Chapters

The sweet smell of sulphur: “But you are not blessed?”
The Twenty Stones of Thruun: “Sigils tend to go boom”
Nothing to see here: “The enemy of our enemy might be a monster”

---

The sweet smell of sulphur

The following morning the snow fell softly as the dogs were hitched and Axebeak’s mounted. The company set out toward the last stop on the Eastway: Dougan’s Hole. Octavian was particularly keen to discover the truth behind his vision of the druids and the Twenty Stones of Thruun, waiting impatiently for everyone to be ready.

The road to the south was in bad repair, deteriorating rapidly and slowing progress. Clearly no-one from Good Mead had ventured more than a few miles out of town in this direction. But Arlington and the dogs led strong and true, and before long the berg of Dougan’s Hole appeared in the distance.

---

Is was tiny, only a few dozen run-down houses and what appeared to be a fishery standing out over the frozen lake. A few ice-bound boats were hauled up on the shore or locked in the lake, and everyone was struck by the eeriness of dark, humanoid shapes out on the ice, remaining silent and still as the wind howled around them — presumably trying their luck for Knucklehead. And in the distance south of the township the twenty stones stood tall in the falling snow.

“Why would you make a town next to those stones?” Arlington said, thinking of the many stories of cursed monuments and the travails that befell those that lived under their influence.

“I think when we arrive we will find out,” Tarquin said.

As the company pulled closer, two children could be seen throwing snowballs at each other and the trees. They laughed as snow exploded around them.

“Those kids are least 500 yards out of town,” Arlington observed. “Far enough to be dead if they don’t know what they’re doing.”

The two children noticed the grand procession before long, and both looked up in wonder. A grand procession like this must be a rare sight, Jankx mused. There was a girl and boy, probably around Eearwaxx’s age, and they stepped cautiously forward. Both smiled with excitement, the boy waving.

Arlington pulled the dogs to a sudden stop and the Axebeak riders jerked their mounts to a halt. There was something…wrong with the children.

The boy’s hands were elongated, bent like claws, sharp fingernails and long craggy fingers. His hair was bedraggled and falling out and small thorn-like growths protruded from his skull. The girl’s face was twisted to one side, her left eye puckered shut and her right engorged and bulbous, glowing green and twice the size that it should be.

“Oh dear,” Arlington said quietly as the children approached.

Eearwaxx stepped toward the children, feeling an age-based bond. “Hello little boy and girl!”

The two children skidded to a halt and squeaked out a nervous “Hello” in response. “Who are you?” the girl asked.

“My name is Eearwaxx, master wizard.”

The children burst into laughter, sticking their fingers into their ears. “Ear wax!? Ear wax!!” they cried with delight.

“You’ll remember the name though,” Eearwaxx grinned.

“We will! My name’s Silja,” the girl said, “And he’s Finn.” Finn lifted a craggy hand and waved.

“Those are lovely names,” Eearwaxx said. Octavian inched his hand toward his staff nervously.

“We don’t have visitors here — are you visitors?” Silja said with a slow blink of her enlarged eye.

“I have been here before, a long time ago,” Eearwaxx explained. “I was an apprentice before.”

“We don’t remember you.”

“You would have been very little.”

“I’m seven, and she’s nine,” Finn said proudly. “I like your Axebeaks — do you race them?”

“Race? No we haven’t, but that’s a good point, I’ve never thought of that before.”

“You should,” Finn said, hopping from foot to foot.

Arlington cleared his throat meaningfully. This was all very nice but there was business to conduct here and Eearwaxx wasn’t conducting it.

“My friend has a cough,” Eearwaxx said apologetically.

“Eearwaxx,” Arlington said patiently, “Ask these children to take us to their leader.”

“Can you take us to the town please,” Eearwaxx asked obligingly.

“It’s right there,” Finn said, pointing a crooked finger to the settlement only half a mile distant. “Dumb-dumbs!”

“I know, I know, but we’re just worried about you — is there anything wild around here that could hurt you?”

“Well…yeah! There’s a deadly moose? And polar bears?”

“Polar bear is dead, moose is dead,” Eearwaxx said with a smile.

“Really? That’s good! The adults say that the stones can hurt us, but they don’t hurt us.”

Morgan pointed to the twenty-stones in the distance. “Those stones?”

“Yep. The twenty stones of loon!” They giggled at their joke.

“And Finn, how did you get those cool looking clawed hands? Have you always had hands like that?”

“No, they grew! And Silja’s eye grew too.”

“When?”

“I dunno. Slowly? I used to have small hands like a baby but now I’ve got big ones!” Finn said, flexing his claw-like appendages.

“And I got a big eye,” Silja jumped in, “And I can see much better now. My other eye is gone but the big one makes up for it.”

“And Silja, when did you eye start getting bigger?”

“It took a while. One started getting smaller, the other bigger, took, I dunno, five years?”

“Who should we talk to in the town?” Octavian asked.

“Us!”

“Yes but is there a Speaker?”

“Oh, yes, but she’s boring. Edgra. Boring!”

“Are there other children in the village?” Octavian asked.

“Yeah. We got friends — Latisha and Flock. We used to play with them but we don’t anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. They got boring — like the Speaker! They don’t come out anymore, they just stay in their house.”

“And do they have hands or eyes like you?”

“Ummm, Latisha started to have hands like Finn—” Silja began.

“—yeah and Flock had eyes like yours. Ugly eyes!” Finn finished, drawing a flying snowball from Silja.

“I think your eyes are beautiful,” Eearwaxx said kindly, pulling out a magnifying glass. “May I have a closer look?”

“Okay!”

Eearwaxx lent in close to study the iris. “That is a beautiful colour,” he murmured kindly studying the brilliant lime eye. It was clear this wasn’t a human eye, or not one he had seen. There was something inhuman about it, though it wasn’t an animal. Either it had been implanted in Silja’s skull, or she was changing.

Silja blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. It’s green. That’s what you call that colour. It didn’t use to be green.”

“A very unusual green. What colour was it?”

“Brown. Like the Speaker.”

“Well you’re lucky. Very lucky - your eye is special. Green eyes are very rare.”

“Except for the people here who have them,” she added.

“Other people have these green eyes?”

“Yeah lots of people have them. It means I’m growing up to be an adult,” Silja said stretching her tiny frame tall.

“It does. And your hands, Finn?” Eearwaxx studied them and reached a similar conclusion — not animal, not artificially attached. They were growing from Finn naturally, and he was changing with them. The fingers were double the length of a normal finger, and the fingernails were like claws — thick and sharp. “These are quite something, Finn, you should be very proud.”

“Thank you sir!”

Arlington had seen enough. “If we are finished, um, admiring the children Eearwaxx, let us make our way to the Speaker.”

“That big building is our fishhouse, and Speaker Edgra’s house is at the other end of the boardwalk,” Silja said pointing to the biggest buildings.

“Thank you very much,” Eearwaxx said. “I have something for you — honeycomb!”

The children jumped up and down with excitement. “We’ve only eaten fish for a long time! This is amazing! Come back and visit us after you’ve seen the Speaker,” Finn said. “Borrrrring!” Silja yelled and they both collapsed in laughter.

---

The settlement was a small cluster of dwellings perched on the edge of Redwaters, too small to support any serious industry. If fishing was their main source of income, it must be fairly dire here now given the lake was frozen and the boats ice-bound.

Nearing the outlying buildings, everyone picked a unpleasant sulphurous odour that permeated the township. The dogs sniffed the air with interest but didn’t seem otherwise upset by the aroma. Octavian and Arlington, familiar with the usual volcanic source of such a smell, looked around for pools of bubbling ooze that might explain it but there was nothing obvious. Eearwaxx crinkled his nose and look at the chimneys of the houses, thinking the inhabitants must be burning something to create the smell. He was surprised at what he saw: “There is no chimney smoke from any of these houses,” he said quietly.

“Who needs fire,” Jankx said wryly in the freezing cold.

There was no sign of life on the streets, despite it being around midday. Doors slammed and windows were pulled closed as the first houses were passed, eyes peering through closed blinds. A figure sat in shadow on one porch, watching silently. A glint of green flashed from the darkness.

The fishhouse and Speaker’s house stood on an elevated wooden boardwalk, and as the company drew nearer the sulphurous smell grew stronger. Arlington slowed as the dogs rounded the corner to the front of the large house. He was surprised to see a woman step out onto the wooden walkway — the first person seen other than the children.

“Visitors to Dougan’s Hole! Something we don’t see too often, more’s the shame,” the woman said welcomingly.

Arlington noted the woman’s brown eyes and greying hair — and seemingly normal appearance. “Madam Edgra, I presume?”

“You know of me?”

“Your name is famed throughout these…few streets,” Arlington chuckled.

Speaker Edgra laughed along sportingly. “Well it would be an honour to host you inside my house, please come inside out of the cold.”

“It would be our great pleasure — gentlemen,” Arlington said with a nod. “Is there a place where we may stable our dogs?”

“Let the dogs run free, it’s only a small place. And your Axebeaks can be hitched up just here,” she said pointing to some stakes.

Octavian caught Arlington’s eye quickly. “Don’t let the dogs run. I’ll talk to them and get them to stay with the Axebeaks.”

“They won’t run, they’re working dogs.”

“None-the-less,” Octavian said, whispering to the dogs and Axebeaks to be calm and watch over each other. The dogs settled quickly, and he thought the Axebeaks understood but their minds were very foreign. Eearwaxx had more luck, his mind understanding the strange creatures better, telling them to watch the dogs.

As everyone moved inside the Speaker signalled out Jankx. “You’re a handsome one, sir. Looks like you’ve travelled a bit?”

Jankx felt slightly taken aback the Speaker’s intense and sudden concentration on him. “I have seen a little of this land, it is perhaps not at its best at the moment given how cold it has been of late.”

“But you’re not from around here are you? I can tell.”

“Can you?” Jankx looked up at the Speaker to find her piercing brown eyes locked on him. “No, no, I’m not a native. I have made my way here seeking my fortune.”

“I see. You must have quite a lot of knowledge locked up in that head of yours.”

Jankx was flummoxed. “Uh. I have some? That is true.”

“Knowledge of other lands.”

“From the south…” Jankx stammered.

“I am sorry, I am keeping you out here in the cold! Let us move inside,” Edgra said, putting a firm hand on Jankx’s shoulder and leading him inside. Jankx paid extra attention to her movements, checking she wasn’t sleight-of-handing him in some way, but it all appeared innocent enough. He didn’t love the physical attention, but at least she wasn’t trying to rob him.

Inside the house one thing was immediately obvious: there was no fire, no candles, and very little light. And it was freezing, colder than outside if that was possible. As if to rub it in, Speaker Edgra shrugged off her overcoat to reveal a thin cotton shirt and trousers. She seemed entirely unaffected by the bone-numbing temperature.

Octavian sniffed the air and noted the smell was stronger than ever, perhaps due to being indoors. Two sullen guardsmen, dressed in tattered leather armour but no winter-wear, sat in the half-light, their features also unblemished. At a nod from Edgra they sprung to their feet and their demeanours changed to smiles and friendliness. “Some soup, and a drink?” they offered.

“Madam,” Arlington said, “We are frigid from our journey — is there a place we can warm ourselves?”

“Well — the fish soup should quickly warm your bellies,” she smiled…warmly.

“I would love a fire if that is not too much to ask?”

“No. We will not be lighting a fire in here,” Edgra said, with a hint of fear. “That won’t be happening. We…we sacrifice our warmth to Auril to keep ourselves safe.” She looked to the guards for confirmation and they nodded agreement. “No warmth for us, just for Auril.”

“Then soup it shall be,” Arlington said with resignation. The two guards departed and Arlington caught Octavian’s eye — what the hell was going on here?

“So tell me, gentlemen, why have you come to our humble township? Not many do,” Speaker Edgra smiled.

“The main reason we have come,” Octavian said, “Is we had heard about the Stones. We have been travelling the area seeking information, having heard many towns were suffering from the cold — obviously you are not.”

“We suffer for Auril,” the Speaker said reverently.

“Indeed. And we heard these Stones may have some part to play in this cold so we wanted to have a look, and find our how your township was travelling much as we have with the others. Having said that — how long has the disease been here in your community? We saw the children afflicted…”

“Ah, some would call it disease, other’s call it a blessing.”

“Who is calling it a blessing?”

“We do.”

“And you think this blessing is a good thing?”

“Yes, most definitely. We believe that the Stones of Thruun, the one sacred thing about Dougan’s Hole, give us this blessing. "

Octavian sprung his trap. “But you are not blessed?” Not only was Edgra not affected, her — and her guards' — complexions were near perfect, not even weather-worn, which seemed highly unlikely.

Edgra hesitated for a tiny moment. “Well. No. I am not blessed at this time, but in time I think I shall—”

“Nor those two gentlemen,” Octavian said nodding to the kitchen.

Another pause. “Nor those two, it is true. Maybe…maybe it is not our time yet. We have not yet received the blessing of the Stones.”

“Right. How many people have, and how many people have not?”

“Well the majority have. A few, a very few, have not. There are some recent arrivals — only settled here a decade or so — who seem untouched.”

“And would you like to receive the blessing?” Jankx asked.

“Of course,” Edgra said with a warm smile.

“Yes, it is something you lack at the moment.”

“It is — and I would share it with you if I could.”

“Is the blessing always the same,” Arlington asked.

“It takes different paths, but eventually people become as one.”

“And what is the final form?”

“Well it is a creature of magnificence.”

“A creature? So not a human?” Octavian said.

“Of course a human, but a sacred human,” Edgra explained.

“Is there one of these people we could visit?” Arlington asked.

“No, once they receive the full blessing we lose them.”

“In what way do you lose them?”

“Well we don’t see them again. They ascend, we believe.”

“More like descend,” Octavian muttered.

“No, nothing like that, this is a holy thing. Auril’s blessing upon us.”

“Why do you take it a blessing, not a curse,” Arlington probed.

“We become smarter, stronger. It cannot be a curse.”

“Can you accelerate it? If you go near the Stones?” Octavian asked.

“It does seem that proximity to the Stones can, as you say, accelerate the affect. But only very slightly, and it is not guaranteed.”

“Do you go to the Stones?” Arlington asked.

“Not so much anymore. The children spend a lot of time playing there.”

“So if you long for the blessing why do you not spend all your time there?”

Edgra frowned. “Sir, one cannot force a blessing upon oneself — one is granted that blessing. I could stand up there for days or years and nothing might happen.”

“Are there those in the town, perhaps elderly, who has not been blessed even though they have been exposed for a long time?” Octavian asked.

“There are some who do not fully ascend, and they stay much like the children you saw.”

“How long has your village been receiving this blessing?” Arlington quizzed.

“Our stories tell that the blessing has always been present. Even the oldest tales feature those that underwent the change. Thousands of years.”

“A long memory your tales have. And tell me, is there a hole here that is ‘Dougan’s Hole’?”

“There is, or there was. Our town was named after our founder, Dougan Dubrace,” Edgra explained “Legend has it that he discovered a deep hole in the earth, which he mined and which became the source of his wealth and power. He set up an encampment which grew into a settlement, and eventually a township. Naturally he named the township that grew around him after both himself and the hole. The oldest legends tell over time Dougan’s mine became the home of an ancient beast named Thruun, worshipped by druids who built the stones that bear his name.”

Octavian’s ears perked at the mention of Thruun. He had studied the legends surrounding the creature: some sages have connected it to mighty — but evil — creature that lived in Icewind Dale in ages past, while others believed it was the name of a long-forgotten deity, one who once rivalled Auril. Octavian discounted both stories, believing the truth lay somewhere in between - not a god, but not just a beast.

“And do you have Druids now attending your stone circle?” Arlington asked.

“Yes we do. Auril’s druids. They use the stone as a sacrificial alter.”

“And…what are they sacrificing?” Octavian asked warily.

“Well, supplicants, I suppose you would call them. They take one of us each year.” The speaker seemed unperturbed by this fact.

“And how is someone selected? Or do they volunteer?”

“We select one, usually someone elderly.”

“And are they happy to be selected?”

“They accept it. It is a tradition.”

“Has anyone in your bloodline been selected?” Octavian asked innocently.

“No — I am the last of my line.”

“And where would we find these druids now?” Arlington asked.

“I have no idea. We pay our dues, they do their work for Auril, we leave them alone.”

There was a long moment of silence while this information was absorbed. The guards returned with an exceptionally thin gruel of fish soup, only a few lonely bones and chunks of grey flesh floating in it. Jankx sighed. “Would it be okay for us to visit the stones?”

“Of course. Take a care though, there is power there. We are inured to it, but for outsiders it may be less safe,” Edgra warned. “And the druids would prefer their sacred site be be left alone.”

During the discussion, Morgan had made a point of standing near the window to look over the Axebeaks, and keep an eye on the street. He cracked the window slightly to breathe in the outside air, then compared the odour inside. The sulphur was far stronger in here. “Madam Speaker, I mean no offence, but there is quite a strong sulphur-like smell in your town.”

Edgra raised an eyebrow and had an exaggerated sniff. “Oh I don’t think it’s that strong, is it?”

“It’s really strong,” Octavian said bluntly.

Morgan looked a little embarrassed as he continued. “And it seems to be, um, I mean, it’s quite strong in here—”

“No it is worse in here,” Ocavian blurted out, “It’s definitely worse!”

“Do you smell sulphur?” Edgra looked to her guards, who both shook their heads.

“Is it just part of the smell of the town?” Morgan asked. Eearwaxx tried to remember if he had noticed it all those years ago, but the best he could do was think that he if he had, he wouldn’t have forgotten it, such was the strength of the odour.

“Yes! That must be it — and you as outsiders are more prone to notice,” Edgra said nodding furiously. She turned to Jankx. “Is this a smell you might be familiar with from your home?”

Jankx was surprised by the sudden question. “No, no, not that I remember.”

“And where is your home, remind me?”

“Um, I’m from the Ten Towns?”

Edgra smiled sharply. “Oh no, you said earlier you weren’t — you can’t fool me that easily!”

Jankx laughed nervously, glancing around for help and finding none.

Arlington had heard enough. “How are we feeling gentlemen, time for a walk?”

“Before you go — you are just here for the stones? There is nothing else?” Edgra asked. She seemed keen to detain everyone.

Arlington nodded. “We come here to beseech your allegiance. We seek an end to this winter that has befallen us.”

“Don’t we all.”

“I have here—,” Arlington held his hand out to a ghostly quiet Tarquin, “—a writ with the name of several Speakers upon it. If you are willing we would gladly have your name added to it.”

“You want me to sign the writ? What is in it for Dougan’s Hole?”

“The end of the winter, " Jankx promised.

Much as Edgra wanted Jankx’s favour, she found this hard to believe. “If I do not sign it, the winter will end anyway, will it not?”

“No,” Jankx and Arlington said together.

“No?”

“Maybe Dougan’s Hole will not be free of the winter, we do not know that. But maybe you will be singled out if you do not support this writ,” Jankx smiled.

“I…I don’t believe that you six have it in your power to stop the winter.”

“Not us, no, but it will be known that you did not support us in our endeavour to do so,” Jankx hinted.

“I’m curious,” Octavian interrupted, “Are you for winter?”

“I am for Auril. We are for Auril. We do not offend her, and we do not wish to incur her wrath,” Edgra said solemnly. “If Auril chose to cause this endless winter, then she has good reason.”

“Has she ever articulated what those reasons are?”

Edgra narrowed her eyes. “No. She is a god. Have you ever spoken to a god?”

“No, but I intend to,” Octavian said matter-of-factly. “Actually I think I very recently did…”

Edgra raised an eyebrow. “I have a proposal. If you wish me to sign the writ, leave that one with me whilst you visit the stone,” Edgra said, pointing to Jankx. “I would love to pick his mind.”

Jankx paled, and Arlington laughed. “No problem!”

Morgan leaned into Arlington and Octavian and whispered. “The piece of paper isn’t that important anymore. It really isn’t.”

“I am not in control of the destiny of any of these men, Speaker,” Arlington announced.

“Jankx — would you like to stay here with this woman?” Octavian said, ever the diplomat.

“Um, I feel that I would be of greater assistance with you,” Jankx stammered.

“Jankx is a very interesting name!” Edgra said, eyes trained on the rogue. “Why will you not tell me where you are from, Mr Jankx?”

Jankx had had enough of this game. “It seems presumptuous to ask such a question. I have not asked you where you are from.”

“Sir you and your friends have asked me many, many questions. I have asked but one of you.”

Jankx shook his head.

“Just answer the woman, Jankx!” Arlington cried.

“I have said all that I intend to say,” Jankx snapped.

“I’m not sure that you have…” Edgra said ominously.

Jankx felt something tugging at his mind, trying to wrench something out of his head. His eyes widened and he paled for a fleeting moment, then it passed and his face settled back into itself and hardened into a frown as he glared at the Speaker.

Octavian was instantly alert — it sounded like Edgra was trying to charm Jankx. But he could see no change in his demeanour, nothing to indicate she had done anything. He decided to bluff. “Oh! I see what you did, that’s rare,” he said to the Speaker, as if he knew what was going on.

Edgra glanced at Octavian, then back at Jankx. “Perhaps you are right and you have nothing more to say after all,” she hissed.

“Give her a hard look as if you know what she tried,” Octavian whispered to Arlington.

“I have good council, lady,” Arlington said, somewhat confused but freshly determined, “That perhaps your signature on this writ is irrelevant to us after all.” He was ready to terminate any sense of civility — Speaker Edgra had turned him right off. “Your welcome is revealed for what it is, lady. Gentlemen we are leaving. Now.”

Arlington led everyone out into the snow, leaving the Speaker and her guards alone in the cold, dark room.

---

Morgan watched the nearby houses closely as he unhitched Ash, suspecting the Speaker’s failed attempt on Jankx might bring retaliation. But all was still and silent. He didn’t trust what the Speaker had said about the lack of warmth (and no sign of fires from any house), there had to be more to it given her strange behaviour, but on the other hand he did know that sacrificing warmth was a known ritual. And the ritual didn’t explain her threadbare clothing.

Arlington, well peeved with the Speaker, looked around at the, frankly, depressing and poorly maintained houses of Dougan’s Hole. “There’s a dozen houses. If we go house-to-house we could take this entire village without a pause.”

“Two dozen,” Octavian corrected. “Let’s just go to the Stones.”

Jankx sidled up to Octavian. “Your suspicions were right — she tried something, I don’t know what.”

“It didn’t look like a spell, but I couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it’s something from Auril? A brain thing?”

“It was bad. Not pleasant,” Jankx said. He turned to Arlington. “I think we should check the fishhouse before heading up to the Stones.”

Arlington agreed and led the dogs down the short boardwalk toward the large building on the lake. The sulphur stench remained strong, though less so than inside the Speaker’s house. The fishhouse was a one-and-a-half story building, very run down and boarded up. A battered and faded shield with the town crest hung forlornly over the main doorways.

---

It was a slaughterhouse, just for fish. Arlington looked under the boardwalk and found what he expected, a sluice of some description that would carry waste out into the lake, attracting life in turn — a cannibalistic fishy ecosystem. Now frozen over and by the looks of it not used for some years.

Jankx tried to see through a crack in one of the boarded windows, but it was just dark inside. He sniffed the air inside as best he could, and found the sulphur definitely stronger in there too, just like the Speaker’s house.

“I don’t care to learn anything further about the fishhouse, gentlemen,” Arlington said, turning up the short road that led to the foot of the Stones. As he started up the road, a couple of figures emerged from one of the houses, still shrouded in shadow. One stood slightly hunched, the other appeared to be rather short and moved in a peculiar manner.

They stepped out into the light and, despite expecting it, Arlington was taken aback. He’d been expecting deformities but this was something worse. The tall figure had one scaly hand, another wolf-like, and half his face was scaled like a lizard. The smaller figure had an elongated snout and ears like a dog, and scuffled around on all fours.

---

The tall one pointed to Morgan. “You from home? You from my home!” The small one ruffed with excitement and crabbed its way over to Morgan.

Morgan was stunned. These were mongrelfolk. He had never thought to see one of the tragic creatures his father had told him about, and yet here they were in the most remote corner of Ten Towns. How?? He stepped forward and nodded slowly. “What do you mean, ‘home’?”

“You from where I from — you come here too? You run? From Bannor?” the tall one said.

Morgan stepped back in slight shock, going deadly still. Bannor. Viktor had told him the story of Bannor, of his near-genocide of the mongrelfolk in Barovia. But Bannor was also one of his father’s strongest friends, before his disappearance. “I never met him,” he said slowly, “But I know…of him.”

“He bad man. He kill us. He kill all us.”

“Bannor is dead. Some years ago now.”

“Good! You know Abbot too? He friend of us, care for us.”

Morgan hesitated. He knew the sordid history of the Abbot via his father’s stories, how he had bred the mongrelfolk for his own nefarious purposes, sinking ever deeper into darkness until Viktor and his friends had put an end to it. But these two obviously didn’t know the full story. Best to let sleeping dogs lie: “No, not the Abbot. My name is Morgan — I am pleased to meet you.”

“I Zygfrek,” the lizard-faced one said, “And this is Otto. He not talking.” Otto did a quick spin and nodded as Zygfrek smiled fondly. “We amazed you from our place — why you here?”

“I’m not sure why I’m here. But I’m here by choice — I didn’t have to leave, like you,” Morgan said.

“This place safe for us. Only place we find where people not shun or laugh. They strange looking here too.”

This hit Morgan hard. Fleeing their land, seeking a home, finding refuge only amongst other outcasts. He resolved in that moment to do what he could to help these two. For a moment he pondered resettling them to Caer-Konig, but despite most Ten Towners being tolerant of strangeness, Zykfrek and Otto were a step too far. “How did you know where I was from?”

“Otto smell you,” Zygfrek said as Otto took a deep breath to demonstrate. “You have scent, from the land. You are of the land, part of land. Not just from there.”

Morgan again found this strange creature’s words hit home. He was of Barovia. Not just a passer through like his father, he — and Ezra — were Barovia. A hint of a hidden understanding sparked in his mind, but it was just a hint, and out of reach. But there was something. Maybe finding that greater truth was why he was here?

Zygfrek saw the look in Morgan’s eye. “You as we. Maybe we go back one day, if Bannor dead. Or are all Mongrelfolk killed?”

“I’m sorry. There are none in Barovia now that I know of. But my father heard that some did take Bannor after the…events. But they were never seen again — nor was Bannor.”

“Mongrelfolk took Bannor? I wish we help.” Zygfrek was momentarily stunned, then he sighed and looked up at Morgan kindly. “It good to see someone from Barovia. Maybe we go back with you, if you go back. If you…if you want to take us.”

Morgan half-laughed as the breath caught in his throat. “You know what, if I do go back — maybe you could come.”

Zygfrek beamed and Otto leaped in the air with excitement and rubbed its head against Morgan’s leg with affection. “I’m a bit shocked,” Morgan said, “I’ve never met anyone from…from home.” He introduced everyone. “These are my friends.”

“Very pleased to meet,” Zygrek smiled. “We like Morgan, from Barovia, but we live here ten years now.”

“Any mutations?” Octavian asked.

“No, we not like them, nothing happen to us.”

“What is happening to us?”

“They changing,” Zygfrek shrugged.

“The Speaker mentioned people changing into a thing and then never seeing them again. Have you ever seen one?” Morgan asked.

“No, we not. People change slow, the children quicker but then they slow too.”

Morgan crouched next to Otto. “Do you know where the smell comes from?”

Otto sat back on its haunches and pointed a pawed finger toward the fishhouse.

Morgan nodded. “And do you know what it is? What is making the smell?”

Otto nodded and looked at Zygfrek. “He thinks he knows, but he has not seen.”

“Is it a bad thing?” Morgan asked.

“We think it bad. It only been like that, maybe, three month.”

“Three months?” Arlington said with surprise. “That Speaker has got to go,” he whispered to a silent Tarquin. Eearwaxx started to walk determinedly toward the fishhouse.

“Before regime change,” Octavian said, “Can we first go to the stones.”

“Eearwaxx!” Arlington called, “We’re going to murder the demon later, we’re going to the stones first.”

Zygfrek looked up to the circle of stones that loomed atop the hill to the south. “Be careful there. Strange place, we stay away.”

“Dangerous or strange?” Jankx asked.

“Both. Take careful up there — something wrong there.”

Arlington nodded. “Would you be so kind as to look after my dogs?”

“We can! We used to do for Abbot. We mind guard house for Abbot. He friendly to mongrelfolk.”

“These dogs aren’t mongrels, these dogs are purebred,” Arlington corrected, handing the dog-chains over.

Morgan blanched. “When he says mongrelfolk, he’s talking about himself,” he whispered to Arlington, who had the good grace to flush briefly with embarrassment.

---

The Twenty Stones of Thruun

A narrow, well-worn path led up the steep hill to the triangle of basalt megaliths that formed the Twenty Stones of Thruun. They loomed out of the half-light of the afternoon, ancient, weather-worn, and ominous.

Octavian guessed they had stood for thousands of years, and felt briefly overwhelmed by staggering history of what these markers much have witnessed — and empowered. He carefully approached the first stone, which stood fifteen-feet tall as a silent sentry. He carefully traced over the worn stone, flying up until he eventually found the remains of incredibly faint sigils. It was too weathered to tell if they signified good or evil, but he could see that the druidic power not been maintained for centuries now.

“These are thousands of years old, but I am not getting any power emanating from the sigils,” Octavian said reverently. “They are druidic, but there is no latent energy stored. So I’m not sure what the townspeople were meaning — I don’t know where that is coming from. There might be something else—”

Octavian stopped suddenly. He had reached the top of the stone and could see into the circle beyond. In the centre sat a massive, flat topped slab of stone, and it was pulsing with drudic energy. He gulped. “Correction: there is something else,” he said, pointing.

Morgan and Jankx hustled forward, slowing as they neared the slab. It was covered in fresh runic sigils and even the two warriors hesitated to get too close. Eearwaxx stepped forward and started preparing a spell of magical detection.

Octavian left the centre stone to his companions for a moment. He closed his eyes and tried to imbue the stone with the goodness of nature, sacred druidic worship for a sacred druidic object. He covered it with a bough of fresh ivy, regenerative nature. The vines worked their way into the ancient sigils, and for a moment the symbols glowed with life and peace. The stone sighed a breath of thanks, and Octavian bowed his head in the moment of grace.

Morgan meanwhile scouted the other stones, looking for recent activity — especially blood. He cleared some of the snow drifts and circled the stones but found no sign. Finally he approached the central slab, and there he found what he sought. It was stained dark with blood, old and new mixing to form a deep black-red that reminded him of his new blade. He looked closer and his eyes widened. “The stone is sealed with blood,” he said quietly. “Like a wax seal made of blood.”

“It has an aura of abjuration magic,” Eearwaxx confirmed as he finished the spell, “Protecting something.”

“We should remove the seal and release what’s being held within,” Jankx joked nervously.

Eearwaxx took a closer look and concurred with Morgan’s findings. The sigils glowed beneath the blood seal, which reached the ground but not beyond. It was a perfect seal, obviously magically created. “Hm. Abjuration means the sacrifices that fed this seal could be preventing whatever is inside from getting out. A magical barrier. Either the blood seal, or the stone itself, I can’t tell which.”

“Morgan why don’t you scrape a bit of that blood away,” Arlington said fearlessly.

“We might release whatever is inside,” Eearwaxx warned.

“Or the seal might be hiding something good,” Octavian said, explaining what had happened with his druidic blessing.

“What if the frost druids are coming up here to hamper what this stone is supposed to be doing?” Morgan suggested after some thought, drawing nods from Eearwaxx and Octavian. “And in fact this circle is a protective thing, maybe sealing something in, and by sacrificing and despoiling the stone they are trying to ruin that and let out whatever is underneath.”

“I think that the fact it hasn’t got out to date,” Eearwaxx theorised, “Means these sacrifices are creating a barrier.”

Morgan pulled out his dagger and stepped toward the stone. Jankx instinctively stepped back, and Eearwaxx forward. Morgan held the dagger close, but hesitated when he saw the cutting the seal would expose the sigils, which lay below the blood on the surface of the stone. “Hm. Sigils tend to go boom,” he said, looking to Arlington, “And there is no spot with no symbols. Are the symbols magic?”

Eearwaxx lent in and nodded. “I can’t read them, but there is magic on the stone. When you carve a rune into something they take on a life of their own.” Arlington was quietly impressed with how seriously Eearwaxx was approaching this task. The young wizard was maturing, no doubt as a result of the experience in the Tomb.

Octavian flew down and landed next to Morgan. “Let me try.” He put his hand over a sigil and created a tiny cloud of rain that slicked over the area around his hand. He pulled out his ritual druidic sickle. “Step back,” he warned, then drew the sickle through the now wet blood, incanting as he did. He felt the blade cutting cleanly through the blood seal — and was relieved to find no adverse reaction. He was unable to read the sigil, but he could tell enough from the symbolism that it was protective. “This is a protective sigil,” Eearwaxx confirmed, “Which unfortunately backs both theories. It might be keeping something in, or it might be protecting the environment.”

Eearwaxx scratched his head. “I’m worried. There’s lots of blood here, decades worth, a repetitive ritual. But it’s not having an effect—”

“—or maybe it is,” Morgan stressed.

Eearwaxx nodded. “If the blood is not meant to be here, the mending should remove it.” He cast his favourite spell (old habits are hard to break, Arlington mused), but nothing changed.

Everyone stared at the stone, feeling the sense of power and energy emanating from it. “It might be a sarcophaogus,” Morgan said, looking for a seam around the top of the stone under the blood. There was no obvious ‘lid’, but everyone could see it was a possibility.

“It is interesting that the Speaker said that Dougan found a hole, or mine, and we’re not seeing anything like that,” Octavian muttered.

Morgan looked at the slab and his eyes widened. “Well this could cover a hole…”

---

Nothing to see here

Both Eearwaxx and Octavian examined the slab and concurred that it was of the same — or similar — age to the standing stones. It was made of the same dark granite, quarried similarly, and carrying the same pattern of stonemason’s work — be that druid or artisan. Not something added later, and not from some other source.

Octavian’s druidic investigations led him to conclude that the sacrifices on the stone were almost certainly to help maintain the blood-seal. “But it is almost impossible for me to tell if it was to keep something in, or keep something out.

“What did you see in your visions about this place,” Morgan asked, “That is why we’re here.”

“It was fleeting, but I saw the sacrifices, the druids, that this was some centre of druidic evil. But I’m at a loss as to what we do here. We need to consider what is the motivation of the druids? They are Auril’s druids, sacrificing humans to create this seal. Whatever Auril wants is, by nature, evil, so the seal helping their plans? And if we break it, would it disrupt those same plans?”

“Didn’t we hear a story that Dougan dug a mine, and found a monster at the bottom of the hole,” Arlington said, recalling Speaker Edgra’s tale. “And the druids came along and built these stones. Now if this is a plug for that same hole, as we’re suggesting, surely they’re keeping the monster in the hole.”

“Yes,” Octavian nodded, “But what I am saying is that if Auril wants to keep that monster in the hole, and Auril and her druids are evil and maintaining this unnatural winter, why are they doing that? Why do they want to contain it?”

“The enemy of our enemy might be a monster,” Arlington said.

“Or our friend,” Tarquin countered.

“From my research, Northerners believe Thruun was a rival to Auril,” Octavian recounted. “An ancient power. But my conclusions are that that is not right: it was somewhere in between, not a god but not just a beast. A demigod perhaps.”

“I don’t think we know enough to do anything here,” Morgan said. “The stones have been here a long time, and they’ll still be here if we decide to come back.”

“Why did we come here then?” Eearwaxx asked.

“To see what was here.”

“And we were very close-by,” Octavian added, “And I’d had a vision that this was central to the evil druid’s worship of Auril.”

“Then why don’t we lift the stone?” Eearwaxx suggested.

“Because it is huge. Ten feet long, five feet high. I’m guessing ten-tonnes,” Arlington said.

“There are ways we can move it,” Eearwaxx said, rubbing his hands. “Shake the earth to move the rock. Between Octavian and myself we could do it.”

“I don’t think we know enough to do that now,” Morgan emphasised.

“We came a long way to do nothing then,” Arlington said, scratching his beard.

“Is there something else we should, something further to explore?” Jankx asked.

Morgan nodded. “There are so many things we need to pursue. We’ve been told about Ythrn. We know that a sky-stone fell in the mountains just nearby. I just don’t think we need to move this rock right now. "

Tarquin nodded furiously at the mention of Ythryn, feeling a strong new sense of duty after his recent near-death experiences.

Silence fell over the group. The slab of blood-stained, blood-sealed sat broodingly.

“I will ask the druidic powers for insight,” Octavian announced eventually. “They should tell me if breaking the stone would be a mistake or a success.” He painstakingly laid a bed of druidic influence around the stone, entering a trance as he sought contact with the otherworldly powers that could answer his augury. After beseeching them an answer drifted into his mind: a pendulum, swinging relentlessly between weal and woe. He opened his eyes and sighed. “You won’t like this. There is not one druidic god, there is a council, and they have indicated that our actions if we were to proceed would be both good and bad. So…I’m not sure what to do.”

Morgan grunted. “Given the last three days, I think it’s a really bad idea to do anything right now.”

“Fair enough,” Eearwaxx said. He wanted to know more about what lay beneath, but Morgan made a good point.

Tarquin agreed. He had been sketching a piece in his journals, and read it aloud:

Arlington rolled his eyes dramatically. The poet had been a great hire, but sometimes he appeared to be making it up as he went along.

“See, we should go,” Morgan nodded, interpreting Tarquin’s words as he saw fit. “I think if there’s any chance of any negative connotations of doing this, we shouldn’t. At this point we don’t need to do it.” He looked to Octavian. “You had a vision of druids being here, and we’ve had that confirmed by the Speaker. And they are sacrificing people on this rock. So that’s bad, and that’s the Auril connection, but there’s no reason they can’t be doing two things with one act.” He was deeply concerned that opening the stone would result in another horror-show like the Elven tomb. And he didn’t feel ready to watch his friends die again.

“Can I ask a question,” Arlington said. “Where are the druids now?”

“They probably come on the moon cycle,” Octavian said.

“And what does the moon look like now?”

“Twenty days waning. So they will probably return in a ten-day.” Arlington nodded, thinking perhaps that was the time to be here, thought it did carry some extra risk.

Jankx sighed. It had been a hard few days and the idea of more death was not appealing. “I am worried about waking something that ancient. So if we were to move this stone, it would be important that we are not releasing — or waking — an ancient one, thousands and thousands of years old. I think we should all have recently learnt that we have limits. So I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything, and I don’t understand your vision, Octavian, there is obviously something, but it may not be to do with this. Or maybe it’s a vision that can only be fulfilled later. But I think we should tread carefully about waking a creature that has been entombed beneath this enchanted rock. I just feel we’re not…this is not the moment.”

“I must say I would have thought that if we were on the right track, the augury would have made it very clear,” Octavian nodded. “And we do have a very clear alternative. All of us have had some indication that we should go to the fallen city.”

“If we leave things alone here, what is next? Do we intend to investigate the rock that fell from the sky or Sunblight Fortress?” Morgan asked.

“I do,” Jankx said. “Let’s follow the clues that we do have.”

Tarquin was less sure, pushing hard for a northern route to the fallen spire that the Dzaan had discovered. “Gentlemen I feel like we’ve had a cataclysmic moment that directed all our minds toward a particular goal that is in the north,” Tarquin countered.

“The spire of Ythryn, from what we know, is out on the ice pack. The meteor, and the fortress, and near. So it’s not going to get any easier to access them than now,” Morgan said. “The spire is not going anywhere and the meteor still needs to be pursued.”

Octavian and Jankx agreed with Morgan — the meteor was geographically much closer, somewhere East of the Sunless Citadel, which was only twenty miles away, albeit over untrodden terrain. Octavian even suspected the meteor might be more of a clue than the spire, given it was a far more recent arrival to the environs of Icewind Dale.

“What’s your hurry, Tarquin?” Arlington said. He knew exactly why Tarquin was pushing so hard, but the great hunter felt extending any imagined deadline as long as possible would be a better option.

“It’s a good question. I don’t know what my hurry is, but I feel compelled.” He felt strangely confident that choosing north was for the best, and it settled his nerves to say so, but he also knew he couldn’t sway the others. He felt a little uneasy about the decision being taken, but accepted it.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get to the spire in good time,” Arlington added.

Morgan clapped a hand on Tarquin’s shoulder. “Just remember,” he said, pointing to Tarquin’s icy-hand, “We’ve got these around our neck too.” He pointed to the ring of ice circling his neck. “And Hedrun said she would use them. I understand the pressing need, but I choose to believe that she will also understand it.”

“Well let’s not lose our heads over it is all,” Tarquin said with a tight smile. “So just to be clear, we’re all on the same path, and for the moment that will take us south,” Tarquin confirmed. “In which case I have some good news: if we should need, this time we can have our own shelter — we don’t need to find a cave,” Tarquin said, shuddering at the memory of the tomb.

“What are you talking above,” Arlington scoffed, “Are you going to dig a snow cave? I’ve built enough to last a lifetime.”

“No. I have a hut,” Tarquin said with a twinkle in his eye, “A tiny hut.”

---

Morgan collected the animals from Zygfrek and Otto, thanking them profusely for their help and shaking their hands, such as they were. They were very grateful — praise was not something they were accustomed to. “Do you keep yourselves well, do you need anything?” Morgan asked with genuine concern.

“We fine. We eat fish. We live. We not die — Bannor not find,” Zygfrek said, standing a little taller.

“I’ll see you again,” Morgan smiled.

“We hope. Goodbye Morgan, goodbye Morgan friends.”

Before heading south, Morgan turned to the group. “My only other question is do we want to take a look inside that fishhouse?” he asked. “Or do we want to leave that be?”

“We keep poking nests,” Tarquin warned.

“I never want to go back to that fishhouse, or this town,” Arlington said firmly.

“I am ok with leaving the fishhouse — for now,” Octavian agreed. “There is something horrific going on in this town, something definitely beyond my ken. Whether it’s the stones, or under the fishery building, or just the general confines of Dougan’s Hole, something is accursed here. That is beyond question. Whether we can do anything is very different.”

“Very well it is decided: we are southward bound, gentlemen. I am not afraid of going cross-country,” Arlington said as he considered the map of the Dale. He was confident he could find a safe and efficient path. “My estimate is two to three days travel, given the terrain and a likely ascent into the lower reaches of the Spine.”

The company set out from Dougan’s Hole, revelling in the open landscape (and the relief of leaving the disquiet of the township behind). Arlington followed the shoreline of the frozen Redwaters until reaching the mouth of the Redrun River. From there the river offered a secure path toward Ten Trail. True darkness had well and truly fallen upon reaching Arlington’s intended short-cut through the wilderness, so he called a halt and turned to Tarquin with a nod.

Tarquin grinned and proceeded to made quite a show as he conjured his promised hut, which was indeed tiny — but large enough to fit everyone snugly inside. Arlington was pleasantly surprised with Tarquin’s sartorial choices, the structure being remarkably suitable for the far north: closely resembling a carefully constructed igloo, comfortable (but no more than that), with furs to furnish the warmth, and simply provisioned for an explorer’s party. The animals were staked outside, guards set, and everyone fell into a surprisingly restful night of rest.

---

Session played: Nov 28, Dec 5, 12 2022

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