#9 - Leodor

An age seemed to pass as Torvald and Agril rested to recover from their wounds. After a full day and night in the Mighty Mace, they finally felt well enough to continue with their quest. Their next task was to find the man that the merchant at the black market had told them about: Leodor.

Following the directions they had been given, and getting just a bit lost along the way, they found themselves in a wealthy part of town in front of what could only be described as a palatial estate. On either side of a story-high wrought iron gate stood a pair of carved stone elves, fully equipped with armor and weapons as if at any moment their master would call upon them to defend his home.

Not in the least intimidated, they strode boldly to the front door and lifted the metal knocker up and down on the great oak surface. They heard the knock echo within, and moments later, a halfling greeted them from the other side.

“How may I help you?” he asked, brow raised in curiosity.

Ember replied, “We are seeking your master, Leodor.”

As if these requests were everyday occurrences, the halfling opened the door the rest of the way and gestured for them to enter. “This way,” he said. He led the party to a sitting room and promised to return with his master. “Should you require anything else, I am called Adelhard,” he added, closing the door behind him.

Looking around, they could see that the walls were covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves, and every inch was occupied with books or trinkets. An impressive collection indeed. Naivara broke the silence first: “Torvald, don’t kill anyone.” Everyone rolled their eyes, momentarily distracted from the splendor of the room.

“Then maybe don’t let any more young women get killed while you stand by and ask questions,” Torvald shot back.

Naivara drew a breath to respond, but at that moment the door opened and Leodor entered. All eyes followed him across the room as he nodded towards them and took a seat in a large armchair by the fire. Taking a moment to survey the faces of his guests, he said at last, “What is it that I can help you with?”

Naivara said, “We were referred by an acquaintance of yours in Wheloon. Can you tell us anything about this sphere?

Ember pulled the sphere from her robes and placed it in Leodor’s outstretched hand. He looked at it for several moments and said, “This is an old artifact, used by wizards in ages past as a makeshift tower. One can enter into them and find a multitude of rooms for wizards to study and practice their craft. The usual rules of time do not operate within the walls; time can be sped up or slowed down as the wizard chooses. Not many of these have been found, and I cannot say to whom this sphere may have belonged. These are not always without danger; wizards would take great care to ensure no undesired guests would disturb their chambers. It is also possible for individuals to enter without meaning to, and to become trapped within the walls without the knowledge of how to exit.”

Torvald asked, “Do you know how to get in to this one?”

His eyes never left the sphere while he responded. “No, at this moment I do not. I would require time to study the object,” the Elf replied.

Naivara said, “We can leave the sphere with you so you can figure out how to get in and who it may have belonged to.” The rest of the group murmured their assent. Leodor pulled a tassel hanging from the wall to summon his servant.

Encouraged by the knowledge Leodor seemed to possess, Torvald shifted to another burning question: “What can you tell us of the Circle of Eight?”

Leodor’s eyes widened and Adelhard entered the room. Passing the sphere to his servant, he leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together contemplatively. “This…will be a long and interesting conversation. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable.” As they all found seats, Adelhard left and returned promptly with food and drink for the travelers. The quality of the refreshments matched the finery of the estate, for they could not recall having anything more delicious in their lifetimes.

Leodor packed a pipe with tobacco and struck a match. Carefully puffing, he exhaled in satisfaction as he placed the pipe between his teeth. “Now, where to begin…” he mused. Over the years, he explained, many had tried to claim the mantle of the Circle of Eight, but none had succeeded. If there was a group operating under that name as they claimed, that news certainly must not be good. Torvald recounted their adventures thus far, leaving out no details. Leodor seemed a bit surprised when Torvald told him of the rituals, as groups in the past had never attempted such a thing. “I need to confer with my comrades about this matter, for it is very serious indeed, potentially world-ending” he said, brows creased with deep worry. “In the meantime, I do not think seeking out magical places as you had planned will be the most fruitful. We will determine a better course of action for you.”

Ember then pulled out the dark sword to show to Leodor. Hand wrapped in a cloth, he took it from her to examine. He produced a pearl from his robe and cast a spell, casting silence over the room for several minutes while it took effect. Putting the pearl away he said, “I am surprised you have carried the sword this long and come to no more serious harm. It is one of eight Wizard Swords, one for each school of magic made by the wizard of that school. Yours is the Conjuration sword, which I can see by the marking on its hilt. A single wizard with his sword is very difficult to fight, but a group of wizards with swords such as these would be able to take a stand against something as powerful as a deity.”

“This is very troubling, indeed. To make this sword requires the Book of Vile Darkness, and the fact that the Circle of Eight has access to this book is nothing short of catastrophic. Only a source of good can completely unmake this sword. At least we know that with this sword in our possession, the Circle of Eight has one less with them, although because you are carrying this sword, they are able to track your movements,” he continued. One who possesses a Wizard Sword can tell where the other Wizard Swords are located. It sounds likely that this is how you have been tracked.

“It vexes me that the Princess Alaxador has mixed herself up in this evil quest for power. From what you have said, she is in possession of the Illusion sword. It was I who tutored her in the arcane arts; she always showed an interest in the darker aspect of the arts, but I had hoped it was purely academic and she would have stopped at a theoretical knowledge of these evils.” He paused for a moment and stared into the fire, clearly wounded that the princess betrayed his teachings.

“Nevertheless,” he began again, “you must find a way to put an end to this. I believe your only option that would give you a fighting chance is to destroy the Book of Vile Darkness. There are six copies, each created by Vecna, the Master of Secrets. The book is unlikely to be in Cormanthor, so I would not continue in that direction. This book radiates evil, so nothing can grow around it. It is more likely to be kept in a place where it would be difficult to stumble upon by accident. For example, if it were kept in a forest, it would be easy to find because the forest would die around it. It needs to be kept away from living things to be fully hidden.”

“The book speaks of an entitiy known as Atropus, which is both a place and a being of destruction. It is the size of a planetoid and it is entirely composed of the undead. The surface is rocky and barren, black stone slick with putrid black slime, inhabited by horrific and unspeakable creatures. Some think this place was created when Ao made the first gods, made of the rotting amniotic fluid of the god of death, or perhaps it was Ao’s mistake that arrived dead upon creation. It is very likely that the goal of the Circle of Eight is to summon Atropus and bring its destruction down upon us,” he concluded.

They stood for several moments in solemn silence, taking in all that Leodor had told them. Their quest, challenging before, now loomed before them as a daunting expedition, with a goal no less than saving the world from complete and utter annihilation.

Torvald was the first to speak, “What of the purple sunburst on the hands of the savages who destroyed my village? Are they related to this?” Leodor said that that was the symbol of Cyric, the god of lies, trickery, and strife, who also murdered the goddess Mystra and caused the spell plague. He did not know if they were related to the Circle of Eight or not. He added that he would not be surprised if thier goals aligned and they were working together.

Varzand, however, was someone they should not approach lightly, he said sitting up. “Varzand Ayellin is his full name, and he is a human, albeit a very powerful one, who can raise the dead. If he is involved, then Lorlumid and Faerora are too, and if Faerora is around then Faltorin will also be, as he follows her like a lost puppy. That Roland is also with them, which comes as a surprise; he is skilled in divination and there are very few who can remain truly hidden from him. I only can because of decades of practice. Who the other two are I cannot say, but they will not be pleasant if these six are involved. They are a mixed bunch but together they will be formidable foes to face. Faerora is a half elven female, Faltorin is a half elven male (and completely besotted with Faerora), and Lorlumin is a halfling male,” he explained.

“Where is it that you suggest we journey next?” Torvald asked.

Leodor stroked his chin. “Well, I would not suggest going to Corminthor forest as your group had intended. You will be looking for a decent-sized plot of land with nothing currently living in the vicinity. I might suggest trying the Anaroch desert to the northwest, where it is said that a Netherese floating city fell. It is said that people have found powerful objects here before, and many adventurers have journeyed there. Furthermore, I know that the Princess Alaxador has always been fascinated by the Netherel, so she may feel a certain connection to that place,” he mused.

“I must caution you though, that there are powerful wizards who possess swords like the one you brought here. If you are not careful to accrue more allies and take the time to strengthen yourselves before you engage with them, this quest will claim your lives,” he stared down his nose at the members of the party, eyes locking with each one to convey the gravity of their situation.

Torvald asked, “If these beings are ones of utter darkness, would it not be helpful to find beings of pure light and goodness to help us destroy this sword?”

Leodor nodded. “Yes, finding a being of pure good to help would be a great asset to you. You would need to travel to another plane of existence to find a being like that. It would take a being of pure good to help though, something like an Angel. I could help you to get to another plane, but I would not be able to help you return. Is that clear?”

They nodded, knowing that this was their best option for overcoming the evil of the Circle of Eight.

“Good,” Leodor said taking thier silence as agrement. “Give me some time to prepare what I will need to send you there. I suggest you make your way around the city of Daerlun to find materials that may help you, and return to me in a few days.” They murmured their thanks to the Elf and made their way back into the city, minds steeled to the task before them.

#8 - Creatures in the Dark

The next morning, the party departed at first light, continuing their journey east to the city of Daerlun. It wasn’t long after they settled into a steady pace that Naivara raised a question.

“Does anyone else want to talk about what happened in the temple back there? When Torvald allowed his rage to take over and kill someone, making our task that much more difficult?”

Torvald, barely taking time to compose himself, said, “My whole village was killed!! Delnyn deserved to die. We can’t trust anyone not to be corrupt.”

“That doesn’t mean we needed to *kill* him, Torvald,” Naivara replied. “Can we agree that we will not take such drastic action in the future, unless we are in immediate danger?” The group voiced their assent, and Torvald, outnumbered, grudgingly accepted their terms.

The rest of the journey to Dreamer’s Rock passed uneventfully, and after spending a night in the sleepy sheep town, they continued to Monksblade. After perusing the town for goods (Torvald made it known that he wanted to learn more about deadly ingested poison), they came to the tavern of Hunting the Knight, which was said to be frequented by legendary traveler and storyteller Volthamp Geddarm. After making arrangements for rooms, they took seats at a table in the crowded tavern. Not long into their meal, they noticed a shifty group of five individuals that kept staring at them.

Ember, curiosity piqued, waved a hand at them, but this went ignored. Torvald, preferring a more direct approach, began to rise from the table. Naivara didn’t miss a beat.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” she said.

“I’m just going to go talk to them and ask why they’re staring at us,” he replied, but Naivara could see his fists were clenched and doubted any interaction he began would be peaceful.

Agril, also noticing Torvald’s confrontational demeanor, volunteered to approach the strangers with him to mitigate any potential disasters. Ember joined as well. Determined to assert his dominance over these strangers, Torvald took a seat at their table without an invitation and asked, “What is going on with you folks?”

One of the men replied, “What do you want?”

“We saw you staring at us.”

“Are we not allowed to look?” A smirk crossed the man’s face.

“Not unless you tell me why,” Torvald said, becoming more agitated by the second.

“Why not? We can do as we please, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

Ember tried a different approach. “We’ve been traveling around - what have you all been doing recently?”

“Drinking,” he said.

“May we drink with you?” Ember ventured.

“No.” His face remained unmoved.

The man’s rudeness pushed Torvald closer to losing his temper. He said, “Maybe just focus on your table from now on.”

“Why don’t you focus on *your* table?”

Scoffing, Torvald leaned in to the man’s face and thrust a finger at his nose. “You keep to your own.” He turned on his heel and the others followed him back to their table. As the barkeep came to clear away their plates, Ember asked if he knew anyone in the group, and if they came to the tavern often. He said that unfortunately he couldn’t help them, as he had never seen the group before. Frustrated, the party retired to their rooms for the night, half expecting an unfriendly visit. The night passed uneventfully though, and they made their way down to the tavern to eat the next morning. They encountered the strange group again but chose to leave them alone, eager to be on their way to Battlerise.

The second day into their journey, Ember couldn’t quite say what it was that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, but she felt that something was off. She looked up and noticed that there was a slight shimmering in the air above them.

“Someone is watching us!” she said, pointing upwards, and shot some spells towards the shimmer with no effect. With no other course of action to try and rid them of their unwanted observer, the group pressed onward. The shimmer disappeared several minutes after Ember first noticed it, perhaps now that it knew it had been spotted. None of them knew how long it had been watching them, and what they may have inadvertently revealed during that time. They arrived in Battlerise with no further sign of foul play and spent the night in meager accommodations.

The next day took them across the Darkflow River, aptly named for its vast, deep waters hiding untold dangers beneath its swift current. A masterful bridge made of stone carried them safely over, and they decided to make camp for the night as the sun was beginning to set. Torvald and Ember offered to take the first watch, the thought of the shimmer not far from their minds.

Not long after Naivara and Agril fell asleep, Torvald sensed that something was amiss. Rising, he peered into the dark, and suddenly a creature hurtled towards him, longsword raised. It was a terrifying sight to behold: a shriveled body covered in dark, spiked armor, and wild eyes glared from a sunken face, head covered in scraggly white hair. It was a wight! The creature attacked Torvald twice while another sprang from the undergrowth towards Ember. Torvald, furiously trying to defend himself, turned his head and yelled for Naivara and Agril to awaken. A blow aimed for one of the creatures missed as a result. Naivara and Agril jolted awake and made ready to join the fray. Ember was able to retreat to safety and cast a Firebolt spell that landed on a creature’s chest. It shuddered a moment but refused to fall.

Without warning, a third creature skulked from the forest. A white dragonborn wearing plate mail and holding a longsword swung at Torvald, who dodged nimbly out of the way only to meet a short sword in the creature’s other claw. His arm slashed, he cried out in fury. To his surprise, the creature spoke. It hissed, “Varzand said you were tough - he was mistaken.” This only served to enrage Torvald further and he let out a great howl, head tilted back towards the inky night sky.

One of the wights struck a blow to Torvald’s middle and he doubled over in agony. Another took aim towards Agril with his longbow and thankfully the arrow whizzed by his head and stuck in a nearby tree. Torvald, desperately fighting through his pain, struck a great blow in the chest of one of the wights. Staggering, it took a deep raspy breath, but still stood.

While the fight went on, Naivara deftly affixed her armor and slipped into the darkness, hoping her cover would aid in the monster's defeat. Ember threw a star from her robe at one of the wights. It found its target and the creature’s legs nearly buckled, but it stubbornly refused to succumb. The dragon creature reared back and let forth an icy breath of cold onto Torvald. This proved to be too great for Torvald’s battered body to handle and he crumpled to the ground.

Agril’s face set in determination as their situation in this battle grew increasingly desperate. He drew his longbow and cast a spell, but the arrow failed to find its target. A wight attempted to return the attack but fortunately Agril was spared. Ember was not so lucky, as a wight landed a glancing blow on her as she tried to move out of the way. Naivara fired an arrow from her shortbow at the wight that struck Ember. Wounded, the creature moaned but still stood. Naivara retreated back into the shadows until she could try again. Before she could, Ember thrust another star from her robe at the creature and it struck in the center of its chest. Emitting a strangled gasp, it crumbled into dust, as if the magic holding it together was now gone.

Relief was fleeting as the dragon creature closed into combat with Agril, set upon laying him to waste as he did Torvald. With two powerful blows he carved into Agril with the short and long swords, and Agril cried out in anguish. He could still fight but he feared not for much longer. Gritting his teeth in resolution, he thrust his rapier into the side of the dragon between its armor. The creature snapped its head back and let out a roar that reverberated through all of the forest. The wight attempted to finish Agril but narrowly missed. While its back was turned Naivara loosed another arrow, which struck in a spot between its armor, releasing black, wispy smoke. Not wasting any time, Ember threw another star from her robe, and as it sailed through the air it split into two. One piece struck the wight, which screeched then disintegrated like the other. The second piece struck the dragon creature in the chest and it staggered in place, looking dumbfounded, but still it stood. In response they saw its chest inflate as it took a massive breath, which he aimed at Agril. A blast of icy air struck Agril head on and he fell, only a whisper away from death.

Torvald, also felled by the dragon’s breath, groaned where he lay. He was too weak to fight but he clung to life with all the force he could muster. Naivara darted from her hiding place once more and shot an arrow at the creature - its armor clanged as the arrow bounced off, leaving him uninjured. Ember, knowing that she must end this creature once and for all, threw another star from her robe. It struck true, wedging itself into a gap in his armor at the neck. The creature’s eyes widened in shock as it grasped its neck, but then at long last it fell.

Pausing only a moment to make sure the creature would not rise again, Ember and Naivara went to the aid of Torvald and Agril, both unconscious but still breathing. Ember used her healer’s kit to mend Agril and Naivara a healing potion for Torvald. Their eyes fluttered as they awakened - they were saved from death but certainly needed more time to fully recover from the fight. They moved slowly towards their horses and mounted with some trouble, but they knew they needed to reach the safety of Daerlun before Varzand could send more creatures to finish them off. The first light of the sun peeked over the trees as the party made their way down the path, eager to put the night’s events behind them.

They caught up to a traveling caravan as they drew near the city, and the company of other friendly souls put them at ease. As they drew closer to the city, a 500-foot wall loomed over them, a remnant of the Netherese empire from a time long past. They made their way through the crowded streets to the inn of the Mighty Mace on the west side. Barely managing to murmur their thanks, the weary travelers retired to their rooms for a long and peaceful rest.

Torvald rode in a fevered state, drifting in and out of consciousness. His horse did most of the work, and followed the other horses. He saw many things while unconscious; his home in flames, the face of his mother unmoving and covered in blood, the purple sunbust of the group that destroyed his villag. These images agitated Torald, but he did not wake. He then found himself surrounded by the flames again.

"Learn," the voice said

It was cutoff mid sentence by another voice. "You always had a penchant for the dramatic. Begone, I claim this one for myself." The flames disappeared along with the original voice. A head faced Torvald. The left eye was missing, and the head was bald with old skin pulled across it. "I know your secrets and desires boy. I can help you, if you will let me."

#7 – A Glimpse Behind the Curtain

Newly equipped with magical purchases from Wheloon’s black market and a substantial amount of gold from the mysterious priest Tunaster, a hum of optimism ran through the group the next morning as they discussed their plans to investigate the Temple of Mystra.

“You never know – we could learn enough to be able to finally stop these abductions from happening,” Ember stated cheerfully on the way. Even Torvald, a skeptic who believed optimism only to be fit for fools, agreed, although he did not voice it.

Entrance to the temple

The Temple of Mystra lay just outside of town. Built on the ruins of another ancient temple, the stone structure stood larger than most other buildings within the town walls. For all of its largesse, the design was quite simple; no carvings or other decorations adorned the surface. A single stone statue of a woman stood by the door, her head adorned with a circlet of seven blue and white stars connected by a cloudy mist. She seemed harmless enough, but Agril couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes seemed to follow them as they passed through to the courtyard.

Several people, a mix of ordinary folk and priests, stood in the courtyard, which was open to the sky above. They walked on a floor of obsidian slabs richly decorated with white stars, and saw that they were encircled by more statues of the goddess, all with arms outstretched towards the heavens. Donation bowls, most with a modest amount of coins, sat at each statue’s feet.

A quick glance around and Naivara’s gaze settled on a priest, whom she determined to be the most likely candidate to assist them in their quest.

“Sir,” she said, gaining his attention with a quick stride in his direction, “we are travelers, come to see your new temple. What can you tell us about its purpose?”

The priest smiled and offered that he was relatively new to this particular temple himself, but its purpose did go beyond worship of the goddess Mystra. It was here that people could find help if they sought it, but it was not necessarily a place of learning or research like one might find at other temples. He also briefly examined the magical sphere that Ember showed to him, but he said there was nothing more he could tell her about it.

“Perhaps another here can assist you – I will go and fetch him from the Middle Temple. His name is Delnyn Fembrys.” With that he withdrew within. After a longer wait than expected of nearly half an hour, Delnyn emerged and greeted them. Ember offered the sphere once more, but he was no more helpful than the first priest.

Naivara continued her questioning: “What do you and your priests do in this temple, exactly?”

“We help people,” he answered simply, a smile crossing his face. “I can show you more, but your group must undergo a spiritual cleansing ritual before I do so. You would have to spend a day and night within the temple walls and fast from food and drink.”

Ember assured the group that cleansing rituals were not unheard of in various religions, so it was not that unusual for the priest to request this of them. This did not sit so easily with Torvald, however.

“Why would you turn away a priest of Mystra?” he demanded gruffly.

Delnyn started a bit at this but quickly regained his composure. He pulled his shoulders back, saying, “Tunaster was not a true believer. Let us leave it at that.”

Torvald huffed but did not reply. The group agreed to partake in the cleansing ritual, and another priest, with direction from Delnyn, led them inside.

Inside the Middle Temple they were led to what looked like a private shrine. The priest bade them farewell, with the promise to fetch them the next morning. The room itself was quite bare, furnished only with pallets for sleeping and a privy. The only light came from candles, as solid stone walls barred sunlight from entering.

Perhaps he did not like the feeling of being enclosed, but Torvald’s stomach clenched when the monk closed their door. “I’ve lived amongst monks before, and these men cause a sense of unease within me…” he thought to himself. As his companions seemed comfortable with the arrangement, he didn’t press the matter. He would come to regret his silence.

The group set shifts for watches, but the night passed uneventfully. The next day, in what they assumed was morning, Delnyn reappeared and said they must next complete a cleansing ritual. Agreed that this was their best chance to find answers, the party agreed. Delnyn opened a door that revealed a downward staircase; although it was lit by torches, they were unable to see where it led. As they descended the large wooden door closed with a soft thud behind them.

At the bottom they found a circular room, and at its center lay a round altar, colored purple. On top sat a small silver cube, unassuming in nature. No markings decorated its surface, giving no clue to the casual observer as to its true purpose.

Delnyn spoke sharply, breaking the group’s wary silence: “Now, it is time to cleanse your souls.” His words echoed within the small room as he lifted the cube and manipulated it in a way that defied its façade of simplicity. Ember was reminded of how her own sphere moved, but she had never been able to achieve such results as this.

A flash of bright green light burst from the cube so bright they had to shield their eyes. They opened them again to find they were now in a different room, still stone, but with eight sides. Two doors lay on opposite sides of the room, and Delnyn led them towards a door which was painted with a black disc on a purple border. “Enter, and a priest on the other side will cleanse you.” Sensing no reason to distrust their guide, the group walked through the door into a long hallway, and they heard an ominous “click” behind them of the lock being put into place.

At first glance the hallway appeared to be made of worked stone, but the walls felt oddly flat. Thinking not much of it, they proceeded through the door at the other end of the hallway and found a circular room. Precisely eight candles, eerily burning with black flame, illuminated four figures spread around the room and one in the center. All chanted in unison in a speech unknown to the newcomers.

Black flames, perhaps lit by a virgin?!?

Suddenly, the figure in the center broke the chant. He said, “Welcome. Are you here to pledge your souls or sacrifice your bodies for our cause?”

Stunned, the group recoiled. Torvald exclaimed, “Explain yourself!”

“What is there to explain? The question was plain enough,” he replied.

Naivara asked, “What if we say no to your request?”

“‘No’ is not an option,” the figure said, face carefully blank. Enraged, Torvald began to charge, but Naivara held him back.

She pressed, “What happens if we pledge our souls?” Torvald couldn’t believe this was happening - why didn’t she understand they were in danger?

The dark figure smiled. “If you choose to fulfill either request, you will help our mistress, the Mistress of the Night, fulfill her destiny.”

Torvald spat back, “If you let us out you will keep your lives.” Naivara blocked his way again as he said, “We are not fulfilling either request! Isn’t this a temple of Mystra? Does she go by Mistress of the Night now?”

The figure shook his head. “Oh, she would be very upset by that - you are far from Mystra’s temple now.” His arm circled in the air and Torvald felt the restraining effects of his spell almost immediately. After a momentary lapse he gathered his strength and broke free, charging at the infuriating figure at the center of the room.

Naivara thrust her rapier forward, which the figure nimbly dodged. The cultist took advantage of her distraction and wounded her with his scimitar. Spurred to action, Agril cast a spell and unleashed an arrow that sprouted thorns in flight, striking the cultist to their right. Undeterred, he slashed back with his scimitar but Agril nimbly avoided the attempt.

Torvald followed Agril’s lead, focusing his attention on the figure to their right. He cried, “By the power of ice!” as he raised his mighty great sword and struck the cultist’s head from his body in one blow.

Ember removed a star from her robe and shot it in the direction of the leader. Five glowing darts emitted from the star and struck him in his chest, burning holes straight through. Dumbfounded, he fell to his knees then forward onto the floor; he would not rise again. The room suddenly lightened as the candle flames turned from black to a yellow-orange glow.

Another cultist took a wild swing at Torvald, which he parried cleanly. Naivara was not so lucky as she attempted to attack with her rapier and missed, and she took another blow as she moved back towards the door. The remaining cultists moved together.

Defending furiously, Torvald’s arm was slashed but he continued to fight. At his side, Agril cut open another’s middle but in the process he left himself vulnerable; he buckled as the cultist drove his scimitar into his side. Before he could strike again Torvald ran the cultist through with his sword, twice for good measure, burying his blade up to the hilt in his body.

Two cultists remained. Ember, almost felled by one man’s final desperate attempt to overcome his attackers, responded by launching a star from her robe in his direction. He gave a startled cry as it burst through his body, sending him crumpling to the ground. Naivara promptly took action against the remaining assailant, putting an arrow neatly through his throat. Clutching at his neck he gasped briefly for air, then fell silent and joined his fellow companions in death.

Naivara and Ember didn’t waste any time; immediately they searched the bodies for anything useful that might help them understand what had just occurred. Other than a maul which Naivara kept for herself, they found nothing to reveal who these men were or from where they came. Torvald, still breathing heavily and with blood spatter dripping down his face, bent over the leader and sliced off an ear to keep for a trophy.

Ember, in a far more practical sense, began looking around the room for any hidden writing or secret doors. She felt a loose brick in the wall which she could sense was magical. After hesitating for a moment, she pushed it. Her whole body split into millions of tiny pieces and she disappeared. What choice did her companions have? They must do the same to discover what had happened to Ember. In an instant they were gone.

Poor Ember, split into a million tiny pieces

They all were transported to an unfamiliar small room and found Ember poking around some empty bookshelves on the walls, evidently unharmed. The room was square, holding a few empty bookshelves and a desk with a wooden door on one side. A whole wall was almost entirely covered with a stained glass composition, reminiscent of the world they knew as their own, but marked with ancient cities that had long since passed out of memory. Ember could sense that the map bore magical properties for it emitted a certain kind of glow, and it was much older than any of them could ever guess.

Finding it difficult to determine the purpose of this map, they decided to see what lay on the other side of the door. Again they came to a long hallway, on the other side of which was a door that led to the octagonal room they had entered after the flash of green light. Finding nothing of note, and no other way out, they headed back to try their luck again with the enchanted map.

Frustrated, Torvald knocked over the empty bookcases, but only a bare stone wall stood behind them. He poked at the map and nothing happened. Ember held her magical sphere next to the map, but again, there was no change. Finally, in an uncharacteristically observant moment, Torvald noticed a small island in a vast sea on the map which had a single fingerprint, where the rest of the surface remained smooth. With no other alternative to devising an escape, the group decided to press the island on the map.

One by one their bodies disappeared into the air, and one by one with hours in between, they came to reappear in the room with the purple table and small silver cube. Shaking off the sense of entrapment that had followed them ever since encountering the cultists, they took a short rest to recover their strength.

After a little while, Ember pulled out her magical sphere, but as before, it didn’t change. Torvald grabbed the silver cube and placed it in his pack; perhaps these two objects were related, and they would soon find someone who could tell them how and why. For now, they headed back up the staircase but of course, the door was now locked. Torvald unsuccessfully attempted to kick it down, but Naivara brushed him aside as she pulled out her set of lock picks. It took several minutes but the lock yielded with a satisfying “click.” Smiling, she held her arm out to Torvald. “After you,” she said. Grunting, Torvald strode past her and led the group through the door.

They were back in the Middle Temple. Finally freed and rage seething anew, Torvald charged at the nearest priest as he drew his sword. “WHERE IS DELNYN??,” he screamed. Convulsing with fear and nearly falling to the floor, the priest cried out and quickly pointed a finger in the direction of Delnyn’s office. Wildly sweeping his sword, Torvald marched across the hall and burst through the door, his companions close on his heels.

“Eep!” was the only sound Delnyn had time to emit before Torvald shoved his way behind the desk. He grasped Delnyn’s hair to pull his head back and pointed his sword at the hollow in his throat. “Explain,” he said through clenched teeth.

Delnyn blinked as if to gather his thoughts, then held up a surprisingly steady hand and said, “Stop.”

Torvald’s mind felt fuzzy for a moment, but a shake of his head cleared any effect of the spell Delnyn was trying to cast. “I need you to explain,” he stated again with the same intensity, stressing each word. “In five…four…three…two…one…”

“It was all Nadania’s idea!!” Delnyn exclaimed at once. “I was just doing what she wanted. She may be in her office here at the temple now, but I’m not sure.”

Sensing that he was telling the truth, Torvald pressed, “Who is the mistress of this temple? It certainly isn’t Mystra!”

“Shar,” Delnyn sighed, his shoulders drooping in defeat. They all knew of Shar, and recoiled at the sound of her name. She was an evil goddess of death and trickery, mistress of the shadow weave, forever trying to kill the goddess Mystra and take over her domain of light and goodness.

“Are the other priests in this temple servants of Shar or of Mystra?” Torvald asked.

“They are here to serve Mystra, as far as they know,” Delnyn replied. “How did you get out?”

“We will ask the questions here,” Torvald snarled. “Where were we?”

Delnyn hesitated for a moment, then took another look at Torvald’s face, which convinced him it was in his best interest to answer. “You were in…an extra-dimensional pocket of sorts. While not technically inside the cube, it helps most to think of it that way. Some of these objects, from ages long ago, are keys that can transport us to other dimensions. The sphere your elf possesses is similar to these.”

Naivara asked, “Can you tell us anything about the Circle of Eight?”

“Truthfully, I cannot. I do not know what that is.”

Torvald circled back, “Is Naidania here?”

“She may be, as I said before. But I cannot be certain,” Delnyn answered.

This seemed to be the last straw for Torvald. Before Naivara or Ember knew what was happening, Torvald slashed his sword across Delnyn’s throat with a frenzied howl. Eyes wide, his life spurted away onto his desk and his body slumped forward. As with the cult leader, Torvald cut off Delnyn’s ear as a prize.

Torvald’s companions were completely in shock by how quickly the situation turned. “Why would you do a thing like that?” Naivara hissed. “How can we leave unnoticed now, with a body in our wake?”

“He deserved death,” Torvald said flatly.

Naivara drew breath to respond, but decided against it. After all, there was nothing to be done about it now. The group left Delnyn’s office quietly and the priests didn’t seem to pay them any mind, save the one whom Torvald threatened with his sword, who shied away noticeably.

They tried the door to Naidania’s office but it was locked. Torvald drew his sword again to try and break through, but the elves held him back and convinced him to sheath it. “Besides, I have keys!” Ember said brightly, holding up a ring that she had removed from Delnyn’s office. It only took a moment to find the one that fit, but there was nothing that greeted them on the other side. Only some simple furniture and a fireplace adorned the room, A search revealed no hidden compartments or useful information.

With no other leads to follow, they decided to make a hasty retreat from the temple. So that they were not unfairly accused of attacking Delnyn unprovoked, they spoke to a pair of priests and explained briefly what had happened to them at Delnyn’s bidding.

“So you see, Delnyn tried to have us killed as a sacrifice to the goddess of death,” Naivara finished. The priests looked appalled, but also skeptical - after all, were they not all there to serve Mystra?

“We can’t offer proof, but we need you to trust us,” Ember said.

“How do we know we can trust you?” a priest replied.

Agril reached into his coin purse, saying, “We are sorry for causing you this trouble. Please, let us make it up to you.” In total they offered the priests 100 pieces of gold as a donation to the temple. The priests wavered, but in the end it was enough to convince them to allow the group to leave without further incident.

Exhausted, they made their way back to the inn. Upon entering, Asanta, one of the sisters that kept the inn, did a double-take and strode straight over.

“Where exactly have you all been?” she demanded.

“What do you mean?” Torvald said.

“You’ve been gone for two months! Did you not notice the passage of time, hmm?”

Astounded, they had no answer for her; they could hardly explain that they had been trapped inside an ancient mystical cube dealing with forces of darkness. They settled up an enormous bill, but thankfully their horses had been well cared for in their absence.

Needing to spend one final night at the inn, they went to sit down for a meal and found Tunaster already at a table. “I have been waiting for you!” he exclaimed. “Was your journey into the temple successful?”

Not in the mood for cordiality with the man who sent them unwittingly into a temple to deal with forces of evil, Naivara snapped back, “Can you tell us why we were gone for two months?”

Quickly masking his face to hide his hurt, Tunaster said that he could offer no explanation.

Torvald added brusquely, “The temple apparently is dedicated to the evil goddess Shar, we were sent to another dimension to be dispatched by her priests, and Delnyn was evil and so is Naidania.”

Clearly shaken by this news, Tunaster’s stoic face fell. “Can you offer proof?” he said. Torvald showed him the cube. “How does it work?” he asked, perplexed. They explained it could be manipulated to take people into another dimension.

Needing time to process what he had learned, Tunaster took a long drink from his mug. Setting it down he said, “I am glad I know the truth. We can deal with those traitors Delnyn and Naidania now. Have you confronted Delnyn about any of this?”

“Delnyn won’t be a problem,” Torvald answered. “He tried to kill us so I killed him. We left him in his office and we…settled things with the priests.”

Brow furrowing, Tunaster said, “I see. Well, I cannot say that I am entirely surprised. May I ask, would you be willing to part with this cube so that I can show it to my brethren? To further aid our investigation of the evil doings in this temple?”

The group discussed the matter and decided Tunaster could be trusted. Torvald handed over the cube, but before he let go, he said, “What about the rest of our money, priest?”

“Ah, of course. You have certainly earned it,” Tunaster said. He gave them 25 rolls of coins bound in leather, as well as a star sapphire. “To be used in dire need, when all other escape is hopeless,” he concluded. Naivara pocketed the gem, sensing it wouldn’t be long before they would have need of it.

Gem with unknown properties

They bade farewell to the priest one last time and ate their meal in silence. With weary feet they trudged to their rooms and passed a night of deep, undisturbed sleep.

#6 - The Request of a Priest

Torvald hunched over his bread and cheese, his body turned away slightly from the rest of his companions as they broke their fast at the Inn of the Dancing Sword in Gladehap. “He seems more sullen than usual,” Ember mused, but said nothing, as further inquiry would likely lead to a rebuff. Putting the thought aside, she asked if all were ready to depart for Wheloon, the next stop on their way to the bordering Kingdom of Sembia.

Making their way to the gates, two guards called the group to halt before they could depart. “Princess Alaxador says you are no longer welcome back into this city,” one of them said with a sneer. Guiding, or threatening, the travelers with their spears, the guards ensured they cleared the city gates with no attempts to return.

“I suppose we made an impression on the princess after all!” Naivara snorted as the guards turned back. This only strengthened her resolve to put an end to the evil dealings of this mysterious Circle of Eight. They put the town of Gladehap behind them and headed south, glancing back to make sure the princess had not sent one of her minions to follow them.

The sun was at its zenith on their second day of travel when they reached Wheloon. A quiet trading town at a crossroads of the Wyvernflow River and the Way of the Manticore, it had no need for walls or serious defenses. Weaving their way through the streets, they found their way to the Wyvern Watch Inn. Agril was the first to enter and wished he hadn’t been, as they were greeted by the shrill sound of bickering between two young women just inside. They must have seen him grimace, for they stopped when they saw the party enter.

“Greetings,” one woman said. “My name is Baerill Mhaerkoon, and this is my sister Asanta. Apologies for the racket – you see, we run this inn together and sometimes it takes some convincing for my sister to see sense.” Asanta rolled her eyes. “Anyway, how may we help?”

Ember, more amused than annoyed by the sisters, politely asked for two rooms. “Also, where might we find an apothecary or shop with magical wares?”

The sisters directed them to Hanno’s Herbs and Medicines, the apothecary in town. While there is no shop with magical wares, they suggested they may also want to visit Rallowgar’s Hardware, owned by Zenderose Rallowgar. Ember thanked them and the group made their way to the apothecary.

A bell above the door rang and a man with a kind expression on his face introduced himself as Hanno Minstrelsong. Ember asked abruptly, “Do you have any potions for killing people?”

Hanno’s face paled and his hands trembled. “No, I’m afraid we don’t sell potions of that sort here, madame. I’ll thank you not to make inquiries of the such in front of my other customers.”

“It’s all right,” Ember said cheerfully. “I only wanted to see if we were able to trust you. Do you have any healing potions?”

Relief flooded Hanno’s face, and he replied that he did not carry such rare items in stock. Ember then asked if he had sold any healing kits to people who had been abducted. Puzzlement furrowed Hanno’s brow as he replied that he had heard rumors, but there was no reason to think that there had been abductions in the town of Wheloon. Ember thanked him graciously and the group decided to seek out Rallowgar’s Hardware next.

The hardware shop was large, larger than any shop they had seen before on their journey. Hundreds of items scattered the shelves and tables, with no sense as to what might be found where. The goods were quite ordinary; no armor, potions, or magical items could be found among the mess. Only one side of the store appeared tidy where there was a good stock of ropes and wires, used to tie down cargo by the many merchants and sailors who frequented the town.

A man, presumably Zenderose Rallowgar, stood behind the counter, peering over a ledger with a quill. He glanced up as Ember approached, hand outstretched with the magical sphere. Removing his spectacles, he reached out to take it as Ember asked if he had ever seen anything like it. “If you turn it, money comes out,” she offered.

Zenderose turned it over in his hands a few times and asked if it was perhaps a magical object. When Ember confirmed this, the corners of his mouth turned town. He angrily handed the sphere back and moved to escort them from the shop, saying loudly that he did not deal in magic and wanted nothing to do with it.

Discouraged by this dead end, the party started to head back to the inn. All of a sudden, Naivara heard footsteps quickly closing in behind them. Turning, she found a young man, who said that if they were interested in magical items, to come to a meeting place after dark. After describing where to go, he took off back towards Rallowgar’s. “Zenderose must run a black market for magical items,” Naivara concluded. Her companions nodded, who had deduced as much themselves.

As they were eating dinner at the inn later that evening, another strange visitor came before them. He wore a deep blue cloak trimmed with white, and a white and blue skullcap adorned his head. Speaking slowly but deliberately, he asked if the group was interested in a bit of business – they had the look of adventurers and he was in need of their services.

“I am Tunaster Pranik, a priest of Mystra,” he said as the group invited him to sit. “I serve Mystra, goddess of magic, at a new temple at the outskirts of town. I am one of only a few priests.” He continued, “I received a less-than-welcome reception at this temple when I arrived, and I have a sense that there is something that is being hidden or concealed from me. I would like you to investigate and see if there is something else happening in the temple. It seems to me that when people go in, some never come out.”

The party, only mildly intrigued before, now took a more noticeable interest in Tunaster’s tale. Perhaps this could be related to the abductions! Deciding that the look of this priest was honest, they had no cause for doubt in the sincerity of his request.

“Moreover,” he carried on, “I am willing to pay you a sum of 2,000 gold, with 500 given upfront, if you will help me to thwart this blasphemy.” A bag appeared in his hand and jingled with the sound of coins. “I regret that I must leave Wheloon tomorrow for a period of ten days, but I hope that you will look into this matter while I am gone.” He set the purse with the gold on the table.

“Certainly,” Ember replied as Naivara reached for the gold. “Now good sir, let me share with you our tale.” Ember recounted the events that had happened on their journey thus far. Tunaster seemed surprised that so much evil had taken place; such deeds should be stopped at once. He thought their stories may be connected but he couldn’t be certain.

“I have heard of the Circle of Eight, and if this group comes to power once more, that could spell disaster for the people of this land. Take great care,” he finished, rising. Choosing once again to trust that their new acquaintance was being truthful, the travelers bade him farewell.

Now that night had fallen, it was time to meet their guide at Wheloon’s black market. They came to the side of a building in an alley by the river where a single wooden door stood. A slit opened and a pair of eyes asked what their business was. After a brief explanation, they heard a bolt slide back and the door opened silently.

They found a cavernous room with no windows, lit by a plethora of candelabra. Not many others were in the room, but none gave them a second glance; these were the types of people who made it their business not to ask too many questions about their customers.

The young man from the street asked what they were seeking. Ember, first glancing around, carefully pulled out the sphere. “We wanted to know if you could offer any information about this,” she asked. Pulling out a loup, he gave the sphere a careful look over.

“I’m afraid I can be of no further assistance in this matter,” he admitted with a sigh. “Nor will anyone else here. You need to speak with someone who is well-versed in magical artifacts such as these.”

“Where can we find such a man?” Ember asked.

“To the east in Sembia, in a town called Daerlun. He is an Elven wizard by the name of Leodor, with knowledge and insight far greater than anyone you may find here. I will write to him and introduce you,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Ember. “Now, could we trouble you to examine another object while we are here?” She pulled out the sword, saying, “You may handle the sword if you wish, but I will caution you to take care, as it harmed me when I first touched it.”

The man grasped the hilt and immediately his arm jolted, sending the sword clattering to the ground. Unphased, he reached down to pick it up again. “I supposed you did warn me,” he chuckled. He had never seen anything like it, he said, and wasn’t sure what its purpose was. It may be cursed, or even attuned to a person or type of person. He suggested they also show it to Leodor.

The group thanked him. Before leaving, they took a turn about the room to see if there were any useful items to acquire. Torvald bought an icy greatsword, Ember a Robe of Stars, and Naivara a pair of Boots of Elvenkind and some magical arrows. Purchases in hand, they made their way back to the inn, resolved to uncover the mysteries of the Temple of Mystra the following morning.