Chapters

Giant Sized: “It’s still warm!”
Auril’s Temple: “Undead Frost Giants. Beautiful”
The Trials of Auril: “You can’t just skip to the last page of the book”

The Trial of Preservation: “It’s like he’s getting older in front of us”
The Trial of Cruelty: “It’s just an illusion boy, get over it”
The Trial of Endurance: “I embrace the pain”
The Trial of Isolation “I’m sorry Eearwaxx”

Eyepatch: “This is for the girls”

---

Giant Sized

Arlington stretched his long frame and looked around the statue–grove, well rested and well fed. “So what are our plans, people?”

Octavian pointed to the lighter-coloured stripe that bisected the towering glacial wall. “Auril’s temple.”

“She’s in there, isn’t she?” Morgan said. “Not exactly who we were looking for. But perhaps fate has done us a favour.”

“Are we ready to face this particular individual?” Arlington said warily.

“I don’t know. Is one ever ready to face a god?”

“No,” Arlington conceded. He led the company down to the brilliant blue ice crack, which appeared to glow from within—clearly a passage lay on the other side of the feet thick ice. At the base of the shimmering seal there was a human-sized section made of chunks ice that had obviously been shattered and refrozen over—relatively recently. “Here’s the weak point.”

“How are we going to get through?” Morgan said.

This time Octavian pointed to Eearwaxx’s new companion. “The golem.”

Arlington looked over to Eearwaxx and his Guardian. “Can that thing beat its way through this?”

“I can ask it,” Eearwaxx grinned. He had spent some time examining and understanding the Guardian. When it emerged from it’s ice cocoon the damage of its long hiatus was obvious. The armour panels were chipped and damaged, and one massive hand was missing a finger. On closer inspection Eearwaxx found that the fists were in particularly bad shape, dented and embedded with fragments and chips of what looked like the strange metal from the Spire. Once he’d gained as much knowledge as possible he mended it so it looked like new. And then, much to everyone’s surprise, he had cast a fireball at the construct. But instead of destroying the Guardian, the molten flame was absorbed into its metallic shell. Eearwaxx looked very pleased with himself.

“Before you smash anything,” Octavian warned, “Let’s just have a bit of a look.”

“Whaddaya mean ‘wait’? He only just got the toy!” Tarquin laughed.

Octavian rolled his eyes. He studied the ice and the damaged area, and quickly determined that it wasn’t magically protected, it was just Nature doing it’s work. “The ice was shattered through magic—the shards are too uniform to have been bludgeoned through. But the refreezing was natural, and wouldn’t have taken long in this cold,” he reported. “Vellynne didn’t solve a puzzle to get through, she just used magic to open the way.”

Eearwaxx put his hand on the construct’s thigh plate. “Alright my friend—make a hole please. For you and for me.”

The Guardian nodded curtly, turned to the massive ice wall, and started pounding it apart with its newly mended fists. It was a sight to behold, relentless and tireless as it slowly but surely broke the seal of thickened ice.

“He’s on our side, right?” Tarquin quipped. He’d seen Morgan work hard and had been impressed, but this was another level of brutal destruction.

Eventually it broke through the barrier, creating an entrance into the heart of the glacier. It turned back to Eearwaxx, waiting for its next command.

---

Octavian scrambled up the mound of broken ice and looked into the gloom ahead. Weaving down into the glacier’s depths were enormous stairs hewn from dirty ice, each four-foot lower than the last.

Arlington peered over Octavian’s shoulder. “Lucky you’ve got wings, brother.”

“Those are steps for giants,” Morgan muttered. The ceiling of the rough hewn passage loomed fifty feet overhead, confirming Morgan’s suspicion.

“Frost giants,” Tarquin added, a flood of history coming back to him. “Remember Stormwatch’s famous travails in Skyreach Castle? There’s a connection here, between these ancient flying cities and giants who fly in cities even now.”

Octavian’s features darkened at the mention of Skyreach, twisting his head to Tarquin but looking through him not at him. “Giants and others,” he muttered, remembering his fallen kin.

“Such a big deal made out of so few deaths,” Morgan said. He too had read the legends, and the death of a few kitchen-hand kobolds hardly seemed noteworthy.

“We killed more people yesterday!” Arlington nodded, recalling the ridiculous pamphlets accusing Stormwatch of a mini-genocide.

“By a factor of five or six,” Morgan added, ignorant to Octavian’s ever increasing grip on his staff as he struggled to control his emotions as Tarquin hummed a fresh poem.

“Jankx you go first,” Arlington ordered.

Jankx sighed and started to work his way down the long stairway. The ice was dirty, full of stones and the remains of bones, but at least it wasn’t slippery. The further the company descended the colder it became, and soon everyone was shivering involuntarily despite the exertion, facial hair covered in rime. Morgan unsheathed Iceblink to provide a pool of light as the darkness became all encompassing.

After one-hundred or more exhausting steps, four-hundred feet lower into the glacier, the steps levelled out in front of an enormous double door, 25-feet high and made from slabs of ice with skulls and bones embedded inside them. Carved into the lintel above the doors was a single word in Dwarvish script: GRIMSKALLE

“Grim Skull,” Tarquin translated. “Or, ‘don’t go here’.”

“Grimness and death?” Arlington offered.

Octavian frowned. “Why Dwarvish? Auril wouldn’t use Dwarvish.”

“Giants do,” Tarquin said, “But your point is taken.”

“Arlington—can you check for tracks before Morgan and Jankx go to work?”

Arlington, slightly miffed at being ordered around be the kobold, crouched down and studied the floor at the foot of the door. “Kobolds,” he reported, “And…human. It seems our friend is here.”

Morgan growled, his attention fully engaged. He had been worried Vellynne’s trail had gone cold with the diversion to Auril’s abode, but no longer.

“The door isn’t sealed or rimed closed,” Tarquin added. “So it wasn’t long ago. And these bones inside the ice aren’t just any bones—they’re dragons. Whelps, but dragons no less.”

“So these are doors made of slabs of ice that were carefully been brought down here because they contain dragon bones?” Arlington mused.

“It feels to me—drawing on my historical knowledge and background in drama—that these are cut from the ice of a battlefield. And the bones are trophies.”

Everyone nodded sagely. That was indeed mighty.

Jankx couldn’t hear anything through the doors, but they were two-feet thick. He nodded to Morgan, who turned and settled his back to the doors in a half-crouch. He dug his crampons into the ice and shoved with all his strength.

The doors didn’t budge. He redoubled his efforts, taking Tarquin’s whispered inspiration as motivation. This time the doors creaked under the strain, but still they wouldn’t open. Morgan took a deep breath. The blood vessels on his forehead throbbed (despite not having any blood flowing through them) as he summoned his memory of the horror of Caer-Konig. He channelled the surge of anger into his every sinew and shoved.

The door slowly opened on its massive hinges, a breath of mist rolling down the steps from within.

“Well done,” Arlington said to Morgan, trying not to glance at the Shield Guardian that stood idly nearby.

---

The dimensions of the hall inside were also clearly fit for giants: thirty-foot ceilings towering over smooth, opaque, chiselled ice floors with a bluish tinge. A two-foot-deep blanket of cold mist crept across the floor, rolling like dragon’s breath. It was utterly dark, utterly still, and utterly quiet.

“Why is it so quiet?” Arlington muttered, “I thought this was a temple.”

“Arlington! Are there any tracks?” Octavian reminded Arlington.

“What an excellent question,” Arlington said cursing himself for again being caught out by the kobold—twice in so many minutes. “Everyone stop walking everywhere for a moment.” He crouched down and waved his hands around in an undignified manner to clear the mist. “The floor is too sharply polished, almost like diamond. There’ll be no tracks to follow, Octavian,” Arlington announced with disdain.

Another set of enormous double doors stood west, and the corridor turned sharply right. Jankx sent Morgan through and this time the young warrior had no problem. A long, rectangular room was strewn with pieces of rotting wood and rusted metal—the remnants of giant weapons and weapon racks. A rusted-out helmet sized fit for a giant lay near the back wall.

Arlington toed a sword, which almost crumbled to dust under his touch. “Rust, which is odd given how dry and cold it is. And the hardwood is rotting too—that would take centuries.”

“There is the mist, that might explain it,” Octavian said.

The swords were fifteen foot long which gave Eearwaxx an idea. He mended one, then turned to his Guardian. “A weapon for you, my friend!” The Guardian reached down and hefted the huge weapon. It was far too big, rising above its head by several feet, and the weight was clearly all wrong. “It’s alight, buddy, you can put it down,” Eearwaxx said with disappointment.

Jankx moved up the corridor and listened again at the next doors. “I might have heard something but can’t be sure. Be careful with this one.”

“I think the only thing we’re going to encounter down here is Eyepatch or Auril,” Morgan said with a weird half grin.

“And if you see either of them just unload,” Arlington added.

Morgan shunted his shoulder into the door, but it wouldn’t open, only creaking slightly. Jankx held a hand up and listened again, but there was still nothing. “Given the noise your shove made, I’m sure there’s nothing in there or it would have reacted by now.”

Eearwaxx ordered the Guardian to assist the next attempt. Morgan directed it where to push, but it ignored every word until Eearwaxx repeated the same. With the added weight both cracked open. Inside a withered old frost giant climbed slowly to its feet from a giant wooden stool, leaning heavily on a greataxe. He stared with cloudy eyes. “Who goes there? My Queen, is it you?”

Only Arlington understood the words. “Do we know who the ‘Queen’ is?” he hissed quickly.

“It’s going to be Hedrun—” Eearwaxx started.

“—or it’s Auril.” Morgan finished.

“State your name—is it you my Lady?” the Giant said again, hefting his axe.

Arlington grabbed Tarquin by the collar and whispered. “Tarquin—you seem to know your way around giants. He wants to know if we’re his Queen?”

Tarquin shook his head. A rollcall of Frost Giant royalty flashed through his head. A name was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t be sure and he knew to get it wrong would be a grave error. “Invoke the memory of Skyreach!” he hissed.

The Giant took a step forward, his eyes unseeing but a frown now creasing his massive forehead. Arlington cursed under his breath and deepened his voice as best he could. “We come on behalf of your great Queen, as her messengers. We invoke the memory of Skyreach Castle!”

“Skyreach? We must defeat them! The Storm Giants must fall—are we summonsed to battle?! May I meet my death honourably, at last?”

“Indeed! Your Queen calls you forth to battle the fiends of Skyreach!” Arlington ad-libbed, grinning at Tarquin who was suitably impressed.

“My axe is hers! For Vassavicken! For glory!” the Giant hollered, lifting the axe above his head with some effort and stumbling toward the door.

“Back out of his way!” Arlington hissed as the giant rumbled forward. Eearwaxx was having none of that. He felt sorry for the ancient warrior, clearly almost blind and hobbling badly.

“Are you ok?” he said quietly, having cast a spell to speak the Giant tongue.

“‘Are you ok’ is what we’re giving giants now?” Arlington muttered, flummoxed once again by Eearwaxx’s behaviour.

“Perhaps a morning tea?” Tarquin smirked. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“I can help,” Eearwaxx said, reaching up to touch the massive hand of the giant, who flinched.

“I need no help to defeat Vassavicken’s enemies! Begone!”

Arlington hauled Eearwaxx out of the way as he tried to right the ship. “Vassavicken calls you forth!”

“And I heed her call—to where does she summon me?”

“To the Dale beyond the cave! Meet your brethren on the coast of the Sea of Moving Ice!”

“To the sea! To the sea!” The giant stomped off down the corridor, singing a song of battle and glory that Tarquin noted down for later use.

Eearwaxx sighed. “That giant couldn’t see. I feel very sorry for him.”

Tarquin shook his head. “I have nothing to say,” he muttered to Arlington, “Eearwaxx is too far gone.”

Morgan shoved open the single door that lay behind the giant’s stool, revealing a horde of treasure worthy of a (small) dragon. Mounds of coin and giant-sized golden rings, and a stunning shield made of white scales. “Dragon scales,” Octavian said with awe. “Invaluable. Pity it’s so large.”

Eearwaxx pushed his way in and made a beeline for the one thing that caught his attention: a 2-foot-tall chipped statuette of a frost-giant made of ice. Naked. He pulled out his blasphemous statue of a naked Deep Duerra that he had stolen from Sunblight Fortress and beamed. A matching set!

“That’s Thrym,” Tarquin laughed, “A nasty piece of work, but not normally naked.”

“Why don’t any of these gods wear pants?” Morgan groaned as Eearwaxx passed the statue to the Guardian, who was now dragging the sword with one hand and holding a naked giant god in the other.

Jankx could see something buried below the coins. He reached down and pulled out a foot-high ceramic jug, which sloshed with liquid. He peered inside and was surprised to find it empty. He shook it again and again heard—and felt—liquid. He passed it to Tarquin.

“It’s magic,” Tarquin said and lifted to his lips, much to Jankx’s surprise, but there as nothing to drink. He tipped it upside down and nothing came out. “It’s empty,” Tarquin grinned. “This is fun—I’m going to sit with this one and study it.” He slipped it into his bag.

“We’ll come back for this,” Morgan scowled as Tarquin and Jankx filled their pockets with coin. He wanted to get moving, and find either Vellynne or Auril—preferably the former.

The doors at the north and west end of the corridor had both been shattered. On the west side was an immense hall in which stood a thirty-foot-long, ten-foot-wide, ten-foot-high dining table carved from ice and surrounded by a dozen blocks of ice that served as chairs. Wooden braces against the west wall held a pair of fourteen-foot-long bugles made from hollowed-out mammoth tusks, one intact, one badly cracked. To the south, mist rolled down an ascending staircase of ice.

“Don’t blow the horns,” Tarquin warned, glaring at Eearwaxx.

Arlington wandered to the northern room, stepping through the shattered chunks of ice that were the remains of the door. A semi-circular chamber lay ahead, with six slender, gargoyle-like creatures made of ice squatting suspiciously on ledges twenty feet above the ground. Near the back wall, the mist that blanketed the floor flowed down a staircase made of polished ice. He eyeballed the gargoyles but they didn’t react at all to his presence.

Arlington crouched down to study the door fragments. Like the glacier entrance, the blocks were shattered in uniform chunks. “The same magic that opened the entrance shattered these doors—recently,” Arlington reported. “Someone with only one eye got impatient is my guess.”

Jankx examined the last doors on the eastern wall of the corridor. There was rime along the seals of the door. “Nothing has been through here in some time,” he muttered to Morgan as he softened the hard-frozen rime with his torch. Morgan then shoved the doors open, assisted by the Guardian.

Inside, frost covered a bloated trestle table that stood amid rotting barrels and casks in the middle of what clearly used to be a kitchen. Storage racks along the walls had collapsed into piles of rotted timber along with the jugs, tankards, and drinking horns that once rested on them. A roasting spit lined with icicles was mounted above a ten-foot-diameter iron brazier coated with rime near the back wall. A cursory check found nothing, everything falling apart easily, cracked and damaged.

“Whoever came here before us knew this wasn’t a room worth looking in,” Arlington observed.

“So we have a decision: up or down?” Octavian said. “I think we’re all pretty suspicious of those gargoyles.”

“Gentlemen I would say up,” Tarquin voted, “Because Octavian’s watchers haven’t been triggered.”

“I like that, that’s good thinking,” Octavian said, giving out a rare compliment to Tarquin.

“Whoever came before ‘opened’ that door and went ‘nope’,” Arlington agreed.

---

Morgan moved cautiously up the stairs.

At the top was another semi-circular room with a forest of icicles hanging from its ceiling, some of them as much as eight feet long. Against the curved wall on the south stood an enormous throne of ice decorated with carved images of winter wolves and mastodons, and across from the throne on the north wall was an arched opening.

“You look tired,” Eearwaxx said to the Shield Guardian, “Take a seat!” The construct obeyed, resting itself clunkily into the seat.

“Well let’s hope that doesn’t piss someone off,” Tarquin groaned. As he turned to move north the ceiling suddenly seemed to crack apart as a half-dozen of the icicles dropped with intent. Most were easily dodged, but Jankx was caught wrong footed as he evaded one but was pierced by the next. Cold surged through the wound flooding his body with agony. Octavian and Eearwaxx were also clipped, crying out as the cold hit home. Strangely when the icicle hit Eearwaxx, the Shield Guardian rocked back in its throne as if it had been hit instead—and Eearwaxx looked barely touched.

Morgan stomped the pathetically crawling icicles apart with his crampons before stepping carefully through the arch, checking the ceiling ahead and finding nothing. The room contained wrecked furnishings that suggested it was once used as a frost giant’s bedchamber. A bitterly cold wind blew down a staircase to the east, at the bottom of which snow had accumulated.

“As if it needed to be any colder,” Jankx muttered as he patched his wounds.

“Wind from outside,” Morgan said looking up the stairs, “Which is weird. There’s no way that can be ‘outside’.”

Arlington nodded. “We came down four hundred feet, and we haven’t climbed that high.”

Morgan tightened his cold-weather gear before climbing the steps. He emerged onto the top of a battlement in an enormous open cavern. Dozens of ice prongs, like the decorations on a crown, extended forty feet into the chamber, each with a 10-foot-wide gap between them.

“Oh god, there’s a nest,” Tarquin gulped. In the centre of the roof was a nest almost thirty feet in diameter. It appeared to be made of trees, tents, broken ships, and the remains of caravans. Directly above the nest, one hundred feet overhead, was a wide passage tunnelled into the glacier ice that led directly upward to the soft glow of dim daylight.

Arlington looked over the battlement to the ground some hundred feet below. The giant’s home was perched inside the cavern protected on all sides by the glacier itself. He glanced up at the nest, imposing in its scale. “Perhaps we could all go back down and have someone with wings fly up into the nest?” he said to no-one in particular.

Octavian lent on his staff and sighed before he shot up into the air. He hovered above the edge of the nest, which was empty of any creature. Then he gasped with wonder: standing amongst other detritus was a five-foot tall silvery egg. “A silver dragon egg,” he exclaimed softly.

“Oh my gods,” Jankx groaned, “That can’t be good.”

“Anything more?” Arlington said, adopting a nonchalant tone.

“A seaweed covered wooden chest, and a red amulet. Amongst other rubbish.”

“Whatever lay that egg, they’re coming back,” Octavian warned.

“Sorry I’m not versed with how this works,” Morgan grunted, “But are we just assuming it’s the egg of a silver dragon because it’s silver? Ducks lay eggs that—”

“It’s a silver dragon egg,” Octavian said cutting Morgan off. “And the dragon—wait.” He flew quickly up again and hovered over the egg. He reached a tentative hand down and rested it on the leathery surface. “It’s warm!” he cried. “Which means if you want to get that chest we have to do it now!”

“It doesn’t make any sense there would be a silver dragon egg in here,” Morgan said bluntly.

“It’s still warm!”

“I know, but it doesn’t make sense that a silver dragon would be roosting here.”

“Nothing makes sense!” Octavian was now officially terrified.

Morgan ignored Octavian’s rising panic and turned to Arlington. “Even if it is a silver dragon egg, we don’t have anything necessarily to worry about because silver dragons are good. Aren’t they?”

Arlington looked thoughtful and reached out into the wilderness with his hunters sense. The bulk of the glacier dampened some of what he could find, but one thing was certain. “I don’t know about good dragons, Morgan, all I know is there be dragons close by—a powerful one, and it’s not Eearwaxx’s,” he warned. “As well as some undead, you would be interested to learn, Morgan.”

Morgan nodded, then looked to Jankx before hoiking him up to the nest, at the same time as Eearwaxx got his Guardian to do the same. Tarquin shrugged and shimmied up the construct before it could stop him. All three stood on the precipice of the nest staring down at the loot just out of reach.

Eearwaxx glanced at the egg, not certain it was a dragon. But he trusted Octavian. He was worried that the egg might not survive the harsh environment in which it lay—this didn’t look like a silver dragon’s lair. It was a nest. He pulled a blanket out of his pack and started folding it to wrap around the egg.

“Wait,” Tarquin warned with a hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder. His gaze shifted from the chest to the red-gemmed pendant when a glint in the corner of his eye drew his attention. A jewelled harp inlayed with ivory. “That’s mine,” he muttered.

Octavian flew in rapid circles over the nest, glancing up the chute expecting a dragon to appear at any moment. The wind whistled howled down from above. “You know what,” he yelled, struck by a thought, “It might be a silver dragon egg, but that doesn’t mean a silver dragon is taking care of it. Something is coming—so move it!”

Eearwaxx tried to move into the nest, but Tarquin held him firm. “The egg is going to be fine.” Eearwaxx was having none of that. He wriggled free of Tarquin’s grip and stumbled into the nest. He wrapped the blanket around the base of the egg, hoping the extra layer of warmth would help the developing wyrm survive. He rested his head against the egg, soaking in the tiny amount of heat it was radiating. “You will be ok,” he whispered.

Tarquin scowled then jumped into the nest, beelining for the harp before grabbing Eearwaxx by the collar. Octavian watched on from above, and, in a moment of madness that he could later not explain, dived into the nest and swooped over to grab the pendant.

Jankx couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and a moment later he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

A keening shriek reverberated from the icy passage overhead, echoing around the cavern like the toll of the dead. Jankx jerked his head up to see a huge silhouette hurtling down into the cavern. But it didn’t look like a dragon. It looked like a bird of prey.

“Roc! I told you!!” Octavian cried in terror.

---

“Get downstairs now!” Morgan cried as he and Ezra took a defensive stance atop the only path to safety.

Octavian shot into the air and rocketed toward the stairs. Eearwaxx tore out of Tarquin’s grasp (again!) and scrambled over to his Guardian. “Friend! Get me out of here!” Tarquin let out an exasperated sigh then followed with a forlorn glance at the too-large chest. Ahead Jankx leapt off the nest to the rooftop and Tarquin followed suit moments later.

Arlington stood calmly by Morgan’s side, judging there was at least several seconds before the rapidly closing bird was upon him. “Gentlemen,” he said, proffering the stairs as his terrified compadres raced over and down. “Eearwaxx you too!”

The scale of the Roc was unbelievable, the wingspan over one hundred feet and the shriek deafening. It plummeted toward Morgan and Arlington, who at the last moment scattered down the stairs and out of range.

The giant bird landed with a crunching thump that shook the tower to its foundations, loosening many of the remaining stalactites that shattered to the ground. It sliced its claws into the icy roof trying to carve a way through, screaming in fury at the violation of its nest. A moment the scratching stopped.

Morgan popped Ezra upstairs to see what was happening. The Roc had taken to the air, but finding no foes it landed again in the middle of the nest and started busily nesting its nest and reorganising its hoard. As it did it cast its beady eyes over and spotted Ezra. A split second later a massive wing sliced clean through the ghostly figure, far faster than Ezra could react. “Good decision not to stay up there,” Morgan reported as he sight returned.

Tarquin shot a look at Eearwaxx nestled in the safety of his Guardian. “I’m not angry you didn’t help me out of that nest, but I am disappointed.”

“I hope the egg’s alright,” Eearwaxx said utterly oblivious to Tarquin’s criticism.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “I’m sure the egg will be fine, Eearwaxx. It’s being cared for a by a very, very large bird.” From what he had seen through Ezra’s eyes he estimated it was at least as large as Arveiaturace, the ancient white dragon that haunted Icewind Dale.

“I don’t think the Roc is caring for the egg,” Eearwaxx said sadly.

“I’ve not heard that Roc’s will exhibit cuckoo behaviour,” Octavian nodded. He was still gripping the pendant he had risked so much for. He glanced at it and summised it was merely a bauble so tossed it to Jankx. “They are bower-birds, treasure collectors. It might nurture it, but I doubt it.”

“I would guess the egg of a dragon like that wouldn’t need much nurturing,” Arlington opined.

“It is possible a Roc egg just happens to look a lot like a silver dragon,” Octavian added, though he was certain it was dragon-laid.

“It was a dragon,” Eearwaxx cried. “What if it hatches? We should go and kill the Roc!”

Morgan shook his head. “We can’t kill something that big.”

“I don’t have that many arrows,” Arlington agreed.

“We could wait for it to fly away, but that is a large egg. It would be difficult to move,” Morgan said. “As would the chest.”

“Also even though the Roc’s nature might not be to nourish the egg, it might inadvertently,” Octavian said. “The egg was still warm.”

“That’s why I put a blanket around it,” Eearwaxx smiled.

“I would rather traipse three days through the snow, in a blizzard, than go back up there,” Tarquin said as he studied his new harp. The wood was exotic, and the ivory inlay was decorated with zircon gemstones. Very well made but not magical. He tried to tune it, failing badly as he did his best to play along to the sonnet he had composed.

He sung the final line with a flourish, staring at Eearwaxx who had no idea why.

“Very nice Tarquin,” Arlington frowned, “So Gentlemen. Nothing more we can do here. Where to?”

Auril’s Temple

The company stood on the threshold of the ice-gargoyle room. “She didn’t come this way,” Tarquin suggested.

“Tarquin makes a good point—she didn’t come this way if they are more than gargoyles,” Arlington said as he studied them. They did look like statuettes, but that didn’t mean much. “Or if she did, she got past them safely.”

“Based on our previous experience the likelihood of those guardians just being decorative is…small,” Morgan nodded. “Everyone mark one, and if anything happens you take care of yours.”

Morgan stepped cautiously inside the room. Nothing moved. He moved to the stairway. “They’re watching!” Arlington hissed. Morgan froze, turning to see that the two gargoyles nearest the entry had swivelled their heads to follow his path.

“They aren’t just statues, but they haven’t triggered,” Jankx warned, “Don’t attack them.” He knew of semi-passive guardians like this from his second-story work.

Morgan understood. Keeping a close eye on the gargoyles as they kept just as close an eye on him, he moved to the steps. Like those outside, they were four-foot tall, but unlike outside these were polished to a glistening sheen. Morgan put a tentative foot on one. “Rock hard, and very slippery,” he whispered as his crampon almost slid away, unable to get any purchase. “I’ll be careful,” he said as he started to step down.

“Stop!” Tarquin cried pulling a rope from his pack and tossing it to Morgan. He motioned to the Shield Guardian.

“Would you like me to ask my friend to hold it secure?” Eearwaxx offered. Tarquin nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Eearwaxx obliged and the Guardian wrapped the rope securely and stood impassively ready to bear the weight. Octavian fluttered down the ninety-foot stairway as his companions shimmied down on the rope—a second added once the length of the stairs was revealed.

The staircase descended into an enormous vaulted chamber. The floor, like the stairs, was diamond-hard and gleaming, like the surface of an frozen underground lake. A narrow archway opened to the north, a doorway lay just south, and a niche in which lay the remains of some creature was a little further south. The rest of the chamber was shrouded in darkness such was its size.

Octavian landed gently atop the frozen floor. A moment later he gasped and jumped back into the air as he saw the shadow of something moving below the ice. “I saw it too,” Arlington whispered from atop the final step. It was very still and very quiet, the only sound the laboured breath of his companions. He couldn’t judge how far under the floor the movement was, but the ice looked very thick.

“Might just be a trick of the light,” Octavian said hopefully.

Morgan pointed to the dead creature. “A giant—but only the skeleton.” The massive skeletal figure still had armour, and a weapon that looked like a huge anchor lay by its side.

“Arlington—before we move, has anyone been through here?” Octavian asked.

“It’s impossible to tell,” Arlington said. “There’s not a scratch on the surface. This is no normal ice.”

“You’re the best tracker in the whole of Icewind Dale! Has anyone been through here?”

“Yes.” Arlington glared.

Octavian smiled.

“At least one giant has been through here,” Arlington added. Damn this kobold.

“So you don’t know. Morgan?”

Morgan moved carefully south. The floor was as slippery as the steps but there was no luxury of a rope this time. “Fighting on this would be precarious,” he warned. The sound of his crampons plinking on on the ice echoed through the chamber. He paused at the doorway ahead of the skeleton. A symbol was carved into the ice in the centre of the door: a hand with a shard of ice piercing the palm.

---

“What the fuck is that?” Arlington whispered. “A religious symbol? Sacrifice, pain, the regular religious stuff.”

“It’s not a magical symbol,” Eearwaxx offered.

Morgan moved to the body. “He’s lying where he fell by the looks,” Morgan observed. “His weapon off to the side and he’s sprawled unnaturally.”

“There’s no flesh on it,” Tarquin noticed. “And it’s still intact—the bones aren’t scattered.”

He stared wide eyed at the skeleton, then spun and hustled back to the steps and perched on the lowest. He opened his spellbook and flipped to a spell he suddenly had the urge to try, one that might bring the dead giant back to life.

Tarquin watched Eearwaxx with concern, wondering what he was preparing. Looking after the boy was hard work, and now he was able to unleash hellflame at a moment’s notice. He shuddered, whispering a poem that formed in his mind.

“Unless something else was at play,” Morgan pondered, “For something to have decomposed to bare bones at this temperature would take a very long time.”

“Like the furniture upstairs,” Arlington agreed. He knelt down. “The armour is intact too. The bones have cut marks and, more relevantly, scorch marks.” He rubbed his fingers along the charred leather beneath the armour, finding his thumb blacked by ash. He sniffed it. “Ah. This damage is fresh.”

“Eyepatch,” Morgan breathed softly.

“We’re close behind,” Octavian nodded.

Arlington leant down to whisper to Morgan. “What do you reckon about the idea that this may have been animate before she came downstairs?”

“It’s a strong possibility. He would have had to have been burnt good.”

“I think she’s capable of that.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as likely that someone—Patch—found the corpse and then burned everything off it,” Octavian said, overhearing, “To see if there was anything underneath? It would be hard to get rid of all the flesh.”

“No, no, the flesh is long gone,” Arlington said. “This skeleton stood here, without its flesh, and she attacked the skeleton. I sensed undead when I was upstairs, but I figured it was her kobolds skulking about.”

“Undead Frost Giants. Beautiful,” Jankx smiled grimly.

“That makes more sense,” Morgan nodded to Arlington’s analysis. He noticed another door to the south and moved over to it. It also had a symbol, this one a single snowflake inside a double-lined square.

---

“This is a symbol of Auril,” Morgan said.

“There is some meaning to the fact it is enclosed in a square,” Tarquin added, recalling similar icons from religious history. “It’s not just the symbol, it’s contained in some way.”

Octavian nodded—it was a good observation. “This makes me even more nervous we are getting closer to something, closer to Auril.”

“Is it that she is being held? And the object is to release her?” Tarquin guessed. “Not for us, but for her worshippers.”

“Do we open one of these doors?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t think we should,” Tarquin said. “I think at this point, according to the symbol and the fallen skeleton, that this door may well hold Auril. And if this door holds Auril then I don’t know what the others conceal.”

“Let’s check the entire chamber before opening anything,” Octavian suggested to general agreement. Jankx offered to scout ahead, slipping on the boots from the dwarven vault. “Don’t get too far away,” Arlington warned.

Jankx nodded them moved away making not a sound as he moved, his flickering torch fading into the darkness. To the south he found another opening. He doused his torch and listened for movement, but all was quiet. He relit the torch and glanced down the revealed passage. It led to an anvil-shaped room with a door set into the far wall. He could barely make it out, but flanking the door there seemed to be two bas-relief carvings of male frost giants faces. He retreated back and reported his findings.

“Perfectly safe,” Octavian hazarded. The company decided to continue together instead of risking another solo venture. On the opposite side of the room another fallen skeleton lay, also charred and also intact. Eearwaxx felt his spell welling up inside him but held his fire.

“The room is symmetrical,” Morgan realised with sudden insight. “If we stood in the middle there are points going off like a star in six directions. Like a star…or a snowflake.”

With this observation Octavian’s nerves ratcheted higher still, and Tarquin was now convinced his Auril theory was correct. He moved to the south-east door and found he had to reconsider that certainty. The sigil carved into it was a broken shield with a spear piercing its middle.

---

“This looks less religious,” Tarquin frowned. “More something celebrating battle—or a failed battle. Maybe a tomb?” Recalling the shadow under the ice, he glanced down at his feet. Something was moving under the ice. Or was it? Almost as soon as he saw it was gone.

“This chamber is the prize,” Tarquin said to Arlington. “So where is Eyepatch?”

“None of the doors are opened,” Arlington observed in the darkness and pressing silence. “She’s come down here and taken out these two guards. Where has she gone?” It was a disquieting thought. He shrugged it off and moved with Octavian to the northern equivalent and found a panel of nine crosses in a grid, the centre one highlighted.

---

Octavian first thought was the crosses represented an army, to match the shield sigil. Then he suddenly knew the answer. “Finally I understand one,” Octavian said. “It represents isolation—like the statues garden outside. Something being singled out.”

Morgan called Jankx to the final opening at the north end of the chamber. It mirrored the one to the south, but instead of the faces there were two female giant carvings, both wielding greataxes, flanking the door. Morgan’s superior darkvision allowed him to notice something more. “There are words carved into the door,” he whispered.

“We need to get closer for me to read it,” Jankx said. He stepped toward the door and as he did the shadow under the ice passed beneath his feet. He shuddered and looked at the door—the frost giant carvings were looking at him! He gasped and quickly stepped back into the alcove behind him, waving a warning at Morgan. He doused his torch to be in utter darkness.

Octavian watched with horror, feeling things were quickly unravelling. “I’ve seen this play,” he hissed to Arlington and Tarquin. Arlington agreed. “Get Eearwaxx over here,” he hissed at Octavian. Eearwaxx was still poring over the fallen skeleton but grudgingly moved over to the centre of the room. Tarquin pulled his blade and wreathed it in a soft pastel-green glow.

Morgan waited but heard no movement, so he gingerly stepped out of the alcove and toward the door. His crampons tinked with each step, sounding more like a clarion call than the tiny sound it was actually making. The eyes of the bas-relief giants didn’t seem to be moving. He got close enough to see Dwarvish runes carved on the door. He cursed, not knowing the language—and then eyes of the giants suddenly focussed on him. He froze, then slowly backed away to Jankx. Tink tink tink. “There’s four lines of Dwarven script, but I can’t read it.”

“I can,” Jankx said regretfully. He didn’t want to get anywhere near the giants.

“I’ll light up my sword so you can read,” Morgan offered to a groan.

Jankx followed Morgan until he was close enough to read (which was too close to the bas-relief in Jankx’s estimation.)

“Not what we were expecting,” Jankx said as he reported back to the group. “Nothing to do with Auril.”

“But it parallels what our giant friend upstairs was talking about. Vassaviken must be their queen, or god?”

“I had just been thinking about him and how I directed him to the coast,” Arlington said guiltily. “I was wondering how many towns he will be passing through to get there.”

Morgan frowned making a mental map. “No—if he was going for the coast he doesn’t go through any towns,” he said. Caer-Konig was safe. Wasn’t it?

“We’ve seen everything. Now we have to make a choice,” Jankx said quietly, bringing things back to now.

“My position on this,” Tarquin opined, “Is that once all those doors are open, and all of the protectors are vanquished, what is beneath us will rise.” He pointed to floor just as another dark shadow flittered below.

“It’s possible,” Jankx nodded.

“And at the moment, behind one of these doors, is our immediate problem. Because there’s a battle going on that we don’t know about, as far as I can tell.”

“We still need to pick a door,” Morgan said, taking the wind out of Tarquin’s prognostications.

“I think we go where she’s gone already,” Tarquin shrugged, “Where the protectors have already been felled.”

“They’re empty,” Jankx said. “Nothing behind the rooms they were guarding.”

“So we don’t know where she’s gone already,” Arlington protested. “And there’s no way to tell as the skeletons are the only people she’s killed in here.”

“So North or south?” Jankx suggested.

“No! If we want to catch Eyepatch at a disadvantage we need to take the path she least expects,” Tarquin said.

“That’s just what she would expect us to do,” Morgan groaned, thus completing the circle.

“What about this door?” Jankx randomly decided, leaning in to listen at the door with the broken shield sigil. It sounded safe so he stepped aside to let Morgan use his strength to open the heavy door.

“Why don’t we ask my Guardian to open the door?” Eearwaxx suggested as he watched Morgan brace.

“Let’s just see if I can open it first,” Morgan grumbled, “I opened the ones upstairs.”

“Don’t emasculate him, Eearwaxx,” Arlington deadpanned.

Morgan rolled his eyes and shoved the door. It opened with ease, sliding smoothly on the polished ice. Inside was an oddly shaped corridor with elaborate panoramas of winter scenes etched into the walls. Morgan stepped cautiously inside, followed by his fellows. The carvings showed people persevering against the storms, beasts, and huge mountains of Icewind.

“There’s a door ahead,” Morgan pointed. As everyone drew close, a word resolved above the lintel.

“It’s Sicilian kobold—I’ll translate,” Octavian said, surprised.

“No? It’s High Barovian,” Morgan corrected.

“I don’t know what that even is,” Tarquin said, “But it says Endurance.”

“We’re all seeing it in our own native language,” Morgan realised.

Tarquin nodded, looking back at the carvings on the wall. “The carvings, and the sigil, all represent some form of Endurance. To hold out against the odds, to defend.”

“It’s a test,” Octavian said softly.

“And we’re not doing this one,” Arlington said, turning and walking back into the cavern. “Let’s just get the lay of the land before we start pushing off in any stupid directions.” He moved to the nine-cross door and tapped his crampon impatiently.

Morgan pushed it open to reveal another arm of the snowflake. The scenes in this corridor showed people alone, no friends or allies, struggling for survival against the cold. This time Tarquin didn’t need to read the word about the door: “Isolation,” he muttered.

“Isolation,” Morgan read in Elvish, nodding to Eearwaxx. “These are all tenets of Auril! All aspects of her.”

“What does a snowflake in a box mean?” Arlington asked.

“Preservation. Frozen in ice, like the statues outside.”

Inside that door the carvings confirmed the theory—Icewind residents collecting food and supplies into stores, drying out sides of venison and curing piles of Knucklehead trout.

Morgan moved to the final door with the pierced palm. “This one eludes me,” he said.

“When you get cold everything hurts more?” Arlington suggested, trying to keep up with the quick wits of Tarquin and Morgan.

“Suffering,” Tarquin corrected.

“That’s it!” Morgan nodded, pushing the door. The scenes on the wall showed brutality and unkind death, but when the word above the lintel resolved itself everyone’s stomachs sunk. “Oh no. Cruelty,” Morgan said quietly.

“Well. That’s all the doors,” Arlington said breaking the uncomfortably silence. “Morgan, with you great knowledge of this god—what’s likely to be behind the doors of each of these named tenets?”

“A test,” Tarquin interrupted before Morgan could speak. “That’s not from my knowledge of a god, but from my knowledge of the narrative of story.

“This feels like a temple of Auril, so…” Morgan said.

“So this one—Cruelty. Does that mean there’s going to be something cruel behind the door? Whereas Preservation is going to have frozen meat?”

“All of them will represent a trial,” Tarquin said.

“Or nothing,” Morgan shrugged.

“One can’t pass through the eye of the needle without following the narrative thread,” Tarquin said poetically.

“We haven’t checked the southern door,” Arlington said, delaying any decision.

The frost giant bas-reliefs flanking the final door had been defaced, their features chipped away. Newer carvings above the door depicted the glowering heads of an owl, a wolf, and a goat.

“Pagan symbols,” Tarquin ventured.

“Some of Auril’s forms,” Morgan corrected, “She is said to be a shapechanger.”

“There is a lot of mythology about her forms,” Eearwaxx nodded, “But how many is uncertain. Her worshippers would claim she could take an infinite amount.”

“I’m starting to get confused,” Tarquin said, “Because we’re in a temple to Auril, yes, but it is protected by Frost Giants that have been cast aside.”

“Maybe she took it from them?” Morgan said. “It was literally just a Frost Giant fortress.”

“Or an older religion, like when they build a temple to Duerra on top of a church of the Morninglord,” Octavian said.

“Ah. Undead Frost Giants protecting their queen’s tomb,” Tarquin nodded.

“If it’s the queen’s tomb, as you say, maybe the door to the north leads to that since it’s guarded by the women,” Arlington said scratching his frozen beard.

“Whatever we have here, we face a series of trials,” Tarquin concluded.

“Then just pick one,” Morgan said impatiently.

“South,” Arlington said.

“The girl giants,” Eearwaxx said pointing north.

“Preservation,” Tarquin said.

“We’re looking for Eyepatch!” Arlington cried.

“Octavian?” Morgan said, hoping for a tiebreaker.

“I’m not sure. But we’re here, so let’s go south.”

Morgan nodded. “And assuming we survive this, I agree with Eearwaxx that we should probably check the north door next.”

“There are trials on the other paths that I think we need to face too,” Tarquin warned, “The story is never ‘jump to the ending’.”

“Tarquin? Shhhhh,” Arlington scowled.

“One doesn’t just go to the last page,” Tarquin continued despite himself.

Morgan put his hand on the door ready to shunt it open, but it started to move with almost no pressure. “These doors have been opened,” he said quietly.

Arlington hefted his crossbow for the first time in some time. “Get out of the way, Tarquin.”

Morgan pushed the door open. Another door stood opposite, and inside the small chamber were four tablets of ice, each ten feet tall, seven feet wide, and one foot thick, sitting upright on plinths that were also carved from ice. Script was chiselled into the tablets, and like the lintels, the writings were comprehensible to all in a native voice.

Octavian fluttered into the air to scan the tablets quickly. “Each one represents a tenet of Auril,” he said.

Cruelty. “Compassion makes you vulnerable. Let cruelty be the knife that keeps your enemies at bay.”

Endurance. “Exist as long as you can, by whatever means you can. Only by enduring can you outlast your enemies.”

Isolation. “In solitude you can understand and harness your full potential. Depending on others makes you weak.”

Preservation. “Every flake of snow is unique, and that which is unique must be preserved.”

Octavian found himself nodding as he read each script—this religion made some good points. Eearwaxx scribbled the text into his notebook.

Tarquin glanced around the room and the tablets. “This room looks like it was made for these, or has been refashioned to house them. But these are a different scale to what the giants left behind.”

“Big but not giant big,” Octavian agreed.

“And the same conceit as the messages above the door lintels in that the language can be read by all.”

“When the frost giants were here, maybe they worshipped Auril,” Morgan said thoughtfully, “And now it’s almost like there is a different way of worshipping.”

“Latterday fanatics have repurposed this place,” Arlington agreed.

Jankx moved to the inner door and lent his ear to the ice. The silence from within seemed impossibly complete, so he leaned in closer, looking to the floor to reduce distraction. A massive black shadow surged up toward him from below the ice. With a yelp of fear he flinched away, tumbling to the ground in shock.

Everyone reacted quickly pulling weapons and staring at the ice to see what was coming. But there as nothing. Jankx panted with adrenalin, his heartbeat deafening. He shook his head at Morgan.

Morgan grimaced and moved to the inner door, settling his shoulders. “Everyone should get ready as this time for sure something bad is going to happen.” He pushed gently, assuming it would open easily like the others. It didn’t budge so he pooled all of his strength and shoved the door. Not even the hint of movement. Eearwaxx decided opening the door was more important than deemasculation and directed the Guardian to help. Nothing.

Eearwaxx asked the Guardian to try various means of opening the door, from pulling to pounding to wrenching apart. All failed.

Tarquin leant against the far wall and smirked. “You can’t just skip to the last page of the book.”

Arlington ignored the know-it-all bard. “Didn’t Eearwaxx have a spell that could open anything?”

“Knock!” Eearwaxx beamed.

“Do it,” Morgan nodded, “If you want to that is.”

“Not if he ‘wants’ to! You’re undermining me at every turn Morgan!” Arlington cried. “Cast knock for gods' sake boy!”

Eearwaxx was only too happy to oblige. A resounding knock echoed through the chamber as he cast, but the door stayed fast.

“I’m saying it’s not actually a door,” Arlington declared.

“There’s something else to happen first,” Jankx said. “This is not what we can do straight away. I hate to say it but—”

“Tarquin’s right,” Octavian finished.

Tarquin bowed with a low flourish. Morgan and Arlington sighed, turned and walked out, their minor altercation forgotten in the face of Tarquin’s supremacy.

---

The Trials of Auril

“Tarquin—where do we go first?” Arlington asked resignedly.

“Where does the story take us next?” Jankx added.

“We’re going to have to do all the tests so it doesn’t matter,” Octavian said.

“No, no, Octavian. Tarquin knows the way. Let’s follow him.”

Octavian smiled. “Yes Tarquin,” he said wryly, “Which one first?”

Tarquin grinned. “Cruelty.”

Morgan immediately turned and strode to the north.

“Only joking! Preservation first!” Tarquin called after the young warrior.

Morgan frowned. “My father always told me do the hardest test first.”

“He’s saving cruelty for last,” Octavian explained.

Taruin reflected on Morgan’s advice, but decided that whilst it might be the right approach for some, it wasn’t necessarily right here. Tarquin had been considering the shape of the story and realised the order was probably unimportant, but he wasn’t about to let on—he was having too much fun directing the narrative. He ushered everyone inside the boxed snowflake.

“Every flake of snow is unique, and that which is unique must be preserved,” Tarquin recited as Jankx stood at the door. The thief looked down at his feet but there was no shadow this time. He took a deep breath and listened. Again there was an otherworldly silence. “It’s as if there is a void behind the door, like something is missing, something not right. I don’t like it but there’s nothing to be done.”

Morgan pushed the door open.

The Trial of Preservation

Everyone found themselves suddenly outside in the frozen statue garden. Blades of wind gnawed as a blizzard raged all around. In the centre of the clearing a small human boy, maybe twelve years old, sat huddled before a small fire. He was shivering uncontrollably, and in clothes that seem too large for his small, thin body. He glanced over at Tarquin. “Please. I am so cold. I don’t want to die.”

Tarquin moved to the boy and knelt before him. The fire was providing barely any warmth and the boy looked badly malnourished. “Are you hungry?” Tarquin said cautiously.

“Y-y-yes,” the boy stuttered through chattering teeth.

“Are you cold?”

“F-f-freeezing.”

“How long have you been here?”

“My whole life.”

As the boy spoke Tarquin noticed something strange—the boy seemed to be growing taller before his very eyes. He shook his head and looked again. The boy was definitely changing.

Octavian ignored the boy and glanced around the statues, noting they were the same as the ones at the glacial wall. The only difference was there were several empty plinths. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to shake whatever illusion this was, but everything remained as true as life.

Janks pulled a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around the boy.

“Thank y-y-you,” the boy said pulling it tight. “But it’s still so cold. Save me. Stop the cold.”

In the firelight Eearwaxx noticed see a tiny, glowing, six-armed snowflake floating a few inches above his companions' heads. “We each have a symbol,” he said quietly, “But the boy doesn’t.”

Morgan took a defensive position at the fire and scanned the territory for danger. All he could see was the bodies of the Tiger tribe lying under a growing blanket of snow, the massive shape of the now toothless tiger obvious.

“I am too young to die,” the boy spoke again, his voice breaking slightly. Tarquin could see baby whiskers forming on his cheeks.

Jankx noticed it too. “It’s like he’s getting older in front of us.”

“Preservation eh?” Arlington said, impassively watching the boy. Arlington strode over to the boy and scooped him into his arms. He could feel sinewy muscles under the threadbare clothes that had moments ago been undeveloped.

“What-t-t are you doing to me?” the boy protested, a beard rapidly developing on his cheeks.

“I’m preserving you,” Arlington said, emotionless.

It’s so c-c-cold out here, take me back!”

Arlington ignored the now writhing teen and carried the now quite heavy child over to one of the empty plinths and stood the boy atop it. An instant later the young man was snap frozen, joining the animals in eternal stillness.

The Temple of Auril

Everyone reappeared in the temple. Above Arlington’s head a second sigil had appeared: a boxed snowflake joining its sibling.

Tarquin bowed to Arlington. “The Preserver.”

“It’s just a simple narrative,” Arlington shrugged, pleased but trying not to show it. He had a brief moment of regret at what he had done, taking the life of a living boy. Preserved, but not alive. For a moment he thought about begging for forgiveness from his companions, but he blinked the thought away. “Let’s move on, people.”

“I’m considering how the tests work,” Octavian said looking at Arlington’s new sigil. Does only one person need to get all four? Or one each?"

“You want to split the party?” Tarquin joked.

“Octavian, why don’t you take the lead on this one?” Arlington said standing in front of Cruelty.

“I don’t know if we can now. Since you killed that boy you go that sigil.”

“You didn’t have any problem with anyone else I’ve killed. And that’s not even my first twelve year old if I’m honest.”

“I’ve got no problem,” Octavian said, studiouly ignoring the honesty. “I’m just saying that the tests might be designed that you need to complete the next. Anyway, we’re at cruelty.”

“Well…I’ve been there before,” Arlington chuckled.

Jankx found the same deathly silence at the door. Tarquin filled it with a recital of the tenet: “Compassion makes you vulnerable. Let cruelty be the knife that keeps your enemies at bay.”

“Understood. We’ve all killed a deer to lead a bear away,” Arlington declared as Morgan opened the door.

The Trial of Cruelty

This time everyone was transported to a large frozen room, the walls of which were lined with knives of varying sizes and shapes. There was one door, which did not seem to have an obvious lock or even a handle. On the door an image of the Frostmaiden was carved out from the ice, displaying her owl-like face and large, curved horns. The one notable feature was that an eye seemed to be missing from the carving.

Sitting on the floor in front of the door was an Icewind kobold that reminded Octavian of Meepo. It looks over at him and smiled weakly but didn’t speak. Octavian scowled when he saw it only had one eye, the other just a ragged hole.

“Off you go, Octavian,” Arlington said softly. “It’s just an illusion boy, get over it.”

“It’s not an illusion,” Octavian scowled, “And nor was that boy if you’re trying sooth your conscience.”

“Seek the greater goal,” Tarquin pushed.

Octavian walked to the kobold and held his face to study the empty eye socket. It had been cut out, brutally. “What is in the eye in the door?” he said over his shoulder.

“Nothing, it’s empty,” Morgan reported after checking. “And the other one is just a carving.”

“We’re not interested in that eye,” Arlington said coldly. “We’re interested in the eye in the kobold. Octavian.”

“If you’re suggesting I carve the eye out of this kobold, Arlington, I’m not doing it,” Octavian scowled. “You already killed the boy—you need to complete the pattern!”

Arlington pulled his boar-knife free from his belt and walked toward the kobold. The tiny creature whimpered in horror and reached a hand to Octavian.

Octavian froze, not knowing what to do. “What are you implying, Arlington?”

Arlington loomed over the kobold and pointed the tip of his blade. “This boy’s one remaining eye needs to go into the statue.”

The kobold started to shake with fear, clutching Octavian.

“Who is our enemy?” Tarquin said quietly.

“Auril,” Arlington said simply.

Eearwaxx was observing the flakes above everyone’s heads, trying to learn more about them. “Our flakes have lost one of their arms,” he said. “And another is slowly fading too. We’re on a timer.”

“Ok Octavian, if you won’t hold him still—Morgan! Hold it down,” Arlington ordered.

“Compassion makes you vulnerable,” Tarquin intoned.

Octavian held a hand out to stop Morgan’s approach. He knew what had to happen but couldn’t let his kin just be brutalised. Flashes of the Skyreach massacre flooded his mind. He cursed, glared at Arlington, and spoke a spell. The tiny kobold froze in his arms, its one eye darting about but its body stilled.

“Let cruelty be the knife that keeps your enemy at bay,” Tarquin chanted.

Octavian put his hands over the kobolds mouth. “Arlington.”

“Oh my gods,” Jankx said, turning away.

Arlington lent down and used the tip of the blade to carve the eye free. He walked the sticky, twitching, aqueous eyeball over to the carving and shoved it into the empty receptable.

The Temple of Auril

A second sigil floated above Arlington, the icicle piercing the palm like his blade had pierced the kobold. He looked down at his hand and was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to clean his glove of the dripping remains of the eye. He flung it free and desperately poured water over his naked hand, rubbing it again and again against the icy floor and his clothing.

Octavian turned away, disgusted. In the frozen wall his reflection stared back at him and he groaned. He too had the sigil. He vomited. Tarquin put a hand on Octavian’s shoulder, but Octavian angrily shook it off.

“You’re the ones that put the storytelling mask on me—I’m not the one who’s doing things,” Tarquin protested.

Arlington pulled himself together, wiping his blade clean, and walked over to stand with his face an inch away from Tarquin’s. “It’s just. A. Simple. Narrative. Tarquin.”

Tarquin held Arlington’s gaze. “I’ll lead the next one.”

The Trial of Endurance

“Exist as long as you can by whatever means you can. Only by enduring can you outlast your enemies,” Tarquin intoned holding his hand against the next door before shoving it open.

An overcast sky hung heavy in a dimly lit valley surrounded by mountains. Tarquin found himself standing atop a frozen lake, his companions nearby. The ice underfoot was unusually clear and free of snowfall, allowing him to see through it. A faint light glistened far below: a frozen sigil floating deep in the dark waters.

“Do we need to get to that?” Morgan asked, following Tarquin’s gaze.

“I assume we do.” Tarquin shifted his feet to test the ice, finding it solid, but not as solid as the diamond-hard ice from Grimskalle.

Morgan nodded. “Then I’ve got this one.” He shrugged his gear off, putting his shield and backpack in a pile, then pulled an icepick from his pack and started chipping away at the ice. As cracks started to spread, he moved to spots in between to try and contain the spread.

Arlington withdrew in case Morgan’s hacking caused a calamity in the ice, and everyone followed suit—Tarquin even removed his encumbrances. He was fully expecting a catastrophic failure of the ice and started deep breathing to prepare.

Arlington raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing you can do—”

“Isn’t there?” Octavian said, popping his wings and hovering a foot above the ice.

“—unless you’re him,” Arlington finished, dropping his crossbow to the ice even so.

Tarquin continued his breathing, shivering hard now he was furless. He cast a quick spell to aid Morgan and Arlington, and further bolstered Jankx’s heroism, intuiting that the rogue may have a part to play in this expedition.

“A couple more taps and the ice is going to go,” Morgan warned.

“Steady now,” Arlington warned. “One more tap.”

“I don’t know if I can control what will happen. The ice is less steady than it should be—move back.”

“It’s perfectly safe where we are,” Arlington scoffed, confident. Jankx wasn’t so sure, grabbing Morgan’s equipment and stepping away. Tarquin didn’t move, instead sitting on the ice, concentrating on his breathing and slowing his heartrate. He had said he would lead this and he had every intention of doing so. Morgan was merely a backup. It was damn cold though.

“You’re going to need spooning boy,” Arlington muttered.

Morgan lifted his pick, gave everyone a brief look, and banged it down.

The entire surface of the lake shattered.

Everyone but Octavian fell into the water, breath knocked away by the cold. Tarquin was more prepared, but even he felt the shock. Arlington watched with horror as his crossbow sunk into the water.

Morgan quickly overcame the shock of the water, turned and dove. He didn’t need to breathe, so the only worry was the cold. He could see the sigil, impossible to judge what depth, deep below him.

Jankx did his best to hold onto Morgan’s gear but the shield slipped away into the depths. He had kept his form stable until now, but there was no choice here. In an instant he changed—his skin changed to a leathery-scale, webs grew between his fingers and toes, and gills split through his neck. He turned and dived into the depths, following the trail of the rapidly sinking shield.

Octavian watched Jankx disappear, shocked but somehow not surprised at the sudden change. There had been something about Jankx that shifted when you looked at him, like looking through warped glass. A Triton was unexpected, but why not. It might have been handy to know that before Morgan and Tarquin volunteered their services, he mused. He swooped down and grabbed the bundle of Tarquin’s gear, hauling it into the air with some difficulty now it was soaking wet.

“Get my crossbow, boy!” Arlington yelled as he treaded water, sucking in gasps of air. He managed to raise a second eyebrow at Jankx’s change and could see Morgan heading into the depths. It struck him that there were quicker ways to descend than simply swimming, Morgan’s strength notwithstanding. He summoned an elephant seal and directed it toward Morgan, instructing it to assist the young man on his journey. Octavian obeyed Arlington’s cry, managing to juggle the weapon with Tarquin’s clothes.

Jankx managed to catch the shield, gliding through the water with fluid ease. He headed toward Morgan, who had to process the fact that not only was a massive seal was hurtling through water toward him, so too was a fish-man who looked a lot like Jankx. The Jankx-creature handed over the shield which helped speed Morgan’s descent.

Tarquin meanwhile was dropping like a stone, still in his meditative pose. He was of one mind, his only destination the sigil. He was at one with the cold, he was the cold, his body a temple to the overwhelming numbness it caused. There was only one way out of here and that was down.

Morgan followed the vortex created by the seal (which looked a little like…Arlington?) streamlining the dive even further. Despite his lack of breathing, the cold was starting to effect him. He could barely feel his hands and feet now, but gritted his teeth and swum on.

Tarquin was starting to feel the pressure of the depths, and his head felt like exploding as the cold tore at him. This was further down than he had expected. But inside he had a mantra and it kept his focus tight as he continued to drop: exist as long as you can by whatever means you can, exist as long as you can by whatever means you can.

Arlington continued paddling, keeping the seal busy and managing to hold the waters frozen claws at bay.

The seal was circling around the sigil, helping Morgan judge the distance. Just a little further. Just a little. Morgan shuddered again as a wave of aching cold spread through his body. The Jankx-creature was swimming by his side which gave him the encouragement he needed to continue.

Tarquin was starting to black out, flashes of light behind his eyes warning him that he was too deep, it was too cold, and it was too far. Exhaustion swept over him. He squeezed his eyes shut and blocked out the physical stress. I will endure. I embrace the pain. Those others with their tricks do not understand what endurance is. You must pass through the eye of the needle. Exist as long as you can by whatever means you can.

Morgan too was becoming exhausted, struggling to move. He felt a strange warmth and considered taking a small break to bask in it. Jankx sensed the danger, the water now so cold that it was below zero despite still being liquid. He drew by Morgan’s side and put a hand around Morgan’s waist to assist.

Octavian, slightly overconfident with his handfuls of gear, had flown over to try and see what was going on in the depths. As he peered down he suddenly felt his arms give way and drop Tarquin’s equipment and Arlington’s precious crossbow. He had a split second to decide what to go for, and dove down just in time to fling his staff toward the weapon. He snagged it by the taut bowstring and hoisted back to safety.

Arlington watched his crossbow fall and be rescued by Octavian for the second time. “Not by the string!” he cried through chattering teeth, trying to raise a third eyebrow before realising he was all out. He shivered as the cold penetrated his artic defences for the first time. “Drag Morgan down,” he whispered to the seal, who obeyed, shooting up and grabbing Morgan’s foot to drag him further down.

Tarquin tried his best not to realise he was fucked. He hadn’t saved anything for the trip back. This was it. He was a rock. Enduring. As long as you can. He decided it was permissible to also not die why you endure, and snuck himself a quick and blessed heal.

Morgan was only feet away when the cold and pressure finally got the better of him. A rifle of icy-pain shot through his body. But the sigil was right there. He reached out and wrapped his numb hands around it…and found himself on the floor of the temple, shaking with cold in a puddle of water.

Above his head the Endurance sigil circled, and by his side were Arlington and Octavian, both without.

Below the lake only Tarquin and Jankx remained. Tarquin was not far from the sigil now, so Jankx swum rapidly over and grabbed him. Tarquin was still conscious, but Jankx could see it was a fine line. The bard passed through the final wave of pressure as Jankx dragged him forward, reaching out for the sigil like he was reaching for nirvana. He vanished, joining his companions.

Jankx swum quickly to the surface to check everyone was safe, then dived to retrieve Tarquin and Morgan’s belongings which were slowly floating down into the unreachable depths. He had to admit enjoying the fluidity with which he moved, but it was time to go. He swum to the sigil and returned.

The Temple of Auril

Everyone but Jankx and Octavian was sodden, freezing, and shaking with cold. Jankx returned the equipment he had collected, Arlington noting with detached sorrow this his grandfather’s boar spear had been lost.

Tarquin, Jankx, and Arlington all had the new sigil, but there was no time for celebration.

“T-t-Tarquin—the hut,” Arlington managed to stutter out, “Right now.”

Tarquin waved the request away. “The s-s-story must be told. Endurance demands it.”

“But we…” Morgan started, before seeing the determination in Tarquin’s waterlogged eyes. “Ok—Eearwaxx we need to get back upstairs and set fire to that furniture, because we need to get warm now.”

“You wait here,” Eearwaxx said to his shivering companions. Octavian accompanied him, being the next most able. Eearwaxx led the way across the central chamber, but when he stepped on the first step the snowflake sigil above his head started to flicker and fade.

“Stop!” Octavian cried. “It seems we have once chance at these tests. We’ll need to find another way.” They returned to the group and explained.

“What about the skeletons?” Morgan said. “Bone will burn, won’t it?”

“Depends on how much fat is left in them,” Jankx said. “I fear they are too old.”

“No matter. I have a spell,” Octavian said, and a moment later a bonfire was burning at the base of the stairs. The fire wasn’t huge but it was enough to thaw numbed limbs and mostly dry sodden clothing. Octavian returned the crossbow, holding it by the string. Arlington frowned and immediately cut the string. “Needs to be retrung, it’s useless now.”

“Next time I’m not saving that crossbow,” Octavian muttered as he turned away. “Once the cold has passed, we need to get back onto the trials,” he warned the group. “We are on a timer of some kind and we can’t afford it to expire.”

Despite the pain and lack of recovery, everyone agreed, and after a short hour or the company felt stabilised. Tarquin spent some of the time backfilling the story, narrating as he did, the storytelling bringing a sense of calm to his weary frame. Despite the exhaustion, the story also instilled a sense of bardic inspiration in everyone.

“Thanks for your help with that one, and taking the lead,” Arlington said wryly as he listened. Tarquin nodded in a somewhat exhausted fashion.

The snowflakes had faded somewhat over the rest, but they still floated overhead.

The Trial of Isolation

“Someone is going to mentally crack in this test, and my money is on Tarquin,” Octavian predicted.

“He’s so close already, right?” Jankx quipped.

“What do you mean! I’m made to exist without an audience,” Tarquin grinned.

“You have been so far,” Arlington stung as he pushed open the door.

The final test landed everyone outside in the frozen tundra, huddled around a campfire. All around, inky blackness surrounded the site making it impossible to see more than ten feet past the fire. Out of the utter darkness came low growls and snarls, and the sound of heavy footsteps encircling. It felt that only the light was keeping everyone safe.

“In solitude you can understand and harness your full potential,” Tarquin recited, looking around the group before continuing. “Depending on others makes you weak.”

Despite the noises, everyone felt calm, and even sleepy, around the beating warmth of the fire.

“This is better than Octavian’s campfire,” Arlington observed to no-one in particular. “Anyway. Look away from the fire because else you can’t see into the dark.”

No-one could find fault with that logic, turning their backs to the fire to acclimatise their eyes. But despite the logic the darkness remained impenetrable, even to those with eyesight that could penetrate night—who felt uncomfortable with the severely restricted vision, not being used to it.

Morgan pulled out Iceblink and set it ablaze, but it too only lit a ten-foot radius. Tarquin closed his eyes to try and sense beyond the dark. His mind lit up with the enhanced sound of giants dragging their blood-soaked weapons and wolves slavering with hunger for flesh. He blinked his eyes open in a hurry.

Arlington swore he heard a moose—a white moose!?—whinny with deadly intent. He glanced at Tarquin.

Tarquin stared at Arlington with surprise, then nodded respectfully.

With sudden determination Arlington hefted his newly strung crossbow and stepped into the darkness, just as Morgan did the same on the far side of the bonfire.

Both were swallowed into the blackness.

There were no cries of pain or horror, just the sounds of the whatever else was out there. Jankx quickly shot a flaming arrow directly overhead, forlornly hoping it would light the area and reveal his friends. But as soon as it reached the ten-foot threshold it too vanished. “They’re gone,” he muttered.

Tarquin nodded slowly. He pulled his rapier free, lighting it green and blue, and stepped away.

Octavian, Jankx, and Eearwaxx remained. Jankx glanced at Octavian, who inclined his head to the darkness.

Jankx frowned. “Are you going to go?”

“Well eventually if everyone else goes, I’ll be by myself,” Octavian said smugly. He pointed to the snowflake above his head which had only three arms remaining.

Jankx nodded. He was enjoying the comfort of the fire, and was worried if he stayed any longer he might never leave, but Eearwaxx had to be dealt with first. “Eearwaxx are you ready?”

“Yes,” Eearwaxx said softly, reaching up and grabbed his guardian’s hand. He wasn’t sure if he was comforting the guardian, or comforting himself.

“Go. You need to step away from the comfort and into the darkness.”

Eearwaxx didn’t hesitate, pulling on the shield guardian and stepped into the black.

A moment later both were back at the foot of the fire. Eearwaxx collapsed to the ground shaking with fear and terror, unconscious a moment later. Jankx rushed to his side.

“My plan won’t work now,” Octavian said quickly, pointing at Eearwaxx and the now two-armed snowflake that floated over his head. He stepped backwards into the night and vanished.

Jankx slapped Eearwaxx awake and hauled him to his feet. The young wizard was pale, his eyes haunted. What had he experienced out there?? No time. He freed Eearwaxx’s hand from the grip of the shield guardian “I’m sorry Eearwaxx, but this one you must do alone.”

Jankx shoved the shocked wizard into the inky black. He pulled out his water bottle, doused the fire, and walked into the darkness.

The slavering and snarling pressed down causing Jankx to flinch—but nothing touches him. He started to run, hoping to find safety, stumbling as imagined horrors leapt toward him. The darkness was endless, everywhere, everything. It went on forever and there was no escape, no relief, no light. No, no, no. I can’t. I can’t.

Jankx felt his sanity slipping away. The hunt. The darkness. Eternity.

Suddenly a flickering, spinning light appeared. He sprinted toward it, soul stretched to its limits, and embraced the floating sigil.

The Temple of Auril

Jankx, or something shaped like Jankx, was the last to return. He collapsed on ground, only partly conscious, breathing rapidly. He was featureless, a white, amorphous humanoid, twitching and shuddering. There was no character, no Jankx.

As everyone watched in horror the figure started to shift forms. One moment he was an orc, back to the blank slate, then an elf, the triton from the lake, blank, a creature from beyond the stars, and then…it was Jankx. He still shifted briefly into amorphousness, but it kept returning to Jankx now instead of the unknown others.

Tarquin cast detect magic at ‘Jankx’, seeking abjuration, thinking Jankx might be casting unconscious spells of disguise, but there was nothing.

Without thinking, Arlington found his crossbow pointing at the creature that was Jankx. “I have heard of a species which has the ability to shapeshift,” Arlington said quietly. “Not from somewhere I have travelled, but others of my acquaintance have told me of such.”

Octavian conjured another fire as Morgan helped Eearwaxx to the fire. The young wizard looked shattered, exhausted. But his empathy was still strong, and he reached a hand over to comfort Jankx. Jankx flinched before realising it was Eearwaxx. He finally seemed to have settled into his known form, his breathing returning to normal.

Octavian watched the interaction intently, relieved when Jankx didn’t turn into Eearwaxx. He feared a bodysnatcher of some kind, but it appeared Arlington was probably right.

Morgan crouched by the fire, and Octavian was surprised to see the young warrior looked just as wiped out as Eearwaxx—the first time he had appeared anything other than full of energy. He turned to Jankx, who he developed a great respect for, and even closeness to, over the course of their adventures. “You didn’t…you didn’t look like you for a bit there.”

“You saw how I really look,” Jankx said softly after a beat. “I can look many ways, but I am the same person.”

Morgan nodded, not detecting any falsehood in what Jankx said, as he had expected. “This is Jankx,” he said, looking around. Octavian relaxed his staff which he had ready to strike down the doppelganger. “And who am I to judge,” Morgan added quietly. Jankx smiled.

“We have passed all the tests,” Octavian said glancing around the company, “Though none have passed all.” Above his head floated Cruelty and Isolation. Arlington had the same, with the addition of Preservation. Jankx, Morgan, and Tarquin all had both Endurance to Isolation, whilst Eearwaxx had Isolation alone.

“And the snowflake is still fading,” Arlington groaned, “Which means we’re still on the clock.” He was bone tired, though not as tired as most of his exhausted employees.

“This isn’t my speciality,” Morgan said, “But I assume the door has to be touched by people with a combination of all of the symbols?”

“That would be my guess,” Jankx nodded.

“Let’s find out—we have to get moving,” Octavian said pointing to the flake.

Everyone climbed to their feet and headed back, aching limbs protesting with every step. Eearwaxx, lost in thought, was the last to exit and step into the vaulted chamber.

Eyepatch

As he did so the each of the doors around the room slammed closed with a echoing thud. A woman’s voice whispered through the cavernous space, seemingly coming from everywhere.

“Finally we meet again—it has been too long. Did you find the message I left you in Caer-Konig? Such dear souls, such a nasty death…”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the words. “Eyepatch!!” he hissed.

As if to confirm his thought, at the northern reaches of the chamber a flare of light illuminated a figure with a shock of white hair and a patch over one eye. By her side stood six undead kobolds.

---

She raised both her hands in the air and the two piles of giant bones were reanimated and lifted into unlife, then Vellynne vanished again into darkness.

---

Morgan could see nothing but a woman with one eye who had murdered his friends. He pulled Iceblink free and charged. A moment later he realised that the ice was far too slippery for fast movement, so he controlled his pace but not his singular intent. Before he got too far ahead Tarquin reached out and blessed him with inspiration: “Go get ‘em Ray’.”

“Don’t go chasing waterfalls, fellows,” Arlington warned as he watched his young warrior protégé head into the darkness.

“Just stick to the rivers and lakes that we’re used to?” Morgan called over his shoulder.

Octavian ignored this inanity, shapechanged into a falcon, and shot up into the far reaches of the vaulted ceiling, racing north to try and find Vellynne and her kobold troupe. The kobolds were clear, but he was dismayed to find Eyepatch was nowhere to be found. Instead, her voice echoed once more around the icy chamber. “I have mastered Auril’s tests, received her blessings…now you shall receive mine!”

An exploding sphere of negative energy rippled out from the centre of the company engulfing all but Octavian in a circle of death. The shock was immediate and it hurt. Despite the pain, Tarquin was relieved to see the sphere didn’t persist as it sucked back in on itself.

From out of the blackness to the north three kobolds appeared, one hurling a wild javelin at Arlington, who bent like a reed in the wind to get out of its path with ease. Arlington launched dual crossbow bolts in reply, dropping it instantly. “It’s good to be killing kobolds again, I have to say,” Arlington smiled as he calmly reloaded. His smile was wiped away when the second kobold’s javelin sunk into his thigh.

Jankx noted the third kobold was rather larger than your average kobold—if not quite Octavian’s stature—with two slavering fangs. It reminded Jankx of a…vampire? He shuddered and thunked a bolt into its chest then retreated behind Tarquin.

Eearwaxx patted his guardian on the shoulder, pointed in the direction of where Vellynne had been, and gave a simple command: “Blast them.” The guardian obeyed, releasing the fireball Eearwaxx had cleverly stored inside. A squeal of terror, pain, and death told everyone that those kobolds were no more. The explosion lit up the far end of the chamber, revealing the remaining kobolds. Eearwaxx didn’t hesitate, unleashing his own fireball on the cluster.

The entire northern reaches were now bathed in the flaming light (“I’m blinded by the light, revved up like a deuce!” Arlington cried as he shielded his eyes), but Vellynne was nowhere to be seen. “She’s invisible!” Octavian hollered from above.

Tarquin stepped forward. “Sing us a song, piano man!” Arlington cried. Tarquin shot a single bolt at an injured kobold, finishing its short life with a shot through the heart.

Morgan continued his inexorable movement, treading ever forward with deadly intent. His eyes were blank and face set. He heard a clatter of bones from his left and glanced over to see the reformed giant skeleton lumbering forward. It was well out of melee range, but as Morgan turned away he felt the glowing blue eyes of the creature boring into him, like it was trying to inject cold into his pores. Morgan grunted and shook it off, refusing to be waylaid from his goal.

Everyone had been ignoring the other frost giant skeleton, despite it being very close by. It stepped forward and beamed its eyes into Eearwaxx who was closest, and Eearwaxx too managed to turn away the glare. The skeleton was unperturbed, swinging its massive anchor into the Shield Guardian. Both swings were easily parried away, and the second got tangled in the guardian’s mechanics drawing a groan of frustration from the skeleton.

As Morgan continued ahead a overlarge kobold appeared out of nowhere and leapt atop him, trying to bury its teeth into his neck. Morgan swiped it aside with cold indifference.

“Vampire kobold!” Octavian warned from the air. He was surprised Morgan hadn’t summoned Ezra but figured the young warrior must have a plan. By his estimation Arlington and company seemed to have everything under control, so he flew further north, checking the far alcoves for any sign of Vellynne. He figured if she could be taken down—and he had seen the short work Morgan had made of the Reghed leader—all the rest would be fodder. But there was still no sign of her. He cursed and flew toward the last empty chamber in the north-east corner.

Once again Vellynne’s voice boomed through the chamber. “Hahaha you fools! Ythryn will be Faerûn’s doom, and I will be the harbinger!”

A bolt of sparking lightning raced out of the very alcove Octavian was heading toward, crackling south directly into the path of Arlington, Tarquin, and Jankx, who were neatly lined up. Surprisingly only Arlington was struck, the bolt petering out just ahead of Tarquin who breathed in the sharp electric odour with relief. Arlington on the other hand arched in agony as the charge shot through his every nerve.

Morgan watched the trail of the lightning (noting with satisfaction that her single eye had caused her to misjudge the distance) and turned toward its source. He was surprised that he couldn’t see her, but he could definitely see where it originated from. He fixed the spot in his mind and strode toward it, all but ignoring the undead kobold that this time managed to latch its fangs into his neck. Morgan paffed it away, not bothering to retaliate as he continued to move steadily toward Vellynne.

Arlington, having recovered, decided it was time to run like the wind to be free again. He used his zephyr movement to pass Morgan, managing not to slip in the process, and shot wildly. The first bolt flew harmlessly into the ice, but the second hammered into the invisible necromancer who gasped with surprise. A jet of blood splurted onto the ice directly ahead. “Here!” Arlington cried.

Jankx was too far away to take advantage so he unloaded a crossbow bolt into the nearest skeleton instead. The bolt hit with shocking efficacy, the entire ribcage of the beast shattering into pieces. Eearwaxx’s friend followed up with a fist pounding that left the skeleton barely more than a walking backbone.

Arlington heard the bones flying. “Eearwaxx! We need to kill these with fire! That’s how she did!” he called over his shoulder.

Eearwaxx heard, and agreed, but had other plans first. He cast a dispel magic at the area near where Arlington stood, hoping it would reveal Vellynne. The spell took hold—but she didn’t appear. Her magic was too powerful, Eearwaxx realised with disappointment.

Tarquin called a word of inspiration to encourage Eearwaxx, then followed with a similar but simpler solution, casting a zone of slowness that covered Arlington and (hopefully) Vellynne. Even if she remained invisible, she would struggle to get out of range of the melee warriors. Before he could tell if it had worked he was suddenly overcome with a cold beyond cold, a cold that filled his every vein and cell, a cold that promised a quick and painless death.

As the frost reached inside him, he whispered the mantra of Endurance, his last hope that the sigil above his head might save him: “Exist as long as you can, by whatever means you can. Only by enduring can you outlast your enemies.” He toppled to the ice, paralysed by the giant skeleton that was hunkering toward him.

Octavian, blind to Tarquin’s plight, was struck by an idea from Eearwaxx and Tarquin’s spells. He intoned one of the weakest spells in his arsenal and flooded the area below him with brilliantly coloured water that glowed with druidic magic. He grinned with satisfaction as a moment later the sodden outline of Vellynne appeared directly ahead of Arlington, still invisible but silhouetted by glistening water.

She hissed with anger at being revealed before opening her arms in an arc from which a cone of cold which exploded over Arlington and Morgan—and the lonely vampire kobold. Arlington staggered back as Morgan found himself taking the full force of the freeze, struggling to keep moving in the gale.

Vellynne laughed and vanished into the mists, appearing thirty feet further away from the incoming assailants. Octavian frowned as she reappeared, noting she was already becoming hard to see. “She’s vanishing again! Mark her!!”

Arlington didn’t hesitate, two bolts peppering the rapidly fading necromancer causing more blood to gush to the ice. Realising he was tanking this fight, he retreated and shifted away out of her line of sight. “This is urgent! Urgent! Emergency!” he screamed at Morgan, who agreed though thought this was rather stating the obvious.

Morgan, irritated by Vellynne’s continued avoidance of his weapon, turned it instead on the vampire kobold. With two swift blows he returned it to the death from whence it came. He spun back toward Vellynne and this time moved as fast as he could, staying on his feet and getting almost into range. And now, finally, he called Ezra forth, causing Vellynne to jerk her head in surprise as the ghostly figure appeared beside her. Ezra managed one quick blow before Vellynne could react and avoid the second. Vellynne glared at Morgan as she started to vanish, now almost gone. “Clever, boy, but not clever enough!”

At the back of the room Jankx sprinted toward the collapsed form of Tarquin who looked for all money to be dead. The skeleton was almost atop him and he wasn’t moving. Swallowing hard Jankx changed himself into the form of the vampire kobolds, hoping against hope that it might create confusion in the no doubt tiny brain of the giant skeleton. He leapt over Tarquin, putting himself in the path of the towering creature, and fired off a desperate bolt. For the second time in a row he hit hard, his righteous action in defending Tarquin being rewarded by a second shower of shattered ribcage.

Eearwaxx’s guardian pulled its fists back and bludgeoned more bones off the other rapidly deboning giant. The young wizard saw Tarquin needed help too and scuttled between the guardian’s legs to reach the fallen bard, exposing his back to a swinging anchor which gouged a rip through his back. He gasped with pain and almost collapsed, but was determined to help Tarquin. He let rip with a lightning bolt that rattled the bones of the incoming giant—but didn’t stop it.

Jankx, standing over Tarquin, was relieved to see the bard was slowly starting to rouse. He was less relieved to see the giant turn its attention to him. It swung its anchor in a loop and bludgeoned Jankx in the chest with the first blow, then caught him again on the shoulder on the follow through. Jankx grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. The second giant followed suit, finally hitting the Shield Guardian and denting the armour with repeat blows, much to Eearwaxx’s annoyance.

With Vellynne about to vanish, and his companions all under heavy fire, Octavian realised he only had one shot, one opportunity. He launched a guiding bolt into the necromancer causing her to rock back with the impact—and glow with a mystical dim light that glittered over her shadowy form. “We have her!” Octavian cried.

“Curse you!” Vellynne cried, dropping all pretence of invisibility. Morgan could see she was hurt, wounds visible from the crossbow and Octavian bolts. She whispered a few words and suddenly there were four Vellynne’s standing in the alcove—all smiling and promising destruction. All four turned to Morgan and spoke in a chorus. “I had hoped to have your dead friends here too, but the fools burnt the bodies!”

Arlington glanced over to Morgan and was impressed to see the barbs and slights from Vellynne were having no impact—nothing but grim determination was etched on Morgan’s face. He turned to the back of the room, seeing the giants were causing a lot of problems. He fired twice at the one engaged with the guardian and finished it for good. He glared at Jankx and Eearwaxx. “Why am I cleaning up the rubbish at the back—that’s your job! We’re dealing with the main game up here!”

Jankx frowned at Arlington’s words as the final skeleton loomed over Jankx. “Fuck it,” he swore, ignoring his better urges to get the hell out of there. He jammed his crossbow into its crotch and fired, shattering its pelvis. Eearwaxx’s guardian follow up a pounding blows, and Eeerwaxx himself unleashed a bolt of crackling blue witch lightning to follow up from his earlier strike. The giant skeleton arced back as the lightning hit before shattering into a pile of inert bones on the ice.

Tarquin groaned as he came slowly back to life, his limbs and head aching like never before. He brushed off the coating of frost as his mind gradually unthawed. His body felt like it was moving through tar as it found its strength again. Eearwaxx and Jankx were lifting him to his feet, and h glanced thankfully at his companions. Seeing they too were badly injured, he sung a quick verse of mass healing as the battered company turned their attention to the north and strode forward as one. “Rising up, back on the ice, Did our time, took our chances, Went the distance and now we’re back on our feet—Just three men and their will to survive.”

Morgan had not said a word for the entire battle, and wasn’t about to start now. He was faced with four Vellynne’s so he decided to cut them down one by one. He attacked with brute force, using Tarquin’s earlier inspiration to ensure the attacks were effective, but just as he felt the first blow about to strike he saw a shimmer of light around the Vellynne’s and they all somehow managed to avoid the blow. Such was the shock that Morgan’s second swing missed badly. He frowned and resettled his shoulders for his next attack.

Octavian landed with a crash, stomping his staff into the ice. A rolling tremor rocked the ice causing all four images to collapse to the floor. “That won’t do it,” they hissed at Octavian as they climbed to their feet. A sphere of poisonous yellow-green fog erupted around them, choking Octavian and Morgan and causing Ezra to dematerialise. Octavian felt his lungs burning as the poison ripped through him, but luckily Morgan seemed less affected.

Arlington marked the Vellynne’s and tried to shoot through all four. And all four reeled back as the bolt struck true, blood gushing onto the no-longer pristine ice. He cursed as all four remained, albeit all bleeding. He fired again, and this time one did disappear, but no damage was done. It was like hitting Ezra if there were three of him.

Jankx moved into range and surprised everyone with a firebolt instead of the more mundane physical version. The fire caused the three remaining necromancers to reel back as they battered at the flames. Eearwaxx misty stepped forward, avoiding the risk of slipping, then called upon an oldie but a goodie: four magic missiles shot across the arena, one at each echo. One Vellynne blinked out of existence, then the remaining two were rocked back one at a time as the missiles struck the actual Vellynne, and with the final missile the final mirror also vanished.

Only the real Vellynne remained, more battered than she had been thanks to the whittling damage coming from all sides. It was slow, but sure.

Tarquin considered attacking for a moment, despite his weakened state, but his companions were all still badly hurt. Safety first—he cast another mass heal, topping everyone within range up and using his last inspiration to boost the healing as best he could. It was in the hands of his companions—his friends—now. He glanced at Morgan and willed the young warrior forward.

Morgan stepped up to Vellynne. His head was pounding as he swung with all his might. With too much might. The swing crashed into the ice. But Morgan was not deterred. He too realised that this fight was a fight for everyone, despite what Tarquin’s narrative might demand. He resummoned Ezra who nodded shortly before burying his weapon into Vellynne.

“That’s one,” Morgan grunted.

Octavian too had expected Morgan’s vengeance, and he too quickly realised Morgan couldn’t do this alone. No-one could. He fire a second guiding bolt into the necromancer.

“That’s two,” Morgan breathed.

Vellynne was ripped and burnt and bruised and her face shone with bristling anger. She growled and stepped forward to come face to face with Morgan, wrapping her hand around the back of his head. “I…will…destroy…you!” she hissed, eye locked with Morgan’s. Morgan felt Vellynne’s necromantic grip reach inside his body and suck life and vitality into her own. He gritted his teeth, refusing to fall by sheer will.

Morgan didn’t blink, didn’t break eye contact. He wrapped his own hands around Vellynne’s neck and pulled her close, boring his eyes into her soul with naked hatred. For the first time Vellynne’s demeanour wavered as she realised Morgan didn’t care if he died—he only cared that she did.

“Head to the left, Morgan!” Arlington called calmly from the darkness. Morgan tilted his head ever so slightly.

THUNK-THUNK

Arlington’s shots hit with inspired precision thanks to Tarquin’s blessing. Vellynne’s shoulder was ripped apart by the first, her neck sliced open by the second.

“Three,” Morgan hissed.

A flame exploded on Vellynne’s hip as Jankx’s bolt of fire struck true.

“Four,” Morgan said, a maniacal grin starting to spread across his face.

Eearwaxx was enjoying lightning almost as much as fireballs, so he speared another witch-bolt into the necromancer. Her body went rigid with shock, but she maintained her grip on Morgan, as he did on her.

“Five.” Morgan’s hands held Vellynne by the throat, her life in his hands.

A voice called from far back in the cavern. It was Tarquin, still alive. “Head left, Arlington!”

Arlington smiled, and bent his head.

“Six,” Morgan laughed in anticipation as he too tilted his head.

THUNK

The bolt whistled through the air and buried into the eyepatch, rocking Vellynne’s head back with the impact. Her body started to go limp as the life drained from her.

Morgan pulled Vellynne’s head forward, gripping his hands on either side of her head. He locked eyes with her one last time and smiled as he buried his thumbs into her remaining eye.

“This is for the girls.”

Vellynne screamed in agony as her accursed life was finally ended. Morgan held her lifeless body aloft like a meat puppet, then tossed it to the ground in disgust and spat on it.

For a moment all was still. Then the head of the dead necromancer turned slowly to look up at Morgan. Both eye sockets glowed ice-blue and a soft whisper, yet deafening as thunder, echoed through the chamber.

“I…see…you. Begone, mortals.”

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Session played: September 4, 11, 18, October 9 2023

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