frost giant,” she called over his shoulder, pulling her sword free. “But not a pile of bones like the ones upstairs, this is a body.”

Tarquin rounded the passage into the room and pointed at the spear. “Magic.”

Morgan walked to the spear, keeping a close eye on the body behind it. The exposed part of the spear was at least 12 feet long, making the entire weapon close to twenty-five. She tilted her head to consider if she was strong enough to pull it free and decided to give it a crack. As she reached for it Octavian called out and she froze.

“Stop Morgan!” He walked over to the spear and studied the angle of attack. “I’m wondering if it’s piercing the ice for a reason—perhaps trying to spear your creature.” He crouched and looked closely then shook his head. “Actually it almost looks like it has been placed here, not just randomly thrust into the ice.” It was curious, but he stepped aside for Morgan’s attempt.

She reached down to grab the shaft near to the ice and hauled with all her strength. It didn’t budge even slightly. Morgan was surprised and even slightly annoyed. “If only we had an automaton,” Octavian grinned.

Before Eearwaxx’s friend could assist, Arlington suddenly reappeared on the scene and stormed across the room. “I need a new spear after Jankx dropped the last one in the lake,” he glared as he grasped the spear and hauled confidently—almost falling over backwards as his hands slipped free and the spear stayed put. He hrumphed and stepped away.

“I want to have a go,” Jankx declared, seeing an opportunity to show Arlington up after his none-too-subtle jibe. He used his knowledge of second-story work and associated leverage to put himself at the optimum position for energy efficiency. “Watch this,” he said and pulled. To no avail.

Octavian smiled. Octavian knew he would fail, but couldn’t resist the attempt, and understood it would bring some much needed levity to the team after Morgan’s trial. He tapped Jankx on the shoulder and indicated he should step away. Jankx stifled a laugh, then stepped back. “I await the master to show me how it’s done!”

He stepped up to the spear, all four—no five!—feet of him. He grinned at everyone, settled his shoulders, and gently pulled.

To his—an everyone’s—astonishment the weapons slid free of the ice with ease.

Octavian was jolted as a shock of long-dormant life shot through him. The weapon reshaped to kobold-size in an instant as he held if aloft, eyes wide with surprise. He felt an uncommon energy swirling through his every sinew, testing, stretching, and strengthening. The weapon surged with power in his grip as a booming voice filled the chamber.

“At long last, a worthy life! Only the greatest may wield my weapon, and only the greatest may accept my spark. I am Vlagomir, Chosen of Thrym, and my spark is now yours. My journey ends as yours begins. Use my strength well, with honour, with grace, and for the glory of Vassavicken!” At the far end of the room the remains of the giant collapsed into powdered snow with a long sigh.

Octavian glanced sheepishly around the room. “Sorry!” he whispered to Arlington. He looked down at the spear. The beautifully crafted ivory shaft was carved with giant runes, whales, bergs, and fishing boats, and tipped with a sharpened tooth from which tiny snowflakes fell. Octavian realised he instantly knew what the tip was—a Remorhaz fang. He also realised he understood the runes too despite the language being giant.

“‘Only the greatest’,” Morgan laughed. “It seems you weren’t wrong!”

---

Eearwaxx was starving. He hadn’t eaten for an hour or so and now we had no choice. He destroyed what little food he had left as quickly as he could.

“Are you ok Eearwaxx?” Octavian asked.

“Yes, but I’m hungry. I think this place is affecting me.”

“When you eat you feel full though?”

“I feel full, but not for long. I don’t feel like eating you…well…not much.”

Octavian lowered his spear to point at Eearwaxx.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!”

Tarquin walked over to Octavian and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well done.” He turned to Morgan, having finally got his thoughts together on recent events, and recited a short poem.

“Thanks,” Morgan smiled. She was genuinely touched by Tarquin’s continued empathy.

Octavian nodded, rested his new spear over his shoulder feeling ten-foot tall, and strode out of the room down the southern passage. “This way, gentlemen!” Despite his confidence, he listened closely to make sure Morgan and Jankx were at least close at hand—and they were.

It was another long descent down rough steps that could well have been the bed of an ancient stream. Octavian continued until he saw something in the open cavern ahead that made him double take: trees. Living trees.

---

“There is a grove of trees ahead,” he said holding his hand up for everyone to stop. “Frost covered, but they look like they are alive—I don’t understand how but it must be magic.”

He stepped cautiously forward into a fifty-foot high cavern. The floor of the grove was a mixture of earth and ice. The canopies of the half-dozen trees were thick with frosty leaves, and their branches bore a dozen or more purple pear-shaped fruit that hung like ornaments. A low wall, broken in several places, threaded its way through the grove. Octavian stepped over to a tree and studied a fruit without touching it. It looked healthy, swollen with life and goodness.

---

Eearwaxx’s ears perked up with the news of the pears. He was a little peckish and fruit, even frozen, sounded very tempting. He sniffed the air, but the cold hid what little aroma there might have been. He had never heard of a purple pear, let alone one that grew in this kind of frozen environment. He started to reach for one when he heard a soft crunch from the centre of the grove.

Walking out of the frost was a slender figure, shimmering with golden light, her hair and clothing seemingly made of living leaves.

---

She walked softly, silently, towards the group with an unreadable expression on her long face, then curtseyed. “It has been so long since I have had anyone visit,” she said in a gently melodic voice, “Please, come sit and eat with me.” She plucked a pear from a tree and held it out temptingly.

“I fear we are just passing by,” Tarquin said warily. He didn’t feel he should trust living plants offering succour deep in the heart of a glacier.

“There is only one other place to go from here. Rest first, with me. I would talk with you.”

Eearwaxx was far less hesitant than Tarquin. “Thank you! Hey, lady! What are these fruit?”

“These are my fruits,” she said with deep care, “I grow them but none eat them. I would share them with you.”

“What happens when you eat it?”

“A blessing,” she smiled.

Tarquin chuckled. Here was a living trope! How many times had he seen tiresome productions where dryads would appear and offer strangers bountiful boons. On the other hand there was always a truth behind even the most cliched of tales.

“She believes it really is a blessing,” Morgan whispered to Tarquin, “But I’m not so sure.” She was determined not to take one.

“I’ve never heard of a golden dryad,” Octavian said softly. “Very rare, if known at all. I won’t be eating one.”

Eearwaxx searched his memory for tales of fruit that changed people into trees of plants. He knew of magic that could do that, but the fruit did look very tasty. He put his hand out and grinned.

“Please, eat,” the dryad smiled warmly. “It will bring you good fortune.”

“Am I going to turn you into a tree?”

She laughed, a beautiful sound that reminded Eearwaxx of Marta’s laugh back home. “Or kill me, poison me?”

“Of course not, I would not harm my guests, my first visitors in I cannot say how long.”

Eearwaxx looked down at the pear. His stomach was rumbling.

“Eat it,” Tarquin said.

Eearwaxx didn’t hesitate, taking a huge bite of the fruit. It was incredible, dripping with juice with a flavour that made Eearwaxx close his eyes in bliss. An aroma of summer filled the air, reminding everyone of how long it had been. He wolfed the rest of the fruit down and wiped his mouth with a satisfied sigh. He felt something swirling inside—not the fruit, but a charm of knowledge that would allow him to communicate over great distance. “That was delicious, lady.”

Octavian glanced at Tarquin, knowing what was coming next now that Eearwaxx had seemingly survived. Tarquin grinned and held out his hand. The dryad plucked another fruit. “I am so grateful that you would take of my harvest. I have spent so long tending to it waiting for a moment such as this.”

“A fantastical grove it is,” Tarquin bowed as he took the proffered fruit. “You say there is but one more destination for us?”

“A great city,” she said softly. “Buried in the glacier.”

“A city!” Jankx exclaimed. Could this be the city Vellynne, Dzaan, and poor Erky had sought?

“Yes, a city. I cannot visit it as I cannot leave this grove, but I know it is there. Strange one-eyed creatures emerged from it and told me of its wonders. They hide nearby never leaving their cave.”

“Does the city have a name?” Octavian asked.

“I do not know.”

“Ythryn,” Jankx said simply, and everyone realised he was likely correct.

Tarquin took a bite of the fruit having got the answer he sought. He too closed his eyes as the flavour soaked his cheeks. Knowledge of a spell entered his mind, allowing him to cast a violent tinged light at will, much like the one that bathed the grove. He glanced over at Octavian and nodded. Octavian frowned and shook his head. Tarquin took another bite and turned to the other. “Gentlemen—and lady—I suggest you take the boon. It tastes good as well!”

Jankx shrugged and accepted the gift. He smiled uncontrollably with the first bite. In his mind he discovered the knowledge to cast one of Tarquin’s favourite mocking spells. “My gods,” he grinned at Tarquin both for the tip off about the fruit and the shared understanding of the charm.

“How are you feeling there Jankx? Can you feel a boon?” Morgan asked quietly.

“I feel good. Or at least I don’t feel bad. Time will tell.” Morgan remained unconvinced by this tentative response.

“These one-eyed creatures,” Eearwaxx asked warily, “It’s not one…mouth, is it? A big mouth in their stomach?”

“No, only a single large eye. They came from the city but they do not return.”

“Do they have a name? Is it like me, just with one eye? Is it like a balloon?”

“Not that I know. Taller than you, sharpened elongated fingers and a hunched, spined back. I believe they are hungry—they tried to find out about me but I would not let them.”

“Humanoid like us?” Eearwaxx asked.

“Barely. But tell me about you—why do you visit my grove after so long where none have. Except one.”

Octavian’s ears pricked. “Who was the one who visited?”

Before she could answer, Tarquin jumped in. “We are adventurers, delving deep.” He pointed to Octavian. “The mightiest of his kind, wielder of giant spears.”

The dryad drifted over Octavian and considered him for a moment before bowing. “He is, the greatest…” Octavian was shocked, forgetting his question. He looked at the spear, then into her golden eyes, but they were unreadable. He turned away and starting circling the grove. Something was off, he felt—or he was not used to kindness.

“One who travels from another plane,” Tarquin continued, nodding at Morgan.

“I welcome you to ours,” she bowed again, then slid over to Eearwaxx and cupped his cheek in her soft hand. “And a mighty wizard,” she said with a smile.

Eearwaxx blushed. “Th…th…these trees,” he stammered, “Can they grow elsewhere?”

She shook her head. “Those from the city bound me here. There magic keeps the trees alive.”

“Can we unbind you?”

“If I was to leave they would all perish. And I would not have that.”

“This is truly a magnificent place,” Tarquin agreed as he pointed to Jankx. “One who knows not his shape.”

“And yet he shall,” she nodded at the shifting rogue.

“And I, your humble narrator,” Tarquin finished taking a low bow. Jankx laughed at Tarquin’s choice of adjective.

“The storyteller,” the dryad said, “Whose tale is not yet told.”

“There’s another borehole to the north, leading up,” Octavian said, returning from his wanderings. “What is up there?”

“I do not know,” the dryad said, “For I cannot leave.”

Octavian sighed. “I think it must lead to the Remorhaz nest. There are two passages to the south—what lies beyond them?”

“One holds the cave with the creatures,” she answered, “And the other leads to the city. That’s where the visitor travels.”

“The visitor?” Eearwaxx asked curiously.

The dryad looked up to the ceiling of the cavern. “A divine being visits the buried city.”

“Is her name Auril?” Octavian said quickly.

“I do not know. None others visit until you, which makes me think she keeps it hidden.”

Tarquin nodded. “I think we are here to find that city.”

The dryad looked crestfallen. “Stay with me! Do not visit it. It is not safe.”

“Alas our path leads us into peril,” Tarquin said with almost sincere regret.

“It does not have to. The storyteller can tell this story, here, with me.”

Her eyes twinkled at Tarquin who felt himself tempted. He looked at the dryad, feeling her great need and great loneliness, isolated for time eternal. All she wanted was a companion, a teller of tales. Me. He reached out to take her hand, feeling her deep soul reach into his.

“You will stay? You will not seek peril? You will tell your story here with me?” She beamed with joy as Tarquin nodded and smiled warmly in the sunlight of her attention. “This place is truly wonderous,” he said earnestly, then unhitched his bag as he went to sit by her side. As he did he saw his lute, so he pulled it free and begun to pluck a song of summer and love.

“Your grove is magnificent, almost as magnificent as you,” Tarquin said charmingly.

“Tarquin!” Octavian hissed. “She is charming you!”

Jankx agreed—a moment ago Tarquin was all for continuing ahead, and now he was besotted and besitted. He pre-emptively protected himself in case she turned her attention his way.

Tarquin barely registered Octavian’s words, but found his fingers describing a different melody, one of freedom and flight. His senses begun slowly to return and he realised what had happened. He had almost wanted to be charmed…but the story didn’t end here. “Exist as long as you can,” he sung softly, “Only by enduring can you outlast your enemies.”

The dryad began to harmonise with the tune, creating a song of great beauty. Tarquin and pressed his hand into the rough mix of soil and ice on the ground of the cavern. He sighed deeply and looked into the dryad’s eyes. “Not yet,” he said softly, “Not yet.”

Her singing caught in her throat as a cold silence instead filled the grove. She slumped and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Not yet? If not now, when?”

“We have forever,” Tarquin said as he climbed to his feet. She looked sadly into his face, then turned her back and walked away, climbing into the lower branches of the largest tree. Tarquin felt sorrow too, a sense of great loss at the unfathomable beauty in a place so far removed. He relished the feeling of the charm that was fading fast, ready to capture it in his words.

Octavian too felt the loss, and he too wanted to help. He walked to her tree. “If we go to the city,” he said quietly, “And they were able to leave—would you be free?”

“My grove would perish,” she said, barely audible in her sorrow.

“But could you not go to a different grove?”

“This is my grove.”

Octavian dropped his head. “I understand,” he said softly.

---

“Let’s just for once avoid the one-eyed creatures,” Morgan suggested as everyone regrouped. “Let’s head straight for the city.”

“Aren’t you curious?” Octavian said with surprise.

“I have a feeling the one-eyed creatures were a warning,” Tarquin said, “That we may not have received if we had treated her differently.”

“So what does that mean?” Morgan demanded. “Jankx you could always just go in and sneak a peek?”

“I’m going to,” Jankx agreed. He stealthed quietly over to the south-western cave, stepping through a narrow opening that led to a larger cave. Huddled together at the west end of the low cave are were four hunched creatures with spiny backs and sharp claws, as the dryad had described. Despite Jankx’s best silent efforts, they immediately turned their unblinking eyes to stare at him. Jankx froze under their probing attention.

---

A single one of the creatures blinked. “A meteor from the heavens, stolen, great sorrow, great loss,” it said with a rasping voice. Jankx was horrified—how could it know? What had it done to him?? He worried that they had ripped the memory from him, but found he still knew what he knew.

“We are hungry, we want more, feed ussss,” the creatures said in unison, almost causing Jankx to run in horror. He swallowed hard and steadied his nerves, reaching into his pack and tossing out a morsel of frozen meat.

“No, give us more, feed usss like you have. We will tell you thingsss,” they chattered.

“What can you tell me?”

“We are hungry. Ask usss.”

“Ask them about Auril,” Tarquin called from behind.

“In the city, we have heard that there is—”

“Ythryn!” the creatures interrupted. “We remember! Yes, Ythyrn.”

“And is there a leader there? A force?”

“…Iriolarthas” the creatures said in unison, seeming to pull the name from some ancient memory. “We remember. He lost his mind. Like we. Have. Lost. Ours.” As they spoke they all turned their eyes on each other and nodded. “And his body, lost. A vain man. I was a vain man. We were vain men.”

Eearwaxx had stepped up beside Tarquin and overhead these last words. “You were a man? A wizard?”

“Wizardsss, yes, yes, we are wizards! A new mind isss here, feed usss!” they cried, trying to seek out Eearwaxx who stood just out of sight.

Jankx felt the probing overwhelm him again, and again something seemed to pass out of him to the creatures who all blinked simultaneously. “A god? She…is a god? A god? Something great, a god…”

“Yes, that is true,” Jankx confirmed, relieved they had taken knowledge not a secret this time.

“We are fed, but still we hunger!” They were still huddled, but their feet started shifting as the energy of the thoughts slowly started to empowered them.

“What can you tell us about staying safe in the buried city? What threatens us there?”

“Safe? Safe in the city, safe?” They all blinked. “The mythallar. It is unsafe. But it is…locked. Iriolarthas. Will not let…any…near. He has…” they looked at each other, then trained their eye on Jankx. “He has used the Octad. It is not safe. It is not safe.” They had started to speak in a rhythmic chant, seemingly lost in the fear of their memories. It is not safe!”

Tarquin sensed the danger and reached out to grab Jankx’s shoulder and pull him out of sight. “Get out of there!”

As Jankx stepped backwards the creatures all simultaneously looked up at him. “FEED USSSS!” Jankx yelped with terror as the probe dived into his mind again, but at the last moment he finally managed to shunt it away. As he moved out of their sight he felt instantly relieved.

“More! Feeed ussss more!!” the voices implored from the chamber. Eearwaxx decided to answer the call and stared toward the room. Tarquin was busy steering Jankx to safety when he realised what was happening, managing to just grab the foot of the wizard’s cape and stopping his progress. “Eearwaxx!”

“What?!”

“Don’t feed the animals!”

“We need to know! And they’re not animals.”

“Keep your eyes on the prize—let’s get to the city.”

“I am. I want to go too, but I want to know as much as possible.”

“They take a big price it seems,” Octavian said pointing to an ashen and shaken Jankx.

“Eearwaxx we need you,” Tarquin implored.

“I know, you need my fireballs,” Eearwaxx said. “Let me have one go.”

Tarquin sighed and yielded. Morgan stepped forward and drew Iceblink, ready to move inside if it all went wrong as she fully expected.

Eearwaxx stepped inside the room. The creatures turned their eye to him in a flash and blinked simultaneously. The young wizard found the creatures fascinating, like nothing he had seen. He felt them reaching into his mind, probing all the teen angst and emotional turmoil that tumbled chaotically around inside his brain. He let them in.

They all went still and silent as they drank his thoughts. “Magic, a wizard, he issss a wizard! Like usss! But…his mother…his mother…terrible, gone, gone, gone…”

Eearwaxx put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He had never told anyone about his mother—and never would. He shuddered and turned his face away, breaking eye contact. “What do we want to know,” he said huskily to Morgan.

“Ask if they know why Auril is going to the city.”

“Auril’s weakness,” Tarquin added quickly.

Eearwaxx turned back. He hadn’t expected what they took and feared what might be next, but he swallowed his fear and met their eyes again. “Why does Auril come to the city?” he said flatly.

“The other told usss of her. She…is Auril? She visitssss Ythryn?? We know nothing, but now we do. A god? A god? A god? A god??” they started to chant again, looping around the depth of thought that only of a deity could embody. Their eyes were locked on each other now, saliva drooling from their mouths as they fed.

Eearwaxx turned away, realising they had nothing to offer. Morgan clapped him on the shoulder, seeing the disappointment. “We did find out something,” she said to the gathered company. “Eearwaxx didn’t you say that you read the mythallars were the power source that were used to keep the cities afloat?”

Eearwaxx nodded, coming back to himself and curious where Morgan was leading.

“And Hedrun said to us that Auril was trying to get access to a great source of energy to empower herself?”

Jankx and Eearwaxx agreed, their thoughts taken back to the moments after Hedrun had revived them. Morgan pulled the neck of her coat down to reveal the icy ring encircling his throat. “Hedrun, who gave us these, wants that mythallar—because she wants to stop Auril. She wants revenge on Auril.”

“How…interesting,” Tarquin said wryly.

“If we have access the mythallar, but we do nothing to obtain it for her, these may—”

“—evoke your contract,” Octavian nodded, reaching subconsciously for the amulet hanging around his neck.

“And cause your premature end,” Tarquin nodded, doing the same.

“As far as she implied we might be beheaded,” Morgan nodded. “And don’t forget—you three are beholden to someone as well.”

“Oh I remember,” Tarquin said solemnly. It was never far from his thoughts, but Morgan’s words brought it to the forefront.

Morgan sighed. It had been a big day. “Maybe we should just sit down and eat pears for the rest of the day.”

Octavian laughed softly. He reached into his pack and drew out a book, then walked back to the dryad’s tree. He held the book aloft. “These are stories. Stories of things small and great. A gift, and an apology.”

The dryad reached down and took the offering, a mirror of her own offering of the pears. “It is a great gift. I insist you eat. You must believe me—your friends are safe, you will be safe. Eat.”

Octavian had sworn to himself not to, but in that instant he changed his mind. There was no compulsion, but he found he trusted her. Hit bit into the fruit and understood. It was the greatest pear he had ever eaten, succulent and rich. He devoured it and as he did he was flooded with knowledge of a restorative charm of great power. He looked up at the dryad. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Morgan watched Octavian with surprise. Why had he eaten? Octavian caught Morgan’s gaze. “I believed her,” he said simply. Morgan turned and looked up at the dryad. “Good lady—do you have a name?”

She smiled. “I am called Hathowyn.”

“And I am Morgan.”

“I am honoured,” she said. “I only wish you could stay, but I understand you cannot.”

“Hathowyn, can you describe the nature of the boon these obviously very appetising fruits provide?”

“They are supernatural charms that I have created and imbued within the fruits,” Hathowyn explained. “I cannot control which, but when you eat you will receive one.”

Morgan nodded. She agreed with Octavian—the dryad was telling the truth. “May I eat one then?”

“Please, do.”

“And may I take one for my silent friend?”

“The great hunter? Of course.”

Morgan tossed it to Arlington who didn’t hesitate. Juice tricked into his unkempt beard but he didn’t bother wiping it away. The taste was too good to waste time cleaning up. He grunted happily, then with surprise when he discovered that he had also absorbed the capacity to cast something he’d seen young Eearwaxx try only recently.

Morgan peered at the fruit, shrugged, and took a hungry bite. Even Ezra sighed with delight. As Morgan enjoyed the pear she found the charm she had given was one that would cure wounded allies. “Thank you,” she said between mouthfuls to a smile from Hathowyn.

Tarquin found himself thinking again of Hathowyn’s offer. He knew he was turning his back on something unique. With a soft voice he sung a tribute as everyone prepared to leave.

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Sessions played: October 16, 30, November 6, 9 2023

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