Chapters

Ship of Fools: “And what is this thing you have crashed into?”
A very good dog: “They’re bigger than me!”
An actual Angel: “May I look upon your celestial appendage?”
Dewyrming: “That makes me a god thief!”
Thoughts and Prayers: “Fair winds and sharp steel”

---

Ship of Fools

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”

Eli screamed into the silver-clouded void of the Astral Sea.

Below—or was it above?—lucent wisps of white and grey fog swirled among pinpricks of starlight. For a split second, Eli had no sense of direction. Then, he started plummeting. The silver clouds shift, and he saw he was falling toward a colossal, misshapen mass.

“Where the hell is Idris?!” Sifer bellowed as struggled to orient himself.

“Here,” Idris said calmly, laying a hand on Three’s shoulder. “Remember: think your movement,” he yelled to his struggling companions. Three tried and felt himself stabilising slowly, but it still felt out of control.

Idris floated with ease, quietly calming and instructing. “That mass is a mile or more away, slow yourself down if you want to slow down.” Most did, though Marko tried to speed up, and Eli was making like an arrow toward the ‘safety’ the mass below.

Idris sprinted ahead to Eli, who saw nothing as his eyes were scrunched tightly shut. “Stop screaming and open your eyes,” Idris whispered into his mind.

Despite his terror, Eli squinted open one disbelieving eye. Idris was floating below, smiling encouragement. Eli turned his focus beyond Idris as something caught his eye; a soft globe of light bobbing its way toward Idris from behind. “What’s that?” Eli whispered.

Idris spun his body just as Eli started screaming again.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”

---

Emerging from the darkness was a Star Angler, an huge astral predator that resembled a hulking, golden anglerfish. It had no eyes, seeing instead via dotted bioluminescent specks dotted over its hide. On a horned appendage a glowing sphere lured victims into the creatures slavering jaws.

“Be ready to fight, now!” Idris cried, spinning back to his companions. As he spoke a second Angler emerged from above. “That one too! Think where you want to go and go—we can’t outrun them!”

Uthar did his best to follow the directions, finding that it made a kind of sense. His history of weird happenings inured him to the worst of the disorientation, but he was used to being grounded so this was not a comfortable variation of weird.

Three had ignored everything from the moment he stepped through. His face was blank, almost as if he was ready to die. He sped up to hurtle past the creatures toward the tangled mass.

The closer Angler’s lure flared sending a brilliant flash through the void. Uthar scrunched his eyes against the sudden light, but Marko was struck by the wonder of what he saw. He wanted nothing more than to get closer to that magical light, and started floating directly toward it, mesmerised. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered with awe.

Idris positioned himself between the two Anglers and lifted both hands. Twin motes of fire appeared above his fingertips spinning in a tiny vortex, then he flung them toward each fish. A torrent of flame exploded on each, bathing them in an inferno. Idris looked like a tiny god floating freely in space with his magic on full display.

The explosions finally shook Three out of his trance. He turned and rose from below toward the belly of the nearest Angler. “Kelemvor is here!” he yelled as a toll boomed through the empty space. The fish’s tender underbelly rippled and shredded as something happened inside, pleasing Three greatly: he hadn’t been confident that Kelemvor really was here, but here was the proof.

Marko continued his inexorable journey toward the glow or the Angler’s lure. Uthar shot toward the same fish, seeing Marko was spellbound. He slashed twice with a fishmonger’s precision, slicing steaks of flesh free.

The Angler wasn’t happy about this. It chomped down on Eli, ripping him with razor teeth, and repeated the dose on Idris. Idris, Three and Eli all resisted the pulsing lure, Idris struggling before finally overcoming the fishy lust.

“How come no-one mentioned these before we travelled here!” Eli yelled. He struck with sweeps of his blade and a flurry of feet, frustrated as his blows only connected weakly.

The far Angler turned its attention to Marko who was ready to enter the great fish’s maw, renting flesh from the small figure. It tried the same on Uthar but he was well in command of Astral movement now and spun out of its attack.

Idris, surprised at being mauled, incised the Angler with a mental barrage, then instinctively shunted the fish away before moving out of range.

Below, Three moved all the way up to the underbelly of the Angler. He grabbed the scales of the stinking flesh with both hands and prayed; “I give this to you, Kelemvor!”. A moment later the fish exploded from within, sending shreds of flesh and gore all over Three and those nearby.

As the fish disintegrated, Marko, now come to his senses, reached toward the glowing bauble, managing to grab it at the last moment. The slimy ball was a large as he was, so he slipped on top of it to ride it like a horse, cantering toward the remaining Angler who tried again to swallow Idris, only managing one bite of three—but that one chomp was brutally successful.

“I now see why Idris left this place,” Eli muttered as he attacked, pounding its hide with mounting intensity. Sifer finally awoke to the threat and started peppering the Angler with arrows from afar. Two fine shots, then he looked over his shoulder showily, firing the third blindly. And missing it by miles. The arrow flew off into the void and he wondered if it would ever stop.

Idris finished the job, dropping a burst of sorcerous magic into the Angler’s tiny brain. A moment later the lure burst with ichor and the hundreds of glowing ‘eyes’ along the fish’s flanks exploded, leaving the great beast floating thoroughly dead.

Idris looked down at his wounds. “I haven’t been bitten by one of these things since I was quite small,” he grunted as Eli went flying past, heading once more toward ‘safe’ ground. Idris stood atop the still intact dead fish and carved a foot-and-a-half cube out of the flesh. He sliced off a chunk and gnawed on it.

“Tasty?” Uthar asked, watching Idris eating.

“Very.”

Idris called to Marko who rode over on his lure. “Can I store the rest in your bag?”

“Sure, if you’ll help me get the eyeball inside it too?”

“You’ll have to drain it,” Idris said chowing down on the Angler slice. “And if you drink the ichor it will make your pee glow.”

Marko raised an eyebrow, seeing Idris was speaking from experience. “Okay…”

---

Now everyone had more control over their movement, attention turned to the ‘land’ below, Eli plummeting ahead as fast as he could manage followed closely by Three.

The stony mass wasn’t a planet or an asteroid, but the remains of a colossal creature that appeared lifeless. Shattered ribs arched over the creature’s mossy spine, and the void around it crackled with decaying magic.

More surprisingly, among the bones was the shipwreck of a large galleon broken into three large chunks: the sterncastle, nestled in the corpse’s hip bones; the starboard section, embedded in the ribcage; and the prow, stabbed into the creature’s heart.

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“That must be Havock,” Three said softly, somewhat awed. “With a tree growing in the starboard section.”

“And that ship is the remains of a Spelljammer…” Idris said.

“Maybe more than one,” Marko said, noticing there seemed to be too many prows.

“You’re right, that’s…” Idris trailed off as he drew closer and spotted two figures standing on the stern segment. Two Githyanki. “With me,” he muttered to Uthar.

Eli saw them too and slowed his descent, now about fifty feet from the wreck. They were looking directly at him and beckoning him down. Both were dressed in naval—or piratical?—uniforms, well-armed and green-skinned. Their uniforms matched the navy-blue hull of the wrecked craft.

Three had no hesitation. He shot past Eli and landed with a thud onto the deck. “Hello,” he said as if he had just arrived in a crowded bar instead of at the body of a god on the wreck of a Spelljammer in the Astral Sea.

The two Githyanki looked cautious but friendly, hands resting casually on their weapons. “That was quite a treat seeing you up there battling the Anglers,” the female grinned.

---

Eli and Marko arrived moments later, Sifer maintaining a watchful position 100-feet above. Those on deck appreciated the firmness underfoot, and not having to think about moving—the gravity here felt normal enough.

“Hello!” Marko said, then, seeing the uniforms, switched to Thieves' cant; “Do you understand me?”

“No,” she replied in common, “But that sounds like—”

“Kycera,” the man finished. “So that makes you a thief?” He didn’t look at all concerned.

“It’s a local dialect,” Marko grinned, then bowed. “I am Mister Marko.”

“And she is Lysan,” the man said.

“And he is Zastra. Or is it the other way around,” the woman said, and both burst into laughter. “Now where on earth did you lot come from?”

Eli didn’t understand the joke, but he had an answer ready: “Yes.”

Lysan looked confused, then shrugged. “It’s not safe out there, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Agreed,” Marko said. “How long have you been here?”

“Time doesn’t mean a lot here,” Zastra said, “But it seems far too long, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Don’t you live here?” Three said.

“Live?” Lysan said looking around the remains of the god, “I suppose technically we do. But not by choice. We were sailing the Astral Sea when our First Mate decided to take a short cut. And now we do indeed live here,” she chuckled. “You stand on what remains of the glorious Lambert Zenith.”

Eli glanced around the wreck, seeing that it had crashed into the surface of the creature—the god hadn’t grown around the boat.

“And what is this thing you have crashed into?” Uthar asked, looking at the enormous calcified intestines the ship lay upon.

“It’s a dead god, or a dying one,” Zastra said solemnly.

“Was it dying before you drove your boat into it?” Three said, “Or did you kill it?”

“Long before—the surface is like rock. We jumped through a portal and bam, we wrecked.”

“That’s right. You get your calculations wrong you could fly right through a star,” Eli said, channelling some distant future wisdom.

“Are there other survivors?” Marko asked.

“There are, yes,” Lysan said. “Below decks. We haven’t seen the Captain, we hope she’s on another piece of the wreck.”

“Wait so did this just happen?” Three said, mystified as to why they didn’t know.

“No, no, it was some time ago. But how would we get over there?” Lysan pointed to the prow which was at least 600-feet away.

“Why didn’t you break apart this vessel and fashion a new, smaller vessel out of the pieces?” Eli said.

Lysan raised an eyebrow. “You know much about building ships?”

“I know something about carpentry,” Eli said defensively.

“Well maybe you could build a boat for us!”

Eli’s hackles were raised. “You sail a boat through the endless void and you don’t know how they’re made??”

“There are people called shipwrights,” Zastra scoffed, “And all they do is build ‘boats’. We, on the other hand, are bosuns. Bosuns don’t build boats. Nor do cooks, thieves, and First Mates.”

“Zastra’s right, we don’t know the first thing about it,” Lysan added. “We had a navigator, he’s gone. We had a Captain, she’s not been seen. Our First Mate is locked in his cabin below. Almost everyone else died. And I don’t know if you noticed but you were just attacked by two giant Star Anglers! That is why we are stuck here.”

Marko decided to change the topic, seeing it was getting a bit heated. “What’s that tree growing on the other section? What’s going on there?”

“According to Daveras, it’s an intelligent tree, a treant named Redbud, Zastra explained. “Daveras said his dog Ikasa is stranded over there too.”

“Daveras? Who’s he?” Eli said.

“Not part of our crew. His sloop also crashed into this god and he managed to get over here in the chaos.”

“And have you not made your way over to the other segments?” Eli asked, still incredulous they had not.

Lysan put her head in her hand. “Star. Anglers,” she groaned. “Look at me! Look at Zastra. Do we look like we could defeat one, let alone two? I mean I have a nice shiny weapon, a nice uniform, but you are all far better equipped, and even then some of you don’t look terribly healthy after that fight.”

Eli frowned but said nothing more. They looked like they could handle their weapons. And how dangerous could it be traipsing 300-feet over the body of Havock, avoiding a couple of fish on the way?

Lysan turned her attention to Idris. “Is has been a long time since we have seen a Gith,” she smiled. Uthar tensed, having noticed Idris’s disquiet since arriving—his hand had not left the shortsword at his belt, a weapon Uthar had never seen him use.

“You’re privateers,” Idris answered in Gith.

“Nice to meet you too,” Lysan smirked. “Our mission wasn’t to rob and plunder, we sought to herald hope, good-will, and order across the multiverse.”

It was Idris’s turn to scoff—that made no sense. “That must be a new thing since the last time I was here.”

“Not new, we’re just different. We’ve been doing this a long time.”

“I’m assuming you don’t go home much then,” Idris said.

“No.”

“Well we have that in common.”

“So it would seem,” Zastra said, joining the conversation. “Does something ail you, friend? You look pale, and not just from your wounds.”

Idris frowned. “No, simply the hazards of arcane study.”

Zastra and Lysan exchanged looks. “Ah,” Zastra said with arched brow.

Idris drew the rest of the company back into the conversation. “How many are below deck? You said you had the First Mate locked up as well?”

“Well he locked himself up,” Zastra corrected.

“Why?” Marko asked.

“Why indeed. He’s gone absolutely off his mind. He was a good man, now he’s paranoid, fearful, won’t let anyone near him. We don’t understand it.”

“Is he getting all the protein he needs?” Eli asked out of the blue.

“Is he…yes, he is,” Zastra said. “Kycera is feeding him and she’s a fine cook. Not that we have to eat here, but we enjoy it and so does she.”

Eli looked confusedly at Idris. “Don’t have to eat?”

“Ah yes, that’s true. Eating gets boring. You don’t age either.”

“Why don’t you look like them, Idris?” Three asked. Idris’s skin was pale and blueish compared to the bosuns who both had strong green hued skin.

“Hazards of arcane study,” Idris repeated, like a mantra. “Their skin is normal.”

“I get it,” Three said, winking horribly with his one good eye.

Marko was growing impatient. “We need to get moving. What are we doing here?”

“Yes, what are you doing here?” Lysan said.

“We’re here for a reason,” Idris said. “And how did we get here? A portal.”

“A portal? That’s not going to work.”

“It did,” Uthar grunted.

“It did…but it doesn’t any longer? Like the rest of them?”

“We’re not sure how we can return. But perhaps we can work on this problem together.”

Lysan sighed. “Our portals are completely useless.”

“Why?” Marko asked.

“We don’t know. We think it’s something to do with the god.”

“Is that why you crashed?” Eli asked.

“Perhaps—we used portals to travel in the blink of an eye everywhere in the Plane. Then they stopped working.”

“So you didn’t mean to come out here?”

“Welllll…best ask Figaro. If you can.”

“Who’s Figaro?” Marko asked.

“The First Mate.”

“Can we go see him, please?”

“As we explained, he won’t talk to you. You’re better off talking to Ilren.”

“Who’s Ilren?” Eli sighed.

“He came out of nowhere, much like you,” Zastra said. “Claims to be an adventurer, also crashed, but we’ve not seen his craft. He didn’t arrive with Daveras.”

“Is he one of you?” Three asked.

“No. He’s a hippo.”

“A what?” Eli spat, now completely lost.

“A Giff,” Lysan said, stressing the ‘ff’. “He’s taken control of this section of the Lambent.”

“Can you lead us to him please?” Marko asked, fast running out of patience.

“Sure. I’ll bring him up,” Lysan said, starting down the stairway.

“Does the hippo head work properly?” Three said.

“In what way?” Zastra said.

“Can…he…talk…like…we…do,” Three said mockingly.

“They…talk…faster…than…you.”

“Bring the whole crew, we want to meet everyone,” Marko called to Lysan. The two Gith exchanged an uneasy look, before Lysan disappeared below deck.

“Zastra—how many of your crew are istik?” Idris asked.

“All of them. Half a dozen survivors.”

“So just you and Lysan?” Idris said, reverting to Common.

“Just us.”

---

Moments later Lysan returned with what was definitely a hippo in tow. But it was a very well dressed hippo, in a resplendent captain’s uniform of royal red, a sabre hanging from his belt, and a telescope trucked under one arm and a captain’s hat the other.

---

“Ilren, I presume?” Marko said, then bowed when he saw the uniform. “Sir.”

“There’s no need for that kind of carry-on, my friend!” Ilren boomed confidently. “We’re all equal here—well, I’m in charge, but we’re all on an even keel here.”

“My name is Mister Marko, and these are my companions,” Marko said making the introductions.

“You’re a hippopotamus!” Eli exclaimed with disbelief.

Ilren laughed, holding his ample belly. “Yes! Very good young one, I am indeed a hippopotamus. We are know as Giff, but you’ve obviously never seen one of us before, but trust me what I say I am just as smart as you, even though you don’t think I am. Probably smarter, if I am to be quite honest.”

Eli could only stare. He was stunned.

“How did you get here?” Marko asked.

“Probably the same way you did, judging by your appearances. I am an adventurer, like you. My heroic dreams were stalled, as they say in the shipping business, when my craft smacked into this gods-forsaken place. As luck would have it these good crew needed leadership so I stepped happily into the void!”

Sifer, who had landed himself adeck, let out a strangled laugh that he did his best to stifle. “Now I understand why the Gith were a little uncertain,” he whispered to Marko.

“Are there more than one of you?” Three asked.

“I am one of a kind, I can assure you,” Ilren smiled.

Marko pointed over to the tree. “Were you on that ship?”

Ilren spun to look, pulling his telescope free to study the tree. “Yes, yes, that would make sense. I have lost a little of my sense of direction but that seems likely.”

Zastra cleared his throat on hearing this.

“And how did you get to this section?” Eli asked. “You didn’t get eaten by a fish?”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I? I floated over,” Ilren shrugged.

“How many ships crashed?”

“Certainly this one—the Lambert Zenith, a mighty vessel. Certainly grander than mine, which was more of a sloop. I don’t know of any others, not having explored everything—too busy leading,” he smiled widely.

Sifer looked around, noticing the scowls on the Gith faces, then over to the other segments. “And your crew?”

“All dead I’m afraid. I was the only to survive,” Ilren said gravely.

“What about the other man?” Eli said forgetting the name, “Who also crashed at the tree?”

“You’re talking about Daveras.”

“Was he part of your crew?”

“No, no. As I said I am the only survivor.”

“So he was on a different ship?”

“Yes. A different ship,” Ilren said, eyes narrowing. “Not that one over there.”

Eli, his mind full of names, felt there was some inconsistency here, but he struggled to find the connection.

“Enough about me—we are very excited to see you here,” Ilren said. “What can you offer us, or what can we offer you?”

“We’re interested in First Mate. What can you tell us about him?” Marko asked.

“Oh, Figaro, it is indeed very sad,” Ilren said, his face collapsing with concern. “He is most unwell.”

“In what way?”

“I’m no doctor, as you can probably guess, but yes, it seems a terrible illness. No idea what, but I am happy to serve as leader of our small troupe until he recovers.”

“Of course,” Marko nodded. He glanced over to Idris. “Our purpose here…are we in the right place, Idris?”

“Um. We’ll need to take a look around,” Idris delayed. He was certainly not revealing the rod segment in this company.

Eli could hold it no longer. “Idris! Is this your home, really? This is a realm of madness!”

Idris shifted his sword. “Eli. Look at Uthar. Look as Sifer. At Marko. And then think about how you look. And then think that you expressed incredulity at this Giff here. Why, because he looks slightly different to you?”

The accusation was clear, causing Eli to arc up at the unfairness. “No! No, because three ships have crashed here and yet they have made no action whatsoever to remove themselves! There is enough material here to make a sound vessel to sail anywhere!”

Idris realised his mistake and relaxed his tone accordingly. “An Astral ship is more than carpentry,” he said gently, “You can’t sail, there’s no wind.”

Eli looked up at the tattered golden gossamer sails hanging from the mastwork.

Idris shook his head. “The sails don’t perform the same function. The ship is moved by Arcane power, not wind. If that component of the ship is broken, and the ship’s spine is broken, getting it moving again is no small task. Certainly not one that can be accomplished by a carpenter.”

“He’s right, young Orc,” Lysan added. Eli looked askance, still unhappy.

“What’s more interesting is that experienced sailors,” Idris said looking at the Gith, “Don’t crash into things for no reason.”

“We told you the reason,” Zastra scowled. “We followed Figaro’s advice and jumped through a portal, like we had many times before, and didn’t end up where we expected.”

“And that has never happened before?” Idris said to a shake of the head. “Well I would guess the principle reason is the body of this thing,” he said gesticulating over the deck, “Is a relatively new feature. Or floated here and wasn’t here before.”

Zastra shrugged. “You could ask the navigator, but he’s dead.”

“Well then, I’m glad we’ve worked that out,” Ilren said. “Now—Mister Marko, you mentioned something earlier. I believe you asked if you were in the ‘right place’ for your purpose. What place were you looking for? And what is your purpose?”

“That’s not something we wish to get into,” Idris said flatly.

Lysan and Zastra exchanged a look at this, and Ilren appeared somewhat put out. “I see. And yet this is a place you want to be, and I’m guessing there is something here you want. I remind you this is our place, so perhaps you could be a little more forthcoming.”

“With respect, it’s ‘a’ place.”

“The god itself—Havock—is something we’re interested in,” Marko said to calm the small rise in tension. “Your ship just happened to be here, we weren’t expecting that. Havock is what we wish to learn more about.”

Eli did his best to hide the fact he had no idea this was the case, but it seemed to quell Ilren somewhat. “Ah, you are interested in dead gods. Hm. Interesting.” Marko could see that Ilren was reserving judgement—he didn’t fully believe the story, but was willing to see what developed.

“That doesn’t discount seeing if we can help each other once we’ve had a look around,” Idris added generously.

“You rub my back, I’ll rub yours,” Ilren smirked.

“Something like that.”

“The pirate’s way!”

---

Marko suddenly sprung into the air, hovering 20-feet overhead. “Those fish up there—”

“Star Anglers,” Ilren corrected.

“Fish. How often do they come back?”

“Well there’s none up there now,” Ilren said sweeping his telescope over the void above.

“Good. Well let us depart, we’ll come back later if we can.” Around him the company started preparing, well drilled in Marko’s sudden whims.

Ilren looked put out. “Where are you departing to?”

“The tree,” Marko pointed.

“We wouldn’t recommend that course of action,” Lysan said, nodding to Zastra. “It’s not just Star Anglers out there.”

“Mm. What else is there?”

“Just recently a Cloaker, of all things. Something not normally found in the Sea.”

“I don’t know what you mean, what’s that?” Marko said, looking to Idris who, surprisingly, shook his head.

“A terrible, aberrant thing,” Ilren jumped in. “Shouldn’t be seen in the Astral Plane.”

“How hard is the flesh of this god?” Eli asked, looking over the hull.

“Like rock,” Zastra said.

“What sort or rock?”

“It’s like rock rock. What do you mean what sort of rock?”

“Is it sandstone…oh you don’t know because you don’t come from the real world,” Eli mocked.

“It’s not like any other kind of rock,” Idris explained patiently.

“Is it very hard?”

“It’s hard, but it can be worked and dug into, it’s just difficult to do so.”

“So given you people have been here for some indeterminate amount of time,” Eli said as if explaining to a child, “Why have you not tunnelled through to the other parts of the boat?”

“Tunnelled through?” Lysan laughed. “You are a strange fellow. First you think we should build our own ship, now you think we should be miners? Why?!”

“Because you are too afraid to move across the surface,” Eli said simply.

“Gentlemen!” Marko interrupted before the finer details of mining could be elaborated on, “Are you ready to go to the other ship?”

“God yes,” Eli blasphemed. “They can’t all be ships of fools, can they?”

“There’s also a Scavver out there,” Zastra muttered.

Idris paled. The giant sharks of the Astral were no pushovers. “Stop, Marko. A Scavver is a giant shark. When did you see the Scavver?”

“Sometime. It’s hard to pinpoint time here, as you are well aware.”

“Is it as big as the fish we fought?” Marko asked.

“Bigger.”

Mark scanned the void. “I don’t see any.”

Sifer shook his head seeing Marko only thinking in two-dimensions. He peered below, but he too saw nothing threatening—beside the endless void.

“And it’s only 200-foot to the next bit,” Eli added.

“Only one Scavver-length,” Idris deadpanned.

“And might I point out that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you,” Eli said. Idris opened his mouth, then shut it, unable to think of a sensible response.

“Everyone to the side!” Marko ordered impatiently. “We’re going over there.” The company obeyed, preparing to descend onto the pink flesh below. Sifer patted himself down to check for his healing potions.

“Absolutely mad,” Ilren muttered to the two Gith, “Madder than Figaro.”

Three stepped back to Ilren. “Who’s below deck,” he said quietly, not wanting to alert the floating Marko.

“Daveras, Kycera, a few crew,” Ilren said.

“I have two questions. One, can you take me downstairs so I can speak to them? And two; did you ever have a bird that ate stuff from your skin?”

Ilren blinked. “One, of course I will take you below deck. And may I say you are the only smart one amongst your friends.”

“No, no, they’re very smart. But they’re…they do stuff. I used to do stuff and now I don’t.”

“And two…you’ve got a lot to learn.”

Three nodded and followed Ilren below deck, Sifer watching carefully.

---

Marko and Eli were first over, landing with a soft thud on the hardened flesh. It was an eerie feeling walking on the body of a dying (or dead) god. Eli dropped to a crawl and made a few tentative moves forward, Marko in step beside him. “I think this is a Cloaker,” Eli muttered.

---

Idris landed by their side, and, after checking that he was out of line of sight, pulled the rod segment free. “RUAT” he said softly. The crystal started pulsing, strongly, and Idris was flooded with a strong sensation of, for want of a better word, rightness. He recalled from Alustriel’s description, and his own research, that the rod would only give a general location, not specific. But there was no question it was confident that this must be the place. “We’re on target,” he announced quietly. “The second segment is somewhere here.”

“Three has gone below deck with Ilren,” Sifer warned as he arrived.

Idris cursed. “I don’t think we should leave Three on the boat. If we get into a fight, or any of us get hurt, we’re going to be in trouble.”

“Some of us already are,” Sifer said surveying the various wounds, “And I agree. We can’t go without a healer.”

“We’ll be here forever, like the rest of the crew,” Marko protested. He suspected a spell of binding or similar had been cast on the entire crew, explaining why they refused to venture beyond the confines of their segments of the ship. “But we’ll wait if we must.”

“At the very least we wait for him to talk to Daveras, who was the owner of the ship with the tree,” Idris said. “Just to get more of an idea of what we’re dealing with over there.”

“Can I just say that two people have already managed to move across the surface of this thing from one boat to another,” Eli said, “That man with a head like a hippopotamus for a head and this Daveras have successfully done so without being eaten by anything.”

“So why wouldn’t we speak to them?”

“Can I also point out,” Eli continued, ignoring Idris, “That the person locked up below decks might be the only person who’s not insane.”

Idris frowned. “The people on deck here aren’t insane.”

“I beg to differ!”

“Eli. You need to be a bit more expansive in your view of other peoples.”

“I don’t want to,” Eli said sulkily. “I don’t like them. They’re different and they’re weird.”

Idris reflected back to the earlier disagreement and how perhaps he had been right about Eli’s prejudices after all. “But you’re different and weird compared to me.”

“And I have grown to accept you even so,” Eli declared.

Idris laughed. “We Gith have a word that covers everything you’re talking about. The word is istik—it’s anyone who isn’t a Gith. So believe me when I tell you that if I can get over it, you can too. Because where I come from the only people who look different to us are slaves,” Idris finished hotly and slightly upset.

Eli stared back at Idris, stunned that he would take the same line as earlier. “I don’t think you’re understanding me completely. Where I come from, I’m the only one who looks different. It’s not the looks that I have the problem with. It’s their minds! They’ve been stuck here too long!”

Eli and Idris held their gaze until Sifer broke the spell.

“Or not long enough,” Sifer smirked.

“Or not long enough,” Eli repeated, looking away. He felt he still had a point to prove with Idris, but wasn’t quite sure what it was. He spun away and went to follow Three.

Idris and Sifer went back on deck to wait, Sifre offering Zastra and Lysan chunks of Angler, much to their delight.

---

Below decks, Ilren kept up a jolly patter as he escorted Three. “Most mysterious your secret mission!”

“Oh it’s not a secret,” Three said quickly.

Ilren was surprised. “It’s not? Do tell!”

“I worship Kelemvor, a god. And the mission I have been given is to explore the worlds of the dead gods,” Three explained passionately. “And the others…they’re just simple adventurers.”

“I see—so you explore dead gods?”

“I have never done it before. But my church had a prophecy that we should send someone here, because there was something to do with how the dead gods were affecting the gods on our world,” Three adlibbed brilliantly.

“That is very complicated,” Ilren said. “So you are here for Havock?”

“The prophecy was not clear.”

“And the others are your hired men?” Ilren said thoughtfully.

“I do think they might have some agendas of their own—probably simple to find treasure, you know how adventurers are,” Three joked. “But the reason behind all of this was my church. Do you worship a particular deity?”

“I worship adventure!” Ilren beamed slapping Three on the back. “Fortitude! Heroism!”

“All good things, that I once also pursued,” Three said softly.

“Who would you like to meet first? Kycera or Daveras?”

“Who do you think could tell me the most about what is happening here? Daveras, I would guess?”

“No, no, he’s a refugee like me. Kycera is your best bet. Particularly if you’re hungry. She’s my Second Mate now that I’m in charge.” Ilren led Three to a door from behind which a waft of earthy spices drifted. He flung open the door to reveal a kitchen being tended by a large, white-haired female orc. “Kycera! Would you believe have guests!”

---

Three could not read Kycera’s face, she looked neither pleased nor unpleased as the interruption. A golden tattoo of a cresent moon decorated her left eye. Despite her reserve she smiled, revealing a pair of handsome fangs. “Most unusual—we haven’t had one since Ilren here arrived.”

“And how long have you been here, lady?” Three asked.

“Time is immaterial here, so I’m not really sure.”

“And why are you here?”

“Has Ilren not explained?” she asked suspiciously.

“He did—you were part of his original crew?”

“No, not at all! He is…new here. He’s put himself in charge and…yes, no I wasn’t part of his crew,” Kycera said, Three judging she was choosing her words carefully as she glanced at Ilren.

“I already explained this,” Ilren grumbled, “My crew are all dead.”

“Sure,” Three shrugged, “But you seem to be on good standing with the rest of this crew.” Three watched Kycera carefully as he spoke, seeing her complexion shift very slightly at ‘good standing’.

“I flew with Inda,” Kycera said. “She was my Captain—and still is,” she said with a glance to Ilren. “Though I have not seen her for some time.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

“I hope she is on another segment. But I fear she too is dead, else she would have come to us.”

“And what is your plan to get these ships going again, to leave?”

“As you can see, I am a cook, and happily. I wait for my betters to do what they can to get us out of here.”

“Well it was very nice to meet you,” Three said, deciding there was nothing more here. “Is there anyone here to share any more insight on how these ships work and how we could get out of here?”

“Well Figaro could if he wasn’t being such a baby,” Kycera scolded.

“Can I speak to him?”

“Good luck. We’ve all tried, but he’s locked himself away. Physically and mentally,” Kycera said tapping the side of her head.

“And where is he?”

“Below,” Kycera said pointing through the floorboards, “In the Stateroom.”

“Thank you,” Three said backing out. “Is there anyone else up here?” he asked Ilren.

“Daveras is just over here,” Ilren said, pointing to a door opposite. At a nod from Three he pushed the door open.

Inside was a simple mess room, and sitting at the table in front of a deck of cards was an elf in tattered clothing.

---

“Hello,” Three said.

“Ah. Another refugee,” the elf said.

“Perhaps. I am trying to work out how I might get home. And it seems like you people have been here a while?”

The man looked over to Ilren and raised an eyebrow, then turned back to Three. “I’m Daveras. And that is Ilren. And you are?”

“I am Three.”

“And you want to get home, you say?”

“Don’t you?”

“I am quite happy here.”

“Oh. And where are you from?”

“Here.”

“I see. Um. I guess what I should say is—where in this Plane are you from?”

“Tell me, Three, are you in the habit of just walking in and making demands of people?”

“Yeah.”

Daveras smiled for the first time.

“I used to not be, but then my face was cut off and that freed me.”

“I can see how that might work. So now you don’t waste time?”

“Exactly. But if you want to waste time I’ll just go and talk to someone else.”

“No, I appreciate directness in a man,” Daveras said.

Three sighed. “So you are just going to while away your time here for eternity?”

“Maybe someone will come and rescue us. Is that why you’re here?”

“No.”

Three turned and walked out, hearing a mocking laugh from behind.

“Brother Cooper!” Eli called, having arrived on the scene. Three turned with a nod. Eli continued. “Have you seen any evidence that the people here are all not insane?”

“They are definitely not insane, but they are definitely despondent. Maybe professionally so.”

Before Eli could respond he suddenly caught the mouth-watering smell of home-cooking. He pushed open the door to the kitchen before he knew what he was doing.

“There’s two of you!” Kycera exclaimed, “But you’re far more handsome!”

“There’s only one of me,” Eli stammered, looking around for a double. “I…there’s…”

Kycera laughed. “Sorry, I meant your friend.”

“There’s only one of you, but you’re like me?”

“Yes! You are a very strapping young fellow. I remember when I was young,” Kycera reminisced. “Good times, but these are better.”

“I remember when I was young too,” Eli blushed.

“And what brings you to the Lambert Zenith?”

“Um…I…I’m…what are you cooking?”

“Well! You can tell me,” Kycera beamed, lifting the lid off a steaming pot. Eli almost fell over such was the aroma and sumptuous stew within—chunks of unidentified flesh, spice and a hot sauce, even some vegetables.

“I used to be a pirate, but now I do this,” Kycera added, “It gives me great satisfaction.”

“It’s an honourable profession,” Eli said bowing his head respectfully. “And much better then piracy which involved, obviously, a lot of murder and stealing.” Eli paused. “Can I have some?”

“Of course you can! What is your name, my young friend?”

“My name is Elias Hedgeberry.”

“And I am Kycera Duskstride, at your service.” She handed Eli a steaming bowl of stew.

Eli took a tentative taste and decided that he too might stay here forever.

---

Outside, Three continued on, opening the room at the rear of the deck. Five down at mouth sailors lounged on cramped bunks, glancing over to Three and then away.

“Is there anyone here who knows about this place?” Three said without much hope.

“Are you gonna take us away?”

“Not as of yet.”

“Then no.”

“Thank you!”

Three turned back to Ilren, who had been silently following Three’s progress. “Let’s go see this Figaro.”

“You won’t get anything out of him.”

“Sure. As opposed to the volumes I’ve been getting from everyone else,” Three said wryly.

Ilren led Three another deck lower, followed closely by Eli balancing his second bowl of stew.

Three flung open the room below the sailor’s upstairs, finding a duplicate but empty. The walls were covered with colourful pieces of wood, each with something written on it. This was the first thing to pique Three’s interest, so he peered at a few.

Each had a different name written on it, in various languages. “What is this?” he asked Ilren.

“A makeshift memorial to the fallen,” Ilren explained sadly. Three nodded. He guessed there were twenty or more names, victims of the crash.

“Figaro’s room is here,” Ilren said, pointing. A room with detailed scrollwork stood to the north, the door bearing a gilded plaque that read ‘Stateroom’.

Three noted that Ilren stood away rather than leading him forward. With a glance at Eli he stepped to the door and knocked on it firmly.

A panicked voice squealed from within.

“Not now! Not now!!”

---

A very good dog

Three looked at Ilren, then nodded at the door. Ilren shook his head. Three frowned, then made the universal sign to ‘open a door’.

“He’ll never open it,” Ilren shrugged. “He’s locked himself in there for…I can’t even count the days.”

Eli studied the structural integrity of the timber walls that made up the Stateroom; it wouldn’t take much to batter them down.

Three sighed, then hammered the door again with two crisp knocks.

“I told you—go away!”

“I’m here to help you!” Three said firmly.

“No-one can help me!”

“I can. I am a priest, and I have been sent to help you.”

“There is no priestly help that I need.

“What help do you need, then?”

“I need none. Go. Away.”

“You sound like you need a lot,” Three said flatly. Ilren grinned.

“I’m warning you—stay out!” the voice from within snapped.

Three was tired of waiting. Tired of the crew. Tired of the entire situation. “If you don’t explain I’m going to get the door kicked in,” he said patiently, “Because I am very, very frustrated with this boat.”

The voice inside burst into a torrent of giggles. “You can try, hahaha, you can try!”

Three looked to Eli who nodded keenly. “Sure. I’ll give it a kick.” With a move too fast to track he kicked his right leg into the door. The timberwork cracked under the blow but Eli rocked back when his foot was stopped by something rock-solid. “There’s something behind the door,” he explained with a wince.

He moved around to the side-wall of the room, finding several panels obviously weakened from damage during the crash. He repeated the dose, and was rewarded with a repeat of his wince.

“A magical cocoon or something,” Three muttered.

“I told you! I told you!”

“And you’ve succeeded,” Three called through the door. “We’re about to leave this plane, so we’ll just leave you here too.”

“Good. And never come back!”

“I guess I was wrong,” Eli said, “He’s not the only sane one.”

“Is there anyone else?” Three snapped to Idris, over the whole thing.

“No-one,” Ilren said, looking around at the empty deck. Three nodded shortly and started back upstairs, Eli close behind. Both noted Ilren didn’t follow.

---

Daveras was standing as if waiting on the upper deck. He nodded to Three, the looked to Eli. “We haven’t had the pleasure.”

Eli looked confused. “I…I’ve…I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“I see. Well my name is Daveras. Who might you be?”

“My name is Eli Hedgeberry.”

“And you are with Three?”

“With Brother Cooper,” Eli corrected.

“Did you have any luck with Figaro?”

“No,” Three grumped.

“As I suggested you wouldn’t,” Daveras said smugly.

“How is he locked in?” Eli asked.

“He locked himself in there, as I have said.”

“But what is behind the wall?”

“Well Figaro is, but I don’t know what else.”

“Is he a solid mass of steel? Because there is something behind the wall.”

“Is there indeed…” Daveras looked intrigued.

“It’s not physical,” Three sighed. “There is some use of magic, I supposed, to make it impregnable.”

“Is he magical?” Eli asked Daveras.

“In his way,” Daveras said.

“Ugh!” Three spat angrily. “What is he that you would phrase it like that? What is wrong with you people—did something happen??”

“Did you hear any other voices from his room?” Daveras asked.

“Why does no-one speak plainly!” Three protested. “Why did you just deflect my question, and then ask a different question, so if I was stupid I would forget that’s what you just did?”

Daveras looked flatly at Three. “So far you are the only one asking questions, so I thought I would have a turn.”

“Can you answer my first question, and then I will answer yours,” Three growled.

“What was it again?”

Three very purposefully put his hand on his warhammer, this time in the universal sign ‘to threaten’. “You said that Figaro has magic ‘in a way’, but didn’t give us the information that we had asked.”

“Is he a strange being?” Eli said, adding a new wrinkle.

“Well he has tiny horns?” Daveras said.

“How do you know that?” Three jumped in.

“I saw him before he locked himself away.”

“I thought this guy was from another ship,” Eli said to Three.

Three turned on Daveras. “So you know a lot more than just ‘he has two little horns’! There’s something going on here…” Three felt like he was going mad, trailing off.

Daveras saw his opportunity. “Now. You didn’t answer my question; was there anyone else in the room with Figaro?”

“We didn’t get in,” Three said resignedly. “And I did not hear another voice. You see: we answer questions clearly.”

Daveras scratched his head. “Gah. I’ve lost my card companion and I was hoping—well not hoping, but thinking—that she might be in there with Figaro.”

“How would she get in there?” Three said, intrigued despite himself.

Daveras shrugged. “Maybe Figaro invited her?”

“You’ve been here a long time,” Three said, hackles raised at another wishy-washy answer, “Does he do that regularly?”

“I’ve never seen him do it? But she went missing and I’m wondering where she’s gone.”

Eli observed this back and forth with a quiet satisfaction, congratulating himself that he’d been well ahead of the game in understanding this ship was populated by insane people.

Three wracked his brain. He could sense to arcane reason for the stultifying passivity of the crew, it was only their behaviour. They weren’t befuddled or mindless; they appeared to just accept their fate without question. He considered attempting to dispel the entire vessel of magic, thinking it might cure the malaise of the crew. But he quickly realised he didn’t have enough power to effect more than one or two candidates.

---

Those above had overhead most of the conversation below, the torn ship leaving an aft-castle overhanging the lower deck. Upstairs, Idris excused himself and traipsed below decks.

“Well met sir, my name is Idris” Idris nodded.

“Another one—how many of you are there?” Daveras said.

“A few. What’s the name of this card-companion of yours? I’m a bit of card player myself,” Idris explained.

“Well we should play, sir. Her name is Cirit—a halfling type.”

A strange gargle emerged from Eli’s throat at this revelation. A halfling!?

“I’m familiar with those,” Idris nodded. He looked to Three. “Did you have any luck with the First Mate?” Before he could finish Three was shaking his head. It was the first time Idris had seen Three frustrated; his normal unflappable nature was gone.

Eli explained the impregnable walls. “We could pull the wood panels away to see what’s behind?”

“We haven’t tried that,” Daveras said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Why not?”

“Well it’s not my place, and not my ship. She’s precious to those that work her,” Daveras said.

“No she’s not,” Eli protested, “Look around—the ship is falling to pieces. And they haven’t done anything to fix it.”

“No fault of theirs—this damage is not something you can just ‘repair’. She’s been torn apart, more’s the shame.”

Eli toed a loose plank on the floor before him. “This plank. That’s where they want it, do they?”

“Where else should it be?” Daveras shrugged.

“Reaffixed to the gunnels!” Eli said pointing thence.

Daveras rasied an eyebrow, then walked to the shattered edge of the deck hanging over the body of the dying god below. “So you think we should spend time reaffixing that plank to this destroyed decking?” he asked wryly.

“And the other bits down below,” Eli scowled. “And you’ll have yourself a vessel!”

“To what end! This ship is in its grave. It will never fly again.”

“I think you’re in your grave,” Eli said sternly, “That’s the problem. You people have acquiesced to death! And you sit here waiting for an eternity to pass with no drive.” Impassioned, he turned to Three. “Three. This is a world of dead gods, and the people who follow those dead gods are dead inside.”

Three was heartily impressed with Eli’s witnessing. “I do agree,” he said solemnly, “That something has occurred.”

“Maybe, but I want to try one more thing,” Idris said, turning to Daveras. “Do you mind if I give Figaro a go?”

Daveras chuckled. “Me? No—I’d be quite happy to see Figaro come back to his senses.”

Idris nodded and headed downstairs, nodding to Kycera as he passed. “Greetings good lady—could you perhaps point me the way to Figaro?”

Kycera stirred a foul looking stew and pointed a finger to the floor. “You’re the third person in short succession to ask. Back the way you came.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Idris said turning back.

“We didn’t.”

“Oh! My name is Idris,” Idris bowed.

“Kycera. Come back for a feed when you’re done.”

---

Idris found his way to the Stateroom, finding Ilren talking softly at the door. Seeing Idris, he stepped away. “Ah, my good friend! You’ve decided to give Figaro a crack too?”

“I have, if I may?”

“Be my guest—we would love to have our dear Figaro back.”

“Mm. Oh; Daveras was requesting your presence up on main deck with Three and Eli,” Idris said convincingly.

“Ah, was he!” Ilren smiled, straightening his very fine jacket self-importantly. “Well—let me make my way up.” He sauntered away.

When the coast was clear, Idris walked to Figaro’s door and knocked politely.

“Stop talking to me, stop, stop, I want you to go away!” a voice begged from within.

“Sorry. Let me introduce myself; my name is Idris—”

“I told you Ilren I do not want to speak to you!”

“Ah, I see the mistake. I am Idris. One of a group of adventurers who have happened upon your vessel only a short while ago.”

“Oh you are another one of them. I have already sent them away.”

“I don’t want to come inside, but I wouldn’t mind speaking with you briefly, if that’s ok?” Idris asked respectfully.

“We are speaking, you fool!”

“I’ve been called many things, a ‘fool’ on some occasions, but maybe we should start from a more polite stance?”

“Why should I be polite to you if you’re part of that company that tried to kick my door down?”

“Ah, if you are referring to my companion Eli, he is young and impulsive. I’ve been around the block a few more times—I’m actually from here,” Idris tried, hoping to find a connection.

It worked. “From here? The Astral Sea?” the voice said warily.

“I’m a Gith.”

“A Gith? Have you met Lysan and Zastra?”

“I have, both very pleasant indeed. I’ve been sharing some raw Star Angler with them—quite a delicacy for my kind.”

“They are good people.” There was a pause, which Idris respected, and when the voice next spoke it had softened, almost pleading. “How can I know you are telling me the truth?”

“That I am a Gith?” Idris said, then spoke a string of Githyanki language.

“Sounds like them,” the voice said. “But I don’t understand a word.”

“Well what proof can I possibly give you through a closed door?”

The door was suddenly flung open, and standing in the frame was a purple-skinned Tiefling, his posture as tense as a wound spring. He glanced quickly up and down Idris.

Idris started to bow. “Ah! I am—”

The door slammed closed. Idris caught half a glimpse of the room: simple but elegant, mahogany bookshelves and a bed bathed in warm light from wall sconces.

“So you’re not lying,” Figaro muttered, “You are a Gith.”

“And you’re a Tiefling, if I’m not—”

“What of it?” Figaro snapped. “Do you not like Tieflings?”

“To the contrary, one of my dearest friends is a Tiefling. Her name is Elsabah,” Idris said fondly.

The confession caught Figaro off-guard, taking the wind out of his umbrage. “Well. That’s for the best. I still don’t know why you bring up my race.”

“Well you asked me about mine.”

“No. You told me, I didn’t ask,” Figaro said, starting to get worked up again.

“Well you opened the door—”

“Are you obsessed with races?!”

Somewhere Eli nodded.

“No. No I’m not,” Idris said, realising he need to back down. “In my travels of late I have come across almost everything that can think. So; do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“I would rather not. I’m tired. Tired of them trying to get me,” Figaro said softly.

“Ah, well now we’re getting somewhere. Who’s ‘they’?”

“I don’t know. But they are.”

“Well are they people? Or a force?”

“I don’t know! I said I don’t know!” From behind the door there was the sound of a body sitting down with a soft thud.

Idris decided to take a different tack. “I understand you were the First Mate of this vessel, is that correct?”

“What do you mean ‘was’? I am the First Mate,” Figaro snapped.

“My apologies. This vessel has seen better days, rest assured any past tense reflected in my tone was mourning for the Lambert Zenith. It’s in three pieces strewn across quite a large area.”

“I know it is! You don’t have to rub it in. And all my fault…” Figaro whispered.

Idris leaned in. “Oh dear. Portal travel gone awry, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And do you think it was contact with Havock’s body that caused that?”

“Probably.” There was a pause. “I also…I shouldn’t have…”

“When using arcane devices, and I am certainly no stranger to this,” Idris said gently, “All of us, at one stage or another, let eagerness overcome caution. Such is the price of discovery.”

There was a loud sigh from the room. “You like to talk, don’t you.”

“Ha. I do. And I like to play cards too—I’m normally doing both at the same time.”

“You should meet Daveras.”

“I have; he said he is missing his card partner.”

“Well she’s not in here with me.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Cirit and she is lovely,” Figaro said, the first sign of genuine emotion Idris had heard.

“And what was her position aboard?”

“She was a good one,” Figaro continued wistfully. “Inda chose her well. She was trusted, and I would trust her still. Not like some of those others.”

“Which others?”

A pause, then softly: “Ilren. He won’t leave me alone.”

“I sent him to the upper decks,” Idris whispered, “He’s not from this ship, is he.”

“Certainly not.”

“And he seems to have put it upon himself to take charge. Is that something that is satisfactory with you?”

From inside the room there was a thump of something being thrown against a wall. “No it is not!”

Idris nodded. “We are here for a little while, searching for something. When we leave here we can do something to help you and your crew…maybe we can fix your Ilren problem.”

“How can know that I can trust you?”

“You can look at my face—are you a good judge of character?”

“A face is not enough. I do want to talk, but I want to talk to people I can trust. I don’t know you,” Figaro said, obviously distressed. “If you can find someone who can speak for you, someone I know…Cirit, or Inda. Find them. Then I will talk.”

“Very well. And neither of those, as far as I understand, are on this part of the ship?”

“How would I know?”

“So you’ve not left your room since the ship ran aground?”

“I don’t know!” Figaro wailed, his voice shaking.

“I don’t want to push our burgeoning friendship, Figaro, and I’m sure you have your reasons for being in your cabin—”

“I think I have reasons…I’m sure I do! But I don’t know what they are…”

“And you have a magical barrier preventing anyone from entering?”

“Of course I do.”

“That’s good. So you’re safe in there?” Idris said, reiterating.

“Yes! No-one has been able to come in since I locked myself away,” Figaro stressed.

“Good. And is that barrier for all intents and purposes under your purview, and permanent?” Idris reiterate reiterated.

Figaro suddenly laughed. “You really do like to talk, don’t you! Yes, and yes, and yes!”

Despite Figaro’s tease, Idris wasn’t done,. “So I have no reason to think that anything ill should befall you in an absence, however long that is?”

Figaro sighed. “I’m tired now. You use too many words and I have told you many times yet you keep repeating yourself. Go away.”

“I’ll speak to you soon, thank you Figaro,” Idris finally concluded.

“I hope you speak less when you do!”

---

Idris took a quick look into the only remaining room, finding it full of rigging and ropes. Nothing of interest, so he headed back upstairs and joined the company. Daveras had returned to his room and Ilren to the upper deck, leaving only Three and Eli who were pacing restlessly.

Eli’s fists were fitfully clenching and unclenching into white-knuckled balls of frustration. He worried that, like crew, he too was losing his balance.

Three recognised Eli was mirroring his own impatience. “Brother, there is something going on. It is not us. Someone is playing with their minds.”

Idris ‘quickly’ recounted his discussion. “I think we might get somewhere. He did open the door, very briefly.”

“Well that was an achievement,” Three said grudgingly. Eli only looked ashamed.

“And he’s certainly befuddled, as you suspected. He thinks he’s locked himself in that room for a good reason but he doesn’t remember what it is.”

“Without evidence, this is what I think has happened,” Three said. “These people have been raided, and whoever did the raiding has clouded their brains. And now everyone is in this state of confusion—maybe even the attackers. Which makes it very frustrating for us.”

“Figaro wants a reason to trust us,” Idris explained, “And one of the ways that would go a long way toward that is finding his two companions: Cirit and Inda.”

“Inda is the Captain,” Three said, recalling Kycera saying so. “And Cirit is a halfling companion of Daveras. But again you can see that you never, ever, get a clear answer from anyone about anything!”

“It’s my considered opinion that something happened to Figaro,” Idris nodded. “I don’t know about the rest.”

“Let’s regroup with others to plan our next move,” Three said, leading everyone abovedeck.

---

“You seem to have filled the void of leadership,” Sifer said, making conversation with Ilren.

“It was here to be filled!” Ilren grinned. “Believe me there was a distinct lack.”

Lysan and Zastra both rubbed their foreheads tiredly in the universal sign of ‘oh for gods sake’.

“Look at them,” Eli muttered to Three, “Acting like they would do something. They were happy to stand idly with their arms swaying by their sides for eternity.”

“Indeed. And what are your plans?” Sifer continued. “A leader obviously has plans.”

“Plans? Well we are holding strong,” Ilren said, placing a confident hand on the balustrade and looking out to the mysteries of the Astral Sea. “There are dangers out there and we’re not letting anyone get close, that’s for certain.”

Below, on the body of Havock, Uthar burst into laughter. Marko turned to him with a exasperated shake of his head. “What would you like to do? Climb back on board or wait here forever?”

“I think we should get back up there and see if they’ve finished exploring this part of the wreck. We will need to explore the rest, but let’s just finish this and see what they’re up to.” Together they clambered back atop the deck, using ropes because both forgot about the Astral Sea’s strange properties.

“Well everything seems fine here under your leadership,” Sifer was smirking. “We’ve finished our scouting and will move on.”

“It’s dangerous out there,” Ilren warned earnestly. “Space terrors. But you are brave men—I trust that you will make your way across that dead god safely.”

Eli, who had moved to stand directly behind Ilren, leaned in and whispered into his ear. “How did you get across?”

Ilren jumped with fright before quickly recovering. “Oh! Me? Well I was very lucky—very lucky indeed. Almost a miracle.”

“So it wasn’t your skill?”

“Well yes, a bit of that too, of course. Quite a lot, come to think of it,” Ilren said regaining his stride. “Luck, skill—it all comes together in an adventurer and a leader.”

“And you were a leader on your vessel?” Sifer asked.

“Of course!”

Eli scowled. “My father told me that you shouldn’t ever lie.”

“Wise words. Words of wisdom,” Ilren nodded.

“I don’t think I would have approved of your father,” Eli said, turning his back.

Ilren flushed. “I beg your pardon sir. You know nothing of my father! You should watch you words, young man. Your father may have told you never to lie, but did he tell you should be polite and show respect to your betters?”

Idris let out a low growl and Marko’s hand drifted to his rapier as he clambered one leg over the railing. Sifer heard these as fighting words, but judged Ilren was more showing off than actually threatening.

“Let us go to the other vessel,” Uthar said pointing to the distant tree, quelling the heat. Marko rolled his eyes having finally reached the top, and swung his leg back over to shimmy back to the god below, as did the entire company.

Idris moved last, turning first to Zastra. “Does Ilren understand Gith?” he whispered, in Gith.

“Not that I know of?”

“Good. We’re going to find your two missing crew.”

“Two?”

“Cirit and Inda,” Idris clarified, curious that Zastra was unsure.

“Oh. Well. That would be…something.”

Idris glanced at Ilren and drew a finger across his neck. Zastra raised his eyebrows, but shook his head as Idris jumped over the balustrade.

---

Eli landed beside Marko, having floated rather than climbed—but admiring Marko’s wisdom in doing things the hard way. He looked down at the little leader with a look that was impossible to convey. It showed a depth of understanding that Marko couldn’t account for.

The company looked out of the expanse of dead god before them. It was an unusual sight, to say the least.

Marko, being Marko, set about chipping off a chunk of calcified god-flesh.

“Never thought of doing that,” Lysan called from above.

“You never know,” Marko muttered to the curious stares.

Sifer looked to Idris. “Is what we’re looking for here?”

“It’s here, but it’s not precise.”

“Do we need to triangulate?”

“Maybe. Alustriel gave a more particular impression as to the rod’s accuracy—it’s not as specific as we assumed.”

“When we find the next piece we’ll know how it works,” Sifer nodded. “It’s good that we’re moving, I get the feeling we would never have left,” he added, thumbing the Gith above, who were now joined by Ilren.

“Maybe. Time is strange here and despondency can settle in,” Idris explained.

“But Idris,” Three said, “Is everyone like this on this plane?”

“Not at all. In fact, to be completely candid, the unusual thing about the crew of this ship, and particularly Lysan and Zastra,” Idris said lowering his voice, “Is the distinct lack of violence. My people are not a peace-loving people. In any capacity.”

Uthar nodded, as did Eli. Idris’s words made a lot of sense, now they had witnessed what he could do.

“Which makes the two above mentioning that they were on this ship ‘spreading hope’ across the Astral Sea…intriguing,” Idris added.

“I really don’t recommend this plan of yours,” Lysan called, as if to confirm Idris’s words.

“Really?” Three smirked as he leapt ten feet forward across the god.

“Perhaps your countrymen have just seen the seen the face god,” Eli said, thinking that might explain things.

“Let’s head for the tree,” Idris said, turning away.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Ilren called from above.

“You shouldn’t,” Zastra countered with a scowl.

Idris looked up and winked before setting off. “So we’ve been told!”

It was only 300 feet to the next segment, not even enough to raise a sweat. Everyone took their different means, each according to their philosophical understanding of the Astral Sea: Three bounding almost joyfully, Idris floating confidently, Marko picking his way across the body hoping to find more souvenirs.

Uthar floated ahead of Marko, still not fully confident with the gravity-less nature of movement here. He glanced up to his left to see the hollowed-out hip-bone of Havock looming overhead. The god must have been enormous, and his remains no less so. As he passed under the shadow he stopped suddenly. The shadow was moving. He looked up and cried out. “Incoming!”

---

An elephant sized manta-ray swooped from hollow of the hip, diving down toward the company.

Marko reacted fast, slicing manta-flesh with two quick strikes before stealthing behind Uthar. The nearest cloaker shot a barbed tail out to slash Uthar’s arm. but the paladin rolled free of the follow-up bite.

Frustrated, the Cloaker sounded a piercing cry that summoned three more of the creatures in an instant. Three gasped—how could an animal do that?—but he knew what was happening. “Attack them all, find the real one!” he cried.

“It’s as if you’re the psychic one,” Idris grinned. Before he could act, the four Cloakers let out synchronous moan that sent a shiver of fear through all. Marko wavered but the protective aura of Uthar allowed him to shake it away. Idris on the other hand had no such protection: he shuddered in horror at the size of the beasts, and started to turn, to run, to escape. Eli saw this and slapped a hand on Idris’s shoulder, gripping it tight. “Stay with us, Brother Idris,” he said firmly.

Idris felt his fears quelled, nodding to Eli with a look of respect that Eli felt he had never received before from the strange Githyanki sorcerer. Idris turned his steely gaze back on the four Cloakers. He lifted both hands and four sparks flew out toward each of the creatures. “Yeah!” Three said under his breath, pleased Idris was following his suggestion.

To everyone but Three’s surprise, three of the Cloakers vanished the moment the missiles struck. The fourth struck the already damaged one square in the flank. Uthar followed up by slicing an entire wing free, causing the beast to spiral toward the ground.

Eli, very impressed both with saving Idris and with Idris’s subsequent removal of three-quarters of the enemy, notched his bow. He loosed his arrow as he considered that maybe he should become a preacher after all if this was the effect his words could have. A moment later the Cloaker crashed into the ground dead, the single arrow buried in one lifeless eyeball. Eli looked on with astonishment, slowly lowering his no longer needed second arrow.

From the Lambent Zenith a cheer went up. Lysan and Zastra were applauding heartily from the deck. Ilren, on the other hand, lifted both hands from the balustrade, turned his back and walked away.

“I don’t know about that Ilren,” Idris muttered.

“We will be wearing him as a hat at some point,” Eli agreed before realising what he had said and flushing.

---

---

Drawing near to the mid-section of the wreck it became clear that there were in fact two vessels here. A smaller lifeboat had nosedived into the larger Lambent Zenith, leaving both joined forever in Havock’s flesh.

Looming above both was an enormous tree, its roots wrapping the timberwork of both wrecks in a wooden embrace. A somnolent face peered out from the trunk.

“That must be Redbud,” Idris said quietly.

“Ents are meant to be nice,” Three said with a measure of discomfort.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Eli said confidently.

“Deveras said there was a dog too,” Three added.

Idris was first on deck. A set of steps leading below was blocked by a huge root that sealed off the descent. Idris turned and bowed before the tree. “Master Redbud, I presume.”

There was no response, so Marko repeated Idris’s welcome, but in Elvish. A branch overhead shifted slightly, as if in a breath of wind.

Idris took up the baton, following Marko’s lead and using Elvish. “Master Redbud. We met some wayward travellers and we’re here searching for some lost crew members that may be part of their ship.”

Several branches creaked in response. Encouraged, Idris continued. “Do you know if they are seconded here beneath your protective boughs?”

Only silence met this.

“What are you saying?” Eli whispered to Idris.

“I just said ‘hello’.”

“Do you speak in Tree? You know ‘Tree’?”

“It’s Elvish,” Idris grinned.

Marko stepped closer to the trunk and removed his cap. “Sir, my name is Mister Marko Revile. May I introduce my companions,” he said before doing so. “We wish to discuss with you a number of things. Apparently there is a missing dog—”

The tree shook suddenly, a shower of leaves dropping. A deep, rumbling voice croaked out from the trunk, speaking in Common. “My friend, Ikasa, trapped.”

“Is he ok? Is he here?”

“He is below. I protect him with my roots.”

“Of course you would. I understand completely,” Marko reassured.

“I have lost another,*” Redbud said slowly. “*He named himself Daveras. I sailed with him.”

“You lost him? Or he left?”

“I do not know. We crashed here escaping from raiders. When I recovered he was gone. But Ikasa is here.”

“Trapped, yes. Can we help you rescue him?”

“There are parasites below. I keep them off Ikasa.”

“We are all animal lovers,” Marko guessed, “Let us rescue him from them.”

“Please. I will withdraw my roots if you will clear the nest.”

“How many parasites,” Eli jumped in.

“Many,” Redbud said.

“How big?”

“Small. As small as Mister Marko.”

Marko almost took exception to this, before thinking better of it. He bowed low. “I promise we will rescue the dog, your good friend. We will give our lives to do so. Let us make haste.”

“Very well,” Redbud intoned, and the branch covering the steps below slowly withdrew.

“I will do my best,” Marko said, disappearing.

---

“They’re bigger than me!” Marko cried.

“Shit my fucking god!” Eli blasphemed a moment later.

---

Six bulbous, brain-shaped creatures with snapping beaks and barbed tentacles bobbed through the air below deck, doing their best to entangle the new arrivals in their poisonous grasp.

Three released a radiant burst that rocked four of the Grell, not as effective as Idris’s similar spell against the Cloakers but effective none-the-less. Sifer scuttled up the wall, using Astral movement to get on the level of the bulbous heads. He sliced through the tentacles of the nearest, cutting half-a-dozen free. Uthar chunked through the nearest overhead beast, and Marko added his dagger strikes to the same. Eli bounded up the wall, following Sifer’s lead. He only struck once, but when he did the Grell exploded from the inside out. He flurried the other injured creature and finished it off too. Confident, his third hand-strike managed only to miss every tentacle of his target, brushing Idris’s ear instead.

The creatures began retaliating, but avoiding the tentacles was surprisingly easy. For everyone except Sifer, who despite his elevated vantage point was wrapped and grappled toward the Grell’s beak. Uthar discovered what that beak could do when one dropped to take a chunk from him. Idris decided against calling Hadar’s horror into the enclosed space, instead hitting the most banged-up Grell with a mote of lightning which burst around it. Idris’s grin was quickly turned into a frown when he saw it flow off, leaving the bulbous head unscathed.

Three didn’t like seeing that. He panicked a little, using a hugely powerful spell to inflict grievous wounds. “Kelm–vrahgg” he cried. Eli was shocked to see Three losing control of the spell, but please to see it near-killed the Grell even so.

Sifer, meantime, flexed his way free of the tentacles, grunting as he did. Wanting to get out of any follow-up, he misty-stepped to the far side of the room. Or he tried. Instead of travelling, a glowing ring filled with opaque mist appeared twenty feet away behind the Grell horde. Sifer’s eyes went wide; what had gone wrong? He had never had this spell misfire, and everything had felt right.

Uthar chopped toward Sifer’s Grell, but the flash from the spell distracted him briefly and his swing instead buried itself in one of Redbud’s roots. The entire room rocked in response as Uthar cursed his bad judgement. Marko jumped in front of Uthar and felled the Grell, coating himself in the aftermath. Eli helped himself to another, killing it with precision. He didn’t kill the next, but he did push it back to where Sifer’s portal had appeared; it vanished through he portal. “I hope it kills the hippopotamus,” Eli muttered.

Idris changed his tact after the last debacle. He send a thunderous roll instead, but, like the lightning, nothing happened: this time because he missed his strike rather than an immunity. He cursed under his breath, not accustomed to failure.

“Kelemvor!” Three cried, striking with clear determination this time. Sifer tried to add his own clarity, but, like Uthar, his blow sunk into the spine of Redbud instead. The vessel shook as the great tree shuddered, dropping Uthar to his knees. Marko swung wildly as the universe shifted around him, hitting nothing for the first time.

Eli sprung to his feet and slid past Marko. “Marko, you must remember there are three dimensions in this universe!” He destroyed the Grell floating above him, then rolled forward and double-punched the final creature. It tried to wrap him in thorns, but failed—unlike its beak which tore a dozen tiny holes in Eli’s shoulder.

Idris, tired of being ineffective, turned to the old faithful: fire. It worked a treat, bringing a grim smile to Idris’s face. Three tolled the Grell’s fate, and Sifer delivered it. One his second attempt after the first again swung well wide.

“What technique is that?” Eli smirked, tallying his many kills to Sifer’s one.

---

Sifer walked to the still-glowing portal and pointed. “Here.”

“Can you make that go away?” Eli asked.

Sifer shook his head, then looked around the room. Redbud’s roots blocked entrance to the two adjoining rooms, one of which presumably contained Ikasa. “We can’t get beyond the roots.”

“Sifer, no-one can escape the roots,” Eli explained to a blank look.

“I’ll go upstairs and let Redbud know the parasites are dead,” Idris said.

“Please apologise that we accidentally hurt him,” Marko called.

Idris gave Marko a long look. “Ok.”

“It wasn’t me, I’m just saying.”

“Ok.”

“And Three—can you try healing the tree?” Marko asked.

“Working on the farm, I know that trees like compost,” Eli offered.

Three lent into the branch and laid his hands on the torn root. He quietly asked Kelemvor to salve the wound—and was surprised to see the roots reknit under his touch. Marko looked pleased, and grateful.

Idris climbed to the top deck and stood before Redbud. “Three things; the parasites are dead. My companions wish to apologises for their errant blows that caught you, and thirdly: your friend Deveras is over there,” he finished, pointing to the Stern of the Lambent Zenith.

“Deveras lives?” Redbud said gently.

“Yes. We spoke with him not ten minutes ago.”

“I am very grateful, despite the wounds, and thank you for the renewal. I will withdraw my roots below—please find Ikasa.”

Below decks the huge roots slowly withdrew, exposing the broken walls that barely fenced the two rooms. Inside the larger room a beautiful golden dog started zooming happily when it saw friendly faces. Three was first inside, and Ikasa bounded into his arms and started licking his face. To everyone’s surprise Three submitted happily, giving Ikasa a giant smothering hug and ruffling his fur. “Such a good dog!” Three beamed, scratching under Ikasa’s ears. His eye was caught by a leather collar studded with crystals.

“You must be hungry,” Three said, pulling out his store of jerky (the last thing he would eat before cannibalism). Ikasa sniffed and was soon chewing it happily, though not as ravenously as Three expected. Then he recalled that eating was optional on the Astral Plane, even for dogs, it seemed, and he realised he too didn’t feel the least bit hungry.

---

“I’m taking Ikasa up to Redbud,” Three announced, escorting the happy puppy upstairs.

Sifer, Marko, and Eli meanwhile moved into the second room, obviously a study. Books and scrolls packed the bookshelves and were scattered over the floor. Pressed against the wall is a redwood desk, atop which were clean sheets of parchment and two inkwells.

Sifer and Marko scanned the books, as did Idris when he arrived. The majority concerned arcane subjects, with some more mundane navigational books scattered between. Idris and Marko reached for a volume that caught both their eyes—Dissertations on the Abstruse Mind—with Marko being marginally faster.

Luckily enough, as it turned out. He quickly discovered the book was a well disguised strongbox, locked and trapped. With some skilful fingerwork Marko managed to disable the trap, a poisonous gas well that he stoppered carefully.

“Got it!” he exclaimed, turning to find everyone had rapidly left the room and withdrawn to safety. He rolled his eyes and gently prised open the box, revealing a small potion bottle and journal within.

“The Journal of Inda Malayuri,” he read aloud, tossing the potion to Idris.

“Ah! One of the two missing crew,” Idris said.

Marko checked the book too, and finding no traps, lay it on the desktop and opened the first pages. It was written in Common and discussing thoughts on magic, travelling the Astral Sea, and various small arcane experiments. Marko flipped ahead and found the language had changed to something he didn’t know. “Idris—what’s this writing?”

Idris lent in. “No idea.” Curiosity piqued, everyone else took a look, but it was meaningless to all.

“If I had to guess it looks to be a cousin of Infernal,” Uthar said, “But I can’t decipher it.”

Marko shrugged and kept turning pages, finding the writings alternated randomly between Common and the other script. About two-thirds through the journal he paused. “There’s something here about an object the crew discovered which Inda was studying. ‘A segment of larger object’!”

“Bingo!” Idris clapped.

“She discovered the fragment allowed arcane gates to be created—she was very excited about the potential that might have to move the Lambert Zenith great distances around the Astral Sea in the blink of an eye.” Marko read on, wanting to work out if she succeeded, and that’s why the ship had come to grief.

“Is this a common way of moving around the Astral Sea, using gates to jump around?” Eli asked Idris.

“No, it’s not—even though it makes sense,” Idris said thoughtfully. “That’s, I think, why their predicament. But it’s possible that they were using the rod to create the gates, but then that was interfered with by Havock’s body.” He glanced over to Sifer’s strange portal only to find it had vanished. “That’s interesting,” he pointed.

“So we can’t chase into it,” Sifer mused.

“Though it was here for at least a minute, so maybe if we were quicker?”

“Here’s something,” Marko exclaimed. “They did get the portals working, and the ship could jump. There’s a single word mid-page here, underlined, in the other language.”

“That will be the keyword to empower the rod fragment,” Idris guessed.

Marko nodded. “She also talks about the need to protect the artefact from possible raiders. And then there’s more unreadable script; two more lines.”

“Three is a priest,” Idris said, “He may be able to read it. It’s not guaranteed but it’s possible.”

“Let’s go see the dog-lover,” Marko grinned.

---

Redbud was overjoyed at the sight of Ikasa, wrapping the hound with spindly branches and a shower of golden-red leaves. Three almost found the joy infectious, and did his best to quash that emotion.

“If I take Ikasa back to Daveras,” Three said quietly, “Will you not be lonely?”

A low rumble emerged from Redbud’s trunk, which Three could have sworn was a hearty laugh. “I am a tree. This is where I live, this is where I stay.”

“I see—but this is company, and then you will have none,” Three persisted.

“Perhaps they will visit me…”

Three nodded. “Do you know Daveras well?”

“I have travelled the seas with him.”

“Has he always been clear in his thinking?”

“Yes, he has always been most decisive,” Redbud rumbled.

“And is he…a good guy?” Three said carefully.

“He saved me and allowed me to join his crew on the Verdant Branch—an appropriate name, I must say,” Redbud laughed again.

“Would I describe him as a pirate?”

Redbud paused. “He travelled the seas taking what he needed.”

“I see,” Three said, seeing the company emerging from below.

Marko emerged and was tucking the journal into his bag of holding, having forgotten entirely about getting Three to check the writings. Idris noticed this and quickly spoke up. “Do you want Three to have a look at that before you put it away?”

“Oh, sorry, yes,” Marko blushed, handing it to Three. “Can you read this rubbish?”

Three took the journal and his eyes widened. “The ‘rubbish’ you refer to is the language of the angels. Celestial. Only the high priests of the various pantheons can speak it. And I once knew it extremely well.”

Eli’s eyes went even wider than Three’s. The language of the angels? And Three can read it?? And Brother Three was once a high priest??? His mind was spinning with the implications as he looked on in awe whilst Three translated.

“Firstly the word,” Three read, “Which empowers the rod piece: COELUM.”

Eli gasped at Three’s firm grasp of such complex theology.

“And second, these phrases are used to disable wards that protect the rod:

The moon sings a song for the lost
The sun brings a prayer for the found

There is nothing about where those wards are set,” Three concluded as tears welled in Eli’s lovely eyes.

---

An actual Angel

“Let’s get this young man back to his family,” Three said, scratching Ikasa’s golden head. Sifer assumed Three must have space-sickness given the affection he was displaying.

“It’s a dog,” Eli corrected as everyone started back toward the stern. Idris counselled people to float rather than walk, but Eli insisted on near-crawling along Havock’s frozen flesh. He figured the closer he was to the surface the further he was from anything that might bite.

As it eventuated he was correct, though no-one else seemed to have been bitten when he arrived. Lysan and Zastra were standing, weapons drawn, over the remains of a dead grell. Both looked excited and pleased, though Zastra sported a fresh wound on his shoulder. Ilren was nowhere to be found.

“We were attacked!” Lysan said excitedly, “This fiend appeared out of a portal!”

“Oh yes, we did that,” Three explained.

“You sent it here?”

“Not on purpose,” Three recovered quickly.

“We killed nine of them,” Sifer added casually.

“Nine?!”

“Not just me.”

“I killed three,” Eli said to a boggled glance. “Was anybody hurt?”

“The tentacles,” Zastra frowned, “Wrapped around me and it tried to bite me! But Lysan dragged it off.” Three laid his hands on the wounded Gith and healed him.

“Are there normally random portals like this on your ship?” Sifer asked, toeing the grell.

“No, no—only the huge one we use to travel the sea. We walk the ship, no need for small portals like this,” Zastra said, pleased with his much recovered injury. “That was some fight, but we killed it.”

“Where’s Deveras?” Idris asked.

“Below playing cards, I guess?”

“We have his dog,” Three explained, hefting Ikasa into his arms.

“That’s his dog?”

“I hope so,” Three said, despite desperately hoping the exact opposite. He led Marko and Uthar below decks, Eli, Sifer and Idris remaining above. Once Ikasa got a sniff she sprinted away into the mess hall.

“Get down, you mongrel!” Daveras said scornfully from within, “About time you showed up.”

Three felt a deep fury rising fast. He stepped into the room to find Ikasa sitting obediently in the corner of the room, Daveras ignoring her as he played his solo cards. “I bought him home,” he growled.

“Him. That’s good of you,” Daveras said without looking up.

“Why did you just leave her on the other wreck?”

“Everyone told me it was too dangerous to travel,” Daveras shrugged. “Stay! I’ll get to you.”

“Right. Well she was with Redbud.”

“Oh—Redbud lives too? Good.”

“Yes. He was protecting Ikasa from the grells—we took care of them.”

“I’m grateful,” Daveras said ungratefully. “She’s not a good dog but I missed her anyway.”

“She’s a great dog,” Three corrected.

“I know her better than you do, so.”

Marko frowned. No-one treats a dog like this and gets away with it.

Kycera wandered into the room and beamed at seeing Ikasa. “Here he is! I’ve been waiting to meet you, what a good girl,” she said leaning in and ruffling Ikasa’s belly.

“Enough,” Daveras warned, “You’ll spoil her.”

“Let me take her to the kitchen for some treats.”

“No. She’s going to sit here until I tell her otherwise. There seem to be a lot of experts here,” Daveras snapped, shuffling his deck.

Marko’s dagger was half drawn. He glanced at Three who was giving the elf an evil eye. “I hope you take care of her,” Three said softly.

“Of course.”

“The tree likes her,” Marko said.

“Redbud? Yes. Ikasa would lift the occasional leg which ‘the tree’ didn’t seem to mind.”

“Perhaps you should return Ikasa to him.”

“How? How would I get over there?”

“We did. Killed a couple of creatures and came back,” Three said.

“‘Killed a couple of creatures’. There’s the problem. Do I look like a warrior? You don’t venture out there if you want to live.”

“We went over there and we lived.”

Daveras leaned back in his chair, finally looking up. “Let me count. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six heavily armed, obviously experienced adventurers.”

“You have about five,” Three countered. “Heavily armed.”

“Where?”

“Two soldiers upstairs.”

“You call them soldiers?”

Three was forced to admit that one grell had seemed to pose them quite a challenge. He gave Daveras a long stare.

---

Sifer had been eavesdropping on the conversation below deck, hearing it get nowhere. He turned to Idris. “Is the rod still saying the next part is here?”

“It’s here somewhere, but as I told you it’s not precise.”

“Well we should stop talking about dogs and go and find it.” He turned to call Eli, but the young Orc was busy lecturing the Gith.

“How many hours a day do you spend training?” Eli asked pointedly. “How many today?”

“Well…not many?” Lysan said glancing at Zastra. “We took…I mean…no, not many.”

“Well it’s time to start. Show me what you’ve got.”

The two Gith shrugged and made some token prods and pokes with their curved blades. Eli was shocked at how poor their stance, weight, grip, and everything else was.

“Practice. It’s just practice and repetition.”

“Who would we practice against?” Zastra muttered.

“Against yourself! Imagine the enemy—how do you think I did it?”

“Is that how you did it?”

“It’s exactly how I did it.” Eli froze in place, hand on the hilt of his blade, eyes locked.

Two minutes passed.

Lysan coughed. An instant later Eli’s blade was drawn and ready. “You don’t strike until you know you’re going to win!” Eli exclaimed as the Gith leapt away. “Follow my lead!” Eli drew his own weapon and started leading the two neophytes through some basic combat moves.

Sifer looked back over to Idris. “I think our compatriots are floundering. I think they’re caught in the same time loop. We need to take the lead.”

Idris wasn’t convinced, but he had to admit the company were doing a fair amount of faffing. For a moment he considered having another talk with Figaro, before Sifer’s stern gaze made him think better of it. He leant over the broken deck and called below. “We’re leaving—let’s go!”

---

Three walked over to Ikasa and reached toward her. Daveras snapped a hand out. “She’s my dog.”

Three ignored Daveras and crouched before Ikasa. “I’m going now,” he said fondly, “If anything should happen to you, I will know.” He waved a vague hand over the hound casting a fake spell, smiling horribly at Daveras.

Daveras smirked. “I told you. My dog.”

Three dropped his head, then stood and walked away. Daveras could wait.

Marko was infuriated. Once Three was out of earshot, he walked over to Daveras. “We have killed everything we have faced. My friend Three likes your dog—if you don’t treat her well I will kill you myself, Daveras.” He spoke very politely.

Daveras took a long look at the diminutive rogue, then started dealing his cards. “Well there are six of you so I don’t have much choice, do I? Do you always bully your way to victory? No need to answer.”

Marko slotted his dagger home and turned away.

As Three moved above deck he was met on the stairway by Ilren. “Ah! You’re back.”

“Oh. Yes. We investigated the other wreck, killed a few monsters, and now we’re going to go an explore,” Three said succinctly.

“Very good! I saw you make short work of that Cloaker.”

“Not much to it.”

“Ha! I’ve killed a few of them in my time too,” Ilren beamed.

“Do you want to adventure with us?” Three teased.

“Oh no, no. This crew needs my leadership. I couldn’t leave them.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any leadership here at all.”

“Well there’s mine,” Ilren huffed.

“Yeah.” Three continued up.

Ilren followed and looked with surprise at the dead grell. “What do we have here?”

“We’re training here,” Eli puffed, “Step out of the way!”

“Well that’s very good. I’ve been suggesting it to them myself, actually.”

Eli shook his head. “No regime would give the education to the masses that would be required to overthrow it.”

This stopped Ilren’s babble in its tracks. “Um. No. I mean—overthrow what regime?”

“Whatever you got,” Eli scowled.

Ilren raised an large hippo eyebrow then turned and rested his hands on the deck rail. “I hear you’re venturing out again?”

“We saw no evidence of your ship out there,” Sifer said.

Ilren ignored this. “Be careful, won’t you? I’ve just had a word with poor old Figaro and he’s still not well. It’s dangerous out there.”

“Mm,” Idris said, picking up the smugness of Ilren’s tone. It wasn’t just ‘a word’ he’d had. Idris led the company toward the prow, some thousand yards distant.

“Remember everything I’ve told you,” Eli said sternly to the Gith, then leapt over the side.

---

A few shapes floated far overhead on the crossing (far, far over Eli’s head) but none ventured an attack.

Drawing close the wreckage Havock’s enormous ribcage folded over the top of the company, a skeletal gateway to the heart that lay ahead. The colossal heart—part flesh and part stone—loomed over the top deck. What remained of the ship’s prow was plunged deep into the heart.

Three wondered for a moment if the Lambent Zenith was involved in the demise of the god, piercing its heart. He quickly realising that the damage sustained meant the vessel had hit something hard, not flesh-soft. Something that had been dead long enough to turn to stone.

Climbing adeck, Sifer felt the deck rumble with a shuddering pule: the heart was beating! He started an internal count, waiting for the next beat—which came two minutes later. It was an erratic beat, unhealthy, dying.

Uthar looked up at the scraps of gossamer sail dangling off the ship’s broken-off mast which was jammed through one of the doors leading into the forecastle. He prodded the wall of heart, finding it calcified, not moving with the beats.

“Can gods be resurrected here?” Marko asked Idris as he felt another shuddering beat below his feet. “Is it a lack of worshippers that kills them?”

“Surely that’s not the best idea,” Eli laughed nervously, “Given the name of this one.”

“Yes, to both questions,” Idris said. “But what is more common is the gods return from whence they came and are resurrected there.”

“If Havock had worshippers in his own realm?”

“Look I’m not a theologian,” Idris shrugged, “And the study of gods is more a geographical study in the Astral Plane. But as far as my understanding goes, by the time they end up here it is the downhill slide.”

“That makes sense,” Marko nodded.

“It would require a great deal of faith, and a rapid increase in the number of worshippers and/or sacrifices, for one to come back from here. As I said, it’s common knowledge here that this is where gods come to die.”

“It’s just that convulsion…I just don’t understand it.”

“The wizards said it was dying, not dead,” Idris remined Marko.

“It looks pretty dead, there’s not much of it,” Marko said. “How many worshippers do they need? Maybe we could get on the inside track of a new religion,” he grinned.

“I think those are thoughts for another day.”

“My counsel is let’s let sleeping gods lie,” Sifer agreed, worried about a new delay.

“This is more the province of Three than myself.”

“I have no idea,” Three said looking out over the body of Havock. He wanted to know more but this god was lost to the winds of time.

---

Matching stairs led below deck where there were two doors, one blocked by the fallen mast.

Marko approached the door and started checking it for traps. Before he could do much a confident female voice spoke from within.

“Trying to break in, are we?”

“No break in, lady,” Marko white-lied.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Checking it for traps?”

“It’s not trapped, but it is locked,” the voice laughed.

“Well. We’re not here to hurt you—”

“That’s what they all say!”

“—may we enter? I bet they don’t all say that,” Marko finished.

“Why should I let you in?”

“Are you a friend of Figaro?” Three tried.

“I am,” the voice sounded surprised. “Do you know him?”

“He also wouldn’t let us into his room. And he said he would only trust Inda.”

“He’s asked us to search for his friends, Cirit and Inda,” Idris added.

“Has he. And have you found either of them?”

“That’s my question.”

“Only a dog and a tree,” Marko said, “And they were quite lovely.”

“Ikasa,” Three said with overflowing emotion.

“You are fond of dogs?” the voice said.

“I am. Who wouldn’t be?” Three said.

Marko heard footsteps approaching the door and waved everyone back. “Let me get back, lady.”

“You think I’m going to spear you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Marko sighed as he heard the door unlock.

“Come in,” the woman said but the door stayed closed.

Marko wasn’t falling for it. He methodically checked for traps as Eli wondered if there had ever, ever, been one. Satisifed, Marko pushed open the door. “Hello!” he said with characteristic simplicity.

A radiantly beautiful woman sat inside, leaning back in her chair. Her right leg rested on the desk in front of her, a wood-and-metal prosthetic below the knee, and from her back extended a massive, white-feathered wing.

---

Eli felt himself in the presence of something he struggled to comprehend. He dropped to one knee as Marko removed his hat and bowed. “My lady, my name is Marko, and these are my companions,” he said introducing each. When he reached Three, the priest removed his hood and spoke in Celestial.

“I am Three, formally of the Church of Lathander, and once High Priest. Now…a sacrifice.”

“You have had quite the journey,” the woman nodded thoughtfully. “Are you happy with your choice?”

“Do I look happy?”

The woman smiled wryly as Marko continued on to Idris.

“I am Idris—may I enquire as to your name, good lady?”

“My name is Inda Malayuri and I am the Captain of the Lambent Zenith. You guessed right,” she winked.

“Ah, just the person Zastra, Lysan, Kycera and Figaro have been wondering about!” Idris nodded.

“Half my crew—where are they, I am surprised they haven’t come to find me.”

“On the stern about half a mile away.”

“You’ll be waiting a while,” Three muttered.

“I have been,” Inda said wistfully, “Or at least I think have. There is strange magic at play here. Much as I am desperate to join my crew, I find myself unable to leave the safety of this deck. Which may be as well.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Sifer asked.

“Long enough,” Inda shrugged, “Too long. I don’t know; it’s hard to keep track of time.”

“Who is the last person you spoke to before you decided you couldn’t leave this room?” Idris asked, wondering if Ilren had been for a visit.

“No-one. I have seen no-one since the crash.”

“Would you describe your lack of desire to leave the room as a compulsion? Could you come outside now?”

“I could, but I feel the risk would be too great. I am sure there is one,” Inda said.

“To yourself or to others?” Uthar probed.

“Certainly to myself, and I presume everyone. And yet you have travelled here…”

Sifer examined his own motivation, wondering if it too had been struck by this lethargy. But despite feeling it had taken an awful long time for the company to advance through the wreckage no-one seemed stuck, yet. And, he reflected, that decisive action was not a hallmark of this particular team.

Marko offered his hand to Inda, to help her to her feet. “I am quite content, thank you,” she replied calmly.

“Perhaps if you take my hand you will be more able to leave?”

Inda considered this, then looked around the room. “There are things here I don’t want to leave.” The cabin was clearly her private room and bedchamber. Clothes were tossed over chair backs, and open books strewn across tables. On the bedside table was a lantern with remarkably clear glass, a silvered ring, and a short sword in a scabbard painted with flames.

“What things?” Marko said, looking around.

Inda pointed over her shoulder. “The other wing, mainly,” she smiled.

“Where is that?”

“Through the door behind you, the Navigation Room.”

“Can we heal it for you?”

Inda laughed gently. “There is no healing to be done. It’s a repair that I need.” She stood and turned, showing a harness layered into her chest armour, a complex series of straps and mechanisms. The other wing was organic, but it appeared that the other, like her leg, was artificial. “I lost both it and my leg long ago; I commissioned some Warforged of Eberron to forge replacements, but my wing was damaged in the crash. I’ve been trying to repair it, without much success.”

“Eberron is another world, like ours,” Idris explained to Eli’s agog look, “Around a different sun.” He knew little else about the strange land.

Marko was fascinated both by this and her mechanical leg. “Can we reattach it for you, somehow?”

“I don’t know—can you?” Inda asked keenly.

“We can take a look for you.”

“Be my guest—if you can repair it I will be eternally grateful. I have been working on it for longer than I can think but can’t nut it out.” She held up her strong hands. “I’m a fighter not a lover.”

“Nor a mechanic,” Eli whispered.

Inda led Marko to the Navigation room. Inside the chunk of mast that had pierced the doors to the corridor filled one corner of the room. A large bronze sphere hovered in the centre of the room, spinning idly, and splayed on a table below it was a wing-shaped contraption surrounded by all manner of tools. The wing was clearly mechanical, comprising of cogs, levers, and finely crafted gears.

Marko went to work.

Back in the cabin Eli climbed to his feet and grabbed Idris. “So not an angel? From a different sphere?” he whispered urgently.

“Hm. I don’t know,” Idris muttered.

“She understood Celestial,” Three interjected.

“Inda,” Idris called and she turned. “My companion wants to know if you are indeed an Angel, or are you an Aasimar?” Eli was mortified.

Inda smiled. “It is a long time since anyone has called me an Angel. But I am, to you Eli, an Angel.”

Eli let out a gargled cry and fell prostrate to the floor.

“The Archangel Zariel is my guiding star. She blessed me with the mission upon the Astral Sea, and together with my crew we do our best to guide the lost and bring peace to these tumultuous worlds,” Inda explained. Idris nodded thoughtfully, now understanding some of why Lysan and Zastra had appeared so unusually non-combative.

Inda knelt and placed a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Lift yourself, Brother Eli. You should take comfort in knowing I am what you think I am. I can see that you are seeking this.”

Eli nodded, face still flat to the floor. Inda reached to take Eli’s hand and lift him to his feet. The solace in that grip was almost too much for Eli to bear. He looked into her eyes, then turned his head away. “I have sinned,” he whispered.

“I am no priest, Eli. If you seek forgiveness you must find it within yourself,” Inda said softly.

Eli supressed a sob.

“Zariel rings a bell,” Marko muttered as he worked. “She fell from grace and was saved? By a group of adventurers, much like us?”

“You are right,” Inda said. “Much of the story remains shrouded in mystery, but she was indeed returned to glory, risen from the Nine Hells by a company to whom Faerûn owes so much but will never know. An entire city, Elturel, saved from eternal damnation. Quite the tale…” Inda tailed off, noting Sifer’s sudden tension. He had taken a martial stance at the mention of Zariel, and held it still.

---

“Marko, how are we looking?” Idris called.

Marko looked up, a pair of jewellers glasses perched on his nose. “Simply put I think we can fix it. With some help,” he said glancing at Eli. He remembered Eli’s insistence that the ship could be repaired and concluded he must have some skills in that regard.

“May I look upon your celestial appendage?” Eli asked reverentially.

“It would be might great pleasure, Eli,” Inda smiled widely.

Eli blushed. He tentatively studied the wing spread before Marko, and soon the two were deep in planning, bouncing ideas and plans until they developed a sound strategy. The feathers were made of woven thread which Eli repaired with loving care, rethreading each to better than new. Marko worked on the mechanics, his tiny fingers perfect for the delicate work. He was deeply impressed by the work of the Warforged, whoever they were, amazed that they had indeed constructed a fully operational wing from scratch. As he worked he even managed to add a few small improvements of his own, intuiting a more fluid mechanism for raising and lowering the wing.

Mid-way through the work, Marko saw Inda was engaged with conversation. He called Uthar to guard the Navigation room door, the stepped over to the other door in the room, leading North. He quickly checked it for traps before gently opening it. The room beyond ended in a wall of Havock’s flesh, and glass shards from a shattered window littered the floor. An armchair sat on a platform toward the back of the room; below it lay a silver-wrought chair, toppled over and broken in half. Marko quickly scanned the room, but found nothing of value or interest. He slipped back and continued working on the wing, nodding Uthar off duty.

---

“Inda,” Idris said whilst Eli and Marko worked. “A Giff of unknown provenience has taken it upon himself to assume a leadership position over on the stern of your ship.”

“Why isn’t Figaro leading them?” Inda frowned.

“That is a very good question. Figaro has locked himself in his cabin behind a magical wall of force, and feels that he cannot leave the cabin despite my best efforts. Before he would even open it he asked that, as proof of our good intentions, that we located you, or his friend Cirit. His behaviour is strange; he knews that he can’t leave the room but he can’t articulate why.”

“Sounds like me,” Inda said thoughtfully.

“It does,” Uthar said.

“As I have said there is some magic at work here that is quelling our drive or ability to make decisions.”

Idris nodded. “Would you mind if my erstwhile companion,” he said looking to Three, “Examined you, magically, to see what we can see?”

Inda looked surprised. “As a matter of fact I would. That is a very, very intrusive request.”

“I understand,” Idris said apologetically, “I just believe that Three would be able to tell if you had been ensorcelled.”

“It’s possible, but my mind is my own,” Inda said firmly. “Tell me—why are you here? Out of the blue you have arrived, offered to fix my wing, reunite me with my crew…it all seems very valiant. If you will excuse me, for I know this is your home, but the Astral Sea is not usually home to such honourable intent. So why?”

Idris paused, then reached into his robe. “It’s our understanding that you are in possession of another part of this,” he said and flourished the first section of the Rod.

“Oh!” Inda exclaimed, genuinely surprised. “Another piece! I knew there was more.”

“Utilising your section is probably what got you into trouble in the first place,” Idris said.

“Where did you find that?” Inda asked.

“Not here.”

“And what do you intend to do with it?”

“Stop a bad guy,” Three said simply.

“Stop a ‘bad guy’…”

“Mm. That’s what we do,” Three shrugged.

“And why are you stopping this ‘bad guy’?”

“Why not?”

“Because he wishes to remake the multiverse in his image,” Idris explained, looking Inda directly in the eye, and more patiently than Three was willing.

“What compels you, fallen of Zariel?” Sifer challenged.

“Fallen? Risen of Zariel,” Inda corrected firmly. “Zariel compels me. I know that in my heart and in my soul.”

Sifer nodded. “We too are compelled.”

“By what, Sifer?”

“This. This compels us,” Sifer said pointing to the Rod.

“The mission to save the multiverse,” Inda said, turning back to Idris.

“From the Liar in the Dark, with One Eye and One Hand,” Idris said softly. “Whose name we don’t utter because—”

“I know why,” Inda interrupted, her face paled and eyes dark.

“He has marked us,” Three added in Celestial.

“And what consequence does that have?”

“We must defeat him.”

“Because you are marked?”

“No. As a consequence. Look at me. Do you think there is anything else for me?” Three said, face grim.

Inda looked sympathetic, turning back to the room. “And you want my piece to continue this mission?” From her stance and face it was clear she took the threat of which the company talked very seriously.

“Indeed,” Idris said, “And in return we are happy to aid you and your crew in leaving this place.” His face was more passive and pleasant, more sure and without the shadow of his past. A look of determination with a slight turn to his smile that said it was genuine, not the wicked grin he wore most of the time.

Inda nodded. “I will help you. I don’t want to give it up, but the Lambent Zenith has sailed its last voyage,” she said looking around the wreck of her ship, “And in no short measure that is thanks to that confounded artefact. Maybe it is better in your hands.”

“Thank you,” Idris said with a short bow. “Whether you believe our grand protestations or not, it is what we believe we need to do to stop him doing what he wants to do. It may be a fools errand, but the multiverse if full of fools going on errands, some of which succeed and change things forever.”

“And we are your best chance—you and your crew,” Three added more practically.

“I believe you may be right.”

---

“Your lady worshipness,” Eli said, bursting through the door with head bowed, “The inestimable Brother Marko has repaired your wing!”

“Eli, if you have indeed repaired it, my rod is yours!”

Eli blushed for a second time, and together with Marko carried the precious cargo into the Captain’s room. Inda tested the prone wing with growing astonishment, finding it working just as it should. “How did you do it?” she said with admiration.

“The talents of our leader, Mister Marko, are beyond the ken of simplefolk like myself,” Eli explained.

Inda looked to Marko. “Would you do me the honour?” she said, dropping to one knee and bending over to expose her back.

“Of course,” Marko said. He examined the connecting joint, wanting very much to explore it further and unravel the secrets, but he knew better. “Help me, Eli, this is your work as much as mine.”

Eli crouched to assist, feeling Inda’s breath upon his neck as he lent over her. He used his strength to carry the bulk of the weight as Marko positioned the joint and gave a nod. Eli held his breath and pushed, the wing sliding into position with a soft click. Inda gasped as the connection was made; Eli too as he released his longing grip.

“Are you ok, Eli? " Three smirked as he watched with amused fascination. Dear Eli.

Inda stood and flexed both wings. It was a majestic sight, even for the more cynical of the company. “The moment you arrived was a great one, gentlemen,” she beamed. “Follow me.”

She led the company to a lower deck, standing in front of a pair of double doors that shimmered as if trapped behind a wall of translucent shimmering light. “This is a safe room we conjured. After the wreck, I secured the piece inside. It is protected by wards that will need to be disabled; one is in my study, the other in Figaro’s room.”

“Does it need to be simultaneous?” Three asked.

“No, and I will give you the phrases to disable the runes.”

“And in which part of the ship is your study?”

“The midsection.”

“Oh. Ah. We’ve been there, we must have missed it.”

“They are invisible,” Inda explained.

Idris tilted his head. “You have left the room upstairs,” he said, and Inda looked surprised. “Would you like to accompany us?”

A shadow of doubt flashed over Inda’s face as she flexed her wings gently. “Maybe…maybe I need to get used to this first. I might just stay…even though…”

Sifer glanced over as the heart pounded a double beat, thump-thump. “Now is the time,” he stressed.

Inda looked over to Eli, who stood still transfixed. “Should I?”

“The bowels of the ship are no place to fly,” Eli said softly, “You should come and be free.”

Inda reached a hand, and Eli, after passing his not-going-to-faint check, took it in his. He led her up the stairs, followed by the highly amused company. Inda squeezed Eli’s hand as they drew near the open deck. “Are you sure, Brother Eli?”

Her vulnerability struck Eli and he stood tall and strong. “If I can do it, then surely you can. I am a lesser soul, I am a worm.”

“You are a bird and you shall fly,” Inda said warmly. She looked up to the open skies of the Astral Sea, and the wreck of the Lament Zenith. “My poor ship,” she whispered.

“It’s broken, and none will fix it,” Eli explained. “Your crew are in a malaise.”

“Then let us wake them, Eli.” Inda spread her wings and shot into the air to hover fifty feet above. She laughed with joy. “You were right, Eli, you were right!” She flew away toward Redbud as everyone hustled to follow.

---

“I’ve been introduced to Redbud,” Inda grinned.

“He’s a tree!” Eli explained.

“A very noble tree,” Three added.

Inda survyed the wreck, Daveras’s lifeboat wedged deep into the Lambent. “A shame we shall not fly again.”

Eli scratched his head, still confused. As far as he was concerned it was just a matter of hard work and good timber to make a perfectly serviceable vessel.

Idris, on the other hand, gave a look of understanding. He also suddenly remembered the diary, whispering to Marko to produce it. “Captain Inda, we owe you a small apology.”

“Is this when you spring the trap?” Inda smiled.

Idris presented the journal.

“My journal? Ah. That is how you knew,” Inda nodded.

“We didn’t know that we would ever find you,” Idris explained.

“It is no matter. You have more than made up for the intrusion. Let’s go disable this rune.” She walked down to the study, noting the many dead grells. She stood before the desk and held her hand to the wall above. A rune started to glow softly as she intoned the words in Celestial: “The moon sings a song for the lost”

A magical tendril reached out from the rune, reaching toward the prow, then flashing out of existence as she finished. “That’s one; let’s get to my crew!”

Sifer, who had been watching Inda closely, smiled to see her mojo rapidly return and the torpor rapidly shedding off. He had high hopes the change might be infectious.

---

Inda landed with a gentle step, falling into the joyous embrace of Lysan and Zastra. Ilren, nearby, watched with an inscrutable look, slowly withdrawing toward the lower decks.

Eli didn’t let that happen, tactically blocking the path below, Marko by his side. Idris hovered fifteen foot overhead as Sifer guarded the other stairs. Sifer’s heart was gladdened seeing everyone moving in synergy again.

“Ilren, where are you going?” Marko teased. The Giff’s shoulders slumped as he realised he wasn’t getting past, and that ‘she’ was back.

A moment later Inda walked over. “And this must be our new First Mate?”

“That’s right,” Ilren muttered cautiously. “I’m Ilren. And you must be…Inda?”

“Captain Inda,” Marko scowled.

“I hear you have supplanted Figaro,” Inda said flatly.

“Well, yes. There was a leadership vacuum here, and I—at some cost to my own freedom I might note—stepped into that role.”

Lysan and Zastra stood shoulder to shoulder behind Inda. “He hasn’t done a lot of leading,” Lysan offered.

“Let’s talk to Kycera, see what she makes of it,” Inda said, leading everyone below before the conversation went in too many more circles.

Ilren hung back, trying to stay behind.

“Come on Ilren, downstairs.”

“I’ll stay here,” Ilren tried.

“Now,” Marko snapped as Sifer moved behind and Eli stepped aside. Before Ilren could protest, Three walked over and grabbed the Ilren’s thick forearm. Ilren sighed, looking back at Three. “I guess it had to happen,” he scowled.

Below Kycera and Inda were having a heartfelt reunion. Inda emerged from the kitchen and entered the mess, introducing herself to Daveras and Ikasa (who obviously delighted her). Three noted Ikasa was again sitting in the far corner away from Daveras, moping, though his face lit up on seeing Three.

“You are welcome to join our crew, should you wish to join it,” Inda said after a brief discussion.

“Not really,” Daveras shrugged. “If I ever get out of here I’ll go back to my own business.”

Inda emerged into the galleyway and addressed everyone, her authority clear, and the respect of her crew obvious. “I’m not sure exactly what is happening here,” she begun, looking at Ilren, “But I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I thank you for leading my crew, but I am back now—and Figaro is my First Mate. And I think it’s time he came out of his room.”

Ilren’s face darkened, but he stayed mute. Inda walked below, followed by everyone but Three who stayed by Ikasa’s side (much to Daveras’s displeasure), and Eli and Sifer who stood firmly by Ilren’s side.

“Keep Ilren here, away from Figaro,” Idris said into their heads, receiving short nods in return.

“The voices in my head told me to keep you up here,” Eli explained cheerfully to Ilren, who scowled.

Belowdecks, Inda knocked on Figaro’s door, watched by Uthar, Idris, and Marko.

“No, Ilren, no! I don’t want to hear any more!” Figaro cried.

Inda bowed her head and spoke softly, in Celestial. Figaro’s voice stopped suddenly as he listened, then with a sobbing gasp: “Inda?” The door was flung open and Figaro gasped.

---

He waved his hand and a shimmering field vanished as he leapt into Inda’s welcoming arms. She looked at him with concern, then laid a hand on his crown and spoke. A moment later the glassy gaze in Figaro’s eyes cleared.

“Ilren!” he cried, “He’s a Slaad!!”

Idris started sprinting upstairs, sending “Ilren’s a Slaad!” the moment he could see Eli and Sifer. Eli pulled his sword free and plunged it Ilren’s belly, obeying the voices without question. Ilren grunted with surprise, revealing his true form in an instant.

---

Eli didn’t pause despite the change, punching, kicking, slicing and crunching. From the far side of the room Sifer released an barrage of arrows that tore the foul beast to pieces, bam-bam-bam-bam.

Three elected not to join the battle, hearing what was happening. Having met Eli and Sifer he was confident in the likely outcome. He scratched Ikasa fondly, glancing at Daveras who leant back to watch proceedings.

That which had been Ilren had barely a moment to draw breath—but that was all it needed. It lifted a clawed hand an opened the palm to Eli, who shuddered as a wave of necrotic energy washed over him. He gasped for breath as his insides were withered into nothing, lifeforce sucked through every pore. He felt like a slug in salt as he watched the Slaad heal before his eyes. It was still near death, but it managed to grin wildly and gargled out a torrent of indecipherable curses.

As Eli staggered he found himself looking directly into his own eyes as the Slaad was replaced with a mirror of himself.

Marko arrived sprinting from below to find two Eli’s, both badly wounded. “The right one!” Sifer yelled, seeing the impending disaster.

Marko also obeyed the voices. He thrust his dagger up from below, eviscerating the fake-Eli. Everything inside the Slaad appeared ready to burst as it barely held everything together with one claw. Marko hid between Eli’s legs. “Welcome,” Eli said, flicking away the securing claw to turn the Slaad inside out. The Slaad collapsed to a puddle on the floor, and Eli didn’t even mind that he was now wearing the remains.

Marko spun and jumped into the mess. “Slaad!” he cried, pointing to Daveras, “Get him Three!”

Three smirked, seeing through the ruse. Despite his demeanour, and unlike his companions, Three didn’t just obey voices telling him to murder people. He instead cast a quick hold on Daveras, who froze briefly in place as he went to stand, then managed to free himself from the spell. “Ikasa!” Daveras yelled, and the hound leapt to his side, growling at Marko.

“What do you think you’re doing!” Daveras cried angrily, grabbing his quarterstaff from the corner of the room.

“Mister Marko?” Three asked quickly, unsure what the play was.

“That man was a Slaad,” Marko said, pointing the dead Ilren. “One of your crewmates.”

Daveras spat on the floor. “Not my crewmate,” he growled. “As I asked you earlier: is this your modus operandi, ‘Mister’ Marko? Victimising those less powerful than you and your friends?”

“Daveras,” Three warned, “We kill Slaads, and if that’s what Mister Marko says then Mister Marko is right; you should watch your tongue.”

“Your Mister Marko had a quiet word to me before; he threatened me. Very honourable.”

“I said if you don’t look after the dog—” Marko started.

“You’ll kill me,” Daveras finished.

“Yes.”

“Well?” Three growled. “Did you look after the dog?”

“It’s none. Of. Your. Business.”

“In this place everything is our business,” Marko said, turning to leave.

“Game of cards?”

Marko kept walking as Daveras laughed triumphantly. “You’re a bully, Mister Marko!”

Three stood ready as the tension drained from the room. Ikasa had stopped growling, though still stood by Daveras’s side. Three glanced at her as the very good dog turned it’s head toward him; Three could have sworn Ikasa smiled. He put a hand out, his aggression gone.

“Hands off,” Daveras hissed.

Three paused. He withdrew his hand and left the room without looking back.

“Close the door on your way out.”

---

“He’s just a sailor,” Sifer scoffed as the door to the mess slammed shut. Three stalked past, visibly upset, not making eye contact with anyone.

“What was that? What just happened?” Idris said to Eli.

“We killed the Slaad?”

“And what happened in there?” Idris pointed to the closed door.

“I think they were having a fight about a dog,” Eli explained.

Inda and Figaro appeared from below. “The second ward is disabled,” Inda said smiling. “The rod is yours.”

“Ah! Through the doors in the prow?” Idris confirmed.

Inda nodded. “There is also a Flame Strike spell scroll hidden in the Captain’s chair in the helm, feel free to take it. And in my room a ring and sword; choose one and it is yours, with my thanks. The sword conjures flame, the ring helps you avoid trouble.”

Figaro looked to Three. “Thank you for bringing her back, and bringing me back. I apologise if I was less than hospitable.”

Three woke from his trance. “No, that was not your fault. It wasn’t me, it was these others.”

“It was all of you,” Inda said.

Sifer saw Figaro’s pall had fallen, just like Inda. Things were returning to normal—perhaps with Ilren’s death?

As everyone withdrew upstairs, Eli staggered into Kycera’s room. “May I have another cup of soup?”

“You look like you need it, my boy, and after what you did out there you can have all you like,” Kycera beamed.

Eli traipsed upstairs, barely able to walk. “Keep training,” he managed before slipping over the deck and following his Brothers toward the prow.

---

Three was horrified when Eli arrived. The young warrior was badly wounded, drained, a husk only propped up by Kycera’s cooking. “Kneel,” he ordered. He held his hands over Eli, and in Celestial prayed for Kelemvor’s greatest heal. In an instant Eli was healed. He looked at Brother Three thankfully, but Three had already turned away.

“Sorry about before,” Marko muttered to Three, thinking of the Daveras showdown. Three just shrugged, still stewing over Ikasa.

After a short debate Uthar took the ring, leaving the sword for Inda. Sifer eyed it ruefully, but he had spoken strongly for Uthar to take the ring; it was more important that the lead be as safe as possible, and Sifer’s bow was doing the job he needed it to—so long as he stayed at range he was safe without an improved sword. Besides—there was a certain weapons master in Sigil he had an appointment with.

Marko retrieved the scroll and everyone but Three, who remained above deck, headed to the lower deck.

“We may want to rest first,” Idris warned.

“I’m keen not to stop,” Sifer warned. “My experience of this place is stopping can be counter-productive.”

“Let’s just go,” Three said. “We’ll get the rod and then we can rest.”

“It’s a gamble, it always is,” Uthar philosophised, “But I think it’s worth driving ahead at this point.”

“Then let’s go,” Idris said despite his reservations.

Despite everything, Marko checked for traps, his training overriding his certainty all was safe.

“Marko the traps are gone,” Eli said incredulously.

“It’s a compulsion he has,” Idris laughed.

Marko popped the door. An overwhelmingly foul stench filled the destroyed and empty room beyond. Where the prow should be a gaping hole led into the putrid core of Havock’s heart. A soft purple-pink glow pulsed from within. There was no sign of the Rod segment.

“I think we’re going to need our priest,” Idris said, walking back and summoning Three.

“And now a rest would be good,” Sifer conceded.

“That sound wise,” Idris smiled, “But not here; back to the Stern we go.”

Upon returning Eli observed Lysan and Zastra with great pleasure. They were still practicing, and their swordwork was (comparatively) remarkable. They moved around each other fluidly, and took joy in their ability. He lunged toward them with his sword, and both reflexively took appropriately defensive stances, before laughing. “It’s all coming back to us!” Zastra exclaimed. Eli nodded proudly, somewhat surprised his lessons had been so effective. Behind him Sifer smiled softly, not wanting to spoil the moment.

---

The following ‘morning’ the company regathered at the heart. Marko checked everyone was ready then stepped through.

He stepped into an oval chamber with walls of purple flesh dimly lit by pinkish, bioluminescent orbs. Detritus covers the slippery floor and an opening in one wall led into another chamber. The atmosphere reeked of death and Marko gasped to breathe, his lungs filling with the noxious air.

As the rest of the company followed they to choked on the poisonous air, only Eli untouched thanks to the learnings of his discipline. Eli also discovered he could no longer hover, the heart providing gravity of a sort that held the company to the floor.

Whooom-whump

The heart beat erratically and Sifer watched parts of the wall and floor beating with it. Parts of the flesh inside was petrified but some was soft and spongy. Marko reached a hand to a soft section of wall, trying to impress his sorrow for what Havock must be going through. He glanced up at the fifty foot flesh ceiling that was also equal parts alive and dead.

Idris took a few tentative steps forward, trying his best not to retch. One foot landed in a living clump, squelching as it sunk into the wet flesh. “Let’s get this over and done with,” he muttered, “This doesn’t feel good.”

“Let me go to the front; I feel fine,” Eli shrugged, curious at the pall that had come over his companions. He walked ahead, to the next chamber. “I think I’m in the stomach now,” he joked, finding the room covered in the detritus from the wreckage. “I don’t have a medical degree but I don’t think those orbs are natural—they shouldn’t be in a heart.”

“Just keep moving,” Idris said through clenched lips. The floor was slippery an unreliable and the air getting worse, if that was possible.

Eli tried to determine what size of creature might have dragged the wreckage in here, but the changing nature of the heart made it near impossible to track. He moved through a smaller opening, squeezing through two fleshy nodules into a longer, open chamber with several entrances on one side. He stepped toward the opening and gasped.

A massive chamber with walls of flexing muscle and flesh stood ahead. Clinging to the ceiling was a serpentine monstrosity like a skinless snake with external muscles lining a long spined body. Its draconic snout dripped with venom as it turned its gaze to Eli and hissed hungrily.

---

“Heart worm!” Eli yelled.

---

Dewyrming

Sifer leapt half way up the fleshy wall and fired his bow, purging the poison from his system briefly to improve his chances. His first volley struck true but as he pulled his second the bowstring frayed in the notch. Cursing, he rapidly set about repairing it.

Marko flew up toward the worm, his flying boots carrying him safely, but it was still a dozen feet away from his blades. His crossbow fired wide as he adjusted to his new vantage.

The Hertilod dropped from the heart’s ceiling, dropping on top of Marko. A claw slashed a renting wound across Marko’s thigh, but Marko’s swerved away from the second. So small was the target Marko presented that the great beast lost sight of him and dropped with a thump to the ground.

Uthar sprinted to take advantage of the exposed flank, burying his sword twice. The Hertilod scuttled back up the wall to the ceiling, allowing Uthar to freely swing a third time. Despite the poison flooding his lungs, Uthar felt satisfied with his attacks.

Three poked his head around a fleshly outcrop, terrified of a potential breath attack. “Kelemvor!” he cried, and from every port of his body a plague of locusts rushed forth, surrounding the head of the dragon-worm.

From the pulsing corridor, Eli ran forward and launched a volley of shots from his bow. Idris stepped behind him and lifted his arms, whispering a mental prison around the Hertilod’s form. The great beast recoiled, starting to thrash at imagined Cloakers when suddenly, to Idris’s dismay, it stopped and let out a guttural roar. Idris couldn’t understand why or how it had resisted his trap, but there was no doubt it had.

As Idris tried to recover his wits, something far worse floated from the shadows at the far end of the heart. A purple-skinned, tentacled horror that Idris knew only too well: Mind Flayer!.

---

The Flayer scanned the combatants, focusing on Idris. In his head a dread voice whispered in Deep Speak: “You cannot escape us”. Two psychic tentacles whipped across the room to Uthar and Eli, reaching inside their heads and trying to wrench their minds free. Both grabbed their heads in agony as they felt their will sapping, before Uthar’s protective aura kicked in and forced the Flayer’s whip free.

Before anyone could react the heart thundered out a deafening thump-thump-thump, the entire heart chamber rocking with force. Sifer, as he pulled his repaired bowstring back, realised the heart’s beat had sped up as it reacted to the chaos inside. Sifer loosed his shot and immediately let out a string of profanity when his string snapped clean. Surely no-one is this unlucky.

The creature hung ten feet down from the fifty-foot ceiling, and now Marko could close the distance. He drove his rapier convincingly into the thorny flesh. The Hertilod still struggled to find Marko’s target, swiping him once before losing him in Three’s cloud of insects, howling with frustration. Uthar, far below, couldn’t reach the wyrm, so after a moment’s confusion he leapt over to the mind Flayer, surprised he hadn’t thought of that in the first place. Again his strikes were brutally effective.

Three kept the insects swarming and turned his attention to the new arrival. He dropped his head close his eyes and started to vomit bile, then he looked toward the Flayer and vile necrotic blight sluiced across the chamber from his eyes and mouth. When it struck, the Flayer shrivelled with a horrific scream as all moisture was drained from its body.

Eli tried his best to ignore what was happening to Three, running up the wall instead to get into range of the Hertilod. The massive worm was an easy target, and Eli made sure of every blow, punishing it with steel blade and steeled hand. Satisfied, he drifted toward the ground.

Forgetting one thing: the Hertilod’s slavering jaws.

It whipped its head around faster than seemed possible and engulfed Eli in it slavering, poison drenched maw. “Mama!” Ele cried as was swallowed, slithering blindly down inside the beast, pummelled by unimaginable organs. A moment later he was dumped into what must have been a stomach, covered in digestive acid and an unrelentingly foul stench. The Hertilod was feeding on him, he realised with horror.

Meanwhile below, the Mind Flayer turned it’s alien face on Uthar and muttered something unintelligible as it wrapped it’s octopoid tentacles around Uthar’s head. Uthar snapped his head back in horror and somehow managed to tear himself free of the puckered embrace. Disappointed but undeterred, it reached a hand toward Idris. A moment later Sifer and Three frowned as they saw a shimmering barrier surrounding Idris. “It shall not die!” the Flayer whispered.

Idris knew exactly what this was: a protective barrier. What was it doing? There was no time to solve this now. He turned his attention to the foul Illithid and lifted both hands, a flame appearing from each palm. “But you will!” he snarled. On cue, an explosion of sorcerous fire burst from behind the Mind Flayer, and a second from below the Hertilod. The Flayer stood no chance, roasted instantly (Uthar too receiving a nice warming bath of flame), a perfect kill from Idris.

Inside the Hertilod Eli saw the stomach briefly illuminated as a fiery red glow engulfed the best. He thrashed out wildly trying to orient himself in the brief light, spotting something out of place: a small chunk of what looked light metal. He instinctively tried to grab it but it slipped from his grasp as the darkness returned. The stomach rumbled as the Hertilod fed itself on Eli’s rapidly decaying flesh.

The heart thoomped again staggering everyone with feet planted to the floor or walls. Sifer now had a fresh string strung and a fierce determination. He purged the poison again with his spirit and lined up the Hertilod, which was reeling from the fireball and insects. The first shot was perfect, piercing an eye. The second followed the first and the great beast went limp, loosing it’s grip on the ceiling and plummeting to the floor below with a massive crash. Sifer smiled, stretching his bow and admiring his work.

Marko sprinted to the body of the wyrm and sluiced his dagger through the belly. Inside, Eli saw light suddenly as the dagger pierced the belly. He rapidly straightened himself up and tried to brush the vile innards away. The incision also revealed what he had briefly seen: a 20 centimetre chunk of metal. Despite his condition he grinned. He grabbed it and passed it to Marko’s reaching hand. “Sir! I believe this is what we were looking for?”

---

Instead of Eli emerging, Marko pulled free the second segment of the Rod. “Oh you found it! Well done—great find!” Marko exclaimed as Eli clambered dripping from the stomach. Both looked very pleased, and very much in denial about Eli’s state. “I love it when a plan comes together,” Marko beamed.

---

Idris pulled his shortsword free which glowed softly with the light of the moon. He strode to the dead Mind Flayer, flipped it on it’s back, crouched, and deftly sliced down the backbone and head. He reached inside the and tore the spine and skull free. He stood, shook off the gore, and looked around. “Ready?”

Eli’s eyes were wide as he watched and wiped his own gore free. He neither understood nor liked Idris’s efficient work (this was yet another reason why aliens were wrong and bad), but he chalked it down to a cultural nuance that he was let to learn and…appreciate.

Marko crouched by a segment of soft flesh and started to slice a sample free as a souvenir. As the dagger plunged the heart pounded furiously forcing everyone to stumble. “Sorry!” Marko said to Havock, realising his mistake.

A final chamber stood nearby, smaller than this one. Eli led the way inside, finding an humid atrium with a pool of black sludge that shimmered like an oil slick.

Three knelt by the pool, a suspicion growing in his mind. As he studied it closely he felt certain. “God in heaven. This is Havock’s blood,” he said softly.

“Sample time,” Marko said, not having learned his lesson from only moments ago. He dipped a small vial into the pool and was immediately thrown backward, crashing into the wall. The vial disappeared into the sludge.

“Seriously,” Eli said, looking around his companions, “I don’t want to reduce any of the things you want to do, I don’t want to minimise or…but everytime you do something like this I am dying.”

Marko ignored Eli. “Idris, can you use your mind to get a sample?”

“Everyone needs to get out of the room,” Idris said. “Everyone,” he stressed when Three didn’t move. Three didn’t move, only lowering his hand just above the pool. Idris shrugged and used a fresh vial to scoop it full with a magic hand. He stoppered it and passed it back to Marko. “I wouldn’t advise touching it,” Idris warned. Marko nodded, poured water over the hovering vial to remove the excess, then pocketed it safely.

Three continued his vigil, noticing the blood contract as Idris worked.

Eli was beside himself. “Imagine there is a god, and you are a thief stealing it’s blood.”

“That makes me a god thief!” Marko beamed.

“Are you good, or are bad?” Eli growled.

“I’m good! What are you talking about? But I am a thief, undeniably.”

“The god is called ‘Havock’,” Idris said to Eli and walked away. There was no doubt in his mind as to who was in the right here.

“I think you missed the headline,” Eli grumbled. “The god is called Havock. You are raping a god as I watch.”

“I’m not raping anyone,” Marko protested.

Eli looked around for Brother Three, seeking spiritual guidance, but the Brother was nowhere to be found. He walked back to the pool to find Three deep in prayer, shuddering with the passion of his whispered words. “Please…go to rest,” Three whispered fervently, repeatedly. To Eli’s untrained eye it looked and sounded similar to the ritual Three had performed with Newmy. Eli realised his mistake, Three again showing him the way; instead of trying to protect, the dying god the god should be guided to divine rest. He dropped to his knees to join Three in earnest prayer. “Let not my friends be murdered in their sleep for stealing this blood; may this god rest in eternal slumber and goodness; and let everyone be happy…”

For a moment the chamber was silent as Three intoned his final prayer. Then the entire heart rocked with a great shudder, a solemn, heaving, final gasp that could only presage death. Three reached one hand into the pool and smothered his face in the last blood of Havock, relishing the stinging pain it delivered.

“To my god!!” Three cried, throwing his head back in ecstasy. Eli’s eyes popped open to see Three’s transformation just as the heart crunched out another lurching beat. Eli fell forward into the pool, becoming an unintentional mirror of Three.

Three came to his senses to see Eli face down in the pool, still bleeding out from his stomach adventures and now drowning in the deathblood. He hauled Eli free and placed his hands on his chest, filling him with divine healing that felt empowered by Havock’s impending death.

“Run! Now!!” Sifer cried from the Hertilod chamber. No-one needed to be told, running as the heart pulsed its deadly death throes. With each pulse someone fell, and with each pulse the thunderous waves of pain grew worse. Eli, bursting with fresh energy, tried to drag Three via a quicker route but tripped and fell. Three wrenched Eli to his feet and pushed him toward the Lambent Zenith. Marko was the last to make it free, and he barely made it. No-one had noticed just how much the Hertilod had damaged him and Marko had said nothing, and now the heart was doing its best to finish him.

The prow chamber was cracking under the strain of the heart’s throes as the company raced upstairs. A mast section crashed down behind as everyone emerged onto the deck. Overhead the massive rib cage was slowly collapsing under the booming pulses, crashing down around the remnants of the ship.

“We lead to leave—now!” Idris yelled; everyone obeyed—even Eli who changed his ground based strategy.

Three floated high above the wreckage, turning to watch as the final rib fell. He dropped his head and started praying again, waiting for the final moment. A moment known by few, and witnessed by fewer still.

The death of a god.

With one final shudder the heart ended its millennia long task.

Three was face down, Havock’s life dripping off his wrecked face. Tears ran down his face, a rivulet of light traced through the black blood that coated him. His own heart could barely contain the emotion flooding his soul.

Eli raced over to Three and embraced him from behind, holding Three through the sobs that wracked his body. Three slowly gathered himself under Eli’s care, both watched over by Idris.

From the stern, Inda arrived. “What has happened here?” she said quietly, looking down on the destruction below.

“We found the piece, and saved a god,” Three said softly.

“Havock?”

“He is at rest.”

For a moment Inda looked perplexed, then she too lowered her head in prayer. When she lifted it Eli was looking at her with desperate need. “I don’t understand,” he murmured.

“The passing of any god is a great tragedy, and a great spiritual loss. No matter the harm they may have caused in their existence,” Inda said.

“I don’t mean…I don’t…I don’t mean that,” Eli stammered. “I mean I don’t understand because I can’t understand. Because if I were to embrace the understanding I don’t think there’d be anything left.”

Three held Eli’s gaze and reached out to hold him, seeing the spiritual pain behind his eyes. “That’s not true. Havock was suffering. And he is no longer because he gave us the gift of the rod.”

“But if the gods can die…” Eli trailed off. He wrenched himself out of Three’s grasp and shot up high into the sea.

Inda watched Eli then turned to Three. “You must care for that one. His heart needs tending.”

“Yes,” Three said, “He is too beautiful, perhaps, for this world.”

“He is in danger of being lost.”

“I do fear for him.”

Inda eyed Three closely. “I ask this of you, though I am not sure your lessons are the right ones for him.”

Three grimaced. “Yes. Probably my lessons are not for anyone here.” He knew what Inda was implying, and agreed.

“If it was not for your companions….we may have had words,” Inda warned. “But I will trust you with them.” The angel turned and flew back to her crew.

---

As the company regathered at the stern, it was obvious that the malaise was gone; whether by the death of Ilren or Havock, or the recovery of the rod part. The crew, including Daveras (to everyone’s surprise), was busy working on the construction of a temporary craft. Marko watched Redbud tearing huge slabs of timber free from the mid-section wreckage, slabs which were then being used to fashion the new vessel.

“We’re going to use this craft to leave this place, finally,” Inda beamed.

Ikasa bounded up happily, barking with excitement. “Quiet you!” Daveras scowled as he hammered a plank.

Idris arrived on deck still clutching the Mind Flayer spine. He tossed it to the deck, drawing a gasp from Lysan and Zastra. They downed tools to stand over the bones, their faces grim. For the first time both gith looked deadly serious; Illithid focused a gith mind like no other. “Where did that come from?” Lysan said.

“The heart.”

“And how long has it been here?”

“I don’t know.”

“We are lucky it didn’t come for us before you arrived,” Zastra said.

“There was beast inside the god’s heart—perhaps the gith was it’s keeper,” Idris explained.

“You have done the Sea a great turn ridding it of this pestilence.”

“Nice trophy though,” Idris said with a half-grin, hawking a spitball onto the skeletal remains. Zastra nd Lysan joined him, then turned back to their work.

High overhead, Eli recovered himself slowly. He noticed the glint of the Sigil portal still shining, sighed, and slowly drifted back down. His mood was notably lifted by the sight of the carpentry as he arrived.

Three had arrived shortly before Eli, Isaka beside himself with joy. Three gave him a huge hug, genuine and full of the remnant feeling that had so recently overwhelmed. He had cleaned himself up and went to work attending to Marko and repairing other minor scrapes. Isaka wouldn’t leave Three’s side, much to Daveras’s displeasure.

Idris approached Inda. “Do you and your crew want to stay in the Astral Sea? Or do you want to go somewhere else to regroup?”

“Of course,” Inda said firmly. “This is our home, and this is where Zariel wants us. We will stay here.”

“Very well. We have an exit should you need it,” Idris said glancing overhead.

“That is for you, not us. This is a test Zariel has placed before us, and we will pass it.”

“Of course. One more question—has there been any sign of your companion, Cirit?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” a voice spoke from the stairs below. As if summonsed, a halfling suddenly appeared on deck. Eli and Marko almost fell over; she was the most beautiful halfling either had ever seen.

---

Idris turned to Marko and whispered. “Now there is a halfling of uncommon pulchritude!”

Marko whipped his hat off and bowed very low. “M’lady,” he said timidly.

“I believe I have you to thank for saving me?” Cirit smiled warmly, looking around the company. “It is a great pleasure to finally meet you. Inda has told me all. The slaad—Ilren—had locked me belowdecks in the brig; I believe it intended to impregnate me with a tadpole, but thankfully that never happened.”

“What…” Marko gasped. Impregnate with what?

Cirit laughed. “Mr Marko! Your reputation precedes you.”

“In a good way I hope?”

“Of course—it’s not every day one meets the saviour of a realm.”

Marko was speechless—and bright red.

Eli knelt before Cirit and spoke to her in Lurian. “*Well met my lady, it is good to see another amongst so many disparate beings after such a time.”

Cirit raised an eyebrow. “And it is good to see you, young Eli. Inda has spoken to me of you; it seems you hold a special place in her care. She says you have a great heart inside that fine chest.”

“I…I don’t know about that,” Eli blushed.

“Well. I think she is right. I am a priest should you need spiritual guidance,” Cirit offered kindly.

Eli moaned as if troubled by indigestion as Cirit placed a hand on his rather large shoulder and squeezed. “Will you come back with us?” he managed.

“No. Our place is here. Zariel wishes us to help this Plane. We have been waylaid but now we shall continue. But I appreciate your offer and what it means.”

“Right. Ok. Good,” Eli sighed. He decided he would spend every last moment aboard speaking with her, and proceeded to do so.

---

Idris walked over to Daveras, who glanced his way. “You going to muck in or just stand there watching?”

“Sure, I can help,” Idris nodded, and did so, using telekinesis as much as possible. “Maybe we should have a game of cards before we leave,” he grunted after some good progress had been made.

“You’re very friendly all of a sudden,” Daveras noted.

“I am. But it’s with intent—we are gamblers after all.”

“Naturally. I’m always good for a game. What are we gambling for?”

“Whaddaya got?”

“Just the clothes that I’m wearing and a nice deck of cards,” Daveras smirked.

“Well then. Let’s find a bottle and a table.”

Daveras led Idris belowdecks to the mess, where he set down and shuffled his cards. “Baldur’s Bones?” he proposed.

“Good for me. Given your…lack of resources, I can probably stake you for the game?” Idris said, thunking a heavy bag of coins on the table.

Daveras’s eyes opened. “That’s a fair amount of coin, if I’m not mistaken. But I’m good for it.”

“1000 in platinum,” Idris said matter-of-factly, and Daveras’s eyes opened even wider.

“I really like playing cards. And I’ve had an idea.”

“Have you now,” Daveras smirked. “There’s always a catch.”

Idris smiled. “Why don’t we play for the dog?”

Daveras froze, then leaned back in his chair. “You must really want that dog.” He whistled, and moments later Ikasa bounded into the room.

Three arrived not long after. He instantly worked out what was happening. He turned to Idris and shook his head.

Idris met Three’s gaze briefly then turned back to Daveras, undeterred.

“Seems your friend thinks this is not a good idea,” Daveras smirked. “So I’ll take your wager. I think he knows more about you than you me.”

“I’ve played a bit,” Idris shrugged.

“I’ve played the entire crew—they thought they’d ‘played a bit’ too. So let me get this straight: this bag of coin for Ikasa?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s gamble!”

Daveras proposed a best of three, and Idris agreed. Marko joined the room, watching Daveras very carefully, and Uthar leant against the doorframe, more for muscle than anything. He had no idea how to gamble. Both declined Daveras’s invitation to join, and the game got underway.

Both drew equally on the first open round, taking a hit for new card. Daveras took another, as did Idris. Marko checked on Daveras, looking for cheating, but he was playing fair. Idris watched Daveras deal; he was confident, over confident, but had no hand yet.

“Hit or stand?” Daveras asked, peering as Idris took another card. Idris tried to throw him off by pulling a long face, but Daveras was up to it. “Gotcha,” he grinned, “I stand.”

“As do I,” Idris grimaced.

“Nineteen,” Daveras smiled triumphantly.

Idris looked a little dejected, then flipped his cards. “Twenty-one,” he smiled.

Daveras frowned. “You are better at hiding your cards than I expected. Still—best of three. Let’s go again.”

Idris shuffled the deck and dealt. After a few rounds, Daveras coughed. Idris gleaned he must be sitting on a bust, but Marko thought instead that he had a jackpot. He tried to catch Idris’s eye but couldn’t break the Gith’s concentration.

“I’m going to stand,” Daveras said with a smirk.

“Hit,” Idris said.

“Feeling cocky, are we?”

Idris didn’t respond. He peered at his card and knew this was over. “Stand.”

“Twenty-one.”

Idris pushed his cards to the pot. “Deal them.”

“Not so lucky after all,” Daveras said, glancing at Three and Marko.

The final hand was dealt by Daveras, and a few rounds were handed out. Idris could get no read on Daveras’s hand, until the third card was drawn. Idris saw a flash of surprise, and when Daveras glanced up Idris did his best to convince him he was sitting badly.

Daveras frowned. “Draw or stand?”

“I’ll draw.”

Daveras drew too, then glanced over at Ikasa. “Me too,” he said, but Marko heard the uncertainty in his voice. “Stand.” Daveras looked pale.

“And me,” Idris said with a smile.

“You first.”

Idris flipped his card to reveal a jackpot: twenty-one on the button.

Daveras scratched his head and settled his shoulders. He put his cards face down on the table and stood. “Never did like that dog,” he muttered, scooping up the bag of platinum and walking away.

Ikasa stood expectantly. “Stay!” Daveras snapped as he kept walking.

Uthar looked with surprise at the coins being taken, turning to Idris. “He gets the coins?”

Idris whistled to catch Daveras’s attention. “That’s not how it works.”

Daveras stopped.

Three placed a hand on Idris arm. “Let him go. I’ll cover it.”

Idris paused, then nodded. It went against his gamblers instincts, but Three was right—and good for it. “Looks like it’s your lucky day,” he called to Daveras.

“There were never any terms agreed,” Daveras muttered, then resumed his walk.

Three reached into his pouch and flipped two pristine diamonds to Idris. “Got them in Sigil,” he grinned, then turned it Ikasa and ruffled her neck.

“Should we leave the dog with the tree, maybe?” Marko said.

“No. Ikasa comes with us,” Idris said.

“The problem is, where we’re going, she won’t be safe,” Three protested. “I’m not sure what you did was the right thing.”

Idris smiled with genuine warmth. “My friends back home can look after her. But the dog belongs to you.”

Three was genuinely thankful in return. He gave Ikasa a hug and the very good dog licked the last trace of Havock’s blood from Three’s face

---

Thoughts and Prayers

The following morning (or at least after a nice long rest) the company prepared for departure. Marko still couldn’t quite believe that no-one from the Lambent Zenith was interested in coming along. He paid a visit to Redbud, who was busy wrenching huge slabs of timber free, to try and convince him. “Well met, little man,” Redbud intoned.

After some small (and very large) talk, Marko got to his point. “Do you need a particular Astral boat to travel this place?”

“I don’t think so? Our boat was vastly different to this one.”

“Would a water-borne boat do the job?”

“Of course. You may have noticed there is no restriction on travel here. It is rather freeing for one such as I, used to being rooted in one spot for an age.”

“But how do you propel yourself forward?”

“Thought,” Redbud said, and from his great form this seemed a deep wisdom.

Marko considered this. He was on the verge of offering his portable, foldable magic boat. “So you just need a boat. Any boat?”

“Somewhere to live, yes.”

“To live? Or to travel?”

“As you can see, for most in the Sea their vessel is also their home.”

“But you just want to get somewhere safe, don’t you?”

“Yes. Which is why Inda is building just that. A temporary home before we find our next. She has invited me into her crew,” Redbud said proudly, “And I have accepted.”

Marko nodded and slipped his tiny boat back into his pocket. He was saddened not to be able to help but it was clear Inda’s crew was bonding around this task and he didn’t want to disturb that newfound purpose.

---

When Tree appeared above decks, Figaro made a beeline for him. “May I have a quiet word?”

“Of course.”

“I believe you are a man of the cloth?”

“I am,” Three said, intrigued.

“I have…I have a confession to make,” Figaro said with a glance over to Inda. “I am wondering if you could take it?”

“I can. But there are a number of priests here depending on your faith,” Three said.

Figaro hesitated. “I saw you praying above Havock when he died—”

Three held his hands up to interrupt. “No, no, I don’t want to confuse you. I’m just saying there is Brother Eli here as well, depending on your god or religion.”

“I would take your guidance.”

“Who do you worship, if you worship anyone?”

“My god is my own, a personal belief.”

“In that case I am more than willing to listen to your confession.”

Figaro looked relieved, then glanced around the wreck of the Lambent Zenith. “This was my fault,” he said, barely audible. “I…it’s all my fault.”

Three looked at Figaro solemnly. “You mean because you did it? Or it just happened because you were not careful? Or?”

“I lied to Inda. I said that we were safe, when we weren’t. I wanted to impress her and had found a faster route to our destination. But I knew there was a risk and I kept that from her. And the result was we crashed.”

“Well, yes,” Three agreed. “I think it is good that you are taking responsibility for that decision. But I know the fact me and my friends are here is because there is something odd going on with travel here. So it might have been that you didn’t allow for the correct level of risk. But it might also be if this had occurred at a different time you would have been fine.”

“I…I know what you are trying to say to help me. But we know about the travel here, we know the risks the dying gods add. I know. Any good First Mate would tell his Captain, not hide it. I fear that if Inda finds out she will cast me away.” Figaro looked deeply distressed at this notion.

Three paused, looking down. Then he met Figaro’s gaze. “The trick with personal responsibility is that, at some point, if you are going to take responsibility for your actions then you also have to take responsibility for the consequences. But if you say what you said to your friend the way you have said it to me—that you made an error, that you thought that there wouldn’t be these consequences—your friend will either forgive you or they will not, but you will be able to move on.”

Figaro looked hopeful. “Will you forgive me?”

“I will forgive you—you have done no harm to me.”

“Thank you,” Figaro whispered, relief flooding his face.

“Kneel,” Three demanded. Figaro obeyed, and Three gave a full Kelemvorian prayer of confession and forgiveness, cleansing him. “Through your good actions your penance will be paid,” he intoned sternly.

Figaro shuddered throughout he ceremony, releasing the buried guilt and tension, muttering “So many, so many…” Tears ran down his face as he finally stood, gripping Three.

“Whatever you decide,” Three declared, “It will probably be the most difficult thing you have ever done. If you want to maintain that friendship you probably will have to tell her. But I don’t recommend you do it straight away. You might want to choose your time. That’s up to you.”

“Your words are very wise,” Figaro nodded, “I chose the right person. Please don’t tell her; it is my responsibility as you have said.”

“I will keep this confidence,” Three said formally. Figaro nodded his thanks and walked away.

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Eli had woken early and was flexing his newfound muscle lugging timbers around, far outworking any of the locals. He judged it would be a week more work to create a slipshod escape sloop. He knew he could stay and do a better job, but this was their task, and he well understood the importance of owning your craft.

Eli waved a farewell to the crew. “Well good luck then!”

“Zariel watches us,” Inda smiled, “As she watches you, young Eli.”

Eli blushed then bid a fond farewell to Cirit. The more he had talked to her the more awe he had felt, similar to how he felt when he first saw Inda. There was something about Cirit that felt almost sacred; a sense of comfort and safety. As the best friend of an angel he expected nothing less, but it was more; could it be that she too was…no, surely not.

Marko interrupted this reverie, taking Cirit’s hand and kissing it. “Til we meet again.”

“I hope that we do,” Cirit said placing a hand to Marko’s cheek, whose turn it was to blush.

Eli watched Marko speak in Hin with great surprise, having somehow blanked Marko’s halfling nature from his mind for all this time so great was his Stormwatch stature. “He’s a halfling?” he whimpered involuntarily, shocked and appalled at his lapse.

“And you’re an Orc,” Marko snapped.

Eli rapidly set about recalibrating his understanding.

Three had crafted a rope leash to affix to Ikasa’s jewelled collar, and was standing ready to depart. “Why the leash?” Eli pointed.

“We’re travelling, I want to keep her safe.”

“If the animal respects you he’ll follow you,” Eli scolded, then suddenly realised it was Brother Three. “Uh. Sorry. I beg your pardon, I forgot who I was talking to.”

Marko popped up behind Daveras. “Goodbye,” he smirked directly into his ear, causing Daveras to start then scowl. Three, smarting from Eli’s critique, walked Ikasa over. “We’re going now—”

“I see you’ve a leash on her,” Daveras interrupted, “I never needed one.”

“Well. I am a bit worried that while travelling, if something happened, she could get spooked,” Three explained with barely contained fury. “Do you want to say goodbye?”

“You’ve haven’t earned her loyalty,” Daveras scoffed.

“DO YOU WANT TO SAY GOODBYE!”

Daveras spat on the deck.

Three walked away, gathering Ikasa in his arms.

“We can still kill him,” Marko whispered to Three with a grin.

Idris appeared with a fastidiously cleaned Illithid skeleton, ready for mounting. He approached Zastra and Lysan who admired the trophy again. Idris clasped their arms firmly. “Fair winds and sharp steel,” he smiled.

“May your hunt succeed,” Zastra grinned.

“As may yours!”

Overnight Idris had examined the two rod pieces together, out of sight of the crew. It was clear they were a pair, the inlaid gemwork of each matching the other.

He drew them close together and felt an innate need for them to be joined, like they wanted to be together and always had. When he allowed them to join it was with the most beautifully perfect motion and harmony, the crystals reaching for each other and bonding instantly. The brilliant green crystalwork throbbed briefly before returning to an inert state.

Confident in the success of the mission, Idris looked around his companions who were now all gathered. “Well. Are we ready?”

Inda, overhearing, approached. “Thank you again for saving us from the malaise we were under,” she said warmly. “We may never have made it out of here without you. I wish you success in your endeavours in stopping the dread event of which you speak. It is of great import, and we are glad to have given our small part.”

“As long as your thoughts and prayers are with us how can we fail,” Eli said with all sincerity.

“I hope you find your way, Eli,” Inda said kindly.

“With god’s guidance I cannot fail.”

“Then I hope you find your god,” Inda said, glancing over to Three as Eli floundered. “Trust in your companions.”

“I do,” Eli said softly. “They have saved me many times.” With a last glance at the angelic Inda (and equally magnificent Cirit) Eli flew away toward the portal and the safety of Sigil.

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Sessions played: March 17, 31, April 14, 28, May 12, 2025

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