#11 - A Friend Lost, and a Wish Granted

As they made their way into the forest, the wind whispered through the branches of the trees, making an ethereal sound that seemed to echo all of the beings they had witnessed through the centuries. The High Forest had once been home to the Sun Elves but they had long since moved on to their eternal home across the sea. Now a group of wood elves inhabited the forest, trying to reclaim it and rid it of all the evil creatures that had taken hold. Outsiders generally were not met with open arms, Taman explained, so it was best to be wary of any potential encounters. It was a five-day journey through the forest and they must be on their guard. Naivara asked if she, as a wood elf, had a chance of being treated with less hostility than the others. Taman said perhaps, but only just, and it was best not to rely on that for protection in the forest.

“It seems that you know quite a bit about these woods, Taman. Have you made this journey before?” Naivara asked.

“No, this is my first time as well,” he replied, brushing a low-hanging branch out of his way as they walked. “I am on this journey to make my oath to Bahamut. It is a test of mettle to get there, and only the truly devout can accomplish this task. The exact location of the temple is unknown, and one must prove his worth before it will reveal itself. Many have sought it and died in the attempt; Bahamut must judge you well to consider you worthy,” he added. “I have been traveling for quite some time. Home is the town of Luskan on the Sword Coast, known for the pirates that frequent the town.”

Pressing on, he said, “These woods are full of danger. Orcs and gnolls roam freely and attack without warning.” Seeing the puzzled looks on their faces, he explained that a gnoll was a humanoid creature with the head of a hyena, merciless, with a taste for flesh of their victims. They nodded, understanding, and carried on. The first day passed uneventfully and they assigned watches as they made camp. The night passed much the same and they woke with relief that no creatures had found them in the night. An eerie silence followed them in the forest as they continued. Occasionally they would see a rabbit or squirrel pass through the brush, but nothing lingered in the open. Soon they would know why.

Naivara was the first to sense it. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and, a split second later, she heard shrill cries and large forms whooshing through the branches on their left flank. She barely had time to think “Gnolls!” before dodging an early blow. They were surrounded. As the creatures snarled and brandished their weapons, Taman bravely stepped forward and swung his sword hard, but to no avail. The gnoll nimbly dodged and made room for two others to attack Torvald, who stood ready with his icy greatsword. He parried their spear thrusts but one managed to strike, landing a glancing blow on his arm. Eyes alight with fury, Torvald swung his sword back around and cut deep into the shoulder of the one that hit with its spear. The creature roared in pain as ice crystals formed in the wound, but it still stood.

Good pupper?

From behind Torvald, Ember cast Firebolt in hopes that it would finish the gnoll off, but alas it did not. It pulled out a bow and fired an arrow which grazed past her leg. Taman remained locked in battle with another, crying out with effort as he struggled to finish it off. Naivara aimed her bow at the one that Torvald struck; her arrow found its mark in the gnoll’s belly and it crumpled to the ground. She dashed back into the bushes for cover so they could not return the favor.

They could see now that a party of six gnolls had attacked them. One fired his longbow at Taman but his armor was too strong for it to penetrate. Taman struck a crushing blow to one creature and it slumped forward, but amazingly it still held its spear, ready to tilt until the bitter end. Torvald was surrounded at this point and could not hope to escape unscathed; as he fought two others, a third gnoll jabbed its spear into his side beneath his arm. Torvald gave a shuddering cry and clutched his side, flailing his sword wildly, desperately trying to retaliate. The gnolls tried the same with Taman, striking between his plates of armor, but Taman was ready and managed to twist his body away before the spear could go as deep.

Naivara emerged from the brush and this time nocked a poison arrow into her bow. She aimed at the beast that had struck Torvald and let the arrow fly. It hit the gnoll’s upper leg and she could see the black poison pulse through its veins, but it appeared that it would take more than a poison arrow to bring it down for good. Cursing the gnolls, she hid again to make ready for her next attack. Taman raised his sword above his head with both arms and cleaved clean through the neck of one of the creatures; blood spurted as it fell frozen to the ground. Torvald took another blow and the party could tell he was growing weaker by the minute. But he surprised them all, summoning his strength to cast Burning Hands. A gout of flames burst forth from his fingers and the gnoll before him was engulfed in flames; it gave a piercing shriek and writhed on the ground, then lay still.

Ember cast Magic Missile and three glowing darts struck one of the beasts, which only seemed to anger it further. It rushed at Torvald and thrust its spear straight into his midsection before Torvald had a chance to block. They watched in horror as Torvald’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, still as death on the ground before them. Naivara’s fingers felt numb with shock as she fumbled to shoot another arrow from her bow; it missed and the gnoll smiled wickedly, ready to sink its teeth into Torvald’s flesh. Seeing this, Taman emitted a guttural yell and thrust his sword into the gnoll before him, but it was not enough to bring it down. Ember cast Witch Bolt and a blue streak of light crackled toward one of the remaining gnolls, but it moved at the last moment and avoided being hit. It managed to fire an arrow back at her and she recoiled as it struck her shoulder. Naivara steadied herself and shot an arrow at the gnoll standing over Torvald. So distracted by bloodlust, it had no time to dodge and the arrow lodged itself in the beast’s neck. The claw-like hands went to its throat, and it gurgled and then lay still.

Two gnolls remained. One was hurt and knew it stood little chance, which made it all the more savage. It threw its head back and laughed, then rushed at Taman with its spear. Taman was ready. He cut down the spear then turned and brought the sword down where the gnoll’s shoulder met its neck. It cried out in pain and its blood shone black in the light from the sword; it twitched a moment on the ground and breathed its last. Knowing that she must end the fight to get to Torvald, Ember deftly took a star from her robe and threw it at the final gnoll. Her aim was true - the star struck the gnoll between the eyes and it fell, landing with a soft thud on the forest floor.

Panting with effort but not wasting a moment, Taman whispered, “No,” and ran to where Torvald had fallen, dropping his sword and shield on the ground. Ember and Naivara followed and anxiously waited while Taman checked to see if Torvald lived. As he knelt he could see the blood that soaked the ground, and he knew that there was nothing to be done. Taman bent his head over Torvald’s face and heard his shallow breaths. Torvald’s lips moved in an effort to speak, but none could tell what he meant to say. Taman laid his hand on Torvald’s chest, head bent and eyes closed. They saw his hand rise and fall, slowly, with longer times passing between each breath. Finally, with a small shudder, the hand ceased to rise.

Torvald was dead. Ember laid her head down and wept on Torvald’s chest and Naivara knelt beside her. How could their friend, their companion, be truly gone?

After several moments, Navaira said that they would need to bury his body before more gnolls tracked his scent and found them here. They nodded and began to look through Torvald’s possessions so they could make use of what he no longer could. Ember took his book of poisons and Navaira shed tears as she realized that Torvald had carried a healing potion. What a waste of his life that he had not thought to take it when he was wounded. They kept his sword as well, unsure of who would be able to wield it as Torvald had. Taman shook his head and turned down the elves’ offer of Torvald’s gold, picking up a discarded gnoll’s shield to dig the grave instead.

It was midday by the time the grave was dug, and Torvald’s body lay next to it with gold pieces covering his eyes. They stood in silence for a time, delaying their final goodbyes. Taman said, “Torvald died protecting his friends. There is no greater sacrifice than this. We must remember him as he was, and fulfill our quest to honor his sacrifice.” The elves agreed and Taman bent down to place Torvald’s body in the grave.

“Wait!” Ember cried suddenly, and Taman stopped. “We have the gem! The one from Tunaster” she exclaimed.

Naivara gasped, “Of course! Use it, Ember. Bring back our friend.”

Ember took a deep breath before easily crushing the gem in her hand. It was easier than she expected she thought aa the dust settled in her palm. She opened her eyes and realized that everything was frozen, everything except her. Naivara and Taman stood unmoving. She looked around and saw a woman with long dark hair and robes of midnight blue in front of her. Ember knew somehow that this was the goddess Mystra.

The Goddess of Magic

The goddess spoke, “What can I do to help you?” Her voice seemed to float in the wind, a musical lilt containing the echoes of a thousand voices from ages past.

“Can you bring back our companion Torvald?” Ember asked.

Mystra paused to consider. “Torvald’s soul has moved on, claimed by another. Another, however, may take the vessel.” The Goddess closed her eyes for a moment in seeming concentration. After a brief moment she moved her arm gracefully in an arc above her head. “May it be so.”

Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. Naivara and Taman looked from Ember’s hand and the crushed gem to her face. “Well?” Naivara said.

Out of nowhere, Torvald’s body gasped and he sat straight up, the gold pieces from his eyes falling to the forest floor. Ember saw a beam of green light come from thin air and enter into his chest. It sprout as an ethereal plant was growing, then faded and Torvald turned to stare at them.

Taman said, “What is this? Wh... what just happened?” and backed away.

Ember replied, “Don’t worry. Our companion has returned to us, but he will not be the same as he was before.” Torvald grunted as he rose, brushing the dirt and leaves from his body. The party gathered their belongings and silently continued on their way. The sun faded and they made camp for the night. The man that was once Torvald lay down to sleep, and the rest of them wondered what kind of man would greet them come morning.

#10 - A Change of Plans

Taking in all that Leodor had said to them, the party proceeded to explore the town of Daerlun to acquire supplies for their quest. Finding that the weapons they possessed were more than adequate, they made sure to stock up on other provisions they would need in the days ahead. It was back at the Mighty Mace that Agril took them by surprise.

“Friends, I must share my thoughts with you,” he began. Their heads turned in his direction - Agril was normally a stoic and quiet man and their curiosity was piqued. “I…have been having some reservations about this quest. Alternate planes of reality, angels, evil swords…it’s all too much. I fear that I may be in over my head.”

Torvald replied, “Wait, what are your aims now? We could use your help with this quest. What about your friends that were murdered by the orc bandits?”

“It is true that I had been accustomed to the adventuring life before I fell in with your group. But we simply traveled the land, taking one fight at a time, with no cares or worries about saving the world as we know it. I am thinking of parting ways with your company,” he admitted. “You are all my friends but I do not feel that I am up to undertaking this quest.”

Torvald considered, then said, “We can’t rightly ask you to come if this is not what you want. We have valued every minute of your company but we will not be offended if you choose to leave. Why don’t you sleep on it and let us know when you decide?”

Agril nodded, relief washing over his face as he saw that his friends would not take offense at his departure if he chose not to remain with them. He waved off Naivara’s offer of gold, as it was never about the money for him.

The next morning, Agril was not among them as they sat down to breakfast. They all exchanged sad looks, wondering if Agril had left before dawn. Then suddenly, Agril entered through the inn’s front door, shoulders squared. “I feel that my part in your quest is not quite over. I will stay with you a while longer,” he said. They all thanked him, and Torvald gave him a hearty pat on the back.

Their hearts were light as they made their way back to Leodor’s home. The summer sun brightened their path, and all appeared to be peaceful and quiet. Adelhard led them to the same room where Leodor was waiting for them. He greeted them briefly then began to explain where they would be going: a plane called Mount Celestia. As he described the plane Adelhard bobbed in and out serving food and drinks as he had before. Then, without warning, the room around them exploded in fire, and shattered objects flew at them from every direction. Ember recognized it at once - it was a Fireball spell!

Naivara groaned as she lifted her head from the rubble on the floor. Glancing around, she saw that Adelhard was dead, pierced through the heart by a long wooden splinter. Agril appeared to be unconscious, but Torvald, Ember, and Leodor stirred, meeting her eyes in shock. Leodor shook his head as if to clear it and said, “Things must be much more serious than I imagined. Come, quickly! Follow me further into the house.” Torvald scooped up Agril’s body in his arms and they did as he bade. Leodor, made a few quick motions with his arms, and muttered under his breath, and the group arose.

They rushed past the windows in the hall, seeing that the stone elf statues at the gate had come to life and were now locked in combat with would-be intruders. Leodor ushered them through a heavy door down a stone staircase, where he immediately began casting a spell. A glowing circle opened in the floor in front of them: a teleportation circle.

The teleportation circle comes to life

The house shook around them and Leodor urged, “Go! The people on the other side will explain everything. I will take care of Agril here.” With little other choice, Naivara, Torvald, and Ember walked into the glowing circle, and all noise suddenly ceased. They were enveloped by complete blackness, unable to move or speak. Finally, after an unknown amount of time had passed, they landed on their feet in a sandstone room lit by torches.

Two figures stood before them. One was a man with fair skin, black hair, and ice blue eyes with a piercing gaze. The other was a half-elf woman with yellow-bronze skin, black hair, and soft brown eyes. Immediately the man raised his arms and cast a spell around the newcomers. The half-elf explained they were now in a Zone of Truth, unable to lie, and asked who they were and from where they had come. The party gave her their names and explained they had come from Leodor’s house in the Prime Material plane. The man, confused, asked where Leodor was. Torvald said that Leodor remained behind to deal with the intruders and the attack upon his home. They couldn’t say who it was that launched the offensive, but it killed the halfling Adelhard and gravely wounded their companion Agril, who had to remain behind.

Satisfied with their answers, the man and half-elf glanced at each other and nodded. They introduced themselves as Ander and Mei, respectively. “Follow us,” they instructed. They led the group into a large circular chamber occupied by five others. A translucent stone in the ceiling above them let in a soft glow of natural light, giving a dreamlike appearance to the faces that stared back at them. A stained glass mosaic depicting their planet Faerun adorned the wall, an intricate display of artistry that hinted at the wisdom and knowledge of this group. Ander gestured for them to sit at the table in the center of the room. One of them leaned forward and interlocked his fingers, resting his elbows on the table. “Now, will you tell us what brought you here?” Ember, Torvald, and Naivara exchanged glances, tacitly agreeing that nothing should be left out, and described the events of their quest thus far.

As the story progressed, it was apparent that their listeners grew increasingly concerned by the minute. Brows furrowed and arms crossed, one woman closed her eyes and began muttering to herself, which only Naivara noticed; no one else paid her any mind. Another man said, “These are troubling times. An attack on Leodor is brazen and foretells of a greater evil to come.”

“Perhaps the gods have sent them,” a third ventured. Then, turning to face the newcomers, he said, “We are the true Circle of Eight. We were forced underground when the Netherel fell. When Netheril feel, it was presumed the Circle fell with it, however that was not the case. The circle felt that going underground would be a wise choice. You sit at the same table that Tenser, Melf, Leomund, Mordenkainen, and even Karsus once sat. This other group wishes to take the name but they lack the resources. Leodor is our eighth member.”

A woman said, “This new group needs to be dealt with. However, we ourselves cannot intervene directly, for we would certainly be found out. The task, it seem, is up to you.”

They nodded grimly. Torvald asked, “Can we stay here to recollect ourselves?”

“Unfortunately you cannot. This is a sacred place with few exceptions made for outside visitors.”

Ember said, “What about Leodor? Should we go back and help him?”

“No, we’ve already sent assistance. He will be alright, I assure you. Besides, I’m sure he has already destroyed the teleportation circle that brought you here to prevent anyone from following you.”

Ander said, “We know you had discussed going to Mount Celestia to find the Book of Vile Darkness, but we believe that destroying your sword is now the best course of action for you. Finding that book is another matter entirely and much more difficult to accomplish. The outer planes are not to be trifled with and it may end in disaster if you attempt to leave ours and return. There is too much hanging in the balance for a risk as large as that. You shall seek out Bahamut, the god of justice and the dragon god. He will surely be able to assist you.”

“The Temple of Bahamut lies in the Greypeak Mountains. However, you must be tested before you can enter the temple, and you will need a guide to help you there. There is someone we know who was already planning a pilgrimage to the temple on his own, but now he will guide you. You will find him in the town of Secumber, and there your true quest will begin,” he concluded. Ember, Torvald, and Naivara were not the sort to back down from a challenge and voiced their determination to see their quest through to the end. The imposter Circle of Eight must be stopped.

The female elven wizard Elora pointed to Secumber on the stained glass map on the wall. As if pulled by an invisible force, the party all placed hands on her as she touched the map with her fingertip. They felt the lurch of teleportation as they left the secret lair. They landed in an ordinary-looking room in what appeared to be an inn. Elora, brushing the dust from her skirts, walked out into the taproom and greeted the innkeeper, who directed her to another room off to the side. The door was open, and inside they could see a man with shoulder-length blonde hair and gray eyes. His features aligned in such a way that made him quite pleasant to look at, and there was a certain gravitas that drew them to him as well.

He looked slightly startled as the whole group followed Elora in and said, “Elora, I did not expect to see you here.”

“Yes, I had not planned this either, but my need is urgent. This group needs to get to the Temple of Bahamut as soon as possible. Can you take them with you?”

He paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Yes,” he said, “but I cannot guarantee their safety, or that the Temple will admit them.”

“That is sufficient. They can take care of themselves and know the risks,” Elora replied. Turning to the party she said, “This is Taman. He will be your guide.” Turning to leave, she handed Naivara an object wrapped in cloth, and said “This will help avoid unpleasantness the next time that we meet.” Naivara wasn’t sure what she meant by this, but accepted the proffered object nonetheless, making a note to examine it later.

Taman took a seat at a table in the corner of the room and asked for their names. Naivara and Ember offered simple introductions, but Torvald embellished, saying he had formerly belonged to a militia, and was known as Torvald the Terrible. Taking a bite of bread and a sip of wine, Taman said, “Very well. As for me, I have traveled much, spending time in the High Forest, Highmoor and have traversed the length of the Sword Coast. Our destination will be the Greypeak Mountains, and we will have to go through the High Forest to get there. There are no roads that will take us to where we are going, so we will need to travel overland on foot. The forest is the safer than the mountains, which isn’t saying much, as both places have many creatures that will test our resolve,” he said completely unconcerned, draining his cup. “We leave tomorrow at first light. It is best to recover your strength tonight while you can.” Although none of them would admit it, the group did harbor some trepidation after hearing Taman’s description of the way ahead. They left the taproom and found their own accommodations for the night.

The next morning, the party spoke and hoped that someone would take care of their horses back in Daerlun. None, liked the idea of leaving them behind, but they trusted Agril to remember the horses. As they finished their breakfast, Taman appeared dressed in full plate mail with a shield and a sword; there was no mistaking him for anything but a fighter. “Time to leave,” he said simply, and they all left the inn.

Taman, their guide

They headed northeast and followed the Unicorn Run River for some time, passing an uneventful few days, after which they still knew very little about their guide. He was the quiet sort who reserved his speech unless he deemed it necessary. He kept them moving at a quick pace, and the group followed him without complaint. They reached a bend in the river and forded it, careful to avoid falling into the strong current at their feet. The High Forest loomed ahead of them - they could feel the age and power of the trees seeping into their bones; somehow, it seemed to call to them. It harkened back to ancient times when the land was completely covered in trees as far as the eye could see. Far in the distance stood the snow-capped Greypeak Mountains, clouds enveloping the highest of the peaks.

The Greypeak Mountains sit a distance away behind the High Forest

Taman turned to the group and said, “Be aware that in this forest are more than ordinary creatures; Fey and Silvan beings roam free. Rarely do humans travel here, for the threat posed by these beings is too great a risk. And while it is unlikely, there is a chance we will encounter elves here too, and they will not necessarily welcome visitors in their realm. Are we all resolved?” he asked. Nodding solemnly, the group acknowledged the dangers they were about to face. Forming a single-file line behind Tomman, they stepped out of the meadow and into the waiting woods.

#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.

#5 - One Step Forward, Two Steps Back (8/14/2021)

The sky alighted with the faintest hint of morning’s hues; a blend of pink, purple, and orange blended together through the mist, lighting the path for the woodland elf exploring the city streets. With no need of the sleep that consumed so many hours of humans, she liked to take advantage of the morning stillness that allowed for reflection on the events that had befallen them thus far. She hoped that Norris, a scholar at the The House of Oghma, in Suzail, would have some answers for them today about the mysterious Circle of Eight. Dawn broke, and she made her way back to the Leaning Post to collect her companions. Along the way, she gave in to the temptation to pick a coin purse off an unpleasant-looking man berating his apprentice. Serves the brute right, she thought, pocketing the gold.

Not an hour after Naivara’s return to the inn, a messenger arrived from the House of Oghma. “Norris is ready with the information you requested,” he stated plainly, seeming unhappy that he had been sent as the errand-boy for this task. They weren’t long in readying themselves; after a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese to break their fast they took their leave.

“This had better be good,” Torvald said, clenching his sword in reflex as they walked through the massive oak doors at the House. Naivara and Agril exchanged skeptical glances, while Ember, always the optimist, patted Torvald on the shoulder and smiled in a gesture of support.

Norris emerged from the shadows of the hall to greet them. “I hope your wait has not been too uncomfortable,” he said sincerely. Torvald drew breath as if to comment but Naivara swiftly jabbed her elbow into his side before he could speak.

“Please, tell us what you found,” she said.

“There wasn’t much, but I was able to track down some scraps of information about these symbols,” Norris began. “These symbols are from ages long past, long out of memory even by beings as old as elves. From what I can piece together, they represent the eight schools of magic, but I can’t quite say exactly what types of magic they are supposed to represent. They could be used to focus and amplify the power of ritual magic by the high mages, but this magic has fallen out of use and been forgotten since the fall of Netherel.”

“Now, the Circle of Eight was the greatest group of masters of each type of magic from across the whole world. The powers that they held, though, caused corruption amongst them and a struggle to become the supreme mage ensued. The group destroyed themselves through their own obsession and lust for power. Most of their arcane knowledge was lost. A new circle may have been formed, but if it has, it is likely a pale comparison to the original circle. However, the knowledge that was was when the circle destroyed itself could spell disaster if it fell into similarly corrupt hands as the former circle. I was unable to find anything specific regarding the cult and human sacrifices that you have witnessed, but the presence of these symbols is most concerning. It means that this potent and dangerous magic is once again in use.”

Pacing around the room, he continued. “The sword is indeed an enigma. As you know, it has been used in blood rituals, and that is never a good sign. Generally weapons like this are created by powerful demons, with rituals that would make the blood run cold of even the most heartless of men. The locations of these rituals do seem to happen in places where this old magic may reside. The Haunted Halls is one such place, and the gems in the mine you explored exude residuum, which amplifies magic. If more rituals are to take place, which I seems likely based on the information you have presented to me, they will likely be in places of power. Cormanthor, the Hall of Ruins, Hongadath, and Thaymount are all such sites. The name ‘Varzand’ did not occur in any of the texts I consulted, but it is a common name. The ball you possess is certainly an ancient magical artifact, perhaps created by a wizard, but as to why, I could not say. To experiment with it further may yield answers, but it may also cause harm to the one who examines it.”

Mysterious ancient artifact, or odd child's toy?

“I’m afraid this is all I have,” Norris concluded.

“Thank you,” said Ember, throwing a knowing sideways glance to Torvald, who seemed to be on the brink of speaking his mind again. The others nodded their thanks in agreement and slowly made their way out, turning all of this new information over in their minds and trying to make sense of what they just learned. Pausing just outside the entrance, they came to an agreement that Cormanthor would be their next destination, which lay in the northeast direction of Suzail.

Torvald suggested purchasing horses, knowing that a long journey on foot would impede the progress of their quest. The others agreed and proceeded to the marketplace for these and other supplies. Almost immediately Torvald was drawn to a red mare pacing in her stall, eager to be released. “I think her spirited nature will serve me well,” Torvald mused, and named her Hestia.

Hestia

Agril spotted a deep chestnut gelding that two stable attendants were attempting to back into a stall. Showing no fear of the horse’s whinnying or bucking, Agril gently reached up and held the beast’s bridle with one hand and stroked his muzzle with the other. Their eyes meet and the horse stilled almost instantly. “I’ll take this one,” he said simply, and purchased it for his own, naming it Samson.

Samson

Naivara and Ember took their time, as is the nature of elves, and each selected a mare. Naivara’s was colored entirely dark brown, brown like trees of the woodland realm she had once called home. “I will call you Shadow Feet,” she said to the horse while handing the vendor his gold.

Shadow Feet

Ember’s was pitch black with a flowing mane to match. “I shall call you Raven,” she said, admiring the way the sunlight reflected off of the horse's gleaming coat.

Raven

Their horses selected, they made their way through the rest of the market. Torvald purchased alchemy supplies and a book on the subject of poisons. “Are you planning to poison us all at supper?” Naivara teased.

“These may come in handy,” Torvald replied, indignant, but he secretly hoped that he’d be right. Ember bought a healer’s kit (which she thought was very sensible), and they all stocked up on rations. Feeling that the day had been well spent, they headed back to the Leaning Post to stable their horses and spend one last night in Suzail.

Refreshed and ready to meet what challenges lay ahead, they departed on the road called Calantar’s Way the next morning. The day was spent mostly in silence, aside from mild pleasantries exchanged with fellow travelers they met on the road. They chose to camp with another group that felt trustworthy, but took turns taking watch in the night. The second day passed much the same, and soon they arrived in the small farming town of Hilp in the late afternoon. After finding the inn and obtaining lodging for the night, Naivara asked the barkeep if he had heard about any abductions in the area. “No, I can’t say that I have,” he admitted, scratching his beard.

“We’re headed towards Wheloon,” Torvald blurted, in a rare mood to speak. The elves cast disparaging glances his way; they didn’t approve that he shared their destination with strangers. Offended, Torvald muttered under his breath, “Surely not everyone is an evil sorcerer seeking to do us harm.”

“Well, before you head to Wheloon, you may want to speak with the constable here. He may have more information about strange disappearances, but I doubt it, as not much of note happens in Hilp,” the barkeep offered, and turned back to another patron. After finding the constable, they were disappointed to find that barkeep was right; he had not heard of anything unusual or of any abductions in the area either. Taking their losses, the group dined at the inn and turned in for an early start the next morning.

A small village called Gladehap lay just off the road on the way to Wheloon. “It has a reputation for harboring skilled craftsmen that attracts a wealthy crowd,” Agril informed the group.

“A village with well-traveled nobles may be just the place to find the answers we’ve been seeking,” said Naivara. They came to the Inn of the Dancing Sword, and asked to be pointed in the direction of the smithy.

Their faces flushed with the warmth of red-hot coals as they walked into the smithy’s workshop. A heavyset man with a ruddy face and thick beard did not look up from his scrutinizing examination of an incredibly intricate sword he held in hands. “That is a beautiful sword,” Agril praised, “I have never seen its equal.” The blacksmith glanced up, the corners of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, and thanked Agril.

“May I be of service?” the blacksmith asked.

“Yes, I hope so,” Ember said. “In our travels we have come across a peculiar sword of unknown origins, and we wondered if your expert eye could assist us in identifying it.” The blacksmith gave no indication that the transparent flattery had any effect; he merely nodded and Ember gingerly removed the sword from her pack. “Do not touch it,” she cautioned. “I was not so lucky when we first discovered it. Best to leave it be.” She laid it carefully on his workbench.

After several moments of studying the sword in silence, the blacksmith shook his head in puzzlement. “This sword does indeed appear to be well-crafted, so much so that I do not recall ever seeing one to match it. I cannot say if it was man, dwarf, or elf who created it. The eye on its hilt is also odd; I have never laid eyes on such a symbol before. It would not be surprised to learn that it was crafted by a mage, who may have also imbued magic into it. To know that for sure would require me to handle it.” He looked questioningly at Ember, his statement clearly a question.

“No need,” Ember said. “We would not want you to come to harm after you have been so kind to help us. Thank you.” She packed the sword away again and shrugged at her companions. They were no closer to discovering the purpose, or nature, of the sword. Perhaps the answer would reveal itself in time. “We should find someone to examine this magical sphere next,” Ember suggested as they left the smithy.

“I believe we passed a shop that sells oddities on this street a little ways back,” Naivara said. She led the group to an unassuming storefront that certainly did not appear to be the grandest of shops, but appeared well-established nonetheless. A small bell rang as they opened the door. They were greeted by the sight of small tables and shelves that held a variety of mysterious objects. At first glance the items appears to be scattered haphazardly, yet somehow, there seemed to be an order to it all.

A small woman with graying and frizzled hair materialized from a curtain behind the counter. “How may I help?” she asked, eyes moving up and down each member of the group. Her gaze lingered the longest on Torvald, as if she suspected he may break something by merely breathing in the wrong direction.

“Yes, we were wondering if you would have a look at this,” said Ember, producing the sphere from her bag.

“Ah I see,” the shopkeeper replied, grasping the ball with long, delicate fingers. She moved a few pieces here and there and two gold coins slipped out. “It certainly displays fine craftsmanship, and the workings appear to be quite intricate. I can manipulate some of these pieces to move, but as to the purpose or origin, I do not have answers. I have never seen anything like it; perhaps it manufactures gold?” she supposed. “You may want to take it someone practiced in the arcane arts. I am not a practitioner myself, and this may have its mysteries hidden by magic.” Her forehead wrinkled as she drew her brows together. “Alas, there are no such practitioners here in Gladehap, but you may be able to seek one out in Suzail, or in Sembia to the east, if you are traveling that direction.”

Deflated, Ember accepted the sphere back from the shopkeeper’s outstretched hand. “Thank you. You have been most helpful,” she said sincerely. “Would you be so kind as to point us in the direction of the apothecary?”

As the group walked out of the shop, Torvald grumbled, “I don’t know why you keep thanking everyone. None of these people have been very helpful.”

“I’m surprised you waited until we were out of earshot to say that,” Naivara said, giving him a sideways glance. “The information is helpful. We know that whoever, or whatever, made those things is not known today. They are likely part of the ancient magic that Norris described at the House of Oghma.” Torvald merely grunted in response, not wanting to admit that Naivara was right.

The apothecary’s shop was not far. Inside, rows of glass jars lined the walls, all neatly labeled with the contents. “Hello,” Naivara greeted the shopkeeper. “I wonder if you may have any healing potions available for purchase?”

“I do, but they do not come cheap,” she replied. “One is 200 gold.” Naivara shook her head. This would deplete their entire purses and then some.

“Is it possible for you to teach me healing?” Ember ventured.

“It is an ancient art that takes many years of study to accomplish,” the apothecary replied. “Indeed, my apprentice has only rudimentary skills and he has been studying for years.”

“I understand. Would you perhaps then examine this sphere that we have in our possession? We are unable to discern its purpose or origin,” Ember said.

After a few moments, the apothecary handed the sphere back. “Perhaps I am not the right person to ask. My knowledge lies more in potion-craft, not trinkets. I can say that I have never seen such an item.” Ember wasn’t surprised; a pity they had not sought out a wizard in Suzail when they had the chance. Before leaving, Torvald purchased several ingredients he learned of in his book of poisons, determined to show that it would in fact prove useful.

Twilight had just begun to cast its shadows on the streets of the city as they exited the shop. Their errands finished for the day, they began to make their way back to the inn of the Dancing Sword. As they walked, Torvald and Ember could not say what exactly it was drew their eyes, but they noticed a figure walking through the crowd. The woman was clad in a cloak, but the hood was down, so her raven hair shone and caught the last glimmers of sunlight fading from the sky. The crowded street pushed her into the group and she murmured a cursory pardon as she continued on her way. Torvald and Ember had to look twice, but her voice cast a chill of recognition deep within them.

"I thought Varzand dealt with you!"

“Was that…"Ember began. "...I think it was!” Naivara finished.

“Follow her!” Torvald exclaimed, none too softly.

The graceful agility of the elves guided Ember through the crowd as she attempted to catch up to the woman. Naivara, with the practiced skills of a thief, closed the gap between them with Agril at her side; the only member held back was Torvald, frustrated by the way people seemed to block his path at every turn.

“VARZAND!” Ember yelled, startling those around them. One man turned in her direction but she could see he posed no threat. She continued her pursuit of the woman with the raven hair. The crowd thinned and they were able to push the rest out of the way until they were finally within reach of the woman. Ember, determined to bring the chase to a halt, roughly bumped into the woman saying “Hey!”, which caused her to finally pause.

“What?” she replied, a nasty snarl twisting her face.

“You look familiar,” Ember accused.

“I’m trying to get on with my evening,” the woman said curtly before turning to leave.

“What plans?” Ember said as the group closed in.

“Dagger!” Torvald hissed to Naivara. “Give me your dagger!”

“No!” she adamantly replied, knowing that an attack now would certainly not be to their advantage.

Ember pressed on: “Varzand still hasn’t taken care of us.”

“I don’t know what that means,” the woman replied, her face a careful mask concealing any emotion.

She’s lying, Ember thought. Out loud she asked, “Are you following us?”

“No.”

“We know who you are.”

Torvald interjected, “What do you call yourself?”

“I am Alaxador Obarskyr.”

They collectively gasped. Her surname was that of the royal family – she was King Foral’s eldest daughter. How could she fit into the practice of these dark rituals? Was this the wrong woman?

Naivara regained her composure. “Tell us what you know of the Circle of Eight.”

“Nothing that would interest you,” the princess replied, eyes narrowing as if thinking.

Ember, sensing that the potential for harm was increasing with each passing moment, eased their questioning. “Oh, I think we must have you confused with someone else,” she apologized hoping the others would follow her cue.

A moment later, a sword appeared in her hand. The same sword they witnessed her wielding in the cave outside of Minroe. Alaxador raised it, seeming to consider if they were worth the trouble of dispatching. An eternity seemed to pass which was surely just only seconds. She let go of the sword allowing it to fall, instead it disappeared instead.

The group, feeling frustrated and more than a little stunned by this encounter, made their way back to the inn. As the innkeeper greeted them, Ember asked if he knew anything about the princess Alaxador. “She is said to be practiced in the arcane arts. She is seen here from time to time, acquiring rarities that cannot be found in other towns.”

“Is she known for practicing the evil arcane arts?” Torvald asked.

“She has always been a model royal: regal and very philanthropic. The people love her,” he said matter-of-factly.

Nodding, Torvald thanked the man. After a meal eaten in silence, they settled into their rooms, a palpable tension surrounding them, unsure of what might befall them in the night now that their whereabouts were known. Leaving the town after dark was not an option, though, as they would be much more vulnerable to creatures, both human and otherwise, that skulked about in the night.

Taking turns on watch eased nerves only slightly, and none slept well, least of all Torvald. Tossing in the bed too small for his muscled and bulky frame, he dreamt he was surrounded by flames. A deep, loud, omnipresent voice said, “Learn.”

Torvald's Vision

“Teach,” Torvald replied in the dream.

“Learn,” the voice only said again.

“Learn what?”

“Live.”

“Explain yourself.” Torvald’s brow furrowed in his sleep.

“Help.”

“Help what?”

“Redeem.”

“I haven’t done anything!” dream Torvald cried.

“Learn.”

“Who are you?”

“Redeem yourself.”

“How?”

“Vengeance.” The voice oddly softened a bit at this.

“Against whom?”

“Learn.”

“What do I do next?”

“Learn…to live,” the voice concluded. The flames rose and roared around Torvald in his mind. He woke with a start, jolting up in his bed drenched in sweat. It was morning.

Naivara, the last to keep watch, noticed Torvald’s shaken demeanor and asked if he was all right. “I’m fine,” he curtly replied, and Naivara shrugged and turned away. He decided not to tell the others about the dream. He was unsure of its meaning and did not care to add to the many troubles that already faced them. He looked down and realized his fists were clenched; as he opened them a ruby the size of a large pebble fell onto his sheets. It was a faceted gem, clearly crafted by someone with knowledge and skill. This, too, he decided to keep secret until he knew more.

Torvald's prize

During her watch, Ember had been fiddling with the magical sphere. She was determined to discover the secrets it held, but each of the buttons stubbornly refused to yield. And yet, she felt like she was on the edge of something, but she couldn’t say what.