In which several manifestations of Death are concerned about future events

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Chapter 1: A Walking Bus

Let’s take Death’s view of the multiverse – various sheets of paper of different thicknesses and conditions – and turn to one page in particular. Specifically, a tavern in the town of Neverwinter. This particular page of the universe started around sunset – with villagers retiring after long days in the fields or behind their stalls for a long evening drinking ale and mead, likely the only safe sources of drinkable water except for the freshwater lake about two days’ travel inland.
Dwyfol sat down at one of the tables. Technically speaking, he would have sat up – he had asked the bar staff quite nicely for a booster seat on top of the stools to be able to see over the table. Perks of being a gnome. His friend K’churlat made his way across the bar from a conversation he’d had with a group of half-elves that seemed unconvinced by the arguments he had put forward for them to change their religion. As far as Dwyfol could see, K’churlat’s axe was put away, for now.
“We leave for Phandalin in the morning.”
“Because we booked a seat on the coach? Or …” Dwyfo9l looked over at the half-elves that still pushed the odd confused glance K’churlat’s way, “or because we have no choice?”
“Relax, I just booked it now. We should be good as long as we get some rest.”
“Every time you say that you find a tree farmer and start pruning his vegetation –”
“No pun intended,” K’churlat interjected quickly.
Dwyfol sighed. ”As long as you’re happy and we’ll actually be on the coach, that’s fine.”

In the woods near to the town, a tiefling called Crow had also been booked on the coach, and was making the most of any remaining time left to move her legs. She was currently tracking the trail of a creature that seemed likely to be the size of an Owlbear. Not exactly sure why – she’d picked up hunting recently (as much as you can do such a thing as a hobby) and she was half-heartedly trying her skills, just to see what she’d picked up.
“Nearly, nearly,” she said to herself. At least she thought it was to herself. The voice hadn’t bothered her recently, but she’d still try to … give it updates. It had just started up one day after an aborted bar fight – and seemed to pop in during moments of stress. It hadn’t talked back in a while, though.
The bushes near her right-hand side rustled as though responding to her inner monologue, and Crow was for a moment taken off guard by a flash of silver.
“What are you doing here?” A voice that Crow wouldn’t exactly have described as silky, but that she definitely felt didn’t fit the profile of some idiot flashing a knife around.
“Well, I –” on the intake of breath, Crow felt the weapon against her neck. “That’s no way to speak to a lady.”
“My apologies.” The blade lowered, and Crow felt at ease to breathe. The man continued. “I’m not used to pickup lines.”
“I can tell.”
“So, what then?”
“Just killing time. Leaving town tomorrow.”
“Oh, same for me. Heard you out here and thought I’d see what was up.”
“In case there was something special?”
“There’s always something special.”
“Even if it’s just a Tuesday?”
“Especially then.”
“Well, I’ve lost the thing I was hunting, for a start.”
“Oh, you mean the owlbear tracks? Over here …” The voice became a man and offered Crow a hand. “Klagen, at my service.”
Crow refused to take the hand, but the two continued their hunting practice for far longer than would be considered reasonable.

As the sun rose over Neverwinter, the coach horn sounded. And the hooves faded into the distance.
Only at this point, did Dwyfol and K’churlat, his dwarven friend, awaken.
“Dammit, we missed the coach didn’t we?” The gnome was disappointed but not surprised – he’d had to walk significant distances in the past, and was built to, if not succeed, then at the very least, cope.
They found two tieflings hanging out in a conspicuous manner – in as much as a half-demon could ever be said to be inconspicuous. They were talking about a hunting expedition form the previous evening.
The male one looked at his friend and said “looks like we have company – should we set off?”
The four shouldered their respective packs and set off towards the next town over – called Phandalin.

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Chapter 2: Trap For New Players

The four adventurers stood around at the coach depot for just long enough to get bored of doing so, but not long enough for anyone else to notice.
“Shall we go?” The male tiefling – a nametag identified him as Klagen to the people that had never met him before – was the first to break the awkwardness.
“We should have been on the coach.” His tiefling friend – a similar tag in similar writing identified her as Crow – scowled.
“Why are you guys wearing nametags?” Dwyfol spoke up. “Name’s Dwyfol, by the way.”
“The ticket people gave us them – thinking about it the coach would have left by that point, so it must just be a prank.”
“But you and your friend didn’t get them?”
“Oh! This is K’churlat. He’s alright once you get used to him.” K’churlat shoved Dwyfol’s pack from behind, but Dwyfol had been expecting it.
“Huh. Well, we would have talked on the coach anyway, so …”
“So best get started now?” Crow and Klagen set off, leaving the dwarf and gnome to follow.

The newly-formed team walked along the path, following the coach tracks, for the better part of the day. As the sun dipped in the sky, Klagen stopped, as though sensing something.
“You know those feelings you get when …”
Dwyfol looked around, seeing a bush with legs nearby. “Ah, hope you’ve brought some fighting boots.”
The ground opened up at the spot where KIagen’s feet would have been. Had he looked down, he would have seen two smaller goblins in the pit. K’churlat had, however, spotted the subterranean friends – so the party set about dealing with the five goblins in total – three in the nearby bushes and two in the ground. Crow and Dwyfol dispatched the two goblins that had materialised from behind the bushes, slathering and snarling. K’churlat was left more or less to his own devices dealing with the pit goblins, and untangling himself from the rope. After a quick skirmish, only one of the goblins in the pit remained.
“I – I – don’t hurt –” the goblin protested, not having enough time as yet to process that all that remained of the party had been killed.
“Who do you work for?” Klagen loomed over the goblin.
“My – my dad –”
Klagen heard this line and noticed that the goblin was … small. Not just closer to the ground.
“Ah, lads. This one’s just a child.” Words Klagen would come to regret.
Crow pushed him out of the way. “Leave this to me.”
Crow tended to the little goblin, while Klagen and K’churlat scouted the ambush site for any information. They noticed that the wagon trail abruptly ended, and found a beanie – belonging to a guy called Sildar.

The party moved away from the site of the ambush and rested for the evening – with the party tending any wounds they had sustained, and Crow looking after the goblin. The following morning, travel resumed.
“What’s your name, child?” Crow had adopted a mannerism she thought of as maternal, but that in actuality came slightly closer to patronising. Ironic, considering her own background as a warlock.
“My name is Gobby,” the child answered dutifully – like he wasn’t convinced he would be let live if he didn’t answer a question, but also didn’t see himself under threat.
Klagen spoke up. “Do you know what your … family was doing there?”
“They’d captured a wagon and some creatures in it.”
“Did anyone ever use names?”
“Don’t know, really. Heard someone say ‘Gundren’, but that sounds like a swear.”
“Gundren Rockseeker, he was one of the dwarves that was nice to anyone new that came to town. Said he was off to Phandalin for supplies. All makes sense …” Klagen was piecing stuff together – and had been around the village for longer than the others, so knew more of the people. “Can you,” he directed this, and his dagger, at the goblin, “take us to your home base? I think your family kidnapped our friend.”

The travel continued after some negotiations that may be best skipped over – and with Gobby trying to stay as far away from Klagen as possible.
On approach into the goblin base, Gobby grew anxious.
“Is something wrong?” Crow asked Gobby, with Klagen waving his dagger in an ‘it will be’ way.
“They don’t know that the others …”
“Oh, that’s a good point actually – we might need to be careful.” The party crested the last hill and could see down into the goblin encampment. There was a humble fire and a small group of creatures huddled around it for warmth. Off to the side, one man was in chains clearly meant for someone much smaller, tied to a tree. From the current distance, the party couldn’t make out who the victim was by face – but Klagen would have been prepared to bet it was either his friend Gundren, or Gundren’s protector Sildar – a human, from the sound of the stories.
“Please don’t kill them ...” Gobby pleaded.
“Fine,” Klagen snarled – clearly meaning to imply more danger than was actually present. “Watch this.” Gobby looked over at the scary tiefling, who proceeded to vanish before his eyes. Except not – he was still there, just extremely well hidden by shadow, all of a sudden.
The party watched from their hilltop position as the shadow they knew to be Klagen slunk off into … the shadows. Prepared to fight, Dwyfol couldn’t help feeling a touch disappointed half an hour later when Klagen re-appeared with a man in tow and a length of chain.

“So, please tell us what happened,” this time K’churlat took a turn interrogating Sildar, as the party sat around yet another ramshackle campfire.
Sildar still seemed slightly shellshocked, made noticeable by the bedside manner of the adventurers. “We left on the wagon this morning and the goblins turned it upside down. The whole crew, including Gundren …”
“We know, we saw the ambush. But, thinking of it … we didn’t see the coach.”
Sildar spoke, after recovering from whatever flashback haunted him in the previous moment. “They dismantled it and hid it in the bushes.”
“Ah, makes sense,” Klagen muttered, getting a slight sense of the way they worked. “Question is, why?”
“We discovered a mine – Gundren and his brothers mostly, but I was there too. Gundren had a map, and he’s been taken … somewhere. I think it was … Cragmaw Castle.”
“So, he had a map?”
“Yeah, it would have been a valuable one too.”
“He’s one up on us.” Dwyfol chipped in from the sidelines.
“Hey, hey, Sildar’s lucky to be alive,” Klagen called across the campsite, and then quieter – “oh. Sorry about … your torture?”
Sildar looked back at K’churlat. “He’s real tactful. Known him long?” He pointed vaguely over his shoulder.
“No, only just met – can you tell?”
“Well, if we rest up here and keep going tomorrow, we’ll be free of him by sundown.”
“Here’s hoping.”

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Chapter 3: Dealing With People

The following morning after packing up their camp and carrying on the journey towards the town of Phandalin, Crow found herself in the lead, with Klagen bringing up the rear for a change. Dwyfol separated the male tiefling from K’churlat and Sildar, who looked over their shoulder every ten minutes or so as though expecting Klagen to have grown another head in the meantime. Or an additional horn. Or something. Surely. After a further day’s travel – so just nearing sunset; the time the party were most appreciative of Crow being the day’s leader. Gobby rode sitting on Crow’s shoulders and using her own horns as though they were handlebars. This experience was complete with a remarkably accurate impression of a horse galloping. The party arrived in the outskirts of Phandalin to find a mess of – K’churlat put it – epic proportions. After doorknocking and being confronted by a series of increasingly scared homeowners, the party found a nice older gentleman that told them what was going on – the gang laying waste to the town were the Redbrands, a gang of miscreants led by a mysterious figure called Glasstaff. The gentleman had heard that name during one of the gang’s frequent-but-not-quite-enough-to-predict raids.

The party made their way to the inn, and after frantic knocking, the innkeeper slid the door open a crack.
“We don’t carry any cash.” The door slammed shut again.
“We need to stay somewhere. We’re here with a friend,” K’churlat tried to negotiate, which went about as well as you’d expect.
“Everyone has friends, and right now they’ve all been robbed.”
“Do you want a robbery to happen right on your doorstep?” To be fair to K’churlat – that one might sometimes have worked.
“As long as it’s not inside, what happens to you isn’t my concern.”
“I see – so you can turn a blind eye and preserve your own position. That sounds like defeat to me.” Klagen stepped forward.
Were it possible for the innkeeper to take much more offense at this, he would have done so, but the door had been slammed shut a few minutes back. However, something in the man’s face clicked. Then something in the door clicked.
“Saviours of the town? Get in here, then.”
“Not what I said …”
“And yet, that’s what’s happening, or you’ll meet my battle-axe,” the man growled as the party ducked under an outstretched arm and entered the inn through a door open only just enough for the tieflings’ horns.
“Fine then,” Dwyfol saw this as an opportunity for negotiation. “Give us a room, and we’ll do it.”
And the deal was struck. But even by the following morning, the rumours had begun to spread about the new adventurers in town, and that they didn’t actually have the best interests of Phandalin in mind. Klagen couldn’t be sure where he’d heard it first exactly – he was sandwiched against one of the walls in the small room they7 had been given to occupy, and had heard it from fellow the patrons passing by the room at all hours of the day.

The following morning, over a meagre breakfast, Klagen relayed his new information.
“I think the townspeople are trying to get us out. I’ve heard some lies being spread about us – and that doesn’t make sense. We’re just here to help, so why would they want us to leave, unless the rumours were coming from the Redbrands, or whatever they’re called.
“So maybe we need to do what we came for – clear out the Redbrands before they clear us out?” Dwyfol had already procured from a nearby inn patron who seemed bewildered as to how this had happened.
“Relax, Dwyfol,” Crow looked up from her parenting position for the first time since their arrival in town.
“Okay, fine. We’ll actually walk over there.”
After finishing their meal and returning any borrowed weaponry to its rightful owners, the party walked across town to an old mansion that housed the Redbrands. From the outside, it looked not dissimilar to the frat house in a state of disrepair, complete with flaking weatherboards, trash bags on the lawn, and examples of wanted posters of members displayed from the windows. Okay, so not really like a frat house.
“So, who wants to knock?” K’churlat seemed uneasy and unsure of himself. It didn’t look good on him.
“Knock? What, are you stupid? We’ll sneak in.” Klagen always took for granted that the party was stealthy enough to get away with such things.
“How, wait for them to leave the door open while they all go to get dinner?” Dwyfol’s word dripped with sarcasm.
“That’s one way to do it.” Klagen picked it up, but didn’t have the time.
“I have another way,” Dwyfol levelled a crossbow.
“I mean, I don’t think the town would blame you particularly – I would just caution that you may need to be certain you would succeed.
“Actually, I have another idea.” Dwyfol marched towards the door with a confidence that someone who hadn’t just listened to him casually threaten murder would have found alarming. So, for a party that had been listening when he did that, it was doubly so.
He knocked on the old wood door. Sturdy, not like the rest of the house. In fact, the knock came out as quiet. So he tried again. This one got a response – but he didn’t wait for it.
“Have you heard of our Lord and Saviour Mishakal?”
“Have I what?” the man had only just woken up and the sudden switch of mental channel had confused him.
Dwyfol kicked him in the shin, the closest appendage that could be interacted with, and yelled back to the party, “MOVE!”

Once inside the house and ensuring that the receptionist was unconscious, the party realised that Dwyfol had raised the alarm on them somewhat.
“Well, that’s certainly one way to do it,” Klagen remarked as he spied a shadow to hide in while the noises of clan members waking up took over the soundscape of the house. At the moment, they were confused, but wouldn’t be for heaps longer.
K’churlat accosted the first thug to get close to the party. “Tell us what you know about goblin ambushes?”
The thug had a monk around his neck, but still found time for a joke. Looking at Dwyfol, his reply; “he looks like a gnome not a goblin, don’t be racist.”
“Shame.” K’churlat tightened his grip on the thug until unconscious. “Guess we have to find everything ourselves.”
“You think Gundren is here?” Crow had engaged her thinking brain.
“There’s as good a chance as any – otherwise he’s not in town and we’ve wasted time.”
“So then we split up then?”
“I wasn’t aware we were together?”
Crow sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll yell if I find anything.”
She moved off in a Northward direction and the party heard a yelp, but from a thug that had been in the wrong place.
The party fanned out in all directions, dealing as effectively and quietly as possible with the thugs that showed themselves.
Crow was the first to find a lead – a passage to a lower basement. The party squeezed themselves in, and found a small office space cramme3d with books, notes and planning,. But a fresh note on top. On reading this to the party, Crow found that a guy called larno "Glasstaff" Albrek was the leader of the Redbrands - he is taking his orders from someone called the Black Spider, and that the Black Spider wants the adventurers out of the picture.
“Well, that sounds bad.”
“It does, does it?” A new voice. The party tensed up, weapons at the ready, to find a robed individual had already drawn a crossbow and made their way down the stairs.
“Iarno, I presume.”
“Adventurers, I presume.”
“Yeah, no.” Dwyfol pulled a crossbow from am pocket somewhere and shot the man before anyone had time to think about retaliatory actions.
“Easy fix?” Klagen seemed perplexed at the turn of events.
“I think the real question is who the leader is now?”
“Well, I have always wondered what I’d be like as a leader of a group of people …” Klagen seemed unsure.
“Sounds good to me.”
With Klagen installed as leader, the word travelled quickly around the house and the Redbrands awaited their new orders – which were given after a small amount of thought on Klagen’s part. They were to stop looting the village – they didn’t need it, anyway – and wait several days before sending communication to the Black Spider under Iarno’s name that all was well.

*

If we were of a mind to do so – we may contrast the Redbrand hideout, with the lair of our next … they’re not so much a protagonist as a topic of discussion, but we’ll go with ‘protagonist’ for the sake of this argument. Contrast because, while the Redbrand hideout was a building, this individual dwelled in a cave. Don’t worry – it’s by choice. Or rather, worry more, it’s by choice. They’d probably lost track of time, space, and reality. So the Redbrands were civilised, and it could – frequently was – argued by people other than him, that he wasn’t. But he didn’t mind it that way.
“Day 20. Still no luck.” Nezznar cursed his luck as he wrote scratchily on a scrap of parchment. His writing every day got worse, a sign of his increasing desperation – no, he would always think of it as a mild frustration that would surely soon pass. Finding Wave Echo Cave had taken a week, and digging through the rubbish had taken even longer.
Nezznar sighed. He needed help. But you couldn’t exactly put out an ad in the newspaper. Aspiring supervillain seeks henchpeople for blind obedience and delegation of tasks.
So he made do with the pre-existing … inhabitants of the region surrounding the cave – letting an Ooze have a whole corner to itself (it’s better that way), letting some bugbears li9ve in a large central cavern for a small fee (providing dinner) and so on.
He liked to see himself as a gentrifier – raising the value of the whole neighbourhood. And, in response, his collected henchpeople settled into their roles.
All in pursuit of the Forge of Spells. A mythical anvil with the ability to enchant any item.
All Nezznar really wanted was out of here. He didn’t actually much mind what that entailed – but he’d tried walking into the ocean and not coming back. But the tide had other ideas. So this is what he was left with. Being the sole guard for a cave with, it seemed, nothing at all in it.
Nezznar sighed again. Building something from scratch wasn’t easy – but he hadn’t intended this to be a full-scale re-invention of the wheel. Just a moderate enhancement.
He needed a new plan. People would laugh at the state of what he had currently. House-wise, at least. His machinations were … well-oiled? Was that the expression? He ran back through his plans.
Iarno had received the orders that had been sent – the goblins on the trail had reported that the wagon had been taken care of.  Soon the dwarven man Gundren would be here, with his map. Ah, the map. Yes, the map. But hang on. He hadn’t heard from the goblins since the transmission about the wagon. He would have expected updates around either Gundren or Sildar. Those two were both vital. But the whole thing had gone dark. They’d send word tomorrow? Let’s not worry for now. But the other passengers that were scheduled to be on the coach needed to be taken care of. If they ever got to Phandalin, at least the Redbrands would know what to do.
So yes, plans are proceeding, he thought to himself. Everything is fine.

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Chapter 4: To The Castle

The party left the Redbrands to their own devices, when it became clear that those devices weren’t stolen from other residents. Following the crumbs of clues from the Redbrand hideout – constituting old documents from the Black Spider himself, they found themselves at the ruins of Old Owl Well. An eerie aura hung over the place, and the wind whispered secrets that the stones themselves seemed to hold. As they approached cautiously, Crow led the way, her steps light and her senses sharp.
“Keep quiet, you lot,” Crow hissed – mostly at Dwyfol and K’churlat; she was certain the clanging could be heard from space.
“Hey, hey, we let you keep the last obstacle,” K’churlat fired back.
Crow covered Gobby’s ears and hissed back, “you stop that language. Gobby’s better than all of us.” There wasn’t a heap of evidence to suggest this was the truth.
Turned out the ruins were not devoid of life; as the party noisily sneaked through deserted structures, a lone figure dressed in robes moved among the rubble. Dwyfol, ever the talkative one, took the initiative and attempted to strike up a conversation. Or, to put it a slightly other way, yelled across the distance between two buildings upon sighting the traveller, while he was hunched over and trying to appear invisible. Turned out he was halfway through the incantation.
"Greetings, fellow traveller. What brings you to this desolate place?” Dwyfol was clearly doing a bit – nobody, himself included, was entirely sure what this entailed.
The wizard turned to face them, his eyes gleaming with arcane knowledge. "Knowledge, power, and the allure of forgotten secrets," he replied cryptically. Then miscalculated his hunch and fell over in a heap. The party's instincts told them that this wizard held more than just magical prowess within his grasp. Sensing that they were dealing with someone not to be taken lightly, they decided to observe him from a distance.
“All right then, you just keep … doing that …” Klagen dismissed the extremely knowledgeable ball on the ground. Eventually, he picked himself up and hidden behind the remnants of a crumbling wall, they watched as the wizard muttered incantations and gazed into the depths of an ancient well. His intentions remained unclear, but the party could sense that he was searching for something potent and elusive, much like themselves.
As they turned to leave him be, he muttered something about the Forge of Spells, piquing the party’s interest.
“Sorry, what was that?” Klagen yelled across the distance between the party and the wizard – who wasn’t expecting it, and fell over again.
“Oops.” K’churlat seemed empathetic, as opposed to simply pathetic.
“The forge of … spells?” The wizard picked himself up again. “The only thing I know is that a cave elf is looking for it.
“That sounds like a slur. Also, do you know where that is?”
“Somewhere in a cave – I’m searching for maps – no idea – one more spell and maybe –” The wizard got lost within his train of thought, which seemed to be moving vertically on a horizontal track. Also seemed to be re-stating the obvious.
“I don’t think he’s gonna give us what we want?” K’churlat lost patience he hadn’t got.
“Got that impression, yeah. At least we … think … the Black Spider’s a drow. ” Klagen thought this was common knowledge, and moved off, with the party following hesitantly.

Leaving the incompetent (enigmatic, he said) wizard behind, the party turned their attention to a more ominous lead, and headed back to Phandalin. The town had been on edge since the Redbrands, so when the whispers of the region spoke of a banshee who held secrets in her wails, Klagen and Crow felt that surely the stories had been exaggerated. Checking in at the tavern, they met another gnome – Gnerbar – who seemed content living his life drugging the patrons of the tavern to get his way every night, then drugging himself and sleeping most of the day. After a brief conversation about whether he would fit in the group, and his overall usefulness – the party decided that no, they were best in the system they had built themselves. Leaving town on yet another lengthy trek, the banshee's domain was shrouded in mist, and the air grew heavy with the weight of anticipation. The underlying tension somewhat served to settle the tension between Klagen and Gobby – who still left as much distance as possible between himself and the tiefling. Klagen absentmindedly flicked a matchstick between thumb and forefinger while walking, barely even noticing he was doing it.
“Um, sorry, but what is that?” the goblin addressed Klagen directly for the first time.
“I – what – oh, yeah. This,” Klagen demonstrated the trick again.
“Wow – that’s cool. Can you show me?”
“Yes, of course,” Klagen found himself surprised by his own charity. Then his mind drifted back to the mobsters he’d left with no guidance. “When we settle down next, how’s that sound?”

Approaching the banshee's lair, Crow's steady determination held the group together. Or rather, her stealth kept the group silent and her determination scared the group into submission. She’d noticed the growing bond between Klagen and her son. If the tiefling was going to try something like that, he’d have to earn it. She faced the banshee alone, her heart pounding as she sought answers. The others in the party held back, more out of confusion at this sudden display of assertiveness than any real lack of ability (but don‘t tell Crow that).
"Ancient spirit, we seek the truth. Tell us what you know of the Black Spider."
The banshee's eerie song echoed through the air, her voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and longing. Although, not, it must be stressed, with words. At this point the party realised why Crow had stepped forward.
“They’re speaking in … it’s not Abyssal, but … that general idea.”
“Ah. Right, and you can follow it?” Dwyfol asked, more because he wanted a translator, rather than that he cared about the multilingual nature of his friend.
In conversation with Crow, the banshee revealed fragments of knowledge—bits and pieces of the Black Spider's plans that had been heard on the wind and passed from traveller to traveller. She also, after significant prompting by Crow, revealed the significance of the lost mine. Or at least that a sought-after map was buried nearby. On the way back to Phandalin, the party was re-told this information by a Crow that hadn’t considered someone else in the party spoke Infernal.
They arrived back in Phandalin about two days after leaving, noticing that Gnerbar had situated himself feet-up in a barrel out the front of the tavern. The tavern keep rolled her eyes at the mention of the lecherous gnome, and intoned that he’d not been put there of his own will, but he’d had it coming.

Their next lead took them to Wyvern Tor, a place where danger thrived amidst the rugged terrain. Ores, fierce and unrelenting, had made their stronghold there. As the party confronted the ores in battle, Dwyfol's words cut through the chaos. "We need information. One of them might know something."
“So what do you suggest?” Klagen had ideas, but he wasn’t sharing.
“Capture one and see what it knows.”
“Sounds … fine. Good luck.” K’churlat spoke for the party and left the gnome to it.
After a short one-on-one conflict, in which Dwyfol lost his dignity only five time, the party had their captive. The captive Ore revealed the tenuous connection between the ores and the Black Spider, as they patrolled the trade routes and ensured that only sanctioned goods were permitted entry. Their loyalty was rooted in fear, a stark reminder of the perceived power that the drow held over their actions. This did, however, mean that Dwyfol’s usual methods of fear and intimidation didn’t work – because he was small. Some people would have called that discrimination. With newfound empathy, mostly because all other methods had failed, the party ventured into the ruins of Thundertree, looking toward a once-thriving town now consumed by nature and misuse. The remnants of a past civilization whispered tales of destruction, but also held a trail leading to the truth they sought. Specifically, the road between the two destinations.

Arriving at Cragmaw Castle, as the culmination of the leads gathered so far, Crow noticed an Owlbear standing guard over one of the rear sections; a creature of primal fury and wild majesty, Crow decided to befriend the Owlbear. She extended a tentative hand, her eyes conveying a mix of determination and understanding. The owlbear's response was unpredictable—though not hostile, its wild instincts warred with its curiosity. Despite the danger, Crow's unwavering empathy resonated with the owlbear, forging a fragile bond that held the promise of future encounters, providing Crow would return to it in the future. As the party continued through the clearly-has-bad-tenants-at-the-moment condition castle, Gobby looked at his mother, seemingly relieved that the predator from earlier hadn’t joined the group. Klagen, from the distance that he was in, could not figure out whether it was jealousy or relief. Or a mix of both. Casing the exterior of the castle further, mostly looking for a place to rest, they found themselves in an unexpected encounter with a green dragon. While the rest of the group recoiled in fear, Dwyfol stood his ground, a glimmer of recognition passing between him and the ancient creature. Their connection, mysterious and unexplained, hinted at a future that would transcend time and species.
He only retained a name from this brief encounter – Neidr. He didn’t share his own. Which is not to say the green dragon hadn’t read it from his mind in any case. The rest of the party convinced Dwyfol to retreat after a tense standoff.
"The threads of fate weave a complex tapestry. The past and the present intertwine, and destinies are bound together." Dwyfol wasn’t sure exactly what the dragon meant by that – surely he would find out eventually.
The party fled from the dragon's presence, but Dwyfol's mind was left reeling, his thoughts a tumultuous blend of curiosity and trepidation.
With their journey drawing to a pivotal juncture, the party's efforts converged on Cragmaw Castle—a stronghold that hid the truth behind the Black Spider's identity. Amidst the labyrinthine passages, they faced the culmination of their trials. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and the name Nezznar, a drow adventurer, emerged from the shadows. Or rather, emerged from the frightened guards Dwyfol intimidated into letting them into the building by asking if they’d heard of his God – and threatening to tell them about it. So the Black Spider’s identity was revealed, and the party learned of his sinister plot to harness the power of the Forge of Spells. Nobody seemed to know how far he’d gotten, though.
Gobby noticed and resonated with some goblins that lived near the castle, and were working under Nezznar's command.
“We can’t just be friends with everyone,” Crow said sternly, steering Gobby away from them in a similar manner to attempting to get a drunk friend back home.
“But they’re like me and nobody else is,” Gobby wailed, shocking the party and causing an amount of angst.
“Shh, shh, we’ll get you some friends, I promise,” Crow gave Gobby this as though it was a compromise, rather than a fob-off.
The goblins were in possession of Gundren’s map, and this was quickly and sneakily recovered by Klagen.
“Can’t have something like that in the wrong hands.”

↑

Chapter 5: Vicious Mockery

Gundren arrived at Nezznar’s feet with no personal effects.
“Where is the map?”
“I don’t know. Mislaid.”
“Then you are no use to me.”
“So kill me then. You have already taken everything else.”
Nezznar decapitated Gundren where he knelt.
“Hey – get back here!” He yelled after the bugbear that was scurrying in the opposite direction. “Why did you bring a worthless pile of trash to me?”
“You said bring –”
“If he had value,” the last word stressed to indicate that at the current moment, the bugbear himself had less value than the corpse, “but this is worthless. Worse than ‘just another mouth to feed’.” His disappo9intment was palpable. Pay depravity, get bugbears – or whatever that expression was supposed to be.
He was on his own, with no map and no real plan. Word had come back through from Phandalin – the Redbrands were on strike (their words) and the adventurers were coming here.
Things were about to get real interesting.

*

“So, this map,” Crow unfurled the … well, she pieced it back together – by this stage of degradation, it had become more of a jigsaw puzzle than a map that could be viewed. When it was satisfactorily all-in-the-same-room, she called the party over to squint at the mess.
“So I think we need to go here,” she pointed at one of the grubbier, and yet more complete sections of map. The rest of the surrounding area had clearly been used many times, although the edges of the map had been treated so badly there was only an outline of a cave.
“Certainly seems like there’s a bit that’s important, and then there’s everything else.” Klagen took one look at the map and decided that the tried-and0true method of following the screams would probably yield better results.
“And we know where the cave is?”
“Yeah, I got it out of a goblin,” Dwyfol answered, hoping the party wouldn’t notice the not-exactly water stains on the ground by the door to the room the party had holed itself up in.
“Please don’t ask me to teach you whatever trick that is,” Klagen directed at Gobby, then remembered that he still owed the goblin a trick.
“Can we please –” the goblin began at the same moment as Klagen realised.
“Yes, I’m sure these guys will sort the plan out themselves.” He excused himself from the adult meeting and sat with the goblin for half an hour. In this time, the party decided on its course of action.

They rested for the evening – yay, more trick-learning time – and set out the following morning. Finding the cave exactly where the map said it would be (funny that), the once-thriving underground complex now lay shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the echoing footsteps of the adventurers. Armed with the map and guided by determination, they began to venture into the depths, ready to face the horrors that awaited.
Until Dwyfol tripped on a wire, and some goblins descended from the roof.
“Hah, we’ll feast tonight!” The snarl of the goblins was raspy, not dissimilar top the voice of the banshee – Klagen thought. Maybe there was a link there somewhere.
Between the party, the five goblins were efficiently dealt with and tied up with their own traps. As they continued their expedition, Klagen noticed a small river running through a section of the cave and suggested the bodies be disposed of there.
Klagen found himself too far ahead of the party and unable to hear them as he continued on his journey, looking around after half an hour and realising that a diverging tunnel that seemed to call him had also meant he’d lost the rest of the group.

Dwyfol, K’churlat and Crow noticed immediately that Klagen had disappeared.
“You don’t suppose we should try to find him?”
“He did say something about finding his own leads, so he’s probably fine.
The reduced party found themselves in a large chamber that had been hollowed out. From Dwyfol’s inspection the mixture of clean machinery markings and claw scratches indicated this had been made as a result of repeated mining attempts from various groups, over time. At the moment, the room was occupied by a group of bugbears, who just seemed to be preparing the evening meal.
But, and this seemed important to Dwyfol, there wasn’t an obvious way past them. So he fell back on a strategy that he knew had worked.
“Would you like to hear about Mishakal?”

Unbeknownst to his companions, Klagen had been lured into a solitary battle against his own inner demons—a battle against an Ooze that embodied his fears and doubts, especially relating to leading the new group and his relationships with others. The struggle was fierce, the clash between his indomitable will and the Ooze's corrosive influence a testament to his strength. But Klagen emerged victorious, his resolve unwavering, and re-joined his comrades with newfound determination.

In the heart of the mine, Dwyfol's unconventional methods led to unexpected results. He stood before a group of bugbears, his words a blend of intimidation and charisma. His audacious declaration sparked a bizarre and unsettling camaraderie among the bugbears, culminating in the birth of a cult that looked to Dwyfol as their unlikely leader.
Klagen rounded a corner, having completed his own little quest, and beheld the cult anointing their new leader.
“So what did I miss?”
“I think we just gained the upper hand,” said Dwyfol, batting away a bugbear that had gotten too close.
“Good to see we all gained something out of this?”
“Oh, right, what did you find out?”
“That I can beat an Ooze all by myself.”
“Nice. Wait, what?”

After their various trials, the party, re-joined, rested in the castle. The following morning, with some of the bugbears … a little too convinced by Dwyfol’s zealotry, convinced the rest of the party to sacrifice Gobby (while Crow wasn’t looking) as a sacrifice to the god Mishakal. In a chilling ceremony, Gobby was sacrificed, his form consumed by shadow and uncertainty. Yet, the forces at play were not content to let him fade away. Through unknown forces (Crow realising what was going on and using her own patron to reverse the spell), Gobby was revived, his form transformed into that of a bugbear—a resurrection that defied explanation but forged a unique bond between him and his newfound companions. Not least because as part of the patron-warlock relationship, Crow had also been given an Imp companion called Lilbiq. Gobby wasn’t worried about that, though. On size factors alone, Gobby outranked the demon.
The party pressed on, their resolve unshaken, even in the face of the shadows that danced at the periphery of their perception. Maybe K’churlat should see a doctor about that one.

As the party neared the heart of the mine, they encountered Nezznar, the Black Spider himself, surrounded by his loyal followers. Despite his aura of malevolence, Nezznar was not impervious to mockery. The adventurers recognized his inadequacies and ridiculed his attempts at power. His grand ambitions were met with derision, a reminder that even those who sought to wield immense power were not exempt from the ridicule of their adversaries.
“What, your plan was to hide in a cave and get other people to do everything for you?” Klagen took the lead, mocking Nezznar at every turn.
“At least I have followers, you only have ‘friends’ that aren’t committed to you.”
“You don’t even have friends, you don’t even ‘have’ the cave – we could just walk in here. Make it make sense.”
Nezznar was growing agitated. These adventurers that think they know best, he thought, hand tightening around his sword.
With the shadow of Nezznar looming, they faced the ultimate choice: to avenge Gundren Rockseeker, secure Phandalin's future, and put an end to the Black Spider's reign of terror. Or to, you know, annoy the Black Spider enough that he killed them. And yet Klagen continued.
“A proper leader has stages to the plan and an actual goal. What is your plan?”
“The forge of spells can set us all free.”
“How?”
“Look, fine,” Nezznar growled, drawing his weapon. “I don’t know, but neither do you, okay?”
To Klagen it seemed that the Black Spider was losing the will to fight after all. With every barbed question, the man seemed to grow smaller. Until it no longer seemed Nezznar would retaliate if struck.
One shot. Then the schemer was down on the cave floor.
As the dust settled, victory belonged to the party. Nezznar's reign was brought to an end, the legendary Forge of Spells preserved from his grasp, not that the party knew where it was either – not exactly. Just that it was here somewhere.
“Um, guys?” Sildar appeared, having followed the party’s trail, panting. “Do you know what’s happened with Gundren – oh.” The dwarf took in the two corpses and passed out.
K’churlat assumed that meant he was sad to see that his friend had fallen. But, obviously, he couldn’t be asked.

↑

Chapter 6: Threads Rewoven

The clank of chains was unmistakeable. Certainly couldn’t easily be confused with anything else in the woods nearby.
Crow had prepared Gobby and Lilbiq for what they might see.
Fine, she’d prepared Gobby and herself. Didn’t want Gobby making a scene. Or Lilbiq. Yes, this is still definitely about her minions.
“Here’s the plan,” Crow whispered to the bugbear. The demon already knew.
“What, mom?” Gobby tried to be quiet. Really, he did. He didn’t mean harm. Wasn’t even his fault really that his lowest volume setting was equivalent to a foghorn. The masks rotated. The bodies they were attached to did so as well. Most distressingly, so did the swords the hands attached to the bodies were carrying.
A rustle in the bushes behind Gobby, then he registered a sharp blade attempting to prod him in the ribs. Failing, of course. A second, and a third. By this point, Gobby had essentially fallen into an ivy bush of bandits.
“Gobby, no …” Crow peered into the distance in front of her, calculating the fastest way to disarm the bandits. They weren’t even the prize she was after.
“Ma’am.” One of the masks mumbled.
“What do you want?” Crow yelled the word toward the masked men she had in her sights.
The owlbear in chains roared back, causing the men to move their swords to more aggressive positions.
Crap. She looked around to where the voice had actually come from.
“Take your pick,” one of Gobby’s masked ruffians snarled. “The bugbear or the Owlbear.”

We’ll come back to that in a bit, don’t worry about it for just now. I suppose I need to practice this story, don’t I? Travelling around and telling it to people only really works if I remember what the story is, I suppose.
You will have heard the first bit, the one about the quests. Saving Phandalin from Redbrands, liberating the town from Goblins – even replacing a bugbear with the soul of a goblin.
This isn’t that story, it’s what happened after. A lot less interesting, if I may say so myself.

We stayed in town exactly long enough to have one drink. Mostly because after that point, Gnerbar got drunk (again), roofied the entire bar (again again); and got everybody chucked out (again again again). Outside, in the cold night air, the squad confronted Gnerbar, not that he noticed.
“Hope you’re happy – I was just beginning to enjoy myself!” Klagen growled at Gnerbar who giggled and fell into an open barrel.
“I think he is – and that’s kind of the problem.” Dwyfol dictated Gnerbar’s emotions for the casual bystander.
“I think what he meant was –” I piped up.
“Ah, the religions doing what they do best – arguing about how other people should be feeling,” Klagen remarked, already weary.
“Guys, could we just --?” Crow attempted to interject, but despite her tall stature she never quite managed to be heard, like a person using a microphone with dodgy sensitivity.
“GOBBY SAYS LISTEN TO MOM,” the aforementioned bugbear blared over the top of all current discussions and saving everyone the trouble of having usable ears. An effective tactic, if you ask me (you didn’t).
They fell silent after that for a while.
“I suppose this is it, then.” Dwyfol.
“Doesn’t have to be?” I tried to keep the team together.
“Yes, it does.” Both Tieflings, in unison, while trying to walk away.
Dwyfol muttered some words and a spectral hand squished the two tieflings together and held them in place.
“Stay.”

As you might imagine, the tieflings didn’t ‘stay’.
Time passed, as tends to happen, and the forests forgot the adventurers. Even the priest-turned-woodworker. Wonder what he’s up to these days?
Where is Dwyfol? For some specific reason, the trees seem especially curious about the cleric. Not some abusive dwarven woodwhacker they keep talking about, whom they never want to hear from again.
Nobody had a very good answer to the trees’ query. So they kept asking, and the question spread through the woods of Phandalin. Surely they’d have heard something by now.

Dwyfol and his bugbear army decided to crusade back to the castle they had first faced the dragon and lost the battle. As far as anyone at the town can be bothered to recount, this story ends with the small army of goons walking off with axes in hand, seemingly prepared to fight the dragon, never to be seen again by the people of Phandalin. But for the actual adventuring party in question, the crusade was perhaps a little less straightforward. Mostly in the sense that nobody, Dwyfol included, actually remembered where the castle was. The gnome had only actually stored the green dragon in this memory. It turned out she had stored him too. Let‘s examine this story with slightly more detail than anyone else will ever be bothered to – it seems only fair.

Klagen helped the newest recruit to his organisation bring a small bag of luggage into the Cragmaw Hideout.
They’d only just got to mouth of the cave when; “What’s the plan, boss?” The recruit asked, his words muffled by his mask.
“You only need to wear the mask outside – it’s just so the Black Spider’s affiliates don’t know us.”
“Okay,” the redbrand removed his mask, then asked again; “what’s the plan? Why are we here?” He gestured at the cave, and a small section of the bridge running over the river fell into it.
“We need to set up a headquarters.”
“So we need money, right? I know a guy …”
“You will not rob the smithy again!”
“It was one time …”
“A sustained ambush over a week doesn’t count as ‘just one time’.”
“But I never went home …” the recruit paused, and looked around, just as the breeze picked up. “Sorry, it just seemed like the trees were whispering.”
“What have I told you about staying off drugs while you’re at work …” Klagen shook his head and grabbed the recruit’s bag as one of the other more experienced Redbrands found a switch on the wall.
Klagen heard a ‘hey, what does this do?’ followed by a loud whoosh.
“Oh, hey, boss.” The redbrand that had very much just invented the waterslide found himself unceremoniously dumped at Klagen’s feet.
Klagen shook his head, as he heard an inhumane screech from the woods nearby.

Upon successful location of the castle, some two weeks behind schedule, the bugbears encased the castle so that the siege could begin. Only at this point did all involved actually realise that they didn’t have any siege weaponry, or, in fact, enough bugbears to pull this kind of manoeuvre off.
“So what now,” one of the bugbears queried – he had come so low on the initiative order that he didn’t have any.
“Well, we’ll have to find another way, won’t we?” The gnome was uncompromising – and a plan was cooked up to find a hidden cellar or some other way to sneak into the castle by force to attack it from within.
Dwyfol was never really sure whether the dragon had waited patiently until a plan was in place before stepping in – but, the more he thought about it, that seemed like the kind of thing she would have done.
Just as the bugbears had decided on a course of action and broken up to begin enacting it, there was … Dwyfol would insist he’d heard a rustling noise, but in actuality it sounded slightly closer to a section of castle parapet falling down.
“You down there – you’re not thinking of making a fool of yourself, are you?”
“Why, what did you have in mind?”

Some might have said ‘and that was how history got made’. Or something, but whatever the specific mechanics are – that constituted a missing piece in a story neglected by historians for … obvious reasons. So, let’s go even further. Over the following years the gnome and dragon would go on to get married formally and have a number of children. The gnome was quick to accept the children he felt kinship with – but equally quick to reject those that had none (more on that and the children he left behind in due course).

What happened to Crow and Gobby, you ask? Oh yes, I forgot about them, didn’t I? You see, the trees have a mind of their own. A mind that was displeased with the Owlbear that Crow and Gobby were trying to tame. A mind that was completely indifferent to the life of the being that had been released from a castle prison and then made that everyone else’s problem. Crow and Gobby were set on saving it, though, so that caused problems …

Crow looked at the bandits, one at a time. Really took ages with her staring. Straight into their souls.
“You think I have control over the bugbear? I’d pick your captive every time.”
The bandits looked up, confused as to how the tiefling’s voice had managed to fill the fifty foot gap between her and them. Surprise turned to horror as they realised taking their attention off the Owlbear. He barely moved, and the two bandits found themselves being lifted off the ground holding on to the chains they’d used to secure the Owlbear. They only realised their error when the Owlbear roared and they realised their feet were not, in fact, on the ground.
“Lads, heard there was some trouble.” A new bandit just sort of … appeared. As if they’d been stealthing.
“No, we just, I mean, what … wait a minute, who even are you?” Our first bandit friend spoke up defensively, despite the fact he was currently dangling ten feet in the air and completely powerless to stop the supposedly angry owlbear, which wasn’t attacking out of the goodness of its heart. Or just possibly because it knew its teeth wouldn’t reach that far.
“I have an offer for you…” Another new voice, but this time … Klagen.
“Sorry, did we disturb you?” Crow yelled from her position.
“Heard there were still some bandits hanging around, and …” Klagen looked up at the helpless buffoon. “… Found them.”
“And you were gonna deal with them? I can solve my own problems, thank you.”
“Don’t you worry, the owlbear’s all yours; I just want … to give the guys an offer.”
“An offer they can’t refuse?”
“They can refuse if they know someone who can write out a death certificate …”
Klagen brandished his rapier and cut the bandits down, who were briefed on their new duties. The newly recruited bandits were led away by Klagen’s apprentice.
Klagen himself looked up at the massive fanged beast. “Have you named him?”
“He seems to respond to Friend.”
“Ah. Friend …” Klagen murmured, as he patted the Owlbear, which didn’t really seem to notice.
Crow looked over at her friend. “You’re not allowed to teach him the word for murder.”
“What about ‘hide’?” Klagen replied as the Owlbear made a roar that almost seemed like an impersonation.
“Oh, fine … he can know hide …”
“All right, I’ll leave you to your … veterinary clinic …” Klagen said, immediately before entirely disappearing. That man knew how to stealth.

Yeah, I’ve been around a bit. Not, like, romantically or anything. Priest, thank you very much. Not to be confused with clerics who have stronger options on engaging in that sort of conduct (that being ‘yes’). This story had made it’s way through … five towns by this point. I’d only been to two, but I’d gotten drunk and vomited halfway through retelling a fight scene (improved it). Unfortunately that story travelled faster than I did. In order of speed; cleric, sound, light, sick. Or at least that’s how it seemed.

New town, new me. That’s the rule, isn’t it? This one felt different, not even because the tavern was on the outskirts, which should be illegal; but just on an atmosphere level. Almost like the wind had changed direction or something. At least there was still a breeze. Every time I walked past a tree, it got louder. In the taverns, people wanted to hear, but they didn’t want to listen. So they’d hover around the edges, keeping appropriate social distance so a conversation couldn’t start, and they’d ask for sections. Mostly because I’d get sidetracked, so they’d need to rewind the narrative to the last point they’d been paying attention. But that’s not even the worst bit; because then they’d leave; and I’d wake up the following morning with only a hazy recollection of the contents of the story I’d told, and the tavern that had heard it; and I’d walk past groups of strangers on the road at ten in the morning, and hear snippets of conversation like;
“And then the cleric said that the cleric preached about God.”
“Bet they got out of there without a fight. Classic Dwyfol.”
“Kind of, eventually he recruited an army to fight a dragon.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember that bit – I think he died after that. Too arrogant.”
Only at this point would I interrupt. “Wait what? Did you say he died … that’s not what happened at all.”
Instead, the truth was something far worse – he’d gotten married to her.

At this moment, Dwyfol and the dragon were sharing a meal in Cragmaw castle. The bugbears had been strategically removed from the Keep, which is where the dragon was … Kept.
“I can’t believe I’ve met you because I’m amazing and you’re amazing and everyone else is a shithead. I know this great bar, let’s go and make it better.”
“Don’t think I’d fit, dear.” The dragon looked up from … the herd of bison that comprised her dinner.
“Oh don’t worry about that, it’s made of wood.”
“You know full well I’d need a nap if I did what you’re suggesting.”
“I do need to introduce you to the bugbears at some point, though. Mostly because they’re thick as pig shit and will probably try to kill you if I don’t.”
The dragon shrugged … I think it’s safe to call it; “I guarantee I would win that exchange. Do you like how the meat is cooked?”
Dwyfol extracted a charred piece of armour from his meal, which he’d been assured used to be a goblin soldier of some sort. “Quite high in iron.”
“Does this live up to my Tinkr profile?”
“I don’t know what I expected when it said you were a dragon that could cook.”
“You showed up anyway. That was a while ago now.”
“Pretty sure the world thinks I’m dead. Walking off into the woods all alone…”
“People keep talking about a monster in the woods, but I live there and I’ve never seen one.”
The door to the Keep burst open, and I stumbled in on this scene, of a gnome and a dragon peacefully eating quite a lot of violently killed animals.
“I should probably tell you that they all think you’re dead.” The bedraggled intruder was out of breath, and began speaking without an introduction. Oh, perhaps I should say, the speaker was me.
“K’churlat! There’s enough food for … at least one other person!” Dwyfol gestured at the half-finished pile of barbecued goblin, “at least sit down before you talk business!”
“But … but they’re coming …” I was starting to get my breath back, but Dwyfol’s lack of concern was, in itself, concerning.
“We were just talking about this, it’s no big deal.”
“With – with pitchforks and axes …”
“Why both? Terribly inefficient, just use a mace.”
No sooner had the door to the Keep closed after K’churlat than it burst open again.
“Boss! Someone just walked straight – ah.” An unprepared bugbear burst in on the sight of two priests and a dragon inhaling the equivalent of about three families of goblins, and immediately decided his legs weren’t actually strong enough to hold him.
“That’s … that’s a dragon …”
“My wife, excuse you.”
The bugbear crawled out of the room on his hands and knees, as Crow and Gobby barged in the ajar door from the other direction.
“It looks like we’re dealing with a civilian army.”
“We?” Dwyfol was cut off by the cry of the Owlbear.
“Me, Gobby, Lilbiq and Friend.”
“Friend?” The question was, again, answered by the cry of the Owlbear. “Oh.”
“I alerted Klagen as well. He should be coming.” I had recovered enough of my breath for full sentences.
“How exactly?”
“The mob will go past Cragmaw Keep. There’s no way he’ll miss it.”
“And that was your doing, was it?”
“Well, no, but I knew it would happen …” The meat looked tasty, maybe if I ate enough, then the conversation would be over.
From his cave in the ground, Klagen heard about the mob marching on Cragmaw Castle. It was decided by a democratic vote that ignored everyone that wasn’t Klagen, that the new recruit would investigate. Civilian mobs don’t just happen. Normally there’s a specific troublesome priest at the heart of them. Or at least one that it seems like everyone is looking for. Looking for, with added weapons.

We were headed for a showdown whether I wanted to be or not. So the whole team (which by this point had assembled – with Crow and Gobby riding their noble Owlbear steed into the battlefield. I think they were trying to use stealth, but it just sounded like a full drum kit having a stroke. Sadly, the townspeople weren’t deterred by this, and charged, along with the stupid Bugbears that didn’t know any better because they hadn’t mastered the power of thought.

The dragon did what she had to – and the cone from her breath weapon did as expected. With a final, guttural battle cry and thump of their chests, the army of radicalised bugbears extended their clenched fists and charged … straight into the fire. None of them made it through.
“Hold back,” Klagen yelled to his bandits, over the sound of burning bugbear. The townspeople also faltered, awestruck at the display of the dragon’s power.
“Stay back.” The dragon roared.
Turns out sexism is a hard disease to cure. The townspeople didn’t listen and began advancing with their pitchforks outstretched. An army of easily a hundred people, Klagen noted. If they’d been managed correctly, might’ve got somewhere.
As the mob of townspeople got to within fifty feet of the dragon, Klagen stopped himself from speaking in the past tense. They weren’t dead yet.
From an equal distance behind him, he hear the distinctive cry of an owlbear. The half of the army that didn’t include a single one of the townspeople turned to look at the newcomers.
“SORRY WE’RE LATE.” Gobby bellowed, using his inside voice.
“Gobby, remember you’re big now.” Crow scolded.
Gobby averted his gaze. “Sorry, mom.”
The arrival of the Crow Crew only prolonged the inevitable, as the townspeople continued their charge.
The dragon looked at Dwyfol who was performing some kind of religious death ritual for the townspeople, that looked shockingly similar to bonking himself on the head with his axe.
The fifty foot cone of fire annihilated the whole gathering of townsfolk, leaving only smouldering lumps of metal where their weapons used to be.
One of the remaining idiots asked a question that perhaps should have been asked earlier.
“Why are so many of you not attacking?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“Wait what! There are two dragons?! We have to …” K’churlat did the only thing a noble man of religion knew how to do, and raised his staff.
“No … she’s … pregnant.” Dwyfol pointed at the dragon … his dragon.
“Oh. Wait, you mean … you – what, wait a minute, how’d you meet?”
“I tried to invade her castle and kill her, and we sort of struck it off from there. And also we matched on Tinkr.”
“Tinkr …? Actually, I’d better not ask.”
“Like a crowded pub, but without the crowd, or the pub …”
“Ah, so just idiots being clever?”
“You’re judging me and that’s literally your whole schtick.”
“So what are we going to do about the dragon pregnant with a gnome’s baby?”
“I … can take it.” I spoke up. “My church will look after it. I really hate them, but at least they’ll do it.”
“Properly?”
“I’m a well-adjusted adult, aren’t I?” We aren’t going to talk about irony here. It’s against the law.
“What do we even … do … with a pregnant dragon.”
“Step 1,” Dwyfol spoke up, “we wait.”
Over the next three months, we waited for the dragon to give birth. In that time, Dwyfol played around with an old metal contraption he’d found lying around, and made a robot programmed to think it was a chef. When the day finally came, Dwyfol got caught looking up ‘dragon recipes’ and was forcibly banished from the birth chamber, by threat of fireball.
Babies and bribe money changed hands, and people went their separate ways. And for a while Phandalin was quiet.
Well, about five minutes, until Gobby forgot how big he was and blasted across the whole forest “I WANT TO SEE THE BABY WHERE IS THE BABY.”
There may or may not have been several flocks of displaced birds.
I found myself travelling from town to town, but only telling the story to people who asked. Didn’t want it getting out of control.
I’ve been told Dwyfol and the dragon lived in Cragmaw Castle preaching to anyone that would listen, and lamenting the ‘perfect’ bugbears that had been lost, and being entirely unaware of the irony of the child they’d given up. In fairness, he wouldn’t have fitted the colour scheme anyway.
Crow, Gobby, and Lilbiq used the Owlbear as transportation, and travelled through the villages surrounding the woods near Phandalin. I don’t believe there’s any gold left in any of them.
Klagen’s business took off and he set about righting his past wrongs (while also charging large amounts of money for this). Seems having a conscience is slightly out of his reach.
And, last and least, Gnerbar stayed in the barrel. He’d hit his head or something – but either way he never woke up and none of the people he routinely chloroformed ever bothered to ask why.

One of Dwyfol’s children (his youngest, in fact) was named Rie (not like the bread). And, for a while, the castle was just the three of them; the dragon Neidr, Dwyfol, and this accepted child. Dwyfol was woken in the early hours of a morning by loud noises coming from Rie’s room – going down to find her missing and the castle window smashed. So also possibly having run away. Dwyfol’s first thought was to reassemble his old gang to help him find Rie. The search led the party back to the Forge of Spells, with Rie having been drawn by the allure of the powerful anvil.
“You should come back to town, there’s no telling what horrors are out here,” Crow was, as usual, the most reasonable of the party – but she hadn’t really tried living with Dwyfol, who … wasn’t.
“You’ll never make me live with him. It’s all religion this, praying that, conquest the other,” Rie ranted, clearly this had been building up for a while.
“Well,” Dwyfol was blindsided somewhat – he hadn’t really noticed any of this. “I – I don’t – what do you want to do?”
A tense silence followed, where Rie made clear that actually she’d rather stay here.
Klagen stepped up. “You can train with me.” Rie seemed convinced, or at least a reasonable distance towards being convinced by this.
“Or me,” K’churlat was obviously joking and waving his wood axe around like it was a serious weapon, ironically making it one.
“What about,” the dragonborn child practiced her debating skills. “I go with that one,” pointing at Klagen, “and see how it goes. Then we decide from there.”
“Seems you just got a child.” Dwyfol remarked in a way that was slightly barbed. But only a little, there’d be other kids.
Klagen then trained her in the following years after that incident, until she was a well-trained, okay-adjusted adult.

Which is fine and all, but we want to go further – try about ninety years. Nobody involved will have changed in age heaps – but the town of Phandalin has grown over the intervening time from a small trading outpost to the next trading centre after Waterdeep, and actually surpassed the nearby Neverwinter – which now mostly functioned as a tourist destination, in a ‘it’s never winter’ type of way. But this was, secretly a curse from a wizard many years ago – if winter was allowed, the harvests would be better and the town would have retained its trading post status.

Sometimes K’churlat got bored. He was a regular patron of all the nearby libraries as a result – he looked into the region’s history and any other content that he desired, which changed with every passing day. He looked into dragon folklore and after a day’s worth of study found a pattern -- seven dead dragons every seven decades.
Ah. That sounds like it might be an issue, he thought.
K’churlat sent out notes to all members of the party that they might need to look into the possibility that dragons would start to go missing. The party agree to meet at Cragmaw Castle.
Upon arrival, K’churlat was most concerned that the event was currently happening.
“Dwyfol, you don’t seem bothered by this.” As an opening line, this was a … fair point. Most likely not the best way to ensure people would help. But, still.
“My family’s still all here, so as long as I stay here, they’ll be fine.”
“You may be overestimating your own abilities.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not leaving them.”
“How will you help us then? If you won’t leave them?”
“You might need to leave them and come with us.”
“But if something happens while I’m gone – then what am I going to do?”
“This is … new behaviour, has something changed with you?”
“Um, you remember Rie? The situation we had with her a few years back opened my eyes a bit. Family is important.”
“Those are words you can just use …”
The party continued this discussion for a while, until Neidr stepped in. “If you take Rie4 with you, she would be safe.”
“But she isn’t ready for the quest,” Dwyfol insisted, while Klagen and Rie made eye contact. She was ready, he just didn’t know it yet.

With this decided, Rie joins the party as they depart – promising to be back as soon as possible – go to a library to find out more, and do full and complete research. Rie caught up with Klagen on the road, discussing training she had done recently.
“So, have you been training as I recommended?”
“Yes, half an hour every day of general exercise, and two hours of specific drills.”
“But you’re just -” Dwyfol seemed to like interjecting, but didn’t have anything to actually add.
“We should have a catch up at the cave – how are your recruits going?”
“The batch you were alongside are all done now, but the batch below will be a while longer. At least they seem to be learning.”
“I could maybe be of assistance for them if you wanted?”
“I think we need to sort this out first – if the dragons are being targeted, something may be coming.”
“Do you have any idea what that would be?”
“Cults do the damnedest things, and people with no concept of the consequences of their actions will do the damnedest things.”
“Oh – I meant to ask – the automaton travelling with us – what’s his name?”
“Goblin Ramsay, thank you. There was a whole batch of us made by a guy outside of Neverwinter and shipped down …” The automaton continued with his life story, and Rie listened in a certain degree of shock. She wasn’t expecting the automaton to be able to talk back, otherwise she likely would have been more delicate.
On the road, the party was ambushed by bandits -- Klagen takes down two guys, and Rie takes two. So maybe she had been trained well. Goblin Ramsay is gifted gold medallion from Klagen after the fight, in the vague hope this would make up for the mild racism from Rie. Klagen pulls a similar medial out of his pocket; a symbol of Klagen’s recruit club. They match, so that must mean best friends?
The party continue to the library with no further incident, and meet Renari, the dragonborn librarian, who is useless, as they don’t want to pick a side in the conflict between the dragons and people taking them out. Pleading ignorance and all that.

The party threatens on the librarians first refusal to help.
“But," the librarian tried to bargain from a severely diminished bargaining standpoint, “you can read the scriptures yourself. It doesn’t count as helping if you do it.”
An interesting justification, thought Dwyfol, the ticker for how long they had been away from home ticked down, but in any case.  The texts revealed that some blacksmith from years ago made amulets out of dragon essence. One of the brothers responsible turned on the others. The papers included diagrams of a line, along which the dragons are dying.
With the librarian offering no further help, the party head back to Phandalin.
As they arrive in the city, they find a charred, looted mess. A blue dragon lay in the town square, on further inspection, it had been killed.
Nearby, a lone member of the dragon cult hid behind a bush, stepping out when the execution job was criticised.
“You question my methods, sir? This is the third dragon I killed.”
“Yes. What are you going to do about it?”
“Your … female might have a better idea.”
“You won’t touch my daughter, or my wife.”
“You may not have a say in that.”
“My friends will ensure it.”
“And yet they are not talking, you are.”
Dwyfol drew his sword. There may not be another way.
“Before I dismember you, what is your name?”
“Etonir.” And the fight began.
After several rounds of poor strategic manoeuvres by Dwyfol, Dwyfol is beaten while trying to preserve Rie’s honour. K’churlat steps up and heals Dwyfol; the rest of the party step into the fight, and the Etonir is beaten.
Neidr and K’churlat land at the battle site at its conclusion, having seen the fight from the sky. They can’t contribute as it’s over, but Neidr does make sure that Etonir and his band of brigands won’t cause any more issues.
“If we’re worried about the use of magic,” Dwyfol mused.
“Oh no, what now?”
“We could try to bring back anyone we’d lost …”
Neidr caught this drift, but kept her mouth shut. Conversation for another day, perhaps.
“I haven’t lost anyone, though.”
“Yeah, I think it’s just you – and you don’t even care about –”
“How dare you, of course I care.”
“Right then, maybe we should look into getting the two you cast out to come back. Not sure magic would be needed.”
“Trust me, it would,” Rie spoke up, earning surprised looks from everyone.
“Anyway, that’s thoughts for another day. Shall we get food?”
“Might be a good idea. But I don’t like the sound of this dragon cult business. Sounds like something may be coming.”
“May be. Hopefully we solved it.”

↑

Chapter 1: Convergence

The Matron of Ravens looked down her nose at the changeling in front of her. He’d been summoned while he waqs ‘in the middle of something’, so he was currently a literal chameleon. She wasn’t too much better herself – her full ethereal form and deific robes intact. So, in many ways, a mismatch made in … whatever the term was.
“We’ve had whispers,” the Matron blasted down in the chameleon’s general direction. Somewhat ironic, given her size, stature and overall volume. “Whispers that something is coming, and many people –”
“Fine, fine, yes. I’ll change back.” Had the matron looked down she would have seen a chameleon slowly expanding outwards into the form of a man – and then finishing the process at roughly the point where the human was fully formed, but before any colour had been applied.
“So, I want you …”
“To go find out. Got it.”
“Your assignment begins …”
“Let me guess –” Balliuus wasn’t given the time to guess.
“In a bar.”
“Oh. Wasn’t expecting that.”
He was chucked in the middle of Phandalin. No ceremony of any kind and a frantic minute to find a disguise of a humble farmer so that the townspeople didn’t cast him out And he stayed like that for several weeks, starting bar fights most evenings and indulging in petty thievery on his nights off – turning some of those theoretically non-working nights into working ones.
Somewhat ironically, this meant that he became known as a cheat anyway, removing the need for his initial disguise in any case.
On the beginning of his third week in town, he found himself in a full tavern when an oddly angelic-looking woman came to speak. He would never forget what she had to say …

*

The tale was told for generations of a gnome walking with an army of bugbears up to a castle with the intent of war, and then deciding to stay for tea. Then the night. Then the next night. Until eventually the castle was no longer the dragon’s residence, he actually lived there too. The tavern down the road was understandably freaked out.
A gnome and a dragon walked into a bar. The gnome used the door, the dragon demolished the whole wall. It was the result of at least a month's worth of cat and mouse. Or gnome and dragon, if you prefer accuracy. When they met, it was murder. For the army of bugbears, at least. None survived, but they didn't need to.
The fling lasted as long as you'd expect to maintain a dragon's interest. Exactly once. Unfortunately, once is enough. The offspring was the size of a large human with the head of a small dragon. He'd never fitted in anywhere. The church was the only home he'd ever known, except for the one night as a baby he'd slept in the forest under an owlbear's wing.
Until, even then, he got cast out, with only the shirt on his back. And the other shirt on his back. And the ability to breathe fire, which kind of made up for the lack of worldly possessions. Every person he'd ever come into contact with had betrayed or mistreated him in some way, and the real tragedy was that he didn't want revenge -- not really. He just wanted to be worth something. Even if that 'something' was money -- resulting in several interesting run-ins with slave traders. Until eventually he found himself at the tavern in Phandalin ...

*

Goblin Ramsay couldn’t remember his ‘birth’, if that was what you called the invention of a robot, although if he thought really hard he could hear the final thump on his inventor’s anvil. Did that mean he was made of pans? He wasn’t sure. But he was metal, and being made of pans would … make sense given his overall shape. And then there was the whole additional issue of the consciousness, and how it had gotten in there. Again, it almost didn’t bear thinking about. Apparently he was the ghost of a goblin chef, whose corpse had been found in a cave near Phandalin. Although what anyone was doing looking for corpses in a cave was beyond him. Unless there was something else he was looking for. But, again – never really came up. But, since he was – probably – made of pots, Goblin decided that becoming a chef was probably the right move for him. So he started learning how to cook, moving around the region of the Sword Coast near to Phandalin in an erratic and unpredictable way – and that’s not just because the circuitry in his legs was a bit dodgy sometimes. Eventually he found himself in the main tavern in the bespoke city itself – on exactly the day a woman he could have sworn he hated from first glance, walked in the door and started to talk …

↑

Chapter 2: Light in the Dark

Time had transformed Phandalin from a humble village into a bustling hub of trade and progress. Technological marvels (plumbing) graced its streets (clean, for now), and the air was alive with the hum of excitement. Adventurers from all corners of the land flocked to Phandalin, drawn by tales of its riches and opportunities. Or whatever lies it was that were being broadcast in the region’s new journalism industry. Which just so happened to be one guy with a pen and a megaphone. Went by the name of K’churlat, if you could pin him down in one area of the region for long enough to be able to interview him – normally he would interview you. With or without your consent.
Among the latest group of opportunity-seekers was an eclectic trio, united by fate but each driven by their own peculiar passions. Goblin Ramsay, a wannabe chef who just so happened to be a metal construct. He was convinced it was a slur to mention that he’d been made from pots and pans, especially if you did this after he’d told you about the chef thing. A curious fusion of gnome and dragon blood, Lasair Snagairean, carried a history that seemed as enigmatic as the winds that whispered his name. Which, truth be told, was probably just his dragon mother telli9nng him the tea was ready. The final member of our current band of adventurers, Ballius Dedicatus, was a warlock with a penchant for provocation, brought his intellectual prowess and a talent for unsettling those around him. The three happened to be at the same tavern, at the same time. You’d probably know it – we’ve been here before. There’s only one tavern in Phandalin, and sometimes you can still hear the gnome wandering through the patrons trying to poison them in one way or another. After the bar was hushed, Garaele spoke. The promise of her words … didn’t carry over with the exact delivery, so it’ll be spared here. As the three adventurers, hungry to escape the confines of the lives they had led so far listened to the exaggerated tales of heroism and hedonism, they all wanted a piece. In hindsight, perhaps this could have all been solved by serving them a good pie and a soft bed. Sister Garaele, the Grand Archmage of Phandalin, saw promise in this unconventional group. She spoke of distant worlds and countless challenges, offering a tantalizing glimpse into the grand adventure that awaited them. She opened up a portal into a distant land called Innistrad – swirling and ethereal, the air around this portal seemed to solidify into a kind of frame through which unprepared travellers would soon jump. She asked if anyone was ready – the room clearly not willing to commit without knowing what for. But she wouldn’t answer, and her enthusiasm was matched only by her impatience, as she cast the trio (‘randomly’ chosen) into the well without a moment's hesitation, thrusting them headlong into a journey beyond their wildest imaginings. Because they no longer had to imagine it. They were in it, now.

The forest the three travellers found themselves in … felt threatening. If it makes sense, not even necessarily in a threatening way. Just a sort of ‘you’re going to die here and the ground will consume’ type of way. The three travellers looked around at each other for the first time, only just seeing through the light of the full moon.
“So, how are we all today?” Balliuus initiated the most important conversation of his life so far.
“Pretty good, there’s not much to cook around here.” The metal one spoke.
“Yeah. Oh, shit – names. I’m Balliuus.”
“Goblin, nice to meet you.” An arm was extended with a clank.
“But you’re not a – never mind.” Balliuus shook the hand, then felt slightly bad about the resulting creaking from Goblin. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, when we can find resources to repair – then I’ll be able to work on that one.”
The two realised that their third friend, a dragonborn, was hanging back, about thirty feet away from them.
“And what’s your name?” Goblin got no response from the dragon. He’ll take his time.
There was a growling from the bushes, and Goblin realised the cardinal mistake of yelling in a forest.
Balliuus and Goblin tried to coordinate actions around the pair of werewolves that beset them, and managed to take one down (sneaky magic by Balliuus followed by a pan to the head from Goblin. He just happened to have pans. He wasn’t made from them. No, no, no). The last werewolf proved more challenging as its growling intensified, having seen the downfall of its partner, as it focussed in on the party. Getting Balliuus into a strong grip with its jaws, the creature seemed set to overwhelm Goblin/
“Help!” The robot squeaked desperately.
Lasair hadn’t been paying attention. Still trying to gain intelligence about the area – and who were these strangers that thought themselves competent – where are we – no need to make friends – is there a way out – they’re over there acting like this is normal – how do we get back to Phandalin -- he was removed from his distractions by the force of Goblin’s subtle squeak. Covering the intervening distance, he raised his battleaxe, ready to strike the werewolf down --
The creature fell. An arrow in its hide. Not from any of the party. A majestic gentleman rode into the clearing – gold armour and a horse about three times Goblin’s size (so, approximately the same Lasair). The man was wielding a bow, problem solved.
“I’m Delandel. And, from the looks of it, you’re in the wrong place. What’s your name?”
Out of surprise, rather than as a voluntary action, Lasair found himself speaking. “I’m Lasair.”
“My grandmother calls me Dely. So I guess you’re welcome to that one too, if you want it.”
The rest of the party introduced themselves, then Dely escorted the party to the safety of the nearby village – a sign proclaimed it to be called Hallowhedge -- which would become the party’s haven. While exploring the town, the three terrorized and ultimately killed one of their neighbours and stealing his pots. But at least Goblin could perform his maintenance now.

↑

Chapter 3: The Frog And The Goblin

Lake Zhava lies near the grottos of Kessig with the neighbouring town of Gatstaf. Villagers who live on the lakes shores and fishes its waters have long spoken of a monster living in its depths. Olgard, famed skiltfolk shieldbearer and Mia’s father received letters of Mia’s recent troubles – with her sheep escaping from their pens while the village being on high alert due to the mysterious fog blanketing the lake. And, after a week of caution and fear, a frog surfaced in the waters. The infamous “Gitrogg”. The fishermen still operating on the lake, as an alternative to unemployment and poverty said it resembled a giant frog with red bulging eyes and a tongue that is known to drag sailors from their sleeping quarters. Or ships. Or the docks. There was a substantial rumour as to whether the creature existed, or was purely to stop people needing to work.
I have written to the church of Avacyn for further help as I believe these rumors are indeed facts, no way Mia would lie to me. I worry my daughter is in danger as she never did fit in with the other villagers except Wilbur, Elder Kalim’s son. I had abandoned her to pursue a life of a ranger, to keep her safe. I, along with the skiltfolk of Drunau is posted at Gavony outpost until the end of Hunter’s moon. Will you travellers help me check up on Mia and her sheep for me and bring her to me as she now at age to join the skiltfolk ? You would find her at the southern west part of Gatstaf. Olgard signed the letter, not entirely sure how to get it back to Mia. Maybe there would be a way soon.

Lasair noticed the cold; seemed to be different to the cold of winter -- and the grey tendrils, coming from the lake nearby, marked this behaviour as odd. The ‘La Tendrils’ weather pattern, Lasair called it. Almost noon, the party was surprised to find the citizens in this town already hurrying home barricading their homes.
“We need to find out what’s going on here.” Bal;liuus said the words everyone else was thinking, before knocking on the first door he could find – seemingly at random.
Mia was the unlucky recipient number one of the party’s inquiries. Lasair noticed a letter on the path outside her house – seemingly for Mia. Presenting this to her seemed to have an interesting effect on the girl.
“I just – wasn’t wexpecting – this is the first time knowing that he actually –” She almost seemed in shock that one of her letters had been received after seemingly endless notes sent (she’d torn out most of the pages in a notebook, presumably for this purpose).
Thinking fort a moment, though – “I am a bit disappointed that he couldn’t be there in person. What is it that you actually needed?”
Balliuus restated the party’s objectives, and Mia tells them the situation of her sheep and how she finds it odd of the fences breaking patterns.
“I guess it must be spooked sheep picking random points to break fences. Just the other night, the pen was broken into and all of the sheep slaughtered with only bloodied snow lining the pens and no bodies in sight. Though I did see what looked to be large webbed foot with three talons like divots heading in the lake. Those are worth money, those sheep …”
The party moved on, having vowed to look into the missing sheep – while secretly writing the case off as a wolf on the loose (“those fences aren’t that high”, said Goblin). The next business they tried was that of Lehren and Kalim – business had not going so well.
“We usually have plenty of fish yield, though this fog has the villagers on high alert. What is a small fishing village to do if we can’t fish because of this ‘Gritrog’, or whatever. Why, I have seen it myself, but no one really believes me. It has even eaten the mail carrier. So who has to do that, me! The ports are closed until further notice. Nothing else to do.”
“Ah.” Balliuus was beginning to get a complete picture, or puzzle. But it was mostly frog-shaped.
Wilbur, another worker in the village found that “though the Gitrogg would always be here, and we would once again be burdened by the Gitrogg. It’s lucky that Mia or any one has been claimed yet.”
“I’m getting the idea that the town is resigned to their fate.”
“But what else can we do?”
“Where does it go? It must have a lair or something.”
“We saw some tracks into the woods, but it’s too dangerous.”
As the party turned to leave, Lasair’s hearing picked up Wilbur admonishing his son for leaving several chores incomplete.
No, not like that. His dragon brain thought – then without considering the implications much further, Lasair turned back and tried to re-open the door to the house. As the yelling continued, and Lasair found the door to be locked, he began to panic – but probably couldn’t explain why.
Not to that child. He breathed out, and a stream of fire engulfed the humble wooden dwelling.
“Come on – we can save you,” Lasair directed this at the kid. But the hesitation was just a little too long, and by the time the dust had settled, both father and son had perished.
“Father of the year – and that’s coming from me.” Lasair showed remarkably little remorse. “Anyway …”

Following the tracks into the woods, Lasair, the group’s resident tracker (for now), noticed that the tracks vanish just a short span past the tree line of the village.
“That doesn’t make sense. Do you think it would have climbed the trees? Burrowed into the ground which is frozen solid?”
“Does seem odd …” Balliuus and Goblin scoured the area, and found a fresh human footprint some distance from where the Gitrogg trail ended.
“So, there we go. Someone’s been captured.”
“Hey, hey, hey. No need for negativity.”
“Someone’s been captured!” Lasair repeated with a false grin fit for a dentist’s ad.
The isolated prints didn’t seem to suggest a struggle. No, it was carrying something. The party continued pursuing the trail, they could see a ship at the docks with people boarding, and body bags being hauled onto the boat.
“I think we need to get on there. People don’t normally just load body bags on to a boat like that. They must have some idea where they came from.”
“Okay.” Famous last words. The party only got as far as the opposite end of the dock before the Gitrogg rose out of the water and flopped onto the platform, cutting off their access.
The Gitrogg swept the docks with its tongue swinging the townsfolk in every direction – including into the lake.
The party split their attention between the Gitrogg and some smaller, minion frogs that piled out of the water, dealing easily enough with the Gitrogg, that seemed incapable of proper speech – but the frog minions outnumbered the party, and more frogs rise out of the water.
Lasair must have taken his eyes off Goblin for just a second too long. He’ll be fine, he thought. But, looking around after dispatching yet another frog, the robot had fallen, seemingly lifeless on to the dock.

Goblin Ramsay opened his eyes.
“Ah, I was sure the bugger had me that time.”
HE DID, I’M AFRAID
“Wait, where am I? Have I moved?” The round robot man stood up, on sand. Everything he could see was sand.
YOUR BODY HAS NOT MOVED.
“What does that mean? This doesn’t look like the forest –” Goblin noticed the tall skeletal man in a black robe standing in front of him. Or at least picked him up with his eyes. Surely it would be hard to miss a seven foot tall skeleton with a scythe for very long.
SHALL WE GO? THERE IS MUCH TO TELL YOU
“But I have to get back. The others will …” Goblin couldn’t bear to finish the thought
COME. FATE WILL DO WHAT IT MUST.
Goblin walked into a house with the skeleton. The house was the only building he could see, and he could see for miles over the flat, sandy terrain. Every so often he thought he could see half a shadow of an individual – but only in the corner of his eye.
“Oh.”
OH?
“I’m dead, aren’t I?”
YES. BUT ALL IS NOT LOST.
They made their way inside, and Goblin clocked the high ceiling as well as the doorway into a room that looked like it contained hourglasses of some kind. He’d find out what those were later.
“So what do I do now?”
WAIT AND SEE. Death paused. AH, BUGGER. I SUPPOSE THE MATRON WILL GLOAT AT ME NOW, HMM?
“Matron? Why?”
IT SEEMS THE UNIVERSE REALLY DOES HAVE A PROBLEM AFTER ALL.

↑

Chapter 4: Cling To Power

Chad would always say he’d just been minding his own business. The problem for him wasn’t so much that he was doing the wrong thing, but more that someone else had their eye on him.
“I think my champions need some … help.” Sister Garaele had been scoping Chad for some time, and for the second time this week, had found his living quarters, to threaten him in person, as it were. She looked down her nose at the Orc, with an unknowable gleam in her eye. The three members that she’d sent through to fix the plane of Innistrad needed some insurance. Which could loosely be read as ‘someone that wouldn’t die in a strong breeze’.
“Yes. I think you’ll do just fine …” Without consulting the poor man, aa portal was opened under his feet. Chad found himself falling through the floor, and then being pecked by a belligerent bird.
“All right, yes, fine, stop that.”
“Ah, look what the … bird dragged … down,” Lasair quipped. He still hadn’t mastered the concept of friends. Or quips, for that matter.
Balliuus picked up the social niceties – which should give an idea how well the conversation was going. “My friend—” he jabbed Lasair in the ribs, “means ‘hello stranger, what’s your name?’, doesn’t -” another jab, “ – he?”
“Oh, yes, um, hello. What brings you here?””
Chad looked at the dragon man confused, wishing he’d actually just stuck to being rude to him. He sighed. “Some bitch did some magic.”
“Oh.” The dragonborn’s tone softened about a hundred degrees of relative temperature. “We’ve been there too. Did she take bullshit before sending you?”
“Something about ‘protect them …’, but I’m not really sure.”
“Huh. Interesting.” The dragon continued walking, introductions clearly completed.
“So are you guys go0nna tell me what we’re doing, or not?”

Continuing the days-long journey towards Markov Manor, and currently five miles north of Hallowhedge – the party found themselves at an intersection. On one side, half a mile radius of live oak trees, their thick branches intertwining together to make the trees denser when looking at it from afar. And on the other, Lasair picked out a cluster of mutating humans, that, on the plus side, might be so dumb they’d mind their own business – but on the minus side, might be so dumb that they didn’t.
“Lads, I think there are some zombies ahead, so which path should we take?”
Despite looking like the more difficult option, the party navigated through the thickly intertwined branches. After fighting some of the branches and brambles, the party stumbled (quite literally) past a hooded figure hovering over something on the ground with noticeable (but not enough to present embarrassment) grunting coming from the hooded figure’s direction.
“Do you need help, sir?” Balliuus seemed on his best behaviour.
Okay, maybe just some behaviour. He was on some behaviour. Yes, that seems fair. The creature straightened up, and the party observed a haggard, pale humanoid figure with robes that had fallen apart from years of use and only once of washing. Staying well back, the party observed young dolls tucked into their clothes, and black bubbles frothing from the mouth. The party could see dismembered zombies off to the side hidden by the thick bush, feeding off anything available. Currently one was trying to drink from a thin, and not particularly fresh looking corpse. A … human corpse. The parasite notices the party and stops feeding, showing the black liquid coming out of the corpse it was feeding from. The creatures moved towards the party, showing signs of aggression.
“Wait, those are vampires?!” Balliuus had heard of these in the past – but they’d gone extinct a while previously. This might be one of the ‘not from this plane of existence’ perks that he wasn’t told about at all.
“And they’re eating … looks like … yeah I reckon that’s werewolf meat.” Chad managed to get through the sentence without vomiting, and that gained him some respect in the eyes of the party (not looking at the corpse, obviously).

Recovering from the ordeal of seeing the corpse partake in a natural process, the party hear a youthful yet frail female voice over the breeze and through the trees (pardon the rhyme).
“Have you travellers come to help me? It’s not safe to be here especially in the Hunter’s moon season. They’ll be coming out soon”. Short, breathless, hurried. This wasn’t a trap – it couldn’t be.
Upon actual investigation, it was confirmed that they had, in fact, been approached by a ghost floating between two of the tallest trees.
“I’m the warden and protector of this forest.”
“Says who?” Chad was beginning to grasp the nature of the party he’d walked into.
“Me.”
“And who is ‘me’?”
“You can call me Lorraine. Grady.”
“And you have control over the woods?”
“I am providing for my family any way I can – they were left with their cruel great grandfather Sigfried Mauer –”
“Wow, she used full names.”
“Yeah. Oh, shit, she’s still talking …”
She continued monologuing – explaining that Sigfried had been the head of House Mauer during her time. She had an affair with his son, Mikeal, was found carrying the twins out of wedlock, which is what an extramarital affair will do to a woman. She was given the option from Sigfried to kill Mikeal or her family and unborn children would be impaled and hung on the tallest tree until sunrise where they would be scorched by the sun.”
“Wow, she’s taken like ten minutes to tell this bit.” Lasair leaned forward, to whisper to Chad.
“Seems to think it’s a therapy session – new must nearly be at the ‘for $5 a week, you too can help’ bit …” Balliuus leaned in as well.
“Still going. Shh.” Chad shut them both down.
Lorraine recalls that she chooses to kill her family with a ghost dagger obtainable to the party for the reward of this mission,  effectively killing off her entire bloodline, but then she realised that killing her unborn children with the ghostblade would mean her own death. So she withdrew from the request – and Sigfried then killed Mikeal as a display of fear and authority for the family. She was kept prisoner until she birthed the twins where she was killed during afterbirth by the blade she used to kill her family.
“It’s bizarre, how dying isn’t even the saddest part of this story.” More whispers from Lasair.
“You don’t have any popcorn do you?” Balliuus.
“Shh, she’s still talking.” Chad, the only member of the party with any respect.
Ever since her death, her ghost has been tethered to these lands but are exiled off the manor’s property. Over the years her children had been converted by Sigfried to do his bidding, to become his living weapons.
“I’ve tried to look over my children, protect them and the travellers that come into this forest however Sigfried knows my intentions and have manipulated my children to go against them just to spite me. He has corrupted and inched his fang into their hearts for long enough, I need him dead so that my children are freed from his clutches.”
“So,” Balliuus led the discussion after the conclusion of the monologue, “what would we be paid.”
“Whatever riches you can find in the castle. I don’t have need for them.” Lorraine gestured at her corporeal form.
“Being a ruler. I’ll take it. Where do we go?”
Lorraine points the party through the thicket of wood trees and fogs in the night, which eventually part to give way to a rundown cathedral. Numerous tombs in the front yard give an eerie feeling, and a large iron gate is seen hanging off one of its hinges, another gate seen in the middle of the walkway a couple of feet into the property, all lit up under the intense moonlight. The soft sounds of windchimes in the background sort of resembled nursery rhymes the party recall from their childhoods as the party moved closer to the entrance of the house estate.

“I vote we go around the back. It looks too inviting this way.” Balliuus was always more keen on sneaking.
“Fair call, the question is, how do we get around there?” Lasair stopped the gropup so they didn’t just walk in with no plan.
“I vote we use our legs and walk.” Balliuus wasn’t too bothered about the ‘lack of a plan’ bit.
They set off, and encountered a pair of twin girls on the back porch, lost in thought. They were wearing light blue dresses covered in black and red smudges, knee high dirty white socks and black mary jane shoes. They are looking at the moon, while the lefthand child is holding a small black music box, playing a tune that is both eerie and soothing, in her left hand while the other is holding her sister’s hand.
“Are you our mummy? We’re so lonely. There is no one here to play with us anymore. Could you play with us, mummy?” The one holding the music box spoke, not seemingly grasping the nature of the situation.
The girls look back at the moon.
“What are your names?” Balliuus stepped forward. The music from the music box stops, and the twins look back at the party, their faces now looking disfigured - head skewed to the side, looking almost completely horizontal.
“Play with us, mummy. We could play for ever… and ever, and ever.”
“Yes, we can play. But first, what are your names?”
The girls seemed to revert to normal.
“I’m Alexie, and this is Alexa. Are you our mummy?”
“No, but we met her. Would you like to meet her?”
“Yes,” Alexa spoke. “How – we’ve been trying.”
“It’s as simple as – Balliuus whispered to the girls, “come with me.” He ran back the way they had come – and Lorraine was waiting where they’d seen her the first time.
“My daughters!” Lorraine gasped. The party didn’t stick around to watch the full family reunion.

Entering the estate, the party is ‘greeted’ (not the right word – which would be something closer to attacked) by Alfred.
“Who are you? Who let you in here?” The manservant’s first thought was to his fences.
“We just walked in, there wasn’t much in the way of deterrent. We saw Lorraine outside?”
“But she’s dead and …”
“Yeah, we’re special. So the question I have for you – surely you would know what she’d said – is whether you want this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes. So either you try and stop us and we deal with that, or you don’t – and we deal with your master. Where is he?”
Alfred stands meekly aside, directing them down a nearby staircase, to Sigfried’s chambers. They oblige, seeing a sickly man lying in bed, but looking like he’s got some fight in him. Alfred follows the party down, and begins some minor nursing work on the ailing man. The IV fluids he inserts are a weird concoction of human and other unknown creatures’ blood injected into a severed human arm. The creature’s blood gave an almost black sludge colour and consistency, not dissimilar to the mutated humans the party had seen in the Ulvenwald. Lasair was perhaps most confused, but Balliuus had figured out the general vibe, and explained it carefully, with gestures. As the party tries to make sense of this, Sigfried taunts the party.
“To think I would be struck down by some amateurs, blah, and here I thought that I would be struck down by the weapons I created, they have become too powerful even for me. Though even in my sickly state, I could cut you all down easily, Try me. I dare you. HIT ME!!!”
So Lasair did, and the party took their turns, with Sigfried reaching for magics within himself. He heldf his own for longer than any of the party had expected, trading blows in between his monologue. Oh, yeah. He continued speaking.
“I have nothing to lose now, my family my bloodline”, another blow dealt outwards from Sigfried, “everything this my lineage was has been destroyed.”
“We heard the story from Lorraine. Sounds like a you problem.” Lasair brought his axe down on the bed-ridden man.
“You missed part of it, though. Might be important.”
“Oh?”
“Lorraine’s children are … powerful. They were upset at a change in the leadership and during the ritual they devoured everyone. That’s what he meant ‘his weapons’.”
“Oh, right. He seemed like he deserved it, though. So I guess that makes us the leader of the house?”
“In the end, all I think they needed was a mother… and yes, whatever …” Alfred trailed off.
“Yes, I should think so. But the real question is, would you look after them now?”
Alfred had moved to a cabinet, and approached the party with a ring in his hand. “This is our lineage ring. It’s yours now.”

Balliuus led the group back outside, to where Lorraine was waiting with her daughters.
“How can I ever repay you?” Lorraine asked – rummaging in her robes, she pulled out a dagger. “This is all I have on me.”
“That’ll do nicely.” Balliuus accepted the weapon, noting the name Elbrus was engraved on the hilt. “Elbrus. Nice. Oh, and we got Alfred to look after the girls.”
“I’ll be wherever they need me as well. They can be happy.”
Glad to hear it.” Delivered in much the same way as an email signoff – the party quickly moved on.
As they made their way out of the mansion’s expansive and unkempt grounds, a peculiar figure emerged—a kor named Nahiri, who claimed she was the mantle of warden and protector of the plane of Zendikar.
“I am  the self-appointed warden and protector of her plane and I’ve recently fought back an Eldrazi hoard that had been imprisoned on Zendikar for thousands of years.”
“Nice. Skip to the us bit, please.” Lasair was beginning to have enough to the demanding.
“I’m looking for my friend and mentor. He helped a long time ago to imprison Eldrazi on Zendikar.
“Right … still not seeing it.”
“I want to return to Zendikar as soon as possible – I don’t know how long much longer the temporary binds will hold the Eldrazi hoard.”
“Ah, so you want us to travel with you and investigate why or how the bindings have loosened?” Lasair gfot5 it now, and was … not happy, but content enough. “I suppose we don’t have anything else on at the moment.”
Upon the other’s agreement, they embarked on a journey to the plane of Zendikar.
Really, how bad could it be?

↑

Chapter 5: There And Back Again

Nahiri popped into existence on the plane of Zendikar a fraction of a second before the rest of her charges. A lithomancer, she had served as the protector against the Eldrazi for a thousand years.
“Dammit. I shouldn’t be disappointed that they’re not here … am a bit.”
“Who?” Balliuus materialised behind her in time to hear this last remark – along with the rest  of the party who spent their time familiarising themselves with the village they had landed on. Lasair could have easily mistaken these for the Phandalin town square – or Hallowhedge.
“I’m wanting the aid of Sorin and Ugin – my mentors -- they helped me bind the Eldrazi many years ago.”
“Ah. So you found us instead.”
“By mistake.” Nahiri finished Balliuus’ sentence, earning dirty looks from the rest of the party.
“So, this bargain,” Chad tried his hand at negotiating.
“Look, I was just trying find Sorin -- activating the beacon – and so on. I just need help getting rid of the Eldrazi on Innistrad.”
“And yet, here we are on Zoomycar.”
“Zendikar.”
Lasair had a brief moment of recognition. “She’s an actress.”
“Back in Phandalin, yeah.”
“Certainly looks like a nice place – aye?” Balliuus looked around at the town square for the first time. Possibly noting the interchangeability.
The town square that the party arrived in looked in ruins. Worms and creatures seen writhing and dead in the town streets, an eerie silence filled the air. Town houses and building appeared to have large claw marks and smashed wagons. They noticed dead bodies start to rise from the corpses on the streets. As the party ventured forth, their path intersected with a group of mutated humans, their forms tainted by a sinister black ooze that oozed from every wound and pore. Uttering incoherent phrases that echoed like a strange chant or a battle cry as they battled with the party.
“Em…er… …Emmmm….raaa”.
Afte3r the third or fourth creature slain by means of detaching head from body, Lasair asked Chad; “Do you think they’re trying to say something?”
Smack. “That’s just the name of the God, isn’t it?”
Whump. “Oh, right. So they’re just brainwashed.” Lasair had grown up around the type. He still remembered the line of priests on the day he’d been exiled.
“So that’s the God Rending Organic Infection au Naturale?” Chad could barely contain the groin, slightly at odds with the cleaving he was in the middle of.
Crack. “Have you had a stroke?”
Bang. “Just trying to name the disease.”
Wallop. “What about Black Ominous Ooze Bacterial Syndrome?”
The last mutated creature fell with the sound of a branch tearing in two. “Sounds about right. It seems to be somewhat sentient and is taking over the bodies.”
Nahiri found a trail that led to an altar where a sculpture of one of the gods of Zendikar was constructed. The party scouted the area and found a plaque that proclaimed the statue to be the Zendikar god, Emria or Kamsa.
“Oh.” Nahiri had frozen halfway to the altar.
“What?” Chad had been fastest to recover, and was accordingly in the lead.
“I need to get out of here.”
“We.”
“Sure, whatever. I should never have come here. You should never have come here.”
By the time Balliuus reached the altar, Nahiri had disappeared, and a priest wearing robes bearing a resemblance to the robes on the gods in the sculptures approached.
“Whjo let you in here?”
“Guess we’re on our own here.” Chad brandished his axe and took the acolyte’s feet out from under him.
“What are you praying for?” Not perhaps the wisest opening gambit, but it seemed to work on the man.
He seemed hesitant – as though something had caught in his throat. “The promised end is nigh, she is coming, I’m coming, Em’raming, Em’raaaaaa … Em’rakul”. A black lattice and tentacles gushed out of his mouth. He fell to the ground, dead, but the tendrils kept frothing at the mouth. The party took this as a cue to make a getaway, continuing deeper into the dungeon. Lasair took the robes of the fallen man – being careful to cook them before wearing to avoid clothes poisoning.

The devoted acolytes that guarded the entrance were swayed by the party's convincing attire and confident strides, believing them to be present for a sacred pilgrimage – so they traversed deeper into the dungeon with little issue. Within the depths of the dungeon, and now reunited with Nahiri, the party approached the altar noticing the header: ‘Ula, Emeria, Kozi. The forsaken gods of Zendikar’. Nahiri seemed to be gripped by a wave of realization adjacent to the one she’d had earlier; her demeanour shifting from calm to agitation. Urgently, she motioned to the party, signifying the need to hasten their return to Innistrad, a pressing encounter with an old friend awaiting her. And yes, she did that using sign language. It was quite impressive, although she did clap a few times by accident.
Outside the temple, she addressed the party. “You should not be here -- it was a mistake to bring you here”
“You said that before. But thanks for being rude about it twice.”
“I’ll take you back to Innistrad. Come on!” She pushed the  party down the village well, and the three travellers found themselves back in Hallowhedge.
“And now I must depart. Markov …” She continued muttering, while the party re-materialised out of the well -- with a hint of anger in her voice, mumbling to herself that he was supposed to come, to protect Zendikar whenever she had called for their aid against the Eldrazi. Once the three had been accounted for, and not even giving the party a chance to respond, she was gone.

“So, now what?”
“We need to know more about these gods.”
“Right. And where to start?”
Balliuus noticed a shadowy figure around the far side of the well. “Normally the mysterious strangers are the best place to start.”
“You would say that – it’s your schtick.”
The party approached the enigmatic figure, who introduced herself as Sister Queeny. She was leader of a clandestine faction within the Church of Avacyn, that had kept their faith tethered not solely to the institution, but to the values and strength that Avacyn bestowed upon the realm's humans. Sister Queeny unfurled the tapestry of recent peculiar events – clarifying for certain dragons named Lasair that everything they had done so far was linked, and hinting at a possible connection to Sorin Markov, a vampire heir of the Markov lineage. The party's gaze turned towards Markov Manor; as the last thing the party had heard Nahiri say.

↑

Chapter 6: Lightning With No Thunder

“From the sounds of it, this ‘Sorin’, being heir to one of the royal families in Innistrad, would have most if not all the answers,” Balliuus hadn’t slept much in the journey.
“You’re turning  into Nahiri – use your words.” Lasair had certainly tried to sleep, but failed.
“I mean to what is happening on this plane.” Balliuus almost seemed excited, which would have been alarming if there were any possibility that Balliuus was currently sane.
Upon arriving at Markov Manor, the party saw rocks and tombs jutting from the ground in front and around the manor and old relics which looked somewhat newly risen from the ground. A thick magical fog shrouded the manor and its surroundings, but the party managed to make out that the mansion had been sacked recently, as the door swung ajar and the wind gusted through the mansion. Chad took the first steps into the mansion.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let the enemy know where you are.”
“Wait, where are you?”
“I can still see the back of your head.” Balliuus was thoroughly done with this shit. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.
He stepped forward and lost the ability to see.
“I’d like to offer a formal apology to Chad.”
No response.
“Chad?”
“I don’t like the sound of this …” Lasair’s last words while he could see suggested he should perhaps have avoided taking any steps.

The three disconnected, sightless buffoons fumbled their way through the lower floor of the mansion, finding the pages of an old journal strewn about the rooms. In one memorable instance, Lasair brushed his hand on a page and thought it was Balliuus. Then became disheartened at not, in fact, having found a friend. After a few more unsuccessful attempts at reconvening the group, Balliuus and Lasair found themselves in the same room.
“I found a journal.”
“Same but where’s Chad. He was right in front of me, then he just vanished.”
In the distance the two hear a loud thud. “Ow.” Chad’s voice.
“Never mind, he’s here somewhere. Let’s keep looking. When we get back out we’ll read through the thingy. Just hold it for now.” Balliuus and Lasair tried a few more times to find Chad, until Balliuus tripped over the man, who had fallen over, yet again.
The fog obscuring the party’s vision lifted, and they notice a corpse nearby (not Chad), with a journal on the floor, wrapped in blue leather with a frayed green and red edges, this looked to be a book probably not originally from this building. They grab the book and leaf through it, reading out the entries as they go. The party realise that this is from a journal of a man named Jenrik. The pages they had found throughout the lower floor seemed to have been pulled out of the journal – but still in decent condition.

Entry 637: Harvest’s Moon. Avacyn, alongside her sisters Bruna, Gisela and Sigurda defend Innistrad against supernatural entities that would harm the humans of Innistrad. Though recent investigations into the history of Innistrad, though very limited, mentions of another sister. Further research into this have been futile as the mention of this angel is considered forbidden by the church. Nonetheless, rumors mentions an angel and her entire flight being struck down by Avacyn for treasonous crimes in colluding with the demon, Griselbrand. Though these rumors are just rumors and these are insufficient evidence in my research. Further investigation is required.

Entry 599: New Moon. Recent old records dug up in the library tell of the origins of the Three that had challenged, defeated and imprisoned the Eldrazi titans on Zendikar. Legends have mentioned two planeswalkers and the eternal Dragon, Ugin imprisoning Emrakul, the great destroyer along with the other Eldrazi titans under the tectonic plates of the plane of Zendikar after fearing the Eldrazi would bring destruction to the multiverse itself. It is noted that each Eldrazi titan possess powers to manipulate aspects of the mind of humans and creatures alike, driving them insane and mutating them into aspects of the Eldrazi titan thus  feeding the Eldrazi titan of the remaining life essence the creature may have had. 

Entry 616: Harvest Moon. Sorin, alongside Ugin and Nahiri, had realised that Emrakul and the other Eldrazi titans would inevitably break out of her imprisonment and Innistrad would be in danger once again. He had to find a protector against this threat and to any other creatures from different planes that would bring devastation to Innistrad. The solution to his problem was Avacyn.

Entry 637. Page with a diagram showing a weird twisted stone showing a blue hue and white lights shining from the stone as it was pulsating on the page. The ground beneath the monolith was formed from raw stone pulled from the earth as if it had risen from below. The caption reads Figure 1.4C : Cryptoliths seen off Travellers road to the Drownyard Temple. Roughly scribbled at the back shows a diagram, a crescent moon, and the words, “Devourer of worlds, E…”

Entry 643: Hunter’s moon. Analysis of Cryptolith samples indicate a strong directional energy field along its twisting axis capable of distorting local field lines and poles. The disruptive properties of the stones appear to warp the flow of mana through the region with potentially severe effects for beings composed of raw mana- particularly the angels of the plane.  Inspection of the striations suggests a material only recently emerged from the earth. In contrast, crystalline analysis seems to indicate samples are far older than all other geological formations within the area. Origin of these cryptoliths are still incomplete and would require more research.

Lasair looked around while Balliuus read the entries (in the wrong order, just to spite the party). The mansion seemed to have been totally looted, with only the undesirable artifacts still left in the property – like a dissected animal pinned to a board. Spires, halls, buttresses and turrets were ripped from their moorings and left to hang at odd angles around the sundered core of the manor building. Pushing onwards, they came to a hall, with soaring columns, rumbling stone. They can see thunderclouds moving and purple lightning through a large window at the far end of the hall. In  between the flashes of light, Chad could swear he could see vampires, mouth open, fangs bared – but no -- the vampires were dead, the whole row of them and they embedded in stone.

As the party moved through the hallway lined with vampire encased in granite, a white-haired vampire blocked the path.
“What are you doing in my family’s estate?” The man’s first words to the party carried a hint of irony; his wind-swept and slightly unkempt appearance suggested he hadn’t been here long himself either.
“We need answers,” Balliuus for once figured the truth was probably better than a lie.
“In my house?”
“It’s more likely than you think. So what do you say?”
“I say get out of my house,” Sorin bared his fangs.
After antagonising Sorin further, and duelling him to a standstill, Balliuus decides to talk.,
“We were on Innistrad, and discovered that the recent changes on Innistrad might be linked to Avacyn and Nahiri. We met Nahiri and she teleported us there.”
Sorin stopped his duelling and questioning abruptly on the mention of Nahiri8’s name, eyes widening in alarm.
“What, was that the wrong thing?”
Sorin turned his heel and fled from the manor and the party.
“Either the wrong thing or the right one.” Chad quipped. “We looting this place or what?”
Balliuus refers back to Jenrik’s Journal – an entry mentions a larger collection of monoliths. These monoliths had been affecting the surrounding lands and most notably the tides off the shores of the Drownyard temple.
“The author thinks it must be due to the combined destructive power of the monoliths affecting the local leylines.” Ballli8uus explained that this, compounded by the effect of the silver moon has a pull on the tides similar to a large body. “The author predicts the disturbance of mana that the monoliths are emitting is causing an increase of supernatural activity on Innistrad and linked to whatever is happening at the Drownyard temple.”
He handles the following page with more care than a newborn and the party realise that it’s torn.
Entry 652: Taken in total, the findings presented in the work supported the presence of the object of significant mass. Most likely a new astral body, an eldritch moon of sufficient size as to provide a gravitational pull able to disrupt the normal patterns of both the tides and magical energy. More research required.”
Lasair yelled across the mansion. “I found a ring that’s like that other one, in a drawer over here.”
“Guess that means it’s ours now.”

Exiting the manor, the party noticed a group of vampires following them.
“I think those guys want trouble.” Lasair seemed always ready for a fight these days.
Balliuus slowed the party, and let the group of vampires approach.
“My lord.” The first vampire knelt before Balliuus, to his slight surprise.
“This is because of the ring isn’t it?” Balliuus queried. “Arise, Sir … Hed.”
“And the rest of you – do you pledge fealty?” Upon the assent of the remaining five vampires, Balliuus dished out their noble names, and areas of expertise. “You’re Hed, you lead the others. You’re Bed, you find the best places to rest. You’re Sed, in charge of public relations. You’re Ded – in charge of military operations. And you’re Fed, in charge of hunting and gathering.”
Stealthily making their way through the Ulvenwald and back to Hallowhedge with the -Ed team in tow, the party found Hallowhedge overrun by mutated humans, much like those that they’d encountered on Zendikar, and a battle for Hallowhedge ensued. During the battle, chimes rang from outside the town, and the zombies retreated, leaving the party to assess the damage caused to the town. They see that it has been sacked much like Zendikar. Instead of people with black latticed tendrils oozing out, the streets are filled with human and zombie bodies. In the midst of all the corpses, the party heard murmurs coming from BarDenns Inn, so they rush to investigate. Delandel greeted the party, he had barricaded Inn after gathering all living villagers.
“I was scouting the depths of Ulvenwald, looking for my grandmama…”
“Any luck?”
“No …” Delandel became lost in thought for a second, then course corrected. “I had passed by the shores of the Drownyard Temple and there was a large hoard of zombies working together … that’s never good.”
“So you want us to …?”
“Investigate if you dare. Now many younglings of the village have been captured by the zombies to be converted and worked as slaves to … do whatever they’re doing.”
“We can leave you some help here – we were headed that way anyway.” Balliuus commanded his vampire friends to stay in Hallowhedge and help Delandel with the villagers, and provide additional reinforcements if Hallowhedge would be attacked again.

Lightning flashed and forks into the ground like tendrils against the once violet sky, which had seemingly turned black. The party heard no thunder, the scene only illuminated by the flashes, and a bright shining moon, casting a stark shadow. Walking to the Drownyard temple, the air became heavier and the trees themselves mirrored the direction of the monoliths, seeming to point to each other, until they disappeared from view into the distance. The party opened Jenrik’s Journal and re-read the passages they’d found, noting once again the bending cryptoliths and the sounds of thunderstorm coming from directly above the shores of the Drownyard Temple.
They journey took them to a rocky shore just north of the reef near a small fishing outpost. Its floodwalls were nearly a foot underwater and a thick shining layer of rotting marine slime coated the dock, a moored ship, and a fishing post which was long abandoned. South of the village the moonlight shone down on a massive ring of jagged structures jutting from the ocean clawing at the waves. Above the jagged rings, nothing but the Eldritch Moon.
The party noticed that the lightning is more intense here, and more frequent, though the party could not hear any thunder in the midst of all the lightning.
“Those aren’t clouds at all … they look like they’re moving things.” Always one step ahead of the rest of the party, Balliuus was the first the bizarre nature of the storm was due to being created by a fight seemingly taking place in the sky.
Lasair picked up a snowflake which seemed to have fallen. “This seems like a wing … or ripped feathers.”
Angels. They swarmed and ringed the bells that chimed the familiar tune they heard while fighting the zombies at Hallowhedge. From the shores, a group of shambling humanoids waded through the waters to meet the party in battle.
“Oh. Fuck, we have more immediate problems than the angels!” Chad raised his axe and charged into battle.

↑

Chapter 7: Entangled

The zombie henchpeople fell at the swipe of Chad’s axe. Not that he was thinking of it this way – but it might have seemed too easy? If he’d been paying attention? But no, big sharp stick go boomph, and that was as far as Chad got with the matter.
“So you get that the storm is angels fighting?” Balliuus asked Chad in between his own dagger strikes on a separate zombie.
“Yeah, bit busy just now,” Chad continued to swipe – looking over at Lasair doing area damage with his flame breath.
The commotion on the ground must have caught the airborne angels’ attention; the absence of thunder was louder than its presence had been. Lasair looked up and noticed three angels from different warring groups descending back towards the ground – some that looked like cakes, with cream white bodies and red headdresses; some with spindly limbs that gave ethe appearance of axolotls; and one that appeared large, golden and especially ethereal (not dissimilar to Exodia).
Back on the ground, some guards from the temple in full uniform, but also clearly relieved they didn’t need to do anything, approached the party.
“The Drownyard Temple hasn’t been a safe place after the fight with Avacyn and the demon lord Griselbrand”
“Do you have more information?” Chad, on misinformation duty.
“Get out of here. We’ll take care of this.” An angel floated down from the sky, and issued the party a warning. The guards from the castle retreated on foot, glad to have their lives still intact.
“You seem to struggle managing internal conflicts – so are you sure?”
“You question our authority in our own fights? Men have died for less …”
The three angels advanced on the party, intending to defend their honour.
The party planned their strikes carefully, but the angels always seemed to have a weapon available to block the attacks – Lasair and Chad made eye contact after the fight had gone for some time.
“We keep going.” Chad commanded over the gnashing of blades.
“You could stop, you know …” the cake angel goaded – their big mistake. Lasair took advantage of the momentary lapse and ended the conflict by means of being the only survivor for it.
“Whew. One down.”
“No time for celebrating …” Chad pushed his friend back into action.
With shared resources, the axolotl angel was easily beaten, and the other angel saw the writing on the wall, or in the sky – or wherever it was she was looking. The angel nicknamed Exodia introduced herself to the party as Sigurda, Host of the Flight of Herons shepherd for the passing and defender of the living. To be fair, she’d been panting from the fight, and needed to repeat that a few times.
“I was searching for clues to explain the sudden behavioural change in supernatural beings on Innistrad ever since my sisters, Gisela, Bruna and Avacyn talked about how the humans are as destructive to Innistrad as the creatures that reside on the plane.”
“And do you agree?”
“I think right now, we need to contain the mess – then we can soprt out who’s responsible.”
“So you think we can help now?”
“This would have saved us a fair bit of time.”
Sigurda thought for a moment. “You should go to the human capital of Tharaben; there is a magical cryptolith at its center which might stop the madness>
“Right. So you’ve decided we’re helpful now.”
“Fine. Yes.”
Sigurda had more questions. “Have you witnessed any of the strange phenomena recently?
“We’ve seen the black tendrils and the moulting feathers.”
“Has it happened to any of you?”
“No, not yet.”
“Good. This is the start of the prophecy of the Devourer - Avacyn was to be Emrakul’s herald, and destroy all creatures on the plane. She had also influenced other angels to her cause including my sisters Bruna and Gisela along with their entire angel flights. She had always thought that the prophesised angel was my wayward sister, Viel, that had conspired with one of the Demon lords of Innistrad. Did Avacyn know more about the prophecy than they all did?”
A pause for breath. The party made eye contact with each other. Hooray, another raving lunatic.
Sigurda continued. “Griselbrand had pierced and infected Avacyn with the sceptre of unholy decay, trapping both of them in the Helvault. What cannot be destroyed must be bound.”
Sigurda tells the party that the key in stopping Emrakul is defeating Avacyn from unlocking the powers within the Helvault, including the beacon for which Emrakul would locate this plane from the Blind Eternities.
“But,” she cautioned, “it was omitted from the prophecy that Avacyn would have to be the one to break the Helvault to release the energy that would allow Emrakul to track where her herald is.”
“Ma’am, I’m just a barkeep.” Balliuus used the only quip he could think of, and the party headed off.

About halfway along in their journey through the forests of the Ulvenwald, Lasair noticed a small group of villagers seemingly under threat.
“Should we help them?”
“What do you mean ‘should we help them’? Of course we should.” Lasair leading for once with the same moral compass that had set fire to a house to rescue an abuse victim.
As the party stealthily approached the group of villagers, Balliuus noted that one of them was Mia. I wonder if she ever found her sheep. Doesn’t seem like she did.
“Help!” Mia yelped in between attacks from the angel – sealing the party’s fate.
One of the attacking angels that seemed to be the one in charge looked around amidst the assault.
“You get in the way?” These angels seemed pretty ungrateful for any offered help.
“Yes. And who might we be speaking to?”
“I am Bruna, and you are dead.”
“We shall see.” Chad was beginning to see the pattern here, and charged into battle.
A voice from behind the party. “No, I don’t think they are.” This had the rather unfortunate effect of breaking the flow of the combat.
“Sir Delandel?”
“Come on, get to work!”
The party makes quick work of Bruna, who then tied her up and kept her hostage.
“Now, quick,” Balliuus yelled towards the antagonised villagers, “get back to your homes. It’s not safe out here.” They scattered, probably not the best approach.
“Did you find your grandmother?”
“Not yet, still looking. Any luck on your end?”
“No, none here either.”
As the journey continued, with Delandel in tow, another group of angels heading towards Drownyard temple.
“In the name of the Host of the Flight of Goldnight, stop!”
Not that names would stop this party.
“In the name of the who, now?” Balliuus did not stop. Or think. The henchpeople of the angel that had spoken swarmed around Delandel, killing the knight before he’d had time to think.
Seeing their  fallen comrade, the party inistated fight protocols against her and her flight.
“So we’re still keeping going?” lasair asked, mostly at Chad. He dide notice that Balliuus kept himself further in the shadows.
“Yeah, we – ow.” Having taken one hit too many, and realising that the time for talking was over, Chad stopped responding to any further comments and focussed completely on taking the angels down.
One or two fell every few seconds from Balliuus, with Chad and Lasair working on Gisela.
“You wear my sister’s body as a cape! You will suffer!” The angel renewed her anger and rage after every strike.
The last thing Lasair saw was the Angel lunging towards him.
Chad saw Lasair go down. He didn’t notice the angel close to him that swung out. His vision went dark.
Upon seeing the death of his comrades, Ballius quickly uses a smoke technique blinding Gisela and her guards and made his way back to the campsite where they encountered Bruna.

Lasair opened his eyes. He seemed to be approaching the door of Cragmaw Castle, back in Phandalin feeling as though he’d rather die than knock.
But knock, he did. As his father pulled the door open with a certain amount of surprise, Lasair found the words flowing out him.
“Our healer tried to help and the priests said you liked to tinker. Here’s some money …” The dragonborn thrust out a hand, then withdrew it – realising with a start that, instead of the hand holding some money, he’d extended an arm full of robot artificer parts. Dwyfol assumed that was what he’d used to knock on the door.
“Very well, give me the parts.”
Metal was then exchanged, as well as the cash required to fix them.
“How are your brothers?”
“They still do all the songs.”
“They’re hymns, not songs. You never learnt respect …”
“Well, no, Dad; you were never particularly bothered to teach it.”
“But you do … remember them, right?”
“… yes.”
Dwyfol leant back, surveying both the collection of robot pieces in front of him, and the son that he’d clearly decided a while back would only be worthy of respect if he were somebody else.
“Show me.”
“What if I don’t?”
Dwyfol looked down. “There’s not enough money here anyway …”
Lasair sighed. “Fine.”
Dwyfol set to work with the robot, barely watching his son stumble through the complex religious ceremonies he had been taught since birth.
After about ten minutes and two bruised knees, Lasair looked over at his father.
“So are you going to tell me what it is that you’re doing?”
“Hmph. If you want to help, go grab a frying pan and all the bolts you can find.”
Lasair managed to pull Goblin Ramsey’s special pan from somewhere within the pile of – Dwyfol was certain this was the technical term for it – goblin junk. He then set about removing the bolts from the table legs and light fittings.
“Hmph. Two short.” Again, without even looking up.
Lasair was at a loss. Nothing else in the house to take apart.
After a brief deliberation, he took the hinges from the door. The dragon’s reputation was as good an alarm as any.
“Okay, so first we need to use the pan as the main body, like this,” Dwyfol did something and then somehow the pan was cylindrical.
“The bolts are just to keep the whole thing together, and most of the pieces are still here…”
He mucked about for a bit, just sitting and hammering, while Lasair looked around the room at the life he could’ve had. All in all, not missed much.
After about half an hour, Dwyfol stood up, and robot seemed … complete, but not quite ready yet. Something was still missing. He muttered several incantations, then the robot moved.
Goblin Ramsey straightened up, as if awakened from a bad dream.
“So what’d I miss … and what did you do with my frying pan?”
YOU ARE DEAD. The voice rang through Lasair’s brain, not necessarily unkind, but very difficult to ignore. He focussed, trying to dismiss it and return to the task he thought was at hand.
“But I can’t be …”
YOU ARE DEAD. The same voice. Now, the surroundings Lasair thought real were starting to flicker.
“But how can I be dead?” By the time Lasair had finished that sentence, his delusion had faded, and he lay on sandy ground. Standing up, it seemed to be sandy everywhere.
DON’T WORRY, I BROUGHT YOU A FRIEND. Lasair noticed the tall robed man, and a small round robot next to him. Ah, so this is where Goblin had ended up too.
“I can see that.”
Goblin spoke, seemingly loud in the dusty expanse, “We need to help the others.”
“Any ideas?” Lasair had begun to recover from his shock.
“Just one. Come.”
Goblin led Lasair back to Death’s house, and the beginning of the continuation of his life.
A loud pop caused the three beings to turn back around.
“We need to help Lasair!” Chad burst out.
“Yes, I’m on that,” Goblin Ramsey said coldly, a little annoyed that someone else knew his friend by name, given how hard he’d worked for that.
“Who are you?” Chad asked the area in general, taking in the sudden visceral change in his surroundings
YOU ARE DEAD
“Oh.” It seemed not a lot of people had other replies than that.
AND YOU’LL BE WONDERING WHAT TO DO NEXT
“Something like that.
COME WITH ME. I CAN SHOW YOU.
“But how do you know each other?” Chad gestured at Goblin.
“Hey, don’t be judgemental.” Goblin was offended by the lack of reverence his metal frame had been given.
“Not—I just—wasn’t expecting…”
“Lasair to have friends?” Goblin had met Lasair too, so could extrapolate where this was going.
“Hey! Rude – but also fair.” Lasair tried in vain to stand up for himself.
ARE YOU READY YET? THE HEROES’ ROOM IS GETTING RATHER FULL. SO WE MAY HAVE LESS TIME THAN WE THOUGHT
“Heroes’ room?”
“This is Death. He has a room of hourglasses, and a chamber off that for the really important people. Except we’ve just noticed that a lot more people are in there than there was yesterday. Something’s coming and it’s going to need a lot heroes.
SO WE BEST GET GOING. Death seemed to have changed his tune since his conversation with the Matron. Almost like he’d noticed the gravity of the situation. So someone had dropped an apple on his head.

↑

Chapter 8: Unleashed

Dochas Draiocht had been born in Phandalin, destined to die at birth. An elven couple, his parents, in a desperate bid to save their dying child, promised an alchemist that he could insert the blood of a dragon into the child’s veins. The only nearby dragon being the one in the castle. Under the pretenses of a religious ritual, the gnomish priest guarding the dragon is convinced to give up a vial of his wife’s blood, and this is inserted into the child, who is then saved, but with special abilities, especially when communicating with dragons.
This child seemed unnaturally gifted, as if blessed by … magic. So he sailed through childhood and into adulthood well-armed with the knowledge that Gods were real, and he had the blood of one flowing through his veins. At least that seemed to be the story he was told by his parents, who had interpreted the events in that way. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they were wrong about most of it.
Dochas had begun learning magic, been good at it even, and he was pulled from his world into a new one, with green-purple light and a faint, almost imperceptible sound of an incantation. He knew better than to question the Gods – because what other explanation could there be – so he picked himself up, only the clothes on his back, and began to wander through the Ulvenwald without much purpose, but killing enough creatures to survive.

Wiliam lived on a swamp by himself. He liked it that way. Did have its downsides – where you needed to do all your own chores and all the hunting you’d need. But beyond that life was simple. And William liked simple. If you could hit it with an axe and then it stopped moving, that was a win, relatively speaking. He’d been that way for a long time, to the point where he’d vaguely forgotten what even the local grocer looked like.
He heard the rustling sounds outside of his hut just after sunset, and put some flat shoes on to investigate.
“Stay … away … from my swamp!” William yelled at … nothing. Well. There was a well, that glowed slightly.
Seemed to have just arrived. But nothing else.
He walked forward to investigate. Looked well-shaped.
Put a hand in, and that was his biggest mistake. Because he just kept going. Down and down. Falling forever …

Balliuus sat around the campfire. His whole friend-group had disappeared in a moment. Maybe he should have been killed as well. But he’d be fine. He didn’t need them. He had a companion bird, he’d called it Cawcaw, which would be a substitute for people.
He moped for a while, then a well-shaped portal in the campsite’s fire pit opened. Nothing else of note seemed immediately to happen with the well. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of Balliuus, and he sent Cawcaw to investigate. He came back with two new charges for Balliuus to … do something? Get them home, or something. These new comrades were a half orc Barbarian named William Steig and Draconic sorcerer named Dóchas Draíocht.
Gathered around the campfire, the newly assembled group exchanged introductions and camaraderie.
“So. Shit’s fucked.” Balliuus led with the important information first.
“Or hello, as they used to say.” The elven man seemed to be looking down his nose at Balliuus. Balliuus didn’t judge him for it, they’d only just met.
“What am I doing here?” The orcish man seemed like he belonged somewhere else. Well, they all belonged somewhere else.
“Well, I’ll fill you  in. From what I can see, if we … help certain people that need help, then we can go home.”
“Ah, so we’re stuck.”
“Gotcha.” Even realising that there was little the party could do about6 their current situation, Dochas’ general demeanour had softened.
Conversation continued to flow with ease, and their shared resentment towards a certain sister near a well in Phandalin became an unlikely bonding point.
“Oh! So that’s who to blame!” William had begun to see the direction his anger should have been pointed.
“If we keep going, we might be able to get even.” Balliuus was out of ideas. Today had been enough of a rollercoaster in any case.
United by a common thread of disdain, they found themselves growing into an unlikely team, solidifying their alliance in the face of the enigmatic challenges that lay ahead.

Clad with their makeshift backpack comprising the corpse of Bruna, the party ventured forth with a renewed sense of purpose. Their sights were set on a confrontation with Gisela, a pursuit fueled by their burning desire to resolve the celestial turmoil that gripped Innistrad. Yet, as they approached the location where Gisela had once stood, they were met with an unexpected sight. Instead of Gisela, there were now two angels of Goldnight (cake), guardians of her legacy, ready to defend her honour. Tharaben remained a beacon of hope amidst the chaos, and the party continued their quest. Opting for a path that would take them through the formidable Voldaren Estate, they embarked on a perilous venture, with bravery in their hearts and determination guiding their steps
Reaching the estate, it seemed more put-together than the previous two vampire estates the party had been involved with.
The lineage’s leader, Olivia Voldaren, seemed less than pleased with the party’s presence.
“What brings you here?”
“We’re headed to Tharaben.” Balli8uus was thoroughly done with this style of questioning – being the ump[tenth time that people with good information had refused to help for no reason.
“And that concerns me why?”
“You know of Nahiri?”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “We do, yes. In a … war … type way.”
“Ah, so you like her as much as we do. We need to get to Tharaben, to fix her shit.”
“Okay, if I let you through, you won’t pose a threat?”
“Sure, whatever.”
This line of arguing seemed to almost work, but the Voldaren vampires hadn’t quite understood the task – attacking senselessly. The party responded in kind, until only Olivia remained.
She sighed. “Finbe. I suppose you can have the ring of the Voldaren lineage.”
“We seem to be collecting vampire family heirlooms like they’re trading cards.”
“Wait, they’re not?”

Continuing their journey to Tharaben, they see that the zombies and angels and zombie-angel hybrids are all fighting one another, clustering around Tharaben, including the grey skies, that have been more of the usual lightning without thunder that they saw at Drownyard temple. The closer to Tharaben the more frequent the lightning, until they reach Tharaben and the lightning ceases. The angels had landed as their mutated wings struggled to keep them above the ground. And that the ground was covered in blooded stained feathers and black tared appendages.

Upon entering through the first gate of Tharaben, seemingly a citadel town not used to the general level of disarray it was being subjected to – with rubbish strewn in the streets and people darting between buildings which were then closed immediately behind them. The hill in the centre of the fortress, and what the town seemed to have been built around hosted the monument that the odd mutated human was headed towards. Gisela and her flight of angels swooped down from the skies to torment the citizens, on a ‘randomly targeted’ basis; purging the human capital of strays and BOOBS abominations alike. Without the party especially signalling her, she noticed them from the sky, and swooped down herself to meet them.
“How dare you!” No further words given by the angel, before she lunged towards the party.
“My sister! As a backpack! Sister, whar have they done? What have they turned you into? Oh dear sister!”
Another brief skirmish, but a grief-stricken Gisela was no match for the well-prepaaredd and practiced adventurers. She, like everyone else before her, started to monologue.
“This is what we become, our final evolution  to embody her beauty, her unholiness. I, Gisela, host of Goldnight give myself willingly to her cause --”
Chad stepped forward and swung his axe, catching the distracted angel off-guard.
“No idea what we just stopped, but it was probably bad.” Chad sheathed the weapon.
“Do you want to keep the wings? That seemed to cause some … problems.” Balliuus just wanted to stay alive at this point.
“Yeah, I’m keeping them. They started it.”
“Okay …” Balliuus didn’t seem entirely convinced that this step was conducive to their physical health.
William led the [party deeper into Tharaben, and towards a second gate.

The party passed through the gate, and arrived in a town square, or at least as much of a town square as a walled fortress built in a circular fashion around a monument could have. A priest had used cantrips to increase the volume of his voice and was preaching to whomever could understand and would listen (so, sum total of nobody). The party settle in and witnesses a rally in the square with Church Lunarch Mikaeus at a podium preaching about a new order within the church.
“Curses to Avacyn, as she has brought this hatred on us herself – all of her winged kind have left us in their wake for as long as we can remember. And they don’t even remember, for we are beneath them. With me as church leader, the church will focus on you and your power -- with me at the helm, mankind will no longer be hidden and ignored, but feared instead”.
A guard approached the party. “You will be tested. If you are pure, the church can keep you.”
“What if we just want to sleep?” Dochas had had enough.
“You can do that too.” The guard seemed confused by this turn of events.
As the rally continued, the party was separated and tried, which simply seemd to be that the guards decided at random whether they were ‘good enough’ or not.
Dochas was among the ones chosen, accepted, and blessed by Mikaeus to join the new church order; while Ballius and William were both rejected.
As the rejectees fate were to be executed by the new church order, William and Balliuus led the other refugees in fighting the church guards as well as Mikaeus, slaughtering them and freeing the rejected from their deaths. While this was happening, some of the chosen few accepted in the new church order slipped out behind the building and out of Tharaben. Dochas joined back up with the party after the fight, and leaving the city to tidy up after itself (or, more likely, all become BOOBS infected corpses), the party continued into the third, final level of Tharaben – the nearest to the monument they could get.

When the party arrived at the monolith in the centre of Tharaben, an angel of pure white, seemingly untouched by the madness of her surroundings, had beaten the party to the landmark. She was floating slightly off the ground and caressing the black and blue monolith that the party could see within the weeping willow tree. Unlike her comrades, her wings were still full of white feathers, not yet stained by blood or black latticed tar. Her hair and her face were pure white, a spitting image of the vampire, Sorin Markov.
“I used to hear everyone on this plane, their thoughts, their cries and their pleas. Now I only hear her, she’s calling to me, and she’s coming. Can you hear her? She found me, called to me when I was trapped in the Helvault and comforted me in my imprisonment. She had so many stories about her adventures across worlds with her brothers, about her brothers had been banished by puny, vile, vicious vermins, and how she had been imprisoned between worlds. She kept talking and I listened. But I saw a light within all the darkness, a crack was made in the Helvault, so I seized the opportunity for my people. They needed me but she had followed me and she kept talking. I had a job to do, to protect the people of Innistrad, but all I can hear is her in their voices. WHY CANT YOU HEAR HER?!”

The angel became increasingly agitated as her monologue went on; the party could see the angel’s madness building up before them. Without notice Avacyn had lunged at the party, with Chad and Dochas putting up a hasty yet effective defence. The party tried to talk to Avacyn, but she paid them no more attention than a training dummy would get, continuing to shout.
“Why don’t you just shut up and leave me alone”.
On these last words, a new presence graced the sky.
Balliuus looked for confirmation of the newcomer’s identity. “Sorin?”
“Shh. Go bother someone else. Now,” Sorin’s attention shifted to Avacyn, “listen to me. You need to leave this cryptolith. You don’t know what is inside, and will be unleashed.”
On these words, Avacyn lashed back, injuring Sorin. They fought amongst themselves, Avacyn charging at Sorin recklessly. After a few neatly parried (by Sorin) blows, Avacyn cracked open the Helvault, as her last act before death.
Avacyn seemed to recover herself a little, once the Helvault opened
“My … my thoughts are no longer clouded by Emrakul”.
She surveyed the scene in her dying moments, noting all the damage she had caused.
“I was their protector and I have not protected. I was a symbol for the church that had kindled a zealous spark and I was the tool that fanned those flames. Father… forgive me, I was raised to be the shield to defend your plane but in the end I was used as a weapon by the people I wore to protect.” Then she collapsed and stayed prone on the ground.
The crack in the Helvault, starting at a hair width spread along the entire length and turned from blue to bright purple then dark violet as black tendrils leech out of the cracks, clawing at the air.
The true form of an Eldrazi Titan emerged from the horizon, a large purple mushroom-like being with numerous tendrils acting as legs and a single purple light radiating from the centre where an eye would naturally be frantically searching of her now deceased friend. Her appearance attracted the whole party’s attention as they remembered the name of the titan from the entries in Jenrik’s Journal, Emrakul. The party then looked back to where the fallen angel and Sorin had been, to see Sorin holding Avacyn in his arms and planeswalking away.

Balliuus discarded the journal. “Fucking Markov journal.”
“Damn incomplete research. He was probably thinking he’d be able to get free labour.”
“He’s literally dead.” Dochas interjected
“Well, yes. But we sustained losses too.”
“Oh, right …” Balliuus looked down at the crumbled, split journal, and picked it back up – handling each piece like the soul of a friend.
William noticed the change in the atmosphere. “We should have a funeral.”
“Well,” Balliuus looked over at the shadow in the distance. “Likely we’re dead anyway. So why not.”
“You’re the only one that actually knew them … you speak first.”
“I’d literally rather die. And will almost certainly run away.”
“You could swap places with me, then.”
Balliuus looked up at the unexpected voice. Well, a reply had been expected but not one that sounded like … that. He hadn’t heard that voice since …
“Goblin? How did you come back?”
“There’s this desert after you die …”
“The diabetes always make it seem like the dessert will be the thing that kills you.”
“No, wrong one. The other kind of …”
“Oh, gotcha.”
“But yeah, there was this guy, called himself Death. I’ve fgot to help him with some stuff, so you might see me again.”
“And you got fixed up?”
“Yeah they have all sorts of repair materials there, too. Lasairbhelped with the welding.”
“Ooh, Lasair! And yeah, that explains the pot-belly.”
“Yes, quite literally.”
“So, you want to speak; then go for it.”
With a clank, Goblin Ramsey spoke. “So I guess first we’ll remember Lasair. Sadly taken from us by …” He trailed off, clearly the limitations to his knowledge would cause some issues during the speech.
Balliuus spoke up. “The vampires.”
“Oh. Well, I liked being in a party with him, before I, yeah …” Goblin looked down at his belly, which creaked.
“Yes, you got git, by the Gotrogg. Or so I’ve been told.” William, just doing his best.
“Other way around – got by the Gitrogg. And it was the minions that got you.” Balliuus corrected the errors in the speech so far (most of it).
“The yellow buggers?” Goblin.
“No, the angels that looked like cakes came later.” A retort from Dochas, which left Goblin confused.
“Okay lets do this in order, and …”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do the bloody speeches. This is causing me physical pain.” Balliuus took over.
“Lasair was a hard man to get to know. He must have taken a risk on us at some point at the beginning …”
“And the end.”
“Will you let me finish, Goblin? You’re the one that didn’t want to do the speeches. Anyway, he took a risk on us and I am glad I knew him, even if at the beginning he was standoffish and made the dinners in Hallowhedge awkward.”
“Okay, next is …”
“Stop trying to MC. I’ll move on when I’m ready, thank you very much. Goblin Ramsey was the next to die.”
“I’m right here.”
“Sometimes I can still hear his voice …”
“I’m right here.”
“He liked stealing pots and always bragged about all the cool equipment he had, not that we ever saw any of it.”
“Fair. Next?”
“I’ll disassemble you if you try and cat-herd me again. Next, Chad died and he was very direct, but should take some hits in a fight. Just not enough. Pleasure to have in class.”
“In class?”
“Well, obviously only I actually have class. But in the classroom, which is … like, the world. Chad always attacked the stuff in wells. As I recall, his logic was ‘fuck Sister Giraele’. Which was fair enough.”
“And the monsters?”
“Why the hell would I eulogise the monsters?” asked Balliuus, brandishing a screwdriver, “also what did I tell you?” Caw Caw prepared himself for the seemingly inevitable feast on eyes.
“But my wings though?” Chad spoke up.
“Eh. They can have their own funeral. I reckon we’re done here. Now, let’s get out of here before that octopus thing gets to us.”

↑

Chapter 1: On The Run

Death needed an apprentice, Mort, so one was procured from an orphanage with no regard for where he came from. He had been quietly watching the developments on the Discworld for some time, secure in the knowledge that the world could be fixed from behind the scenes. Or at least, with careful manipulation. After all, all Death needed to do was wait …
He was haunted by the memory of a necromancer, Marvello, who seemed intent on revenge. Occasionally there’d be a new crop of corpses that claimed to be sent by him. Certainly worth watching out for …
HMM. THE PLOT THICKENS. OH, THAT WAS OUT LOUD.

*

It’s funny the things people will make up to get people they don’t like into a place that is far away. As a result of other people’s actions, or lies, or whatever they might have needed to do, three inmates, marked by high-vis clothing and a label-maker as Stephone, Hannibur and Calima found themselves in a prison cell for crimes that allegedly happened.
“So, what brings you here?” Hannibur led the small talk. Ironic, given his status as a half-orcish man.
“The usual. They tried to hang me for witchcraft. It was nice in that tree.” Stephone answered first, her wood elven form hunched in a cell made for beings just slightly smaller than her.
“And?” Hannibur gestured towards their other compatriot – another hunched elf. But he seemed focussed on other matters – what else there could have been in this context Hannibur wasn’t quite sure – and he didn’t respond.
“Fine. Keep to yourself.”
Hannibur and Stephone kept themselves entertained by investigating individual escape routes.
“And you’re sure you weren’t given a chisel?”
“Chisel?”
“How else are we gonna get out of here?”
“You keep assuming we’ll work together – but I barely know you.”
“Then let’s get cracking. What’s your favourite time of day?”
“The one where I’m free to explore.”
“Okay, fine. Why were you tried as a witch?”
“My son …” Stephone disengaged from the mildly confrontational air she’d assumed up to now, looking down at her feet. Hannibur hadn’t so much stepped on a nerve as nuked it.
“Wait, so …?”
“Necromancy.”
“Ah. That’ll do it. We can worry about that later. Wanna see a card trick?”
Hannibur showed card tricks to Stephone, making it blatantly clear that the card draws were fixed – which succeeded at annoying and confusing her. Other than this brief exchange, the assembled felons had little interest in getting to know each other. After a full hour of no responses to the party at all, the elven man whose nametag proclaimed him to be called Calima stood up and turned invisible, then reappeared on the other side of the cell door.
“See how easy to escape the cells are?”
Hannibur played dice games instead of being productive. Which is to say, nobody was watching. Pleased with himself for the initial trick, but deflated that nobody else had engaged, Calima stepped back into the cell.
“Wait, how did you …?”
“Teleportation.” His first word to the party was a gloat.
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. Calima’s internal monologue didn’t match the external reality. Where are we? Where am I? Just need to play it cool …

After a further hour of silence, the three befriended a member of the Assassin’s guild in the next cell over – who wasted no time telling them telling them why being friends was advantageous. As part of these discussions, which are redacted due to Guild confidentiality, the three became members themselves. Prisoners in surrounding cells watched this development with great interest – Calima noticed some of them were Assassins (marked by a tattoo on the back of the hand), and some were from a competing Guild – the Fools. Pointy hats, as is tradition.
“I really think your friend was on to something.” The guild member stated, and implored the party to use the Hide ability to fool the prison guards and orchestrate an escape. Between the invisible Calima, and hidden Hannibur, all cell doors in the prison were miraculously opened, and a brawl broke out between the Assassin’s and Fool’s Guilds.
“Your jokes are so weak that if it were me, I’d just die.” Hannibur delivered a sick burn to a member of the Fool’s Guild, causing his spontaneous death.
Prison guards were again (surprise, surprise) unable to control the brawl as it escalated.
Brawl still ongoing, a highly charismatic halfling called Mort walked into the prison, looked around and walked out again, taking the hidden party with him. Not that anyone else would have known anything to have happened at all. That’s how camouflage worked. Nothing suspicious there.
Huh. Wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. Mort was surprised he’d found his target on the first try. Normally he had to fish around for a bit. Get this party to a secluded spot, then he could enact his employer’s wishes – find a way to kill Hannibur.
Outside the prison, dead of night, with the lingering sounds of prisoner discontent in thee air behind them – the party took stock of their situation.
“Thanks for holding the door open.”
“Holding the – oh. You didn’t know who I was …” Understanding the coincidental nature of his successful kidnapping now, Mort was crestfallen. He’d thought he was special.
“We need to get out of here,” Calima’s panicked request was slightly overshadowed by the sounds of banging against the prison door.
“Yes, come. This way.” Mort could salvage this. Not totally ruined. Yet.
The party rushed through a nearby alleyway – heading into a slum area of town that a lamppost proclaimed was called The Shades. They rushed in between buildings, and past drainpipes that would fail without notice, causing the next great flood. Nobody ever asked where the pipes actually went. Most probably into the buildings below – the ones from a hundred years ago that were no longer safe for living in, but were safe to use as foundations.
Having moved several blocks in this way, and being out of the eyeline of most of the policemen in the city (why patrol a poverty-stricken area of high crime, when you know more or less what you’re going to find?), the party slowed down.
The thought crossed Mort’s mind that this was it. His moment.
SO, UM …
Fuck.
I TAKE IT YOU FAILED YOUR MISSION.
“Well, haven’t … done it yet.” It always felt like Mort was apologising for late hoimework with this guy.
SO, FAILURE THEN. DO YOU NEED MORE TRAINING?
“I need more time.” He turned around to look the enrobed skeleton standing behind him in the eye-socket.
COMPLETED MISSION, OR MORE TRAINING. THOSE ARE YOUR ONLY OPTIONS.
The rest of the party heard (and felty, in the appropriate cases) this exchange.
“What mission?” Hannibur asked.
Mort pulled a timer out of his pocket. Ornate and seemingly handcrafted, the hourglass was nearly finished.
“I’m so sorry, but I’ve come for you.”
“What for?”
DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
Hannibur looked puzzled. “But then why did we just break out of –”
NO. YOU MISUNDERSTAND.
As Hannibur heard the words in his head, the hourglass refilled with sand.
THIS IS NOT THE END FOR YOU.
Realisation dawned with Calima, who’d figured out broadly the world he was living in when the hourglass had been introduced. “Oh, you need something.”
WE ALL DO, I THINK. Death’s attention shifted back to Mort. BUT NOT NOW. MY APPRENTICE NEEDS MORE TRAINING.
The two shadowy figures disappeared as quietly as they’d arrived, leaving the party standing on an intersection in the dark.
The Assassin’s and Fool’s Guilds had free reign over much of Ankh-Morpork, especially at this time of night, and even as the party stood in the instersection, a rumour started that the misplaced prisoners had been led by a mysterious stranger through the city to a safe place.
Another shadowy figure, with hands over their eyes as though trying to obscure themselves bumped into Hannibur, who hadn’t seen quite enough action yet – handing him a map with the plan to ‘kill the Patrician’ scrawled on it. But that can’t have even happened at all, because nobody saw them leave the prison, so they must be here somewhere … maybe under the sink?
So, at least for now, it seemed they had some kind of protection. But this appeared to have a price tag attached.

↑

Chapter 2: Before The Beginning

Death and Mort materialised in the Plane of the Dead, sand already seeping into Mort’s shoes.
“Take me back – those are the right guys.”
I KNOW. BUT THEY NEED MORE CONVINCING.
“So, what exactly?”
TAKE THIS.
“Oh, right. And go back there?”
Death stood off to the side, considering how to respond for a moment. He already knew that all three of those men had been the correct people. He knew what they would need to be ‘convinced’. He’d read their files.
YES. YOU MAY WANT TO TAKE THEIR LIFES TORIES TOO.
“Right, we don’t normally show people those –”
I KNOW, BUT WE NEED TO.
Mort scuttled through the sand, partly for his own amusement – heading back to the library of Death, and past a robot and dragonborn taking about recipes that involved flame-grilling.
Then Death dissociated, as much as it was possible for Death to do so – and recalled the earlier sections of the party’s life files.

*

As you might expect from drunkards that weren’t paying attention, Staracter, a Half-Orc man, and Daefir, a High Elven man were killed by a falling sleigh early morning on Hogswatchnight. To be fair, it had come out of nowhere. When reaching the afterlife, the men were tasked by Death with saving Christmas, as if they hadn’t had a busy enough day already. He wouldn’t give them more information and was generally unwilling to be a good host, even though there weren’t a lot of available alternatives.
Apparently he asked them this because the Hogfather was lost, and if he were not to be found, the whole tradition of Hogswatchnight would be ruined. Not least because the loss of the Hogfather would mean that nobody believed in him anymore, and this would be enough to kill any God. The party found him in a guest room, whining about his life, after a discussion with a woman called Susan, who was presumably a relative of Death, about where he might have been. The Hogfather was convinced by observing an army of zombies being corralled like cats, to continue with the traditions he was trying to run from. The sleigh travelled the normal route around the Disc at its scheduled time.
Daefir had allegedly been accused of some crimes while alive, and that they discovered they weren’t guilty by peeking at other people’s life books, and resetting a few people’s life timers, as Death had full records of everything that people had done or would do in the form of a book detailing past life events, and a timer that detailed how much more life they had left. The book was self-writing, and the timer constantly draining. The other man, Staracter, was very helpful when talking to the zombies.

*

Born into a lower-class family of the Nafooi? Island in the Circle Islands near the edge of the Disc, Hannibur was drawn to a life of minor crime and trickery from a young age, both for the thrill of getting away with things, and to ensure the survival of his family. He is an impulsive man, doing the action that is most readily available to him, but never truly straying from the rules of society. He might have been happy to repay any of the debt he had accrued, but he was never caught, so it didn’t matter too much. After a turmultuous teenage period in which Hannibur was frequently in trouble for either starting bar fights, finishing bar fights or giving other people a reason to start bar fights, he became an adult with somewhat respectable standing in the community of the Islands, and was in line to become leader of the village.
On the morning before his coronation, Hannibur was introduced to a woman that Hannibur would only ever be able to describe as angelic. The kind of face you both couldn’t look at, and couldn’t look away from at the same time. Hannibur devised his own solution to that specific issue, and found himself conducting the entire meeting staring at her breasts.
The meeting went well, they were to be married at the end of the week; her name was Liriene. She hailed from royalty from a nearby island, hoping to merge resources to have a better chance at surviving the current issue of the rising temperatures and ocean levels.
The relationship progressed smoothly for the week, Liriene’s natural chemistry smoothing over Hannibur’s natural … lack of soft skills, and with both people still happy to marry – having spent more time together than apart – the ceremony date was set and arrangements made.
The day of the wedding, before it was to occur, a large boat arrived at the island with an unsanctioned member of the Assassin’s Guild bearing a message for the leader of the village. There was to be a war soon in an area near the city and this was to be a draft of any able-bodied people with which to fight, and leave immediately.
The goodbye was short and sweet, or at the very least as sweet as these things can be. In this time, Lirene improvised a short ceremony during which the two became married in a more formal way than simply an emotional one. Due to the nature of this ceremony, neither village is actually aware of the wedding, and both sides have simply an ornately wound marriage ribbon with which to remember each other by.
They then slept together once, with Hannibur leaving immediately afterwards on a boat headed for Ankh-Morpork.
While boarding the boat, Hannibur thought he could see Liriene doing something, it looked like a wave, so surely that’s what it must have been.
And then the days at sea with no direction or purpose, waiting for military service.
But no.
Hannibur decided that the life of service was not for him – instead he wanted to experience the world and its delights, and was prepared to get out of this in any way he could.
So naturally, he used his existing repertoire of tricks to start a fight and take over the ship in the resulting brawl. He only used his control to cancel the military order, but was immediately arrested on arrival in Ankh-Morpork, put in prison. Someone must have snitched. If eventually Hannibur is to get out of prison, he might find joy exploring and discovering the pleasures of the city, or doing his best to start fights in his usual manner. Perhaps eventually he will return to his bride laden with riches and stories, only time will tell …

*

Stephone was a member of a holy order of clerics dedicated to the healing arts known as the Forward Order hoping that she would find a means to revive her lost son, killed and cursed by the Raven Man. Over the years of studying countless scripts, she had thought that the manipulation of death would enhance her healing abilities but was considered a hectic to her peers and outcast from the order. She had studied under the tutelage of wizard named Marvello, further honing her skills in necromancy in her years of exile. But her lessons were cut short after Marvello had seemingly left in the middle of the night. One day, she had came across a silhouette while scavenging in the woods. Suddenly a green light flashed, with the words "Avada Kedavra" with wisps of death looming in the air. Attempting to distance herself from the chaos she knew was coming and that she would be unable to control, she fled the town with no further regard for Marvello or his whereabouts. She had thought that the city would lead to greater opportunities for her to possibly reconnect with her son, but relocating only increased her problems as the city folk were unwilling to acknowledge the power of a magician with control over the dead. After a particularly grisly display of magic, a witch hunt commenced not long after where Stephone was captured by the nearby townsfolk.

*

Born in what could be described as a humble background, Calima has always had one major flaw: being too smart for his own good. While most kids his age would be learning to read – and perhaps even start to write, if they were smarter than average – Calima had already gotten past that point and was already onto his second language. Perhaps this was the reason the blue-eyed eladrin was named ‘Calima’ or ‘smart one’. Regardless of his intellectual exploits, he still managed to have a relatively ordinary childhood, even if his father had never been part of his familial life. While the latter was said to have disappeared, some rumours speculated that he had been kidnapped while others claimed he abandoned them. No matter the truth, this left Calima with only a silver teardrop earring as guise of paternal keepsake.
It was this very keepsake that led Calima to pursue his studies in the arcane arts, after deducing that the earring was made from a real teardrop. Fascinated and curious to learn more, he set out on his own and went to a university to learn more about the world and its wonders. While deemed as an objective person by his peers during his studies he also developed a few bad habits, such as talking to himself when wanting to be left alone or speaking at a ridiculously slow pace when dealing with people he deemed to be idiots. Nonetheless, his quest for knowledge continued and led him to the study of chronurgy magic.
Though geniuses rarely experience failure, they are not immune from making mistakes, and Calima was no exception. While working on developing a new spatio-temporal principle, he inadvertently activated the mechanisms of the spell on himself. While this could have had fatal consequences had he been studying another type of magic such as pyromancy, he did not experience anything and brushed it off as the spell failing. However, uncertainty remained and, after thoroughly investigating this accident, he arrived at the conclusion that he had managed to theoretically make himself immortal. While many would have rejoiced or celebrated for achieving what so many could only dream of in his field of studies, Calima was instead conflicted: this was theoretical. Theoretically, he was immortal, but how could he reliably prove it or even test it? Attempting to kill yourself only to realise your theory was flawed would be nothing short of foolish and beyond unwise.
While trying to find a solution to this conundrum, Calima tried to recreate the spell that had caused him such anxiety and ended up learning a few crucial points of information. Firstly, his ability to cast magic had severely regressed, to a point where this would have greatly chagrined his past self. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, he was currently in a new place he had never seen before, after unsuccessfully recasting the spell.
The room he was in was most peculiar not due to its architecture but rather for the fact that it contained an unimaginable number of hourglasses, each organised and neatly labelled. While letting his gaze follow the neat lines of hourglasses, he finally noticed a hooded figure facing away from him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, how the hell is this even possible? What even is this shit? Are you serious? I swear I’m not getting paid enough for dealing with this nonsense.”
These were the very words that he overheard, coming from the hooded figure that was turning around and finally noticing him. Now, while Calima had already seen quite a lot of curiosities and wonders, he certainly did not expect to see a robed skeleton to address him. Perhaps due to a mix of surprise and confusion, he let the bony individual continue.
“Excuse me but what the hell did you do? Also, would you mind explaining what you did to this poor hourglass?”
Calima, still in a bit of stupor, answered him:
“Uhm, that’s a Klein bottle?”
“I can see that; what I’m asking is how the hell did you manage to change your hourglass into that?”
“My hourglass?”
“Ah right, I forgot the usual formalities. Hello, I’m death. Yes, the death that comes claim your soul and all those shenanigans. Yes, I am a skeleton. No, you cannot touch the scythe. No, I will not increase your lifespan because you asked me nicely. And no, I do not take autographs. There, satisfied?”
“Uhm, and the hourglass?”
“Ah, right. Long story short, your lifespan is defined by the amount of sand remaining in it. Once you run out of sand, that’s it, you’re dead. Kaput. End of the line.”
“Right…”
“Thing is, look at what you did to this poor hourglass: the sand keeps falling and never lands anywhere.”
“Well yeah, that’s kind of the principle of a Klein bottle: if you follow its surface, you end up where you were but upside down because –”
“Listen, I don’t need a science lesson about –”
“It’s mathematics, technically.”
“Don’t care. Point is, this creates a huge mess because this means that you technically won’t die.”
“Technically?”
“Technically”
“Meaning?”
Death sighed before continuing in the most monotonous voice possible.
“You kind of broke the space-time continuum that affects you, meaning that every time you are supposed to die, this will conflict with the time continuum. Naturally, the space continuum will have to compensate, and you’ll probably end up being teleporting to another place and potentially to another time, if there are any conflicts with the space continuum as well.”
“Wait, is that why I’m ended up here?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that; how did you get here in the first place? I was supposed to come pick you up to make you clean this mess.”
“I mean, I was this spell just like this and –”
By this point, Calima realised that he had cast the spell once again and was once more standing in an unfamiliar setting. This also confirmed something he suspected after his previous casting of the spell: his body could not handle the spell – probably due to his ability to cast magic regressing so much – and essentially was killing him. However, as Death had explained, he technically did not die but was instead relocated somewhere else in the space-time continuum.
From this point onward, Calima would keep exploring wherever his condition took him, allowing him to continue his studies. Whereas wizards would have taken this opportunity to cloister themselves to work, he instead developed a taste for adventuring, as this would expose him to a variety of wonders and new pieces of knowledge. The only problem was that Death would eventually show up to try to get him to come and clean up his mess, but Calima would usually use the spell once more to go to a different point in space and time.
This game of cat and mouse would go on over many years, as it often was a tedious process for Death to locate one person at a specific place and point in time. In the meantime, this allowed Calima to have various journeys, some even lasting to a few years. It was after one of these journeys that Calima realised that disguising himself would be the best way to evade Death and consequently took up a new identity. Amongst the various changes in his identity, he changed his hair colour to silver and assumed a new identity as an airhead tourist. This would justify his lack of knowledge of the new places he would visit while allowing him to explore the most unusual places. However, after finishing his latest journey, he certainly did not expect to be teleported to a jail cell somewhere on the Discworld.

↑

Chapter 3: The Dragon Re-Homing Project

Mort rematerialized in front of the party immediately after he’d previously left,  with Calima’s life timer – a Klein bottle.
“You guys will be taken to Death soon; I just need to decide whether to help you or not.”
“And you’re still standing there?”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
“What will it take for you to do so?”
“We’ll find out.”
The fully-assembled party started to head towards the Patrician’s house, intuition and observation of the surrounding area led them to decide that the nicest looking building in the region must be the one.
Along the way, the party heard an extremely loud crash, and saw a meteor seemingly streaking down towards the city – as it became more visible and within viewing distance, the party realised it was a full-size dragon (although Calima and Mort were, in fact, very attentive towards the flowers at that point in time). The dragon became, as one might expect in the circumstances, priority number one – and the party diverted from the plan to kill the Patrician, and instead go to see the dragon.

*

There were in fact 4 children from the gnome and dragon, all dragonborns. One had the upper body of a dragon and lower of a man. We’ve met him already; his name’s Lasair. Another had the top half of a man, and legs of a dragon. He made friends even less easily than his brother, if such a thing were to be possible. His name, and this might have gotten confusing at family gatherings, was Lasair. The third child was full dragon. He got along best with his mother due to their shared heritage. His name was also Lasair. The final child was full human, and he had a decent relationship with his father. This dragonborn was particularly adept at taxes, and able to pass for human – so led a relatively normal life.
Due to the family’s unusual construction, and the extremely high possibility of supernatural events happening to them in particular, it came as no real surprise when the dragon-human Lasair was recruited into a quest to save a parallel universe. Even less so when the full-dragon Lasair disappeared in purple-green light. Presumably he’d return some day. His mother privately worried that he might never return – and these fears were compounded when her fourth child, her youngest son, was taken in purple-green light also.

Lasair III was a dragon-dominant dragonborn outcast from his religious family because of his parentage (the implications of which …). The third son found himself In a city called Ankh-Morpork, where the townspeople took an immediate dislike to him. He’d only just fallen out of the sky when a wizard showed up, claiming to know what had happened to him. By all accounts, the relocation had been erroneous; the result of a failed test.

*

Mort, Stephone, Calima and Hannibur walked through a street lined with churches, and talked with the Temple of Blind Io, where Hannibur received the church’s supply of drugs from a pastor that had seen the dragon and wanted nothing to do with either dealing with it, or acknowledging his own existence on the mortal plane at this precise moment.
“Does this whole thing not strike you as odd?” Stephone asked the party in general – with Mort providing most of the uncomfortable squirming.
“I have orders to –” he began to reply, then Hannibur turned on him.
“You clearly know more than you’re letting on – so spill the beans, or we’ll spill your blood.”
“First of all, you won’t do that. Not possible. But anyway. My boss has noticed things going wrong with time. That life timer I showed you, it shouldn’t be like that – but,” he stopped, making meaningful eye contact with Calima, “I suspect you know that.”
“Why’d you have Hannibur’s timer if this is all about me?” Calima could piece the problem together but not the approach.
“If this is all about me,” Mort mocked. “It’s everywhere. The whole universe is convulsing. The Books of Life have re-arranged themselves so there’s a new section for Heroes. It’s all a mess. Your names were the first we could see.”
“And you thought of blackmail rather than asking?”
“Yes. Problem? Do you think churches are asking politely for your worship? That’s blackmail too. Or exploiting people who don’t have a choice.”
“What’re you banging on about churches for – oh.” Hannibur noted the little baggy in his hand, and his current position in an alleyway outside of a church.
“So lets see what this dragon has to say for itself.”
“No, I think you may be on to something with the churches.” Hannibur set off towards the next building.
The next temple over was a temple to the Small Gods where the party inspected a useless cemetery and are almost tempted into eating food by the priest there, who stood off to the side of every item the party investigated and generally seemed to make his living out of being a pain. Calima noticed a plaque to the God of Small Nuisances behind the main altar in the temple.
After deciding that enough was enough with the temples, the party continued along the road to the crater the dragon had created (try saying that five times fast) in the Redevelopment site (there was no point giving it another name, it would need to be redeveloped now). They found not only a subdued dragon on the ground, but a slightly befuddled wizard standing over it.

*

A haphazard wizard (with a hat) who has little regard for the formal rules of magic, and so has accidentally created a portal between worlds. This can’t be controlled and so could be used for good or evil. In practice, this means Rincewind is frequently taken advantage of, and his naivety combined with his intelligence could mean he is used and abused to favour other people’s scheme.

*

He’d come inn full regalia – so at least partially seemed to have expected this to happen.
“This your dragon, sir?”
“Y-Yes. I was just testing something.”
“Seems to have worked.”
“Too well, yes.”
“I reckon we should get it back home, don’t you?”
“I reckon I can manage on my own …”
The dragon stirred from its unconsciousness, and the wizard leapt back as smoke curled from the dragon’s nostrils.
“No point being scared of it now, silly man. Either own your stupidity, or don’t do it.” Stephone had dealt with many seemingly world-ending threats in her time as a necromancer – everyone seems to think the thing that kills them is world-endiong, and only so few people are right – that she wasn’t truly scared by anything. Either that or she herself had a deathwish.
“Seems rude to summon a dragon without asking its name.”
“My,” the dragon heaved itself upright, “name is Lasair.”
“If people weren’t noticing the dragon that fell out of the sky, they will now.”
“And where are you from?”
“I think the town is Neverwinter, but I was kicked out years ago. My brothers and I all went separate directions. There were four of us … all rejected …” the dragon looked down at the party, but they didn’t feel especially under attack.
The party agreed to help Rincewind use magic to return the dragon to its home, near Neverwinter, which Lasair explained carefully was actually on another plane of reality. After the successful completion of the ritual they cleared the area before the townspeople start to scream.
“See – told you we didn’t have long.” Calima remarked as they scurried out of the square.
“I shouldn’t have been able to do that … interplanar magic is for the very best …” Rincewind seemed in shock he’d succeeded.
“Yeah, well, we need something to fight back against the Assassins and the Fools unrestricted power. That was my thought.”
“So, what – just join them.”
“I’m a wizard, I’ll be a joke.”
“Join the Fools, then.” Hannibur hadn’t picked up the self-deprecation, but Calima did.
“So you’re not a good wizard?” He didn’t have any tact, however.
Rincewind seemed hurt by the implication, but nodded, accepting the insult. “Was hoping this would be a big break./ It’s just turned into a big mess.”
“So, what will you do now?”
“We shouldn’t have been able to summon a full-size dragon that easily from another plane. I’ll need to follow it up.”
“Good luck. Hopefully it doesn’t mean big issues.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Rincewind didn’t sound convinced as he ducked into an alleyway and the party were left standing in an intersection. On a nearby wall, Stephone could see a Wanted poster with their faces on – she quickly ripped it off the wall and stuffed it in her pocket. Easily torn, it had only just been placed.
“We need to keep going, it’s still not safe here.”
The party continued to the Patrician’s house, back to their original plan, as the sun began to rise – casting the city in a warm orange light.
A fully robed figure was standing outside the gates of the Patrician’s house when they got there.
Death asked Mort; “Now you must decide whether YOU ARE ready  or not
“But, I couldn’t possibly –” Suddenly faced with the ‘responsibilities’ end of his job, Mort froze.
FINE. CONTINUE IN YOUR EVALUATION. I HAVE TWO MORE SOULS FOR YOU, THEY CAN BE EVALUATED TOO
A half-orc barbarian and sickly-looking elven man were deposited in front of the party. Introducing themselves as Staracter and Daefir respectively, Death continued.
WHEN NEXT I SEE YOU, ALL OF THESE SOULS MUST BE JUDGED.
He disappeared, leaving the expanded party without even a goodbye.
Hannibur pulled out his cards. Gesturing towards the new members, he asked; “Wanna see a trick?”

Chapter 4: The Seat of Power

↑

Vetinari figured out the fastest way to world peace was to legalise crime. At least then there’s a quota. As a member of the Assassin’s Guild, he knows how to give people ideas that they think belong to them, but somehow miraculously align with his goals. Vetinari can see the political landscape across the entire Discworld, so only he knows exactly what ripples in one area will grow into in another. He sees particular promise in some research from the Unseen Unversity, which has made him blind to discontent in his home turf – the Assassin’s Guild.

*

“My new friends!” Daefir attempted to befriend everyone to the open amusement of Staracter, who suspected this may happen.
“Something like that. Here, pick a card”. Hannibur performed more dice and card tricks; mostly to appease Daefir. Or whatever you do when someone wants to be friends – Hannibur wasn’t exactly sure, but he susp[ecdted that was what the AElven man was trying to do.
“Look, Daefir – that is you name, isn’t it? – we don’t know why you’re here either. And the one guy with the answers isn’t allowed to give them.”
“But! We can be friends!”
“I mean yes, but we’re here to get a job done. Hey, look, tell you what.” Hannibur pulled the cards out. “I can show you how my tricks work, look at this –” Hannibur showed Daefir how to hold down the cards when you drew from the deck so that you knew what was coming.
As the sun rose and they took in their surroundings from the front gates of the Paatrician’s house, they noticed more headlines stuck to lampposts suggesting they were wanted due to their escape from prison.
“I have faith we won’t be caught …” Mort remarked airily, leading Calima to wonder what world he lived in.Mort brushed aside a newspaper with headlines advocating for their capture. “Absolute faith.”

“We should clarify the Assassin’s Guild’s parchment, if we can.” Stephone still wanted to be a member – so had a certain level of ulterior motive here. Not noticing this, the party headed over to the Assassin’s Guild, with several party members causing themselves embarrassment in the process – but it isn’t needed to be documented how Staracter got himself stuck in a hedge, or Stephone tripped over her feet while trying to be inconspicuous. After some terse discussions through a door only open an inch, which – again – can’t be documented because of confidentiality, the party realised that both the Assassins and Fools guilds were saying the other is guilty of the same things – with no proof. These things being human trafficking along the trade routes to Klatch.
“One wonders whether they’ve been to therapy. The amount of projection …” Staracter mused to himself, when the party had clarified the requirements of their quest.
“Huh, I can’t be friends with both the Assassins and Fools …” Daefir’s train of thought followed a different route.
He made a mental note to accept the Fools’ offer of friendship (and the associated hat).
After a brief detour by means of a visit to the building next door, this was procured -- Stephone was initially unsuccessful at attempting to become a member of the Fools guild, given a suspected association with the Assassin’s Guild, but after she managed it, she received both hats. Again, these conversations can’t be recorded on pain of death.
Stephone bargained with the Fools for more Slab for Hannibur, which was also given to Daefir.
“You should save that for a rainy –” Stephone’s advicxe was cut off by a loud sniffing noise. “Never mind.”
Daefir, upon using his supply of Slab all in one go, promptly left the material realm. Or at least he thought he did. He stood on a cloud and talked to a turtle God called Om.
“Why can’t I be friends with everyone, no strings attached?”
Om suggested in reply. “It is never that simple. If it were, everyone would do it.”

Prepared to continue with their stated objectives, the party broke into the back door of the Patrician’s house, where Vetinari was taken by surprise.
“What are you …?” But that was about as far as he got – Calima took a certain amount of initiative and put him to sleep. Hannibur was seriously injured by a guard that could react quickly enough to try and protect his master, Seemed like the man carried some kind of mace.
“I have this Fool as a hostage.” Calima took initiative again, and held Stephone in a chokehold – taking on the appearance of an Orcish man with an Assassin’s uniform. This confused the guard but didn’t fully subdue the man.
“No? I’m Tony – don’t you remember?”
As Calima stood off to the side persuading the guard, Hannibur determined that the war between the dwarves and trolls was for the trade routes leading into Klatch, by reading at scraps from Vetinari’s desk – he needed to read it in a newspaper as Daefir had been presented with this information in an earlier newspaper, not understood it.
Mort withheld from the fight, still judging the team’s worthiness.
Hmm. Interesting. Or useful. Or something. He thought as he watched the wide range of tactics on display – none especially failing.
Calima incapacitated Vetinari, after initially missing the call to action – by using magic to ensure he would stay asleep no matter the other outccomes of the fight. Daefir stole Vetinari’s Assassins hat after trying to befriend the Patrician, and completed the set himself.
WELL, WELL, WELL. Death showed up again, from the shadows.
Mort, HAVE YOU decided?
“I think we should spare Vetinari, and take the others to be judged.”
Death nodded, and the party seemed to move. Vetinari hadn’t even stirred in his sleep – but that’s all it was.

The party arrived in the afterlife and looked around. Bonsai-like trees dotted the desert landscape,  as the only sources of any interest in this flat, arid land – apart from a large mansion that stood proudly in the centre of a large courtyard. Calima tried to dig one of the trees up, taking note that the sand-like ground was easy to pull them up from. Hannibur failed when pulling and only grabbed a branch. Mort and Death made haste indoors, ahead of a mob of dwarves and trolls which was nearby, and seemed to be confused, as though they were only new – at least the party could only make out snatches of conversation from their vantage point. Heading inside, Stephone noticed in the corner of her eye when she looked at Death, that he instead looked more stately, and seemed to have full battle armour – like her God, Hades. She committed to this view of the man, and by the time the house doors swung closed behind her, he had fully turned into Hades, her preferred iteration of the deity.
Whichever way you might choose to view such things, Death – or whatever – evaluated the effect Staracter and Daefir had on the party.
DO YOU THINK IT WAS EASIER OR HARDER?
“Well, uhhh …” Mort, again, seemed lost for words.
DO YOU THINK the training of the party was inspired by theM?
“No, I don’t …” Hesitant. Like he knew what was coming.
Without further consultation, Death raised a finger and turned Daefir into Elf-Skin shoes and Staracter into an Orc-Tooth earring.
THESE WILL BE AS MUICH HELP.
When inside his mansion, Death explained to the party that his goal for them.
I NEED YOU TO clarify the situation in the Assassin’s vs Fools conflict
“There certainly is one.” Calima, ever the smartass.
AND the war for the trade routes in Klatch. Death looked up at Calima when he interrupted, but otherwise kept talking as though the interruption had not happened. Then he walked to a far corner of the house, with the party following at a short distance. Pulling something from a shelf, Death consulted the life timers – looking more conventionally like hourglasses – of several individuals of significance to the party – a number of fallen Gods whose belief systems had been compromised, Hannibur’s sweetheart who was, it turned out, herself a fallen God, Stephone’s son that she had been trying to rescue from death by studying necromancy, and the crocodile God Offler that promised Calima a cure to his condition.
WWhile he did this, Calima wandered down a hallway, and past several … they looked like guest rooms, butb he could have sworn some wizards had a room to themselves and were doing lectures.
“Oh, hey!” Rincewind poked his head out.
“What are you doing here? This is …?” Calima didn’t want to say it.
“Oh, I blew myself up, but don’t worry! We mastered time travel!”
“That … sucks?”
“Not really! It’s nice here.” Rincewind seemed too fond of exclamation marks.
Reassembling after Death’s snoop[ing, the party weighed up the options and the fact that Death had imprisoned these individuals themselves. Or convinced them to stay. However you would put it.
“Well, I still want to find my son.” No surprises from Stephone. Instead, surprises for Stephone
“Mom?” A small voice caused Stephone to spin on her heel so quickly that it was a minor miracle she hadn’t fallen.
“Oh …” She ran to her son, and was lost in the moment for … a moment. Which is how that works. Quick consultation with his book of life revealed that he had been killed by the Raven Man, a man who looked a lot like Death, even though he attempted to lie about it and blame Marvello, Stephone’s mentor. Stephone filed that away for careful consideration. Or revenge.
Marvello had been building an undead army, with the goal to attack the house of the Gods
“And that’s why my son had to die?”
COULD WELL BE. My goal for YOU Is tHAT YOU stop this attack. The party leapt on this, and are transported by Death on to a freight ship.
“Stowaways!” The call was almost immediate – like the crew had noticed the weight differential.
“It’s really quite simple …” Stephone sat carefully on a crate. And Stepohone continued to tell stories to this crew (two human men called Eira and Nyfain who’d had so few people to talk to for the previous months that any company was welcome, no matter how creepy), until the made landfall in the Ramtops. The dock placed them near a mountain range near the seat of the Gods, and Hannibur took the last of his Slab -- needing it for courage, but instead hallucinating Liriene, his godly girlfriend. She appeared in a silken robe, her auburn hair facing him. He tapped her on the shoulder – a gesture that must have confused the rest of the party that could only see the one side of the conversation. She faced him, and for a brief moment, Hannibur wondered why he had left her. Then he recalled she had left him.
“I just wanted to see …”
“It’s nice to see you, too. Are you going to help?”
“Well,” the orc seemed confused, “yes, but not sure how.”
“Ah. I mean you’ll save me?”
“If I can, yes. But I don’t know how.”
“And you want steps?”
“I just wanted to see you.”
“We will meet again. When I am freed …”
“Let me guess. All I need to do is believe.”
“Yes. And then pray.”
“So that’s not all I need to do?”
Everyone besides Hannibur only heard the one side of the exchange. It didn’t seem to be going well – but what exactly is to be expected from a stoned man?
“I’m sad that you don’t yet want to save me …”
“I’ll come back for you when the time is right.”
The vision faded, as she fully realised he had only summoned her to remind himself of her beauty.

Chapter 5: Unscathed

↑

Still reeling from the new revelations and drug-induced hallucinations, Hannibur turned back to his new merchant friends.
“You don’t have any more of that, do you?”
“We’ll get some in Lancre.”
“Oh, right, is that where you’re going?”
“No, we’re headed towards the Rim.” Sarcasm that Hannibur entirely failed to notice.
“Gotcha, you need any help?” The traders looked at each other incredulously; but passed some of their supplies to the party – who agreed to help the traders carry a heavy crate to its destination, a village a while away.
Not far off the coast, where the dock had been, they found themselves walking through the ruined, abandoned village of Llamedos – with a disintegrating sign and the ruined structure of a town that wasn’t doing a heap better overall; it had clearly seen some conflict in the past. But it had, equally clearly, finished. Bunking down in the ruins – if the conflict wasn’t actively happening then it was fine, right – the party rested in the ruins of a house; looting the remains of the inhabitant’s belongings. In the morning, they journeyed through the village, to see the shadow of a woman blocking one of the exits. After a brief recon mission, they noted a spectral man blocking one of the others.
At a guess, Calima reasoned, this would have been one of the inhabitants that was haunted and forced to stay in the village as penance. Despite the traders being terrified of the banshee, the team of Stephone, Calima and Hannibur managed to kill it, with Stephone dealing the final blow with a mace. The spectral woman whispered her thanks as she left the area to join her townspeople in death.
Banshee slain, the party continued along the road and into a forest.
“Well, that was …”
“Yes. It most certainly was.”
“Question.” Hannibur seemed poised directly over the top of a landmine.
“I – ” Stephone could read the train of thought in the air. “I think this is all caused by my mentor.”
“Your mentor? You mean you could do this if you wanted?”
“Marvello … had his own skills.”
Ah. Marvello. The guy Death was worried about.
“Had his own skills at flattening villages.”
“I mean, I could do some stuff like that if we really needed.”
“We may. To deal with,” Hannibur gestured at the surroundings. “What do you think, Calima?”
“These flowers are real pretty.”
“They’re literally dead.”
“Hey, don’t judge. You will be too, someday.”
The party continued walking through the forest, noting the twig-like branches gave way to an undergrowth that couldn’t exactly be called ‘thriving’, but hadn’t suffered the same fate of the village. On the journey through the bush, they bumped into a lone priest of Blind Io, so high on drugs he was likely completely unaware of what was happening and that everyone in his village had been killed.
“What are you – what is this – what?”
“Ah.” The party recognised the symptoms at play – and projected the trauma they themselves expected was at play on to the man.
“Who are you? Who am I – who?”
“We are –” Stephone stepped forward and the man leapt back/.
“Death woman! Stay away!”
Hannibur tried a different approach. “Got any more?”
After an hour-long conversation in which Stephone was implored to stay in the shadows, Hannibur found common ground with him, and asked him to join them. Not content with just receiving the priest’s entire Slab supply, negotiated that the two would fight at some point in the future, in return for the drugs. The priest didn’t seem to register what he had agreed to.
The full party then arrived at the town of Lancre, quanit village on a hillside, population about a thousand, mysteriously untouched by the war raging nearby.
Spotting a witch’s cottage, which seemed old but well-kept, and met the witch inside, Magrat.
“His thought processes just cut out –” Her opening line to the party. Forced them to view her less as an overwhelming source of knowledge, and more an overwhelmed source of possibility. She glanced up from the tea leaves she seemed to be attempting to read, and made brief eye contact with Stephone. “Oh. What do you want?”
“Have you lost someone?” Stephone nearly went into ‘Mom-mode’.
“Well, I don’t – my husband –” Magrat wouldn’t have noticed, but Stephone visibly deflated on the word, “- went to the castle. He’s about to be King, you know.”
“We can help …”
“I know you can, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t going to try and help. So shall we go?”
“That’s not why we came –”
“But it is why you’re staying.” Magrat grabbed a tall stack of books without much thinking of the practicality of such things – and set off.
“I guess we’re going, then.” Hannibur started after the woman who, again, without thinking, was halfway to locking the door on the house with the party inside.
They walked through the town, with Magrat halfheartedly pointing out the agricultural focus as though the party should have seen it before, and suggesting that her husband was last seen in the castle before it was ransacked by Undead. The only new detail in  the second explanation of this fact was the nature of her husband’s assailants. Working up a considerable amount of courage, Hannibur offered to carry her books, and did so with one hand. Arriving at the castle, Hannibur uses his non-book-laden hand,  and stops the party – somehow motioning in pseudo-sign-language that there are mummies in the central courtyard.
The mummiess sense the new arrivals and rush to attack, despite the party’s cautious nature.
Realising they had no choice but to fight – simply a choice of whether to win or not – Hannibur and Stephone led the charge, but with no communication to Calima, who hung back with Magrat. After hearing combat noises for too long, Magrat feared for the worst and her husband’s safety, and hid in a corridor after a small tantrum about the books she was carrying. Hannibur ran back out of the fray, and Calima was finally alerted to the conflict. Stephone managed to kill one of the mummies with spiritual weapon, and Calima a further one with a fireball. The sole remaining mummy was brought down to a low health and then negotiated with by Stephone. In the fray, several captives ran, low to the ground, out of the range of the combat – some of them heading directly towards Magrat.
“Who do you work for?” Okay, more of an interrogation of the mummy.
The mummy wasn’t necessarily equipped for speech on account of having no lips, but did its best anyway. “‘is na’e ‘a’ ‘ar’e’o”.
“Crap.”
“May need a better plan.” Stephone used healing magic on the mummy – then, realising who she’d prioritised, on Hannibur as well.
“His name’s Marvello,” the mummy repeated, realising the expectation placed on it.
“I’m, his student.”
“So you’ll take over the world like him?”
“You can have power when I do.” Stephone knew full well she wouldn’t take over the world.
“So, friends?” The mummy still asked for consent – which was something.
The party made way back out of the castle to find somewhere to rest, with the newly-acquired mummy, nicknamed Airwick, in tow. Magrat yelled after them, while hugging her newly-found husband. “Find Granny! She knows the truth!”
The party resolved to learn more about the zombie attack in Lancre, and why it somewhat failed.

↑

Chapter 6: Travel By Plane

↑

Finding a room at the tavern in town the party rested and then decided what to do overnight. Setting out the following morning, they saw Eira and Nyfain running their little stall in the town marketplace – business seemed to be booming. Picking up a few trinkets, because supporting local (non-local, but who’s checking), before making their way to Granny’s house. Outside the woman’s cottage – situated about five minutes outside of town -- Hannibur made good on the deal to have a fight with his priest friend, having collected the poor man on the way. One would think a fistfight with a priest having what can only be described as a hangover so bad he could be fooled into thinking he was having an out-of-body experience might be easy – however the ‘fistfight’ was immediately defiled by the priest, who took the first opportunity to call upon his God. Hannibur made a split-second decision; that he was better unconscious. Just to prove the point. Hannibur stole all his remaining drugs and his priest hat, which he gave to Calima, leaving the man in the woods without his uniform. Not that the wildlife would have noticed. Calima cast a spell during the fight to entertain himself – and procure a Familiar – an owl named Worraz, who flew to the top of a nearby tree and refused to come down.

*

Some would say that Granny was the wisest witch in Lancre, and possibly the Disc, she had links to the Unseen University (exes) and, as a result of research being undertaken at said University, connections to parallel worlds. Reportedly, she could see plans as they came to motion, but lacked the impetus to put her gathered information to good use. This capacity for information made her invaluable to parties needing solutions (like Stephone, Calima and Hannibur, for example); as well as invaluable to the town she served (not that anyone in Lancre liked to admit it – but the path to her house was well-trodden and always free of leaves. Just don’t ask what’s under her hat, or how she seems to know what you’re thinking …

*

“Who should go in first?” Calima addressed the party, stood outside Granny’s cottage., but nobody wanted to knock.
“Why, are you scared?” Stephone was in some kind of mood – of that much, Calima was certain.
“No, I just want us to have a plan for when everything goes wrong.”
“Or we just knock.” Continuing the vague petulance, Stephone knocked on the door without further discussion.
The woman opened the door, and Stephone turned to Airwick. “Now, go.”
Granny, hair curled in a tight bun, and witches’ robes immaculate, watched the zombie with some interest.
Airwick shambled into the cottage, and, through his eyes the party noted documents from Vetinari about the war in Klatch – and from Death about Marvello.
Seeming to read the party’s collective minds, Granny replied. “Do you want to come in, so I can answer you questions, or has your puppet gathered enough?”
Stephone stepped forward. “If anything, miss, we have more questions.”
“Right. And what have we learned about manners. I was expecting you anyway – Magrat will tell me you’re coming in about ten minutes.”
The party shuffled in, only a little embarrassed. After a while, Granny raised her head like she was looking at something, then nodded like she’d been expecting the news.
“Yep. There it is. So, let me start from the beginning.”

Granny relayed all the information she had. The feud Marvello was responsible for had started as a simple war between two factions of living people (dwarves and trolls), who brought in extra military personnel until the situation split. Running wo wars was never his plan, o specialty, so Marvello focussed on a planned invasion of Dunmanfestin – the House of the Gods – and left the Trolls and the Dwarves to fight over logistics in Klatch. His chosen war soon became a war involving magic and the undead due to Marvello’s study of necromancy, and connections to the Assassins Guild and the Unseen University.
“This caused problems in parallel worlds as Marvello became more deranged and wanted to recruit corpses from other realities to his cause.”
“Is that why … because we were able to summon a dragon from a parallel world …”
“Yes, Marvello’s corruption is seeping everywhere, and soon all of reality will be threatened.”
“Question,” Calima raised his hand like it was a class. “Can you see what the parallel worlds look like?””
“Yes. But I see all of them, so I also get the worlds where he is beaten. So I can’t tell you which world we’ll enbd up in. ZSeeme like that‘s up to you.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility.” Calima was distracted, having noticed Worraz hanginmg out in the rafters. While trying to rein the standoffish owl in, he noticed movement under Granny’s hat.
“Granny, what is –”
“Hmm?”
A tail poked out underneath the brim of the hat.
“Oh, nevermind.”
Granny straightened the hat as though she was adjusting her hair, and the tail was brushed back inside.
“But seriously, though,  what are our next steps?” Hannibur had been zoned out – but he had a point. There was no plan.
“Well, first, we sleep.” Calima said this while moving his hands. Worraz fell out of the rafters with a bang, snoring even before he hit the ground. The wave of sleepiness moved around the party like a wave – but Stephone resisted the urge to pass out/
“Would you like a bed?” Granny offered the elven woman more dignity than the rest of the party had received – and Stephone accepted.

*

Lasair’s parents had very set expectations of what he could or would grow up to be. His father wanted him to carry on the family name as a clergyman, and his mother wanted him to lay waste to entire areas of land, as was her lineage. However, he grew into a quiet man that liked being able to balance a ledger. When a freak accident isolated him from his family, he found himself with maximum time to pursue his passion, and people who had no idea who he was …
The fourth son was deposited in some woods in a world he didn’t recognise. After struggling and fighting against wolves and several local bandits, he made way to Stormwind City. Skulking in the shadows, he survived on sewer rats, eventually realising that a small town in the forest called Goldshire was his best bet for survival and being left alone. He then set himself up in the local inn as someone that the vendors could refer to for their accounts.

*

Granny woke the party and made them breakfast.
“So, what next?”
“Sounds like there are two choices -- go into the parallel world to receive help from Granny’s friend, or to just solo it up the mountain.” Stephone.
“We need the help.” Calima.
“We need to fight.” Hannibur.
They eventually, after much back and forth – with Stephojne acting as mediator in this bizarre negotiation, decided to go into the parallel world. Granny obliged, and, with a short incantation, the party was thrown into the World Soup.
Hannibur didn’t know which way up was. Stephone couldn’t breathe. Calima knew in these situations that staying calm was key. They found themselves in a liquid-like substance, which Granny had explained was the glue that held all worlds together. Despite the urge to breathe, or just simply pass away -- the party made it to the other side fully intact.
Calima opened his eyes, and he was somewhere new. Lying on a forest floor in a clearing of some kind. Hannibur’s foot made unintended contact with his arm. Oh, they were all splayed out, like they’d been thrown from the sky like yogurt from its pot.
Standing up and dusting themselves off, they noticed various small encampments in the forest all near to a cobbled path leading towards a larger settlement in the distance. Following the path for a while, and noticing that more trade caravans were headed in one direction than the other – they headed towards the village. A navigation post proclaimed this to be Elwynn Forest – and the party to be headed towards Goldshire.

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Chapter 7: To Become A God

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“Granny said the guy was in a tavern, right?” Hannibur could hardly be blamed for his brain fog.
“She also said he was an accountant though, so not really sure what any of that means.” Less affected, bvut still confused, Stephone,
They followed the noises of civilisation and found a humanoid Dragonborn called Lasair IV, adept at doing taxes and learning magic. The party attempted to inspire him (conversations understandably uninspiring), and improve his technique (being all casters themselves – but were they good teachers? Somewhere between ‘no’ and ‘absolutely not’), with Calima and Hannibur being initially unconvinced by Lasair’s prowess. Eventually coming around after an hour of discussion, they helped him to get stronger casting magic (despite a failed handstand courtesy of Calima, and a short blackout (being knocked unconscious, recommended by Hannibur). Stephone’s advice was mostly taken seriously, and resulted in an improvement, by being more dramatic.
“Thank you,” the man-shaped dragonborn had come around to the party’s … way of being. “There must be something you wanted from me.”
“What makes you say that?” Hannibur had his fingers crossed behind his back.
“Most people do ... so, come on, what is it?”
“Well, we need to know about –”
“There we go …” the man sighed. “Fine. Marvello is attempting to take over the world with zombies, I’m able to use the correct spell to get them off the world they’re on. But I’ll need some help …”
“From us?”
“Nah, from Granny. We’ve been in contact,” Lasair seemed almost guilty.
“How?”
“She’s been talking ethereally from the Discworld.”
“Ah, so interplanar messaging.”
“Right, gotcha.” Calima had zoned in for a moment, instead of looking out of the windows at the flowers in the surrounding meadow.
“Let me guess, now you want passage back to the Discworld?”
“You could come if you wanted?”
“I prefer my taxes.”
After the incantation was completed by a newly confident, yet also dejected Lasair, everyone except Airwick all survived the World Soup for a second time.
They were teleported to the base of Cori Celesti, the mountain that contained the house of the Gods.
The party noted a slow moving queue of seemingly sedated zombies moving up the mountain – and wordlessly decided on a course of action. Hannibur used a combination of spells to disguise himself as a mummy, and Calima sent Worraz on a stealth recon mission, to report back. The owl was able to see and hear snippets of conversation from the mummies and see the top of the mountain.
Marvello, a wizard-turned-cleric was recruiting mummies and other undead to ‘take over the world’ as he stood outside the house of the Gods as though he owned the place. As the party crept up the mountain, knowing everything that Worraz had reported back on, Stephone created a mummy helper using the corpse of the priest felled by Hannibur. The corpse-helper was able to spy on Marvello from a distance also.
The mummies converged on Marvello at the top of the mountain, bringing the party close.
Hannibur took the opportunity.
“Do you know of a necromancer called Stephone?”
Watching from a distance, Stephone would have happily put Hannibur’s head through a wall. Had she been able to do so, that is.
Marvello became immediately suspicious. “Why?”
“No reason, I’ve just seen some of her handiwork in Lancre, a nearby town.” Hannibur’s technically-not-true-technically-not-a-lie statements weren’t as convincing as they needed to be. Marvello’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you using magic?”
Hannibur seemed confused by this. “No? I’m just a guy with an axe.”
“Maybe you can be useful then.” A beat, then; “Are you sure?” Marvello couldn’t figure out how precisely Hannibur was magical; and he nearly noticed the mummy of Stephone’s, sensing the link between the two.
“If she wants to talk, then she should show herself.” Marvello attempted to lure Stephone in, and intimidated other party members into giving her up. “Don’t you think?”
Hannibur stayed steadfast.
“She has five more seconds, then we take the House of Gods by force.”
As he said this, the mummies moved into the House of the Gods without waiting for a final approval.
Marvello sighed, but followed them in.
Stephone and Calima remained hidden, courtesy of the Thieves’ Guild training.

*

Marvello, a necromancer trained by Death directly, who outgrew the mentor-pupil relationship and went down his own path – went so far as to train his own pupil, a woman named Stephone. Stephone was too motivated by her need to rescue her son, and would not bend to Marvello’s goals, so he eventually left her also. He then began to assemble an army of more subservient minions capable of completing his demands to his satisfaction.

*

In the House of the Gods, the party noticed more and more zombies came into the room, until it was infeasible that they be fought. Calima realised the significance of the large circular scale model of the world that the Gods seemed to use as a boardgame, along with two 2600-sided dice, but before he could communicate his plan fully, Hannibur reached across the large table the model rested on, and rolled the dice. This caused, visible on the model, the river Ankh to flood in Ankh-Morpork, and a flotilla of boats to converge on a desert island of Krull, towards the Rim of the Disc. Thinking that maybe this map was more dangerous than it was worth, Calima then dispelled the magic on the map, and it became just a toy model of the world.
“Behold, I now control the world!” Marvello, drunk on his new power, attempted to illustrate by rolling the dice.
Nothing changed on the world.
Lasair then called the party over, ignoring for the moment the maniacal despot grappling with his own loss of power.
Receiving further wisdom from Granny, teleported them away.|
It is necessary to discuss what happened in the World Soup in more detail than we had done up to now. The soup between worlds that held the universe together is not designed to sustain life. A certain, high, level of luck was required to pass through. As such, the party when teleported, needed to be fully ready and prepared for the travel, ensuring that they weren’t unprotected during the travel, or that it was no longer than a second – similar to space travel without a space suit.
As such, only the Helper Mummy, Calima and Worraz seemed adequately prepared. Calima ended up on a desert island, along with Stephone’s Helper, inanimate and soon to die, and Worraz.
They were approached by Liriene.
“I’m a God, and we need to find Hannibur.”
The others were sent back to the Realm of Death directly from the Soup. When Hannibur, Stephone and Lasair IV woke up in the realm of Death, they see a shaken Mort. They also noticed piles of broken glass from the life timers of other individuals.
“Death has been kidnapped by the undead.”

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Chapter 8: The Edge Of The World

↑

Calima looked the female God in the eyes. “Or, hello, as they used to say.”
“Where is Hannibur?”
“We were teleported, and he didn’t make it through, so IU don’t know.”
“We need to find him.”
“Do you have a way to do that?”
“Well, a focus on prayer will help, I think.” The God seemed unsure. Probably not the best look for a God.
Liriene suggested this would allow magic to be more targeted, and that this may mean Hannibur could be found, wherever he was.
“Sure, seems like that’s all we got for now.”

Mort handed over the keys to Death’s office. “I don’t even know what the right answer is with this one.”
Heading to the far end of the house, Hannibur and Stephone discovered that Death was kidnapped by Assassins who caused all the hourglasses (except for the party’s and three others) to break – specifically by breaking Calima’s Klein bottle which exploded outwards and caused many casualties.
“Would there be any effects from that?”
“How would we know. We’re dead.”
“Dead?” Stephone heard this, and headed off in a different direction, purposeful all of a sudden. By the time the party caught up with her, Stephone had found the guest room she had been looking for, and used all of her strength to open the door – which was holding her son prisoner. Hannibur used similar tricks to partially unlock Lasair III’s room next door. The door was then fully unlocked when Lasair heated the whole thing up with his flaming breath. Rincewind, in the next room, busted his own door down using his own magic (a hammer he found in a drawer). The party completed, Rincewind initiated a teleportation ritual and the party is rejoined correctly.

*

With Hannibur reunited with his sweetheart and Stephone reunited with her son, Calima felt left out as the only party member to not meet his goal thus far.
Rincewind started the conversation. “I’m helping with the dimensional magic, and that he was still trying to find acceptance for the new enchantments we’ve invented.”
Accepting this, the Lasairs were given Hannibur’s Slab supplies. After using all of them, the two dragonborns promptly flew off (DUI?), being transported by Rincewind back to Phandalin, their fates unknown.
“So, what now? We fix the world?”
“We need to find Death to sort out Calima’s mess.”
Despite knowing this was the right answer, Calima took offense. “Hey!”
Interrupting the party’s squabble, the party looked towards the port at the beach nearby, to see an Assassin’s Guild boat pull up. “I demand that you fight in the war!”
This wasn’t the way Vetinari would normally speak, Calima noticed. The Patrician must have picked it up, because his form began to shift and change immediately upon Calima having the thought. Continuing his monologue while the change was ongoing, he revealed himself to be in control of all current conflict on the Disc. Seemed to be mostly ‘just because he could be’. Certainly he didn’t really seem to understand the nature of the conflicts he was managing. So the same as any other project.
The party charged into battle as the Patrician’s form restabilised, and Vetinari is revealed instead to be a Red Dragon Wyrmling. As the sparring began, Rincewind grew agitated.
“Did we do this?”
“How could you possibly –” Stephone started, then remembered how they had come most recently into contact with Rincewind. “Nevermind.”
“Question is,” Calima mused in between spells, “where is the real Vetinari?”
The dragon belched, ass though to answer the question. Or perhaps because Hannibur had found a quick way to access the creature’s stomach.
“Ate him then used illusions?”
“Sounds about right.”
After a few more unsuccessful rounds of combat, the dragon flew off towards Krull. Calima and Stephone cast ranged attacks; with Calima successfully Banishing the dragon back to its home plane of reality as it flew across the ocean.
“Phew. We just averted a rather major problem.”
“That’s as maybe, but what are we supposed to do now?”
“We could follow the dragon’s flight path?”
Investigating from that direction, they saw a dormant ship flying an Assassin flag in the ocean about a kilometre from the island, and they swam out to it.
They noticed it bore some similarity to the ship they had used previously, and the captain of the ship was the same guy that had driven the ship the last time -- Nyfain. He saw them and asked what they wanted – but collapsed and coughed up sand before they could fully answer.
Stephone tried to heal the man, but to no avail. She then tried to stuff the captain in her Bag of Holding, while Hannibur figured out how to make the ship go, and speed it up. Seeing the captain’s demise, Calima connected the dots.
“Guys, because of the timer stuff, I might start feeling bad at some point.”
“But do you now?” Stephone seemed confused and disappointed her skills hadn’t worked.
“For now, I’m okay. Let’s keep going.”

After six hours, the party saw Krull on the horizon, as well as all the netting at the edge of the Disc, and after a further two hours, they made landfall on the beach, and saw bodies of Krullians collapsing coming out of the gates, sand pouring from the corpses.
They made their way into Krull, talking to a blacksmith, as the first ‘alive’ person they saw.
“What do you mean, what’s happening?” Well, that was helpful. Or majorly concerning --- but either way, not valuable for the party.
He went on to disclose the Assassins were trying to find something out about the gender of the world Turtle. Or at least he’d read it on the news.
“What’s the World Turtle?” Calima would have been interested in such things.
“What do you mean you don’t know …” Being a tourist wasn’t a tolerated position, it seemed.
“Do you mean Om?”
“Om is an Old God, extinct for years.”
“If we have enough Slab, we can talk to him.”
“Slab? The only Slab available is made by Trolls, even though the old religions all used it. The only people who have some are old dilapidated people with nothing better to do with their lives.”
“Judgemental, much?”
An Assassin (also a lucky one of the few) heard this.
“Are you sure you met any Gods.”
“Wanna fight?”
STOP THIS.
The party look up to see Death, seemingly on some kind of vacation. Hawaiian shirt and all.
OH HELLO THERE.
“Death’s on holiday – what did you want us to do?” Stephone knew this wasn’t strictly a valid line of criticism.
THAT SEEMS UNFAIR.
“You are the reason the timers have exploded. And you’re on holiday, in a … fun shirt.”
THEY TOOK ME. AND … WAIT DID YOU SAY EXPLODED?
“Yeah, exploded. People have died.
THEY OFTEN DO
“But you haven’t seen anything like that?”
NO.
Calima didn’t feel so good. Taking a moment for himself, he stepped off to the side and coughed politely into his hand.
Upon removal of his hand from his mouth, it seemed to be full of sand.

↑

Chapter 9: Over The Edge

“But the Assassins are exploiting you – can’t you see that?” Hannibur was the first to make sense. Normally it was Calima. Huh. That’s something to file away.
YES. BUT I AM DEATH. WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO – KILL ME?
“So what’s your plan to stop them?” Stephone turned this into a whole-team affair.
PLAN? TELL THEM ABOUT THE TURTLE
“But then everyone will die?” Hannibur phrased his statement like a question
OH, I HADN’T THOUGHT OF THAT, Death intoned mockingly. DID YOU THINK YOU WERE BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE? He hoped that the hood truly hid his face. They were better than everyone else. But Death’s plan hinged on them not knowing that.
“So what will you do? Once everyone is dead? There were only ten rooms in the house.”
THERE IS MORE TO MY REALM THAN YOU COULD SEE
“The sand – d’you …” Hannibur trailed off. A pause. Then, shaking. “Question –”
YES? Death knew what was coming.
“The sand in your realm … is it other people’s life timers?”
MY LIBRARY ONLY HAS SO MUCH ROOM
“So what I’m getting is that Death’s a classist. And you don’t even care about the fate of humanity. What is their plan, anyway?”
NO IDEA. THEY WANT INFORMATION. I PROVIDE IT. DEAL CONCLUDED.
“So you know nothing about why they smashed the timers?”
PROBABLY SOME SHIT ABOUT SEIZING THE MEMES OF PRODUCTION
“Means.” Calima stepped in for the one word only, the most educated in the  group – if only by accident.
I SAID WHAT I SAID.
“New question, then.” Hannibur’s hand tightened around his axe. “When does your holiday finish?”
DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, WORRY ABOUT – Death was cut off, by another coughing fit from Calima.
“You’re suffering the same fate as the other corpses?” Again with the statement-posed-as-question.
“If I cast my plane-spell or whatever, and jump to a new dimension, that may help – right?
YOU can have control over YOUr demise, or die from events beyond YOUr control. That seemed almost like an approval.

Calima casts the spell as though the roof of his mouth were on fire, and this was the way top put it out. Thinkinbg of it, some water would be nice. The colours of the surrounding landscape turned from gentle blue and green to stark purple and red – as the party looked around and took in their new surroundings.
“Ah, home. So much better to die in, don’t you think?”
“Don’t talk like that.” Hannnibur gripped the axe, realising the futility of the gesture. Calima seemed to notice.
“Internal demons, I’m afraid. Can’t be helped.”
It is agreed that the party rest for a bit but won’t stay for long.
Calima tries to cast the spell again and the scenery changes from its stark red and purples to absolute black. But not. There are small flecks in the blackness. Hang on.
Calima moved backwards until he could see that was looking into an eye.
“Welcome.” A soothing voice, came from everywhere around the party.
“How are we breathing?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What happens if I worry?”
“Then you die.”
“Seems harsh.”
“Maybe so. But we need to reset time?”
“Seems drastic. Can we even do that?”
“You can jump between planes.” The eye moved and Stephone noticed the entire landscape was filled by a body of an enormous turtle. And, in the distance, an elephant stood like a pillar.
“Oh,” she breathed. “You’re the world.”
“And we need,” the turtle hijacked Stephone’s thought, “to reset time.”
“So what – ” Calima gasped, resisting the urge to cough again, “what do we do?”
“Try the same spell again. It’ll either work and save everyone or it won’t and we’ll all die.”
“No pressure.” Hannibur from the sidelines. Then, more seriously, “final question – what are your pronouns?””
“He/she/they/it,” the turtle said, somehow pronouncing all the slashes.
“And, also, aren’t you suffering from it too.”
The turtle seemed startled by the revelation, as though it hadn’t thought of that – but now that it had, it couldn’t be ignored.
A small cough covered Hannibur with sand.
“Oh no, now we’ve killed the world.”
The world seemed to recover enough to keep talking, “I was behind … you,” the turtle pointed a flipper at Calima, “being in the right place at the right time, and your magic ‘defect’ is actually my master plan.”
“Well that’s rude, at least Death asked first.”
“Oh you’ve met him, have you?” The turtle wrinkled its nose.
“Yes, not really a fan.” Calima brushed off the office drama he’d unearthed, and started casting again. After a failed attempt at casting the spell again, the party end up back on the Disc before the world went wrong back on the island with Liriene and Stephone’s son, Serian.

“So what to do next?”
“Do we tell the people in Krull the turtle’s pronouns?”
“I want to rule as Death. And provide my son with financial stability,” Stephone was resolute in her goal.
“Just like normal motherhood. But, where?” Calima had seen a lot more of the world than Stephone – and knew exactly how far she’d get with that attitude.
“Somewhere warm.”
“Ah, so death like dengue fever, rather than the ‘get an axe out and finish the  job’ kind?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, we are on an island.”
“Nah, somewhere else. This place is too … church-y.”
“There’s one temple.”
”But it’s to Liriene.”
“Oh, you’re right, I should see her. But … here,” Hannibur tore down another of the island’s buildings. Fine, the structure of one wall. Then, realising Stephone couldn’t receive the gift, he carried it to the waterfront. “Reckon you could start on that.”
“And we just … go … until …?” Stephone left the question open-ended.
“Yeah, something like that. You’ll find some people to conquer. Or molluscs. Or something.”
“Right, let’s sail.” She collected her son and clambered unsteadily into the makeshift boat. They began to row off, and lasted maybe five minutes until the boat sank.
Hannibur engaged his brain for maybe ten seconds. “Wait a minute, we have the Assassin’s boat.”
They headed into the sunset, presumably going to a random village and taking all the houses, and people’s hands – making it a tourist town and create a farm to collect revenue while being the mayor of the town.
Calima looked at Hannibur. “What for you?”
“The Turtle needs investigating. I think we’ll move back to Ankh-Morpork.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” A light behind Hannibur, and the gentle accompanying voice of Liriene suggested that more than just the world had been fixed.
“Oh, so now I’m worthy of having a partner that stays?”
“For now.” Liriene left the roast un-responded to in the air, and countered with a joke. Well, she thought it was a joke. Hannibur lowered his eyes. After a second, she corrected. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
“So … can I stay here for a bit?”
“Sure, there’s probably enough materials to build a proper house if you want?”
Hannibur settled down with his wife on the island, tired of adventuring. Calima rested on the island, and wanted to continue travelling. Hannibur left an open invite for anyone to stay at any time. Hannibur worked remotely for the Unseen University, and wrote a paper on the gender of the turtle, becoming an academic himself.

↑

Chapter 10: The Timer of the Turtle

“The question is, of course,” Hannibur presented to a lecture theatre full of students, “whether the Turtle had an hourglass too.”
He was one of the few that could remember before the great Reset. So he’d become a sort of subject expert on the matter – by virtue of no other experts being available. Calima was lost (or lost to Hannibur, at least), somewhere in XXXX. He’d teleported there by accident then wanted to stay and figure out where ‘there’ was. He wasn’t lost at all, obviously. Stephone, the only other survivor of the Reset, was somewhere … else. Being a menace. But Liriene had let Hannbur settle into Ankh-Morpork – all of his previous crime and stuff had just suddenly disappeared, so he was beginning to enjoy the city in a way he’d never been able to previously. Namely, by setting all his classes at the University as late as possible for as short as possible, and using the rest of the time to explore.
The lecture he was currently in was a bit quieter than usual. Which is to say, at 5 o’clock in the evening the day after Hogswatch – the entirety of his class was asleep. But that was the way he liked it anyway.
“Because from what I remember the Turtle was affected the same way as everyone else on the Disc – which suggests it does have a timer – but I also remember being in the afterlife. So – where was it?”
A small voice spoke up, surely the only currently-awake student; “might it have been on the Disc somewhere?”
“What’s your name, sir?” Hannibur looked at the student properly for the first time – he tended to focus more intently on his workings on a blackboard than the students he was teaching to when they were asleep. Inefficient to do things differently.
“I’m an Assassin, so a bit new to the College …”
“Ah yes, as part of the new diversity initiative. The Patrician’s finally getting the message that you don’t have to be only one thing.”
“Yeah, but we Assassins don’t have names until we’re older. Too easy to track, and you know what kids are like…”
“True. Hopefully you’ll receive your name before you do any academic publishing. I don’t think many publications will like having to put ‘___’ on a report.”
“How did you even say ‘___’?”
“I learned it in Krull. They were the ones who came up with all of the diversity initiatives, so that’s where all the pronouns came from.”
“Right.” There was a pause. “Question – if there was a timer for the Turtle, and it was somewhere on the Disc, there would have been a religion about it, right?”
“Before the Reset, yeah. But now, there’s just going to be a temple somewhere.”
“And maybe some cleric who guards a room, doesn’t know what’s in t and doesn’t like to ask.”
“That’s every religion. Well, was.” Hannibur remembered the power of rolling the Gods’ Dice, and how that had changed once Calima killed the God’s power. “We made the world better.”
“But they all say that. Maybe you only think you made the world better, and possibly made it worse in untold ways.”
“If the world is worse than it was, then how come I have a stable job and a wife?”
“Is that your metric for a good life? Yikes.”
“It’s a metric for a good life. Not the only one.”
“But you could just as easily go on a quest to find the Turtle’s timer. Rediscover it as an artefact, then bring it back here.”
“And steal it from the people that owned it before. What kind of a person would that make me?”
“An orc. So I’m not sure if that issue is solved or not.”
Another pause, while Hannibur considered his lecture. “The astrozoologists still owe me a favour. We could get the funding.”
“We?”
“You and I. Could go to try and find out about the timer.”
“Wouldn’t we need more people?”
“Could do. I’ll give you the rest of the week to gather a team, then we can set off.”
“And … would it be worth extra credit?”
“Extra credit? This would be your entire qualification. This would make or break your life. This …” Hannibur got a little lost in the passion of this statement, as he spun himself around to the small desk near to his board and pulled a small case out from under it.
“You’ve been waiting for someone to ask you on a quest like this, haven’t you?”
Hannibur gestured at the rest of the room. “It’s not like this is exactly academically fulfilling. So come on!”
He hardly even finished the last sentence before the Assassin leapt from his chair clattering into random chairs and desks on his way out the door.

Flash.
Not again. Calima wished he’d stop randomly teleporting every time he thought the word ‘teleport’.
Fuck, again.
The people he materialised in front of looked at him like he’d done magic. Which he had, but there was no need to be rude about it.
I need to find a way to stop this tele---
He stopped mid-thought. If he finished it, he would go
---marketer. Think I’m gonna have to substitute the word somehow. Otherwise I’ll teleportohfuck--
Flash
“Hello and welcome to the Calls For Om Centre. How can we help you?” A customer service guy behind a desk.
“What fresh hell is this?”
“We’d prefer you didn’t use those words here. Apparently this used to be the Om Support Centre.”
“Meaning?”
“This is where all wishes directed at Om would go to be answered.”
“Until the Gods were all taken away.”
“Oh? Where did they go?”
“You work here. Do you not know?”
“No, there was one guy who woke up here one day, and that’s what he said was on the whiteboard in the meeting room. And apparently there was a guy on a phone line on hold – we have a special term for that – wait for it – OM hold.”
“Bet you’re real fucking proud of yourself aren’t you.”
“Did you have a wish?”
“I have some magic I need to control.”
“Don’t we all. Isn’t that just a case of going to the University?”
“They caused this whole mess.”
The call centre guy looked around. “To be fair, I think whoever got rid of Om is the one who caused this whole mess.”
“Well yes, but I meant the mess-mess.”
“Fine, whatever. That’s an easy fix.” The call center guy seemed to focus on something else, and then mentally refocus. “Oh, I think you weren’t supposed to actually show up here. You teleported here –”
“Rude. Just rub in that you can say it then, why don’t you.”
“If you thin about where you want to go, then think the word, it’ll take you there.”
“University, teleport. Thank—“
Flash.
“Unseen University Administration Office, how can we help you?” More desks, more customer support. Calima figured that out by stepping forward and walking into it.
“I can’t see you.”
“Open your eyes, dear.” A kindly sounding older woman.
“Oh. I need to learn how to control a spell.”
“Oh, which one?”
“I seem to telep- ahem, you get the idea, whenever I think of it.”
“And what level Wizard are you?”
“Level 9.”
“Hmm. Shouldn’t be able to do that. I’ll just check.”
Some clicking of buttons later and the woman looked back up.
“I see the issue. You had level 20 marked down for that one spell. I’ve changed it now.”
“Oh.”
Calima could feel that something had changed. “Well, thanks for helping with … teleport.” Uncertain. But ultimately reassured. He left the admissions office the usual way, through the door.
A half-orc was sat outside. “Oi.”
“What do you want.”
“Do you not remember?”
“Oh! Hannibur! I was used to seeing people being rude about things. Being a tourist is a unique brand of draining.”
“Sit here with me for a bit.”
“What are we waiting for/”
“Some kid to get his shit together.”
“Well, no need to be rude about it. But fair enough. Any plan for after.” Just gonna go exploring. Research about the Turtle.”
“We earned first-name rights. We can call her A’tuin.”
“I think you mean he/she/they/it. That’s the official pronoun.”
“Ehh, whatever. I’m keen for the plan.”
The two men sat on a bench in the University, waiting for the world to change around them. And it would, soon enough.

“Mom? We keep going into villages …” Serian had almost given up arguing at this point. One more try, maybe.
“I don’t see the issue?” Stephone flicked him off as if he were asking for ice cream.
“Then they start screaming.”
“That’s just a greeting in this part of the Disc.”
“Since when?”
“Since recently. Don’t worry about it.”
Stephone and Serian seemed to be making a decent living – if you’ll pardon the blasphemy – from robbing villages and generally causing trouble. Stephone had figured out that the kid was a good distraction and would use him at every available opportunity to swindle or shat the unsuspecting townsfolk. Serian was starting to catch on to this, and where possible, he would put up resistance to his mother’s tactics. Were he of a sufficient age to eloquently make this argument, he would say that there was a time and place for swindling – that the difference between a good living and a decent living was a standard worth bearing in mind.
But he wasn’t so his resistance mostly took a whiny ‘do we have to’ form. Which was the ignored by Stephone.
In a particularly small fishing village in the Agatean Empire, not too far from their family home, they were stopped by a courier with a message. He approached Stephone from behind (his first, last and only mistake); which was then carefully telegraphed to him when he was reanimated through a particularly troubling display of magic.
Even then the message was garbled. ‘Some religion … lost an artefact … in Uberwald.’
Luckily, Stephone had no time to interpret this message before both she and Serian were yanked off course by a large green arm moving at speed. “Come along. No time to explain, we have a timer to retrieve.”
“Hannibur? Can we slow down?” Half muffled because of the speed they were moving at, it took several attempts to get this message across.
“We have a rough location of the timer. This’ll be really good for research …”
Stephone looked over the arm, which was serving as a barrier to vision, mostly, and noted they were headed towards a cliff.
“Hannibur--!” Her sentence was never completed.
“I wondered if I’d ever see you again.” A voice unlike any she’d been expecting, Stephone was forced to look around and piece together the latest development in her lack-of-a-life.
Stephone found herself standing, along with Hannibur, Calima, Serian and a band of student-looking types, in a yellow sand desert, not far from a black slate mansion. Oh. Here again. Looking the other direction, she – ah. Marvello. Entirely too close.
“Hang on, still catching up.”
“Always so slow.”
Stephone raised a hand to cover the Marvello side of her face. “Not ready to deal with you yet. Hannibur, is the timer you’re looking for here?”
“Yep, that’s what the wise man said.”
“If you jump off a cliff you’ll die?”
“Yeah that was basically it.”
“Always so easily led.” Marvello kept at it with the sniping.
“Anyway, we’ll just go inside the house, and umm …” The rest of the party made their way inside, leaving Stephone and Marvello on the lawn (for want of a better term).
“So your world domination plan failed?”
“The world wouldn’t … respond … to the magic …”
“And I’m assuming your cronies stopped responding to it also?”
“… yes.”
“So did you get what you wanted out of it?” Stephone was only about halfway curious, the other half was mostly an attempt at exerting moral superiority, something that could only be done by ignoring the blaring hypocrisy. Luckily, Stephone had tunnel vision, so it was as simple as not looking around at the moral conundra nearby.
“You tell me. We both appear to have ended up dead.”
“I just wanted my son, and here he is. So, my success rate is higher.”
“That’s just because you made friends with Death. You could have bested him. That was how I trained you.”
“So you admit that you did indeed train me well enough to best Death?”
“That’s not to say you would have actually done it”
“Are you trying to compliment me or not. If not, then I suggest you stop talking and make friends with all the dead Trolls over there.”
“Ah. Another war that wasn’t satisfactorily concluded.”
“Here’s the thing I don’t get – along with all the other things I don’t get – you are a wizard by training. Surely you could have conquered the world using magic the proper way, rather than re-training as a necromancer cleric?”
“There were no jobs as a wizard in the University. They didn’t even look at me.”
“Or some other form of politics to become a leader – you seem to have jumped straight to Murder, when it wasn’t really needed in the first place. I’m just trying to understand ...”
“I’m your master. You don’t need to understand.”
“And if that’s the way you want it to be, then sure. But just know that you will never be able to speak to me or my son ever again.”
“Oh? You’re going to stop me?”
Stephone looked at the conflicted, egotistical mess of a mentor she had picked up somewhere along the way by mistake. “Correct.”
Muttering an incantation, she used a slightly modified version of the Turn Undead spell, and watched as the already-undead Marvello that was standing on the desert sand slowly morphed into one of the Death’s bonsai trees.
“More aesthetic, anyway.”
Then she headed inside with the others.

“That was messier than it needed to be.” Death surveyed the damage. Even after the Reset and flasks being tidied up, he could still see the remnants of the past that used to be – the spectral remains of past mistakes. Made moving on from exes difficult.
“Entirely your fault.” Mort seemed unimpressed. He sat in the bone chair and tried to spin it like an office chair.
“I’m not pointing fingers.”
“You don’t have the fingers in this arrangement.”
“But you did pointlessly arrange a group of unfortunate idiots so that they would solve your problems.”
“I can’t solve the Marvello issue myself.”
“Yes, you can, you could have negotiated with him. There was the opportunity for a compromise.”
“He wanted power over the world. I have no power over the world. That was what Vetinari was for.”
“And you had clearly a perfect level of control over him too.”
“Not my fault he got eaten by a dragon.”
“It’s funny the number of things that aren’t your fault.”
“What would you have me do?”
“At the very least, apologise to the idiots you ensnared.”
“I will the next time they show up –” Death is cut off by a knock at the door. “Oh, fuck.”
“Better get practicing.” Mort moved to open the door, and Death responded with the closest reaction to anger that Mort had seen Death use.
“Not yet! I’m not ready!”
“Oh, I was joking. You don’t get time to practice your villain monologue, it starts now.” Mort threw the door open, and managed to jump sideways out of the way of the green half-orc.
“We were told you had the timer.”
“You may need to be more specific.”
“Of the turtle. Because of all the damage and that the turtle was affected, it must be here.”
“What? You want to take it?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.” Death led the now-fully-assembled party down the hallway past the life timers.
Hannibur looked at the available space for the timer. “Oh.” He’d seen a space ten foot tall, clearly built for a single timer – and he’d also noticed it was empty.
“And yet, it seems empty.”
“The Assassins must have taken it.”
“So how would we know where it had gone?”
“You would have to guess and then hope you were on the right continent.”
“Surely someone would know?”
“An Assassin most likely. In any case, I don’t have the answers you seek”
“Actually,” Calima spoke up, “I think you might.”
“Oh?”
“What were you hoping to achieve?”
“I needed Marvello stopped from his plan because it was unnatural”
“So you’re a champion of the natural order?” Stephone cut in.
Death seemed to consider this, and the irony of being anti-Necromancer as Death. “I do see what you’re saying, but logic doesn’t have to make sense.”
“For you, but at the end of the day, we were threatened by you – and what did we get out of it”. Hannibur was still piecing together the incongruent events.
“You showed up here this time, I didn’t kidnap you”
“That’s not a vindication, and you seem to think it is”
“Vetinari kept the Disc in check and I focussed on the afterlife – Marvello represented a threat to both”
“Because of necromancy, and also because of being alive?”
“Correct. So he needed taking care of. But then Vetinari went rogue and even his own party couldn’t stomach him anymore, so the threats were all out of whack. That’s where you guys came in.”
“We go in and do your killing, and you get to pretend that your hands are clean?”
“My hands are clean.”
“Dry as bone, ha.”
“But you have no help for us?”
“I’d start in the Assassins Guild, if that’s what you want to do. Otherwise, just don’t. See if I care.”
“You don’t care about the location of the timer?”
“It’s safe somewhere, the world would be destroyed if it weren’t. Some cult probably bought it for a price, or something.”
“Would there be a way to check that?”
“Maybe. But I won’t help you”
“Because you were a fountain of helpfulness previously.”
“Point taken. I’ll give your life force back and you can go back on the Disc. Final offer.”
“Deal.” Hannibur finalised the thing without negotiation, which might have been a mistake. The party found themselves back in Ankh-Morpork, outside the Assassin’s Guild in the midday sun.
“So, we need to find the timer of this Turtle.”
“But where to start?”
“With the only thread we have,” Hannibur answered, while reaching out to knock on the Assassins Guild door.

↑

Chapter 1: On The Road

“I swear, the coaches to Neverwinter aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” A changeling in his natural form. Wore a nametag proclaiming himself to be ‘Dante’. Seemed on edghe somehow, like he’d rather be out of town – slightly at odds with the quiet, early morning. Too quiet, in fact – because the coach he’d been expecting hadn’t shown up.
“Well, yes. They were supposed to be punctual.” A robot man had joined the expedition.
“Exactly. And they’re not that.” Dante explained his joke, as he slung a backpack over his shoulder.
The robot man – named Clayton – had a winged friend, who was called Hwep.
Wait a minute, I know that man. The thought cut through Dante’s instinct response that Hwep must have had bad parents.
“So, is it just us?” The winged man spoke, as the party set off. “My brother, Ku, thought this might happen.”
“The coach was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”
“My master could probably make some kind of automated device to –” Clayton mused idly as they walked.
“Maybe you should ask him to.” Dante snapped. The  journey continued in a slightly curt silence.
Hwep spoke again, as the lone bridge in this sea of ice – “I think I know you.”
Dante assumed this was aimed at him. “Yeah, we met at the –”
Hwep cut him off, unintentionally. As though he had a thought moving in a certain direction, and was being carried along with it. “I remember we stood in line, and then – whomp. I was here.”
Oh. Dante had information Hwep didn’t about where Hwep had been at the time.
“Yeah. We met at the Locket Guild.” Clayton felt the conversation gap had been bridged sufficiently.
“Odd name. What do they make lockets for?”
“As signifiers that you’re in the Guild. That’s all they ever say.”
“How odd.”
Dante and Hwep had shown up at a castle in search of better opportunities. Hwep had found them – got too far ahead in the queue and been processed before Dante could stop him. Dante had gotten himself out by changing form into a guard and sneaking away, the second he realised what had been going on.
We were inducted by the Cult of the Dragon.
As the nearest town, Dante had camped out here, waiting for something to happen. He never knew what. That wasn’t really important – but that queue had been long. The cult would do something eventually – you don’t recruit that many people for no reason.
A while later, and Hwep spoke again – with no warning.
“Actually, that’s not quite true – I … think I remember the start. They got us to do small tasks and highly praised us, then the tasks got bigger and they gave us beds. Then …”
Dante could add to that. “Yeah, I got out at that point. Before it all went wrong. You were called away before I could get to you. I wish I could have helped.”
“It’s fine. I don’t even remember what you would have helped with. So, problem solved, right?” Again, light and breezily spoken, as though not truly processing the words he was using.
Clayton interrupted. “Yeah, Dante always helps.”
“Wait, Clayton … I didn’t recognise you before, due to all the … metal.” Dante’s sense of energy renewed itself as some stray braincells clicked into place.
“Yeah, my master … I was … left for dead, and he … helped.”
“Are you happy like that? Do you wish you could go back?”
“To what? Being dead? I mean – yeah, sometimes, but at least this is something.”
Hwep fiddled absentmindedly with his locket from the Guild.
“Oh!” Another stray braincell, and Dante reached into his pocket, pulling out a map. “Hwep, does this remind you of anything?”
He passed the map over – a castle. Seemed a fairly standard layout except for the bbasement.
“I’m sorry, I really am – I just can’t …”
“It’s okay, I just thought …”
The journey continued in silence, with Dante contemplating the one thinig he couldn’t tell Hwep. He’d stolen a sword when leaving the cult, and would be expected to give it back if the cult ever found out. So nobody would.
“We should find somewhere to rest. We’ll probably need it.”
They bunked down in an alcove – and the party, struggling at first, but succeeding after a while – drifted off to sleep.
But only after Clayton had been told to shut up. He’d taken his repair tasks too seriously and tried to buff out dents in his armour while the party slept. He was convinced of the idea that he could be used as an alarm clock – but hopefully he’d forget.

↑

Chapter 2: Protector of the Realm

Neidr didn’t sleep much these days. The dreams were too ominous, and she wasn’t sure what could be done. She remembered the Cult of the Dragon from years ago – she’d even met Tiamat once (if you can call being summoned and used as a slave ‘meeting’). She patrolled the skies over Neverwinter and Phandalin day after day, barely having the energy to crawl into bed at night. She’d taken to just crashing (sometimes literally) on the castle lawn in her dragon form. She’d know if Dwyfol had been to check on her if she woke up wearing one of the celebration marquees. Without the steel structure beams, obviously. She  presumed it was Dwyfol, rather than their daughter, Rie. It could have been either, but would have been better to be Dwyfol. She did know that it couldn’t have been any of the other children she’d had. Dwyfol had rejected them all, one reason or another.

Rie, the youngest son daughter, was different to the other children. One might have thought this was, or could be implied by her gender (and they would have been right), but it did seem, even as early as her childhood, that she had a unique way of avoiding the manipulation, abuse and neglect tactics employed by her father towards her three brothers (all called Lasair, for added interchangeability). This being – she was useful. Useful to the town, even though they treated her with a customary amount of distrust, but she won them over in the time that followed. While her brothers tried to earn their father’s approval directly (and failed, with interesting results as documented prior), she therefore, set about earning the approval of her mother. Succeeding for the most part, as the one of the children that would help around the castle and mitigate Dwyfol while he was in his … less favourable moods.

After a time of being the family mediator, Rie grew tired of this and wished to be free like her brothers. She had, perhaps crucially, misunderstood why they were free, but she at least wished for the same opportunities. So she ran away, to the depths of Wave Echo Cave to be calmed by the sounds of the river magnifying off the cave walls. Dwyfol’s adventuring party had found her – and he had been unreasonably angry at her leaving the castle. But, instead of returning to her previous life, Rie was taken by Klagen to train in the arts of stealth and cunning.

This training proved long and difficult, much as Klagen seemed to think the lessons ought to have been easy, but eventually results were gained from the tutelage. And after this point, and about a year, had passed – Rie finally decided to return to the castle to check on her mother. Upon her return, she found Neidr paranoid because of rumours she had heard – so she set out to investigate.

This, once again, involved the summoning of Dwyfol’s adventuring party, who determined that all dragons in the area were under threat, just as Neidr had worried. After a fact-finding mission and discovery of a trend in the dragon killings, the party deduced the location of the next killing and were able to intercept the killer and find out his motives. In this case, rather than the previous gathering, the cultist was murdered before he could cause any further damage.

After this fight, Dwyfol meditated. Oh, he thought, I’m supposed to care like that all the time. He came to this realisation over a couple of months’ worth of introspection, and then after some discussions with Rie and Neidr – agreed to try and return the whole family to the castle.

Neidr set about asking people she could think of if there was anything they could do to help with the recovery of the children, and Dwyfol continued to think. What will I do when they come back? Why am I reacting this way? Is it even their fault? What’s actually happening here?

He thought for so long that he locked himself in the castle. No big issue, he thought – at least immediately, the reality was that he could just dig deeper into his self-constructed rabbit hole. But after a further week of this, he realised there was no way out of this castle for him.

So, he sent word to Rie for help. She arrived with a key and a message. The key helped to unlock the door, and the message made him lock it back up. He could have lost Neidr. Or Rie. Or … oh, no. Or both. After a further week of consideration of these points, he came to a slow and careful realisation. Well, two.

First, he realised that his family deserved his attention and he should make amends in any way he could think of. So, helping Neidr might be a way to do this.

Second, he realised he’d been given the wrong key. Again.

Neidr would always insist it was her efforts that had brought her sons back to her. Not the wizard who showed up at exactly the right moment to cast the incantations responsible for Lasair III and Lasair IV ending up in Neverwinter. She didn’t even hear the arrival, which was perhaps a good thing for the two younger Dragonborns – they’d acquired and used some recreational drugs from their friends in the adventuring party. They wouldn’t have been allowed back into the castle.

In fact, she found out that they had arrived back home when they crashed on to the castle grounds. The only things that would even come close to the castle since the fateful gnomish pilgrimage were the two live dragonborns and their sadly deceased brother, who materialised on the castle lawn in a bright, otherworldly light. That is, his corpse did. The rest of the family rushed out the castle gates after they heard the crash. Well, muffled sploof sound.

 The funeral was held on the castle grounds, with Neidr setting ritualistic fire to the corpse of her dragonborn son. Easier that way. And easier to start a family plot on the castle grounds than … do anything else, mostly because fire was involved.
Dwyfol seemed less than interested as to the fates of their children, so Neidr watched this gnome that had been so persuasive early on – systematically ignore her needs, his needs and the needs of his family to pray to a God he’d never even met. Over the weeks and months she noticed the patterns, then resented the patterns – then accepted the patterns. It seemed, even dragons could get divorced. How exactly, they were about to find out. Or at least meet the wizard who said he could officiate it (although why he kept bringing it up, we may never know …)

In the midst of all this, Neidr continued to be preoccupied with the dragon cult. They were planning something. Something bug, something that … affected her. Something she would need to stop.
Something for another day. Yes. Another day. For now, she needed to sleep.
Maybe she’d dream of the sons she’d lost.

↑

Chapter 3: Chromatic Connections

Ku sat with his parents around the dinner table.
“You know that your brother’s adopted, right?” Ku’s mother led the discussion, although Ku was faintly uneasy about the whole thing. The important point was what they were on about, rather than where the discussion started.
“He has wings, but come on, mum. I’m not that stupid. Of course I knew …”
“We just found him one day. At the foot of the tree …” His father always seemed slightly henpecked (hehehehe)
“And you thought he was a bird that had fallen out of another nest?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“And if someone had come to claim him?”
“Ah yes, custody negotiations among the aarakocra are typically amicable and not at all a source for feuds.” Ku always hated how his mother would use sarcasm. Surely the only bird capable of it.
“Wow, they eat the young?”
“Feud, not food. But yes, sometimes. Have you heard from Hwep recently?” Ah, we might be getting to the point.
“He went off to … his words were ‘make his fortune’. Much beyond that, no.”
 “You sound unconvinced?”
“It’s not really unconvinced, but …”
“What?”
“What am I doing here? There’s so much more to discover out there …” Time to use this floundering mess of a conversation over dinner to his advantage, Ku thought.
“Well, if Hwep thinks he can be rich, then surely you can too.”
“But what about you guys?”
“You’re the older brother, you should spread your wings”
“Just for that joke, I’m going.” Obviously, he didn’t leave immediately, but he finished his meal then grabbed all his money – and flew out of the nest.

The hammer bounced off its anvil. Funny how these things tended to come in sets.
The craftsman had been working for several days now, and he had almost a fully sculpted human form, made entirely out of iron. Would need frequent maintenance – he probably should have used aluminium. Or plastic. Or magic. Or something. But, no. Gears, the next great innovation. The human form he was fixing up looked frail underneath the machinery – like it would melt into dust but for the casing.
As he hammered the last piece into place, the whole thing started to tick immediately. The creature gestured as if asking a question. A success, it seemed. At the very least, the poor man had been saved from the terrible accident that had befallen it.
Overjoyed with the success, the craftsman toured his automaton around the village. Most people were pleased, or could see the appeal at least. But one faction took exception to the creation of this metal man – and stole it in the night while the craftsman was asleep, selling it immediately on the black market overnight so it was long gone by the following morning. The automaton found itself completing work for a number of buyers-turned-sellers, until a man known only as Master bought the automaton and seemed to promise it a good home.
Over the years that followed, the Master craftsman would teach his automaton how to speak, then read, then write; all with its newly metal appendages; in much the way a toddler would be handled. Eventually, he could interface with Master’s daughters, Little Miss and Missy. Of course he had a favourite.
To Clayton, as he was known now, life seemed to be getting better.

Hwep and Dante had joined the Dragon Queen’s cause three weeks ago. Not intentionally, at first – but this is the way these things tended to go; first they offer you pamphlets, then they coerce you into taking them until you’re a salmon swimming in a waterfall, and leaving is no longer an easy option.
Dante noticed it first. The deadlines becoming tighter, residual energy at the end of any given day being less – in no more than a month there would be no incentive to leave.
And this was not what had been ‘agreed’. In fact, deciding what to do about this kept Hwep up at night. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Dante. The men had met as initiates in the lines waiting for admission – Hwep had always noticed that Dante had a different demeanour to himself. More focussed, if he may say so himself. As though admitting his own lack of internal priorities – but in fairness to himself, he didn’t have any.
“I’m here to steal something,” Dante pulled Hwep aside after about twenty minutes.
Oh, that explained it. “And you want my help?”
“Well, I don’t need it – but if you want to then sure.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Basically I’ll steal it then escape. You really don’t need to be involved.”
“Then I’d rather not know.”
“Okay, don’t raise an alarm if you see me gone after dark.”
“Deal.”

Master received visitors rarely, so Clayton was programmed not to respond to them. Thus, when a woman appearing to be half-black dragonborn knocked at Master’s door, Clayton thought nothing of it, and Master quietly met with the woman. And, so it seemed, the problem was solved. But she was back the following week. More discussions, then leaving again. And the same the week after.
Clayton asked Master to discuss the content of the meetings – and was hushed. So, not something that he was supposed to know. But … little Miss. She’d been getting sick regularly the last few months, maybe it was to do with that?
The dragonborn returned, and Clayton thought to ask her directly. She seemed offended by the questions, but took it in good grace. “His daughter is unwell and I can help – there is a God that is powerful, and prayers will bring her back to us. Until she can come back, I will place her in stasis.
Master heard this, and replied anxiously; “there – there’s no need for that, I can work on it, I will, I promise, I—”
The dragonborn turned to look at the newcomer, “You’ve already caused enough problems. No more.”
Clayton fled the house while his Master was incinerated.

Ku soared along the coastline, eventually settling down in Daggerford for several nights. He spent most of this time in the tavern, first taking in the first ‘normal’ atmosphere he’d ever experienced; and not even needing a room when asked. He was nearly kicked out for intoxication until the barkeep figured out he was just overwhelmed and dissociated.
He struck up conversation with a woman that appeared to be dressed all in black.
“So, what do you know?”
“What do I know about what?” Her voice sounded like a paper cut.
“Anything, just tell me something. I just want to learn.”
“I only tell people things for a price.”
“What’s your price?”
“You seem to think information will complete the soul – so here; my price is your soul.”
“I give you my soul, and you tell me something?”
“That’s the price.”
He moved away, and on to other things. But the thought of knowledge overpowered him on day ten or so. He wasn’t keeping count.
“Fine, I’m in,” he said to the woman who seemed to not have moved. But, again, he wasn’t keeping track.
“Listen closely, and I’ll tell you all you need …” she reached over and pluck a feather. “And now that’s mine, too.”

Sword in hand, Dante made his escape in the night while Hwep slept. He’d seen a black chromatic dragonborn earlier in the recruitment process, so transformed into them – whoever they were – and found getting out of the compound easy enough. He consulted the map he’d been given by his friend Clayton. Yes, looks about as you’d expect from the outside – certainly the map had never let him down. He changed again into one of the guards right by the entrance – chromatic dragonborns cause … problems, so he felt it unwise to continue to be one for any longer than necessary. Skyreach castle, hmm, he thought as he folded the map away.

Awoken to a noticeable absence of Dante, Hwep was detained and taken into a pentagonal room with five dragon heads on the walls. A chromatic dragonborn stood with a clipboard and a mace.
“Tell me, where did the sword go?”
“Sword?”
“Don’t play stupid. Your friend stole an artefact from us.”
“It’s not an act thought – what sword?”
“If you won’t help us, then we might have to … convince … you”
Hwep would not be able to say what happened next. The last thing he remembered was being led into another dark room, being placed on a chair in the middle, then surrounded with green fire.

Clayton made it to Amn in a month, unsure whether he had been followed, and far, far too tired to care. He’d hitchhiked the last bit on the back of a wagon, paying for his share of the trip with gears from inside his torso. He’d have to fix those up himself. In Amn, he joined the Locket League, a locket-making guild where the possession of the lockets would have perks throughout the Sword Coast. There he met a newly-arrived Aasimar called Hwep, who had no recollection of his past. Between them they decided that Amn had nothing left to offer them, and headed on a wagon back towards El Turel, where they went up with a changeling called Dante. None of them made mention of the chromatic dragonborn that had been a part of their journey already. Which is a shame – they might have been able to help each other …

↑

Chapter 4: Attack of the Kobolds

Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Dammit”. Dante had hoped Clayton would forget about his percussive maintenance.
“Not me, I swear.” Clayton moved out of the alcove they had rested in to check on the noise. Hwep heard a zipping sound.
“Uh, guys, help.” Slightly muffled from Clayton. Hwep and Dante ran to investigate and find the cyborg man hanging from his ankles by a pulley. A group of kobolds were operating it from a nearby hole in the ground.
“I think I can sort this.” Hwep spoke withy a confidence that the kobolds might have found alarming, had they heard him. Hwep cast a spell and the pulley line slackened. Clayton reacted quickly, and spun around to land on his feet rather than his head.
“Next time, tell me what the plan is in advance.”
“I just put them to sleep.”
“Because that’s not creepy at all.”
“Touche.” A pause. “Anyway, shall we go?”

When the party finally arrived in Greenrest after a further day’s travel along the road, the find the main town square on fire and the outskirts under attack from a dragon. Oh yeah, maybe the dragon should have been higher on the priority list. The dragon seemed enraged by the people in the town; in between blasts of fire, Hwep could make out odd comments from the dragon. He – definitely male – seemed confused at his place on this plane, and demanding worship from the villagers. In Draconic. So, a rather significant communication link was lost. The smouldering wreckage of houses the dragon had besieged were being looted by a gang of kobolds. Possibly the same ones as before. Dante considered that they should have killed the ones they’d put to sleep. Seeing a villager waving frantically out his windows and screaming ineffectually at the dragon, the party step in and shelter the man’s family until the dragon moves on to the next house; saving the villager and his family. Hwep manages to move the kids to the Keep using a magic hand, while the party and the rest of the village make their way on foot. Sheltering in the keep and wait for the dragon attack to stop.

After a while, they saw the flames die down and heard the dragon flapping away into the distance.
“The dragon must have gotten what it wanted”, Dante raised first comment. With the party in the lead, the villagers decided it was safe to leave the Keep. Heading back into the ruined town square, Hwep noticed some villagers held captive by the raiding kobolds.
“You.” One of the kobolds stepped forward, holding a sword out at Dante. “Fight.”
Dante was beaten after a few quick flurries of activity by the kobold – but after the battle, the kobolds leave and villagers are freed anyway.
“There must have been some other motive for that.” Hwep, again, with the good life insight
“Otherwise they’d all be dead.” Dante, panting, finished the thought.
The man the party had rescued approached them cautiously. He offered 250 gold (maybe this was why the town was raided…) each (wow, they’re loaded) for information on the raiders and dragon attack. The party spend the next few days gathering gear, then they set off.

Following the road out of town, the party tracks down the horde of cultists – finding them eating meat by the roadside.
Clayton walks undisguised straight through the entrance, and attempts to negotiate for meat.
“You want our meat?” The kobolds seemed more confused by this notion than of a robot man following them.
Clayton wasn’t sticking around for any further negotiations, pulling his weapons, he continues his negotiations.
“I’m just trying to get the stolen gold back”. One of the kobolds decided that they needed to report back to base, and, seeing the end for their party, fled further up the track.
Hwep put the remaining kobolds to sleep again.
“Well, that’s one way to do it – Mr Creep. But we can’t let them escape again.” Dante killed the sleeping Kobolds, retrieving any stolen goods, and lighting a bonfire to destroy the evidence.

Tracking the lone runaway kobold, the party see it meet up with a group.
“I vote we pretend to be tax collectors.” Dante seemed to be using his brain (a first in this group).
“Yeah, to try and recover stolen gold”. Clayton seemed stuck on one track.
Entering the Raider’s camp, the party were given items as gifts of charity after being pitied by the kobolds due to their own lack of supplies. The kobolds provide them a cave, which the party uses to rest.
During the night, Clayton was taken from the cave, to the leader of the kobolds. Sentenced to death as an intruder, he reasoned that the tiny men wouldn’t be able to stop him if he just … left. Shining a bright light in the face of the leader to put him out of action, he manages to escape and find Leosin – a person of interest from the nearby village that the kobolds had held as a prisoner. With the re-arrival of Clayton and Leosin, Hwep and Dante considered setting fire to the village as a distraction, which they decided upon and then used to escape with Leosin. Leosin, injured due to his ordeal and capture by the kobolds, slowed the party, but the kobolds were not able to pursue, so they arrived back in Greenest with no incident.
Dante could have sworn he heard a soft, female voice in his head. Sorry about the dragon. Couldn’t get there in time.

↑

Chapter 5: Secret Lair

Sorry about the dragon. Couldn’t get there in time.
Dante replied to the voice. Who are you? What are you doing in my head
A wait, then; I suspect we’ll see each other soon.
Dante looked across at the rest of the party, asleep in the Greenest Tavern. In the morning, he’d sort this all out. He didn’t sleep again, though.
Hwep was first up.
“So, do you really not remember anything from the cult?”
“Sometimes I get memories -- flashes of green on the robes of the cultists, a five-headed dragon … that sort of thing”.
“Ah. Right.” Dante explained. “They were planning something big. I really did try ton come back for you, you know.”
Hwep didn’t. “Yeah, I know.”
Upon the waking of Clayton, Leosin summoned the party to the main bar in the tavern – curiously full, even at ten in the morning. He offered the party 150 gold each to reinvestigate the cultists’ camp.
“How are you feeling?” Hwep took on pleasantries duty.
“Fine enough, for now.” That would probably be the best he could hope for at this stage. Leosin still walked with a limp.
The party stayed at the inn for the day, getting fully acquainted with the alcohol cabinet. After too much drinking, Clayton and Hwep slept in the cupboard, and Dante headed back to his rooms.
The party recovered, and set out for the raider’s camp the following day; they find it abandoned with the rubbish of its previous inhabitants strewn across the clearing, with a lone guard sleeping by the mouth of a cave.
After some hunting to appease the only guard of the camp (Hwep succeeded in killing a deer, but hadn’t thought of the whole ‘being-able-to-lift-it-afterwards’ situation – with Dante achieving exactly the reverse, and assisting to fool the guards who seemed more interested in the prospect of a free dinner than the possibility of being invaded), Clayton was recognised as someone from the town, captured, and  led through as a captive. Okay, maybe they did mind about being invaded am little bit. Hwep and Dante avoided the guard’s field of view and snuck in after Clayton to explore the cavernous hideout.
Clayton fought the entrance guards and got his equipment and 45 gold pieces back after winning and mugging them essentially in reverse.
Elsewhere in the cave, on their exploring mission, Dante fights a cult leader wearing a dragon styled mask, Cyanwrath. After a tense, close combat, Dante emerged victorious after some un-asked-for intervention by Hwep.
Clayton finds and disturbs a nest of stirges, while Hwep and Dante explore everywhere else in the cave, missing Clayton at every turn.
They walk back to a small cavern they had noticed on their initial sweep through and find large opalescent dragon eggs.
Some kind of alarm system must have been triggered; Clayton could swear he had heard the guards mention ‘the prisoners’. He looks around, just in time to see Dante mouth for him to be quiet, before slipping back into the shadows.
Without entirely knowing why they had done so, the guards became one frosty kobold and one mashed kobold because of Hwep’s magic. The noise startles some creatures in the next room, which, after moving around a little, he could see were guard drakes. They had not seen the party yet.
“Those eggs …” Hwep mused. Something was surfacing in the whirlpool of his mind.
“Eggs?” Clayton was a solid five minutes behind the other two in terms of uptake.
“Yeah, those look like Tiamat’s eggs.”
The party reckon they would weigh maybe 150 pounds and be 3ft tall.
“They’re normally Black dragon eggs, well guarded by kobold patrols, likely to hatch”. Hwep almost seemed like he’d lost control of his mind and something else was piloting it.
Huh, maybe he does remember. Dante mused.
Clayton damaged an egg, with a bad axe swing, the missed attack cracking the reflective black surface. Dante darted into death corner (guarded by the drakes) to steal an (his) egg.
Both drakes seemed suspicious about this turn of events, but sniffed ineffectually at the air, unable to pin down the source of their concern.
Dante moved his egg, very stealthy. The attacking drakes latch onto a sound – Clayton and aim several attacks in his direction. Losing track of the prone Clayton, and hearing something else in the cavern, the drakes moved away top investigate that, the party using the chaotic situation to escape.
Dante covered the big egg with deer skin, in an effort to keep it warm.
The party reach the central cavern, and look around, noticing many black dragons sculptures and many holes in the statue’s mouths, with multicoloured robes – red, green, blue, black, white.
Dante took on the disguise of Cyanwrath, Hwep acted like a hired guard of the cult, using one of the dead guard uniforms -- and Clayton pretended to be Hwep’s prisoner, and the party managed to get back to Greenest without anyone following.

↑

Chapter 6: Subterfuge

Resting overnight, they hire horses in the early morning, and leave town with the egg strapped to Dante’s back.
“Is anyone else having issues with this thing?” Dante struggled with holding on to the reins and the horse independently, and had settled for gripping both together, hanging on by willpower and a fingernail.
After a few minutes of prayers and cursing, Dante intimidated his horse with direct threats against the horse’s bloodline. Hwep and Clayton, riding peacefully beside him, are one with their horses.
On day 5 of travelling, they entered El Turel, one-track-mind, they found Ontharr Frume, a dwarven resistance fighter, without noticing anything else about the town (they managed to park their horses for 6 silver per day after-working-hours and navigate successfully to the tavern while entirely on autopilot). When finding their friend, the negotiations for payment began – finally settling after discussion with Frume for a ruby worth 1200gp to follow dragon cult on a coach. Dante was assured that the coach would, in fact, show up on time. Or, indeed, at all.
And, in fact, it did. Mostly because the coach that supplied Baldur’s Gate with its … everything. Food, water, Dante, Hwep, Clayton – you name it, it was on that coach leaving El Turel. Or at least it seemed to Clayton that this coach would fully be able to run the economy of the region just by itself.
Arriving at Baldur's Gate, the party are greeted by a man called Selebon – another resistance fighter who ‘receipted’ the ‘shipment’ of ‘goods’.
“Is the whole journey going to be like this?” Hwep queried while wandering along the Baldur’s Gate dock front.
“How so?” Dante didn’t mind the subterfuge. He had to remind himself every time something like this came up that Hwep … didn’t know. Dante himself knew what the cult was capable of. Clayton was entirely too loud, on what we shall call his own merits, for the intricacies of subterfuge to make much difference.
“It just feels like we’re cattle being shuffled around, all this secrecy.”
“Trust me, you’d prefer it this way if you knew the alternative.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“The walls have ears. They may also develop fists.”
“Ah.” Hwep nodded like he understood. He did not. But Dante wouldn’t explain any further.
Clayton had wandered to a nearby mechanic and was getting himself inconspicuously tightened up. Well, you could hear the clanking from the other side of town, but sometimes a loud noise is the least noticeable kind.
After a chill afternoon exploring Baldur’s Gate, the party was hired by Beyd Sechepol – you guessed it, dwarven resistance fighter – to travel north until his coach ran out of ale. One of the other travellers on the coach – only provided name being Gleamsilver -- found bone sliver in Claytons food during the party’s third day of travelling.
“Careful.” She used a larger spoon than the party were provided with to fish out the piece.
“We need to talk this evening.”
“I don’t even –” Clayton began to protest, but Gleamsilver had already disappeared, “—get sick.”
Notifying the other two of what ‘he’ had found, Clayton ate three oatmeals, as Dante and Hwep would be injured.
The chat with Gleamsilver went poorly as she refused to elaborate in great detail as to what they were actually fighting, and the party was too stupid to know what a dragon cult was, without heavily signposted context.

The following morning, a cultist is found dead in front of the coach’s resting place for the night.
“Ah, here we go again,” another new voice, and the party is introduced to another one of the travellers on the coach, Aldor Urnpoleshurst. The party is checked for similar weapons.
“This isn’t personal, you understand,” Aldor explained as the party were searched. Just before the end of the search, a loud screech was heard overhead, and the coach was besieged from the sky by two stag-bird hybrid creatures, called Perytons.
During the frasntic and ill-prepared fight, Hwep recognizes the voice of his brother Ku, who is heckling from the distance.
Hwep puts one of the birds to sleep, and Dante kills the other one, proving their value to the coach party.
Just before the last bird is put to sleep, it croaks; “the cult is trying to … recruit … again.”
“Good thing that bird’s dead.” Dante didn’t want to believe what he’d heard – and what that might mean for Hwep.
“So, um, this is my brother.”
“He seemed really supportive.” Dante liked to mock lightly, when appropriate.”
“So, is he with us now?” Clayton seemed more concerned about having another mouth to feed.
“Yeah, I guess so. If that’s what he wants?”
Ku nodded his assent. “Mum says hi, by the way.”
“Why did you come?”
“You were right. There’s so much more out here than in there.”
“And you want to see it?”
“Nah, I thought I wouldn’t bother,” Ku replied sarcastically.
The party, with Ku in tow, headed back to the wagon where he introduced himself and the other travellers lined up to give him all the gossip on the coach. They reached Waterdeep by the following noon and unloaded the crates in a warehouse. The crates contained lockets from the locket guild of Clayton and Hwep’s – suggesting they had been stolen.
Ku ingratiates himself with the support staff in the warehouse and learns that they have team orgies every week, earning himself an invite in the process.
The party gathered intelligence from the admin staff that had been smitten with Ku,  and found out the shipment would move the following evening.
They discuss the need for disguises and wait for Thursday. During this discussion, the level of care Dante had taken with his egg starts to drop, and another crack begins to form.
“Oh, shit. Need more insulation for my egg.”
Hwep was awake early on the Thursday morning, sitting near where the party had rested.
The party joins him.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Ku could have a fair guess under normal circumstances, but he’d been put unceremoniously into ‘not-normal’ circumstances, so he knew he had no idea.
“Am I still useful to the group?”
“What? Of course.” Ku didn’t entirely understand the line of questioning – but didn’t need to.
“Because of my past associations …”
“Your what?” Ku could feel himself being pulled out of his depth.
“Yeah, you should leave.” Clayton turned the slow sinking feeling into a fast one.
“Oh yeah? You don’t want me here? Then I’ll go back to them. Must have been a good time if I lost five years there.”
Oh, no. Dante could do little more than watch in horror at this point. “He doesn’t mean …”
“Hwep, we want you to stay ...”
Both Dante and Ku tried to atone for Clayton’s belligerence.
“Go then! You can’t even fly anyway!” Clayton had lost the moral high ground a while previously but didn’t seem to notice. He just continued to goad.
At the last remark, Hwep looked for a second as though he might punch Clayton.
Then, slowly, turned and walked off the road into the woods.
“See, can’t even fly when running away.” From Clayton, this being morally equivalent to a backstabbing.
“Look what you did, you dumb metal man.” Ku could barely disguise his contempt.
“So now we try and find him?” Dante suggested, and, no longer taking verbal submissions from Clayton, the party of three headed back to town. They found a map with trade routes marked and an ominous circle in the Mere of Dead Men.
Continuing on the journey marked on the new map, the party reached castle Naerytar a large and forbidding castle rising out of the swampy marshland. A family of lizardfolk near to the castle attempt to mug the party, but are instead convinced that they could join the party to recover their loot and social standing after being ousted by a tribe of bullywugs.
The party see fresh footprints in the mud. “Look what you’ve done now.” Dante directed this barb at Clayton.

Cold, bedraggled and angry, Hwep scaled the castle wall and flopped inside the window of the highest room with a light on that he could see.
Got lucky, in that he recognised the person occupying the room.
“Oh?” The black chromatic dragonborn woman looked him up and down. “Have they shunned you again?”
“Again? I’m here to join.”
“Yes, I thought you might be. No matter. Your robes are still where you left them.”
“Left them?” Hwep got the beginnings of a feeling that he’d made a mistake somewhere along the line.
“Yes, right this way.” The woman, her own robes flowing after her, led Hwep down a hallway. Hwep noticed the lining of the hood for her coat had five colours.

↑

Chapter 7: Union Dues

“I feel like we never explained to you,” Dante had rested and thought about this overnight, “Hwep was in a cult. He didn’t remember it, but I was there too. He got brainwashed pretty bad.”
“So we deal withy him like we have for every other cultist.”
“I can’t tell if this is garden-variety racism, or something else.”
“His brother is a bird and he can’t even fly.”
“Wiol you give it a rest with the flying thing.” Even Ku was getting self-conscious. He suspected that Clayton was projecting. But even so …
Tension hadn’t really subsided, and Dante realised he’d made a tactical error bringing it up at all. So, he moved the conversation along. “What do we do now?”
“There’s a large castle, we don’t know how many people inside and a large infestation of frogs out here.” Clayton’s description of the situation, and particularly the characterising of the frogs as ana infestation earned shock from his friends – beginning to realise that the racism he was exhibiting was not just related to Hwep – and cheers from the lizards, who had their own reasons to be distrustful of the bullywugs.
“Tell me, what did the frogs do to you?”
“They worked us for all day and no money. They took it and made it dirty so we wouldn’t want it. Then cast us out.”
“But what about unionising? You have rights?” Dante was figuring out what the lizards were aware of, and what they still needed to learn.
“What are rights? We work and we sleep.”
Ku understood the lizard’s viewpoint slightly better. “I think they need to work that hard to survive, normally. So why not do that all the time, even if they don’t … need … to.”
“You are worthy employers and employees as well.” A little heavy-handed from Dante, but it at least seemed to get the point across.
Using this line of logic, the party befriended another local lizard group, and then – motivated by the lizards’ bubbled-over dislike of the bullywugs – set out to fight the frogs. The dragon egg is safe for now in its new skin shell.
One of the lizards licked his lips. “Tomorrow, we eat frog.”

“Hwep would have loved orgies”. Ku mused in the morning before the attack.
Once the party was awake, a plan was devised to move across the marshlands to the frogs.
Fighting the frog leader, a man called Froggo (one can never be too angry to introduce oneself properly), in single combat, Clayton wonders about the mechanics for biting. This being an afterthought to receiving a bite from a man with no teeth.
Ku heckled the fight from the sidelines, to Dante’s amusement. “Frogs should bite harder!”
A yelp from Clayton, as he was, indeed, bitten by the frog harder than before.
After a six-second window of failed attempts at attacking on both sides, Ku heckled, “see you’re both useless!”
The frog’s family seemed to be gaining interest – sticking their heads out of their huts and yelling their support.
Clayton began to feel horribly outnumbered in the fight. Not, to be clear, because he was – simply because the other side was getting more attention.
Dante found himself confused about the fight strategy of the whole situation.
“Good luck!” Dante sarcastically wished the fighters good luck – immediately before Clayton swung a punch that ended the fight. Froggo knelt down, with the rest of his family following suit, and bending the knee to Clayton. In response to this gesture of submission, Clayton healed Froggo and an unspoken, informal understanding seemed to be reached.
“Lads.” Clayton spoke to Ku and Dante. “Let’s help these guys with their camp.”
Dante was still confused. “Are we helping them with chores now?” Holding his egg, still safe in its casing, he wondered how he’d be able to help.
In his head,  the voice of the female dragon returned. Do not be afraid of the egg, child. What will be will be.
“Who even are you?”
You’ll find out soon enough. I’m a friend, as long as you are.
Ku had heard Dante’s most recent reply, as he’d spoken it out loud. “Who are you talking to?”
“A friend, apparently.”
Ku rolled his eyes. “If you hallucinate Hwep, tell him I said hi.”

↑

Chapter 8: The Cult of the Dragon

In the morning, helping out with chores, Clayton names a Roomba that he invented ‘Ribbet’.
“So, how long have you been here?”
“There used to be more, but now the castle is full of frogs that scabbed to a higher authority”.
“So you have an idea about workers’ rights?” Clayton attempted to piece together this new information with the conversation from the day before.
The frogs followed Clayton and the lizards followed Dante, along ‘best pre-existing relationship’ lines. The larger combined group walked up to the castle guards, who weren’t expecting them – lounging in camping chairs and drinking tea. The guards were startled out of the chairs that they have, or at least one guy jumped so much that the camping chair folded underneath him, with Dante managing to catch him before he hit the ground – holding the guard in a princess carry.
Dante set the guard down, and the party is questioned.
“We weren’t expecting new arrivals – what brings you here?”
“Oh, we are here for the Orgy (™)”.
“How’d you manage to pronounce the ‘™’ so distinctly?”
“My mother taught me.” Dante dismissed the question. Clayton doubted that Dante even had a mother worth the name, but again, this could be projection on Clayton’s part.
“How do you know about it?” This seemed to confuse the guards enough that the party was able to pass through, on to the gantry into the main castle. A secondary security system of three guard drakes quizzed them also, revealing that a lot of kidnapped lizards were housed within the castle. The party dropped off the loot from the caravan (half of Clayton’s lockets), and proceeded up the stairs to process it with the accounts team. Handing the items over one at a time to a Bulllywug called Freddo, Dante tries to steal some counterfeit lockets from the room as part of the transaction.
Holding one in his hand, he made a cardinal mistake. “These feel too light.”
Every available alarm in the building was set off at once as the whole ecosystem of bullywugs became alerted to the fact that the lockets are counterfeited.
Clayton heard noises of cages opening and whipping of the captive lizards by the Bullywug overlords downstairs.
In all this chaos, Dante was careful to fully cover and protect his dragon egg.
Don’t worry. If it hatches, then it is meant to be.
Dante was a little paranoid about being called out for his illicit communications, so replied in his head. Who are you? You’ve never said?
Apologies, my name is Neidr. You carry one of the cult’s swords.
More enigmatic stuff. Come one, tell me what’s happening
We’re dealing with an uprising and the sword is part of it
Oh. Dante realised he’d probably need to explain this to the party then.
Pulling them aside in the accounts office amid the chaos around them and against the backdrop of increasingly human-rights-violation sounding torture downstairs, he explained.
“So you know the sword I have in my bag? It was stolen from the cult, has given me my warlock powers (and I don’t know how that is). It’s magical, but I never found out how. It can be any weapon I like, changing every day.”
The war crimes being a task for later, the party navigated through the chaos, noting that all of the lizards had escaped their cages and were actively fighting the guards -- and headed into the dungeon.
Clayton wandered off by himself in the cavernous maze, picking a fight with a spectre.
“Do you know where the leader of the frogs is?”
The spectre only screamed in response, suggestively waving its weapons at Clayton, who retreated, frightened.
Rejoining, they then notice a fresh track through the dirt of the cavern, and decide to follow the line towards whatever it’s hiding.
As they continued on the path, they saw some feathers that look like Hwep's.
Clayton reached the top of a ledge that seemed to be blocking the path, but Ku failed to climb it, then remembers he can fly.
At the top, of the ledge, there was another feather, and Ku started a collection of feathers.
“Hwep can’t even fly. How’d he get up there?”
Ku’s comments are cut off by Dante, who can see a portal in the distance, with several shadowy figures standing around it.
“I think I’m ready.” Calyton seemed  as though he’d had an epiphany.
“To what? Die? Shh.”
“To apologise.” This last comment from Clayton was slightly too loud, and one of the figures in the distance, revealed to be Hwep once it moved, was going through the portal, doing grunt work for the other two figures. Seemed to be moving boxes. The party remained otherwise undetected, but Dante’s dragon must have sensed the stress, and  began to crack
“So what do we do?” Dante was referring to whether they talk to the black dragonborn figure, her wizard friend, or the frog – who they had crept closer and could now see through the portal door.
We’re nearly there. Just hold on. And welcome to the family. Neidr’s voice spoke to Dante.

↑

Chapter 9: Tiamat Rising

The party independently realise that, for a number of reasons, Clayton needs to take the lead. He has the loot, he needs to apologise, he’s the clankiest (not to be confused with crankiest – which is Dante).
As soon as Clayton tried to move, the lead frog noticed the party in the shadows.
“Why are you in my lair?”
Dante motions Ku to stay quiet, and Clayton follows suit as well. This wasn’t what Dante had actually intended.
“I see you there, metal man. I want to inspect the loot you have.”
Clayton moves forward, dejected. “Here’s some loot to add to the … pile?” Clayton wasn’t sure where it actually ended up.
“I don’t think we’ve met before, what’s your name?” Calyton tried charm in the moments where the frog was inspecting the loot. “Do you know where the bathroom is?”
“Name’s Pharblex. Give me the loot, then you can go.” The frog was barely looking at Clayton at this point.
“I just want the bathroom. Then you can have the loot.”
“Go where you stand. Why are you being so precious about it. You’re underground.”
“Where are the bathrooms?” Clayton re-asked, hoping the second time would be different.
In fact, the conversation went in circles for a further five minutes, before Rezmir, the dragonborn female, demanded that Clayton go through the portal, after realising the party had enough treasure for their needs.
The dragonborn turned on Pharblex. “Why’sd you take so long verifying the goods?”
“Rezmir, I -”
Rezmir held Pharblex up by the chin, which separated from the neck after some time.
The dragonborn spoke. “That’s for getting in the way of my ritual.”
“I would always follow someone’s dying wish. What was his dying wish?”
Rezmir realised she’d messed up in that case. “Ah. Then it is my dying wish that you go through the portal.”
Without further discussion, she killed herself with her own breath weapon.
The wizard, Azbara – Ku vaguely recognises his uniform as being worn by several of the people in Waterdeep -- sneaks behind the party as they walk through the portal, and finishes the ritual that a group of ten cultists are working on as Clayton places down the loot.
The party realise that an apparition of the dragon God, Tiamat – almost holographic in the face and body, and barely even spectral at the legs –and not the full creature.
Tiamat seemed very confused.
“Where am I? Why was I summoned?”
“My apologies, ma’am. We’ll just try to get this sorted for you.”
The party tried various ways of reversing the summoning spell, but they all failed.
Clayton noticed his love interest, Little Miss, on a sacrificial table in the middle and, in all the confusion around the dragon‘s current purpose, rescues her from sacrifice, with the small cost of breaking her wrist. Clayton carried Little Miss in his arms back to safety, so romantic.
Dante heard Neidr again in his head. We are outside. Stand clear of the entrance. The entire portal exploded outwards, with a human woman, two gnomes, and two tieflings – which introduce themselves as Dwyfol, Rie, Klagen and Crow (in that order) in the chaos, and while the cultists are ducking for cover.
The human woman spoke. “I’m Neidr. This is just my human form. I’ve been monitoring the cult situation for years after a previous event where many dragons were killed by extremists.”
The Tiamat apparition expressed, directed at Neidr, the same confusion at why it was there.
Neidr rushed to the apparition to calm it down.
Dante’s wyrmling woke up and started asking much the same questions, having only just hatched.
This section of conversation is understandably repetitive and has been skipped for sanity reasons.
Neidr seemed surprised at the wyrmling. “But you’re a Gold dragon, so you can’t be related to Tiamat.”
Tiamat scoffs at the wyrmling. “Get that away from me.”
Neidr realised that she’d made a mistake by pointing it out. “We;’ll sort this out, I promise.”
Dante then started trying to teach the wyrmling (freshly christened as Rivarol) about the nuances of conflict resolution.
Clayton, meanwhile, tried to gaslight Hwep into forgiving him.
“I never said you couldn’t fly – I just said the wings didn’t have a lot of use.”
“Oh. Do you think?” Hwep soared to the roof the ritual room, which the party now realised was well over forty feet high.
This, in turn, caught Ku’s attention. “Oh! Nice! You learned to fly!”
“Okay, well fine. The flying looks nice.” Clayton conceded. Hwep seemed to take this on board.
Hwep wasn’t surte if he accepted the apology – let’s say for now that it was at the very least not rejected. Let’s not say it’s believed.
The wizard, Azbara, seeing his plan fail, rushes at Tiamat with a magically charged and glowing sword procured from one of the other cultists, but Dante tripped him and stopped whatever he was planning, then stole the magic sword himself.
Tiamat asked Dante; “Your changeable weapon; why did you steal it?”
“I … suspect you know why. I was a member of this … group … as in this one, right here,” Dante gestured at the cultists still cowering in the room.
“The magic bestowed unto that sword is mine, so your power is from me.”
“Well, thank you. Can I keep it?”
“You use it well. Yes, you may.”
Dante explained, “the cult wanted you here, but now you can go home”.
Tiamat blinks and successfully banishes herself wordlessly.
Clayton refuses to properly apologise to Hwep, and even evades Ku’s attempts to make him do so, preferring to gaslight, gatekeep and gearboss.

After the dust of the failed summoning settled, Hwep and Ku decided to stay at the cult to work and use it to make money, or at least stop it from the evil business it was doing before.
Clayton and Dante headed back to Phandalin, on the back of Neidr, where Clayton tells Little Miss the stories of his adventures, always exaggerated so he was the main hero, obviously.
Dante continued on, to raise Rivarol on his own, visiting the cult every so often to see Hwep and Ku.
Ku tried to build dragon wings for Hwep, thinking he still wanted to learn to fly, or at least have a cooler way of doing it for longer.
Neidr had bad dreams. In these, she relived her childhood, oh so many years ago – and was haunted by the image of an egg. Normally a poorly-fried egg would have this effect, but Neidr was specifically haunted by a dragon egg hidden away in a cave. After several nights of this torture, she figured out that the cave was located south of Baldur’s Gate, and it was three eggs rather than one. She made a note to investigate, but otherwise left the newly laid eggs alone – which would have been the case, but she noted in one of her recurring dreams that one of the eggs had been taken by a changeling warlock.
So she set off for the cave and found the whole area deserted – but she did note the large number of corpses left lying around. The two remaining eggs seemed to be unharmed, which was nice, at the very least.
For now.
But the fact they still existed in the same spot was … a concern. As though something, or someone was coming back for them.
She kept at her patrols.
If the bird man and his brother can’t contain the cult, I’ll know about it.

↑

Chapter 10: The Soul of the Sword

The story had circulated Neverwinter for the past year or so. An adventuring party had entered Wave Echo Cave and stopped the Black Spider in their conquest, ensuring the Forge of Spells couldn’t be used for evil.
What had been missed was the part where the forge was besieged a year or so after. In the siege, a sword had been produced and enchanted. This sword had the power to, on attack, send something to a different dimension. This sword fell into the possession of the Cult of Tiamat – to suddenly go quiet.
Unsettling.
K’churlat recounted this tale with a gleam in his eye. He hadn’t been present at the events he was regaling, but that didn’t stop him – they didn’t need to be true. They just happened to be.

Dante had learned Fly as a precautionary measure. He’d never actually crash-landed with the dragon, but you never quite knew when your luck would end. They were flying over the Castle Naerytar, quite by chance.
“Should we drop in on Ku and Hwep?” he said out loud, and immediately regretted his word choice.
Sure, dad.

The crash sent the cultists diving for cover.
“Oh, hi, Dante. Need some help there?” Hwep asked – he’d been sweeping the yard peacefully, and was now sweeping the yard chaotically
“Nah, all good, I planned for this,” Dante dusted himself off, disentangling himself from the small dragon. “This was planned. Yes.”
“Ah yes, because anything you say more than once in the same sentence is definitely true,” Ku stuck his head out to investigate the sudden noise.
“Oh. Hi. Just dropped in.”
“Figured. And the training’s going well?”
“Yeah, we flew from Neverwinter, so for about an hour”
“Improvement. Can I get you anything?”
“A new spine?”
“I just finished making wings for Hwep, but apparently he learned to fly anyway, so those are going spare if you want them?”
“We’ll see. I wonder how Clayton’s doing?”
“He seemed pretty fed up with the whole adventuring business.”
“And did you hear from the dragon – Neidr, wasn’t it – after we cleaned up here?”
“She checks in every so often, yeah. Still feels responsible Rivarol, I think.”
“At least you have someone to go to for advice.”
“I also have a patron that’s theoretically around here somewhere.”
“You can stick around, you know,” Hwep had finished his sweeping, “the orgy’s on Thursdays.”
“I thought we had agreed, no sacrifices.”

Clayton had finished telling another story to Little Miss. They’d settled down in Neverwinter, with a small cottage that Clayton had fixed up with metal. He’d described his concept to Little Miss, and she hadn’t been conviced. But then he’d actually started work on the thing and it looked better than expected, and seemed to be watertight. So, just like Clayton. This specific story he’d been telling had been a half-day long deal – and Little Miss was secretly sad for it to have finished. Not that she’d ever have said it to Clayton out loud. He didn’t need an excuse to repeat his stories. He had plenty to go around.

Neidr and Dwyfol sat around a table.
“So, the question is,” the gnome began.
“Will Tiamat come back? We might not be safe yet.”
“I trust the gentlemen that took over the castle, though.”
“Oh, yes. With Klagen in control of the Redbrands and … Ku, was it? … in charge of the castle, we should be alright.” Neidr shifted uncomfortably at her end of the table.
“You know,” Dwyfol made as though he was going to re-invent the wheel, “you could use your human form in the house.”
“And I can shit on the floor. This is the body I was born with. I’ll show it off as much as I want.”
“I’m just saying –”
“I know I’m allowed to be comfortable in my own home.”
“But you don’t feel comfortable in your own home?”
“… No. And mentioning the bird … man, just brought it up. What was his history again?”
“Normal lad, lost his soul to Rezmir in a bet.”
“And yet he was walking around?”
“Hmm, I see what you mean. You’re wanting to know where it is located.”
“Any ideas?”

Every so often, if the laws of probability are correctly aligned, two storytellers will tell the same story. It just so happened that this was the case in this exact moment – when both K’churlat and Clayton began a new tale; “let me tell you a story about a sword …”
Both men knew parts of the story, and were making other parts of it up.

Neidr crashed into the courtyard of Castle Naerytar, because she liked a joke as much as anyone.
“Stop the wedding!” Dwyfol had a habit of rushing into rooms without thinking, saying the first thing that came to mind whether it was related or not, and then spending the remaining week dealing with the consequences. Or consecrations.
“What are you on about?” Ku looked up from his most recent meal, served lovingly by cultists that didn’t have a choice.
“I dunno, but I have your attention.”
“And a nervous breakdown, apparently,” Ku went back to eating.
“Do you want your soul back or what?”
“Lost it in a bet. I’m prepared to accept that.”
“Thing is, we think we know where to find it.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, and apparently it flies around in the skies above the castle.”
“Oh. So how are we going to get it back?”
At this point, Neidr spoke up. “We thought we’d ask nicely.” She turned to Dante who had brought his own plate of food into the courtyard, in spite of the threat to life and liberty that could have posed. “What do you say?”
“… please?” Dante was confused by the sudden inexplicable amount of responsibility placed on him.
“No, you see,” Neidr continued, almost gleefully, “Ku’s soul is in that sword.” She pointed at the glowing weapon Dante had just stolen.

Little Miss was getting restless again. “You don’t have to make up stories for the places you go to when you leave, you know?”
Clayton shrugged, “I’m not making these up –” a potential subtext caught up with him, and he continued uncertainly, “unless you want me to stop telling stories?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just not sure how you’re present for all of these conversations. And where do you fit in to these stories anyway?”
“All right, fine. Some of it’s made up.”
“But which parts,” Little Miss jabbed Clayton in the chest.
“Ow. I keep forgetting that stuff hurts now. That I’m –”
“A real boy.”
“Man.”
“If it makes you feel better. So, where were we …”

“So, what now?”
“Where was it from?”
“What? You’re asking me? Sure, I have the full ancestry of the sword I stole …” Point made, Dante sat back in his chair.
“What do you think, Hwep?”
“You mean now, or, like, before?”
“I mean now, your brain is functioning correctly.”
“Functioning, yes. Correctly, debatable.”
“I can take the sword back to its forge, and we remove the soul from there.”
Ku put a wing in the air. “I’ll come with.”
“I would expect no less,” Neidr replied with a certain amount of scorn, before spinning with some velocity and rocketing to a cruising altitude in under ten seconds.
Ku heard in his head – ‘You coming or not?’, and followed after the dragon.
Dante and Rivarol got the memo a minute later, an important turn of events given they were in possession of the magic sword that needed disenchanting. Once airborne, Dante said aloud “you’re getting good at taking off now.”
Thanks.
“You know where we’re going?”
I’ll follow the others.
“But you know where they are? We can’t see them …”
I’m linked to the other dragon. I can follow.
“Okay then.”
A minute or so of silence passed, then;
I’m confused.
“Yeah?”
How did Ku lose his soul? That’s not the kind of thing you can just …
“Yeah … and …” Dante looked over at the sword, “… how it ended up here, I’m not sure.” He held his own, stolen, blade in his hand – being its natural form for once.
“One sword is plenty.”
They flew on.

Ku’s soul rested inside the sword as it flew through the sky toward the Forge of Spells. Not waiting, waiting implies intent. Or hope. Or something. But patient. If one applied the law of averages to every given situation all at once, one might eventually reach the conclusion that it were possible somebody might claim the soul. So it waited for the Gods of probability to agree.
The dragonborn had rushed past her hastily assembled guards a year previously, hardly even waiting for the anvil to heat up before pulling a hammer and tongs from somewhere in the folds of either her robes or her hair. The soul wasn’t quite sure which. She’d done some magic so that Ku’s heart would keep beating. But it wasn’t an existence. At the very least it would not have felt lived in. Just … happened. Moving from day to day in a small box in his mind. As if by obligation. He wouldn’t even know his soul was here. Or still existed at all. He’d presume it lost. Presumed dead, by all accounts.
But, if the soul waited long enough … soon …

Clayton had started showing up to the meetings again. They helped with coming to peace with changes to his environment. He’d basically worked through re-acclimatising after his brief adventures. Currently working on how to be human again. Being a machine had been easier, if he may have said so himself. The monk leading the sessions, which took place in Neverwinter, said that these thoughts were normal and it would take time. But Clayton wasn’t sure he was really listening. K’Churlat liked to tell his own stories. But, hey, at least Clayton was out of the house.
Clayton flashed the locket he wore always around his neck at the receptionist when heading into the sessions. They hadn’t necessarily always been a symbol of recovery, but seemed to have become one in the months since Clayton’s settling down – which Ku would have called it ‘coming home to roost’. Hwep had one too, just to show there was always someone that could help. He knew that, though – and didn’t bother to show up to the meetings.

Hwep and Ku clung to Neidr’s back as she rocketed towards Phandalin, tumbling off after the inevitable landing due to inertia.
“This is just a cave,” Hwep noted, as Dante and his dragon smashed into the ground nearby.
“We really need to work on that,” Dante panted, as he straightened out his clothing.
“So, tell me,” Ku began, “what we’re doing here.”
Neidr grunted, then began to change until a tall woman stood before the group. “The forge of Spells is inside. The cult has long since left this abandoned, similar to the dragon eggs that –” She pointed over at Rivarol, gesturing to indicate the rest of the ideas contained in the sentence.
“Right, so you’re saying we just walk through?”
“I think so, yeah.” Neidr answered, as confident as she dared. The party began the walk through the cave.
There had clearly been some combat here in the past, and the old weaponry strewn about the passage could have been cult equipment, or remnants from these battles. There was the odd corpse against the wall every so often so that nobody was quite sure where the bloodshed ended and the colonialism began. Although it could be argued that there was no specific dividing line in the first place.
The party reached the furthest corner of Wave Echo Cave after about three hours of hiking.
“So this is what they were protecting …” Hwep whispered, with disgust.
He was looking at a fairly unassuming altar in the dust – but a faint green-purple haze was emanating from it. Some kind of magic.
“Yeah, badly. The whole outfit has been bad at its job at every turn.” Dante would have known, he’d successfully infiltrated the cult himself. Then he left because of boredom.
“So what do we do with this blade?” Ku asked, grabbing his soul from Dante’s unresisting hands.
“Pass it here. I think the sword will know what it needs. But just in case it doesn’t, I don’t want either of you getting hurt.” Neidr took the blade and placed it on the altar, picking up a hammer from an alcove nearby.
“So, let’s see,” Neidr took the first strike.

“Legend has it that the Forge of Spells gives the enchantments you want to use a voice,” Clayton continued his story to Little Miss, “that way you have to directly confront the equipment you’re making – and if you’re unlucky, it might try to stop you.”
“Stop you how?”
“By mind manipulation and things like that, I think. Not too sure, I’ve only heard stories from K’churlat at this stage.”
“Oh, so would it be the same for disenchantment?”
“I would think so,” Clayton readjusted himself, as he’d been in the same position for several hours, “although it might be easier …”

The sword asked Neidr one question only, mustering up all the older-sibling energy that it could find in its corporeal form.
Will you bring my human to any harm?
She never disclosed her reply to the party. She never needed to. The hammer stroke seemed to have changed the blade slightly. So she hit it again. More change, a slight green-purple tint to the blade. After maybe fifteen strokes she straightened up.
Only at this point did she notice Ku struggling for breath.
“What’s the matter? Is he OK?”
“Yes – I’m – fine – I just – heartbeat – had forgotten – ”
He doubled over in a coughing fit and straightened back up. “Huh. So it turns out I’ve been feeling like crap for the past few months. If I ever told you I was fine, I was lying.”
“Noted,” Hwep mused, twirling his Locket Guild locket over in his hand.
Ku noticed the contemplation. “What’s the matter?”
“I have an idea.” Hwep took his locket and placed it on the altar.
He looked across at Neidr. “Could you enchant this with a Restore spell? So that I can use it when I need to remember who I am?”
“It would be a single use.”
“Right. Better than not having it at all.”
Neidr began to work on the locket stopping to answer her question – why are you not applying the magic to its target directly – and the locket seemed to have been completed. She must have given a good answer. On the last stroke, the locket asked a question of Hwep; do you truly think it matters who you are? And are you ready to know?
Hwep’s answer – yes, letting others tell you things like that gets you into sticky situations. And nobody’s ever really ready, but they do it anyway – seemed to satisfy it.

The fliers landed back in the courtyard of Castle Naerytar. Hwep and Ku fell off Neidr’s back the same as before, and Dante was getting used to the meteoric speed of Rivarol’s descents by now.
“I have one more question – your, err, friend …” Neidr asked.
“Not a friend. He never apologised at all. So why should I forgive him?”
“Quite, but the burden of those interactions that you carry might not be fair on yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t. Accepted that he is what he is, and moved on. But I don’t carry a burden.”
“Just be mindful of that.”
“You’re not my mum.”
“Quite. Well, I think that’s me all sorted for now. I’ll certainly be in touch if we have any further issues.”
“Right. See you around.” Neidr lifted off while Hwep was in mid-sentence, and was out of sight by the end of it.
“So, about Clayton … I tried …” Ku spoke up.
“I know and I appreciate it. Both of you did your best with what you had.”
“So, what now?”
“We keep going. Only one way forward. The cul – our livelihood isn’t gonna make itself great again, is it?”
“Unfortunate word choice. I hear the guy running for mayor of Waterdeep uses that slogan.”
“Well, Waterdeep does need fixing, after all of the floods. Who built such an ironically named town on the waterfront, anyway?”

Clayton finished his tale, noticing only for the first time in a while that Little Miss was asleep. It didn’t seem to matter whether he had an audience or not at this point.
“Well, I guess we’d better sleep now,” he mused, lifting her easily into a fireman’s carry – and taking her to the small bedroom of their house to rest for the evening.

↑

Chapter 1: No Time To Rest

The tentacle monster in the distance looked to be the right size to sit on the Helvault.
The party contemplated jumping off the balcony to get out of Tharaben, but walked down instead, heading back to Outer Tharaben. The monster was still in the distance, in the direction of the Drownyard temple – the party headed the other way.
Leaving Tharaben, the party met a group of Cathars at the second gate; guards were protecting a ransacked building from … what exactly? The mutants? Or the fleeing townspeople with more on their minds than simple raiding. Something like that. Mutated Boobmans had become more mutated since the monster, Emrakul’s, emergence. One of the guards was seemingly converted.
“Help my children inside the building”.
“I smell a trap. Inside another trap. With a trap on top for icing.” Balliuus advised.
The guards had previously threatened the party (on the way to the Helvaulty originally), so they were left to die.
“… please, mister?” William looked to the sound of a small voice – seeing a child pressed against the window of the building. Diverting for no more than a minute, William helped the kids with displays of his big strength / ‘gun-show’.
Meanwhile, Balliuus convinced the guards to run away, with the mutated humans running with them, but one boobman continued advancing on the house. As the party depart6ed the area, they could hear distant crunching of little boy’s bones from inside the house. Heading through the gate into lower Tharaben, the party saw a grandma chasing after the daughter of one of the guards, and despite momentary confusion and attacks from the party (William got confused, thinking the woman was infected), she couldn’t be stopped until Dochas used Fireball, where she just died. Balliuus performed a post-mortem of the ash, and verified that the woman had been infected. The kid kept running in the same direction as the party, but ahead -- through the first gate.

At the first gate, the party saw more mutated humans, that got mistaken for trash bags and homeless people.
The area also appeared toi be home to some werewolves, some kind of conflict was happening between the boobmans and the werewolves – but the werewolves seemed to win this handily.
Dochas recommended that the party dodge it, seeing more rubbish bags along the alternative route as well, with movement behind the like ribbons.
“Where are the people, as opposed to the mutants – and where are all the pets?” A multi-part question from William – but also a fair point.
“I can guess, but you won’t like it.”
“I can see some tails behind the piles.” On this remark, five werewolves were discovered, feasting on the decomposing virus-laden corpses of the boobmans – one was taken out by William with skilful axe use, and Dochas with blanket annihilation. Balliuus used Elbrus to take the dead werewolves’ souls. The remaining three living wolves went into pack tactics and are taken out of circulation systematically.
During the fight, Balliuus lamented. “My patron is talking to me, and may want something.”
“Oh? What are they saying?
“Whatever it is -- I might not be able to repay it.”
“Ah.” Dochas looted the werewolf, got a necklace with jewels, saw immediate signs of boobification.
“These seem to be related to the disease.”
“Do they make it better or worse?”
“Yes.” Dochas suspected they made the situation better, and put his necklace on. “I feel better.”
“That’s absolutely a placebo effect. But sure, whatever.” William set about finding more werewolves and annihilating them to recover more necklaces.

Resting in the woods outside of Tharaben, in the wake of their big adventure, the party contemplated what to do.
“Big monster in the sky.” Dochas started by stating the obvious.
“Yeah. Probably related to all that stuff in the journal.” Ballliuus, as the only one still around with anything even vaguely approaching information, had not realised the asymmetries that were present.
“The what in the what?”
“Oh, right. Before your time. I’ll explain some day.”
“But what do we do now?”
Williaam finished cleaning his axe. “I would say that running away is best.”
Pop.
The party barely even had time to register that Balliuus had left the group, before he was replaced by Dhanytt, a scared kobold.
Dochas and Dhanytt screamed at each other. For about a minute. When both had run out of breath, the elven man looked at his foot-tall campmate.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you? I’m very confused by everything and the tentacles, and just want to go home.”
Dochas’ tone softened a little, while William watched the new arrival with some interest. But he didn’t stand up, that would scare the man again.
Dochas took half an hour, explaining the tentacles and Sister Giraele as best he could.
“Sister Garaele? With the black robes and big temple?”
Dochas and William looked at each other in confusion. Garaele had none of those things.
“Anyway, none of this is by choice for anyone.” Doichas finished, not quite sure what to make of it.
Dhanytt took over, explaining his own situation -- that his benefactor, a woman called the Raven Queen swapped Balliuus and Dhanytt.
“So that means Balliuus is where you were?”
“I – I guess?” Dhanytt wasn’t sure.
“Can we go get him?”
“How?” Again, the kobold had a habit of timidly asking the best question in the room.
Nearby, at the gate into Tharaben, mutated vampires started doing battle with the lieutenants.
One of the lieutenants noticed the party – his big mistake – and was swiped into infection by the vampire he had been fighting.
“H – Help.”
“What’s your name?” Dochas’ politeness had never failed him (except for all the times it had).
“J-John Cena.” The guard used his last breath to say a name – Dochas could have sworn the man froze in shock.
Almost like he’d said the wrong word.
“J – J- J – kill me.” The man rasped.
The dyiong man reached for Dhanytt with tentacles protruding from his body he couldn't control. Dhanytt stepped back so that Dochas and William could hit the nearly-zombie.
When the mana stopped moving, Dhanytt used Balliuus's dagger to stab the zombie and kill him, making a mess of blood and ooze.
Dochas noted, “we’re either getting out of here traumatised, or not getting out at all”.
William helped Dhanytt tidy up the blade afterwards. Leaving the actual corpse and its associated mess.
Heading through the woods, the party find a camp for refugees. Around five people in the camp so far, and all of them wore pendants with a different symbol on them than the party’s.
The party introduced themselves in the camp to let Dhanytt feel more safe. After the initial round of introductions, they were told to go to see the granddaughter of a significant figure in the church, and the refugee camp is in a crypt with artifacts nearby. Thalia defected from the church because her grandfather posthumously warned her to prepare for bad things.
Dhanytt was getting more confident over time, especially in the camp when the party received pendants for joining the camp. William's pendant was one of Avacyn’s, the others are not (unknown).

↑

Chapter 2: Warlock Swap

Balliuus was in mid-sentence; “I think we should –”
A white flash, followed immediately by the largest white mask Balliuus had ever seen. He was, in fact, possibly fifty feet off the ground, and looking straight into one eye socket.
“For fuck’s sake Nahiri – oh, it’s you.”
“Who’s Nahiri?”
“Some bitch that transplanted me from one place to another – oh. Not like what just happened which was absolutely fine.”
The Raven Queen set the Changeling on the floor of her chambers – and Balliuus was left to stare up at the one-hundred foot tall ceiling.
She spoke again, more quietly. “It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to defend my ego.”
“I was in the middle of some stuff.”
“I know, the thing is – I have a more important task for you.”
“More important than the end of the universe?”
“Someone’s been kidnapped. And that disease you were dealing with is spreading. I feel like they’re connected.”
“You want,” Balliuus spoke slowly, “my help resolving a kidnapping?”
“This is a man connected to the Cult of the Dragon. They created a sword that can punch through reality. The cult itself has been decimated and is under control, but the sword was still able to be used. During a run of the mill m,ugging, they displaced this woman.”
“But that sounds like … interdimensional travel?”
“So you’ll have to go back to your past. Relive, relearn, re-… whatever the saying is.”
“You’re thinking of live, laugh, love.”
“I most certainly am not. Come.”
The Matron took Balliuus over to a small library of books. One was marked Balliuus – the very first one. The next was called ‘Dhanytt’.
“Dhanytt … is that who the others are dealing with now.”
“He will be an asset to them, yes. I need him to be more confident though.”
Balliuus knew the Matron’s ways. “How old is the person you sent into the trappiest trap to ever trap?”
“He’s a kobold.”
“Doesn’t answer the question.”
“Five.”
“He’s a child?!”
The Matron seemed almost taken aback by this, but Balliuus had picked up his own book and turned to a page. “How far back do I go?”
“It’s not about going back. It’s about going in.” The Matron didn’t wait for Balliuus’ assent, she dipped his head into the page, like a baptism.

Changelings have always been persecuted due to their “gift” and often hid themselves by blending in whichever society they found themselves in. Balliuus was no exception to this and went as far as keeping that secret from his adoptive parents. Although he had no problem fitting in, this always made him feel like an outcast, which may have been his motivation for leaving home as soon as he was old enough. Venturing to the nearest city, he found that he felt more at home in the city’s underbelly and started a career in urban bounty hunting.

Balliuus looked around, in the midst of his own backstory, seeing text flying past at all directions, in all angles. No, this was too far back. He’d re-live his whole adulthood at this point. He focussed somewhere in the distance and the text came to him.

Although initially careful with the jobs he took (since he didn’t feel like waking up with a dagger between his ribs), he gradually grew in both confidence and reputation. However, as with most youths, confidence begets arrogance, ultimately leading him to one day take a job beyond his ability. Consequently, what had to happen happened, and Balliuus was left for dead in the wilderness. His story would have ended here had he not been rescued by a kind person who helped him recover from his injuries, over the space of a year. During that time, the two became close friends and Balliuus offered to help with anything he could to pay back his debt. While his benefactor refused by insisting that he only did what was right, he revealed to Balliuus that he was searching for his daughter, who had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Dragon. This prompted Balliuus to study and learn about the cult during the remainder of his recovery, in the hopes that his knowledge would be of use to his benefactor ­– even though the latter did not want Balliuus to get involved, as it was too dangerous.

So now he knew about the Cult, and it was fresh in his mind. He chose the nearest point of re-entry. White light filled his view as he clawed his way out of his past.

With the new-old knowledge, Balliuus set out to find the cult and hopefully rescue his benefactor’s daughter.
While tracking them down did not prove to be too complicated thanks to his network, the members he stumbled on were none other than his past, failed job.
“You.” The leader pulled out a glowing sword. Balliuus filed this detail under ‘I for I know where that sword came from.’
“Technically, no?” Balliuus knew this line of logic was a flawed one but tried it anyway. Turniung heel, Balliuus managed to run away, being clearly outnumbered and outmatched by the cult members.
Defeated and injured, he was once again taken in by his benefactor, who learnt about what Balliuus had done. Balliuus found the gnomish man to be strict at times, but seemingly reasonable. His dragon wife always seemed on edge. Not because of him, she explained, just the general … political climate at the moment. Dwyfol and Neidr, they were.
“You almost lost your life a second time,” Dwyfol only really became angry at the thought of his daughter’s life costing someone else theirs.
“Yes, but I nearly had them. I just need more weapons, and I know they have the sword.”
Neidr tensed so much she almost flew up to the ceiling. “The sword?”
“Yeah. It was glowing. Definitely enchanted.”
Dwyfol had noticed the change in his wife’s demeanour (for once). “Fine, you can continue, so long as you promise not to  needlessly risk your life”.
“Needlessly risk? You know what, never mind.”
“You may find this stone useful.” Dwyfol handed Balliuus a shard of obsidian that was always warm to the touch.
“What is this?”
“It’s enchanted, its warmth mirrors Rie’s life force.”
“Is there a way to reverse engineer it?”
Neither gnome nor dragon had thought of this. Neidr was first to speak. “I know a wizard in town – he helped me cure a boy once. I wonder what happened to him … ah, Dochas …”
“Long and happy life?”
“I hope.”
Journeying into Phandalin disguised as a humble farmer, Balliuus found the alchemist.
“Can you disenchant this?” Balliuus could have sworn the stone had gotten hotter in the past minute.
“Disenchant?”
“I want to see where it is connected to.”
“Ah. I just need –”
Almost unbearably hot now. Then Balliuus heard a thump from the cellar downstairs.
“Quick wuestiuon – are you holding this woman hostage?”
In the ensuing fight, Balliuus managed to out-manouevre the man in his own house, dogding every household-appliance-turned-piece-of-weaponry that the man could find.
“Answer me.”
“The cult, they wanted her alive.”
“So, you helped them?”
“She’d been displaced, I only found her.”
Balliuus got the man in a chokehold. “But you don’t have the enchanted weapon any more, right?”
“No idea where it is.”
Balliuus finished the man with a dagger to the abdomen. “Useless.” He unbound the girl in the cellar, and returned her to her, surprisingly grateful parents.
“It wasn’t her time.” A voice behind Balliuus. He turned, to see the Matron. The gnome and dragon in front of him didn’t seem too bothered. “Only you can see me.”
“I’m busy at the moment.” Balliuus admons  the Matron, and with a slight nod, she stepped back. A short while later, conversation completed and alone in the woods outside Phandalin, Balliuus addressed the Matron.
“Let me guess, another task.”
“Back to business as usual, more like.”
“How so, we can’t exactly telep –” Balliuus didn’t even finish the sentence. The walls of text recounting his life surrounded him once more, until he found himself back in front of the Matron’s library.
“I have transport outside. We’re going somewhere I’ve never been before.”
“Where? Are we meeting up with Dhanytt.”
“Now, come. It’ll take us a while, but he’s not there yet.”
“Where? You never answer the important questions.”
“Yes …” The Matron seemed contemplative. “On the plane of Ixalan.”

↑

Chapter 3: The Friends You Make

“Well, you see,” Thalia, leader of the refugee camp, explained to the party around  the campfire. Well, the whole refugee camp[, but the rest of the group had heard this all before. “The world is … fine on one side, but the other has rot seeping through it.”
“That would make a hole, wouldn’t it?” Dochas was only slightly further ahead than the rest of the party.
“Yeah, pretty much. Up to now, we were working on containing the disease – which is a result of the same rot – but now we all have pendants, we can start to protect the rest of the world from just disintegrating.”
“How long have we got?”
“My grandfather thought there wasn’t long at all – but that was a year ago – he told me to run away because the world was broken.”
Dhanytt looked at his items. “Would this journal help?” He held up Jenriks journal – to Thalia’s immediate acknowledgement.
“Yeah, it might do. Where did you get that, young man?”
“I’m five,” Dhanytt said proudly. “Oldest I’ve ever been.”
“Huh. And you know what you’re doing here?”
Dhanytt replied chirpily at the nice, slightly odd woman. “Not even a little bit!”
Dochas and William had moved over to a ghost in the corner of the living space. It always seemed to have friends, so must have been good, right? Talking to Odric (William found out his name) revealed that he made the pendants himself; it costed his energy to do so. Thalia’s pendant was an Omega sign and the party’s pendants were more ‘feral’.
“Well, that’s rude. But does it mean anything?” William hadn’t taken offense (yet).
“Wasn’t meant to be rude – it must have been an earlier version of pendant, that’s all.”
“Can we get updated ones, please?”
“Not right now. I – tired. But … later. I’ll let you know. And don’t worry, you’re okay for now.”
“Could we get … more pendants?”
“There are other sources of supernatural power. One of these sources is protecting you from the tentacle monster”.
Odric relayed rumours that it was called an Angel of some sort. But nobody was keen on deciphering the name – Emmra-Mary, or something.
William got a pendant from Odric that matched his pendant, rather than the same as Dochas and Dhanytt.
“I can do one,” the man conceded. “But for the others, let us wait.”
“Do you know much about the afterlife?”
“Why would you ask me about that?”
“I just wondered if you’ve ever been close to death.”
Odric seemed annoyed at William’s talking about the afterlife, so William, deciding that from now on he would rather be called D’William, went to cower with Dhanytt.
“That man is mean,” Dhanytt pointed out. “William, he said I need to practice socialising.”
“I was thinking … D’William is a better name.”
“Oh, okay!”
“Which man?” D’William asked Dhanytt.
“That one.” Dhanytt pointed across the camp at a man that looked vaguely vampiric.
“Oh, I thought you meant the guy I was talking to. He’s mean too. Do you want to practice social interactions?”
“Sure.” Both men headed over to Alfred Mauer, stood across the campground expectantly, like he would have wanted to be attended to.
“Hi, what’s your name?” Dhanytt practiced social interaction on Alfred Mauer – but only because D’William told him to, and frequently referred to D’William for pointers as Alfred doesn’t follow the pre-set script. After ten minutes of Dhanytt being bewildered by the offbeat social interactions and Alfred being bewildered by the little man – Alfred straightened up. He’d come here to discuss business.
“Dhanytt’s inherited Balliuus’ responsibilities and possessions, hasn’t he?” Alfred had pieced together why nobody had come straight to him. Nobody here knew who he was. “Twins under my protection have been kidnapped by the Stromkirks. I wanted Balliuus’ help.”
Alfred knew the last base of operation – vampires were becoming more like sea creatures, and lived closer to the sea rather than Stromkirk manor.
Looking through his items again, after this most recent revelation, Dhanytt disclosed he also had the Voldaren and Markov signets.
Dochas had slightly less luck. If such a thing were even possible.
“You’re the archmage here, right?”
“Been around for thirty years. No disease will stop me helping these people.”
“Oh, right, what’s your name?”
“J’A …” The man seemed to struggle. “J’Archmage … Rem – Rembert.” Shaky, but he got there in the end.
“What can we help with around camp?”
The Archmage told him – with no stuttering, that seemed completely linked to the name situation.
A while later, Dochas rejoined the party, having figured out that the refugees want to investigate the nearby village where there were apparently humans that needed to be saved.
“Is this the same place as where the two humans were previously seen?” D’William asked the question that may have saved the party a day of wasted time.
They headed to Stromkirk manor to save Alexei and Alexa.
Close to Stromkirk manor, on a beachfront, they met a man introducing himself as K’John Cena III Stromkirk.
“My name is K’John –” the man seemed confused by the sounds his mouth was making. “Kas’Joh … ahem, Kas … per. K’John Cena …”.
“Having trouble with your name, Kas … per?”
“Yeah, every other word is fine, but I can’t say the word Kasper. Oh, it must have passed.”
“So what’s your name?”
“K’John Cena Stromkirk. Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Dochas moved on from the topic of names, which seemed to be an area of difficulty. The Stronmmkirk man was no longer under the protection of his God – his own fault. He was disowned, but restoring honour, or trying.
D’William attempted to say that Dhanytt could run the Stromkirk clan. Dhanytt showed off the signets collected so far, like they were trading cards.
“The Stromkirks have a curse where they become sea-dwelling, and we want to convert the two Mauer girls to make them part of the family.” The Stromkirk man didn’t seem especially bothered about asking the girls’ permission first. D’William was beginning to see the issue.
When the party reached their destination, Hevangul, they were met with a goon squad of vampires. One proclaimed himself to be Runo, current leader of the clan.
“I challenge you to combat, for the future of the clan.” The three vampires squared up against the party, competing for yet another signet.

↑

Chapter 4: The End of the Lineage

Runo started to speak.
“You interfere with the business of our family – and this cannot be tolerated. We have existed on this land for centuries, and will do with it and our lineage what we want. We –”. Dochas sent a fireball in Runo’s direction, trying to interrupt, but he failed, with Runo catching the fireball in his hand. He taunted the party. “See, your sacrifice will be in vain. Give up now and leave with your lives.”
Seeing this, D’William whispered to Dochas. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”
“I will remember you, William, as ‘the guy who wore the wings’.”
“Actually it’s D’William now.”
“Oh, nice, why’d you change it?” Dochas hadn’t picked up the peer pressure, subtle though it was. Dhanytt couldn’t help but notice, even while directly under threat that the silhouette of the big tentacled mushroom could still be seen in the distance. But only just, there was a very low range of sight, very hazy in the permanent darkness of Innistrad, and some new fog coming off the ocean.
I’m scared. I’m needed. I can help. Thoughts cycled through Dhanytt’s mind as he manifested a psychic blade.
Runo continued his monologue. “And we will pray to Kralmar, the old God, in our victory …”. Dhanytt zoned out again, and struck forward with the new psychic blade. The action having begun, Dhanytt devoured the soul of one of the Stromkirk minions, and Dochas dealt magic damage to Runo directly, finally able to hit the man.
Seeing a minion with its sight set on Dochas, Dhanytt used his dexterity and element of surprise to deal with the Stromkirk minion that seemed to be lining up Dochas.
Runo continued to talk. “My brother was killed by the changes in the environment, so now we all must adapt.” He phased out, and transformed into Krothuss, a much larger and more aquatic creature. Very little of the original vampire was left visible on his features.
The battle continued – with Dochas pelting the newly formed Krothuss, while Dhanytt dealt with the sole remaining Stromkirk minion.
Seeing his numbers dwindling, but not thinking about what that might mean, Runo continued his monologue. “There are more scary monsters …” He trailed off, and, noticing his fraught position, pleaded with his God Kralmar again.
D'William and Dhanytt use this prayer as a moment of attack, and finally manage to subdue Krothuss. Dhanytt grabbed hold of the Stromkirk token from around the sea creature’s neck – he possesses tokens for the Markov, Mauer, Voldaren and Stromkirk families.
The krakens were fleeing towards the mushroom, and with Runo’s defeat, Alexei and Alexa were saved by the party again.a
After some explanation of how exactly this party had come to help them, they remembered Balliuus as Bal-daddy.
On the beach, the party ate a meal of sashimi made from the corpses of the minions.
Alfred gave Dhanytt his thanks, saying he lived up to Balliuus’ reputation. He then took the two girls back to the Mauer mansion.
“I just noticed – it’s funny that some of the people we bump into are introduced with one name and the name sometimes changes to be something else. Or they have trouble saying it.”
“Yeah, always seems to be a variant of John … something.”
“I think the Stromkirk man was called Kasper before the issues”.
“Yeah, wonder what that’s about.”

Travelling back to Drunel, the party contemplated dealing with Emrakul, which the party could see moving, even from that distance.
“Yeah, you need to be more confident about using your weapons,” Dochas said passive-aggressively to Dhanytt, who hid behind D’William.
Back at the refugee camp, Dochas spoke to Archmage Rembert.
“I’m from the church of Avacyn, there was a prophecy about the end of the world”. Beyond that, he was unhelpful, and encouraged small steps towards helping.
“You can help us by saving the people stuck in the town of Trostad. The … Emrakul can wait.”
The Arch-Mage gave the party emblems similar to the one that D’William had – there had been enough time to make some more.
On the journey to Trostad, the party came across some broken armour and bodies with signs of BOOBS. One human Cathar and some wolves. The Cathar had self-inflicted wounds. A scream in the forest distracted the party from looking at corpses created by the virus.
D’William was first to respond, drawing the attention of the mutated human. Dhanytt performed rudimentary first aid on the woman, as the wolves moved toward D’William.
While the wolves attempted to attack D’Wiliam, the Cathar was stabilised by Dhanytt, as the party dealt with the rest.
Dochas and D’William distracted the wolf and tried to tame it. It was named Thunder-Boomer John Steig and inducted.
The wolf had a medallion, that had been taken over by the BOOBS, so they replaced the ward.

↑

Chapter 5: The Family You Find

Approaching Trostad, the party saw villagers and Cathars that were surrounded by BOOB-infested horrors.
Werewolves and vampires were fighting in the streets while infested. Thunder-Boomer wanted into the fight, but D’William held him out of it.
“He’ll fight when I want him to”.
“Should we stay or leave though – this town looks pretty totaled.” Dochas wasn’t sure about the efficiency of the quest.
“Well, we agreed. And what would Balliuus say?”
“He’d say ‘who’s that kobold you picked up?”
“Fair.”
“Look, the werewolves with BOOBS (hehehehe) also have tarnished medallions!” Dhanytt pointed out, failing to stifle a laugh.
D'William looked for a second. “Wolves that aren’t infested have fully working wards”.
One such wolf had a red-gold hue to her ward. Lots of the creatures didn’t have wards at all, yet. This red-warded wolf seemed to be keeping the rest of the unprotected pack members out of the fighting.
Dhanytt ran into the fray, without saying anything, and Thunder-Boomer ran after him.
D'William didn’t know the wolf very well, but could almost have sworn it was a protective instinct. Thunder Boomer attacked one of the infected wolves as a precautionary measure, but otherwise the monsters attacked themselves.
Dochas noticed the Cathar’s necklaces and knew they were friends, he recognised the Church of Avacyn. “Guys!” The party’s attention turned towards Dochas, and away from one of the Cathars, who wanted to attack everything, including Dhanytt and his wolf pseudo-guardian. The red-warded individual communicated with the werewolves. “You can be saved!”. This seemed to unionise the Cathars against the wolves (make the situation worse).
Eventually, with help from the party, the wolves were put to sleep, and the red-warded female became a humanoid called Arlinn Kord. The Cathars recognised her in her human form.
The party noticed an old woman in the centre of the werewolf pack – she introduced herself to the party as Grandmama Trissala.
“My grandson is a lord, you know. Sir Delandel.”
The party seemed less than interested in this information. “Oh yes, nice. How did you get here?”
“I was taken in by Arlinn. She protects me.”
This conversation being somewhat of a non-starter and the remaining wolves and Cathars becoming discontented, the party’s attention was diverted. The Cathars felt betrayed by Arlinn’s transformation.
“She may be a witch!”
“I don’t resent you for your views and fear”. Arlinn seemed almost patronising towards the Cathars. “You just don’t know and haven’t seen what powers I have. I was a Cathar once, blinded by faith, then I was turned to a werewolf.”
“Quit preaching, traitor.”
“This is why I had to start my own church. I give the people I work with refuge.”
“Nobody will work with you.”
“Only outcasts from the church. Certainly explains why you don’t see them as people.”
Dochas could see that this was inflaming the situation rather than calming it. Moving in between the two tense factions, he tried to relate to Arlinn.
“My lineage is elf and dragon. I was outcast too, I’m not even supposed to be here, see?”
“Are you trying to fix me? I don’t need therapy, boy.”
“I’m just saying that we’re all from another plane, here by mistake.” Dochjas was dejected. Just trying to help. So maybe a change of tune was needed. “Why are the religious folk are so violent?”
One of the Cathars interrupted, responding that werewolves were made inert by wearing certain medallions, but since recent events the medallions have stopped working. Arlinn cut the conversation off with a curt glance.
Dhanytt had put himself on Grandmama Trissala duty. “I felt my lycantropy coming back, you know, when I met visitors from a different plane. My grandson, Sir Delandel – I have a grandson, you know, brought strays back to my house”. She paused, lost in thought. “Yes, Delandel. I need to find him. I had to leave and Arlinn helped me.”
Arlinn continued her explanations to Dochas. “The Cathars were blinded by their fear.”
During the conversation the medallions had dimmed and tentacles seem to be coming from underneath the skin of one of the Cathars.

“Do any of you think that was an issue?” Dochas was first to bring up the tentacles snaking out from the mouthy of the Cathar.
“I want to run away,” Dhanytt’s instinct response was … expected. Same as usual.
D’William wasn’t sure. “It could be a problem? I just thought they were drunk.”
The Cathar started to make gurgling noises.
William relayed to Grandmama. “One of my friends told me that Delandel met his fate a while back.
She struggled to understand the situation. “Your dog – is he a transformed Delandel?”
“N- No. I’m so sorry, but no.”
Dochas attempted to ask for Grandmama’s attention, but she continued to pet Thunder Boomer, who seemed to enjoy it. She was muddled, but relayed a story about the issues that C2 is having, sort of like a plague of unknown origin.
The Cathar was earning looks from his compatriots now, becoming paranoid, with black foam coming out of his mouth.
“Don’tsh you shee?” he said, showcasing a clearly deformed mouth and impressively parasitic set of tentacles.
D'William expressed these concerns to Arlinbn after a while of sitting on the thoughts. Arlinn stabbed the Cathar.
“We can’t be having any of that.”
Back at the camp, the party were questioned by Thalia. “Why did you bring back Cathars?”
“Well, you see, they needed saving?” Dhanytt thought this answer should have been sufficient.
The Archmage of indeterminate name saw the Cathars in question, and refused their polite waving. “50 people sent, only 2 come back.” He sighed heavily. He noticed Arliinn leading the group of survivors, and removed himself from the situation, as though he were offended by Arlinn’s existence.
“Have you been having any of the … issues … again?”
A weird disturbance in the air. Dhanytt could have wsworn it similar to the wind changing direction.
“I’m J’Arch Burt Cena. Oh no …”
“So that’s a yes. Dunno what to do with that …”
Dochas grilled Arlinn further. She had not mentioned that she was a werewolf before she was exiled, and the church cut her off when they found out -- she had to be truthful to the werewolf she was. The church was very white human centric.
D’William tried a similar trick with Arlinn that Dochas had tried with Grandma. “We’re both olive, you’re brown-olive, and I’;m green-olive. Wonder what it really means to be olive-skinned.”
“It means what it means,” Arlinn said as though that fixed the issue.
“Perhaps, Arlinn. That view is refreshing.”
That same disturbance in the air.
“My name is Olinn. Don’t you remember?”
“I – yes.” Staracter did in fact recall a world in which she seemed to have always been called Olinn before. But he could also remember the other one, now seeming to be a fading memory.
“We need to band together to beat the deity in the sky.” A little weak on the motivational speech side, Olinn seemed happy enough with it.
Dochas had continued his interview of Grandma -- Olinn had taken them through the Ulvenwald, looking for the fellow werewolves, but the numbers were diminishing because they were running out of medallions. William changed groups, moving over and asked about the well transport network, and Grandma doesn’t seem to really know what he was talking about – she does remember that Olinn mentioned other worlds in the past.
The party group huddled, with D’William carrying Dhanytt, agreeing to help the werewolves for the possibility of getting to a portal and getting back home.
Dochas interrupted the arguments between the archmage and Olinn, mentioning that the church can’t be helped, but the party could help them find others like them. Thalia became involved, she tried to get Olinn to stay in the camp – which was successful. Bert was still disappointed, and saying that Olinn is an abomination. Bert was caught up in his old ways, and it’s a new world – the church needs to change to accomodate the new world in these trying times.
Trissala was just vibing. D’William, on some reflection, christened himself The Olive Panther.

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Chapter 6: The Library of Possibility

It was a new day, and Thunder Boomer woke up annoyed. The party could see him becoming restless and his skin beginning to turn gray. That medallion really would need to be fixed.
“Delandel probably died in a fight.” Dochas thought he was being helpful.
“I’ll find him. Dely!”Trissala seemed in denial; thinking that she’d see him again.
Olinn came to the rescue. “We’ll resume the search for werewolves, can you guys stay at camp, werewolves are less hostile to us.”
“Racist, then.” D’William still seemed annoyed, probably related to the ‘Olive’ thing from yesterday.
“What will you do if they attack?” Dochas had only seen werewolves that attacked, so it was a fair question.
“… Fine.” Olinn thought for a moment. “Just stay hidden.”
Dhanytt slotted behind a tree. Olinn chuckled. “Like that.”
Travelling through the Ulvenwald, Olinn mentioned that there had been werewolf sightings nearby. “We’re headed to Jerich’s tower. Hopefully the library there can help us.”
Thunder Boomer became more angsty than his new-angsty-personal-best normal, brought on by negative thoughts, and the encroaching BOOBS.
Dhanytt noticed that the two women preferred to travel in their werewolf forms -- moving on all fours then scouting every so often. The journey would stop as the two werewolf women pounced on creatures that had been Boob-ified, then resume.
As the party reached the tower, the women reverted to human forms, annoyed at the conversion.
“I normally prefer the wereforms rather than the human ones in times like this,” Olinn huffed as her walk speed decreased.

Entering the library, the party noted the floor to ceiling shelves that would have posed a health and safety risk to the library patrons, but for magical aura that seemed to glue the shelving in place. The shelves themselves also had similar magic bindings in front of books. Dhanytt found that he could grab a book off a shelf, but that it was empty. The party caught vague glimpses of the librarian through the shelves – a tall woman with otherworldly features and an emerald green robe. Dhanytt watched her as he flew top a high shelf and, similar to what he had done, picked a book without incident.
Ohhhh, so I need to fly to get them, he filed the note away.
Settling into a chair, Olinn remarked. “ My powers have dispersed since we arrived.”
Trissala nodded in agreement. “I’d still rather be in werewolf form.”
“Almost seems like there’s a force stopping us from changing.
Tamiyo glides over to the party, and introduces herself as the librarian.
Dhanytt hadn’t picked up social graces yet. “You don’t look like anything I’ve seen before.”
“Well observed, little man – I’m from the plane of Kamigawa.”
“Ohhh, can I come?”
“Not at the moment, I’m fixing the world. But maybe later.”
“Oh in that case, can you help me?” Dhanytt brings out a book about a Gitrogg encounter to discuss with the librarian.
D’William muses that he hates the Gitrogg for some reason, probably just from the look of the creature.
“Oh, a Gitrogg encounter…”
“What’s a Git-Rogg?”
“It’s a sea creature that comes out when things are very bad. If you’ve seen one, that’s what I’m trying to fix.”
“Oh. Cool! Will you go back to Ka-mi … ga… wa, after?”
“Yes, most probably,” Tamiyo seemed impressed with the attempt. “Where are you from?”
“There was a big castle and a woman, she sent me to fix something, but I don’t know what and I’m scared.”
“Oh so you’re from another plane, too, and far from home.”
“I want to go home.”
“Well, let’s see what we can do, young man.”
The party convenes in chairs by a fireplace – and Tamiyo continues helping Dhanytt -- creating visions for the party as she skims over the words in the book like Braille.
Dhanytt saw the life of the author shown in flashes of images. From childhood, to grownup with lots of sleuthing. Magnifying glass always handy. Then she found something, and the sleuthing became all she did through the day and night. Always looking up towards the moon. In hope she would be prepared with her investigation before the Gitrogg struck. But the moon already seemed to be changing … Leafing through the book, Dhanytt found a ‘This book is the property of Wilbur’ label – and it seemed like it had been written by a 4 year old.
The party take a pause from their reading, and notice the disease in Thunder-Boomer seemed to be curing itself just from being in the tower.
Tamiyo clocked the party’s realisation, and explained. “I cast a spell as a preventative measure, so whatever’s happening outside doesn’t affect us. Some permanent residents of the tower were not treated kindly in the outside world and came here. They became the form they wanted to be most – werewolf or human.”
“I see.” Olinn and Trissala both bristled with anger at the fact they seemed to subconsciously want to be human.
Tamiyo could see that her explanation had allayed the party’s concern, which it was not intended to.
“Your dog – Thunder-Boomer’s – best self is dead because of the disease and if he stays in the tower he’ll die.” She clarified, and glid off to a shelf, seemingly leaving the party to their dilemma.
“Well, he should be alive and cured. But we can;’t have both, so …” D’William had only just grown attached.
“Alive and infected outside, or dead in here?” Dochas mused. He had not become attached.
“Bye, doggy,” Dhanytt patted the docile Thunder-Boomer.
“Yeah, we should let him go, at the very least to be alive outside.”
“Might cause problems for another random village.”
“That’s hardly our problem,” D’William led Thunder Boomer to the door.
The party spent a couple of hours with Tamiyo broadcasting images in the party’s minds – author of the  Gitrogg book is Eloise Geth III. There’s a university in Kamigawa that Dhanytt could attend to learn more, but he’ll need to go to the academy on Strixhaven first if he wants to pursue a life of a scholar.
She provided an aura of sanity to the party.
“I noticed something odd about the moon on this plane. Seemed to have started after an encounter a few centuries ago. A prison was made from moonshard. One of the shards had fallen and been used as a separate prison on the ground. What can’t be killed must be bound.”
Her weird monologue set the party on a new trail -- Dhanytt wanted to figure out the moonshard, so walked around the library collecting books that looked like they were related.
“Do we have any moonshard samples?” Docjhas asked. He had the beginnings of an idea about the prison that had fallen on Innistrad, but wanted to be sure.
Tamiyo goes to another book. She shows the picture of the Helvault.
“Oh, that!” Dochas exclaimed.
“What are you – ah. That.” William walked over to the book Dochas was reading, recognising the Helvault they had fought Avacyn at not a week ago.
“What is that?” Dhanytt was confused, and had heard all the noise.
“Do you think people would know what was in the moon, or who would have been trapped there?” Dochas asked Tamiyo.
“I think they have a memory of it as a legend. So, something like this.”
Tamiyo and the party settle back into chairs, and she retells the story, the way that normal people might know it.
Griselbrand and Avacyn had a fight and Griselbrand was imprisoned, not before he pulled Avacyn into the Helvault as well. After time, there was a crack in the helvault and many creatures left including Avacyn. But during the time in the Helvault, she had made a friend, and since she had escaped the Helvault. her friend has been trying to get in communication with her ever since. Helvault has already been shattered.

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Chapter 7: The Outline of a Plan

Tamiyo cast a sanity spell that protected Dhanytt.
Dhanytt paid no attention to the spell, and re-checked his items again, finding Bruna and Gisela’s purified brains.
“I don’t know how they got there.”
Tamiyo picked up books from all over the room. Dochas was the only one understanding and listening, so he explained the lore to the party that the others were not listening to.
Dhanytt needed the whole entire story explained to him, and understood 3/20 percent. “The Helvault is the baby moon, and the Helvault imprisons things.” Dochas eventually got that part of the point across to Dhanytt.
“Maybe the moon will imprison things too. Why do we want to put the jail in jail?”
Okay, Dochas thought, those are good points. But also, I failed at explaining this, haven’t I?
“Why don’t we put the mushroom in the sky in the pinata?”
Another good question. But I never thought I’d hear those words in that order.
“I understand everything,” said Dhanytt. “Question; how do we get the mushroom in the moon?”
Tamiyo decided it was time for her to interrupt. She showed the whole party imagery of the fight between Griselbrand and Avacyn – Avacyn wasn’t necessarily close to the Helvault when she imprisoned the mushroom.
“Let’s head towards the moon,” Dhanytt suggested, standing in the middle of the library jumping.
“What are you doing?” D’William looked up from the book he was pretending to read in his armchair.
“Trying to get to the moon?” Dhanytt replied like this was an obvious logical step for a foot-tall man.
Tamiyo handed Dhanytt a book, from pretty far up the shelves – the book was ragged, it had a blue and white cover with a purple ribbon bookmark. Dhanytt recognised the book — as though it was something that he’d seen before (Jenrik’s Journal).
It contained an imprisonment spell.
“You read the book and chant the words.” Tamiyo instructed. “Then whatever you have specified will be imprisoned>
Dochas asked D’William to knock him out to get to night-time when the spell can be cast more quickly, going to find another book for D’William to use to accomplish this.
Dochas found ‘The Complete History of Vampires and Werewolves on Innistrad and Other Interesting Facts Volume 1’, a moderately large volume. Dhanytt found ‘A Complete Guide to Churches and Angels, Volume 2’, slightly bigger, but a similar size. William found ‘A Book on Fairies’. The same size as Dochas’ book.
Dhanytt tried to hit Dochas and failed, but D’William succeeded. D’William stared at a wall, and Dhanytt read the spell while they waited for Dochas to wake back up.
After waking, Dochas headed to the door that at first just seemed like a piece of wall, but he instead found himself going up and  down some stairs.
“The world is changing around me!”
“Those stairs were always there.” Tamiyo was almost certain they had been – the world couldn’t be that broken that it changed in the few hours.
Dhanytt looked out one of the windows. “The mushroom is growing larger! We should act soon!”
As the party headed away from the tower, Trissala and Orlinn felt lycanthropy coming back.
Finding themselves back at Drownyard temple, the party prepare to cast the spell.
With their strategy rehearsed, and finally reaching the shores of the temple, the party lost sight of each other and the structure of the Drownyard Temple fades away as well. The party see a section of beach with jagged rocks protruding in a ring. In the middle, Emrakul waited for something, with tentacles hanging down and branching out. D’William could make out through the mist that there are ominous tentacles reaching into the shores, and a small army of grossly disfigured humans with amplified BOOBS, where the mutation was worse than before. The surrounding environment seemed to become darker and take on a  more ominous demeanour. The humans seemed to be coated in armour, created by the disease. Emrakul groaned, resonating through the water with soft ripples, she looked into the distance with her eye stalk, and not specifically at the party.
D’William got an odd feeling. “I … feel like I’ve seen this place before.”
“Yeah, sounds about right.”
“No, I’m lying.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“Why would I have been here before?”
“What’s the plan?”
Dochas gave a suggestion. “I think we should split up, with some of us fighting the God and some reading the book.”
“Well, I think we’re all going to die, so it doesn’t matter what we do.”
“Might as well rest while we can.”
“Last time we may be able to do it.
The party camped in the shadows of the Drownyard Temple, potentially for the last time. D’William could have sworn he heard rock music in his dreams, telling him he was an All-Star.
Dhanytt dreamt of Balliuus, the elusive being that had preceded him on this journey. Dhanytt supposed he probably owed the older man some kind of report of what he’d gotten up to.
In Dhanytt's mind, Balliuus was tall. He didn’t have a fix on facial features, so he gave Balliuus green eyes and a green adventurer’s hat.
“You’ve done well, you know.”
“I’m scared. But thank you.”
“I know, that’s what I mean. You’ve done well, even though you’re scared. And I’m proud.”
“Of that you aren’t doing it?” Dhanytt had lost the thread a little.
“I mean – yes, there is that. But I was talking about you. This is all about you. You’ve even made some friends. Have you ever had friends before?”
“No, I –”
“See, then it’s growth.” The bigger man sat down and patted the smaller one companionably. “It doesn’t matter if you succeed. Just that you tried.”
“What if I get it wrong?”
“You’ve seen the world. Do you think anyone else is worried about getting it ‘right’ all the time?”
“No, I don’t suppose I’ve seen that too much. Huh.”
“So, just do your best. It’s not like you’ll make it any worse. Other, more skilled, people have already done that.”
“Right. You’ll be watching, though?”
“More than you realise.”
“Thanks. Thanks for being proud of me. Nobody else ever is.”
“They will be in time. Just you wait.”
The dream ended gently, and Dhanytt – along with the others – drifted back to sleep.

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Chapter 8: Stories With Friends

The following morning, still undetected, the party looked at the several BOOBS-infected mutants and Emrakul in the waters of the Drownyard Temple. There seemed to be some kind of guard rotation going on, but other than minor positioning changes, the lay of the land seemed roughly similar to yesterday. The party were still hidden, so they were ignored as they toasted each other saying that this may be the end for them.
Dochas suggested that Olinn and Trissala, who were distracted by trying not to turn into werewolves, give in to the temptation and turn, as it may be useful.
It was agreed that the werewolves distract the BOOBS-infected individuals while the party moved towards Emrakul, with Dhanytt and D’William trying to distract Emrakul, while Dochas read the spell from the book.
Emrakul’s eyestalk continued to scan the area, seemingly not looking for the party – just … something?
Dochas’ first attempt at reading the spell, with help from the party, failed and drew Emrakul’s attention to D’William, standing on the opposite side of the embankment.
He was heavily damaged by a swipe from one of the tentacles, but the spell was read again by Dochas, this time successfully.
The party was transported in a ring of white light into a library somehow (and, more importantly, some where).
They met an angel, Emeria (her desk was labelled as though it was a part of a larger office, except that it wasn’t), at a table in the library. White robed, and fresh-faced, she seemed to be waiting for something.
The party approached her.
“I’m waiting for my brothers and friends to come back.”
“Oh? Did they go somewhere?”
“Yes, into the world. It’s so lonely here.”
“We saw a similar …” Dochas clicked on to something.
“A similar what?” Emeria seemed confused by Dochas. And the towering orcish form of D’William – but at least that one made sense.
“… woman, a while back. She found us  annoying.”
“Oh? Can’t think why.”
An absence of sarcasm from Emeria, and Dochas explained in more detail. “A woman called … Avacyn … I think.”
“Yes, that’s one of my friends!” Emeria brightened up
Dochas lowered his gaze. “She died protecting us from Sorin Markov.”
“Sure, that’s how it went.” D’William failed to notice the change in Emeria’s demeanour. “I’m in here because … out there …”
“You seem to have a little bit of a ‘tentacled  monster’ problem.”
“Yeah, people don’t like me because of how I look. Hopefully if I wait long enough …” Emeria explained sadly. Dochas and D’William realised that this was the Emrakul they had seen on the beach, just wearing a different face.
“This one’s blank!” Dhanytt loudly interrupted, attempting to read from a book of Emeria’s memories>
“How’d we get here, anyway? We just read a bedtime story to a mushroom.”
“I don’t know how to get out, that may be more important for now.” Dochas was still holding the spellbook, but seemed puzzled by the notion that they could use it to do anything else important.
“Yeah, neither.”
“Stay, keep me company!” Emeria pulled three more chairs from … somewhere.
“We might be able to send Nahiri and Garele to the library to keep you company,” D’William tried to solve all of his current problems at the same time.
“But how would we get out of here to go find them; or even bring them in?”
Dhanytt and D’William looked up at the roofless tower, seeing a forcefield hundreds of feet above, with the opalescent streak of meteorites hitting and smashing into the magical boundary. Any meteor that found itself breaking against the forcefield shattered into orange light. Dhanytt could have sworn the roof, and, now he thought of it, the walls and chairs, and … he slapped himself.
Ow. No, he was real.
Dochas and D’William had noticed something incorrect about these elements as well – taking turns inspecting the elements of the library. The closer the party looked, it was more like a perception of a chair, rather than an actual chair.
Emeria retrieved a book and tried to tell stories of her memories, but to Dhanytt the book looks to be blank.
Maybe all the books were blank. Dhanytt wasn’t even paying attention.
“I can make new memories for you – look!” Dhanytt procured a pen from nearby, and drew in the book.
“What are you doing?” Emeria, immediately exasperated.
“Writing, can’t you feel them? ‘Emeria sends Dhanytt, D’William and Dochas home, and they all lived happily ever after’.”
Emeria reached across to take the book back, and Dhanytt moved around the library.
“Not done yet.” He drew stick figures of the party members in the margins.
For the sake of sanity, let’s speedrun the next half hour -- as Emeria continues to attempt to get Dhanytt to stop drawing in the book, Dhanytt misunderstands, and adds stick figures to the drawings that are more specific to Emeria – Avacyn, the other Eldrazi, etc.
“I’m drawing the actual future!”
Emeria spluttered her way through an explanation that time didn’t work that way.
The kobold was not bothered about listening.
“You’re seeing what your future will actually be like!”
Emeria rejected Dhanytt’s projected future with a handwave. Moving back towards Dochas and D’William, she finally told the story of her brothers dominating the plane of Geth, until their ceaseless hunger had consumed all life forms on the plane. Dhanytt suggested titles for the book in the midst of the story, ‘My World Domination’, and ‘Emeria’s Happy Fun Memories’. Leaving to find another book, Dhanytt was stopped by Emeria flying over to him, picking him up then taking him back to his chair. She gave Dhanytt some scrap paper instead of a book she had used.
“This one is ‘The Start of A New Book’”, he settled down, writing more stories for Emeria.
Four hours of storytelling later, she stopped Dhanytt.
“This tower is modelled on where my friends used to live.”
“How, did you get the plans?” Dochas was probably the only one still listening.
D'William audibly snored.
Yup, the only one still listening.
“I peeked into her mind, and created the tower as an image of what I saw.”
Dhanytt piped up, “I could go back and add the friend into all of the stories.”
“Is this Avacyn?”
“Yeah – she was with me during her imprisonment in the Helvault. Well, our.”
Emeria grabbed another book, which wasn’t quite finished. “I don’t know how the book will end…”
Dhanytt suggested an ending, that Emeria ignored out of hand. D’William had fallen asleep, not even bothering to hide his snores.
Emeria opened the book on the table.
The book turned into a checkerboard once open, where the pieces are divided along ‘friend’ and ‘foe’ lines. On the players’ side there are Dhanytt, Dochas, D'William, Alfred, J’Arch “Bert” Cena, K’John Cena Stromkirk, Thalia, and Olinn. Emeria’s side contains a BOOBS-infected creature, Emeria herself, amongst others.
“How did you make the pieces movable?”
“I have a lot of time.”
“Fair.”
The party settled down to play checkers with the paper representations of their lives. Dhanytt somehow managed to take the lead, with his unorthodox strategy causing the party to emerge victorious. Eventually, the party managed to beat Emeria at the checkers, signifying the victory of the party in this realm.
Emeria looked upset that the party would leave.
“We could still try to bring more friends for you?”
Dochas read the spell again, hoping to bring a bystander into the library, instead, the party was teleported back out of the moon and on to the beaches of the Drownyard Temple.
The large, tentacle-and-mushroom-shaped Emrakul made loud growling noises, seemingly considering its options and gazing skyward for the first time, before willingly going into the moon with a flash.
After the worst of the flash died down, the party heard in their heads; it was fun to play with you guys.
The infected individuals all died upon Emrakul’s exit, leaving corpses instead of the virus-infected zombies.
“Well, that’s certainly a … solution.”
“Wait, I have my …” D’William searched through a pocket, pulling out his checker piece.
“Huh, I have mine too.”
“Same.”
A split-second of looking at all three of the checker pieces, followed by another white flash.
They were teleported again, out of Innistrad and into Outerstrad.
Stranded on a beach, in the middle of nowhere.
“Huh. Must have been too much power to handle.”
A ship sailed past.
“Where are we?”
A voice yelled down at the party from the ship, while they were still disoriented. A raspy, female voice. An olive-skinned Gorgon.
She said, “This is the plane of Ixalan – I was wondering when I’d see you next, Dhanytt.”
Squinting up at the woman surrounded by brightness, Dhanytt saw a weird white formless man with her as well.
“Do you have a story you need me to write?”

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Chapter 1: Karma

There were places where the pages of reality pressed together and it was possible – at least in theory – to walk between them. With the correct amount of skill and knowledge. And never on Sundays. Calima liked the Unseen University – arguably the whole campus fit this definition – and the library in general, because of this.
Ah, the good old days of never knowing where I was …
Having the thought, he stopped himself. “Why were those days good?” He asked aloud.
Because you were free. The library seemed to answer in a ‘voice’ louder than anything Calima could muster on his own.
Oops. Never speak aloud in a library. The walls have ears and the books have tongues.
He continued walking towards a section marked on his map as ‘Here Be Dragons’. Maybe this would help Hannibur with his lecture.
The books moved in response to him as he passed. They liked to feel involved, too. Sometimes it was as simple as letting them know what you were up to. Sometimes you wanted to give them an active role. And sometimes they themselves wanted an active role, and what you specifically wanted was irrelevant. In Calima’s experience, you were better not to show up to work on those days. You couldn’t just open a book and expect it to be nice to you. So what would you expect if you were mean to a book? Short answer – retaliation.

Here we go. Hannibur always felt nervous at the beginning of a new term. You never quite knew what you were going to get – well-behaved students, or badly-behaved books.
I could be on the third floor having lunch now. Hannibur made it standard practice to always be double booked. That way all appointments were optional. Big brain, for a big man.
The class had begun filing in.
Pull yourself together. No way around it now, just got to get started.
He flipped his notepad a few times. Open, shut. Open … shut. Rythmic. Calming. When the class had settled, he began.
“This class is about reality. Or the absolute lack of it. The first question is normally how …”

So the Cult of the Dragon punched a hole – wait, they what now?
Calima attempted put down the book he had opened, which snapped itself on to his body, refusing to let go.
Abandonment issues. But if they’re trying to bring a God back from the void, then …
Carrying his new best friend, a medium-sized volume called ‘The Life of Nezznar’, Calima continued along the shelves. Eventually, the darkly lit, almost ‘too-adult-for-libraries’ vibe of the Dragon section gave way to a perplexing … purple (so, purple…exing, probably) décor in the ‘interdimensional travel’ section.
Because if they made a hole, something else probably got through as well.
He carried on in this manner, collecting books with attachment issues – some figurative, some literal, until he, his spectral mage hand, his other spectral mage hand, and his Bag of Holding could carry no more books.
I don’t even know where I am anymore.
He'd been in this situation before – you just had to keep walking like you knew what was going on. The books could sense if you didn’t, and they always … he looked up at the piles of books in his four hands … wanted what they wanted.
After several hours – or was it days? – wandering along corridors, looking for a place to sit, he gave up and knelt down on the floor. He wasn’t in anyone’s way, this deep in the library, he was barely in a place.
He started to read.
A disease cultivated by an imprisoned God … Sometimes these books had such interesting premises. Almost like they weren’t real. But everything was real. Especially once it was written down.
Calima read the story of three unlikely and unlucky individuals – then another, then two more, then an additional one – being drafted into a war between vampires, werewolves and Eldritch threats in a hope of containing the damage.
Joke’s on you. Once the eldritch threats actually break through, there’s nothing you can do. Hiding’s not even an option, they see through it. But – yeah, there it is. The disease spread through a hole. Well, damn it.

“Sometimes it’s a ‘how do you escape?’, sometimes it’s ‘how’d you get in?’”. All eyes on Hannibur, as he continued to speak. Nobody had started taking notes yet – they presumably hadn’t decided whether he was worth it or not.
At least as far as that sort of thing mattered – he thought he was. That was the whole point. He thought he had knowledge that was worth sharing – knowledge that other people had died for. And it could be proved that nobody else knew it yet.
As far as he was concerned, that was the priority. Know what you’re doing before the lesson even starts.

YOU NEED TO REMEMBER, Death intoned, in a one-on-one lecture with Mort, EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE THIS POWER, YOU MUST LEARN CONTROL.
Mort replied as a joke, at least he thought it was a joke; “Control of other people?”
NO. The force of this intonation shocked Mort. YOU WILL ALREADY CONTROL OTHER PEOPLE. YOU MUST LEARN WHEN THAT CONTROL IS NEEDED, AND WHEN IT CAN BE LEFT TO SETTLE
“You’re no fun.” Mort huffed.
NEITHER IS RULING THE WORLD. THEN YOU’RE EXPECTED TO DO EVERYTHING. EVEN THE DISHES.
Mort sighed. He had to go and do the dishes.
While drying, he ruminated on the last few lectures.
There’s a void between worlds called L-Space. You can use any book to get there, if you know how … That was yesterday’s.
Mort was never entirely sure what Death’s ‘plan’ was – did he want Mort to know these things for his own purposes, or was he being taught all this stuff so that he could take over.
This is how he seems to be everywhere at once.
Mort looked over at the library of Books of Life. Every day he needed to fix up a shelf – they were still recovering from ‘The Incident’.
He picked up his own book. It seemed to be locked to his touch. Death had illustrated this once. Other people could open your book, but you couldn’t. Not unless you were prepared to jump right in. No idle reading. Mort stuck the back cover of his Book under a door and found the biggest lever he could manage. If he was lucky, the book would yank itself open to the last page. Then he’d be able to wander through L-Space.
Stomping on the lever, his book opened with a strained ripping sound. But it opened. Mort looked down on the blank page before him. Exactly what he’d planned. He could see a type-cursor poised at the top, now, ready to start writing.
Wasting no more time, he jumped in. He’d find a space and make it his own.

Tiamat’s summoning circle had been quiet in the months following her botched ritual. A lone cultist still monitored it, just to make sure nothing happened. Point of fact, the ritual room became something of a break room for the cultists, so in actuality they all took turns not doing other tasks in the ritual room. But it was monitored, and the partnership of Hwep and Ku were not good enough managers to know the difference between micromanagement and leaving bad staff to their own devices.
The circle glowed, and nobody noticed.
The circle hummed, and no-one cared.
Some kind of a distress signal. Someone had jumped into the void and latched on to any portal they could find.
Ku allowed the void-walker to be brought into the castle, and after meeting with man, let him talk to some senior cult members.
By the following afternoon, the cult middle management had ousted Hwep and Ku on pain of death.
They had assembled a retaliatory army by the following evening, and it had been decimated by midnight.
As a final act, Mort took it upon himself to, personally, and while looking Hwep and Ku in the eyes, stab both men with a sword that glowed octarine. The colour of magic.
Cast into the void themselves, Ku and Hwep flailed around for any purchase on any doorway, any dimension, any … thing.
Hwep, as a wizard, must have had a distress signal louder than Ku’s – he was snatched from the nothingness, disappearing from Ku’s view.
Ku struggled for longer – wondering if he might die like this – but saw a door.
Pushing it open, he found himself in the hallways of a large library.
“Hello?”
No response. He reached at the spine of a nearby book. ‘Hubris’, it called itself.
Hello. The book purred in Hwep’s brain. How ironic we find each other this way.

“The answer to all of these is…. It depends. It depends on which reality you’re in. It depends what the rules might be.” Met with endless fascination, and the kind of silence that you had no choice but to talk over, Hannibur continued.
This is gonna be a good semester. His nerves had faded.
Still no note-taking yet – normally you had to reach some kind of ‘point’ before anyone decided to keep what it was you were saying.
A knock at the door. Unusual for five minutes into lecture one. Normally the latecomers just let themselves in.
Oh, nevermind, they did. The door was quietly opened and a robed figure slipped in the back. Sitting down, cowl obscuring the face. Almost like she didn’t want to be any trouble …
Stephone had made it to the lecture hall ahead of the disaster. For normal students that could be anything from ‘what they’d done last night’ to ‘what other people said they’d done last night’.
“I have a question,” the new arrival. Hannibur knew that voice.
“Not guilty.” Hannibur replied automatically.
Stephone continued. “There’s a disaster coming – what are we to do?”
Hannibur considered this for a moment. “I think … it depends. If you mean that you want my help, then we will need to discuss this after the lecture. But if you mean in general, then you prepare the best you can, and follow instructions of the people who know better.
“Hmm.” Stephone sat down. They wouldn’t make it to the end of the lecture. But at least she’d tried.

Mort stayed in the summoning chambers for weeks. Everything needed to be perfect. The cult had been promised their God back. And they would have her, but on his terms.
So, to create a plane … He’d found a book in the void, there were all sorts in there if you knew how to look. Or fish blindly, while trying not to die. Sometimes the void was kind.
You have to visualise a plate. Blank and devoid of all life, but a plate that is able to be used for putting things on. Okay, he might be paraphrasing the book. He’d think of his mother’s old dishware. It had been years since he’d thought of her. Maybe he’d see her again at some point …
After a day of unsuccessful casting, and the number of curious and concerned cultists (they called themselves the CCC) at the door increasing steadily, Mort found the missing link in the spell, and the summoning portal was opened. But not for a creature – he was summoning a whole plane into existence.
After a further week of work, he jumped into the void and grabbed onto the plate-shaped world. Only big enough to fit him, for now. But it would be so much larger.
He continued casting his spells, each one making the world larger and more bearable. Still empty, but that would be fixed in a later step. Once he had enough space for a house, he put one in. Then a study.
He retreated top his freshly-formed study and continued building his perfect world.
But now he needed security.
And he knew exactly where to find it.

“And sometimes, it might depend on who your friends are. This class will go through what it means to exist, and how one might change the world.”
Hannibur’s lecturing echoed through the multiverse. Anything written down created ripples. And when documents could be stacked next to each other, the bleed between realities was a very real possibility. This was the underlying principle of the Unseen University library, and why Calima liked it so much. But lately, even from his spot on the floor, he had started to notice holes. And it was always worth investigating a hole in reality. You never knew where you’d end up, sure, but you also most likely guaranteed someone else wouldn’t end up there later.
The hole Calima had just noticed near his eye level shone bright white, like a door from a dark room into a summer day. He just needed to widen the gap – just a little bit more.
He pushed himself through – at which point it should be stressed that Calima was a tall man, but not large, so the squeezing had more to do with the gap in reality not expecting any visitors.
Calima found himself on the floor of a temple.
“She dies, or she comes with me.” Always a good start to an exchange. Being careful to stay hidden, Calima moved around, to see down the main aisle in the church he’d materialised in. A gnomish man wass stood in front of a smaller gnomish girl and a dragon. Yes, that was a dragon in human form. They were speaking to a halfling with, seemingly, all the confidence in the world.
“Counter-offer.”
“Dwyfol, no.” The dragon pleaded, to no avail.
The gnome seemed defeated. “I go with you and you leave my family alone.”
The halfling seemed to accept this, backing off. Then he lunged forward with a blade that glowed in octarine.
But that’s not possible.
The gnome seemed to fold in on himself, leaving a rift behind him. The halfling stepped through it with ease.
To hell with decency. Calima bolted up from the bench he was hiding behind, clattering through the church with no regard for the mess being made, and through the closing rift. The halfling looked back in surprise as the rift closed behind him.

“Any questions?”
In response, an enormous thud from the entire lecture theatre as they slumped forward. Only this was enough to pull Hannibur from his lecturing fugue state.
He moved towards a student in the front row. There seemed to be black tentacles protruding from his mouth, but the student himself was clearly dead. Whatever it was that had happened, had taken him so quickly that the student hadn’t noticed. He’d been in the middle of writing ‘the meaning of life’ on his note pad.
Ah, so they do take notes. Hannibur had a persistent thought in the back of his mind that his students didn’t write notes at all. Certainly he never saw them do it. Maybe he needed to pay more attention.
He moved on to another student – same problem. And a third.
Well, I don’t know what the hell this all is. Need to find Calima. He knows how to use the library.
And then, reflecting on that thought.
Well, we all know how to read books – it’s just that he know how to not die afterwards.
Stephone negotiated her way through the pile of corpses. “Told you. Whatever it is that you need, it’s too late.”
“But we need to find Calima!”
“He’s one of the leading librarians, he’ll know about this already.”
“What is this?” Hannibur was confused by the sudden appearance of a thousand corpses.
“A hole in the fabric of reality.”
“Like a torn sock?”
“Sort of. Someone seems to have made a new plane – even I felt that one – and things just got worse from there.”
“So where will we go?”
“If we travel through L-Space, we should find the breach.”
“And hope that Calima’s already found it?”
“Seems like that’s the plan. So come on!” Desperate times, and so on – Hannibur grabbed one of the students’ notebooks. He always hated this bit. He set the book down on the floor and jumped into it feet first.
He next touched the floor of a corridor in the library.
Keeling over with a sudden pain to the head, he motioned to Stephone. “Come on! Hopefully we can stop this before it spreads!”

↑

Chapter 2: Bend And Break

Dwyfol arrived on a blank, white landscape. If he focussed hard enough, the landscape gave way after … he guessed maybe two hundred feet. Every time he looked it seemed to be further. Mort arrived behind him – holding his arm like there was something Dwyfol could have done to escape.
And then the elf. Oh, right.
No words were ever spoken, that was the slightly odd thing. Dwyfol could have sworn the elven man materialised at the same time Mort did.
But that makes no sense … For the elven man to be a part of what they were building, then who … was he? And why was Mort so surprised?
The questions swirled around in his mind, and Dwyfol barely noticed that Mort’s hand had moved up his arm, until crimson blood dripped on to the pristine white surface of the newly-formed plane.
Ow. Mort hissed something in Dwyfol’s ear – but Dwyfol didn’t understand it. He did hear a loud pop. Then, looking around, and ascertaining that, yes, he probably did need some kind of bandage for the claw marks that snaked their way up his arm – he noticed that the elven man wasn’t there any more.
Mort, after his frenzied and panicked activity was standing off to the side, staring confusedly at his own fingers.
“Oh. Sorry about that …” Almost dreamlike. Then; “that’s a problem. But, for later.”

Calima sprawled on the floor of the library.
“Damn it!” He screamed into the void.
Damn it … damn it … damn it … damn it … the books seemed to agree.
“Calima? Ow!” A voice Calima recognised called out from the distance somewhere – Calima knew Hannibur could have been half a dimension away.
“Over here!” He called out, then, as a mutter; “wherever here is.”
Hannibur crashed his way through the shelves, complaining about cheap interplanetary travel.
His headache had mostly subsided by the time Calima met Hannibur and Stephone.
The party sat on the floor of the shelves, and filled each other in.
“So you’re saying there’s a virus that just insta-killed your whole lecture theatre?”
“And that guy we met a few times has gone full psychopath and made himself his own reality?”
“And I’m also here.” Stephone perhaps had more information than both of the other two – but when the joke was available, you went for it.
As they continued to talk, they stopped paying attention to where they were. Mistake number one. In the library of Unseen University, if you didn’t know where you were, neither did anyone else – and the books wouldn’t help you.
In fact, they murmured and rustled around the three – trying in their own weird way to listen. To move them in the right direction, whatever that even means. The books guided the listless travellers through endless halls of the unknown. Almost like they already knew the answer. Almost like the books wanted this particular group of people to win.
“So, we need to search for the hole in reality.” Stephone summed up the discussion one final time.
“Easier said than …” Calima looked over his shoulder, seeing a pinprick of light. Not much, but it was there. In one of the shelves …
That’s not supposed to happen.
He stood up to investigate. “Guys, I think we just found it.”
We found it, we found it, we found it … The chorus from the books was almost unbearable.
“Thanks …” Calima offered the books weakly. His head still hurt from Mort’s banishment.
“How’d you get here, by the way?” Hannibur thought to ask.
“Mort sent me into the void – but – I don’t know if you remember – we travelled by the void before, but that’ll kill you if you’re not careful. So I learnt how to – here, really – always end up in the library when travelling. If you know what you’re doing, that’s a far safer way to do it.”
“So he didn’t want you on his plane?”
“I wonder why.” Calima remarked drily.
Calima stuck a finger up to the breach in reality.
“It’s only small.” He remarked. Looking around, he’d moved. He was now in a bustling city square selling wares off a cart – nobody seemed very interested. Then, IN THE Oblong Office as Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. He’d wanted to do that when he was younger. But the paperwork … he saw himself as a character in a book, literally a cartoon illustration of himself, being held by  a child … the … younger version of himself?
Oh no. I’m getting lost now. He thought, pulling himself back towards where he thought the breach was.
“Well.” He asked the others. “What did you guys just see?”
“We thought you’d died,” replied Hannibur.

Death pulled a book off his shelf.
INNISTRAD. I THINK THAT WAS THIS ONE. WONDER WHAT THEY GOT UP TO.
He sat in one of the chairs in his personal lounge, and opened to a chapter towards the end. Where he’d gotten to.
I WONDER IF THEY BEAT THE DISEASE. AND WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?
After a while, Death stood up.
OH. IT’S STILL ONGOING. I HATE IT WHEN THEY DO THAT. THEN YOU HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE NEXT BIT.
Thinking for a moment.
BUT NO MORT, HMM. I WONDER WHERE HE WENT.
He moved back over to the bookshelf, looking for his apprentice’s book. He couldn’t find it.
A PROBLEM WITH THE LIBRARY … OR HE TOOK IT WITH HIM … HMM.
Searching for another book that seemed active, he opened it to the page that was writing itself.
KU ECCA. WHAT HAVE YOU GOT FOR ME?
A brief disturbance in  the air, followed by a ‘pop’, and Death was gone. The book fell to the floor with a bang, staying open on the page Death had been reading.

Ku wandered along the shelves of a library. He wasn’t sure how he’d got there.
Hwep and him had been in Phandalin, in their castle – but the cultists had turned on them.
Not a surprise, really. Some betrayal, but Ku supposed that wasn’t fair. Cultists are like sunflowers; they point at the biggest personality.
He looked around himself. Books, and that seemed to be about it. Basically to the horizon … how was that even possible?
He moved towards t5he area in his visiuon he would ordinarily have called the horizon – where the bookshelves that were at least even vaguely defined became an all-encompassing void in the distance.
“So we’ve found the breach,” he heard a voice explaining. He moved carefully towards it.
“What did you find? Were you transported somewhere?” A different voice – deeper. Ku couldn’t see them yet, but they were getting louder.
“Hello?” He called out – and the conversation abruptly stopped.
“Who are you?” The second voice called out, Ku could also hear shushing noises.
“My name’s Ku,” Ku replied as though that would make a difference.
“Never heard of you.” A third voice, female. Slightly rude, if Ku was honest.
“How’d you get here?” The first voice, more kindly.
“Well …” Ku ran through the next sentence in his mind. It didn’t make him look good. “So, I ran a cult …”
He continued explaining the betrayal of his underlings, with the full attention of the three people, who had since come into view. They were seated around a pile of papers in the middle of the floor, but he stayed standing. “And they got hold of a special sword that was magical.”
“At a guess, it caused you to travel here.” The first voice had introduced itself as ‘Calima’.
“Would you know where my brother is, or how to find him?”
“What does he look like? We might be able to track his movement based on the hole he left.”
“Could we?”

Dwyfol and Mort lived in close proximity – not like there was much choice. Mort was currently working on the – for want of a better term – eastern wing of Existence, so hopefully soon Dwyfol wou8ld have his own space.
He was slightly confused about how a young man of no more than thirty had managed to make and power a whole plane of existence.
In fact, he’d tried to ask about it.
Mort would happily explain what his brave new world was going to look like, but any direct questions about the actual … life force of the plane, Mort would dodge, or just plain ignore.
After a week of this dance, and on Dwyfol’s last shred of patience, Mort snapped. So, his last shred of patience also.
“You want to know how it’s powered?” Mort snapped. “Come.”
He led Dwyfol into a small hut, where the majority of the construction work took place from. To Dwyfol’s surprise, a staircase led down.
Dwyfol hadn’t been aware there was a ‘down’.
Reaching the end of a passage, Mort opened a door, and led Dwyfol into a cavern, that, much like Dwyfol had theorised, was very tall, but narrow, only underneath a fraction of the plane.
A being seemed to be wired into the surface of the plane itself, with white cables connectionmg spindly arms into the white ceiling of the chamber.
Dwyfol heard the being speak before he could even see their features
OW. HOLDING UP THE WORLD, EH? IS THIS WHAT IT’S COME TO.
“Quick question,” Dwyfol asked Mort, staring in amazement at the creature. “Is that Death?”

“Ow”. Hwep looked down at the glowing sword that had caused his brother to disappear only moments before.
He held his breath, not that he needed to, as the world went black.
Well, that’s it then. He could recall himself thinking as he slipped away.
A beat of quiet in the darkness.
Then light. Many robed figures moving around him, chanting. Adding items to his forehead, then removing them again. He heard one of the men mention that ‘we pulled it in, whatever it is’.
He lurched upright. “Stay back!”
The chanting abruptly stopped. The room of robed – they looked like mages rather than cultists, now that Hwep had succeeded in taking the room by surprise, he realised it wasn’t necessary – men looked at him expectantly.
A portal in the centre of the room started to pulsate.
“It’s not supposed to do that!” One of the wizards moved towards the portal and began an incantation to shut it down.
Calima, Hannibur, Stephone and Ku tumbled through the portal before it closed with a snap.
Calima bolted upright, similar to Hwep. “We’re friends!”
“That’s one way to do it.” Hwep inspected the new arrivals and helped his brother up off the floor. “So, they got us both.”
“Yes, but why? We were good to them.” Ku seemed confused.
“Someone else must have been better.”
Leaving the family reconciliation to the side for a moment, Calima addressed the remaining wizards. “We noticed breaches in the fabric of reality – we need your help.”
“Inter-planar travel, yes?” One of the wizards seemed wizened, and good at administration tasks, like he’d been there before.
“Yeah, we’re from Ankh-Morpork. Where are we?”
“This is the Mage’s tower in Stormwind City. Don’t think I’ve heard of an ‘Ankh-Morpork’ before.”
“On the Discworld.”
“Oh.” The wizard’s tone carried a certain level of judgement.
“We don’t have time. Help us find a way to fix the hole in reality. The boundaries between worlds are falling apart.”
Stephone spoke up. “I have an idea. Do we have a portal to the realm of Death?”
The wizards indicated a portal that was barred by magic. “Yes, but we stopped ourselves from going there. It’s not right.”
“Just this once?” Stephone flashed her ‘Necromancers’ Anonymous’ card, and the wizards nodded.
“I see.”
Calima didn’t even wait for the portal to be unlocked before starting the incantation.
“Is there anything you need us to do?”
“Just try not to get us all killed.” Ku replied for Calima, who was still chanting.
The portal opened, and Calima swept through, taking the rest of the adventurers with him.
“What an odd group of people.” One of the wizards straightened his hat. “Lunch?”

Dwyfol was left alone in his room to watch the world materialise around him. At least he had a room now. In the last few days, Mort had become more concerned with the operation of his plane and how it would be run – so he’d created a swarm of undead minions that were content to follow every one of Mort’s orders.
He didn’t see or hear much, but the ghouls seemed to whisper about disobedience, and that they would be terminated.
They set up a daily prayer ritual, which seemed to speed up the construction of the plane – and helped Mort ferry materials and components from the portal back to reality into the construction hut. The white surface of the plane was starting to become dirty with tracks of footprints.
Dwyfol didn’t question it initially – but after a further week of watching chores be done by ghouls and hearing their tales of potential ramifications – he snuck into the chamber under the world.
YOU CAME BACK. Even in pain, Death had time for snark.
“It’s not right.”
NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS RIGHT
“So why do you put up with it?”
I HAVE TO TEACH HIM SOMEHOW
“And this is your best idea?”
HE WANTED TO CONTROL. HE NEEDS TO LEARN WHY THAT DOESN’T WORK.
“But there are lives at stake!”
LOOK AT YOU, CARING ABOUT OTHERS.
Dwyfol thought back to his army of bugbears. “Oh.”
OH, INDEED. SO THE QUESTION IS, MR MORALS, WHAT YOU WANT TO DO ABOUT IT.
“I can’t bring the bears back …”
NOT ABOUT YOUR DUMB BEARS. THIS IS ABOUT SAVING MORT FROM HIMSELF.
“But what do I do?”

↑

Chapter 3: Burn The House Down

Ku’s life story lay on the ground, untouched from Death’s reading. A gentle breeze had blown through, shifting the page the book was open to, the page just turning as Calima materialised.
“Why are you not on the shelf?” He asked the book absentmindedly.
“I can’t be sure, but I think Death was reading that one.” Stephone showed up behind Calima.
Calima hadn’t noticed. “Huh, that’s an interesting voice for a book to have – almost sounds like Stephone – oh, hi.”
“I was summoned here and the place seemed to have been left in a mess.”
“That might explain why – if Death was pulled away in the middle of something, then we might really be in trouble.”
Hannibur had frozen, staring out the window. “Hey, guys … those sand men weren’t there before, were they?”
“Sand? Could be a hold-over from the problem with the hourglasses that we stopped.”
“Oh, right,” Stephone browsed along the shelves for a moment, finding a normal shaped timer marked ‘Calima’. “At least your timer is back to normal.”
“How do you know so much about all this?”
“I got promoted by Death after our last thing, Serian and I barely even made it to the village we were heading for and he offered me a position. Then all this …” She glazed over for a moment, as though struggling to focus. “Sorry, I’m trying to be in two planes at once. Need to keep this whole … situation together.”
Calima’s interest was piqued. “Two planes? Here and where?”
Stephone answered after another fraught pause. “The plane of Ixalan. It was the last thing he said.”
Hundreds of sand men milling around outside had gathered around the main door, and the mosh-pit effect had taken hold. The door began to creak, pulling the party out of their explanations.
“They’ll breach the door soon. Do we know where we’re going?”

A day after the conversation between Death and Dwyfol had taken place, and Dwyfol knew what he had to do.
Mort had managed to build himself and Dwyfol a large house.
“You keep saying you needed security … but, without putting too fine a point on it – how?”
“I just do, okay?” Mort snapped. Toi be fair to Mort, Dwyfol had interrupted his working. To be fair to Dwyfol, there was no alternative.
The number of ghouls had increased along with the size of the house, with the gossip and rumour intensifying. Dwyfol was beginning to get the idea, and this was why he had asked, that he wasn’t there to keep other people out of the realm – he was keeping the subordinates in it.
“My family …”
“Will stay alive as long as you do what I say.” No room for argument, even though Dwyfol barely knew what the purpose of his stay was.
Mort didn’t provide any answers – moving back to the problem he was debugging.
“Have you tried resetting it?” Dwyfol didn’t even know what ‘it’ was. But that often worked.
Mort replied sarcastically. “Oh, yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. Tried it already.” He quickly unplugged a device that connected to several cables leading into the floor. Dwyfol hoped Death was, at least, comfortable.
A small buzzing sound, and Mort straightened up, satisfied.
“Hmm. Seems to have fixed it.”

As Hannibur reinforced the door against thee incoming horde, Stephone continued her story.
“Death handed over his responsibilities to me, at pain of the collapse of reality.”
Calima could see the detail in the faces of some of the closest sandmen -- they looked, to Calima’s experienced and well-travelled eye to be corpses from the Agatean empire. He looked at the remains of clothing that had been imprinted on to the sand structure of the men’s bodies. A war in the Agatean Empire.
But there hasn’t been one of those in …
Hannibur cut the thought off. “They’re breaching through. I don’t think I can hold them.”
“These are soldiers …” Calima said out loud.
“From Klatch?” Hannibur grunted with effort, but still had enough breath to reply.
“No, a different war.”
“Are they cultists?” Ku piped up
“Look like soldiers – we don’t have time for this; we need out of here – now!” Hannibur’s homemade door reinforcements started to crack.
Calima yelled the incantation, sending the five adventurers back into L-Space.
Once they had recovered, he explained. “This looks like it was arranged by someone that didn’t really know what they were doing.”
“And the sand men?”
“They’re just sand, they’re not a threat to the structure of reality, not like –” Calima looked at Stephone, “if you weren’t heling as Death right now.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you very much.”
The discussion was interrupted again, this time by a loud clatter as a structure that seemed to be a pile pf pans materialised.
“Thanks for the escape. I thought for sure I’d get crushed by the sand.” The pans straightened out to become … Calima had learned from a book that the term for these was … automaton.
“You were dead?”
“Yeah, Gitrogg minions got me once a while back. Didn’t want to die twice. Name’s Goblin, which is funny ‘cos I’m not one.”
“Hah.”
“Died once as a ritual sacrifice, then again to the Gitrogg, technically. So it would be third time lucky for me.”
“Yes, lucky. That’s what I’d call that.” Hannibur stated sarcastically.
Calima had noticed that Goblin seemed … different to everything else around him, on a magical level. “What plane were you from?”
“Innistrad.”
Stephone looked at Goblin in surprise at the mention of Innistrad. “That’s where the biggest breach is. I was following it, learning more …”
“Yeah, we probably need to talk to them.”
“Already working on it, we can check in.”
“Can I come – see if my friends are still involved like they were? I’m rooting for a guy called Balliuus.”

Mort could almost keep it straight in his head. Not quite, but pretty close. He needed to keep Death happy, Dwyfol in the dark and the rest of the idiots he’d created to run the place … in line. Easy, right? But then a system would fail. An alarm would go off. Something would be wrong. And he’d have to fix it, all while still juggling all of the previous things like they were easy.
This time, the line to Death’s heating unit had become non-existent – he’d over-extended himself on creating the plane’s surface, and lost some of the internal workings of the thing.
Ironically, Mort mused to himself, the sandmen were asking if he needed help. Which he did, and they were providing, by keeping the world maintained. But not by keeping it running.
He let a sandman take over holding the cable he was working on, and watched as the man crumbled to dust.
No, they could not help him. Not like this.
Dwyfol observed from the staircase leading into the Chamber of Life (apparently that was its Sandman-Gossip name).
He wasn’t sure what Mort’s goal was. But the plan itself, from what he’d seen so far, looked like a mess.
This can’t be right. He stopped himself. I did this …
Then, after a moment, headed back to his room.
If he got back to his family, he had a series of apology letters to write. And … no. He thought of brainwashing the bugbears, but in reverse. But no, that wasn’t the way.

On Ixalan, Calima and the assembled company of pots, angels, birds, orcs and elves stood on a beach. Not much else to report, there was sand, and the ocean, a boat, and some people. Okay, myaybe there was a few things to report.
“I recognise the one on the boat. Who’s he with?” Goblin was the first to speak.
“My competition,” Stephone had clocked the masked woman on the deck of the boat – but didn’t know who the others were.
“Can you make out what they’re saying?” Goblin tightened a makeshift eyeglass around one of his … makeshift eyes. Not wait9ing for a reply, “Well …” Goblin concentrated – and repeated to the party what he could reads off the lips of the Matron of Ravens and Balliuus.
“It seems like they’re also concerned with … the planes … breaking, yes, breaking … down, and the spread of the, wait what’s that last one – oh, disease.”
Stephone looked crestfallen. “Death’s been taking advantage of us.”
Hannibur saw her downcast expression. “At least we can leave them to it? This plan seems to be okay.”
“Wait a moment,” Goblin manufactured a tin ear out of nowhere. “I can hear them now.”
“Emrakul – or Emeria, or whatever -- and her release from the Helvault ripped a hole in reality.”
“Oh, so we need to fix it.”
“There are a few teams, but this one is the best.”
“So what do we do?”
“Come with me.” The four standing on the shoreline got on the boat. The smallest, a kobold, was patted on the shoulder in a seemingly reassuring manner by the tall one that looked like a changeling.
“They seem to be going. Should we?” Calima was already casting the portal.
Stephone sniffed. “I guess. But if I ever see that idiot bone man again …”
“You mean bonehead.” Hannibur got the last word in before the group of five returned to L-Space.

↑

Chapter 4: Adventure Is Out There

Mort was startled awake by an alarm going off. He hadn’t noticed it for the first few weeks of his construction, but they’d become more frequent. This specific one meant something had been dislodged in his cellar. That was the polite phrase for the place he’d put Death.
YOU KNOW, YOU COULD JUST ADMIT YOU DON’T KNOW.  Death was always so judgemental. And he seemed more so these days.
To be fair, Death’s view was that if you didn’t know what you were doing, someone would be happy to show you.
“I know what’s gone wrong.”
BUT DO YOU KNOW HOW NOT TO MAKE SILLY MISTAKES
“Quiet, old man.”
AGE DOES NOT APPLY TO ME.
Mort tutted, unplugged a wire that had gotten into the wrong place and re-plugged it in. One of the devices in the roof beeped at him.
“Now it’s asking for a name …” he muttered.
FOR ALL THE BEINGS THAT DON’T HAVE NAMES WHEN THE WORLD RESETS
“I know what it’s for. The world won’t reset – look,” he removed the device from its storage position and typed a name in theatrically, as though he was proving a point. He wasn’t.
Death read the name before the device was placed back on its shelf. John Cena.

Calima steadied himself against a bookshelf. He always needed a moment after these to get his energy back. The others fared worse – Goblin needed to reattach a pan that had come loose, Hwep and Ku landed on top of each other in a heap and rolled several feet, enough to slam with some force into another shelf.
Ow. The books didn’t actually feel pain, Calima thought – but maybe they did.
Hannibur and Stephone both tried to pretend they hadn’t just broken all of the rules of reality at the same time. Unfortunately, the only thing anyone was convinced of was that walking on legs that weren’t ready for the weight left you in a heap on the ground.
“So, what do we know …” Calima mused, after catching his breath and helping everyone else back upright or to be sure that they had the correct number of limbs.
“Well, half of these people shouldn’t be here,” Hannibur added.
“Hey!” Ku and Hwep took the same outrage at the same time.
“Not like that – but the planes need to be closed so that nobody can travel through.” Stephone tried to mediate – not necessarily succeeding.
“And a guy we met a couple of times has constructed his own world.” Calima continued, almost like he hadn’t noticed. “As for closing the planes … I’m not sure how that would work.”
“But at least we’re agreed on the next step?” Stephone asked without confirming what the next step ought to be.
“We need to give that guy a piece of our minds.”
“So you’d all want to go there? It could be dangerous.”
“Here’s dangerous, just start the spell already.” Ku stepped forward.
“Okay, sure. If we’re all in. Let’s go.”

Mort felt the disturbance again. He could have sworn they were getting closer together, not least because he’d felt one only this morning.
YOUR RECKONING IS COMING, YOU KNOW.
“Shut up, old man.” That seemed to be Mort’s standard response. If he were the thinking sort, he would have known Death was right – but he never bothered to sit and think anywhere near enough.
Dwyfol had heard this, too. He’d taken to keeping a close eye on Death, if only to see what Mort’s plans were. Nobody else had any real idea, and all Dwyfol had gotten so far was that Death was stabilising the plane and stopping it from disintegrating.
Rookie plan at best, he thought as he leaned back into the shadows as Mort charged back up the stairs. After a safe amount of time, he made his own way down the stairs.
“Is it time?”
NOT YET. YOU’LL KNOW IT WHEN YOU SEE IT.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
A FUN HAT? HONK, HONK.
“Sure, sounds good. I’ll see what I can find.”
Dwyfol headed back up the stairs, and accepted a proffered hat at the top of the staircase. Without thinking that it would have been offered by somebody, he headed back down and gave it to Death. On his way back up the stairs again, Mort blocked his path.
“Traitor.”

There seemed to be only two shades of existence. The white of the ground met the endless black of the sky – nothing in between. Calima was impressed, in a way. Mort had built all of this in only a few weeks. In the distance, he could still see the edge – but far off, and getting further by the minute. Looking the other way, he noted the arrivals of everyone else in the assembled group – with Goblin Ramsay managing to keep himself together this time, as well as an imposing house in the distance. That must be the base of operations.
“So, how do we get in?”
A gnomish man ran across the flat surface of the plane. “Get away – you don’t want to be here – oh, it’s you.” He noticed Hwep and Ku, and stopped running.
“Dwyfol?”
“Hi. Got here by accident, no time, he’ll make me kill you – go now …”
Calima added thoughtfully, “what if that’s the point?”
Dwyfol seemed confused for a second. “You want to be kidnapped – oh.” He knew it when he saw it. Now it was time.

Mort saw the guests’ arrival, noticing that the alarm that had gone off intermittently. “Huh, so it is to do with planar travel.”
He made his way down to Death’s chamber to reset the alarm, with Dwyfol showing up there too; his band of captives spilling all the way up the staircase.
“Boss, I found some people trying to get in.”
“Why aren’t they dead?”
Stephone had shouldered her way to the front. “You!”
Mort seemed scared for a fraction of a second, then realised the anger was not aimed at him, but instead past him, at Death.
“How many of us were there?”
Death seemed almost to wilt under her tone – which might have been impressive but for the fact that he had already been sapped of energy for the last few weeks.
BIG JOBS NEED MANY --
“But I thought I was special!”
ONLY A FEW PEOPLE IN THE –
“No! You’re just like the others. Promise exclusivity, deliver mediocrity. Let’s go – leave this … thing … to whatever this is.” She’d said the words already before realising what they meant. Calima leapt forward. “That would destabilise reality.”
“So will freeing him.” Mort spoke, as though he hadn’t thought of the plan.
“So what do you recommend doing, genius. And why did you put us in this mess?”
Mort looked at his shoes. “I didn’t think …”
THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING.
“I just thought that since we could travel between planes that we should …”
“But you never stopped to think about whether you should.” Hannibur put on his best teacher voice.
“I think I have a plan,” Calima stated, and got everyone in the room’s attention.
“Oh?”
“We let the world die. And hope like hell you’re good enough at travelling to jump between dimensions. Then after we pick where we’re going – I can close the portals.”
“But I won’t be able to travel any more.”
“Well, yes. Because you’ve been really good at it so far.”
“But the world is crap …”
“You think I don’t know that? The answer is to fix the one you had. Not make a new one.”
Mort looked Calima in the eye for the first time. Not least because he was craning his neck to do so. “
So, then …” he moved across to Death’s prison, and unplugged several wires. “Be free!”
“No!” Calima and Hannibur both tried to stop Mort – both failing as the smaller man fished about in cables.
The world went … wrong. Stopped existing might be a stronger word, but only for a fraction of a second, then it was back – with a far smaller house and grey ground.
YOU’VE REALLY MADE A MESS NOW. The voice of Death came from behind Mort, who turned to notice that he’d been freed.
Mort seemed actively terrified now. “Wh- What do I do?” He realised he was holding the glowing sword. “Would – would this …  work?”
WHAT YOU DO NOW IS YOUR BEST. JUST DO YOUR BEST.
Mort sighed. “Unhelpful.”
Death looked down at the sword that seemed to be protruding from his torso.
AH.
He disappeared leaving Mort and Calima’s group of misfits stranded on a shrinking plane in the middle of the void.

↑

Chapter 5: Everybody's Changing

Hannibur didn’t panic until the ground disappeared from beneath his feet. He could have sworn his feet never left the ground, though. He could see Calima would, for a moment, float in space at the same times as he was – but the grou7nd returned soon enough.
Calima sighed. “Of course you just did that. Come on.” He grabbed Mort by the scruff of his neck and pulled him through the void.
The others held on for dear life. Or lives, whichever seems more appropriate.
Oh no, Calima thought as he felt his concentration slipping, I can’t keep this lot together.
He saw visions in the fog. Himself as he knew he had grown up – small child in a large family, barely enough money to feed the household, so every penny of it that had been spent on him had to be used well. He was never an untidy child, but his clothes were not new; his studies miles ahead of everyone else his age because he felt it his responsibility to provide in any way he could. But he always wanted to be somewhere else. The fog shifted around Calima as he travelled, showing him a potential future as a Patrician of Ankh-Morpork or head of the Unseen University, as well as the many places he’d visited in the past – either by will or because of the magic he studied.
Hwep and Ku saw similar visions – themselves as family men (with their parents around the childhood nest, and then with their own partners in their own nests (less well-kept than their parents).
Stephone saw her son in the void, playing with his childhood toys as a toddler, and while he waited in their new home, for her to come back from … this … adventure. She barely had time to register that she was seeing Serian’s present before it was snatched from her.
Dwyfol saw his family too – his wife and daughter in the castle awaiting his return and keeping themselves occupied trying to stem the influence of the Cult of the Dragon – and his sons, all the Lasairs, in their present situations, where possible, and some hypothetical futures. Although he saw his dragonborn son, Lasair in a new world or black and white, covered in sand as he lay, just resting. That couldn’t be real.
Goblin had always wondered where he’d come from, and the Universe felt compelled to oblige. He saw a fight in a kitchen of a castle – a few tieflings and a dwarf were there, but the main … work, if you like … was done by … a gnome. He knew that gnome … the gnome cut down a whole family of goblins as they cooked and ate; then seemed to move on with his day, despite the shock and horror from everyone else in his group. So he was descended from a line of chefs. The view changed, and Goblin was on a bench of some kind, with a guy leaning over him. There were other half-human-half-robot creations on the desk as well, or at least pieces. From what Goblin could tell, this guy was called ‘Master’. One of the other creations seemed to be called ‘Clayton’ – but Goblin couldn’t really make it out.
Goblin’s view cleared once more, and he pushed onwards through the fog.

Calima hated how used to the method of travelling he’d gotten. Mostly because he’d also gotten used to his previous, slightly cursed, method – which involved passing out and ending up somewhere totally random by complete chance. He’d preferred that until only recently – you didn’t have any responsibility over the destination when nobody ion the world knew what you were up to.
But, alas. Time to get a new routine.
He barely even skipped a step as the travel dropped the group, now including Mort, back in the library.
“I have a question,” Mort gasped in between retches. “I think I made a mistake.”
“That’s not a question.” Calima looked down at the clearly incompetent man.
“I thought I could do it …”
“And?”
“There was a … name. It seemed to be needed.”
“What did you make it?” Calima knew about Displacement Names – some planes had names like ‘Jane Doe’ to identify the … he always hated putting it this way … people who slipped through the cracks.
“I chose John Cena.”
“After the wrestler?” Calima wasn’t sure how he knew that.
“Sure.” Mort had never even interrogated how he knew it either and wasn’t about to start. “Thing is though …”
“Everyone seems to have made holes in the universe by poking at it – first the Cult of the Dragon, then that disease that got through from Innistrad, then …”
“I still need to figure out what to tell all the parents …” Hannibur managed to get himself upright, was propping Stephone up with one meaty hand, and Goblin with the other. Ku and Hwep seemed involved in some kind of bizarre three legged race that involved four legs behaving totally independently of each other.
“I would say the disease didn’t spread if they all died.” Calima was just guessing.
“Yeah, but why did they all die? Was that something those people on the plane of Ixalan had done?” Hwep asked the question that would have been on everyone’s minds, if anyone had possession of them.
“We’ll never know.”
“Why?”
 “Because this has to stop. The travelling is getting worse, I don’t know about you guys …” Calima surveyed the damage as the group of six clustered around him. It almost seemed that the books were leaning towards him. “I was getting visions of alternate lives. And that’s never happened before. The tears in the void are too big now. We need to close them.”
Mort seemed distraught, which was ironic. “How?”
“Pick a reality, we’re surrounded by a lot.”
“Yeah, now you mention it, this is kind of like the portal room in that city, where …” Hannibur nudged Hwep – or thought he did – and sent the winged man back to the ground, “we met -- Oops.”
Stephone didn’t seem convinced. “So, just pick a world and jump through? Would that mean I was the only assistant to Death in this world?”
“What do you have against the other woman – she seemed nice.” Goblin thought hiding your face with a mask was a sign of good character.
“Well, I got visions too, if you must know. In some universes I got the promotion and in some the … Matron did.”
“Right, and you want to win.”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Calima found a book at random, “no time like the present. Start studying.”
Without even opening the book, he lobbed it at Mort.
The entire library, books included, seemed to stop and Hwep could swear he heard an audible ‘oooooooooh’ noise from the books.

Mort’s view changed abruptly when Calima picked a book of a shelf and threw it at him.
WELCOME BACK. That voice. Mort wasn’t sure whether he hated or loathed it. After some thought, he decided it was fine.
“How’d I get here?”
DON’T WORRY – NOW YOU KNOW WHAT NOT TO DO. Death started a new lecture, secure in the knowledge that his pupil was actually listening this time. They always listened after the first incursion.
“So what now? Do they still need help?”
YES. THEY ALWAYS WILL.
“So what can I do?”
DECIDE. The force and finality of this sentence stopped Mort cold.
“Decide?”
WHAT YOU WANT TO BE. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WERE, HAVE SEEN WHAT YOU MIGHT BE. NOW YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE.
“But what if I’m wrong?”
I DIDN’T SAY IT WAS FAST. YOU’LL NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FIRST.
“And then, let me guess, years of research?”
“PRETTY MUCH. YOU COULD GET IT DOWN TO A FEW MILENNIA, THOUGH.
“When do I start?”
NOW.
“How do I start?”
LET ME TELL YOU A STORY.

Calima looked at the book as it thumped on to the floor of the library.
Wait a minute … He hadn’t expected Mort to disappear completely.
He picked up the book, heavier than it had seemed when he threw it.
We could all fit in these …
The books on the shelves around him seemed to agree.
Yesssssssss.
“I have a plan to close the holes in reality. But we have to pick a side.” Calima explained his plan, carefully, ensuring that everyone understood. The band of six separated slightly, going to the shelves to find the books they would use. By sheer force of will, they reassembled at the main lounge of the library.
“So you have the right books?”
“Our life ones, yeah.”
“Nice.” The Unseen University library had a copy of every book – written or not – even the copy of the book was technically located somewhere else.
Ku and Hwep jumped into the same book, which looked at first like it might have hurt. But they seemed to have fun – and weren’t around afterwards, so someone else’s problem presumably.
Goblin asked for Hannibur’s help to be thrown full speed at his book – he wasn’t convinced he could jump at all, let alone high enough. Luckily for him – Hannibur had launched him face first – the first attempt was successful.
Dwyfol seemed sad. “Can I guarantee my family will be there when I get where I’m going?”
“You picked your book, yeah?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t always …” The quiet part left unsaid.
“Ah. Then you just have to hope that they found you anyway.”
“Right. Suppose I’ve got to do this, then.” Dwyfol jumped into the book and disappeared.
“Right lads.” Calima looked at the two remaining party members. “Who’s next?”
“Do we have to? We’re all from here.”
“But,” Calima gestured at the library, “where is here? We belong in liminal spaces. I’ve never had a home, ever.”
“So you want to jump?”
“As opposed to stay – certainly.”
“Then you take it away.”
Calima jumped. Call it a leap of faith. He had to assume the others followed suit.

↑

Chapter 6: Somewhere Only We Know

Calima and Hannibur could have sworn their feet were sore. But why? They were just falling through nothingness. They would reach where they needed to be eventually.

Callum liked his apartment in the centre of town. Being woken up by four competing clock towers all ringing at the same time was a slight downside. To add a fifth noise to the cacophony, his phone was also ringing. He really should set that thing to silent. Or throw it in the river, or something.
“Yes, Harrison?”
“Did you have the dream?” Callum’s co-worker Harrison was a teacher at the University in town. At the current time, Callum was a library assistant, freshly back from his OE – but that would change over time.
“You mean the dragons and cults and disease and the world’s falling apart one?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah. Do you want to talk about it?” A shot in the dark – Callum didn’t normally talk about his dreams. But there was something in Harrison’s voice.
They walked around the University halls musing on whether any of the dream meant anything.
“I reckon we leave it for now.”
“Until we get it again or whatever. Like, normally dreams are just your brain spitting out half-baked nonsense.”
“Yeah, absolutely, no need to panic about it.”
They had ended up at the library, and Callum realised he had some shelving to do.
As he worked through this, their discussion continued, until Calima noticed a book with an ornate multicoloured dagger on the front. The whole book was glowing -- couldn’t be missed.
“Huh …”
Harrison looked at the cover. “That looks like the dagger that sent people to different …”
“Yeah …”
“Maybe we need to worry after all.”

*

Balliuus and Dhanytt were having a conversation with the Matron of Ravens. Then the whole world disappeared – dissolving into blackness one element at a time.

Dane woke up with a jump. That had been scary. At least his brother Barry had been there. He scrambled out of bed and raced to the next room, only partially colliding with his bedroom door in his rush to open it.
“Barry! Barry!” Dane jumped on his older brother’s bed. “Wake up! Wake up!”
The older boy rubbed his eyes. “Don’t tell me, it’s Christmas morning, like it was yesterday and the day before.” He looked at the much smaller, younger boy – who seemed concerned.
“What’s the matter?”
“You were in the dream … did you have it too?”
Barry managed to calm his four-year-old brother down, they sat and discussed the dream. After a few minutes of realising they had in fact shared a dream and repeating each other’s talking points, Barry suggested they write it down.
“Let’s go to the computer … we’ll have a better record that way.”
“You’ll have to switch it on. I never know what the password is.”
The turned the machine on, and Barry noticed the username. “Goblin Ramsay? Did you change this?”
“Yeah,” Dane grinned cheekily.
Barry laughed and filled in the details, which hadn’t changed.
“So, let’s start again from the beginning …”
They continued to narrate the story – as a voice cut through their concentration. “What are you boys doing?”
“Don’t worry Matron – we’re just writing about our dreams.” Barry felt a little stupid saying that, but the Matron had told him that he needed to make space for Dane. They were all each other had – which is why the Matron had taken them both in.
“Breakfast’s nearly ready. Then time for learning.” She home-schooled the two kids, then worked during the night.
The kids hadn’t yet noticed the amount of effort that required. “Okay, mum.”
The Matron (named Raven, for anyone who was interested) was always a little taken aback when the kids referred to her as Mum. But she supposed she’d earnt it. Sometimes she wondered.
The boys had moved on. “This computer’s never let me down.”
“Goblin.” Dane corrected.
“Goblin Ramsay’s never let me down. Trusty metal man.” Only half joking – this computer was old.
The boys continued to write until the whole dream was down on paper. Barry wondered for just a moment whether it would be important.

*

The last thing Mort remembered was a wizard throwing a book at him. Then he fell through nothing, and out the other side …

Martin awoke to a text message – a delivery at the mortuary he worked at. His bosses, Raven and Peter would have wanted to know something like that – so he’d tell them when he woke up. But, just five more minutes.
His boss was very good at letting him learn things – but quite sharp with the lessons. He wouldn’t appreciate being asked to repeat anything. It was always better to ask an unnecessary question than leave out a necessary one, though.
He texted Peter; ‘Sorry for this, could you recap everything we learnt so far? Not now, obviously, but later. Oh, and the package arrived.’
Then he put his phone down and went back to sleep. He never checked to see if the text had been sent; he knew what Peter would say anyway – he’d scowl and warn him to listen properly, then do the lesson anyway.
A shame he didn’t check, really. The message failed to send.

*

Dwyfol felt true despair as he jumped into his book. Then true helplessness as he fell forever.

Dwight woke as the sun rose. He lived in a small chamber off the side of his church. Held modest sermons every week. A small audience that wasn’t leaving was a good investment – he knew that, but always wanted it to be bigger. He liked to think he was doing good. But the dream … he wasn’t sure any more. His son came around with breakfast every day. This was part of the thing about being … smaller than the average person – sometimes you needed a little (pardon the pun) extra help.
His son, Lawrence, showed up an hour later with the shopping. Lawrence … did his best with what he’d been given. He wasn’t a dwarf, but he had a bizarre way of looking at things (oversimplistic, some might call it), that had always worried Dwyfol. He’d never seen the point in the church, for one – and seemed to be living his best life that way.
Dwight missed the boy’s mother terribly. She’d been killed in a fire some years back. He had a shrine to her in the back of the church, leaving offerings there every day.
Maybe someday she’ll forgive me. Dwight thought to himself.
He sat with his son and ate some of the food.
“Dad, did you have a dream last night?” Dwight might normally have been confused by this, but Lawrence’s tone suggested that yes, he had in fact.
“My friends were all talking about it in the group chat – we’re meeting up later if you wanted to come?”
“I don’t really need to talk about my dreams – which friends?”
“The new kids – there’s Klaus and a girl that goes by Crow, but that’s not her name – and a guy that’s like you that goes by K.”
“Like me?”
“Little,” Lawrence said innocently.
“What are they all saying about the dream?”
“Be fucked up if it were real, mostly. Then they were talking about how the Government is a mess, and how Crow just dyed her hair. Klaus is my favourite though. He makes time for me.”
“They sound like a good group,” Dwight said absentmindedly. He opened a book on the table without reading the cover, and flicked to a page at the end. Somehow, the book was still writing itself. Dwyfol and Lasair sit down to breakfast, then talk about Klagen, Crow and K’Churlat.
He decided not to mention that to his son. No need to give the boy ideas.
As for his own ideas – maybe he owed his congregation some apologies.

*

Stephone wanted to see her son as she jumped through the book. This wasn’t her normal mode of travel – but she got used to it easily enough. Falling through the void …

Stephanie woke up tangled up in the sheets of her bed - like she’d been moving around a lot in her sleep.
“Serian?”
“Yes, Mum?” A small voice from the next room.
“I thought you might be out, that’s all.”
She left the boy to his own devices, as she grabbed a book off her bedside table. She’d probably have to remember what it was the dream had said … wait … there, it was all there already. No need to write anything down.
Every last detail.
She scrutinised the page. Not made of special paper. Not going to cause a problem. Surely.
She laid the book down.
A small scratching noise, somewhere in the room. Silence. Another scratch. She picked up the book. A page had been added.
Bizarre. But who needs to know?

*

Ku and Hwep grabbed on to each other as they fell through the void. Unluckily for Hwep, he’d ended up the wrong way around, so Ku found himself grabbing a knee and hoping for the best.

Kaleb and Hugh shared a room. They lived well, they swore. But they absolutely needed to get out of their parents’ basement. Go travelling or something.
After discussing the nightmare that – after a quick check of their phones – it seemed like everyone in the world had also shared, they moved on to other administrative business.
“Did you hear back from the application you submitted?”
“To the weird job that has its office in that castle – not yet. I’m focussing on getting my pilot’s licence at the moment.”
Kaleb sometimes forgot that Hugh wanted to fly. “Oh, right – have you flown at all recently?”
“Did a bit last week, but it’s all finding the time. What with mum and dad needing us to make the money, it’s hard, you know …”
Kaleb had tried to prioritise this side of the family upkeep so that Hugh didn’t have to – but increasingly it seemed that he had failed and working was one of Hugh’s problems too.
“There were parts of that dream that were nice, though.”
“The coach was all right. But they seemed like they wanted us dead. So, also scary.”
“I meant the parts we were together for, dumbass.”
“Oh yeah, and those.”
“We should check on Clayton.”
“Yeah, but he’ll be fine, you know. He has a prosthetic arm, not a faulty brain.”
“Even so. What kind of world would you rather? One where we checked and he was fine – or one where we didn’t, whether he was fine or not?”
“True.” Hugh pulled out his phone. “Oh, there’s already a message here.”
‘Dante and I down at the pub, come hang out.’
“Oh, I got the same message from Clayton – we should head out. Sounds like they’re there already.”

*

Dochas and William watched the world freeze. For a fraction of a second, they looked at each other – wondering where Balliuus had gone. Then the rest of the world disappeared for the, and they found themselves falling through space.

Dominic and William were the last to arrive at the bar.
“Ayyy, there they are,” a large man called Chad call out from the shared table. They didn’t know a heap about him – but any friend of a friend was good enough.
Everyone at the table turned to look, midway through their catchup. Dwight looked slightly out of place, but Klaus was keeping an eye on him. At the very least, the group of fifteen seemed to amicably occupy the space, even though there were clearly sub-groups.
After the obligatory catchups and everyone had found their places, Callum spoke up.
“That dream, huh?”
The whole table groaned, with a chorus of people asking what it meant.
“I think it means there’s a problem, and we need to be ready when it comes.” Callum’s response didn’t really set the table at ease.
“But what will we do?” William asked, and Barry made his way around the table to where William sat – restarting the separate groups having their own discussions, changing every so often – moving more freely.
At least there would be a plan if there was a problem. Fifteen people will have worked on it.
But, for this exact moment, the assembled group only really seemed concerned about getting the story straight and talking to everyone at the table.
This seemed, at least for the moment, to be a tomorrow problem.