Chapters

The Arcane Octad: “He’s floundering”
Strictly Ballroom: “They appear completely harmless!”
Time Bandits: “I have every intention of killing a god”
Safety Dance: “I am sitting down”
Iriolarthas: “Who says we can’t kill gods?”
Perfectly Simple: “We just have to go back a couple of months”

---

The Arcane Octad

Iriolarthas’s towering spire loomed overhead reaching over one-thousand feet into the heights of the icy cavern as the company gathered to study the sigils on the gateway and stone platform.

“So…?” Arlington said, looking expectantly at Tarquin and Eearwaax.

“What’s the plan for the flame in the hand?” Morgan jumped in.

“Burning Hands,” Eearwaax said firmly.

“But you’ve done that before and that’s not flame in the palm of your hand—that fires a huge gout of flame?”

“I will remind you that this is schools of magic,” Tarquin said. “If someone can conjure a flame then that is enough, because that is a Conjuration step. Just as ‘shielding the heart’ is Abjuration.”

“I think it’s safer to assume there’s some literality to the lines,” Morgan frowned. “I don’t cast magic but it seems to be a precise art if one wants to do it properly.”

“Well if we want to be literal it says summon a flame, doesn’t it? So we need to summon something?”

“Oh absolutely. But think of it this way: a conjurer summons magic,” Tarquin explained. Arlington shrugged—time to let the magical thinkers think. He settled himself on a comfortable pile of rubble and lit his pipe.

“Does anyone have a mask?” Jankx said, busy brewing a weak poison for the last step of the Octad.

“I don’t know if a beard counts,” Morgan said glancing at Eearwaax.

“It’s an illusion spell,” Tarquin explained. “And I have a hat of disguise.”

“And I’m happy to make a circle with our bag of ash,” Morgan said hefting the collected remains. “But have we decided if it is going to be one person who does everything?”

“I don’t think it’s one person,” Eearwaax said. “We’re trying to activate the sigils. So whoever casts will activate that sigil. "

Tarquin agreed. “It’s got nothing to do with one person or eight people, it’s got to do with the spells and making those sigils work.”

“Who’s going to pony up a secret?” Morgan asked.

Arlington raised his hand. “I will.”

“Thank you illustrious leader, but I don’t think you need to worry about that, because someone will enchant you to take that secret from you,” Tarquin smiled.

“I’ll defer to those that seem to know what they’re doing,” Morgan said. “For what it’s worth I can volunteer to drink the poison because I’m…very difficult to poison.” She glanced at Jankx who passed a vial of sickly blue poison then both joined Arlington on the sidelines.

Tarquin and Eearwaax were busy with their spellbooks trying to determine the appropriate magic for each step. “Wrong school…no, that’s right, yes…wait,” Tarquin muttered to himself.

“He’s floundering,” Arlington whispered to Jankx, passing his spare pipe, “Time for some leadership.” He took a deep huff from his pipe and turned his attention to the magic team. “We need a wand,” he called commandingly.

“I’ve got that,” Octavian said, producing the High Illusionists simple oak focus.

“Good. So let’s start at the beginning. If we try the first step and it lights up the right rune, we know we’re on the right track. It’s simple really. So what does the first one say?”

“Shield your heart…with a wand from the Nether Oak,” Octavian said.

“Do you have ‘Shield’?” Tarquin asked Eearwaax.

“I do. I think?”

Morgan shook her head. “What about just holding the wand over your heart? Without casting a spell, just hold it there. I think mundane things are worth trying.”

Tarquin looked around at the broken bodies littering the platform. “Yep sure, let’s try that,” he shrugged, “It looks like it’s going to be easy.”

“Maybe if you don’t get them all right there are consequences,” Arlington mansplained. “So let’s not make any mistakes.”

Octavian rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that.” He handed the wand to Eearwaax who stood waiting.

Eearwaax stepped inside the circle near the Abjuration symbol.

“We all have to be inside the arcane circle when we do the spells,” Tarquin said, glancing at the peanut gallery. Arlington shrugged and move inside, as did Morgan and Jankx.

Eearwaax peeled open his robe to reveal his pale and shrunken chest and placed the wand directly over his heart. With a nod from Arlington he cast his spell. He felt the warmth from the wand fill his chest as his heart was indeed shielded—and both Abjuration sigils pulsed with arcane light!

“Good!” Octavian clapped. “Great work!”

“Now we need the flame,” Tarquin said. “Anyone?”

“I can do that,” Octavian said. He opened the palm of his hand and glanced nervously at the bodies. He was terrified but didn’t show it. He uttered his few simple words then held his breath as a tiny flame leapt from the palm of his hand. A moment later the Conjuration sigil pulsed softly and Octavian breathed again.

“Divination is next,” Tarquin said excitedly. “‘A burnt palm loosens the tongue. Shed a secret about yourself for all to hear’.”

“I would try just shedding a secret, no spell,” Morgan suggested. Despite the first two spells seeming to work, she wasn’t convinced that the wand alone wouldn’t have been enough for the first step.

“I’m confused—” Octavian started.

“It doesn’t matter just do it! Tell us!” Arlington barked. “What is your secret?”

Octavian hesitated for the first time in a long time.

“Tell us your secret,” Tarquin pressed, “Octavian—what is it?”

“My secret…is…myfatherisablackdragon,” Octavian blurted, then turned his face away. Arlington started laughing and Eearwaax’s eyes went wide. And the Divination sigils glowed strongly black, causing everyone to realise with a start that Octavian had spoken true. His father really was a black dragon?!

“That was a fucking ambush,” Octavian muttered. He had been tempted to invent something but the dead surrounding the portal had convinced him only the truth would work. “We need another secret now.”

Arlington cleared his throat preparing to reveal his own secret. Eearwaax realised he was just going to announce it where the Octad specifically called for it to be coaxed. He quickly cast an Enchantment Suggestion: “What are you most scared of?”

Unlike Octavian, Arlington didn’t skip a beat: “My Mother.”

It was Jankx’s turn to laugh.

“Ok,” Eearwaax raised an eyebrow as the Enchantment sigils lit up.

“Step five,” Morgan said. She was getting excited—everything seemed to be working, despite expectations.

“Evocation—quench the flame in thy palm with ice,” Tarquin recited.

Arlington tossed a ball of ice and snow to Octavian, who quenched the flame as ordered. The Evocation sigils joined their glowing brethren.

Morgan noted with satisfaction that there had been no magic involved, nor with Octavian’s confession—her suspicious had been correct. Distracted by this she started to open the bag of ash, preparing to scatter it as directed.

“No!” Tarquin cried, “Slow down, daughter, we’re not there yet. Let the spellcasters manage this.”

Morgan blushed as she realised her mistake at jumping a step ahead, the many dead around the platform reminding her of the consequences of a slip.

“Time for an Illusion first,” Tarquin grinned and pulled on his hat. His visage changed such that his face became wreathed in smoke, disappearing, and now six sigils glowed in the underlight. He turned to Morgan and bowed. “Now it’s your turn.”

Morgan nodded and gathered everyone to the centre of the arcane circle. She carefully started pouring the Netherese remains around the outer edge. As usual she wasn’t breathing during this—but she noticed nor was anyone else, all holding their breath during the penultimate step. With a final shake of the bag-of-death, the ash circle was complete. For a moment there was nothing, then the Necromancy sigil lit as if waking from the dead.

Morgan dropped the bag and brushed her hands clean. With no hesitation she pulled out Jankx’s vial and swallowed it in a single determined gulp.

Everyone watched. Morgan’s face paled, if that was possible, and she cleared her throat with a soft cough.

The Transmutation sigils lit up. Everyone finally remembered to breath as the schools of magic were completed.

All eight arcane symbols were now alight, those on the ground matching those around the portal. The hum from the energy barrier protecting the spire vanished, a subtle but instantly noticeable absence in the atmosphere of Ythryn, and a moment later the company was teleported to the other side of the gateway.

The entrance to the hollow strut shimmered with multi-coloured light. There were no steps or obvious path, just the light. Eearwaax knew what this was. Before anyone could stop him he stepped into the portal. Everyone watched in wonder as he started to float up the tubular passage, levitating toward the tower.

Tarquin grinned and jumped in after Eearwaax, everyone else following suit. Octavian ushered everyone ahead of him, even Arlington who was packing a pipe but took the invitation.

---

Strictly Ballroom

Near the apex of the strut, the ceiling of the tunnel gave way to a landing that offered a view of the citadel’s uppermost reaches. A set of steps ascended to a pair of magnificent mahogany doors in the tower’s face.

Arlington peered over the edge of the short landing, which turned out to be a bridge. Below was nothing but the ground…far below.

“Murder-holes,” Tarquin whispered, pointing to two gaps in the fortress on either side of the doors.

“There’s only one way around a murder hole,” Jankx nodded.

“My speciality,” Arlington said pulling his crossbow free. “The only way around a murder hole it to murder. I’ll head left with my aim to the right—someone should do the other in reverse.” Jankx nodded and the two crept forward, covering their alternate sides. “Clear,” Arlington whispered, getting a nod from Jankx in confirmation. “Nothing either side.”

Eearwaax, deciding safety first, ordered his guardian to place its bolt in front of one side. Jankx crouched to study and listen at the doors, which were very old but very fine—cathedral like in their ostentation. He was instantly confused: instead of the oppressive silence of the rest of Ythryn, he could hear…music? “There’s a piano playing…and a harp,” he said quietly. “And people talking and laughing.”

“The risk here is that they will engage us in conversation,” Arlington said in a stage whisper.

“And we all know your feelings on conversations,” Jankx scoffed.

Tarquin shrugged. “Just to bring us back to the wider context. Well are expecting someone is in front of us, and we know that someone is behind us.”

“That’s a good summary.”

“So I think we may have caught up to the someone in front.”

“What and they’ve stopped to listen to a concerto?” Arlington said archly.

“Well, you know—they’re monologuing!”

“Look we’ve seen a lot of contructs and those magen. Let’s just get in there,” Octavian said.

“How bad can it be?” Tarquin chuckled, to a half-grimace half-smile from Morgan.

Arlington lit his pipe and gave Jankx the nod, who popped the doors. Chamber music washed over the company as Jankx stepped into a ballroom. In stark contrast to the desolate, frozen ruins outside, dozens of people milled around, dressed in flowing silk garments and holding colourful hand masks and feathered fans. Noble courtiers laughed and gossiped as servants moved among them, offering sugared treats on silver platters.

The closest turned and smiled widely to see the new arrivals. “Hello there! You’re late but not too late—please, join us!” Servants approached and offered drinks and rich delicacies. Eearwaax, in his full wizard regalia, took both with eager pleasure. “Hello!”

“You have chosen well, young sir!” a goateed attendee beamed as Eaarwaxx sniffed the food and examined the wine. They passed that test so he sampled both and was pleasantly surprised. “These are excellent, thank you! What is your name?”

“Athrynia,” the goateed man grinned. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but what are balls if not for gossip! You really must sup from the goblet in the House of the Arcane—have you tried it yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” Eearwaax said neutrally.

“Well,” he said, leering at a few of the other revellers, “I’ll let you in on a secret: it has done wonders for my love life!”

“…what?” Eearwaax blushed and excused himself.

Arlington scanned the room, assessing threats and trying to identify the ball-goers. They were all nobles, bar the servants who were blue-skinned—no doubt some lowly serving variation of the magen. All looked to be Netherese—this was no collection of reanimated ex-adventurers. He strode over to a table laden with food and started to scarf it down. Despite eating a fair amount in a short time, his stomach felt just as empty as usual. A woman came to stand by his side, accidentally bumping his arm and excusing herself with a giggle. “Oh dear I am sorry! You look like you are hungry!”

“Ah, sorry, um…Madam?”

“Have you tried this one?” she said, leaning in front of Arlington to give him a chance to admire her shapely figure.

“I have had one of everything,” he smiled. “I feel I could have a dozen more and still be hungry.”

“Ha ha yes, it is very fine is it not?” She took Arlington by the arm and nodded over to the man talking to Eearwaax. “Have you heard that Athrynia has a winged hare as a pet. Isn’t that marvellous—a winged hare!”

“What a thing! Can we see it?”

“Yes yes, he created it! Have you a pet, fine sir?”

“I…I don’t,” Arlington stammered. “For me…I…no. It’s a long story. No.”

“Well you must make yourself one. The menagerie is open to all and you can create whatever you dream!”

“Say what now?”

The woman went on to describe the domed, miniature world the company had discovered en route to the Observatory. Ythryn’s mages would visit the menagerie, using the ‘Chimeric Creator’ to conjure up one-of-a-kind pets. “Our mages have conjured all manner and shape of things,” she concluded proudly.

“For food?” Arlington said.

The courtier’s smile was wiped away and she look confused. For a moment her mouth hung open wordlessly, then she glanced up at the thirty-foot ceiling. Her smile returned with a nod and she turned back to Arlington. “No, no, ha ha you are a silly one. We make pets!”

“I don’t really have much call for pets. Animals are for eating, on the whole, particularly small ones.”

“I…see.” She looked up again, then turned and walked away. Arlington followed her gaze, but there was nothing to see up there.

An attendee in a shimmering dress stepped up to Jankx and placed a fond hand on his cheek. “My my, aren’t you a handsome one! Please will you dance with me?” She put out a hand and Jankx, after first trying his best to detect if she was trying to charm him, took her hand and was soon cutting a rug around the ballroom. He took the opportunity to take the lead after a quick foxtrot, allowing him to lead a waltz to survey the upper reaches of the ballroom. A bar led off to the right, behind which a second opening led to another relaxed dining area. On the left was a den with courtiers lounging on luxurious cushions inside a circular chamber, smoking from long pipes and dining on fruit. Occasionally someone stood and walked to a finely wrought box on a table in the centre of the room, plucking a ripe plum or glass of liqueur from within.

Tarquin had changed to shape himself like Ezra, giving a surreptitious nod to Morgan. He walked to a rakish bald-headed fellow and gave a mild bow. “What a lovely diversion!”

“We enjoy it very much,” the man smiled, returning the bow with a tilt of his head. He scanned Tarquin then frowned. “Oh dear! But where is your wand? Don’t tell me you don’t have one?”

In the blink of an eye Tarquin produced a wand from under his cape, matching his inquisitors that hung from his belt. “A lovely diversion, as I say, but may I ask—how long has this diversion been going?”

“One may as well ask ‘how long is the night?'” the man laughed. “As long as needs be!”

“The night is long and dark…”

“Time is as if it were nothing. Surely a fine looking fellow like you too have attended such soirees, which seem never to end? If not—you’ve arrived at the right place!”

“Well before I crossed the threshold, time was of the essence,” Tarquin prodded.

“Do not fear, time has not place here.”

“Is this a place without time?”

“Rather it is timeless—look around you!”

Tarquin smiled softly and inclined his head. “And which school are you?”

“Why, Illusion!” he said, causing a small sparkle of light to ring his smiling face.

“Of course!” Tarquin said, doffing his hat and returning to his true form.

“Ho ho ho, a fine jest! Very good indeed!” he beamed, and a few nearby revellers joined in, clapping gently.

“May I ask,” Tarquin said now he had their favour, “Are we the first guests to arrive since the ball has commenced?”

“Why…I think…yes, yes you are. How curious.”

“And what bought you here—was it by invitation?”

The man scratched his polished dome, slowing down as he did until he was almost frozen. Then he seemed to wake up again. “You know…I cannot recall. It feels like I have always been here,” the man chuckled. Tarquin laughed with him as the man continued, seeming to have regained all function. “Perhaps that is to do with the artefact? What do you think?”

“What artefact?” Tarquin said, interest piqued.

“You haven’t heard? Let me let you in on a secret—we have all been frantically discussing it! Rumour has it that Iriolarthas has found an ancient artifact from Ostoria!”

“Ahhhh. Is it an artefact of great power?”

The man frowned as if Tarquin was being ridiculous. “It is from *Ostoria!” he repeated.

Octavian walked slowly around the room, noticing the still-cold temperature did not behove the lightweight gowns and dresses being worn. He made his way over to the piano, noting that not an eye was blinked at his enormous size. He watched the piano player, who welcomed Octavian with a flourish in the upper register—and then seemed to briefly shimmer, as if he wasn’t there. But only for a moment. The music continued uninterrupted. Octavian opened the piano, hoping to notice if the music didn’t match the action of the hammers. He found something even more damning. Inside the grand device was nothing: no strings, hammers, or anything capable of making the music drifting forth.

Morgan had spent the time walking the rooms, politely declining invitations to chat, dance, or eat, watching everything very closely. She observed how no attendees looked in the least surprised by the arrival of six rangy, winter-clad, blood-stained adventurers, treating everyone as regular guests—even Octavian. She rotated around the room eavesdropping, trying to determine if the conversations were real of if they were just going through the motions. After some time listening closely she found what she sought: a couple chatting in the dining area seemed to be more-or-less repeating something another pair had been saying. It might not have been word-for-word, but it was very close.

After several strenuous dances, Jankx excused himself from a further round, kissing his partner’s hand and bringing a blush. At the far end of the ballroom there was a pair of double doors and he approached a nearby guest. “You are a find dancer, sir, my compliments!” the woman said with a warm smile.

“Thank you, you are very kind. I haven’t seen you take a turn?”

“Oh I have two left feet I am afraid,” the noble chuckled.

“You haven’t taken the opportunity to learn, whilst you’ve been here?”

“Oh! Funny, I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps I should! Though…I don’t feel like I have been here long enough to have learned very much.”

“How long do you think you have been here?” Jankx probed. “As long as I have?”

“It feels as if no time has passed,” the woman pondered. “So perhaps I too have only just arrived?”

“Can you remember what happened yesterday? Or in the past? Let me help—do you know how you arrived here?”

The noblewoman laughed nervously. “I have had a few concoctions since I arrived,” he said glancing toward the bar. “Perhaps that is why my memory is not quite what it was!”

Jankx nodded considerately. “Indeed. And tell me—when you leave, where do you reside?”

She looked very confused. “Well…but…why would you leave? Why would you ever leave? A grand ball such as this!”

“You make a good point,” Jankx said with a bow, turning to meet Morgan who was standing nearby. Octavian too joined them, signalling for the remaining three to join the huddle. “There’s something going on. The music isn’t real,” Octavian whispered, “And I saw someone who seemed to shudder out of existence for a moment, like in the play we performed. It feels like time is being manipulated.”

“The food is shit too,” Arlington nodded. “This is clearly a distraction and waste of our time. And someone told me someone had something with wings, a goat or a rat or something.”

Tarquin nodded. “Very good, Arlington. We are in danger here of drinking the pink champagne on ice and missing the good stuff.”

“This reminds me of the time I visited that town, Stepford Upon Avon. It was much the same as this.”

“I found out something perhaps slightly more valuable than a flying goat,” Tarquin said. “They have an artefact somewhere here, from Ostoria. Apparently Iriolarthas discovered it.”

“Ostoria?” Eerwaaxx said. “There was mention of that in one of the books in the fallen Spire—a book called The Lost Scrolls of Sabreyl.” He hauled it from his voluminous pack and flicked it open. “The Netherese found scrolls dating back to Ostoria….written apparently by a sun elf named Sabreyl. It claims these elves spent decades teaching cloud giants how to harness and master the arcane.” He scanned the text quickly. “The cloud giants fought the dragons! Oh. And this was forty-thousand years ago. Ancient, ancient, history.”

“Hardly relevant then,” Arlington scoffed.

“We’re obviously in a place outside of time that’s been there since then,” Tarquin agreed. “Let’s move on.”

“But they’ve found something and brought it here,” Eearwaax protested.

“Yes but this all predates all of the disaster that has happened outside. This, I believe, is a diversion from that period. This is the entryway that people pass through when they come up into this tower. These are the people who have been trapped here since then.”

“We need to find that, or find Iriolarthas,” Octavian said. “Because that artefact has changed reality or time or something.”

“Well this is his tower,” Morgan said, “So we’re in the right place. Let’s go find him.”

Arlington agreed and was about to step away when he suddenly realised the room had quietened and all of the guests were slowly approaching the clustered company. So absorbed had he been that he missed this change. He cursed himself for dropping his guard.

The goateed man approached with a stern look on his face. “Gentlemen, and lady! Please! This is a ball, not a meeting. You must not withdraw—re-join our revelry, please.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Tarquin smiled obsequiously and backed toward the far doors. Octavian followed suit, backing up against the wall as everyone retreated.

“What’s through these doors?” Arlington said curtly. The noble frowned again. “There is…nothing beyond those doors. That is beyond the ball—do not concern yourself with it.”

Jankx reached gingerly behind his back to check the doors, hoping to spring it before things got out of hand

“Just open it!” Arlington hissed. “There’s not time for that nonsense!”

Janks tried to quickly check, but realised it would take too long to be sure. He wasn’t sure if the company was in danger, or just being forced to waste time, but both options were problematic in their own ways. More of the nobles were approaching, standing in a row with angry looks on their fine faces. “Honoured guests, please: You must not leave.” Jankx popped the doors open.

“Oh shit they were right—there’s nothing there,” Arlington gasped. A void lay beyond the doors, a thirty-five foot gap to another tower on the other side of the chasm.

“We might need someone who can fly,” Jankx grunted. He spun to face the approaching crowd, who all went silent the moment the doors opened. And a moment later they vanished.

The ballroom transformed as they disappeared. It lay in ruins, rimed with ice, furniture jumbled and shattered. Above the floor where the nobles had danced, three glass cylinders with iron fittings hovering above the wreckage. Housed in each cylinder was a swollen human brain floating in a bath of slimy, translucent goo.

---

Arlington didn’t even consider talking to these…people. Whether they were good brains-in-jars or bad brains-in-jars was of no consequence. He fired. The bolt pinged off the (now obvious) thick glass enclosing the swelling, itching brain. A tiny chip did shatter off however, giving the great hunter a point to target with his second shot. Which he did with aplomb, a large crack now a feature of the jar.

“Don’t you want to talk to the brain in the jar?” Morgan cried. No-one was sure if she was serious. A moment later the answer came as the angry brain sent forth a psychic blast that enveloped the company. And against all odds, not a single person was affected: it was as if the brain had attacked a smart party, rather than this one. The brain, if it could have, would have looked very surprised.

Morgan got the message. She summoned Ezra who appeared in mid air next to the brain, swinging once, twice, hitting both times. The second smashed the glass and sliced cleanly through the cerebral cortex of the brain.

“They appear completely harmless!” Tarquin smirked.

Octavian was about to leap into the air to grab one of the jars when he saw Eearwaax was heating his hands. Having seen the fireballs, Octavian instead hurled his spear clear across the room. Alas it was very clear, missing the second brain and returning to Octavian’s hand. He felt very mighty throwing it, but a little stupid catching it having missed his target.

“Not that great a kobold,” Arlington thought for the first time in a long time, Octavian’s heroics at the Enchantment tower forgotten. He turned to Jankx. “Step through the door, Jankx, find a way across while we deal with this. It’s your destiny.”

Jankx hesitated for a moment, but he had seen enough ‘harmless’ threats to know that the brains should be dealt with. He fired judiciously at one of the brains, creating a tiny crack in the glass.

Tarquin moved to the other side of the room to spread the brains’ targeting and fired his crossbow twice as Eearwaax continued to summon his fire. One attacks hit true, the brain slooshing around inside under the impacts, the second flying wildly off target.

“Rookie mistake,” Arlington called across the room, continuing the critique of his companions out loud this time. “I’ve always said the prod comes out horizontally on the crossbow not vertically, you can’t do it ‘round the corner—”

Arlington’s speech was cut short by the second brain casting another of the mental blasts. Having learnt from its companion’s earlier failure, it changed the psionic frequency to one more likely to take hold in current age denizens instead of the fallen Netherese. And it worked: Morgan and Eearwaax staggered under the mental assault, their minds lost, and bodies stunned. Eearwaax’s hands went cold before they could even act.

The third brain followed suit. Eearwaax started bleeding from the nose, and Morgan closed her eyes. Both stood stock still, swaying slightly.

“That one!” Octavian cried and pointed at the damaged brain, calling the shot for Arlington, then turning and sprinted toward the still untouched jar. Arlington’s bolts were trailed by crackling lightning as he added a bit of spice to his attack. The jar shuddered as the lightning surrounded it, obliterating the jar, the brain, the goop and any semblance of superiority. He spun and slid under Octavian’s legs as the giant kobold ran, firing as he landed and adding a target for Octavian.

The giant kobold leapt into the air with a cry. He extended his huge hands toward the jar and grabbed it between both hands and he flew toward the ground, raising it above his head to crash it into the floor. But something was wrong. Jankx watched in horror as he saw the jar slipping from Octavian’s grip, the vile fluids from the other brain coating the jar causing it to slip free. He gave a rousing cheer to encourage Octavian: “Wide right! Wide right!! You got this!!!”

Octavian heard the warning just in time. He changed his grip at the last moment and heaved the jar into the floor with his out-of-this-world strength. The jar shattered into thousands of shards, the brain squashed into pancake. Octavian was relieved—if those psionic blasts had been tweaked again, the entire company may have been disabled and at the mercy of the brains’ experimentation.

Morgan and Eearwaax snapped to attention as the brains were vanquished. The young wizard was, as per usual, only half alive, so Tarquin and Octavian gave him some healing boosts. It didn’t tale long to get back to business: “Let’s look around,” he directed.

Octavian stepped into the lounge, now revealed to be an abandoned, icy ruin. The only thing that remained intact was the odd chest that Jankx had seen people retrieve items from. Not only was it intact, it was in fine condition. “Jankx!” Octavian called.

Jankx knelt to study the chest. It was gem-studded, cubic wooden chest, one-and-a-half feet to a side. He could find no traps. He was curious enough that against his better judgement he opened the lid. There was nothing inside. An empty box. “Empty,” he reported.

“Put your arm into it,” Arlington suggested casually.

“Don’t!” Octavian cried.

Jankx was no fool. He grabbed a shattered piece of wood and poked it inside. The stick wasn’t disintegrated, but nor was there anything he could feel inside. Tarquin summoned a mage hand and did the same, digging around inside and also finding nothing. “I do note that it would neatly contain a brain,” he grinned. “If only we had one…”

“It’s obviously something. It would be helpful to know if it’s magic,” Jankx hinted. He snapped a bone of a skeletal body and dropped it inside, hoping it might change. It didn’t. He closed the lid. Waited. Opened. There was a bone. “I don’t know,” Jankx muttered, frustrated.

Tarquin shrugged and cast a spell to detect magic. “It’s magic—Conjuration, no less.”

“Maybe you need a word to activate it?” Octavian said.

“Yes, just say ‘abracadabra’ and ‘show me a rabbit’,” Arlington suggested snidely.

“That’s a bit…” Jankx started, before shrugging. “Ok! Why not. That’s the classic conjuration, right.” He closed the lid, and his eyes for that seemed appropriate for a trick like this, and said the magic words. He opened both his eyes and the lid to find two rabbit ears poking out of the box. “Oh my god!” he cried incredulously. “Oh my god!”

He pulled the rabbit out. It was dead, but it was an actual rabbit.

“The best kind of rabbit—we have food forever my friends,” Arlington said smugly, thinking back to the courtesan and her pets. He took the rabbit and, in a blur of hands and steel, beheaded it, turned it inside out and stripped the skin off. He was left with a rabbit carcass, dripping blood. “Edible,” he reported happily.

“Let’s try something else, like I don’t know, an arrow? Jankx said slamming the box shut. His eyes gleamed with more excitement than anyone had seen, the offer of free stuff irresistible to him. Once a rogue, always a rogue.

“Twenty-five thousand gold,” Arlington deadpanned.

“Uh…let’s just try an arrow,” Jankx said, not exactly sure why. “How about a quiver of arrows?” he added, to ameliorate Arlington’s eye roll. “Aabracadabra, a quiver of arrows,” he said sagely. He popped the lid and there they were, a collection of plain, foot-long arrows. “Oh my god,” Jankx whispered for the third time. “This is like if you said ‘abracadabra’ and asked for tea, Earl Greyhawk, hot—”

A steaming cup of tea appeared inside the box.

“Stop!” Tarquin cautioned. “Your proof of concept has been established, let’s think about this before we move on!”

“Be careful in case there is a bill for this,” Octavian agreed. Jankx heeded the words realising that maintaining the balance meant magic often had a price to pay. But he took the tea. It was outstanding, and piping hot.

Tarquin approached the box. “Abracadabra: produce six major health potions.” He opened the box to find…it empty.

“Ah,” Jankx said, “So it has limits.”

“Abracadabra: forty feet of rope,” Tarquin tried, and sure enough there it was. “That gap was thirty-feet, right?” he grinned as he collected it.

Eearwaax had wandered into the bar, saddened that all the Netherese were gone, only their remains remaining. Behind the bar something caught his eye: a rack with a dozen bottle of somehow still intact wine. Covered in dust, but unbroken. He popped the cork of one and sniffed: it smelled good…very good. “Gentlemen! Morgan!” he called, summoning his companions. Arlington arrived first, still clutching his skinned rabbitoh. “Have a swig of this—it is amazing.” Arlington took a gulp and stood stock still. The boy was right. “Let’s sit down and take our time,” he smiled.

“Don’t we have more important things to do,” Octavian said sulkily, “Than to drink wine in an illusionary bar?”

“There’s no illusion here my friend,” Arlington said swilling a mouthful. “This is the real thing.”

Octavian tried to disbelieve the wine, but he had to admit that Arlington was right. He studied the bottle, confused as to how it could have survived this long.

“The bottles have been protected by Abjuration magic,” Tarquin said, his detection still empowered. “Individually protected. Which explains why the contents have been preserved. They must be over two thousand years old,” he said with some reverence. “It might be worth taking a couple of these!”

“Hey, hey, listen, they’re only worth, what, fifty gold each?” Arlington protested. “We can sit down, and we can eat this rabbit, and we can just have a couple of bottles, nice and relaxed.”

“Arlington!” Octavian scowled. “We don’t know how time is working here. We could be aging in the real world by thousands of years. We should not be doing this!”

Arlington sighed. “Magic users,” he muttered, looking around for something to wrap his rabbit in.

The mighty wizard Eearwaax, long bored of the wine discussion, had wandered off and opened one of the doors near the entrance. A cold stone corridor stood beyond, with three doors, one open at the northern end. Morgan and Tarquin noticed he was gone and jogged to catch up. “Magic users,” Morgan muttered.

Everyone followed, except Octavian, who lingered in the bar. The moment everyone had left he grabbed a bottle and drained it. My god, the boy was right. He wiped his lips clean, burped, and hurried to catch the others.

Before they could catch him Eerwaaxx pulled open the door opposite. Luckily enough it was empty of floating brains, only containing smashed tables and chairs, and the remains of a cabinet. Everything was in disarray and covered in ice. He moved to the northern room, which was much the same, but there was one thing of note: pinned to the shattered desk was a scrap of faded parchment. He carefully freed it. “It’s a ledger,” he said with wonder, reading aloud.

Item: Stone Spindle
Description: Rune carved; Ostorian; Artefact
Recovered by: Iriolarthas
Status: Statis Chamber
Comments: Unknown purpose. Moved to Statis chamber for further study.

“That confirms what I was told,” Tarquin said, surprised. “I remind everyone that Iriolarthas rose to power—this might be the source of that power.”

“It could also be the doom of this place,” Eearwaax said. The only spindles he could imagine were those for sewing, like the huge ones in the silk marketplace of Ythryn.

Jankx finally got ahead of Eearwaax and checked the final door. “Something inside,” he warned, relieved to have saved the young wizard. Everyone prepared their weapons and Jankx pushed the door open. It was another empty, ruined office. Arlington slapped Jankx on the back of the head.

“I was wrong,” Jankx shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Fair enough?” Arlington scoffed, “My blood pressure doesn’t say it was ‘fair enough’.”

“I can’t be right all the time,” Jankx sulked.

Eearwaax backed out of the room and walked to a ruined statue of a man at arms at the end of the corridor. “Beautiful statue,” he said as Arlington arrived at his side, mending it a moment later. Arlington half drew his sword as the statue seemed to come to life, before realising what the young whipper-snapper had done. “Up to your old hi-jinks,” he said ruffling Eearwaax’s hair. He pointed to the wall. “Eearwaxx there should be a door here, leading to those murder holes. I can’t see it but—”

“Just here,” Eearwaxx said instantly pushing the secret door open. Arlington was impressed but the corridor beyond was indeed empty, so Arlington walked away, undermining Eearwaax’s victory. He walked back into the ballroom to find Tarquin slumped on a couch near the opposite door, and Morgan leaning bored against a barrel.

Jankx arrived, ignoring Arlington and carefully checking the door. This time he knew he heard something: the tinkle of glass on glass and a single set of footsteps taking a few shuffling steps. “Something here, but not something necessarily giant and teethed,” he whispered. Arlington snorted so Jankx pushed the door open.

There was another door directly north, an empty room and opposite, and an equally empty corridor south. Jankx hustled to the door with a finger to his lips and pointed. “Definitely in here. Ready?” At a nod he popped the door.

Time Bandits

A figure enclosed in an ornate suit of armour, that appeared to enclose living flame, stood inside, and where the head should be was a swollen human brain floating inside a canister of translucent fluid.

---

The brain-in-a-suit-of-armour turned to greet Jankx. “We haven’t had visitors in an awfully long time.” Unfortunately Jankx had no idea what she was saying as she spoke in Loross. Seeing his confusion she repeated herself, this time in perfect Common, adding “And you’re not from Netheril, are you?”

“No…you have picked that correctly,” Jankx said cautiously.

“And what brings you to Yhtryn? I doubt you just stumbled in here.”

“Um. We are adventurers. In search of interesting and amazing stories. Do you have a story to tell us?” Behind Jankx Tarquin smiled at Jankx’s turn of phrase—the story was indeed the thing.

The brain nodded. “My name is Veneranda, and I do indeed have a story for you. This,” she said indicating the room that was packed full of equipment on bolted-down tables: beakers of alchemical fluid, alembics, cut crystal needles, surgical tools, coiled leather tubes, and more, “This is my Liquification Chamber.”

Jankx tried his best to look normal at this news. “Oh that sounds good,” Tarquin whispered as Octavian took a step backwards.

“Firstly I must apologies for my appearance,” Veneranda said. “I can tell from your stances that it makes you nervous. Believe that I am no threat to you, though I may look otherwise.”

“I have to admit that you do,” Jankx said.

“It was the best we could do, given the circumstances. Needs must.”

“What were the….circumstances?” Arlington said softly.

There was no answer, so Jankx prodded. “Your circumstances have led you to this room? Have you been here a long time?”

“A very long time. Since Ythryn fell.”

“How long would that be?” Octavian asked.

“Two thousand years, give or take. I was created when Ythryn fell, as were three others though they did not get bodies—mine was made out of what could be salvaged after the fall. Given the silence from their ballroom, I assume you have taken care of my…companions?”

Jankx had the grace to look sheepish. “Yes.”

“They weren’t sharing stories,” Tarquin said meekly.

“Little wonder. They lost their minds long ago. An eternal ball was their entire universe. I think it has been running for at least a millennium? I do not mourn their passing, though I was their creator.”

“Who created you?” Arlington asked.

“Iriolarthas. In order to help him raise Ythryn once again. As you can tell, we have not succeeded.”

“What was your role to be in that project?”

“Merely to assist him in whatever he needed. He was not one to share his secrets or knowledge, though over the great stretches of time I learnt many things.”

“I apologise for not understanding Netherese,” Tarquin said with a small bow, “And thank you for speaking in Common. But I couldn’t help but notice a grammatical point: you said that you had not succeeded yet. But the way you framed it was we. Does Iriolarthas still exist?”

“He does…in a manner of speaking. He grew increasingly feeble over the centuries and retreated to his chambers in the upper spire. I have not seen him now for hundreds of years.”

“Are you sure he is still around?” Eearwaax said in Netherese, taking off his beard and doffing his wizard’s hat.

“I am sure.” Veneranda turned back to Tarquin. “You were correct that it was ‘we’. Was. My singular goal—always has been and always will be—is to restore Ythryn to its former glory. I am…doubtful that is still Iriolarthas’s goal. But I cannot do it, alone, and nor can he. Hence we are stuck.”

“What went wrong?” Octavian said. “Something went terribly wrong.”

“Something did,” Veneranda said and sighed deeply. “I have pondered this for these many years. There are two possible answers, I believe. Yhtryn, as you no doubt already know, was part of the Netherese empire, and that empire was all powerful. We ruled everything. Our magics were beyond imagination, almost beyond control. But because we could control the weave, we controlled power. But like all empires, something one day comes to undo them. For us it was the phaerimm, monstrous creatures from your Underdark…”

“Go on,” Arlington prompted after Veneranda seemed to get lost in her reverie.

“When the phaerimm rose we started to lose our magic, lose our grip on the very stuff that gave us our empire. They began to unravel the Weave, without which Netheril would collapse into ruin.”

Arlington nodded sagely like he understood a single word of this.

“The empire’s most powerful arcanist, Karsus, attempted to neutralise the phaerimm over decades. He spiralled into an obsessive madness and, like the empire itself, towering hubris: to save Netheril he planned to challenge Mystryl herself…to replace her as the god of Magic.”

“Rookie mistake,” Arlington said, warming to the theme of assuming godhead.

“Who hasn’t failed at that attempt,” Jankx laughed. Veneranda didn’t. Jankx wasn’t sure she could.

“The empire was in decline,” she continued, “Something was needed to break free of the spiral and return it to greatness. Iriolarthas led the expedition, lifting the enclave of Ythryn into the skies and travelling here in search of artefacts from Ostoria, hoping that would turn the war. And…we found one.”

“But…?” Arlington said.

“After many fruitless excavations, Iriolarthas found a large stone spindle bearing strange sigils at the bottom of the Sea of Moving Ice. I was not party to the discovery, nor the investigations that followed. For I am a necromancer. And that relic is not necromantic magic.” Eearwaax’s ears perked up at this as Veneranda continued. “Those that did study it, including Iriolarthas of course, installed it in the Stasis Chamber for experimentation.”

“Where is the spindle now?” Octavian asked, fascinated. Unlike Arlington he understood precisely what great forces Veneranda spoke of, and the attendant great dangers.

“As far as I know, it remains in the chamber.” She raised an armoured hand and pointed overhead before continuing. “Meanwhile the war continued. And this is where I cannot be sure what happened On the fateful day, without warning, Ythryn suddenly lost her soul. All magic was undone, as though it was siphoned away. The mythallar simply shut down. Without it, Iriolarthas could no longer hold the city aloft, and we plummeted to where you find us now. Iriolarthas protected his spire and those few within, which is why I survive. All else perished, or did soon after. We had no magic for half a century, driving the survivors to arcane-starved madness.”

Vendranda’s brain bowed. “Ythryn’s fall was either due to some catastrophic experiment on the Ostorian relic, or to the final failure of Karsus’s attempt to overthrow Mystryl. I know not which. What I do know is that after two millennia it is impossible to restore what was lost. Our time has passed, our empire gone. Like Iriolarthas, I too have admitted defeat…or I had. But now you are here.”

Octavian’s brow furrowed. He realised what Veneranda was hinting at. “What would that cost? To reverse time on that scale? Magic always has a cost.”

“There is no cost, only intent. There is a way to return us to glory. But you would need to defeat Iriolarthas. That is not something I can do—I would not go near him, he is far too powerful.”

“And yet a god might,” Tarquin tempted.

“Indeed.”

“Well we have a story for you—”

“Have you…seen any gods, in the last century or so?” Octavian interrupted.

“I have been contained to these rooms for the last two thousand years,” Veneranda said to Jankx’s horror. “I have seen no god.”

“Well it is good that you have kept your sanity,” Tarquin said.

“What did you do for that time?” Octavian asked.

“For the first centuries Iriolarthas did our utmost to find out what happened and undo it. But he is a vain, powerful man—or was. I did as I was ordered.”

“At what point did he put your brain in a jar?” Arlington said.

“As soon as the city fell. It may interest you to know that the process makes the recipient immortal. In fact,” Veneranda turned to Eearwaax and spoke in Netherese, sensing a kindred spirit, “Your necromancy is green, but strong. I can perform the ritual if you are interested? Eternal life would allow you to fully embrace your powers.”

Octavian’s eyes went wide and he held his breath, but Eearwaax barely paused. “Not today. I’m still young.”

Arlington cleared his throat, not sure what had just been agreed or otherwise. It was time to get down to business. “If we were to help you, what could you offer to assist us?”

“Only what I know,” Veneranda said.

“Knowledge is power,” Arlington quipped, remembering a dark time not so long ago when knowledge was all he sought.

“As I have said, our efforts have been in vain. We cannot rise again. But there is a way.” She looked to Octavian. “Your intuition is correct—we must use time. The answer is not to fix what happened, the answer is to erase what happened.”

“Using chronomancy to turn things back?” Octavian answered in Netherese.

Veneranda nodded slowly.

“Well what is the cost of that? That will be even worse. Tell us the cost,” Octavian said, reverting to Common.

“Have you explored Ythryn? Have you found the Obelisk?”

“We have. But we don’t understand it.”

“You could not. But I do. Our civilisation learnt the secrets of creating obelisks that could alter reality on a grand scale—counteract the effects of calamitous spells and cataclysmic events. The great Netherese wizards believed that if some catastrophe destroyed their empire—and it has—these obelisks could help restore it. A measure of last resort. With the power of the obelisk you can turn back time.”

“But why would we? It doesn’t seem like there is any upside. This is an extinct place. You have had your time and that time is over. We are here only to suffer the wrath of gods who have made this city a plaything. And we are caught between you, Iriolarthas, and gods.”

Veneranda shook her jar. “Why are you here? What is your purpose?”

“Ah!” Tarquin said finally finding his opening. “That is our story for you. We may well have made it this far, but what follows hot on our footsteps—not two thousand years behind us but mere moments—is a god that seeks this power.”

“Gods,” Octavian corrected.

“Gods! That seek this power. The power not necessarily to travel through time for the benefit of the Netherese, but the great power at the base of this tower.”

“The mythallar,” Veneranda nodded.

“The mythallar,” Tarquin smiled. “And we who are driven to be here through their assault of our time, and our lands, are here out of fear of what they would do with that power. We are here out of desperation. We’re not here to unsettle what has been settled and turned to dust. We may well be adventurers but we have been thrust in to time. Time that is the present, not that past. Why would we search for your glory when all we seek is the saviour of our time?”

Veneranda leaned forward, armour plates crackling with heat. “I do not mean to insult you—but you do not look to me like men and women who could defeat a god.”

Jankx laughed softly, and Tarquin bowed dramatically. “No insult taken.”

“And you seek to undo what this god has done,” Veneranda continued, “Am I correct?”

“Undo, but also stop a precipitous acceleration,” Tarquin nodded.

“It would seem the parallels between your impending fall and our completed one are remarkably similar. How better to solve your problem—and ours—than to turn back time to when that god was not a threat and your lands safe? To a time when the Netherese, who as I have mentioned were all powerful, to a time when you could tap into that power. Where you could learn the great secrets of our magics. Where you could change the fate of the frozen north. A simple matter of activating the Obelisk…”

“You are very convincing,” Tarquin had to admit. Jankx shook his head as it began to explode with the implications.

Morgan bristled. “And erase every life of those born since that time,” she growled. Octavian agreed, surprised at Morgan’s insight.

“One other thought does strike me,” Tarquin said, “Wouldn’t we also be erased?”

“Those that activate the obelisk would be…spared that fate. A combination of Abjuration and Chronomancy keeps those nearby safe from the paradox of which you speak. Instead they are sent back in time.”

“But else all that we came from would be erased,” Octavian clarified.

“Not erased, reset.”

“We can remake the future,” Arlington nodded, surprisingly getting it, “In our image.”

“Reset,” Octavian focussed. “So the timer would turn back, but then come forward again. With this city in existance.”

“We might make a branched timeline. Has anyone thought of that?” Arlington offered, pushing his luck.

Veneranda focused on Morgan. “It is true those that lived now would no longer exist. But they would once again, given time. And their time under your guidance would perhaps be much richer.”

Tarquin scoffed. “I think you were more on target earlier by saying that we are but mere mortals. We do not seek to guide the great stories of time—just trying to survive our own is enough.”

“Tell me what would happen to these people you so value, once the god defeats you as the god no doubt will. How will their lives be once you are dead and your god rules unchallenged?”

Octavian took umbrage at this. “Well…firstly, I know that you have been in here for a while—but everyone we have met has come under our foot.” He stepped forward and towered over Veneranda. “So we may not look it to you, but, and this may be a new reference to you, I’m a kobold. The greatest kobold. So you might need to change your frame of reference. The people around me? We have beaten everyone we have come up against!”

“Let’s just say we haven’t met anyone we didn’t kill,” Arlington added.

Veneranda chuckled as she swept her hand over the assembled company. “Godkillers…”

“Not yet,” Tarquin said with intent.

Eearwaax held his hand aloft. “Lady, may we talk about a few things? Bringing back Ythryn may not be the most appropriate solution for our day and age.”

“Oh you are not bringing back Ythryn to your day and age.”

“No, your day and age—”

“It is entirely appropriate in my day and age,” Veneranda said smugly.

“The fall of the empire has happened!” Eearwaax stressed, “In our existence. And what’s done is done. The actions of whatever caused it to happen, be it the spindle or the war, may still occur. But would our bringing this city back to the old timeline also bring back…Cadavix?”

For the first time, Veneranda sounded surprised. “Cadavix? You have met our Grand Necromancer?”

“Yes.”

“Indeed it would. Your question suggests you have a grudge against him. ‘What’s done is done’, as you yourself said.”

“What’s done is indeed done,” Eearwaax said, thinking of the recent destruction of Cadavix’s soul gem.

“But I have just told you: that is not true. What is done can be undone. If he has harmed you, or harmed those you love…that will indeed be undone.”

Eearwaax was flustered at this. Eearl’wixx could live. “Yes. But…it could still be done again. So…”

Tarquin paffed his hand. “This is starting to sound like all the stories I’ve heard that evoke the time paradox! It seems that this might be the time of conversation that you and Iriolarthas did get involved with over those first few hundred years—if you have no control over time then how are we to know how time works?”

Arlington’s mind was spinning with a sudden thought. “Madam, if you will I would have a word with my companions before we come to any decision.” Veneranda nodded and turned back to her bench.

Arlington gathered everyone in a huddle and whispered. “Is it possible that the fall of this city has inadvertently led to the destruction of the North. And to the various actions of the gods that have sunk us into this mess?”

Jankx nodded his strong agreement, for it seemed entirely likely that the two falls were linked. But Morgan thought otherwise. “Not unless it started happening two thousand years ago, no.”

“It could have led to it though,” Jankx countered.

Arlington nodded. “Only upon Ythryn’s discovery did it start happening. If they city never falls then the winter never comes.”

“Oh…that could definitely be true,” Morgan conceded. “But if we use the obelisk and the Netherese empire never falls then none of us ever come,” she added.

“I’m not worrying about the Netherese empire, just this one city.”

“The point is if you send something back in time—”

“—you can’t just do one piece,” Octavian said, “It’s everything.”

“I think it’s a bad idea to send Ythryn back in time,” Eearwaax said.

“It’s not…we would be going back in time,” Arlington said, “We’re not sending it back in time.”

“And we would have no impact on the great machinations of that empire,” Tarquin suggested.

“She said an area would be sent back—a bubble protected by Chronomancy,” Eearwaax corrected. “It may well be the entire city that is returned in that time bubble. Reverted back before any form of disaster. Is that what we really want? Do we really want the yoke of the Netherese empire around our throats?”

“That won’t happen. All we will do is we will stop this ‘spindle’ from crashing this city. The Netherese empire will still fall as all empires eventually do,” Arlington concluded, confident his plan was sound.

Eearwaax shook his head. “What if it wasn’t the spindle? What if it was something else? You can’t know. You don’t know. You’re tampering with something you don’t understand.”

Arlington found he had no counter to that. It was true he didn’t really understand.

In the silence Tarquin leaned into the circle. “All I know is that she’s right. We’re not going to defeat a god.” Octavian lifted his eyebrows at that, ready to challenge the notion as Tarquin continued. “So I have had my eye on that obelisk this whole time. If it should turn out that we can operate this thing…why go back to the Netherese age? Why not go back to a safe time for us, where we can work out how the mythallar works and use it to our advantage.”

Arlington laughed. “We might be doing that over and over again. ‘No let’s go back a little bit further’…‘no, that’s not it, a little earlier still’…”

“You are anticipating minute control over a power we have no idea about,” Octavian scoffed, “Or the consequences!”

Morgan was agog. “All of this is completely moot. It’s pointless. And I have every intention of killing a god. You watch,” he glared at Tarquin.

“I’m with Morgan,” Octavian said firmly.

Tarquin put his hands up in surrender.

With no decision made, Morgan turned back to Veneranda. “Mighty Veneranda. May I ask you a question?”

“You may, of course.”

“Where is the Ebon Star?”

For the second time Veneranda appeared surprised. She rested back on her bench before answering. “The Ebon Star…why do you ask?”

“I…I wish to find it. It belongs to me.”

“The Ebon Star belongs to you?” Veneranda said with great scepticism.

“If you spoke to it, it would concur.”

There as another long pause before Veneranda continued. “The only way to find the Ebon Star…is to send Ythryn back.”

“No. Because I know it’s here,” Morgan countered.

“Ohh but it’s not.”

“The Ebon Star begs to differ.”

“Trust me, or do not, it is your choice.”

“So you don’t know then?”

“Oh I know: send Ythryn back and you will find the Ebon Star.”

Morgan turned to Arlington. “I’m done now. I have nothing more.”

“‘Send Ythryn back’,” Tarquin said taking up the reigns. “So it is in our power to do so, is that what you’re saying?”

“Indeed. Iriolarthas has a staff. That staff is the only thing that can activate the obelisk. For only the great mage of each city is empowered to do so. Why Iriolarthas did not I do not know—I think the madness had taken him before he realised that manipulating time was his only hope. He was lost and it was too late.”

Eearwaax lent in at the mention of the staff, eyes wide and magical hunger roused.

“I’m not sure that madness hasn’t taken our wizard,” Arlington whispered to Jankx.

“You six,” Veneranda continued, “Could retrieve the staff. And you six could activate the obelisk. And you six could become some of the most powerful people in the history of the Netherese.”

“Why haven’t you?” Octavian challenged.

Veneranda’s voice gained an edge of frustration. “Iriolarthas protects it, and as I have said he is well beyond my meagre powers. And as I have said, I am unable to leave these chambers.”

“What happens if you try and leave?” Morgan said.

“I cannot. There is no way for me to reach his chamber.”

“But we might have changed that,” Octavian said, “We used the Arcane Octad to reach the Spire—the shield is down.”

She walked over to look at a gently glowing gem on her workbench. “You have not changed my ability to reach his rooms.”

“The gem controls that magic?” Tarquin asked.

Veneranda nodded. “It is the way upstairs.”

“We know how to crush gems,” Arlington offered. “Do we touch the gem? How does this work?”

“I do not know. Iriolarthas placed it here and ordered me not to interfere. So I have not.”

“I’m beginning to get a sense of your resolve,” Tarquin smiled. “That is a temptation that I’m afraid I would not be able to resist.”

“I must admit that after the first few hundred years I might have tested that rule,” Octavian agreed.

“Jankx,” Arlington said causing the rogue’s stomach to drop. “Pop the gem in the circle on the ground there,” he said pointing to an arcane rune at Veneranda’s feet, “And we’ll be grouse.”

Jankx hesitated. Did Arlington really want to bring the wrath of Iriolarthas down?

“Jankx, if you don’t mind?”

Eearwaax grabbed the gem. Iriolarthas didn’t strike him down. The floor of the room had an arcane circle, so he dropped it in the centre. Nothing happened.

Veneranda watched the chaotic scene and sighed. “And I thought you called yourselves ‘godkillers’. This is the best you can do? This is nothing. I am wasting my time talking to you.”

“Well maybe you should talk to your three brothers in their jars,” Octavian snapped. “Oh but they can’t talk, anymore.”

“You may note we just picked up something you have been too scared to for over a thousand years,” Morgan added.

Eearwaax retrieved the gem and looked up to the stone ceiling. “Lady, why wouldn’t we just gate up there? Why do we need a special gem?”

Veneranda shook her head. “You have not met Iriolarthas. That much is clear.”

“So how does the gem work? We’re offering you our assistance and you clearly know more than you’re letting on,” Arlington said.

“You’re the intelligent ones,” Veneranda said archly. “I have not heard any offer of assistance. In fact it seems to me that you will not do what I wish.”

“I asked you before that if we take this city back in time—”

“And will you?” Veneranda interrupted.

“We don’t know!” Eearwaax cried.

“Sort of,” Arlington clarified.

“I’d like to talk to Iriolarthas,” Octavian added.

“Maybe?” Jankx concluded. “Let’s just start with the first thing. We have to get this staff, right? And that’s just upstairs, but it’s protected by Iriolarthas?”

“The greatest mage in our history,” Veneranda nodded.

“Yeah. I’m feeling that could be a difficult task, but ok.”

“But you are godkillers!”

“Just because we can doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Jankx shrugged.

“And it doesn’t mean we want to,” Arlington added.

“Veneranda,” Morgan frowned, dropping the honorific, “We may get the staff, or we may not. We may choose to send the city back in time, or we may not. But I can almost guarantee that after us there will be no more people visiting here. There were other people looking for this place and they are all dead—I know that because we killed them.”

Arlington laughed loudly at Morgan’s chutzpah, enjoying it immensely as she continued. “So without us you will be here for however long it takes for you to eventually become as insane as your master. The only opportunity you are going to get is if you assist us. And I’m guessing we’re more likely to be reasonable that Iriolarthas is. So this is in fact your only opportunity. Winter is falling and the ice will bury this place for eternity. No one will return here. Ever.”

Veneranda sloshed inside her jar. “But you are stopping that winter, are you not? That is what you have told me.”

“Yes,” Tarquin conceded. “But I do agree with my learned colleague that we are your only chance. Being a student of stories, and dare I say a man of letters, I do recall some of those old stories that played with time. And while we sit here and worry and wonder about whether we will come back or whether we won’t, for you that makes no difference. For if some timeline should come back here, it will happen instantaneously, and you will not know the difference.”

Arlington was completely lost. So was Jankx. Even Octavian and Eearwaax were struggling. Morgan practiced quick-drawing Iceblink.

“We may activate time paths,” Tarquin continued, spiralling, “But eventually one will lead back here to give you the power that you seek. Because once those paths are activated not time will pass, and it will collapse here even if it takes two millennia for that to happen!” Tarquin sucked in a deep breath, rather pleased he had managed to lay it out so clearly.

There was a long pause.

“I am…not sure what you just said,” Veneranda said eventually.

“Basically, whatever happens, if one of those futures leads back here, no time will pass and then they will appear!”

Veneranda folder her huge arms. “You threaten me with ‘this is my last change’. You threaten me with ‘you are my last hope’. I have survived here two thousand years, I can survive the same again if I must. I am not stopping you.”

“You’re just not helping us,” Jankx frowned.

“I have given you the key to getting upstairs. I have given no others that.”

“Let’s go,” Arlington said, “Bring the gem, Eearwaax.”

“Farewell godkillers,” Veneranda called with no small hint of sarcasm, “I shall be waiting, should you find the staff…”

---

Safety Dance

On the way through the ballroom Morgan scooped up a chunk of rotted wood, crushing it into a small pile. She opened the northern door to stand on the threshold of the void leading to the second tower.

Tarquin stood by her shoulder, judging the distance. His abracadabra’d rope might just be long enough? “Do you want me to get over to the other side so you can throw a rope over?” he asked Morgan.

Morgan shook her head. “One second.” She took a handful of the wood fragments and tossed it high over the void. She winked at Tarquin when it landed with a patter on an invisible bridge. She put a furtive foot onto the bridge. It held, so she stepped out with both. She carefully made her way across the gap, tossing detritus ahead to make sure there was no tricks.

“Off you go, Tarquin,” Arlington said. And he did, acutely aware that he may need to cast something to break his fall. Jankx too was prepared, but confidence was rising as the early venturers safely reached the other side.

“I think we are safe, though I can’t vouch for the giant kobold, or the construct,” Arlington said. Octavian was suitably cautious, wings spread, but the bridge was perfectly secure. The Netherese knew their magic.

On the far side lay an oddly shaped room. Eleven alcoves extended from the walls like the points of a star, each one a niche where a gently glowing crystal was mounted five feet above the floor. The air hummed with pent-up power. In the centre of the chamber was a raised platform with short stairs on four sides.

Jankx stepped into the room, careful to avoid the central platform. He quickly saw that one of the alcoves was dark, unlit. “The missing gem goes here,” he said, pointing. As he turned he saw Tarquin had stepped up onto the platform.

The bard froze as the crystals suddenly sparkled to life and rays of energy burst forth one by one to converge on Tarquin’s platform. They merged into a glowing ball of rainbow light that surrounded Tarquin. “I’m…okay?” he mumbled, stepping out of the light. “I suggest we stand somewhere close, but not on the podium!”

“Stand against pillars, but not in the way of the beams,” Morgan ordered.

“Come on Eearwaax, do your thing,” Arlington pointed. Eearwaax positioned himself at the back of the niche and dropped the gem into position.

The eleventh ray shot across the room, merging with the sphere of light. A shimmering beam of multicoloured light rose from the foot of the dais to the ceiling fifty feet overhead. “Just like the one we took from the Octad ring,” Eearwaax said.

“Morgan, you go first,” Arlington said.

“Gird your loins, we go to meet—” Tarquin started.

Eearwaax stepped inside the beam and started to float toward the ceiling.

“Eerwaaxx!!” Tarquin cried, casting inspiration on the drifting wizard.

Everyone decided to wait to see if Eearwaax was either distintegrated or squashed flat against the ceiling.

The great wizard was enjoying himself, gently levitating upwards. His controlled his nerves as the ceiling drew closer, vowing only to act if he got within five feet with no sign of egress above. And lo, with five feet to a circular section of the ceiling opened like segments of an orange, allowing him to rise into the room above.

“Eeerwaax! Are you okay?” Jankx called. There was no answer.

“We’ve just sent him to his death, haven’t we?” Tarquin said glumly.

“To be fair he did that to himself,” Morgan reminded everyone, “As always.”

“So let’s go up and rescue him!” Arlington cried. “You first, Morgan, then Octavian.”

“What if I’m too big for whatever is up there?” Octavian protested.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Arlington spluttered, stepping in behind Morgan.

“It’s not a bravery thing you idiot!” Octavian cried as everyone piled into the beam.

---

Eearwaax emerged into an fifteen foot diameter, perfectly round half-sphere glittering with frost. He could see nothing outside the protective sphere, just the ice frozen onto the outside surface. As he reached to explore the inner surface he heard a sound that unsettled him: a shringgg of metal like a sword being drawn from a scabbard.

A moment later a dark blade seemingly made of shadow sliced through the sphere toward him. He leapt back with a yelp, slamming against the far wall of the barrier. A second blade sliced down, barely missing him as he cried out.

Morgan and Arlington emerged first, followed quickly by the rest of the company. Octavian bumped his head against the top of the dome, hunching down and glaring at Arlington.

“There’s something here!” Eeerwaax cried, cowering and pointing at the shadow black sword blades that pierced the dome.

---

Arlington reacted first, shooting a bolt that passed through the blade, hit the dome and bounced to the floor. He had no idea if it hit or hurt it, but he fired again none-the-less.

Tarquin quickly cast a blade ward on Octavian and Morgan who were closest to the flying weapons, protecting them from sharpened weapons. Just in time, as a blade ripped through Octavian’s chest near eviscerating him. He pressed back against the dome as he clutched his chest wound. He instinctively directed a guiding bolt at the blade, causing it to glow briefly before the radiance was sucked into the blackness. The second sword swung at Octavian but only struck a scathing blow, mitigated again by Tarquin’s spell. Octavian made a mental not to thank the bard (quickly forgotten).

Jankx slipped across the dome and tried to hit the blade Arlington had hit, feeling good about his swing but his weapon seemed to slip straight through it. Morgan on the other hand felt Iceblink bite on both attacks as it passed through the shadow. He surged to attack again but his final swing was cursed, crashing into the roof of the dome and just skimming past Octavian’s head. The blade retaliated but Morgan shunted the swing away.

Luckily for everyone inside the dome, Eearwaax realised now was not the time for a fireball. Instead he focused on trying to break the dome, feeling the trap of being caught inside it. He reached up and touched the sphere and quickly realised it was a magical force wall—not physical, but there was no way to pass through it from the inside. But something was wrong: there should also be no way for something to pass through from the outside, yet the blades were freely doing so. They could attack with impunity whilst his companions could not. Making a decision, he muttered a spell to dispel the shield…and cursed as the dome stayed intact.

Arlington, having seen Octavian ripped open, pulled out his big guns. Too big as it turned out, but he did it with best intentions. He cast a spell over his crossbow and unleashed a bolt that was trailed by crackling lightning. It struck the blade, as intended, which dissipated into nothingness. Unfortunately the great hunter had not accounted for the fact he and his companions were trapped inside an impenetrable dome. There being no way to dodge the chaos, the lighting sparked and exploded around the dome, booming with thunder and striking most everyone, Octavian worst of all as his wounds were scorched.

As the lightning burst inside the dome, the ice that encased it suddenly collapsed and landed on and around the company. The dome formed again, iceless now, but the room beyond was revealed: two frozen fountains on either side of an oval room with artistic carvings decorating the walls. Long icicles hang from the ceiling. A double door led south, and a glowing green crystal roughly the size of a human fist was held aloft like an offering by a towering statue opposite the doorway. “The noise broke the shield!” Jankx cried.

Morgan was struck again by the remaining blade, slicing a gash in his torso. Tarquin leapt forward, lighting his green flame Dirgeblade and striking true and destroying the blade.

“Sorry,” Arlington mumbled sheepishly. Octavian glared harder than he was moments before, healing himself and accepting the same from Tarquin.

Eearwaax didn’t waste any time. He stepped through the mists and appeared on the outside of the dome under the statue. He grinned, waved at his still trapped companions, and looked up at the hand holding the gem. It was missing two fingers, which meant the gem wasn’t resting quite right in the hand. Eearwaax figured the sound of the lightning must have dislodged it slightly which had caused the shield to drop. He clambered up the statue and grabbed the gem. The moment it was removed from the hand the force wall dissipated.

“Good work,” Octavian nodded. Eearwaax beamed as Tarquin slapped him on the back. He reached down to the two broken fingers on the floor of the room and held them roughly in position as he cast mending on the statue causing even Octavian to smile.

---

“No one has checked those doors for a thousand years,” Octavian said as Jankx listened at the double doors leading from the chamber. “All quiet, are we ready?” To nods he and Morgan pushed the doors open.

A small hall led away, with steps down and up at either end, red marble floor in the middle. To either side stood a statue, one holding a lantern, the other lifting a goblet.

“Yeahhh,” Morgan said suspiciously, “There is no way this is safe.” She and Tarquin instinctively put there arms out to stop Eearwaax from stepping forward.

“It looks like a puzzle we have to work out,” Jankx said pointing to symbols on the floor and the statues.

“They’re the symbols for ‘death’, ‘immolation’…” Arlington explained wryly.

Eearwaax stepped forward (to cries of ‘Just look!'). “They’re not magical,” he shrugged.

“We’ll get through this. Morgan—you go first,” Arlington ordered.

Morgan rolled her eyes, made Ezra appear on the far side of the short corridor, then swapped places. “Easy,” she grinned at Arlington who rolled his eyes in turn. “I’ll get Ezra to test it,” Morgan added, taking mercy. Ezra stepped down and walked safely from one side to the other.

Arlington wasn’t taking any chances. He fired a crossbow bolt into the ceiling with the reel attached behind, grabbed it in one hand and swung gracefully over the gap to land beside Morgan with a short nod.

Octavian didn’t bother rolling his eyes, he simply walked over the hall, glancing respectfully at the statues as he passed. Nothing happened, and shortly after the company was regathered at the far side.

A long hall ran the width of the building, lined in the far wall by eight doors, each marked with a different arcane symbol.

“That corridor was fine,” Morgan said wryly, “But I’m quite sure the glowing arcane sigils in front of these eight doors are totally harmless.”

On the wall above the doors an inscription was etched in Draconic. Morgan read it aloud:

“Speak thy master’s name and enter.”

“I can tell you the masters!” Eearwaax said flipping open his notebook, racing Tarquin who was doing the same.

“Was Iriolarthas one or is he above?” Octavian asked.

“Above them all,” Morgan said.

“Eight doors, eight schools. What do we think? Do we need to do them all?”

“It’s okay, seven doors lead to death,” Morgan quipped. She was feeling feisty after the fight having not fought in what felt like forever.

Jankx once again tried to impose some order on proceedings. “Let’s just start with…what’s the school of magic that’s easiest to deal with?”

“Hm—Divination?” Octavian suggested. There were bad Divination spells, obviously, but he figured it was probably the weakest in terms of deadliness.

“Right. Which is that?”

“You’ve divined it,” Octavian winked, pointing to the door Jankx stood in front of.

“Okay someone say the name,” Jankx said stepping back.

“Do we need to say them in Draconic?” Octavian worried.

“No, a name is a name,” Morgan promised.

“We just have to try it,” Jankx said.

Octavian stepped forward, intoned “High Diviner Apius” in Draconic, and opened the door. Beyond was utter darkness. Even with his dark vision he could see nothing. He stepped back. “I don’t know if I did something wrong but it is completely black in there. So maybe Eearwaax should try.”

Eearwaax stepped forward, and for once everyone agreed he was the right choice. He case a cantrip of light on his staff, held it aloft, and spoke (in Netherese this time): “High Diviner Apius”. Darkness lay ahead so he stepped into it. He could see nothing at either end. He turned around and walked backward through the corridor, tapping the sides with his staff. After twenty or thirty feet he felt openness at his back. He used his staff to prod behind, finding the walls ending and a floor beyond. He took a deep breath and stepped out…into another room. “I’ve made it through to somewhere!” he called back, “Use the wall to find your way through and walk straight forward.”

Arlington obeyed and stepped into the corridor. A devilish laugh and stink of sulphur greeted him as he suddenly realised he hadn’t spoken the name. Something sharp buried itself in his thigh, and two claws slashed across his chest. “Shit!” he cried out of the darkness, stumbling backward in utter panic taking an extra slash as he did.

“Apius!” Jankx yelled, hoping it would help as Arlington fell out into the light, bleeding profusely, a spined tail whipping out of his back and into the darkness.

Tarquin slammed the door shut and yanked the next door open. “High Illusionist Ajamar!” he yelled and ran inside. He sprinted through the darkness and emerged untouched on the other side to find Eearwaxx.

Eearwaax was standing starting in wonder at what lay beyond, ignoring the cries from the other end of the corridor. A vortex of glowing stars hung in the air inside the chamber, slowly rotating on its axis. As the constellations moved they cast radiant starlight across the walls. Eight high-backed chairs, each bearing a different arcane symbol, faced the starry miasma which hung bewitchingly above a large table carved with runes.

Eearwaax walked slowly to the table, mesmerised by the display, and sat, not paying attention to which seat he chose…

“Oh for gods sake, Eearwaxx!” Tarquin cried in horror. “You idiot! We’ve just run here to help you and you left us back there! What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting down,” the tired wizard said self-evidently. “I’m having a rest, I’m sore.”

“There’s a fight going on you idiot!” Tarquin yelled as he heroically ran back into the darkness. The others hadn’t come through, so they were obviously pinned down.

Meanwhile on the other side, Arlington had recovered his nerves enough to swing the Divination door open again and pointed his crossbow into the darkness…and froze, terrified again.

“Arlington!” Octavian yelled, “Shut the door!”

This was enough to break Arlington from his trance. He didn’t shut the door, but he did run to the Illusion corridor, screaming out “High Illusionist Ajamar” as he leapt inside, shuddering as the darkness enveloped him.

Morgan did shut the door, then moved to the side. “High Illusionist Ajamar,” she said quietly, then moved fast through the blackness to the other side.

The door burst open and a barb-covered devil burst through, stinking of the hells and cackling hysterically. It immediately attacked Jankx, summoning flames in its hands and hurling two balls of fire. Jankx exploded in flame as he was engulfed. He rolled free of the flames and fired his crossbow hurriedly into the fiend. The bolt landed, but barely pierced the creature’s hide. It snarled as Octavian followed suit, thrusting the spear into the devil and relishing the magical cold the weapon added. It was the first time he had struck true with the Spear of the North, and he instantly realised: this was a very good weapon.

Tarquin emerged from the corridor and assessed the situation. A devil?? The frustration with Eearwaax bubbled over as he lifted his finger and shot a cone of frost along the wall to catch the devil. But, just like Arlington’s lightning, he miscalculated the angles and the frost also caught Octavian. The giant kobold staggered under the shock blast, immediately thinking another foe had emerged.

Tarquin groaned at his mistake, learning on the run. He tried to make amends by healing Octavian as much as he could manage. Octavian spun around and cursed as he saw it was Tarquin, not an ice devil. “Don’t help!” he cried, terrified of more friendly fire.

Morgan stopped at the corridor’s end and materialised Ezra at the other side. The ghostly warrior immediately swung his weapon at the thorned fiend, slicing thorns asunder. The devil laughed with manic glee as it slashed Jankx again with tail, claw, and claw. And missed with all three, Jankx dancing out of the way with preternatural skill. Ezra took the opportunity to add another brutal blow.

Arlington stumbled out of the darkness to find Eerwaaxx studying the starfield and Morgan standing at far corridor. “Where’s everybody gone?” Arlington mumbled to Eerwaaxx, utterly befuddled.

Eerwaaxx paid Arlington no heed. His gaze was transfixed by the swirling star field, which clearly represented the cosmos as it was known to the Netherese—the planets and stars closely aligned to the orrery back in the observatory. But there was something new, a strange phenomenon that he could not draw his eye from: a dark star in a position where no known star existed today.

As he stared the field started to change, coalescing slowly, freeing Eearwaax’s enraptured gaze. He glanced down at the chair he had chosen and was pleased to see it was covered in Necromantic symbols. Good choice, he thought to himself, oblivious to just how lucky he had been. He looked back up to find the stars had disappeared, and in their place was a black doorway atop the table. A portal.

Eerwaaxx briefly considered Tarquin’s scolding. Maybe he should go help? He turned around to see Arlington staring at him. “Hey Arlington—look at that!” he said pointing back to the doorway.

“Siddown,” Arlington snapped, trying and failing to get a handle on what he was seeing.

“I am sitting down?”

“Well stay down.”

“Okay.” Eearwaax shrugged.

Arlington spun to Morgan. “What is happening?!”

“They’re fighting something on the other side!”

Before Morgan had finished Arlington was jogging back into the darkness, crying “High Illusionist Ajamar!” as he did.

Octavian’s excitement at his earlier success overwhelmed his next swing, dragging the spear along the wall and missing the devil entirely. Tarquin, still feeling bad about his rookie mistake, leapt into the fray. He buried the Dirgeblade twice into the devil’s back.

Arlington emerged from the darkness to spy a devil, finally seeing what had hunted him in the darkness. He cursed and pulled up his crossbow, fired twice in quick succession, bolts either side of Tarquin’s head and Octavian’s thigh. Both found their mark and the devil disintegrated in a sulphurous stench as Arlington made good on his earlier error.

“What are you guys waiting for?” Arlington snorted, before turning and walking back through the door…muttering “High Illusionist Ajamar” as he did. Ezra shook his head with disdain as he faded away. Tarquin, Jankx and Octavian followed Arlington, all very sure to repeat the name.

They emerged to find Eearwaax obediently perched in his seat. He looked over his shoulder and waved, happy to see everyone together again. The mighty wizard turned back to the doorway and called out the tiny dragon he had given life in Dzaan’s spire. He stroked it’s softly scaly head and peered into its inquisitive eyes. “Can you go through and have a look please?”

The dragon lifted itself on its tiny wings, flapping joyously into the air. It breathed a triumphant breath of steam as it smiled at Eearwaax and nodded keenly, then turned and vanished into the portal.

---

Iriolarthas

“Well I’m sure there’ll be no blowback from that,” Arlington sighed, “But at least nothing is coming out of it. Don’t move, Eearwaax.”

“Ok—and don’t sit down,” Eearwaax said, pointing to the empty seven chairs. “They’re linked to your chosen arcane school.” Each chair was etched with one the eight Netherese arcane symbols, and all eight sat on the tabletop below the portal.

“Don’t worry that was not on my agenda,” Jankx laughed.

Morgan explored the room, keeping a wary eye on the spherical portal rising from the table. “There’s three doors down here,” she reported, summoning Jankx. She turned back to Eearwaax. “What opened that doorway?” Morgan asked.

“Me sitting on the chair,” Eearwaax shrugged. He called Haberdash from within his voluminous robes and pointed to the portal. “Would you mind going after the dragon?”

“Don’t!” Morgan cried. “I don’t think that’s a good plan.”

Eearwaax stared at Morgan. “Why?”

“Because if your dragon hasn’t come back, there’s no reason to think Haberdash will come back either,” Morgan explain patiently. “The dragon’s not alive.”

Eearwaax was about to protest, when he heard a soft, wet, thwap as something was tossed through the portal. He turned to find his tiny gold dragon lying spreadeagled on its back, it’s wings ripped, jaw shattered, eviscerated from head to tail. Its guts were oozing slowly onto the tabletop.

Such was Eearwaax’s shock that he immediately started trying to mend the clearly dead creature. Before he could complete the cantrip three Nothics leapt from the portal, converging on Eearwaax and giggling manically at finally having fresh minds to feed their voracious appetites.

“Get off the chair!!” Morgan screamed.

As Eearwaax jumped to his feet something far, far worse emerged from the portal: a deteriorating jawless skull drifted out, with glittering green eyes and the symbols of the eight schools wisping behind. The tiny undead creature had an terrifyingly, overwhelming presence.

---

“Oh shit. Iriolarthas.” Arlington said under his breath. “This is not how we wanted this to go.”

For a moment everyone was frozen with shock, then instinct kicked in. “Forget about Eearwaax, he’s already dead!” Arlington cried, pointing to Iriolarthas. “Front load!”

“Forget the Nothics, they’re cleave damage,” Morgan yelled, “The skull is what’s going to kill us!”

Tarquin backed off quickly toward the dark passages. “You’re a floating skull, but do you have the wisdom to withstand me?!” he cried, summoning a cone of fear that caused the Nothics to scream with terror at the visions implanted in their starving brains. Iriolarthas on the other hand was completely unaffected, floating thirty feet overhead. “He doesn’t scare easily,” Tarquin hollered throwing inspiration Arlington’s way, “Somebody hit it!”

Morgan obeyed Tarquin’s call, materialising Ezra in mid-air next to Iriolarthas. Ezra swung his blade, striking a chippy blow. He felt the blow should have landed harder, but the skull was very small.

Iriolarthas turned his gaze on Eearwaax and created a cloud of grave dust that engulfed the young wizard (and one of the Nothics whose giant eyes blinked furiously in pain and Tarquin’s panic), blinding him as the Nothics bore down on him. He flung his staff out helplessly to try and ward them off, until realising they were so afraid of Tarquin that they were just running as far as possible. The blinded one scooted away to the far end of the corridor.

Arlington backed around the table, keeping Iriolarthas lined up. For a moment he considered firing his grappling crossbow into the skull, allowing him to fling it around the room like a head on a rope—a very long skull–flail, so to speak. Although…reeling it in would bring the enemy too close. Perhaps just shooting the damned thing was a better idea. The great hunter found himself second and third guessing his decision, so that by the time he did finally fire he completely fluffed the shot and jammed his crossbow.

Iriolarthas inclined his head back, as if he was opening his missing jaw, and released a keening howl that flooded everyone’s minds with unbridled malice, annihilation, and a millennia of frustration. The howl reminded Eearwaax of the death-cry of Cadavix only ten times worse. It echoed deafening through the chamber as everyone clutched their heads in despair.

Tarquin watched in horror as first Eearwaax, then Arlington, Jankx, Morgan, and Octavian collapsed to the ground, twitching for a moment before becoming grave-still. Everyone was dead. His mind reacted with fear and panic, flight instantly winning over fight. He shielded his face from the ominously silent Iriolarthas as his companions greyed before his eyes, life leeching from them faster than he could process.

He fell to his knees gasping in air, trying to calm his shattered nerves. They’re all dead. I’m the only one left. They’re all dead!? Iriolarthas will kill me. I can’t. I…I have to do something. The obelisk? No time. Come on Tarquin, do something!

Tarquin scrambled to his feet, back to the wall. Calling on every shred of willpower he croaked out a desperate dirge of healing toward his fallen companions. And miraculously, it worked—each sucking in a lungful of life as consciousness returned to their collapsed bodies. He could do no more, backing away cowering with fright as Iriolarthas’s presence overwhelmed him, praying his companions—his friends—would survive.

His prayers were answered.

Morgan was first to rise, shaking her aching head and clambering to her feet as she called Ezra forth. Her brother appeared once again next to Iriolarthas quaking with anger—this creature had killed his sister—and crashed his blade into the skull.

Iriolarthas ignored Ezra’s attack, starting to move down toward the cluster of Octavian, Arlington and Jankx. But he didn’t account for Ezra’s speed, the ghostly warrior managing to slammed his sword into the demilich as it flew away. Iriolarthas was stopped in his floating tracks such was the force of the swing, but he still managed to glare his intended curse. All three targets felt something begin to transfer their very life into the floating horror…but all three point blank refused to allow it to happen, forcing the lich’s will to withdraw with a supreme last-ditch effort of their own.

Arlington scrambled back to the wall and fired his crossbow. “On your left, Ezra,” he croaked as his first bolt landed true, the second spraying wild as a cough wracked his recovering body.

Octavian set his face in a mask of determination. He was alive, he had resisted Iriolarthas’s life drain, and now it was his turn. He flung a guiding bolt at the skull, knowing the undead were particularly vulnerable to radiance, but despite calling on all the luck he had he too missed badly. He cursed as he shook his head in an attempt to clear it of the post-death fog that must have clouded his judgement.

As Jankx moved to attack, Iriolarthas blinded both he and Octavian just as he had Eearwaax. Jankx stopped in his tracks, wiping his eyes frantically. He was still in shock, and given he couldn’t see took the next best option, casting a protection from evil spell as he shrunk into a doorway, trying to hide from the hideous demilich.

The mighty wizard Eearwaax blinked—he could see again, though his head pounded. He was pleasantly surprised to find two dead Nothics, removing them from the equation. Then he saw the body of his dragon and growled: Iriolarthas would pay. He used his staff to misty step to the back of the room, getting out of the eyeline of Iriolarthas. His hands started to burn with heat as he was finally able to cast a fireball, after being stymied for so long. He aimed it with pinpoint precision, causing the firestorm to explode thirty feet in the air, with the epicentre far enough away to both miss all of his companions and, most importantly, engulf Iriolarthas. Oh and Ezra, but Ezra didn’t count.

Eearwaax smiled with destructive satisfaction…a smile that was quickly wiped away when he saw that the flames that should have ignited Iriolarthas instead flowed harmlessly around the demilich’s decaying skull, leaving him entirely unscathed. The only person that was scathed was Octavian, the entire left side of his body singed clean of hair by the blast. Eearwaax muttered to himself as he furrowed his brow—he wouldn’t be fooled so easily next time.

In the far end of the room, Tarquin found himself no longer terrified of the floating skull. He slapped his face to wake himself and raced back into the fray. The first thing he did was further heal the company, knowing that every last sliver of health would help. The second thing he did surprised everyone who noticed: he fired his crossbow at the last surviving Nothic, which was still sheltering as far away from his as possible. The bolt sunk into its foul flesh allowing Tarquin some brief satisfaction, though he was disturbed to see the Nothic’s reaction was to wail and sprint toward Eearwaax.

Iriolarthas turned to Morgan, ignoring Ezra as he now understood the arcane link between the siblings. His deathly stare bored into Morgan’s mind, and she found a shapeless horror filling her mind. She fought passed it to get Ezra to attack again, but the mental disruption meant only one attack found its mark.

Arlington thudded another bolt from his doorway, and cursed as he again missed with his second. He was huddling as far away as possible from the lich and stifled a frustrated cry. He needed to get his head into the game, pincushioning Iriolarthas wasn’t going to be enough. But what else was there?

Once again Iriolarthas intervened in proceedings, flying lower toward Octavian whilst cursing both Jankx and Morgan such that they had no means of healing. Tarquin and Octavian felt the wavering in the Weave but in the heat of the fight couldn’t determine what it meant—other than that it was bad.

“What the fuck are we doing here,” Tarquin groaned, feeling like nothing was working.

“We’re killing this guy—don’t get bogged down! It only takes one of us to live to finish him. Fight for your lives people!” Morgan yelled.

Octavian nodded and focussed his every attention on sending another guiding bolt Iriolarthas’s way. But again it missed! He couldn’t understand it, and, remembering Eearwaax’s failed fireball, a suspicion started to grow in his mind: Iriolarthas was somehow causing all these spell attacks to miss. He yanked his spear free—at least Arlington and Ezra’s weapons were hitting true (albeit half as often as usual).

Jankx , secure in his corner, muttered a spell under his breath and next moment was spidering up the walls to the ceiling fifty foot overhead. As Iriolarthas’s gaze followed him climb, Eearwaax misty stepped to get as far away as possible. He changed his strategy from fire to lightning, sending a witch bolt to try and latch onto Iriolarthas for sustained damage. He cursed when he realised he’d aimed well wide of the tiny skull, the sudden movement breaking his calculations.

Tarquin had creeping concern that Iriolarthas might soon unleash another of his deadly howls. He needed some way to protect the company from annihilation. He leapt atop the table, healing everyone as he did. He then unfurled a parchment which he had been saving for just this moment. With a booming song he started to recite as epic poem, the Ballad of the Sunless Citadel, hoping to inspire his companions with their deeds from that dread place:

We walked along a peril’s path
A mundane task at hand
Fell victim to an icy blast
Snow borne upon the land

The company felt the words lift and bolster their spirits. The moments came alive: the start of this grand adventure, the beginning of a bond never to be broken. At the periphery of consciousness: an owlbear! The first and greatest threat, which with valour and might had been escaped from into the safe embrace of the darkness below. Now was the time to repeat that great victory!

Morgan smiled determinedly, shrugging off the healing curse Iriolarthas had applied. Ezra grinned at the surge of confidence and swung his blade…missing completely. Missing so badly that he lost grip on the hilt and was forced to recover that instead of attacking again. Ezra opened his mouth and screamed, silently, a paroxysm of rage. Iriolarthas would have smiled if he could. He tried to blind Ezra as a reward for his failure, but Ezra shook his head: no.

An avalanche, all might and sound
Drew terror from our team
No escape, we held our ground
A nightmare for our dreams

The Nothic, somehow still alive, was drawn to Tarquin’s song. It jumped on the table and tried to suck the secrets Tarquin sung, but there was no chance, the power of the poetry too strong!

Arlington worried his companions would think him a coward for being so distant. Bolstered, he gritted his teeth and took great care with his aim. He was rewarded with two solid strikes, which didn’t go unnoticed. Iriolarthas seemed to shudder slightly, a wobble in his flight. A small ember of hope started to grow in Arlington’s gut. It all counted, he realised. He loaded his next bolts.

By fortune’s grace and not some skill
We lived to tell the tale
Of frigid doom and frosty hell
‘twould turn your face to pale.

Iriolarthas appeared to confirm Arlington’s diagnosis, trying to siphon strength from Octavian, but Octavian was still flooded with the inspiration from Tarquin’s song. He gripped his spear and shunted it at the demilich. And missed. Again! The giant kobold almost flung his weapon away in frustration, anger, impotence, and disgust.

Overhead Jankx had inched his way directly above the floating skull, who he was sure had lost track of his position. In the darkness he drew his sword, smiled grimly…and dropped. He flew from fifty feet above, plunging with deadly intent toward Iriolarthas. A grin appeared on his face as he lifted the sword above his head and prepared to shatter the skull. At the last possible moment Iriolarthas shifted, and Jankx realised the demilich knew exactly where he was. His closed his eyes as he unceremoniously thudded into the stone floor, feeling like he had broken every bone in his body. He was alive, but barely.

No sooner did the tumult end
A greater threat appeared
Winged fury, feathers, claws that rend
The owlbear howled and reared

Seeing Ezra, Octavian and Jankx all fail so badly…Arlington’s ember was well and truly extinguished.

Iriolarthas loaded his next trick, weakening Eearwaax with a necrotic curse—that Morgan and Tarquin managed to fight off. Eearwaax didn’t care. A stroke of lightning blasted out from his hands, streaking across the room directly into the demilich. Except it didn’t—just like the fireball, the lightning diverted around the skull and crashed into the wall behind instead. Eearwaax hissed in despair.

Tarquin kept his ballad going despite the failure all around him. Iriolarthas seemed to be growing in power, and seemed to be unhittable. The howl seemed inevitable. So he healed again, then sung on, urging his companions to mighty deeds:

The treasure of our quest secured
We rallied to the stage
With hero’s hearts we turned to face
The abomination’s rage

Morgan directed Ezra to give it everything. Everything. And Ezra needed no second telling. He moved faster than the eye could see, spinning and flashing through the air, an elemental force. His swordplay traced a glowing picture in light of vengeance, rage, and brutal determination: no-one killed his sister and lived to tell the tale. His strikes hit and hit and hit and hit.

Under that assault Iriolarthas was clearly in trouble. Chips and shards of bone started to fly off and the glow of his eyes flickered. The arcane wisps were fading, replaced by dark trails of undeath. He drew the healing magic from the room, leaving near everyone vulnerable to even the slightest wound.

The Nothic was inspired by its master’s magic, finally managing to pierce Tarquin’s mind. Saliva oozed from it’s mouth—and eye?!—as it fed after an eternity of nothing. Tarquin paid it no heed, singing on. Something had changed in the room, a singularity approached. It was time.

The moment we did join the fray
A mighty crack did sound
The snow beneath our feet gave way
‘nd we fell beneath the ground

Arlington fanned the ember back to life. His bolt thudded home. A tooth flew away from Iriolarthas.

The lich, with more urgency it seemed, again turned his piercing gaze to Octavian. And this time he made no mistake, flooding the huge kobold with necrotic fire. Octavian gasped with pain, eyes widening in horror as he felt the damage from the wound being siphoned away as healing for Iriolarthas.

“No!” Octavian screamed, “No!!”” He lunged through the air, refusing to be denied. He thrust the spear directly through an eye-socket, pinioning the lich on the end of the Spear of the North. Jankx was climbing to his feet, with murder in his eyes, directly below, so Octavian levered the spear—and Iriolarthas—into Jankx’s range.

“We’re close!” Octavian cried, urging Jankx on.

Jankx, broken, bleeding, but not ready to die just yet, jammed his sword up with all his strength. If falling from the ceiling failed, striking from the ground would surely not. Surely. His sword was thrown from his grasp as, instead of hitting fragile bone, it hit Octavian’s legendary spear. Jankx dropped the sword as the shock ran up his arm, then collapsed to his knees and looked at his shaking hands. He had nothing left.

Eearwaax abandoned his spells. He was a mighty wizard, but he was forced to concede Iriolarthas was mightier still. But there was one thing Iriolarthas didn’t have: hands. Eearwaax lifted his staff above his head and charged toward the hated lich. As he ran he cast one last spell, near guaranteeing he would strike true…until Iriolarthas blinded him, stopping the staff-charge in mid stride.

Tarquin’s rhyme had finished, the words echoing still around the chamber. He turned his attention to Iriolarthas and summoned a phantasmal killer, embedding a hideous amalgam of the phaerimm (the greatest threat in Netheril) and a Ten Towns Owlbear (the greatest threat in Faerûn). Or trying to. Iriolarthas turned his gaze to Tarquin briefly and shook his head slowly. Tarquin cursed, inspired Morgan, and turned to face the Nothic instead. At least those things could die.

Now that Iriolarthas was finally in range, Morgan gripped Iceblink and sprinted to strike the undead fiend. But Tarquin’s inspiration was somehow corrupted by Iriolarthas and she growled as she connected only a single swing of three.

“Come on Arlington…come on,” Jankx pleaded as the great hunter lined up his shot. Just like Morgan, he only hit once, and just like Morgan, he growled with growing rage. How was a floating skull so difficult to hit?! How was it still alive??!

But Iriolarthas wasn’t still alive, he was still undead. And he was still a demilich, and this was his lair. He lifted his head to expose his hideous jaw again and let out one final howl that filled the chamber with the dread of Iriolarthas. But this one was tinged with a premonition of the end of days, of the curse of mortality, and of finality.

This time only Jankx and Eearwaax (and the ridiculous Nothic) fell, their souls shattered by the failure of everything they had tried in the battle.

But Tarquin, Arlington, Morgan, and Octavian? They refused to be bowed by Iriolarthas’s keening wail. For that was all it was to them: a wail, not a howl, not a command, not a curse.

Nothing but the cry of a creature that was about to die.

Octavian still had Iriolarthas pinned to the end of his spear. He swung it thirty feet overhead and hammered Iriolarthas into the ground with the strength of a giant and the might of a kobold. The skull shattered, thousands of shards of bones exploding through the room, as Octavian roared with triumph.

Arlington smiled with relief. “The greatest kobold of all time—as I’ve always said.”

“Who says we can’t kill gods?” Tarquin grinned.

---

Perfectly Simple

The lich was dead.

The first order of business was reviving Jankx and Eearwaax, who groggily returned to sorry consciousness under Tarquin and Octavian’s ministrations.

“He’s dead,” Morgan said to lift their sunken spirits.

Jankx groaned and picked up his sword, flinging it away in disgust when he saw a nock in the blade rendering it useless.

Eearwaax stumbled over to the table, his body aching, and picked up the body of his dragon. Despite knowing it couldn’t work on a once living thing, he mended it, then sadly slipped it into once of his pockets.

“I know forces are probably marshalling outside,” Morgan said, glancing around her sore and drained companions, “But we all need a rest.”

“Yes please,” Eearwaax mumbled.

Morgan pointed to the three doors leading off the room. “If we leave those doors alone, there’s no reason to suspect anyone has been in this room for a very long time. Nor that anything is necessarily going to come into the room now the portal is closed.”

Tarquin stared up at the glowing constellation that had replaced the portal. The dark star at the centre drew his attention, just like it had Eearwaax. “Eearwaax needs eight hours,” he said seeing the young wizard’s exhaustion, and worrying about the Blight.

“Morgan’s right,” Octavian said crouching and running his finger through the dust that covered everything. “This place was long undisturbed until we came along. My only concern is…we don’t think the mythallar is loose now, do we?”

“I don’t think so. Why would it be ‘loosened’?” Arlington asked.

“Because we killed the guy who had protected it?”

“Wouldn’t we feel something?” Jankx said, “Earthquakes and shit?”

Morgan shook her head. “The simple fact is we can ignore how drained we all are, but if there’s anyone nasty outside then all we’re doing is prolonging the inevitable. At least this way we have a fighting chance.”

“Backs against the wall and we rest,” Octavian said, settling.

“I’ll stay awake,” Morgan nodded.

---

Eearwaax woke with a jerk. He had been deeply asleep, and dreaming of betrayal. He glanced at his companions and frowned. Not to be trusted too far. Particularly the kobold—how had he grown again? Octavian was indeed another foot taller, now pushing fifteen feet. And he looked annoyed too. Typical.

“Let’s move,” Octavian growled at his lackadaisical companions. “We should quickly search these rooms and then get out of here.”

“And maybe the portal too?” Morgan said, “Because that’s where he came out of. Anything that he was holding or keeping hidden is through there.”

“I guess so,” Octavian sighed. “But he was a skull so what was he keeping. A hat?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Pick a door,” she said to Jankx.

Jankx did. The door was locked, but despite its complexity the lock proved no difficulty. He understood Netherese fabrication better thanks to solving the orrery. He pointed to a shimmering blue light that flickered from under the door. “Ready?”

---

Inside a ten-foot-tall spindle of gray crystalline stone hovered upright, rotating slowly inside a circular chamber, surrounded by refracting light that emanates from the spindle. The surfaces of the room’s walls were cracked, as though some terrible energy once coursed through them. Smashed display cases lay around the outer edges of the room. Jankx stepped back, certain this was not his problem to deal with.

“Oh god,” Octavian muttered. He had a bad feeling about this. “I’m worried about chrono-energy.” He picked up a piece of rubble and tossed it inside, careful not to hit the spindle itself. It acted as expected.

“That’s the spindle,” Eearwaax said confidently, stepping to the threshold of the room, transfixed. “They brought back the spindle, the fools.”

“The floor has Abjuration runes physically carved into it,” Octavian said pointing to a circle that surrounded the object. “But they’re all inert. Eearwaax you would best get a read on this, but it looks like they used the runes to create a shield around the spindle. It obviously didn’t work, given the damage.”

“Veneranda talked about this,” Morgan reminded everyone. “This must be the statis chamber.”

“It looks like it’s statis has been challenged once or twice,” Arlington noted pointing to the scarred walls.

“The statis field has failed,” Octavian nodded.

“When she mentioned it,” Morgan said, “She wasn’t sure if an experiment related to the spindle happened on the same day the city fell. She thought it was either Karsus or this relic that caused the city to fall. I think we should close this door and leave it alone.”

“And never speak of it again,” Arlington added.

“Wait,” Octavian said. “Eearwaax—do you think there’s a way we can get those sigils active again?”

“Maybe if we talk to Veneranda? Though she’s a necromancer and may not know.”

“And could also be completely insane,” Morgan said.

“Well let’s not judge other people after what we’ve been through,” Octavian snapped.

“She’s had a long time to practice…”

Tarquin frowned. “I wouldn’t be going and saying to any archmage kind of person ‘hey look we’ve just killed the big one, do you want to come in and take over?'”

“That’s assuming she doesn’t already know,” Morgan warned.

Eearwaax made to step inside the room, wanting to learn more. This was an Ostorian artefact, and from everything he’d read that meant it was invaluable.

“Whoa, wait!” Arlington called, “Let’s check the other doors first, kiddo!”

Morgan put a hand on Eearwaax’s shoulder. “Maybe just take a look. Just a look. Because this could be really dangerous.”

Eearwaax shrugged Morgan’s hand away, annoyed. He wasn’t stupid. He stepped inside the room, closely followed by a protective Tarquin.

The mighty wizard immediately felt deeply uncomfortable. “There is deep magic here,” he said softly, “Coming from the spindle, of a type I don’t recognise.” Tarquin nodded agreement, also feeling the unease.

“Let’s just check the other doors kids! Come on!” Arlington encouraged.

Tarquin put an arm around Eearwaax’s waist to turn him back to the door, but Eearwaax was having none of it. “Don’t! Don’t touch me!” Tarquin rolled his eyes and walked outside. “Apparently he wants to be alone in there,” he grumbled. Octavian watched Tarquin closely, wondering again if time might have worked differently for him when he was in the room. But, like the rock, he looked unchanged.

Morgan watched as Eearwaax took another step closer to the spindle, ready to jump in. Eearwaax crouched and focussed all his arcane knowledge on the device, but the strange magic in the room was completely throwing his normally well tuned magical senses. The chamber felt like an anti-magic zone, and the closer he got the weaker his connection to the weave become. He shook his head and moved back out of the room. “It’s too much,” he said sadly, “I have no idea what’s going on in there.”

“If we live through the day you can come back and take a look,” Morgan said encouragingly. “We have Auril to deal wiht, and maybe Hedrun, and maybe a devil too. So why don’t we come back to it.” Eearwaax nodded slowly, gazing at the spindle as Morgan pulled the door closed.

No one else felt inclined to try either.

---

Jankx opened the opposite door, revealing a library. “Books,” he said. The walls of the triangular room were filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, most of which had fallen to the floor. Time and bitter cold had not been kind to them.

Morgan stepped aside to allow Octavian to race in, just ahead of Eearwaax and Tarquin. Eearwaax went on a mending spree as he tried to find something salvageable.

Most of the books and scrolls had been ruined by centuries of disuse, but the search unearthed three survivors of interest: a scroll, an adamantine key, and a brittle tome with a black, eight-pointed star on its front cover.

Octavian hefted the tome and carefully cracked it open. Many of the pages were deteriorated beyond reading, but he soon realised it was a volume recording the meetings of the Wizards of the Ebon Star, Iriolarthas’s inner quorum of mages. One very early entry covered the formation of the society which Octavian summarised aloud, knowing Morgan’s interest: “The Ebon Star was an ancient entity that contacted Iriolarthas and offered him the power he now wields. There is no record of what price was paid for that power, though there is mention of Iriolarthas driving the Wizards of the Ebon Star to undertake various unexplained activities that often appeared to run counter to Netheril’s commonly understood goals.”

Octavian flipped to the later entries and his eyes lit up. “Here’s one describing the spindle. It describes how it appears to absorb magic…high hopes it could be deployed to fight the Phaerimm…the Statis Chamber was built to house unstable magic items during experimentation…and listen to this: ‘Tests have been progressing, and Iriolarthas has proposed channelling a more powerful spell to test the limits of the device.'”

“That aligns with what Veneranda told us,” Morgan said, “Maybe she’s not insane after all.”

“So if you do the right spell it turns you into a lich, is what I’m understanding from that little section,” Jankx smirked.

“Or maybe whatever they did to it made the city fall out of the sky,” Morgan said.

“The spell broke the field,” Octavian agreed, “From that point on the city was doomed.”

Eearwaax had half an ear on Octavian’s findings, but he was more intent on finding something himself. He was rewarded when he found a pristine scroll under a mound of mouldy paper. He unfurled the scroll carefully, eyes widening. “A Scroll of the Comet,” he whispered under his breath. The scroll could be used to summon a comet from the sky, causing untold destruction where it landed.

---

Eearwaax gulped and quietly slipped the scroll into his pocket, mending it just in case. Unfortunately for him, Tarquin noticed the subtle pocketing. Tarquin waited for Eearwaax to be absorbed in his next search and tried to slip his hand into the pocket to take the scroll.

“What are you doing!” Eearwaax snapped, grabbing Tarquin’s wrist mid attempt. “You keep touching me! What’s wrong with you people, all of you touching me, telling me no, stopping me! All the time!”

“You know why he did that,” Octavian said sternly, “The scroll.” He too had seen the pocketing.

“What about it?” Eearwaax said defensively.

“Well it’s funny how we’ve all been adventuring together a long time, Eearwaax, and whenever we found something we’ve shared it with everyone. I just called Morgan in to—”

“This is a scroll you don’t want me casting,” Eearwaax interrupted the lecture.

“But you should share—”

“Well you cast it then!” Eearwaax said sulkily, throwing the scroll to Octavian.

“You know I can’t,” Octavian said, before realising that he in fact could. Anyone could.

“Can you tell us what it is?” Tarquin asked.

“This is…something which a kobold should have,” Octavian said quickly slipping the scroll into his pocket. “Look. This is extremely dangerous.”

“Yes I know that’s why I said we shouldn’t cast it!” Eearwaax frowned.

“We might have to.”

“What is it!?” Tarquin cried.

“It will call a comet from the sky,” Octavian said to gapes, “And destroy a city.”

“Sounds like some sort of godkiller,” Tarquin smiled softly.

“Why don’t you pass it to me?” Arlington said.

“Maybe it should stay with someone who’s a little more calm,” Octavian said to a glare from Arlington. “So I’ll keep it for now.”

“Sounds like we have no choice?” Arlington said.

“Well is there anyone else calmer than me?”

“I’m happy with that resolution,” Tarquin said. He was intent on keeping it out of Eearwaax’s hands.

“I’ll hold it,” Eearwaax said immediately, sensing Tarquin’s plan and putting his hand out expectantly.

“I think the fact that the first thing Eearwaax said is that no-one should ever cast this speaks a lot to his demeanour now,” Morgan said.

“I respect your position, Morgan, but I’m yet to be convinced,” Tarquin said. “I’m seriously yet to be convinced that this boy has turned a corner.”

Eearwaax’s hackles rose. Who is he calling a boy? Has he not seen my magic?!

“It seems only minutes ago when he sat down in that chair and called all manner of things upon us,” Tarquin continued.

“He did summon a demilich,” Jankx agreed.

“I don’t think any of us here can throw a stone in that regard,” Morgan said. “Because we are all responsible—”

Tarquin refused to budge. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Morgan. Don’t give it back to the boy.”

“Give it to Jankx,” Arlington suggested to deaf ears.

Morgan looked to Octavian and nodded. Octavian shrugged and reached the scroll down to Eearwaax, who grabbed it before Tarquin could react. Tarquin stuffed it into a hidden pocket inside his robes, secure with Horseradish. Tarquin was horrified the group had cohered around this decision. He glanced at Arlington who was also frowning, but refusing to interfere.

“If that scroll’s as powerful as it seems to be,” Morgan said, thinking of the likely battle ahead, “It probably should be used if we’re going to lose.”

“Yes,” Eearwaax nodded keenly, “Only if we’re going to lose.”

“I disagree,” Arlington said, “It probably should be used if we’re going to win.” He had a strong feeling that the odds of winning were low and anything that could turn those odds should be deployed with much vigour.

“Maybe,” Morgan said, “But certainly if we’re going to lose.”

“Oh and I found this,” Tarquin said holding aloft the key.

“What you want to bet that key opens the door Jankx unlocked,” Morgan laughed.

Jankx unlocked the final door just as Tarquin leaned in to use the key. It led outside to a balcony which everyone moved onto, breathing in the frigid air. It was colder than ever, and the outer reaches of the city had become encrusted with a layer of ice. It was clear this was the position where Iriolarthas must have stood for the portrait in the Museum, delivering proclamations to his adoring subjects.

“Look there,” Arlington said narrowing his eyes and pointing to the ice bridge that led from the Caves of Hunger. At the top of the bridge was a gathering: winter wolves, frost giant skeletons, and shambling humanoid creatures with glowing blue eyes.

“Completely unrelated to us,” Octavian announced wryly.

“We should cast that comet spell over there,” Morgan said, only semi-joking as she pulled her snow goggles down. “Though it will collapse the cave and entomb us in here forever.”

“Until we get this city flying again,” Arlington countered.

“Let’s go inside before they see us,” Morgan said glancing up at the horde. “Check what’s through that portal and then get to the mythallar before they do.”

“I agree,” Arlington said, “But can I just make a point—we’re humans, correct? Some of those are wolves.” He waited patiently for his students to catch up.

“Are you saying they’ve seen us already?” Morgan ventured.

“Ohhhh yes.”

“Welllll that’s assuming they’re looking up.”

“Yeah I don’t know about that—we’re on a balcony!” Octavian said.

“Exactly. Have you seen people? They never look up,” Morgan nodded, realising she was on shaky ground.

“They’re not people,” Arlington said bluntly.

“Nor do wolves,” Morgan said weakly.

“Morgan! Are you the great white hunter? No? I didn’t think so.” Arlington spun and walked back inside, Morgan following sheepishly behind.

---

“Eearwaax I assume you’re going to have to stay here so we can come back,” Morgan said as everyone stood at the table expectantly.

“Probably not—but the door did stay open for a while after Iriolarthas appeared and I had moved away.”

“If we find a reverse portal on the other side we’ll come and get you.”

“Okay. This just takes us to somewhere else in this building, doesn’t it?” Eearwaax said.

“We don’t know.”

“I assume so, you’re on the right track Eearwaax,” Arlington said. “Don’t worry about them, just sit in the chair.”

Eearwaax obeyed and the portal again coalesced out of the starfield.

Morgan hopped up on the table and stood before the gateway. She hesitated for a moment, looking around at her companions.

“If you don’t immediately come back, we know that things are bad,” Jankx said. “I don’t know what we’ll do at that point, but if you can’t come back then…probably the rest of us shouldn’t come through.”

“Understood,” Morgan said. There was a chance this was a one way trip, so she met each person’s eyes and there was an acknowledgement of respect from each.

“Does that come under the definition of ‘losing’ and we should use the comet?” Tarquin smiled, breaking the awkward ice.

“I’ll see you very soon,” Morgan said and stepped through.

---

A moment later she was back. “It’s Iriolarthas’s private chamber, and there’s a return portal.” She turned and walked through again.

“Let’s pile in!” Arlington said leaping through.

This chamber beyond was a trove of wizardly wonders. On the upper level, all around, were tables covered with magical paraphernalia. Staircases to the east and west descended to a lower part of the room, where a sunken library was situated in a twenty-foot-wide, ten-foot-deep circular pit. A ladder ran along a circular track inside the hole allowing easy access to the many perfectly intact books and scrolls on its shelves.

Octavian spread his wings and jumped into the book pit. The floor had a sequence of arcane Conjuration writs centred around a stylised image of the mythallar.

Arlington’s eyes were instantly drawn to a white lion skin, complete with head, that decorated the floor in the far reaches. He made a beeline toward it.

Hanging on the wall near the portal was an superb Netherese mandolin. Tarquin lifted it carefully down, finding it superior to an ordinary instrument in every way. He strummed a few gentle chords and beamed: not only was this beautiful to play, it had hidden powers. He realised he could use it to enhance his companion’s spellcraft, or interfere with a foe’s. And what was more the mandolin itself seemed to have spells embedded in the craftwork. He slung it over his shoulder, the melody of Iriolarthas’s demise already coming to mind, and climbed into the library to join Octavian.

Eearwaax was in wizard heaven. He could barely take in the treasures before him—every nook and cranny was filled with something incredible. He didn’t know where to turn. Scrolls, rings, dice, marbles…it was overwhelming. He started hoovering up everything he could moving down the room. Then he saw something: a plinth with an massive book atop. He ran over, dignity forgotten. It was a weighty spellbook with an inlaid inscription: The Incantations of Iriolarthas. Its black leather covers had dead, toothy worms glued to them, sheathed in glossy varnish. Set into that morbid display on the front cover was a gold rune that resembled a stylised eye with a pupil shaped like a candle flame—the sigil of Iriolarthas.

---

He cracked the tomb open, unsettling centuries of dust. So many spells.

Arlington meanwhile had doffed the lion skin and was now stalking around the room looking for treasures to match. He was in luck, finding a magnificent boar spear that appeared to dance in his hand when he hefted it. On a table nearby he also found an ivory statuette carved in the likeness of a moose—with wings. His mind reeled under the lion’s head before he recalled his discussion at the ball regarding Athrynia’s winged hare. It seems Iriolarthas had more ambitious tastes when it came to the magical menagerie.

On a bench on the upper level Jankx found an attractive steel bracelet, a strange choice of material for something decorative. As he slipped it on he noticed a glowing word traced lightly around the inside of the metal. This was no simple bracelet. He held his wrist aloft and spoke the command, and the bracelet transformed into a double-edged dagger. He grinned and spoke the word again to reform the bracelet. Nearby was a ring that seemed to match, so somewhat recklessly he slipped that on too. He felt his crossbow and simple dagger surge with magical juice as if they were now empowered.

Morgan wandered the room, half an eye on the portal in case something emerged. On a bench she found a miniature clockwork hourglass. She picked it up and felt a strange sensation: Was this what magic felt like?. Eearwaax explained later that the hourglass allowed the user to control speed or slow the reactions of the bearer or their targets, which brought a smile to Morgan’s face.

After pocketing the hourglass, a small table opposite Eearwaax’s plinth caught her attention. The only thing on the red velvet tabletop covered was an exquisite lacquer bowl. As she drew close a shiver went down her spine—there was something familiar here. She stared at the bowl as the feeling grew undeniably: Barovia. Suddenly she knew what this was.

As Morgan froze, Ezra appeared unbidden by her side. He put a hand on her shoulder as Morgan slowly and deliberately lifted the lid of the bowl. Nestled inside was a misshapen lump of amber with a pinpoint of shifting black shadow at its heart. This is the amber gem the Ebon Star talked of. By their word, returning this amber to Barovia would make Ezra whole. With this he would live. A surge of emotion flooded her, steadied only by Ezra’s grip. Morgan turned to face her brother, a tear tracing down her frosted cheek. He smiled…and faded away. Morgan replaced the lid and secured it, then slipped the bowl into her pack as she wiped away her tears.

Octavian was making his way through as many books as he could, putting aside those that contained anything of immediate interest and hauling them upstairs. The concentrated knowledge contained in this small library was more than even the great library of Ythryn, but there was only time to grab the obvious things. The most valuable was a word of power—Susrak—that would replaced the carved mythallar in the floor with a portal to the real thing. He also found confirmation about the Obelisk’s power to traverse time along with schematics and instructions for activating it using a Staff of Power—confirming another thing Veneranda had mentioned. A tome about the mythallar also described how up to eight mages could attune to the mythallar at one time. And if all attuned were agreed, they could use its power to move the city through the skies or control the weather for miles around it. He read this excitedly to those who could pay attention.

He was somewhat disappointed that barely anyone was, so engrossed were they in their finds. He was about to demand their attention when he too was severely distracted: standing nearby was a combat dummy upon which hung a suit of fire-red chainmail and shield. Not something that would normally draw his attention, but these were giant sized. He walked over and lifted the chain, intuiting that it was of Efreeti make, which explained the size. It fit near perfectly, allowing for a little more growth (thank goodness.) The shield was emblazoned with a dragon’s face, coloured in six segments representing all six dragon families. He hefted it and pulled his spear. It was a sight to behold.

Tarquin, working alongside Octavian, had found something even more valuable: Iriolarthas’s Journal. He paged excitedly through it, finding the last entry recorded the lich’s last days. He called for everyone’s attention and read the short note aloud.

---

From the Journal of High Archmage Iriolarthas

Detailing the Fall of Ythryn

343 DR - Year of Chilled Marrow

My hubris has led to our collapse. My city lies in ruin, my followers perished, and soon I too shall crumble to dust. My phylactery is lost, buried beneath the endless ice of this accursed land. Even should I find it, there are no souls to fuel me. The Ebon Star cannot help me now. The demi transformation awaits me, and the madness therein. I leave this account in the hope that the Whispered One forgives me and comes to my aid.

I flew Ythryn to the north in search of Ostorian artefacts. What I found was beyond our comprehension: a giant spindle emanating an aura of ancient abjuration magic. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on it that it could not only save us, but also change the tides of fate in my favour. In my fervour for a solution to the Phaerimm I sought to research it…with ambitions of one day using it against Karsus and take control of Netheril for myself. Even now, after all that has transpired, these words are hard to write, but what have I left to hide?

Tragedy struck when I inadvertently activated the artefact. In my hunger I fed it too much power, and it turned that power into our demise. It let loose a pulse of Ostorian Abjuration energy that even the mythallar could not withstand, disabling all magic in the city and far beyond. The power was unimaginable - the Weave itself was unravelled. Magic wasn’t just supressed…it was gone. Without the mythallar, without my magic, Ythryn was doomed. We crashed into the ice, entombing us all and sealing our fate.

It took half a century for the Weave to recover as the Spindle finally subsided. Since that time I have sought every means to restore the city. I raised Veneranda as a immortal brain, using her as my only apprentice. The others all were driven insane by the Arcane Blight that came as the magic returned, corrupted, twisted, transforming them into Nothics. The Tomb Tappers returned from the underdark, hunting our magic, attacking their creators instead of the Phaerimm. It was then I knew the empire too had fallen.

Every attempt we made to save Ythryn was fated to failure, until at the last, as my body started to perish, I turned to the Obelisk. Alas it too proved beyond my abilities. Though I resisted the Blight, the magic I command is infected and the Obelisk could not be activated. Our efforts have proved futile, the damage too great and my magic too weak. Desperate, I tried at the last to contact the Undying King, but was met only with scathing disapproval. I had failed Him.

Veneranda remains adamant that she can, and must, solve the puzzle of the Obelisk for us to stand any chance, but I no longer trust her motives. She knows too much, and I will not allow her to attempt what I have failed, to steal the glory that is rightly mine, to supplant me in the Master’s favour. I will not allow it. Not after all I have done, not after all I have sacrificed.

I have sealed myself in my chambers, protected the Spire, and removed from Veneranda the power to move from her post. My only task now is to guard the means of activating the Obelisk. All who try will perish by my hand. The Staff of Power is mine and mine alone.

My mind will not survive much longer. My only hope is He takes mercy. That He mends our timeline and brings the Obelisk back into the fold.

Lord Vecna alone can save me. And Lord Vecna will. I know it.

---

The recital drew gasps and groans in equal measure. Arlington nodded sagely throughout, entirely unsure of what he was hearing but knowing it was serious.

Octavian was the first to form a coherent thought. “Maybe we need to get Veneranda up here.”

“She’s locked in,” Arlington frowned.

“But now we’ve opened the way.”

“Everything about journal implies she works for Vecna—who is not a good guy,” Morgan said.

“No she works for Iriolarthas, who, agreed, is under Vecna. But she thinks the Obelisk can work, and Iriolarthas doesn’t want her to get the glory. So she was working against his will at the end.”

“Her story was to take the city back to it’s original grandeur—” Tarquin begun.

“Which might not be a good outcome,” Octavian interrupted.

“No, but she didn’t mention anything about Vecna. The obelisk is a way to contact her lord, who is the bestower of power.”

“Vecna,” Morgan said grimly.

“I didn’t read it that way,” Octavian said.

“I did,” Tarquin said. “He’s paranoid, so he doesn’t want to give her the power, only Vecna can give it to him.”

“He said ‘she knows too much’ and ‘I will not allow her to supplant me’,” Morgan said, “So she would be doing it for Vecna as well.”

“There are two ways of reading it,” Octavian shrugged.

“I don’t trust her as far as she can move,” Tarquin stressed, “And we know she can’t move far.”

“Just to reiterate,” Jankx said quietly, “Her plan, even if it worked…a success for her looks like wiping out two thousand years of life.”

The only thing that hadn’t been found was Iriolarthas’s staff. Arlington was very keen for it to be found given it was needed to manipulate the Obelisk, and was just starting to worry when Eearwaax hauled a long, ornate wooden case hidden below a covered table. The young wizard didn’t bother checking for traps, snapping the case open and lifting the lid. Inside was a magnificent, and terrifying, golden staff, the top of which was a screaming skull. He lifted it out and held it aloft. “Hey! A staff!” he cried, and as he did the skull erupted into flame.

---

“Is that a good laughing skull staff?” Octavian said wryly.

“I can cast a lot of things with this,” Eearwaax beamed. “And it also has a power, a retributive strike, which I could use to destroy it and release the magic within…and a lot of things around it. I’m not sure what would happen to me…”

Tarquin shook his head: the boy now had a comet and the spellbook and staff of an demilich archmage. “What could possibly go wrong,” he laughed.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I found another scroll,” Octavian said. He unfurled it and scanned it with a growing sense of dread. “It’s…” Octavian swallowed. “It summons a…Tarrasque. I’ll hold this one.”

---

This time no-one argued. “I’ve changed my mind—the comet’s fine, but that…no,” Eearwaxx said.

“At last, a mount fitting for the greatest kobold,” Morgan smirked. “Or—we set the Tarrasque on Auril, and summon the comet to destroy both?”

“All whilst I’m strumming a mandolin,” Tarquin laughed.

---

“So what are we going to do?” Morgan said once Iriolarthas’s sanctum had been well and truly ransacked.

“Who knows how to pray to Vecna? Anyone?” Octavian joked weakly.

Morgan turned to Jankx and Eearwaax. “Are we working under the assumption that the mythallar is the thing that Hedrun wants? That’s what it will take to free us of these?” she said, revealing the pencil-thin ice-noose around her neck.

“Yes…but I don’t understand why,” Jankx pondered as Eearwaax nodded. “What would she do with a mythallar? Octavian read that it flies a city and controls weather. How does it help her with Auril?”

“I just want to know if you think that’s what she wants,” Morgan shrugged. “What she does with it is not my concern.”

“Then yes. That’s what we’ve been asked to do, though I don’t know how we do that, or even if we should.”

“Good.” Morgan turned to her other three companions. “And you three. Have you discussed what it is your Levistus wants?”

“I assume it’s the mythallar. He’s just asking in a different way,” Octavian said.

“Can I suggest there are a lot of people wanting the mythallar,” Tarquin said, “And we can use a command word to get to it down through the library. Once we get there I don’t know what to do with it…but that has to be our goal.”

Arlington tipped his lion skull headdress back and banged his new boarspear into the floor to silence the discussion. “Can we just stop for a second here. Our guy wants a way to get out of the ice, right? I don’t know what Hedrun wants, but Hedrun wants you to do stuff—”

“No,” Morgan interrupted, “Hedrun wants to use the power Auril has been hoarding to kill Auril and—”

“Blah blah blah,” Arlington said, retaking the horn. “The thing is…we don’t have to go back in time to raise this city from its grave to do either of those things. We just have to go back a couple of months.”

For a moment there was silence.

“Why…?” Morgan ventured, sensing a trap.

“We don’t walk into that grove.”

Jankx jerked his head back as he realised the implications. “Ohhh…interesting.”

Tarquin coughed out a laugh. My gods Arlington might be right. “Well we have the Staff of Power,” Tarquin nodded. “And the Obelisk is just over there…”

Morgan frowned. “That’s assuming a minute level of control that may not exist.”

“I think it’s worth exploring,” Arlington said. “How is any other option better?! We know so much more now—if we don’t go into that Grove we can do this all again without these yokes around our necks.”

“I do remember this one play I was in where the time paradox would mean where we went back and went to the grove, and then we came here, but if you didn’t come to here why then you would lose the Staff of Power…and so couldn’t travel back after all.”

Arlington shook his head to clear Tarquin’s muddle. “We could still get the Staff of Power, it could all be ours. We gained nothing from that diversion to the grove!”

“What if I told you we’ve already done that, and this is the fifth time we’ve tried?” Jankx smiled.

“As I said before—we might have to do this several times,” Arlington shrugged, not to be dissuaded.

“You’re overthinking it,” Octavian said having considered Arlington’s plan. “We’ve got to take Auril out.” Morgan nodded her assent.

“You’re overthinking it—we don’t have to!” Arlington snapped. “All I know is that when a archdevil offers you a deal that cannot succeed…there is only one way out of it.”

“And that way is back in time,” Tarquin nodded. Arlington was right. Levistus would never release his signatories.

“You’re assuming the contract he has you under doesn’t take this into account,” Morgan said.

“Here’s the funny thing,” Tarquin said. “What if we lost if we just go a little back in time? We can always just come back and do it again.”

“But…how…I don’t know how time travel works, but if we go back in time it’s not like we’re getting any younger—” Morgan spluttered.

“Morgan—no-one knows!” Octavian said firmly.

“Except the people who go back in time all the time,” Tarquin laughed.

“If we go back in time, aren’t we just us back in time? And we would meet another us?” Morgan insisted.

“What they said about restoring the city implies otherwise,” Arlington said surprising everyone with a logic bomb, “Because otherwise they wouldn’t be able to restore the city.”

“The problem with that logic is that they didn’t restore the city,” Tarquin said, logic countering. “So they may have been wrong. But they did have a sense that the Obelisk needed to be brought back in alignment, so they knew how to play with time before. So it isn’t just an abstract thing. At some stage that time portal was usable. And they used it. But something went wrong. And Lord Vecna, they couldn’t get back.”

Arlington tried the logic counter-counter. “That means that the absolute future isn’t written. Because otherwise the time portal wouldn’t have been of any use to anyone.”

Now everyone was flummoxed.

Octavian re-read the journal entry. “It was a failsafe. Something they would use. There was no indication that they had done it.”

“So they didn’t even know what it did,” Jankx groaned.

“It could also be that that way Vecna lies,” Tarquin shrugged.

“Iriolarthas tried,” Morgan stressed. “But his magic had been warped by the Blight. The spindle corrupted it, likely permanently. So the Staff of Power couldn’t be used by anyone here as their magic were all corrupted.”

“You may be right,” Tarquin said. “Because the blight still remains, we can’t operate the Obelisk. If we’re going to control time we just have to chat with Vecna…”

“That’s really going to work out well,” Jankx said wryly.

Morgan agreed. “The fact that Iriolarthas, who was not a nice man but was a very powerful one, said that he turned to the Obelisk ‘at the last’ speaks to the fact that it would inadvisable to try and use the Obelisk to do anything. No offence, none of us here are slouches, but I think we can all agree that no-one here was as powerful as Iriolarthas. And he failed.”

“But maybe Veneranda can?” Jankx said, recalling Iriolarthas’s fears she would.

“Do you want to give her the Staff of Power?” Morgan asked to a shake of the head from Jankx. “So. We’re back at square one—are we going to the mythallar?”

“It depends. Are we planning on continuing to battle the gods?” Tarquin probed.

“Why don’t we first see what we can see about the mythallar,” Morgan said.

“I have a feeling that’s putting off the gods a bit further, so I’m all for it.”

“I’m freely admitting that putting of the gods as long as possible is my plan,” Jankx nodded.

“Susrak,” Octavian said simply, and the mythallar portal appeared.

---

Sessions played: February 26, March 4, 11, 18 2024