Chapters

The Eleven Tomb: “To see what’s in the sarcophagus, and talk to it”
A moose, a bear, and a banshee: “I’ve seen your pain”
Death in the North: “Can we walk back to town?”
The Death & Life of Morgan, Jankx, and Eearwaxx: “You are going to become a goddess?”
The Death & Life of Octavian, Tarquin, and Arlington: “This is, as they say, a Devil’s bargain”
Life in the North: “It is odd that on the day of many miracles, this is the least shocking”

---

The Eleven Tomb

The following morning Olivessa was elected Speaker, unopposed. One of her first orders of duty was summoning a hungover Mountainmaster, and his grumpy friend Wisetalker, to escort Arlington’s company to the scene of Speaker Rielsbarrow’s death. “I want the answer to this mystery, gentlemen, and I want the truth.”

Shandar had left town earlier that same morning under a cloud of suspicion. Eearwaxx planted magic mouths all around town and above the main hearth in the Mead Hall, to trigger should Shandar ever reappear:

You! Dwarf Shandar Froth, have offended the Great Wizard Eearwaxx, a friend of Good Mead… Leave now! You are a curse on the bees of this town and they hate you!

As he prepared for the investigation into the forest, Morgan pondered how he had somehow contrived to ignore his own advice — an innocent question about possible foul play had led to the very kind of political involvement his father had always warned him against. And yet, he reflected, it had turned out to be the right thing to do. Just like it had in far-away Vallaki…curious! Had his father been wrong?

The hunter pair lead out until reaching the edge of an impressively large forest to the north-west. “I hope you fellows can keep up, you look like pampered city folk to me,” Wisetalker grunted as he moved under the canopy.

“Watch and learn, sir. Walk in my footsteps people,” Arlington called as the hunters led the way into the heavily wooded forest. Despite the abundant foliage on the alpine trees, the ground was thick with snow — no mere leaf cover could be enough to stop Auril’s winter covering every surface.

Arlington was impressed with the two locals choice of path — there were no obvious paths through the snow drifts, but they unerringly chose the ‘right’ way. There were a few choices where he might have quibbled, but they obviously knew their stuff. The rest of his crew did their best to obey and stay close behind, but it was hard going despite Arlington’s path-making.

Octavian kept a close eye out for life, both plant and animal — he wanted to learn as much as he could about the local ecosystem. There were signs of small animals, rabbit and fox tracks atop the snow, and the forest was healthy. He also watched for any sign of druidic activity — markings on trees, symbolic structures — but saw nothing of note.

After several hours of heavy slog, the hunters called a halt. Arlington estimated they were somewhere near the centre of the woodland. “There’s a clearing ahead,” Mountainmaster said pointing down a small slope. “That’s where we recovered the body.”

“And that’s where I saw the moose,” Wisetalker reminded everyone. “A white ghost, tall as a tree with antler’s to match,” he said, glancing around with trepidation.

“We’ll make our own way down there, so as to disturb the ground as little as possible,” Arlington said.

“You’re a smart man, Mr Arlington, I would have done the same thing,” Mountainmaster nodded. Despite Wisetalker’s earlier scepticism, both grudgingly acknowledged that Arlington was a man of the woods himself. “We found him in the clearing in a small depression, beneath a tree which you will see is marked.”

“Let us proceed carefully, and observantly, everybody.” Arlington headed to the twenty-foot clearing, noting the tree on the opposite side with a single slash. It had been three days since the Speaker had died, leaving little hope for tracks given the thick snow cover, and both Arlington and Octavian found none.

“Should we go around the clearing to the tree so as not to disturb anything? And just in case there is something in there?” Octavian.

“I disagree,” Arlington declared, countering his earlier advice. “Snow has fallen for three days, there is nothing here to disturb.” He strode out through the snow drifts. He was right about the snow covering everything — no tracks other than surface indentations left by light-footed deer.

Octavian and Morgan raised an eyebrow each and proceeded to take a more cautious path, one in each direction. Octavian was quickly rewarded for his decision: as he approached the marked tree, he saw signs of snapped and broken branches well above human-height. The trail of destruction led off to the north. “Arlington!” he called, pointing out the evidence.

“How big is an Owlbear?”

“On their hind legs? That tall,” Octavian said nodding at the branches.

“We have a path,” Arlington said, “And we have a scene of the crime — covered with a couple of feet of snow.”

“Should we get Eearwaxx to melt it?”

“No, no, we can just dig,” Morgan said, studying the site and pulling out a small shovel.

Arlington glanced over at the young wizard who was waving his hands ominously. “No Eearwaxx! I want the snow dry, not wet!”

“Everyone just get back,” Octavian ordered, before shape–changing into a wolf. Morgan’s jaw dropped and Arlington took a few steps back in surprise and instinctively raised his crossbow. Tarquin, who had been watching Mountainmaster and Wisetalker, turned back and started as he found a wolf making short work of the snow.

“Given his other option is a kobold, why doesn’t he stay a wolf?” Arlington mused to Tarquin. The wolf paused and seemed to glare at Arlington with piercing yellow eyes, then continued, flinging an ‘accidental’ clump of snow into Arlington’s chest.

Moments later wolf–Octavian stopped his work and started sniffing the pit he had dug. He had found the remains of Speaker Kendrick, and everyone could see the blood-stained snow. Octavian inhaled the scent deeply, and found what he was looking for: moose. But there was something else, something foreign that his wolf-sense told him to stay away from. Octavian switched back to kobold–form and reported his findings. “The body was here, and that’s his blood. Definitely a moose. But there is something else, venom or poison. Not from the moose.”

Arlington knelt down to study the remains, looking for clothing or other artefacts, but there was nothing more. He reflected on what he remembered of the body: the chest cavity wound would have been fatal on its own, but the slash wounds were superficial, not enough to kill, but consistent with the application of poison. “From what we know, gentlemen, I would posit someone slashed him up with poison and then the moose has found him and gored him.”

“Or the person found him gored and decided to finish him off with the poison,” Morgan posited.

“It’s an elaborate way to finish him,” Octavian said doubtfully, Jankx nodding in agreement.

“If the moose’s wounds were necessarily fatal you wouldn’t have needed to finish him off,” Arlington agreed.

“Why don’t we follow the trail of broken branches?” Morgan suggested.

“Given we know the way the moose came, there may be signs of a third party that might have departed the scene,” Arlington suggested. But a further check of the surrounding area found nothing obvious, leaving the northern path the only option. Arlington frowned. “If we follow the moose’s trail, we’re likely to find a very fierce moose, but not necessarily the murderer. Now I’m quite keen to follow the moose, but I will defer to you gentlemen as to whether that is the appropriate course of action at this time.”

“I think we definitely should, at least to see if we can gather more knowledge,” Octavian said, “Plus haven’t you been hunting this white moose?”

“Indeed I have sir! But I am attempting to curtail my personal preferences for the greater good,” Arlington explained.

“But the two are overlapping?”

“We won’t find the murderer at the end of this trail.”

“You don’t know we won’t,” Morgan said, unconvinced by Arlington’s certainty.

Tarquin warned about watching the clock, a little concerned about being stuck out in the woods in the cold of night. But Morgan convinced him Arlington could lead everyone out, and it was only midday. Tarquin scuffed snow of his shoulder and agreed. He could sense the woods were natural, no sense of foreboding or evil despite the (alleged) crime scene, so it felt safe enough to press deeper.

Arlington called the Mountainmaster and Wisetalker down and pointed out the moose’s path. “Obvious trail isn’t it. Interesting,” Mountainmaster agreed, setting off down the trail of broken branches.

As he walked, Morgan made a point of looking not at ground level, but at knee height, looking for signs where the moose may have dragged its victim. After ten minutes of following the hunter pair, something caught Morgan’s eye. He knelt down and saw a trickle of blood splashed across a young branch at the foot of a large tree, on a right angle to the moose’s path. “I agree, it is blood,” he muttered to his invisible friend. He took a few steps further into the undergrowth and saw another set of droplets. “Octavian! Come take a look at these,” he called.

Octavian crouched and studied the blood. He was impressed Morgan had noticed it. Unlike the arterial splatter in the clearing, these marks were more consistent with blood that might have spilled from the other wounds. And the first sign of something other than the moose being involved. There were no taller broken branches on this blood–trail.

“Poisoner?” Morgan asked, and Octavian nodded slowly and called Arlington over. Arlington slapped Morgan on the back when he saw what he’d found. “Imagine our slashed individual came this way, towards the path we’re currently on, and then was chased by the moose towards the clearing and gored there.”

Octavian thought that made perfect sense. All the tracks and trails lined up. Morgan could still be right - poison after the mauling, but signs pointed to the poison coming first. “It does point to something that is not a moose, so I think we follow it.”

“I agree,” Arlington said. “Lead on, Mountainmaster.”

“I think the moose track is more interesting than this, but you’re the boss.”

“And this is safer,” Wisetalker said quietly.

It was a difficult path to follow, progress slowed considerably as the thin traces of blood were located and followed. It was hard even for Arlington to keep his sense of direction as the track wandered through the woods. At the start the movement was quite erratic, suggesting the injured person was suffering, but the blood samples became harder to spot as the path became more predictable. “Maybe we’re following to where he first got injured,” Octavian observed, “And then he stumbled onto the path — and into the moose.”

After a good hour of challenging tracking, Wisetalker drew to a stop. “I’m not sure we have the trail any longer.” They each spent some time trying to relocate the track, until Mountainmaster finally found something. “I have it!” he called, leading away in a southern direction. After a few minutes op following Mountainmaster beat through a thick copse of trees and everyone emerged onto a trail.

Arlington stopped in his tracks. This wasn’t a new trail — it was the moose trail. The tracks from the passage not an hour earlier were still clear. He couldn’t fathom it — the blood trail had been confusing, but not that confusing. The hunters were also confused. “We must have looped around, somehow. A simple explanation,” Wisetalker said without conviction. Octavian was just as flummoxed. He turned to Eearwaxx. “Can you tell if something has happened, something magic?”

Eearwaxx conjured something and started to wander ahead up the path, following the same path again, turning off when the side blood-trail appeared. He felt under some time pressure so moved at a slow jog. At least this time it was obvious where to go. After ten minutes of sweaty travel, helped by the way ahead being cleared by his companions, Eearwaxx pulled to a halt. About twenty feet to the North he detected a strong aura of Abjuration magic. “Hm. There is some form of protective spell here. Abjuration.”

“What does that even mean?” Arlington asked.

“It means a spell that protects others — magical barriers and the like.”

“Standard carny stuff,” Tarquin agreed.

“Like a hide?”

“Yes,” Eearwaxx nodded, moving slowly toward the strongest point. He found it difficult to maintain the path, impressed at the power of the magic. Those following noticed the two hunters starting to veer again, away from the magical field. “It’s this way,” Mountainmaster called.

“No. It’s a trick, stay with us,” Octavian said.

“Listen, we know this area, and you’re wrong,” Wisetalker disagreed.

“You do, but in this case we’re right. This is the path — come this way,” Tarquin said with a charming smile. The hunter’s hesitated, then shrugged and followed.

Eearwaxx reached the invisible boundary, struggling against an almost overwhelming desire to turn aside. Ahead was just more forest, endless forest. He grunted and stepped over the threshold.

---

Ahead was a spectacular — and unexpected — sight. A large, circular indentation lay ahead in a snowy hillside, and rising from the middle of this circle was a triangular gnomon of beautifully carved crystal that stood at least twenty feet tall. A high berm hugged the circle’s eastern edge, with evergreens growing around and atop it, sheltering what looked like a sarcophagus buried under snow and enclosed by a half-circle of pale blue crystal pillars. North of the berm was a delicately carved gazebo, and south of the berm a row of outward-facing, white marble statues stood atop granite pillars. On the far side of the berm was an open-topped gazebo.

Eearwaxx was transfixed. He immediately recognised the structure as elven, and felt a stab of buried sorrow as he remembered his mother’s passing. “Here they are,” he whispered. After a moment he shook off his reverie and called his companions through. “Sarcophagus,” Morgan said simply, drawing his sword.

The two escorts were stunned. “This isn’t here. I know these woods and this is not here,” Mountainmaster mumbled, backing away. There was fear in both men’s eyes. “Will you be fine, sirs, if we leave you to find your way back?” Wisetalker asked.

“Go,” Arlington said. “Tell Speaker Olivessa we are on the trail.”

Getting closer to the states revealed them to be elves on elevated, white marble plinths. Each depicted a slender, robed figure facing northward. The engraving on their faces has been worn away by the wind, though the rest was mostly intact, and Octavian could find no inscriptions on the bases nor any sense they had a druidic link.

Tarquin understood the tableau, suspecting the statues were part of the magic that turned away those that ventured near — hence the outward facing. “I think these are Moon Elves,” he explained, “And that these statues have been warding this dell, this place of rest. Keeping people away.”

Arlington moved toward the circular opening, noting a tightly fitted stone door in a the west wall. Rising from the centre of the circular depression was the tall, triangular, crystal gnomon — a device typically found in the middle of a sundial. It was thick near the base and narrowed to a sharp point at the top. The snow around the gnomon has mostly melted away, revealing a circle of symbols carved into the stone around it, despite the area being open to the sky.

Everyone gathered at the entrance to the dial area felt a strong sense of reverence — this was sacred ground, and very old. Unlike anything anyone had seen in Icewind Dale. Jankx’s instincts told him it wasn’t an evil place, at worst it was a neutral place. Octavian studied the symbols on the ground, quickly realising they depicted phases of the moon, suggesting that the circular depression was not a sundial, but a moon dial, and with strong druidic power.

“The moon elves, from what I can remember, were ethereal, benign, and good,” Tarquin recounted, “At least in the stories that I’ve read.”

“Doesn’t mean we want to walk on their moon dial though,” Arlington said. He was very hesitant to step any further inside. He turned to the door, finding it cut into the rock wall, with no handle or hinges, and no obvious way to get it open. He turned back to his clustered company. “I don’t know what we’re doing here,” he said quietly, “We don’t have a reason to deface this place, or break anything.”

Tarquin looked at Arlington quizzically. “Fortune and glory?”

“Ha. I don’t even want to walk into it. This is foreign, and I don’t know that we have any reason to trespass here.”

“The reason we have,” Octavian said, also surprised at Arlington’s reluctance, “Is it’s possible that this is where the Speaker went, and maybe was not away of what he was up to.”

“Well let’s not make the same mistake!”

“But, Arlington — there is a curse on this whole land, and this might have some clues as to how that happened. This is a place of druidic faith,” Octavian said, pointing to the moon symbols and pushing past Arlington’s protest and stepped inside the moon dial circle. He wasn’t struck down, which he took as a good sign. “Can’t you see? These are phases of the moon.”

“Against my better judgement, I agree with him,” Tarquin nodded. “This may tie in to the bigger story. And after all, aren’t we here to uncover the story?”

Arlington frowned. “It doesn’t look like a place of evil.”

“It may well not be evil. So let’s not go smashing things up, gentlemen, but let’s at least take a look.”

Jankx stepped inside with Octavian, and they started carefully moving around the circle. Jankx noticed that something had punched a rough hole in the wall in the northwest edge of the depression, creating a dark opening that led under the hill. “Be careful were you step,” Octavian warned, “There’s magic at work here to protect this place.” He picked up a pile of snow and tossed it onto one of the symbols, noting it quickly melted away.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Morgan said pointing to the moon symbols, “So I’m going to take a look at the sarcophagus.” He took a few quick steps and grabbed the top of the eastern berm, hauling himself up. The snow-covered granite sarcophagus rested in a half-circle defined by five crystal pillars. Not wanting to touch anything without backup, he hauled Jankx up then very carefully cleared the snow off the top of the stone tomb (Jankx taking an unconscious step back as he did), revealing an engraving of a brazier, but surprisingly no other inscriptions or symbols. “Check the gazebo,” he signalled to Arlington, “I think it might be a match to this symbol.”

Arlington, Tarquin and Eearwaxx went the long way round to take the stairs that led to the sarcophagus, which also took them to the marble gazebo. Morgan was right — an unlit stone brazier, twenty inches in diameter, sat unprotected from the sky. Tarquin cautiously stepped up to the brazier, noting it was full of snow and pine needles, not warded from the elements like the moon symbols were. But there was some magic here, he was sure.

Arlington studied the crystal pillars that half-encircled the sarcophagus. His eye was drawn to weathered carvings at the top of each of the five pillars, and clearing the ice away revealed a symbol on each. From north to south, the images depicted a twig, a pinecone, a flame, a feather, and a humanoid hand. “A test of some kind,” Arlington mumbled to Eearwaxx. “Don’t touch anything!”

Eearwaxx grinned and summoned Horseradish who flew to the top of the feather pillar, as instructed. It landed and preened happily, unaffected. Eearwaxx called him back, apologised, and plucked a feather. He settled that atop the pillar but again nothing happened.

“What are you hoping to achieve, Eearwaxx?” Arlington asked, exasperated.

“Maybe it’s a trigger?”

“So? If there is an elven spirit here, is it your purpose to raise it? I just don’t understand what the objective is.”

“To see what’s in the sarcophagus, and talk to it. I’m an elf — well, partially,” Eearwaxx said, as if that explained everything.

“A body! Of an elf! Hidden by magic!”

“Exactly!”

“So leave it alone.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a body in a grave!” Arlington cried. Who were these people who didn’t understand the basic concept of leaving well enough alone.

Morgan sighed. “Arlington is right. I think we should leave this tomb be. It’s not a cultish tomb, it’s elven, and it looks a peaceful place. I don’t think we should disturb it.”

“Don’t you think we should have a look?” Eearwaxx pleaded.

“I think we should have a look around, I just don’t think we should open the sarcophagus. When we were in the Sunless Citadel — robbing a place that felt like that wasn’t a big issue. But I was raised to have a reverence for these places, so I don’t think we should touch it.”

“All right,” Eearwaxx mumbled. It went against his every instinct, and he was the elf around here, but maybe the old men were right.

Octavian continued his investigations around the crystal gnomon. He strongly suspected the moon symbols could somehow activate (at night, perhaps), but it wasn’t clear how. He moved over to the broken section of wall. There were tracks on the snow that rested on the broken stonework, of animals large and small, but it was hard to differentiate them. He knelt down and peered into the darkness beyond, apprehensive due to the strong reek of bear that drifted up from the darkness.

A spacious chamber lay ten feet lower, and he could see several small animals — foxes, hares, some wolf-pups — sleeping, playing, and cleaning themselves. He looked deeper into the chamber and took a quick step back: a huge polar bear was asleep against the far wall. Octavian quickly withdrew to the far western wall of the berm, and called up to his companions. “There’s a bear in there,” he hissed as loudly as he dared.

Arlington walked over atop the berm and looked where Octavian pointed. There was indeed a very large bear at rest. He unhitched his crossbow and loaded it up.

“There’s no need for that — just leave the bear!” Octavian said hurriedly. The last thing he wanted was an angry bear while he was down here and everyone else was up there.

Tarquin joined Arlington and rolled his eyes at what he saw. “See here’s the thing,” he explained to Octavian, “Arlington doesn’t want to destroy the grave, he just wants to destroy all the animals that have been protected by this aura.”

Arlington ignored the disdainful looks from his company, scoping up and taking a bead on the bear instead. Tarquin looked over Arlington’s shoulder, one hand on the other, steadying him. “Uh-huh,” he said, confirming the shot. Arlington smiled — it was like he had the devil on both shoulders.

““Have you got one of these on your floor?” Arlington asked no-one in particular. “I had an uncle, Bertrem. He had two arms, once,” Arlington mused. “One-armed Bertie we used to call him.”

Morgan was horrified. “We should leave it asleep,” he whispered loudly. “They’re really, really dangerous.”

“Worse than an Owlbear?” Tarquin asked.

“Let’s not make that comparison. Let’s not find out,” Jankx said.

“I don’t know who’d win in a fight,” Morgan said.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, gentlemen?” Tarquin asked.

“It’s a bear! It’s not an adventure! Don’t kill it!”

“If I was going to kill the bear, I would be running already,” Arlington sighed.

“What is wrong with you!” Morgan hissed.

“I’m not defending Arlington, I don’t want him to kill anything,” Octavian called up from below, “But we are looking for information and this is very odd.”

“Why don’t we see if we can quietly walk past the bear,” Morgan offered.

“So leave our position of strategic advantage and walk down to the bear?” Tarquin scoffed.

“This isn’t strategic advantage for a polar bear. He’ll get up here in no time.”

“I’d get two shots off,” Arlington countered, eyes still locked on the bear.

“Is that going to kill it?” Morgan said, incredulous.

“I don’t know,” Arlington admitted.

Eearwaxx had been watching the bear. He was familiar with polar bears having lived in Icewind for some time. People didn’t mess with them. “We could try food, but you can’t predict what they will do. Deadly is right.”

Morgan had an idea. “Is it hibernating?”

“Sleeping,” Octavian said instantly, “I wouldn’t go within forty feet of that bear.”

“Have we not killed anything more powerful than that bear?” Arlington challenged everyone.

“Yes we have — we’ve taken on a horde underground.”

“A horde of six-pound morons,” Arlington mocked.

“There were a lot more than morons,” Tarquin said, pulling out his ledger and leafing through the story. “Exploding ogres, Duergar, a burning snake…”

“Much as I’d like to take a bear home with us, I think we have bigger fish to fry,” Arlington decided. “If I’ve learnt anything from our recent endeavours, it’s that we must choose our battles. I don’t know what’s to be gained by going into this elven tomb, apart from attracting the ire of both bears and elven spirits. Unless anyone has anything contrary to add, I say we shall depart.”

The devil on his right shoulder answered immediately. “I must say I’m a little disappointed,” Tarquin said. “I thought I was surrounded by a troupe of adventurers.”

“But not bear murderers,” Morgan countered.

“The bear is in the way. The bear is a beast that stands in our path.”

“Is there anything about this place that indicates it might have something to do with the problem at hand?” Arlington asked.

“Just so we’re clear,” Morgan answered, “I’m assuming whoever was leaving the blood trail turned away just like we did, because they got put off by the same spell. Is that right?”

“I think you might be right,” Arlington nodded.

“It might have something to do with the winter,” Octavian offered.

“How?”

“This is a druidic site. The elves might have had an insight into how this curse would unfold.”

“Is the winter good or evil?” Arlington asked again.

“It’s evil,” Octavian answered warily, sensing a trap.

“Is this place good or evil?”

“This is good, but that doesn’t mean they were doing good. I’m just saying there might be information here,” Octavian stressed. “I think we just note it, we know where it is, and we leave. It might be of use at a later point.”

“I have one last suggestion,” Morgan said. “Why don’t you go and shoot something largish, and bring it back for the bear.”

“You want to lure the bear out?” Arlington asked.

“Seems rather elaborate when we have six swords,” Tarquin the devil quipped. He was wondering if there was something in the elven magic that was casting a stupor on his friends — this wasn’t the way everyone normally acted.

Morgan threw his head back. “I don’t know why you want to die in the jaws of a polar bear! It could kill us!”

Arlington put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Morgan. We could take this bear,” he said in all seriousness, “I think you overestimate the threat of the bear. Between us we can take it.”

“Do you want to be the first one to be swiped by it? Because I don’t.”

“I never usually get that close to my prey. But you’re a good fella with a sword. My complaint is I don’t know why we could go into this place.”

“The only reason is what Octavian suggested, which is this place might have some kind of insight into what is going on.”

“It would be a massive coincidence.”

“What? That the druidic site that has been kept pristine from nature might have some idea about why all of a sudden we are in an endless winter? It is odd,” Octavian scoffed.

“We could sleep it?” Eearwaxx suggested.

“It’s already asleep, and a spell won’t last long enough for safety,” Tarquin said.

“You could talk to it?” Eearwaxx said to Octavian.

“You could talk to it?” Arlington said with surprise, “I thought you could only talk to plants?”

“I can try my animal friendship spell,” Octavian said thoughtfully, a little sheepish he hadn’t thought of this himself.

“You have animal friendship? Why didn’t you open with this fact?” Arlington scowled.

“Assuming it’s actually an animal” Jankx warned prophetically, “And now some kind of were-creature.”

“The reason I didn’t,” Octavian answered, “Is it depends on the animal’s intelligence. And bears aren’t great conversationalists.”

“If you just explain to it we’re not any kind of threat and we’re not trying to take anything…” Morgan said, warming to the idea.

“That’s the idea.”

“I’ll come with you,” Morgan said climbing down, joined by Jankx. Eearwaxx was about to hop down when Tarquin grabbed his shoulder. “Eearwaxx, you don’t' have to jump, you can do the sleep from up here.”

“I know but I want to talk to it,” Eearwaxx said.

“Me too. But sleep is our job — this is where we need to be.” Eearwaxx’s shoulders dropped, but he stayed atop with Tarquin and Arlington. The great hunter hadn’t shifted his aim through the entire debate.

Octavian stood in the dark entranceway as everyone took up strategic positions above and below. He felt very exposed, but this was what his spellcraft was for. He summoned a handful of berries and scattered them to the floor in front of the bear, then spoke the words of friendship.

“This is a gift. We will not harm you, we just wish to pass by,” he intoned.

The bear woke immediately and lumbered to it’s feet. Octavian shuddered - the bear was enormous. It looked down at the berries then directly at Octavian, roaring as it charged across the chamber: “No!!!”

Everyone outside heard the bear. Heard the bear speak. “Oh god. It’s not an animal,” Jankx groaned, wishing he had been wrong.

Octavian realised his mistake and started to retreat. But as he did he heard something else moving in the darkness, and stepping in behind the bear was a sight he’d hoped never to see up close. The Great White Moose of Icewind Dale.

A moose, a bear, and a banshee

---

Octavian stood in the crossfire of two enormous beasts. Arlington’s crossbow, which had been trained on the bear so long it was impossible to miss, suddenly swung away to the moose. Tarquin pressed down on Arlington’s shoulder again trying to shift him back to the Bear which was lumbering toward Octavian. But Arlington had come to Icewind Dale for one thing: the White Moose. He shrugged Tarquin off and targeted the awakened beast, making his mark true with a whispered spell, and fired. The moose whinnied angrily as the bolt skimmed it’s back.

Jankx sprinted across the moon-dial to get an angle on the bear, throwing a mote of fire into its path. The great bear was undeterred as the flames singed it’s flank. Octavian needed to slow the bear down before it was upon him, so he flung a field of writhing vines into the lair as he pulled backwards. The bear ripped through the tangles without any trouble, though its progress was slowed.

But not by much. It charged through the ruins and crashed into a near defenceless Morgan. Morgan was flung backwards as the bear thundered into him and swiped twice with two massive claws. Morgan grunted and almost toppled over, saving himself by a planted back foot and sheer determination as the claws ripped through his armour as if it were nothing. “Leave us be!” the bear growled.

Arlington watched as his young warrior was brutalised. He recalled Morgan’s warnings glumly — these bears were killers. Tarquin sent a wave of inspiration to Morgan and healed him as best he could, then decisively moved Arlington’s aim back to the bear. “First things first, Arlington.”

Arlington took Tarquin’s advice and moved his aim — and mark — to the bear. But Tarquin’s helping-hand ruined his aim. “For fuck’s sake!” he yelled in frustration. Tarquin grimaced.

Eearwaxx knew the bear had to be weakened so he shot a ray of black enfeeblement. “I am the wizard Eearwaxx, I do not want to hurt you!” he yelled as the bear stumbled, strength suddenly drained. “Leave our home!” the bear growled in frustration. Ezra appeared behind the bear, and directly in front of the moose. Morgan slashed his sword through the bear’s face, sheets of blood staining the white fur red, and Ezra sliced the lower leg.

The moose charged across the den and rammed into Ezra, raking its blood-stained antlers and instantly vanishing Morgan’s shadow. “Your kind don’t belong here!” the moose cried. “Another speaking beast,” Jankx groaned as he sprinted into good position and fired a crossbow bolt into the bear’s neck and opening an artery. Its coat was now bathed with fresh blood and it howled with pain and anger.

Octavian tried to send a bolt into the bear but it flew harmlessly overhead. The polar bear was on its last legs but no one-could strike the finishing blow. Luckily for Morgan both swings from the deadly claws were easily dodged, thanks to Eearwaxx’s weakening spell. “What have you done to me?!” the bear growled.

As Tarquin prepared his next move a keening wail started to echo around the circular moon-well, it’s source the darkness of the bear-den. Tarquin could see nothing, but a shiver of fear went down his spine. Surely not. Surely not a banshee. He inspired Arlington to make up for the fluffed shot, then bathed the combat arena with his favourite spell: “I say sleep,” Tarquin cried.

“Why do you kill us?” the already weakened bear sighed as it did just as Tarquin asked, sinking into a deep slumber in a pool of its own blood. Unfortunately the moose seemed unaffected, but one down was one down. Eearwaxx took inspiration from Tarquin’s plan and laid another sleep zone onto the moose, but the moose stayed on its feet, shaking its head. “You will not trap us! You do not belong here!”. Eearwaxx was so confused — animal’s don’t talk. “What is your name?” he called.

“My name is Riddleblood, and I will have your blood —- for the druids!” the moose cried.

“Druids? My friend is a druid,” Eearwaxx said, pointing to Octavian who looked over with disbelief. “Riddleblood doesn’t need to know that!” he yelled.

Morgan placed his foot atop the bear’s head and drove his sword deep into its skull, killing it instantly. He had defended the bear’s life as best he could, but no longer. Ezra reappeared in front of the moose, holding his ground in the doorway, but the moose was not to be distracted this time. It charged through Ezra and into the arena. Ezra swung a reactive swipe as it passed, missing. The moose leapt over the dead bear aiming its antlers at Octavian who stood with his back to the berm. But as it leapt it failed to notice Morgan who was knelt down next to the bear. He slashed his sword through the fetlocks of the moose as it leapt, drawing blood but more importantly causing it to stumble to its knees as it landed — saving Octavian.

The keening shriek was getting louder as Jankx fired a bolt into the staggering moose, drawing a cry of agony as the bolt drove into its flank. Arlington finally shook himself free of Tarquin and transferred his focus back to his real target. The moose groaned again as Arlington’s bolt shunted deep into the moose’s neck. “This is why we fight!” the moose growled, “This is why we kill!”

A ghostly elven figure with clawed hands and shrunken skin, almost beautiful in its horror, floated out from the darkened den, singing a deathly song of hatred and sorrow that overwhelmed the moon-dial chamber. It raised its hands to the air as the shriek reached a crescendo and all felt the weight of centuries of elven misery flooding their souls.

---

Tarquin and Eearwaxx, the bard and the half-elf, grabbed their heads in agony and collapsed instantly to the ground, unconscious. The song of despair was too much and their minds shattered, Tarquin overwhelmed by the deep sorry of the song and Eearwaxx by the memory of his beloved mother. Everyone else staggered with the psychic pain but stayed on their feet.

“You desecrate our home!” the banshee cried, “My sister rests still and you will pay with your lives for your sacrilege!”

Octavian opened his wings and sprung up in air to reach the level of the wispish elf. He pointed a finger and flung a guiding bolt but it flew harmlessly over her head. Ezra sprinted up through the air as if he was walking on solid ground, swinging his blade but missing the ethereal form of the elf. Morgan couldn’t reach the new combatant, so swung hard and true at the moose instead. He felt the growing anger from the massive beast, who turned and tried to raked its antlers into Morgan. But the wound on its forelocks confounded the blow and the moose hissed in frustration.

Jankx tried to finish the moose but his bolt flew well wide, snapping as it crashed into the gnomon. Arlington stepped up to try and do what Jankx couldn’t. The moose, hysterical with pain, turned it’s massive head up toward the great hunter as he let the bolt fly. “This won’t be my last hunt,” it said quietly as the bolt lodged between it’s eyes, dropping it dead to the ground. “Nor mine,” Arlington said quietly to Tarquin, before noticing the bard was — dead? — at his feet.

The banshee’s forced its wail deep into Arlington and Morgan’s head until resistance was futile. The song took hold and both suddenly found themselves reeling in terror, their only concern getting as far away as possible as quickly as possible. The banshee cackled with ill intent and flew away from Octavian and Ezra. Ezra took a swipe as she flew past, but although his sword rent her in half it appeared to have absolutely no effect.

Seeing the banshee was taking down his companions one by one, using her song, Octavian cast a cantrip which surrounded his head with a deafening wind. He wasn’t sure if her magic was verbal or psychic, but it was worth a try. He flew to face the undead elf and tried another guided bolt, and this time it hit true — drawing a frown, a screech, and a look of surprise from the banshee. “Defiler!” she howled, but Octavian couldn’t hear it and grinned in response.

Jankx ran after Octavian to try and track the banshee, sprinting into the snow outside the berm. The creature was hovering in the ashen sky above the gazebo with a mad grin on her face, which Jankx tried to wipe off with a fiery bolt. It singed her slightly but she hardly seemed to notice, keeping her focus on Octavian.

Arlington leapt off the berm and tried to run to hide behind the gnomon, finding his wits recovered as he did. He panted as his pulse slowly settled, watching Morgan also running almost out of the moon-circle, until the warrior too suddenly felt the fear lift. He shook his head to clear his mind then set about hunting the banshee. It was lucky Tarquin wasn’t around to witness this particular moment of shame, Arlington reflected with a wry smile before hauling himself to his feet and following Morgan.

The banshee once again flew away from the bulk of the action, smiling horribly at Jankx. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” she grinned, drawing and firing an ethereal bow, but missing the handsome rogue. Octvian took advantage of her distraction to lodge another radiant beam into her torso. “Cursssse you, cursssse you all!” the banshee hollered.

Ezra vanished and reappeared next to the banshee and tried another attack, but again the swing that should have hit instead only cut through air. Morgan parkoured up the berm and tried to shake Tarquin awake, but he only collapsed back into unconsciousness.

In their nightmares Tarquin and Eearwaxx suffered the horror of the extinction of the moon-elves, the hunting and slaughter, the peace of millennia in ruins. They writhed and tossed, unaware of the battle unfolding around them.

Jankx singed the banshee again with fire. He could see it was barely affecting her, but whittling her down was better than nothing. Arlington hoisted himself up the berm to find himself squarely in the banshee’s sights. The banshee grinned. Her bow struck true this time, twisting into his chest like a necrotic screw. “You will join usssss,” the banshee laughed. Octavian returned serve with his own attack, radiance leaking out of the remains of her ethereal skin. Octavian could see his attacks were working as she howled again and glared with dark intent. Jankx continued to chip away with his bolts, and the banshee starting to spin and whip from side to side, something Octavian took as a sign that she was suffering.

Arlington fired his crossbow in retaliation, but the bolt passed harmlessly through the banshee, just like Ezra’s blows had. The banshee laughed with the joy of death and fired another shot that seemed to follow the exact same path and enter the exact same wound. The pain was overwhelming and Arlington dropped to his knees as he clutched at his chest. He crawled behind the sarcophagus and collapsed.

Octavian flew to the ground and put himself between his fearless leader and the banshee. He was out of radiant spells so he threw out his summoned whip, cutting her but not gripping, so he couldn’t pull her to the ground. Morgan could see Ezra’s attacks had failed, and Arlington’s too. Nothing was working except Octavian and Jankx’s magic. With a deep sigh and feeling of dark trepidation, he rolled Eearwaxx over and unstrapped the cursed sanguine blade. He yanked it out of the scabbard, feeling how it fit perfectly in his grip, feeling the power, feeling the dark want, and charged over to Octavian’s side.

The banshee spun wildly, cackling and screeching, hovering above the gnomon. Her ethereal bow narrowed in unerringly on Octavian. “You will feel my pain!” she cried as she loosed her arrow. It flew fast and true and drilled into Octavian’s chest. He howled in surprise and agony as the necrotic pain reached every nerve in his body, then collapsed to the ground unmoving, his tiny form buried in the snow as blood seeped from the wound.

Jankx saw Arlington and Octavian fall and realised Tarquin was needed. He clambered up the berm and crouched next to Tarquin, then used his best medical knowledge to gently bring the bard back to an unsettled consciousness. Tarquin shuddered awake with a splitting headache, and a dirge that spoke of the pain that echoed across the centuries rattling around in his skull. Despite the trauma, Tarquin reacted quickly when he saw the mighty wizard Eearwaxx huddled face down in the snow drift by his side. He waved a healing hand over Eearwaxx before turning his focus to the hovering banshee. With a few choice words he turned the banshee’s voice back on itself, the dissonant whisper — “I’ve seen your pain” — a mirror to her own song of sorrow. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” she wailed, spinning in a vortex of confusion and anger.

Eearwaxx pulled himself upright after Tarquin’s healing words, tears rolling down his face from the aching pain of his dreams. His mother’s death overwhelmed his every though, overlaid with the vision of the Icewind moon-elves' demise. He wiped his face clean of the tears and stared up at the banshee. He pointed up at her and whispered a word.

A bell tolled.

It echoed around the moon-ring, bouncing off the curved edges, causing the gnomon to start resonating with the sound of the deathly toll. The banshee’s shriek reached a fevered pitch and then she shrunk into herself and vanished with a flash of darkness.

“I am the greatest wizard,” Eearwaxx rasped before collapsing.

---

Death in the North

Arlington pulled himself up on the sarcophagus. “There’s my boy,” he muttered, staggering over toward the edge of the moon-circle, not noticing the fallen body of Octavian. He jumped off, landing with a pained grunt, and limped over to the moose. He pulled out his hunting knife and started to hack the moose’s head clear of its body.

Morgan rushed over to Octavian and did his best to staunch the wound, the gently lifted and carried him over to Tarquin. Tarquin hauled himself up on the statue, leaning against it and stabilising and healing Octavian.

---

The first death of Octavian

A beautiful — even to Octavian — elf gently lifted Octavian’s head and grimaced:

“You know with not what you meddle, young one. It destroyed us, and it will destroy you. Do not release it again.”

The slender elf touched Octavian’s forehead and a vision fill his mind:

Something impossible. A circular city of towering spires streaked through the sky, accelerating inexorably toward the earth. Octavian stood amongst a company of moon-elves, all staring in wonder at the thing that should not be there, and definitely should not be falling. As he watched, chunks of the falling city shot off like meteorites, crashing into the icy ground.

The city careened into a distant glacier in an explosion of snow and a flare of brilliant white light, the shockwave knocking the silent watchers to the ground.

Whiteness.

Three ancient elves are huddled around the gnomom, on their knees. Their great beauty has been ravaged by disease or madness, skin clammy, hair thinned, and they seem near blind, one eye bulging and milky, the other shrunken. You recognise one of the elves, the banshee! And another who could be her twin. The sisters, for that is what Octavian assumed they were, stood and walk through a stone door which seals behind them. The third, a druid, turns to the heavens and begins to weave a spell which causes the runes of the moondial to glow brighter, and brighter, and brighter —

---

Octavian awoke in Morgan’s arms, who laid him carefully to the ground. The vision of the druid calling on the power of the moon echoed strong in his mind. Octavian’s breathing settled as life slowly seeped back into his veins. His eyes sprung open. “I’m ok!” he cried before closing his eyes again. “The city…” he muttered, “The flying city is real,” Octavian said and recounted the vision.

It was a sorry scene. Eearwaxx and Octavian lay recovering in the snow, a badly wounded Morgan and exhausted Jankx by their side. Arlington, half-dead, was grimly sawing his way through the gore of the great fallen moose.

Tarquin, leaning on the statue of a long-forgotten elven noble, started singing a low song of rest, the story of the moon-elves, their glory and their fall. Everyone felt their blood settling as the song drifted over the now silent tomb, snow gently falling.

---

“Morgan,” Arlington called, not looking up from his moose-carving but pointing to the tomb entrance, “If you please.”

Morgan nodded and reached behind his back to find the sanguine blade securely tucked behind his greatsword. He didn’t remember securing it, but now that he did he realised that it felt right: like it always should and always will be part of his arsenal. He decided there was no chance he would return it to Eearwaxx — best to keep it lest the banshee should reappear. He jumped off the berm, landing with a grunt, the bear wounds still smarting, and stood on the threshold. Nothing moved inside. He called Jankx over (who was trailed by Eearwaxx), then climbed down the ten foot drop.

Inside were two corridors bending to the south, and one to the north. The detritus of the moose and bear’s lairs covered the floor, and there were a dozen of so slumbering rabbits and wolf–pups, still under the effect of the earlier spells. Morgan slid up the north corridor, finding a stone door etched with runes. The central engraving was a white semicircle which clearly symbolised a waxing half-moon, its rounded edge facing toward the right.

Jankx tried the southern corridor and found a similar door, with the symbolism reversed to show a waning half-moon. The door had no hinges or obvious opening mechanism.

Eearwaxx, having pushed open the southern door that exited to the outside, wandered down the middle corridor, which narrowed before ending at a wall upon which was mounted an oval mirror seven feet tall and half as wide, encircled by a decorative stone frame. He called Jankx and Morgan over to inspect it. It was a strange mirror, reflecting only the shadows of the three observers. “I don’t like this,” Jankx said, “Let’s just leave it.”

Eearwaxx was also worried — this seemed like something dangerous. He was convinced. “It might be a portal,” he whispered, backing away.

The three scouts returned to the blood-coated Arlington, who was half-way through his gruesome task, and reported their findings. “I don’t think we should trigger anything, or do anything, until we get a few people recovered from near-death,” Jankx said.

“Can we walk back to town?” Arlington asked, a simple statement he would later regret not insisting upon.

“We could — it took a few hours to get here though,” Morgan said.

“No, I’m exhausted, and so are most of us,” Tarquin said.

“I think we need to rest here,” Jankx agreed.

“We’ll need some warmth,” Arlington said looking at Eearwaxx who smiled weakly. He still had enough spellpower to do that.

“And if we’re going to rest here we need to check those doors,” Morgan warned.

“But not open them,” Jankx nodded.

Arlington grunted. “Well, gentlemen, if this is a safe place I am happy to do so. If it is not a safe place please let me know at the shortest convenience.”

Tarquin accompanied Jankx, finding that each door — and the mirror — were all strongly magical. The doors were closed with abjuration magic, and the mirror divination. Jankx listened carefully at each door but there was no sound — the door was so tightly sealed that he realised even if someone or something was moving around he wouldn’t be able to hear it. The mirror was still inert, so he returned to Arlington.

“I feel these are doors we can leave, until we have slept,” he said. A closed door was a risk, but so too was not recovering from the fight. “I think we should take the opportunity to heal.”

“In a room with a portal in it?” Arlington grunted.

“Even with that.”

“The mirror had an aura of divination, not conjuration or necromancy, which would hint that it’s perhaps not a portal,” Tarquin said. “Not withstanding that the banshee tried to kill us, we are in a temple.” Safe enough, he thought, desperate for rest.

Morgan collected enough wood for a healthy fire and piled it into the centre of the lair, and Eearwaxx set it ablaze. Everyone collapsed gratefully in the warmth, other than Arlington who was still working away on the moose. The head was removed, the skin half-stripped, gore and guts covering the frozen ground. It was one of the finest hours he had ever spent.

Morgan volunteered for first watch, and everyone settled gratefully into a much needed sleep.

Much needed.

Alas.

---

Barely an hour into the rest Morgan heard something. He jerked upright, instantly alert. Stone ground on stone from the northern corridor — the door opening. Morgan stepped quickly over to Jankx and kicked him away, then rolled to Arlington and Tarquin and shook them away too.

It was the worst wake-up ever. Everyone’s head throbbed with the shock of being conscious again long before expected, and long before recovered. And then came the sound: wolves howling and barking. Morgan dashed to the corridor entrance and drew his greatsword just as the first beasts leapt into the lair.

Tarquin, forcing through his exhaustion, yelled a blessing at Morgan and threw his dagger into the haunch of the closest wolf. Morgan called Ezra then attacked the same wolf, killing it with his slashing blade.

“We are going to die,” Arlington prophesised, before throwing his spear past Morgan’s head with deadly aim. A second wolf fell. “Or maybe not,” he quickly revised.

“Oh no,” Jankx groaned, shaking his head to try and get alert. He reacted fast enough to summon a spectral hand to grab a burning brand from the fire and hurl it into the passageway. The wolves howled with fright as the flame landed, leaping over the burning branch. Jankx shifted his position and cast a sleep spell into the midst of the pack, causing two to fall to the floor.

The next wolf growled and leapt onto Morgan, tearing into his shoulder. Ezra reacted by plunging his sword into the wolf’s back, killing it instantly. Another wolf emerged and jumped onto Ezra, forcing Morgan’s sentinel to vanish, and yet another wolf joined its companion and ripped into Morgan.

Morgan swiped as a wolf tried to force its way past, catching it through the neck and killing it.

The wolves were falling fast, but then their leader appeared. A woman dressed in druidic purple leather with a heavy fur coat strode down the corridor, a sickle in each hand. Her face was pale and lips dark and she took in the scene, frowning at the growing pile of dead wolves.

---

“You make short work of my pets, and you have made short work of my awakened beasts,” she said, causing Arlington to step quickly away from the moose-head he’d been using as a pillow. “Now I shall make short work of you.” She muttered a few words and eight new wolves suddenly appeared in the middle of the room.

Tarquin tried his best to swing at the closest of the new wolves, but missed, stumbling backwards. He steadied himself on Arlington’s shoulder and spoke a word of inspiration. “For god’s sake man, do your worst!” he hissed. Arlington pushed his crossbow into the nearest wolf and released the trigger. The wolf didn’t survive.

Morgan attacked the wolf that barred his path to the druid, continuing his instant-kill streak and drawing her attention with a yell. This allowed Ezra to reappear, leap atop of the pile of dead wolves to try and drive his sword into the enchantress. But he slipped on the gore and blood and his blow fell harmlessly.

Eearwaxx and Octavian, awoken by the chaos, finally roused themselves. Eearwaxx focused instantly on the druid and did his best to cause her to fear his mighty wizardry. She flashed her pale eyes to him. “I am not afraid of you, little one,” she said impassively.

“You will be!” Eearwaxx cried bravely. He’d never cast a necrotic spell before, but he felt like this was the start of something.

Octavian swung his staff into the three wolves that surrounded him. He had no magic left, only that which was innate, so he empowered his swing with shillelagh and killed one. Then he changed shape into the smallest creature he could, taking the form of a hummingbird and springing to the ceiling. The surviving two wolves snapped but Octavian was too fast now for them to capture him. They turned their attention to Jankx, one missing but one tearing a chunk from his arm.

Eearwaxx was assaulted by a particularly large wolf who sunk its teeth into Eearwaxx’s neck, ripping it open with a triumphant howl. The boy–wizard fell dead to the ground, blood gurgling from his shredded throat.

Another wolf savaged Tarquin, leaving him barely standing under the assault, and Morgan was surprised by a wolf that leapt on his back and tore its claws down his back. Ezra too was ‘killed’ by a wolf claw, but Morgan killed the next wolf to emerge and it tried to get through to Tarquin.

Jankx grabbed a potion from his waist and quickly drained it, relishing the heat that flooded his mouth as he did. He turned to the wolf pack and released a torrent of flame which incinerated the closest beast. Jankx disengaged to position himself over Eearwaxx’s fallen body, preparing for the worst.

The druid, still calm, watched as her wolves continued to fall, then raised her sickles above her head and crossed them. “You will never know peace for what you have taken from me,” she growled. “I will bring your flesh to Auril until there are none remaining!” She pulled her sickles down to the ground, and with her motion an ice storm erupted from above her head, a hail of rock-hard ice thundering into the tomb.

The tomb of Arlington.

The tomb of Tarquin.

The tomb of Jankx.

Only Morgan and Octavian remained alive, but barely.

The druid surveyed her destruction, then shapechanged into a massive direwolf and bound toward the tomb entrance.

---

Morgan sheathed his greatsword and drew the sanguine blade. He sprinted after the direwolf-druid and just, just missed. Morgan cursed quietly, but a newly summoned Ezra didn’t make any mistake with his blow, drawing a howl of pain and snarl of fury.

From his high vantage point Octavian watched in horror. Everyone and everything was dead. He shifted back to his own form and flew down through the storm, pounding the ground with his staff and a cry of fury. The ground erupted with withering necrotic plants grasped and drained life from the druid as she ran. Another circle of blooming plant life surrounded Morgan, healing him with their life-giving energy.

The dire-druid snarled at both Morgan and Octavian as she continued to run, jumping up the broken stonework toward the exit. Morgan swung and hit this time, and he bathed in the bloodrush as the sword invigorated his energy. Octavian tried to whip the druids legs but his swing was wild. The druid leapt free, disappearing outside.

Morgan, full of the fuel provided by Octavian and the blade, wasn’t going to let her get away. She had to pay for what she had done. He clambered up the stones and into the moon-dial opening. The direwolf was moving fast toward the northern opening, bleeding badly from her wounds. Morgan blinked Ezra into her path, and he slashed her again with a vicious cut.

Octavian, despite being barely alive, followed Morgan. And this time his whip struck true, shredding the wolves back leg. He wrapped it around her haunch and hauled her back toward Morgan. Ezra hit her again as she was jerked backwards.

She knows too much, we need to know what she knows, and then we need to kill her, Octavian thought wildly to himself as he planted himself next to Morgan. He looked up just in time to see the direwolf howl from her blood-stained mouth, and felt his blood go cold as he realised his mistake. The was no ordinary wolf.

The druid-wolf roared and a blast of frozen wind erupted from her mouth, catching Octavian and Morgan with full force. Octavian was thrown back into the wall of the cave, dropping lifeless to the icy ground.

Morgan staggered back, the last man standing. He dropped the cursed blade and drew his faithful heirloom. If he was going to die, he was going to die with honour, and with his family weapon. He crashed it into the druid who howled in pain, her eyes flashing with anger.

Morgan stared back defiantly, seeing that she was not going to back away. Bring it on.

The druid swung a massive claw at Morgan and ripped his chest open.

The young warrior fell.

---

The Death & Life of Morgan, Jankx, and Eearwaxx

Morgan’s Dream

Morgan sat motionless in the tomb, a little back from the rebuilt fire, keeping watch over his friends. Who all were dead. “And so am I,” he realised with a shudder, remembering the druid’s final swing. “So not keeping watch, then. Keeping company.

And yet he swore he saw breath misting from Jankx and Eearwaxx. But the others… they lay very still, too still, at the edge of the fire’s light.

“I never really thought of any of them as friends until now,” Morgan said mournfully.

“It not your fault Morgan,” consoled Ezra, placing a hand Morgan’s shoulder, “We give it our best.”

“For all the good that did. Look around! What did we do? Kill a whole pile of poor animals under the thrall some Auril worshipping witch.”

“Druid,” Ezra corrected. Morgan stared daggers at Ezra. “Just saying…”

“Even that stinking blade didn’t help in the end,” Morgan cocked his chin at the black sword leaning against the wall. He could feel its looming presence. “Get your fill did you?! You’re going in lake!” he spat.

“It helped you Morgan,” Ezra stated flatly.

“Yes but at what cost? You can feel it too. Viktor warned us about things like this. The ends justifying the means is a slippery slope.”

“Well you’re still here and so are those two. The kid is strange sure, but well intentioned I think, and Jankx is growing on me. Worry about them now and your moral qualms later. The future will sort itself out. Auril is still trying to freeze everyone in Ten Towns to death, and we still have to find out why we were sent to this frozen hell hole to start with. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and make a plan,” Ezra chastised. “And — you need to give Allie and Cori their lantern back.”

“Okay, okay,” Morgan sighed. “Enough. I won’t be able to hear anything coming over your lecturing.

Ezra looked sadly at Morgan, who still thought he could save his new friends.

Darks angels follow me. Over a godless sea…

---

Morgan woke suddenly to feel hard stone against his back and an icy cold around his neck. Beside him Jankx and Eearwaxx jerked awake, urgently sucking in the bone-cold air. It was cold, but it was life. Around their necks were torcs of ice fastened to the statue. Morgan reached up and felt the same thing around his. He strained to shatter the ice but it was as hard as rock.

The three survivors' bodies ached from cold and the abuse they had taken. Jankx, who remembered only the storm of ice before blackness, fought through the pain and looked around the lair, thankful to find Morgan and Eearwaxx beside him. But standing a few steps away was the druid, the architect of his demise. Arlington, Octavian, and Tarquin were nowhere to be seen. Did they make it?, Jankx thought with slim hopes. Perhaps a rescue was impending?

A tall, elegant, very pale woman, dressed in furs — some of which are still alive? — stepped out of the shadows to stand next to the druid.

---

Eearwaxx didn’t know the woman, but recognised the creatures on her coat as Chwinga, rarely seen tiny elemental spirits that were currently in animal form. Fey creatures, tricksters, friendly and not. The fact she had so many befriending her impressed the young wizard. “Hello,” he croaked. There was no response, so he tried elvish, then, quietly and quickly, infernal, and finally thieves' cant (raising Jankx’s frozen brows). There was no response or reaction from the woman.

The woman stared at her captives with eyes of frost, her expression impassive. When she spoke, her voice swirled like a snowdrift over ice.

“You all would have died. And may still, if you make the wrong choices. It was hard to stop Ravisin,” she said, glancing at the druid, “And I won’t a second time.”

The frost druid, now back in her human shape and seemingly unhurt, flexed her neck. Morgan stared daggers. He knew he had almost killed her.

“My name is Hedrun, and I am here to give you another chance. Another life. And a choice for each of you.” She locked eyes with each captive in turn.

The name ‘Hedrun’ stirred something in Eearwaxx’s memories. He recalled a Reghed tribesman discussing an Ice Witch with that name, but the witch had been thought gone from this plane, vanishing decades past. “I have heard of you, Hedrun,” Eearwaxx stumbled out, “From the North tribes, but they said you were gone?”

Hedrun turned her frozen gaze to Eearwaxx. “There is a reason they would say so. Let me tell you my story. I am — was — a Chosen of Auril. This is her domain, and I served her as enforcer, cajoler, charmer. I turned the Reghed tribes to her worship, and corrupted the Bear. Despite this…I was betrayed. For my services I was expelled to a place none should go, chained, and punished. And that is where I have been for these last decades.”

Her words evoked a powerful aura of fury, but also…despair? She had not enjoyed her time in captivity it would seem.

“My life, like yours, was forfeit. But then I was given another chance. By one of the very Bear tribesmen I had once driven to Auril’s embrace. His name was Bili Tengervaald, Son of Wolvig, son of Günvald. He chose to let me live, as I choose to let you.”

“My time in Avernus — Hell, to you — and Bili’s choice, made me realise I too had a choice: to be subservient to Auril…or to usurp her rule and take her place as the Goddess of the North. I think you can guess which I chose.”

“You are going to become a goddess?” Eearwaxx said with surprise.

“I will once I take Auril’s place.”

Jankx and Morgan exchanged glances, surprised that she would be saying this out loud. If Auril was indeed all-reaching, admitting this seemed foolhardy at best and suicidal at worst.

“I have a question, Lady,” Eearwaxx said carefully, “That doesn’t sound very…easy to do?”

For the first time the tiny hint of a smile crept upon Hedrun’s face. “You are right.”

“And is Auril responsible for all the things that are happening out here? Or is that you?”

“It is Her, not I.”

“Will you be better than her? For the people of this realm?”

“Those that worship me will have my blessing. And I will remove Auril, and end her Rime.”

Morgan shifted, sitting up. This wasn’t what he had been expecting, death seemed more likely, but she had his attention now. He had assumed the druid was a servant of Auril — she had said as much before slaughtering his companions. The whole equation was changing with Hedrun’s revelations.

“Upon my return I found this place,” Hedrun continued, “A shelter that Auril’s all-seeing eye cannot penetrate. The ancient elven magics ward this tomb and she sees it not.”

“My offer to you is simple: find me the power to overthrow Auril. She knows my every movement once I leave this place, but you will be nigh invisible to her, insignificant as you are to her grand plans. She is hiding something in the fallen city of Ythryn. Hiding it from others who seek it also. Obtain it for me before they do, and before Auril’s Rime hides it for eternity.”

“Do this and you will have your lives. Your torcs will release and you will have my blessing. Fail, or choose not to take my offer, and they will tighten until your souls depart — for good this time.” As she spoke the torcs tightened slightly.

Eearwaxx spoke first. “As I indicated, I would not replace one evil with another. If you have learnt from your release from Hell, will you be better for the people of this land, or worse?”

“Why do you suppose me evil?” Hedrun asked coldly.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. But you ask we trade one god, a cruel god, for another. So I ask again: a better one?”

“That is a choice you will have to make without knowing,” Hedrun whispered.

“But you will lift the Rime?” Morgan asked.

“I will end the Rime. For the Rime hides what she wishes to keep hidden.”

“And if we do find this ‘thing’, whatever it is, will we know it when we see it? And do we bring it back here?” Jankx asked.

“Yes. Bring it straight to me. And you will know it — there is a power buried in that ice that many have sought, and Auril has used.”

“Will you use it?” Eearwaxx asked slyly.

“Of course. To overthrow Auril. I am not powerful enough without it.”

“And once you’ve done that?”

“I will use it as I see fit, should it remain empowered. I know not what it is nor how its power works.”

“Very well,” Eearwaxx had decided. “If you will remove the Rime that is better that what we have today. I agree, and I will support your request.”

“You will release us,” Morgan said looking around the empty chamber, “But where are our friends?”

Hedrun hesitated. “I know not where you companions are. Their bodies were here, then they were not. I did not take them, but something did.”

Jankx reeled. Their bodies? So a rescue wasn’t forthcoming. That changed things.

Morgan glanced at the druid, who licked her lips. “Now, now, Ravisin. It was not her,” Hedrun assured Morgan, then turned to Jankx. “What is your decision?”

Jankx paused for a long moment before speaking: “I have two reasons to say yes. I think what is offered is an improvement for the land. And, frankly, I have very little choice,” he said with an ironic smile. “I agree.”

“You are right, you have very little choice. But you do have choice, and some would choose otherwise.” She looked toward Morgan. “And you?”

Morgan just nodded.

“Very well. And very good. As a show of good faith in our agreement, you are recovered.” Hedrun waved a snow-white hand and everyone felt life surge back through their veins, expelling the hurt and exhaustion.

“And I have granted you something else, a blessing in the form of a shield of ice. Call on my name and you shall be protected. Use it as you need, but only once per moon.”

“Tarry not. Leave now,” Hedrun smiled coldly, turned, and walked slowly down the corridor toward the mirror. Ravisin followed, turning once to lock eyes with Morgan. A moment later there was a shimmer of moonlight and they were gone.

The torcs released their hold in the flash of light — but instead of vanishing they had been absorbed into the skin. Jankx glanced at his companions to find a pencil-thin line of ice encircling their throats. He felt for his, a living tattoo of ice, cold to the touch. A reminder.

---

The Death & Life of Octavian, Tarquin, and Arlington

Octavian, Tarquin, and Arlington found themselves alone, floating high above a frozen wasteland. A churning, murky sea lay below, covered in layers of thick ice. Where the ice gave way to open water, immense icebergs drifted on unpredictable currents. The twilight sky streaked with lightning and thunder swept the land in a continuous rumble.

---

All three instinctively knew: this is not Icewind Dale. And all three instinctively knew: I am not alive.

Each felt themself pulled rapidly over the expanse of untamed territory. All manner of unlikely beasts wandered the frozen terrain and swam the seas: isolated remorhaz, krakens, lumbering mammoths, scattered clusters of frost giants.

The only open body of water was a dark, oily river that meandered through the ice-bound tundra, oozing with malevolence. The sight of it caused an involuntary shiver of dark dread.

The rate of travel accelerated wildly as the trio was sucked toward a massive berg that loomed in the distance. Racing over the ice floes revealed skirmishes between what look like…devils? Ice devils?…and other devils? Everywhere, endless fighting. The dread mounted ever higher.

Suddenly all three new arrivals plummeted to the ice, landing on their feet with a thump at the foot of an enormous iceberg. Tarquin glanced quickly at his companions, noting only Octavian and Arlington were here and looking a lot worse for wear. The brains trust, he thought quickly, But where are the others? He tried to summon a flame of warmth to test his spellcraft, but nothing happened.

Octavian was particularly confused by those missing. He had been one of the last to fall, and he has seen Eearwaxx and Jankx go down under the Druid’s assault. Why weren’t they here?

Arlington looked down at himself. He was pleased to find he was still himself, not a ghost or shade, though badly battered.

Standing in front of the towering berg was a six-foot-tall humanoid with very pale skin, dark hair, and a goatee. Were it not for his entirely black eyes and pointed teeth (which practically radiated darkness) you would call him handsome. He wore loose, silken clothing, despite the bitter cold, and carried a glistening rapier.

---

“Well met,” Tarquin said, trying his best to sound on top of the situation. “It seems we are in…another place.”

The man, if that was what he was, bowed insouciantly. “Well met indeed, gentlemen. Before we begin, I feel I should mention something: you are dying,” he said with a beaming smile. His voice was like molten honey poured over ice. “Which seems such a waste, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Octavian agreed instantly, noting how the speaker was almost translucent as if he was half here, half not.

“You have us at a disadvantage, sir,” Arlington said. “You are…?”

“Who am I? Why I am the ruler of this realm.”

“Which is?”

“Well this is my realm.”

“And what would others call it?” Tarquin pressed.

“Others like you? I believe you would name it Stygia. Or The Fifth Layer. But perhaps most commonly, Icy-hell. Are any of those familiar to you?”

Tarquin and Octavian nodded grimly. Arlington looked non-plussed.

“It matters not where you are, what matters is your impending deaths,” the man continued earnestly. “It is a dreadful business. I feel it in my heart, your deaths. But as luck would have it I can help you,” he grinned.

Tarquin raised a frozen eyebrow. He knew this game well. “Before we come to some bargain, what hold do you have over us who should not be here in this fifth layer?”

“Why I have no hold over you. I am merely offering you…well, I am offering you your lives. If you choose not to take that offer, that is perfectly fine—you will simply die.”

Arlington searched for his pipe and popped it in his mouth.

Octavian grunted. “My friend Tarquin is implying that should you not want to bargain with us that we wouldn’t end up here. We would have gone somewhere else.”

“Perhaps, but it is my special gift to offer those on the verge of crossing over one final chance. Right now you are in-between. Should you choose to accept my offer—and I will say it is a very reasonable offer—then you will have your lives back and all will be well. If you refuse then you will go wherever you were destined to go, which is, frankly, none of my business.”

Tarquin turned to Octavian. “It is plain that we do not belong here, of all places. I think this man has interrupted our journey. And I use the word ‘man’ advisedly.”

“What exactly is your offer?” Arlington asked, sucking on his frozen pipe.

The man rubbed his manicured hands together. “Let me explain. You see I am empowered—or perhaps more correctly compelled—to offer you your lives. Of course there are conditions attached to any such offer, but I feel sure that you will find them favourable.”

“Go on,” Arlington said warily.

“It is quite simple: I will grant you your life, and in return you will grant me your everlasting souls upon expiry of said life.”

Arlington burst out laughing.

The man held a hand up. “Now I know that you value your souls, and this may upon initial hearing sound a mite unbalanced. But! There is more to it. I am going to provide you a simple Contract, and I would ask that you at least take the time to read through it—you may find yourselves pleasantly surprised.”

As he spoke an icy tablet materialised in everyone’s hands.

“I will of course answer any questions you may have, but let me summarise: It is not simply a soul for a life. Even I see that that would be unfair,” he smiled warmly. “There are other temptations and offers. Perhaps you will only die once! Perhaps your life will be extended! Perhaps you will have extra powers! All of these things and more are possible. Gentlemen: read on. I think you will find it a bargain—you might even say it is a once in a lifetime bargain,” he grinned.

Tarquin bent his attention to the tablet. The first thing he noted was who the man was: “Levistus, Archdevil of the Nine Hells of Baator”. What could possibly go wrong, he thought.

Arlington was the first to query. “This first term: to resolve ‘one mortal threat’. Is that including the one that has just befallen us?”

“It is indeed that very threat,” Levistus explained. “That is the resolution that lies before you.”

“So when it says we may designate another mortal to receive this benefit, what would be the point—we would be dead straight away.”

“You would indeed—I can see you are no fool, sir! As such, consider this: perhaps you would choose for your dying breath to pass life to another? I am not a harsh man, maybe there is someone you would rather resurrect in your place. Such generosity is not unknown, and indeed is why the Contract was altered millennia ago to reflect such wishes. As I said—it is a very reasonable Contract.”

“In my world we call that pyramid selling,” Tarquin quipped.

“Oh no, you would still be on the hook—they would not be a signatory. They would just get their lives back,” Levistus smiled. “You may note, while we are talking about death, that you could die a second time, ‘and you would not in fact be dead!”

“Point two, yes, I see,” Arlington muttered.

“‘Any unavoidable agreement that does arise shall be superseded by the terms of this Pact’,” Tarquin read. “I don’t know if that will hold up.”

“Oh it has held up over many challenges,” Levistus said. “I doubt you will find a better deal. I note some of the other Archdevils offer terms that are far less favourable—being dragooned into the Blood War is never fun.” He glanced over at Octavian. “I am pleased to see my kobold friend is taking a very close look indeed.”

Octavian hadn’t spoken, his brow creased in intense concentration. He wanted to find a loophole, but the more he read the more he realised Levistus was right: this Contract had been tested many times over many aeons, and as a result it was watertight. “This is a very, I won’t say generous, but fair offer,” he said eventually, “Apart from Part C. Which involves conscription, where I’ve signed away my soul to return to life, but Asmodeus could conscript me for the Blood War at any time, thus making that whole benefit void?”

“You have studied it well,” Levistus said, impressed. “Not many do. But rest assured, Disclosure C can only take effect once we have your soul. If you are still living you are perfectly safe. I will say that that Person you so casually mentioned often meddles in my plans. But He has enough souls—I think it is highly unlikely He will claim yours.”

“Can you not simply remove that clause, and then he can’t meddle with our souls?” Octavian challenged.

“Unfortunately we…serve at His pleasure, and He insists that we include this in all of our Contract,” Levistus sighed. Everyone got the strong sense that Levistus did not like his Master.

“When you said earlier you were in part compelled,” Tarquin said, “Are we talking about the same fellow?”

“Very well noted, young man. Yes we are.”

“So really you are just an intermediary.”

“Oh, technically. But I am an Archdevil, and this is an entire layer of Hell. And I am its ruler. So.”

Arlington had heard enough. “All seems reasonable to me,” he said, pulling out a pen and hovering over the tablet, unsure how to sign on solid ice.

“You have chosen wisely - but you cannot sign with a mere pen!” Levistus beamed. He clapped his hands and an imp appeared holding an ice chalice. It flew to Arlington, took the tablet and melted it into the chalice with a flaming finger. “Drink up!” Levistus smiled.

Arlington didn’t hesitate. It was rather refreshing.

“Wonderful! I welcome you—I think you will like it here! And your other two friends?” Levistus said, glancing at Tarquin and Octavian.

Octavian was watching Arlington closely, looking for any changes. The crazed hunter appeared himself, pipe planted in his mouth, and his wounds were rapidly healing. The only physical change he could see was that one of his hands…was slowly turning into ice.

Tarquin looked around too, but not for changes to Arlington. “My good man, where is ‘The Marut’?”

Levistus’s eyes twinkled. “You are indeed a sharp one. The Marut is here, albeit in an extraplanar fashion. Rest assured they have witnessed the signing, and as you have read they will adjudicate any disagreements should they arise. I think you will find they are an extremely fair judge. Not under my control, nor under that Person’s control.”

“Before I drink my life away, I would like to see such an adjudicator before me. If they are between the planes, bring them here.”

Levistus paused. “I will not do that. As I have said, I do not command The Marut, they merely offer a service.” Tarquin frowned. “It is only fair that before I sign my soul away I see they who will adjudge it. If you can’t do it, perhaps I can appeal to The Marut myself—” As he spoke Tarquin staggered slightly as he felt an otherworldly presence bear down upon his mind. It impressed upon him something he could not understand, but for a fleeting moment he understood the inevitability of death—and knew that The Marut was the undeniable enforcer of that inevitability.

Tarquin found he trusted that great truth. He looked back to Levistus. “The Marut has made itself known to me,” he said quietly, awed even as the fleeting insight faded.

“He has?” Levistus seemed surprised. “Well you are touched, in that case! Not many have that privilege.”

“Oh he’s touched alright,” Arlington muttered.

“And not many argue about these Contracts,” Levistus said with a note of warning.

“Did I say I was arguing?” Tarquin said, “I just seek clarification.”

“What happened to the last person who broke the Contract,” Octavian asked.

“Their soul was forfeit, so I took it,” Levistus said simply.

“And has anyone ever escaped Hell once they are here?”

“Escaped?” Levistus paused while he considered this. “Funny you should ask. There was talk of a group of six who escaped only recently. Adventurers who foolishly involved themselves in the Blood War. Allegedly, and I say this on good advice as I did not witness it myself—and frankly find it hard to believe— but allegedly they are responsible for the overthrow of Zariel herself!?”

Octavian also found this hard to credit—a tall tale at best. “But they came down of their own accord, not like us—they weren’t dragged metaphysically?”

“Ah I see, you talk of the escape once your soul if forfeit,” Levistus nodded. “I would hope not. Some find themselves excused from their service or debt for providing services they may have offered above and beyond. As you may have noted in the Contract, there is a Clause that covers such an eventuality—if you should happen to provide services to me such that I am so pleased with you that I will release your soul–”

“Can you give an example of such a service,” Octavian interrupted, suddenly seeing the loophole he had sought. “Has anyone ever done that?”

“I know one,” Tarquin said quickly.

“Please enlighten us,” Levistus said with interest.

“Simply to remove that yoke, around your neck, that your Master has placed there.”

A slow smile crept over Levistus’s handsome face. “That would indeed earn you your soul!”

Octavian wasn’t a fan of the impossible. “Has anyone ever earned it through other means?”

“From me? Well…no.”

“And how many souls have passed through your hands?”

“Oh, countless. As you may have noticed in the Contract, the definition therein of ‘Eternity’ as being ‘exceptionally long’ is accurate. It is an extremely long time, and there have been an extremely high number of souls that have passed into my hands.”

“So really, when you proffer this idea that people might be able to gain some exceptions, in eternity it has never happened,” Octavian said flatly.

“No—but there’s always a first!” Levistus beamed. “And your friend here has, for example, painted a scenario where it is very likely that Clause would be invoked. So it’s not impossible!”

“No. But it would mean dethroning Asmodeus,” Octavian scoffed.

“Ah, now, I–” Levistus was flustered, glancing around nervously.

“I know you don’t like hearing that,” Octavian said, “But since you just said that you might want to overthrow him, I just thought I’d put it on the record.”

“I never said such a thing, and I would like that on the record,” Levistus said firmly. “However if my yoke were removed, then I would be free. Not overthrowing anyone in particular, just free.”

Octavian smirked. “And tell me, what alignment would I have once I returned?”

“Well I sense that all three of you lean rather to the ‘good’ side of the scales—am I correct?”

“I am in shock that we are here, put it that way,” Octavian said. “And even more shocked that Tarquin here is considered good.” Tarquin rolled his eyes.

“Rest assured I will not change your fundaments, and you can probably guess that a good—albeit condemned—soul is highly valued around these parts. Which is another argument for why you are likely to avoid being conscripted into the drudgery of the Blood War, may I add. You would be too valuable.”

“That’s something,” Tarquin sighed. “I don’t think I would be of much service in the Blood War. My strengths lie elsewhere.”

“The War is a numbers game more than anything else,” Levistus sighed. “A very dull affair. So, gentlemen: your decision?”

Octavian wasn’t done with questioning. “Clarify for me—as per the Contract, you will ask us for services occasionally? Or will you never intervene until our time is up?”

“If I see an opportunity I will put something in front of you and request that you perform that service. Always reasonable, naturally, for if it is not you may dispute the request in front of the The Marut’s judgement.”

“So if you ask me to do something I could refuse?”

“You could. I would then challenge that, and The Marut would decide.”

Tarquin gulped.

“Is there a limit on how many requests?”

“Well, no. For as you may have seen I have granted you the option of extending your lives for up to four thousand years, which obviously is a long time for you, if not so much for me. In that time the requests may pile up.”

Tarquin had missed that wrinkle. “This option—is that if we should happen to discover such a means to extend our lives, or is this a part of our pact today?”

“No, no, this is on you. If you find a means I will not stop it. But I will not be granting it to you.”

Tarquin nodded, then sighed. “This is, as they say, a Devil’s bargain.”

Levistus laughed. “Indeed it is my silver tongued friend.”

“I’m done. There is no other way that I can see,” Tarquin said.

“No other way that you can see…what?”

“To avoid a path to oblivion.”

A slow smile spread over Levistus’s face as he realised he had his second signee. “Yes, that is right. That is the great gift I can offer.”

“So be it. My story continues—I will sign.” Tarquin downed the molten Contract in a single swallow, feeling his soul salved despite the seemingly unavoidable endgame that awaited. Octavian watched the bard healing, and his hand freezing, just as Arlington’s had.

“Lucky last,” Levistus said turning to Octavian. “What is your decision? As I have said, there is no compulsion. It is your choice.”

Octavian was surprised to realise this was true. Despite his manner, Levistus had not pressured or tried to trick. Levistus grinned. “But I do hear…I do hear that you are the greatest kobold ever to have lived? It would be a terrible, terrible crime for that grand destiny to be cut so short having done so little.”

No tricks, but he does try to tempt. Octavian smiled despite himself. “Hm. The way I view that is—for me to give up some of my freedoms for you is worth much more than what these two give up—me being the greatest.”

Arlington puffed his cold pipe with amusement and Tarquin stifled a chuckle.

“So there should be some kind of recognition of that in the Contract,” Octavian concluded.

Levistus’s eyes shone. “I see—so you think you should get special terms because you are, indeed, the greatest kobold.”

“Exactly.”

“Let me posit a question. If I were to ask any number of people who have met you—or perhaps more importantly have not met you—who the greatest kobold to have lived was…would they name you?”

Octavian had no hesitation. “Yes.” This time Tarquin couldn’t contain his laugh.

“I don’t think that is true,” Levistus smirked.

“Meepo of the Dragoncult!” Octavian cried.

“There’s one…”

“Everyone in that cult!”

“And if I was to ask your father…?”

Octavian was stopped in his tracks. He seemed to deflate, slightly, as he considered this. “I am not sure,” he said quietly.

Levistus lent back against the iceberg. “No mind. Perhaps when you are the greatest kobold—perhaps when you the greatest, Clause 9 will come into effect. Because you will have achieved so much that I, Levistus, Prince of Betrayal and Tyrant of Stygia, will be compelled to free you, because you will have become—but are not yet—the Greatest Kobold.”

“I will sign!” Octavian said suddenly, ignoring Levistus’s mockery. “And I ask The Marut, and Asmodeus, to remember what this man has just said!!”

Octavian downed the Contract and wiped his lips clean. The loophole was sealed—Levistus had fallen for his own hubris. The Greatest Kobold was an inevitability even The Marut could not deny.

“I will see you for my soul on the day of my ascension!” Octavian snarled.

Levistus laughed heartily, and in the blink of an eye was gone, replaced by a frozen visage trapped deep inside the towering iceberg ahead.

---

“There. that wasn’t so hard, was it.” The disembodied voice spoke from within the berg. The honey in the voice was gone, now just ice crushed hard by endless time.

“Imprisoned by Asmodeus,” Tarquin smiled. The illusion had been strong, but now the truth of Levistus’s existence was plain.

“I have only moments before you will be returned to your bodies. Coincidentally,” and despite being frozen the face within the ice seemed to grin, “I have an interest in Icewind Dale. Something I would like to acquire. I have my own agents hard at work, but they are slow and insurance never hurts. And you three are my insurance.”

Arlington laughed. Of course.

“It is a simple request: find a way into the buried city of Ythryn. That is all I ask. Once you find your way I will follow up with a second request. Oh—and I am rather tired of Xardorok and his Duergar. I make no demands here, but know that I look favourably upon those that go above and beyond. Goodbye gentlemen!”

---

Life in the North

Arlington blinked and took in his surroundings. The clearing. Where the remains of the Speaker had been found. He looked to the sky, concluding it was still the same day — further evidenced by the disturbance Octavian’s wolf-form had made being only lightly snowed over.

He looked over at Tarquin and Octavian who looked slightly shaken but otherwise healthy. He opened his mouth to make a wry observation but Octavian shook his head and raised a finger to his lips.

“Shhh. No need to thank me,” Octavian said confidently, then walked off through the centre of the clearing as if he knew which way he was going. He quickly became bogged in the thick snowdrifts.

Arlington glanced at Tarquin with a look of utter confusion to fine Tarquin grinning and quickly penned Octavian’s words into his journal. “Do you want me to thank you, Tarquin?”

“No, not at all,” Tarquin laughed. Octavian had slowed down waiting — hoping — Arlington would take the lead. His hopes were answered when Arlington called to him. “Octavian are you suggesting we head back to the village?”

“Yes! We need to get back — that’s where the others will be.” As he spoke Octavian suddenly stopped. The others. He had seen them all die. One by one they had fallen until only Morgan remained. A shiver ran down his spine as the cold reality of their deaths hit him. He was the only divine reason Arlington and Tarquin were alive — they might be gone because they were not with me.

“Don’t you think we should check back in the tomb? For the others?” Arlington asked, watching Octavian freeze. The great hunter cast his mind back to the chaos of the battle with the druid and her wolves. Of the storm of ice that had felled him. And of the certainty that it had felled his remaining troupe too.

Tarquin turned and started following the earlier tracks toward the tombs. His mind too was suddenly overwhelmed with the horror of what he might find there, but there was no choice. You don’t leave a story untold, and he needed to know.

“The problem is we don’t have Eearwaxx,” Octavian muttered.

“No. But if the bodies are still there then we should retrieve them,” Arlington said, causing pause for all as the grimness of the situation hit home. Everyone also suddenly realised all of their main weapons were gone. Arlington shrugged and led on.

---

Morgan made a careful check of the tomb, finding Octavian’s staff, Arlington’s crossbow and spear, and Tarquin’s rapier. Everything they had been carrying when they fell. And the moose-head. He collected the weapons but not the head, and stepped outside looking for any signs of tracks or remains. There was nothing. It was as if Arlington, Tarquin, and Octavian had vanished. But he had seen them fall.

Jankx did a secondary check, ascending the berm to search around the sarcophagus and inside the tomb around the two still sealed tomb doors. The only change was that the Northern tomb door had recently opened, but was now magically closed again. He concurred with Morgan’s findings: there was no sign of the others. This was snow, there was no way tracks could be hidden, even by Arlington. Not much time had passed, the moose’s sweetmeats still steaming fresh. Something else was going on.

“What should we do? " Morgan asked Jankx. Morgan felt stunned, trying to hold it together but very agitated.

“I don’t think she was lying when she said she didn’t do it,” Jankx shrugged. “I don’t know why. I guess we shall see. The first thing to do is get out of here and see if there are tracks out there.”

“And back to Good Mead? That’s where they would go if they’re alive.” Morgan summoned Eearwaxx and together they slowly followed Jankx through the snow, struggling back toward the magical barrier.

---

The journey out to the barrier revealed no fresh tracks, but once Eearwaxx led through the ward Jankx immediately noticed fresh footfalls. He knelt down and felt his heart race when he saw some that were obviously Octavian’s. “It’s them!” he called quickly. Unless the Easthaven witch had been here, he thought for a moment, before pushing the thought aside.

“And it wasn’t long ago!” Morgan agreed, taking off as fast as he could down the trail. The excitement on the young warrior’s face was infectious.

---

It slowly dawned on Arlington that they had been walking for longer than they should. He turned and looked back up the path, noting it led downhill rather than up, and very familiar. He sighed, and Octavian rolled his eyes. Despite being very careful and alert to the magics, it seemed obvious the elven ward had turned them aside.

Suddenly Arlington heard clear signs of lumbering movement coming from above — travellers who clearly didn’t know how to move through snow but were using sheer momentum to carry them down the snow-covered slopes.

“Hide!” he hissed, sheltering behind a tree. Octavian shot into the air above the treeline, but Tarquin froze. “Just find a bush man!” Arlington cried. Tarquin did as ordered, failing utterly to conceal himself.

Octavian flew toward the noise and gasped when he saw who it was: Morgan, Jankx, and Eearwaxx. He grinned widely. “It’s them!” he said as he landed, just as Morgan burst into the clearing, panting with exertion. He barrelled straight into Octavian and gave him a huge bear-hug before putting him down.

“I know you will have a lot of questions,” Octavian said with a smile, trying to contain his pleasure at seeing the other three again.

Jankx looked to Tarquin who had sprung out from his shrub. “Why were the other two hiding?” Jankx said with a grin, causing everyone to burst into laughter. Tarquin bowed with a wink.

“Good to see you sir,” Eearwaxx said to Arlington, who was shocked to see the young wizard looked a lot older. Had he somehow aged ten years? He had a gravely dark look about his eyes — and he’d taken off his beard and hat. Octavian noticed it too, and for a moment worried that something worse than near-death had happened. But then he realised what it was: horror. Sheer horror.

Arlington met Octavian’s gaze for a moment, then shifted as subtlety as possible to Tarquin who stared back. Something had happened. Although Morgan looked happy, perhaps for the first time ever — he was beaming. And Jankx was tired but not shocked to the core like Eearwaxx.

On the other side of the fence, Jankx noted that Octavian looked like he had been through a wringer, but if Tarquin was affected he hid it well. Arlington looked as quick-witted and jovial as ever, but Jankx knew a thousand-yard stare when he saw it. And Morgan recognised it instantly, his eyes softening in recognition of Arlington’s cast. Arlington looked away as quickly as he could.

There was a moment of silence as everyone took in the strangeness of what had happened, and how everyone seemed to have survived it. Morgan handed back the weapons he had collected, to many thanks. This reminded Eearwaxx of something, and he held his hand out to Morgan. “The sword, please.”

Morgan shook his head. “It will be fine,” he said. The sanguine blade was securely fastened with his greatsword and wasn’t going anywhere. Eearwaxx held Morgan’s eye for a moment then shrugged.

After some small talk where the topic of what exactly had happened were neatly avoided, Arlington led the company back toward Good Mead. It didn’t take long before the question had to be asked.

“What happened to you?” Morgan asked, looking around at Arlington, Octavian, and Tarquin.

“We woke up in the dell where we were before,” Tarquin said quickly.

“A fine question, young master,” Arlington nodded, without answering.

“I saw you die? All of you,” Morgan said hesitantly, looking at Arlington first then the others.

“What happened to you?” Tarquin parried, taking the politician’s approach to being asked a difficult question.

“As far as I know I was the last one to fall,” Morgan said quietly. “The last thing I remember was the druid pouncing on me. Then the three of us,” he said, pointing to Jankx and Eearwaxx, “woke up. And were…presented with a choice. But you were gone.”

“What do you mean you were presented with a choice?” Octavian asked. He was fascinated — had they too chosen?

Morgan shook his head. “You need to explain how you ended up in the dell first. And why you didn’t have your weapons with you.”

“A choice from who?” Arlington pressed.

“Answer me first.”

“In truth sir, I found the ice pummelling my back, and I swooned into unconsciousness. And then I dreamt,” Arlington paused and looked meaningfully to Octavian, “I dreamt of my father. And then I awoke in the snow.”

“This I share with Arlington,” Tarquin said.

Morgan was confused. “What you dreamt of your father too?”

“I did.”

Morgan spun to Octavian and raised his eyebrow.

Octavian stopped walking and planted his staff into the snow. He looked around the group then spoke. “They dreamt because of me.”

“What does that mean?” Morgan said, now utterly confused.

“I beseeched my father, and his father, and the father before him, and the god of all dragons. And I said: raise me to be the greatest kobold ever. And bring my companions back from death. And I will do unto you all your bidding. And he said ‘yes, for you are my avatar.'”

Arlington nodded wholeheartedly.

“But there was a cost,” Octavian said. He pulled off his gloves and held his hand aloft. It looked to be made of frost, iced over but alive, and his claws shimmered ice-blue. He pointed to a tree and a cone of freezing cold shot across the clearing and covered the trunk. “My father has made me stronger. And so are my brothers.” Tarquin showed his mark off on cue. The cold obviously had no effect on their new hands.

“You too, Arlington?”

“I would if I took my glove off, like these fools, son.”

“And who is your father?” Morgan said turning back to Octavian, now a little awestruck.

“Voaraghamanthar,” Octavian said firmly. It was the first time he had spoke his father’s name to his new companions. None reacted, even Tarquin who merely noted the name in his journal. Tarquin’s mind was racing though: Voaraghamanthar was on his list! ‘The black death’ from the Mere of Dead Men on the Sword Coast. The tales told how Voaraghamanthar could be in two places at once, a ghastly presence rising out of the swamp to devour all. And Octavian was his son?? Now was not the time to unravel that knot, so he turned to Morgan instead. “You have heard our tale, tell us of yours,” Tarquin said, quill poised.

“We were bound by torcs of ice in the tomb where you fell. The druid was in front of us, and someone else we did not know. She called herself Hedrun — who Eearwaxx had heard of.”

“She’s a witch,” Eearwaxx blurted out, “Who’d been in Hell. She’s old, she wants to replace the goddess. And wants us to help.”

Octavian had heard the name Hedrun, and associated it was Auril, but not a lot more other than that she had vanished from this plane — at which point he had stopped paying attention. Tarquin had heard of her in song, but only as a secondary figure to Auril.

“So what are you saying?” Arlington said, surprised.

“She explained to us that she was once a Chosen of Auril. But that she was betrayed and ended up trapped in Hell, as Eearwaxx said. And she was freed by a Reghed tribesman called Bili—”

“I don’t care,” Arlington said impatiently. “What did she ask you to do?”

Morgan frowned. “She gave us a choice. She wants to take Auril’s place, and there’s something in the buried city that Auril has been hiding and using. Auril has placed the endless winter on the North to prevent that city from being found. Hedrun believes if she gets that she will have the power to strike Auril down. And if she becomes the goddess of the North, she will lift the Rime.”

“My father bid that I should go to the lost city too,” Tarquin said quickly. Arlington nodded in agreement.

“It is no fluke that my father, as he raised the three of us, also said to go to that city,” Octavian said. “They may think it came from their own fathers, but it was Voaraghamanthar who set us on this path.”

Tarquin smiled. “It seems that from our crisis has come a clarity of purpose that was missing before!”

“Eearwaxx would probably know better, but I feel that the bargain we made in return for our lives…comes with a cost,” Morgan concluded glumly. He pulled the scarf from his neck to reveal the thin blue line of ice that surrounded it.

Arlington stared at the mark with trepidation. “I am surprised that you had to make such a bargain.”

“And will that be removed if you go to the city?” Octavian asked.

“Who knows,” Eearwaxx shrugged.

“We just said yes,” Morgan said simply.

“Is there a threat to this thing?”

“I thought there was,” Jankx nodded.

“But it will armour us, should we need it,” Morgan explained. “Once per moon.”

“It seems that there have been major powers observing us,” Octavian said, “For it is maybe a millennia that my father, and his father, and his father before him, would have intervened like this.”

“In any case — we’re all alive. And that is cause for thanks,” Morgan smiled.

“It is. Devotion even,” Ocatvian agreed.

“Devotion? That will be interesting to see,” Jankx said wryly.

“Well it was a miracle.”

---

Just before reaching Good Mead, Arlington suddenly stopped. “Oh! Before we get back—”

“I didn’t bring the moose head,” Morgan interrupted.

Arlington was crestfallen. “So we are literally coming back with ‘the one that got away’.” He hadn’t even thought of it until this moment and now it was too late.

After Eearwaxx magicked the gore and death off, everyone staggered into the Mead Hall, desperate for hot food and the famous honey-mead. It had only been a day, but it felt like years.

Before seats could be found, Speaker Olivessa strode over. “Gentlemen! You are back already — a one day hunt? You have no moose, so I take it you were unsuccessful?”

“Madam, it was not unsuccessful: the moose is dead,” Arlington announced wearily.

“Dead! Well this is wonderful news. Should I ask for proof?”

“You may ask for proof, madam, but I can bring you none but my word.”

“I believe you are a man of your word,” Olivessa said nodding. “This is cause for great celebration!”

“And it wasn’t just a moose,” Morgan added. “There was a frost druid in a hidden grove, and she was using her magic to make the animals smarter.”

“One of Auril’s druids?”

“She said as such.”

“And them being smarter made them that much harder to hunt,” Olivessa said thoughtfully. “This explains a lot. And tell me, gentlemen, you also sought evidence of Shandar Froth’s betrayal. I remind you that that evidence was likely to procure my signature on your writ.”

Octavian sighed. “In the last day all we have done. We have only killed the white moose, scared off the druid, killed a bear that could talk, and escaped with our lives. That’s all we have done. Shandar’s trail is cold — we found nothing to tie him to the murder.”

Speaker Olivessa held her hands up in apology. “I forget myself, and I apologise and thank you.””

“Of course, and if you do find that evidence please bring it to me. For if not I will be in my nature to forgive him.”

“I will be surprised if by the time we finish this investigation there isn’t something pointing to a greater Dwarvish conspiracy, whether Duergar or ‘normal’ Dwarf.”

“All shorts are the same,” Arlington mumbled.

“What…?” Octavian scowled.

“Nothing!”

Olivessa looked confused for a moment, then continued. “You have achieved great things my friends, and we should not take such victories lightly. Sit, gentlemen, and enjoy the hospitality of Good Mead.”

“Who sits closest to the fire?” Arlington said, nodding to the best table in the house. Speaker Olivessa smiled and procured the table — and a lavish feast and lashings of mead. Even Octavian took a mug of double-mead, and Eearwaxx sipped on what might have been his first ever drink (under the watchful eye of Jankx).

Word spread around the tavern that the moose was dead, and many cheers, chants, and thanks were on offer. It was restorative sitting in a community like this, and realising that, despite the cost, something good had been done for Good Mead. Slowly the cold and trouble shifted from front of mind to back.

“We just have to get through tonight in this village, and then we move on,” Arlington declared late into the night.

“We can’t move on, we have to find Shandar,” Octavian shook his head.

“Do we?”

“Don’t we have bigger things to worry about?” Morgan said, starting on his sixth tankard.

“We only just have to follow his path,” Octavian countered. “And the Duergar are probably involved up to their necks in all of this.”

“I agree!” Tarquin said firmly. “We have crossed them before, we know they are up to something.”

“You know what,” Arlington said firmly, “I don’t give a goddamn about the Duergar. We move on to Dougan’s Hole, as planned. Does anyone have a reason not?” he asked pointedly.

“I think we should. It is a stepping stone, but we have good reason to find out more about the druids.”

Everyone agreed. Morgan, on his sixth tankard, looked around his companions. “I think we all need to get to know each other better,” he suddenly declared.

Tarquin laughed. “The taciturn, dour character has really changed!”

“Honestly, I have not spent a lot of time with other people, other than my family.”

Tarquin put his arm around Morgan’s shoulder. “Excellent! So we really are a band of brothers now, huh?”

“Well I was sad when I thought you three were dead.”

“So was I!” Tarquin raised his tankard and drained it.

“Morgan,” Arlington said, “We have lived and died by each other’s side for some weeks now.”

“But I don’t know anything about you, other than your mother is rich?”

Arlington chose to ignore the latter statement. “What more do you need to know that will aid us the next time we stand shoulder-to-shoulder in mortal combat?”

“That’s not what I’m even thinking about. If you want to keep it totally professional then that’s fine,” Morgan said a little sulkily.

Arlington sighed. “What would you know of me?”

“I don’t know — what do you want to tell?”

“There is nothing to tell.”

“Well I think there is, but if you don’t wish to share…”

“What have you to say of yourself, Morgan?” Arlington asked kindly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Morgan Kurrsk.”

“Do you stand by your friends?”

“I do.”

“Well done. Next!” Arlington slumped into his chair.

“I have a question,” Octavian said. “Why do you have a ghost?”

“It’s my brother.”

“I know it’s your brother, but no-one else has a ghost.”

Morgan paused. “Honestly? I don’t know. But…come outside, I’ll show you something.”

Octavian flew up into the air immediately. He was a little tipsy to fluttered into the doorway but made it outside after Morgan. Everyone followed, Arlington only reluctantly.

Morgan stood in the cold and faced everyone. Nothing happened. Arlington looked into his mead then walked back inside. Tarquin scratched his head and Jankx scuffed the snow. But then Eearwaxx noticed something strange: everyone had clouds of mist from their breathing in the cold air, but there was no mist from Morgan. Eearwaxx was shocked. “So…you’re dead? Is that what you’re telling us?”

“Oh no,” Octavian gasped. “Is that a trick or are you undead?”

“I’ve been told that I am somewhere in between. A powerful wizard named Zandeyr, a friend of my adopted father, studies such things. And he says I don’t breath if I don’t need to. I also don’t sleep.”

“What do you mean your adopted father?” Octavian asked.

“That’s what you took from this revelation?” Tarquin laughed. “And I thought I had father issues.”

“He found me,” Morgan said quietly. “The first thing I remember is crawling out of dirt and spitting it out.”

Octavian’s eyes widened. “This is a lot of information!”

“It’s been a tough twenty-four hours,” Jankx agreed.

“Was the ghost brother there too?” Octavian asked.

“We’re twins. His body is still in the ground as far as I know.”

“So he is dead?” Eearwaxx asked.

Morgan looked to Ezra, who materialised, then turned back. “He says he is, yes. He says hello.”

“I also don’t age. I’m not fifteen despite looking it,” Morgan said.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know. But I spent a lot of time in the dirt.”

“This is so weird,” Jankx said.

“We should have done this before we went out on the first expedition,” Tarquin smiled. “Eat, drink, let it all out.”

The talk of food and drink was too much for Octavian. He threw up, wiped his mouth clean, and floated erratically back inside. “Did you learn anything you wanted to know?” Arlington asked.

“He was always a bit odd,” Octavian nodded slowly. “And now I know that he’s the only unlife in the world.”

Arlington didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“It is odd that on the day of many miracles, this is the least shocking,” Octavian observed before staggering upstairs to his bed.

---

Session played: Oct 24, 31, Nov 7, 14, 28 2022

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