Welcome! You’ve landed on the chronicles of a 5-session Dungeons & Dragons campaign that I DM’d together with my friend Clement for a party of 8 players in total. During the game we had an ongoing “Adventurer’s Journal” where players took turns doing write-ups of each session. These notes were then edited by one of our players, Colin. Below is final version of the adventure. I have also added collapsible “DM notes” throughout the page showing some behind-the-scenes thinking. Thank you to Clement, Colin, Jay, Bryan, Chris P, Yee Chiang, and Chris K for making this such a fun adventure and such a collaborative project.

Table of Contents

●　Pre-Game Introduction

●　Session 0

●　Interlude

●　Session 1

●　Session 2

●　Interlude

●　Session 3

●　Session 4

●　Epilogue

PRE-GAME INTRODUCTION

DM notes

Ahoy adventurers, and welcome to a new DnD world. The last 100 years has seen seismic changes after the discovery of a rare and precious material, Mystra. Highly sought-after and prized for its powerful arcane properties, Mystra is found in relative abundance in a wild and unchartered continent. Previously dotted with sleepy Coastal Elf enclaves and Sea Orc villages, the rugged shoreline has now become the staging ground for exploration, adventuring, and various factions all vying for power and control. You are neutral mercenaries of the Explorer’s Guild, sent to the booming Port Rivia under a special contract for hire with the High Elven Empire. Word has reached them of mysterious and worrying incidents taking place there, and the ruling governors of Port Rivia — the Sangretta Shipping Company — seem content to sweep things aside. You have been sailing for 60 days and nights on board a High Elven ship belonging to your employers. You are expected to dock at Port Rivia by daybreak.

INTRODUCING THE PARTY

	Arithmus Contador	Treasurer, Forensic Accountant
	Fiern	Medic, Mender
	Sharky Steelsmeth	Security Escort, Quartermaster
	Karlai	Archaeologist, Arcane Researcher
	Maturin	Mariner, Seafarer
	Yaygor	Engineer, Mechanic
	Thaid	Scout, Infiltrator
	Quentin	Cartographer, Surveyor

DM notes

SESSION 0

Scribe: Fiern
DM: Clement

The party is a group of mercenaries (“explorers”) from the Explorer’s Guild in the employ of the High Elven Empire, as contracted by Emissary Vesomir (high elf diplomat, super suss). They include: Yaygor (rock gnome rogue), Karlai (tiefling wizard), Maturin (wood elf cleric), Arithmus Contador (half-elf warlock), Fiern (human cleric). 

Present at Session 0	Absent at Session 0

Emissary Vesomir	Vesomir’s Kestrel

We have been sent on a so-called “side mission” to the prison island Makutu-Mate, ostensibly at the behest of the Empire’s client, the sea orc king Hunapu Hōte.

BY ROYAL DECREE OF HIS MAJESTY KING HUNAPU HŌTE great uniter of the sea orc tribes, slayer of sharks, rider of the rough reefs, sovereign of the coral crown, rightful ruler of the archipelago, HE petitions the diplomatic aid of the mighty High Elven Empire to inspect our dealings with the Sangretta Shipping Company and lay bare any wrongs, misdeeds, transgressions and conspiracies that would be in contravention of the Founding Treaty of Port Rivia and disrupt the cherished balance and peace of HIS MAJESTY’s territories within O’Shude. HE requisitions that you commence all necessary investigations into Sangretta activities in the isle of Makutu-Mate, quash any felonies and plots come across, and sail posthaste to the Palace of Sacred Shoals in Port Rivia to deliver a report of your findings in a royal audience with HIS MAJESTY. HE extends his graceto any additional adventurers, mercenaries, and hired swords that would form part of the High Elven diplomatic mission. HE rewards successful outcomes with his riches and favours.

When probed for more information re: Sangretta activities in Makutu-Mate, Vesomir says only that there have been suspicious shipments in and out of the island. Mm hmm. Nothing weird at all about the lightning periodically striking the same point somewhere on the island. Vesomir gives Yaygor a magical flare and tells  the party to wrap things up by dawn. 

As the party, in a rowboat, nears the beach at the south of the island, they encounter a coastal elf (Farha, prisoner, crime: stealing bread) being attacked by two blink dogs (native fauna), and are ourselves ambushed by two sahuagin.

From Farha, the party learns that: a) the lightning had started the day before, after an explosion (cause unknown); and b) the prison guards seemed drunk and agitated. Milked dry of exposition, Farha is taken into custody and sent to the HEES Valiant (Empire’s ship) on another rowboat.

Sahuagin	Blink Dog

Going up the cliff and inside a cave (part of the mines), the party finds a large crater containing two bludgeoned corpses (one elf, one dwarf), and collectively learns that some force explosion had occurred (in particular, the bones of one of the dwarf’s arms were shattered).

From a tent, Arithmus pockets two unopened bottles (one openly, the other unknown to the rest of the party) of a liquid with a floral bouquet uncharacteristic of ale. Yaygor nearly slays a lone Sangretta guard under magical sleep, but then decides to loot him instead, yielding a journal.

Ozia’s Journal One moon into my assignment in this shithole, and another moon more to go. These native knife-ears are a wretched bunch, always whining, complaining and crying. I can hardly get any bloody sleep, especially when they let up in the middle of the night. Should’ve just killed them at Rivia instead of sending them here to rot. A public execution would have been swifter, and we get more practice with our axe arm. Why the Sangretta Ducs insist on keeping a presence on this island, I will never know. How many ships of finfuckers do they want to send here? And what’s with the blasted barrels that we keep receiving by the boatloads? Whatever they’re storing inside, I know better than to ask or to get close enough to find out. Warden Spirento has asked us to steer clear and let the elves do all of the hauling and burying, as if we need to be told twice about that. At least the Sangretta coin and the flowing ale makes this assignment worthwhile. Soon I’ll save enough to buy that villa back in the Old Country… I might be promoted to Capitan by then, or even Consigliere…

Exiting the cave via a locked steel door, we come across Warden Spirento and three Sangretta guards (convinced they were facing a prison break, busy attempting to storm [groan] the keep, where the rest of the prisoners are  holed up, also, top level of which is in flames) in a ruined courtyard.

The party launches a surprise attack and eventually kills all but one guard. During the battle: a) the party notices some kind of swirling arcane power in the guards’ crazed eyes; b) bubbles appear (and burst with a musical chime) when the guards cast spells, which fail occasionally, transforming into other spells; and c) the warden manifested various random magic effects upon taking damage, then released a burst of energy upon death. (Maturin, caught in that burst, is affected in some TBD way.)

Prison Guard Spirento	Mystra-Touched Prison Guard

The hideously laughing guard is disarmed and probed for information, but due to the increasingly unstable wild energy (“coalescing around his eyes”) can only provide yes/no answers, none of which are terribly useful. The guard expires, and while the party agonizes over what to do with the prisoners, a coastal elf (later identified as their leader, Amir) appears from an upper level of the keep, Vesomir’s kestrel on his shoulder, and rebuffs all the party’s attempts to get intelligence or control the situation (though they learn that the barrels, mentioned in Ozia’s journal, have been hauled to the west part of the island).

Amir – Leader (?) of the Coastal Elves

The party’s powerlessness is further underscored by the appearance of the Valiant and Vesomir’s nonchalant acceptance of the (50 or so) prisoners aboard. Yaygor’s indelicate complaints about withheld intel irk Vesomir, but thankfully no heads roll. In response to Vesomir’s insinuation that there were “no witnesses”, the party gave tacit affirmation. (True, because the sleeping guard witnessed none of the party’s actions.) Before reaching Port Rivia, the prisoners jump into the sea and swim off.

At the audience with the sea orc king (sans Vesomir), the party are surprised to hear Hunapu Hōte say that Makutu-Mate was not part of any mission and was “insignificant in the grand scheme of things”. In response, Arithmus reports that nothing happened on the island. As the king exited, Arithmus notices the king’s counsellor, who gives the party a look of acknowledgement.

King Hunapu Hōte	Counsellor Ulani

Mysteries

1. What caused the force explosion in the mine?
2. What was in the barrels?
3. What happened to the soldier left behind?
4. Why is Vesomir rescuing the Coastal Elves?
5. Why is there such a mismatch between the letter from the Orc King and what he told the players?

Miscellaneous Factoids

• The Sangretta are a merchant conglomerate from the Old World, with a monopoly on Mystra, viewed with ambivalence in O’Shude.
• Mystra is an ore, extracted by mining. Once refined it provides power to ships, weapons, etc. which is how the Sangretta are able to assert dominance.

DM notes

SESSION 1

Scribe: Sharky
DM: Alf

Present at Session 1	Absent at Session 1

After the audience with King Hunapu Hōte, we are told by Vesomir to take a day of shore leave and report for more work the next morning. With a free day stretching ahead of us, it is up to each of us to decide how to spend it. This chapter focuses on the adventures of one splinter of the party…

Karlai (Tiefling Wizard), Sharky (Dwarf Fighter) and Quentin (Human Bard) meet up at a quiet corner of the inn in the centre of town, as Karlai the tiefling is discomfited by the way the townsfolk are staring at his horns. Bathed in the unearthly blue light of the nearby mystral fireplace, we nurse pints of the local brew and discuss how to spend our day off. After some deliberation, we decide to take our ease and explore Port Rivia, so that Quentin can draw some maps and Karlai can perhaps locate some ruins. Sharky is content to come along for the ride.

DM notes

We wander around the vibrant Old City, a bustling and festive quarter that is full of exotic sights and sounds. The bells of tall white-steepled churches toll the hour. Churchmen, censers held aloft, bless crowds of supplicants with showers of incense ash. Sangretta guards, bedecked in vibrant finery and wielding blunted halberds, march through the streets. Most are human, but a fair number are sea orcs, visibly uncomfortable in their incongruous garb. 

Sangretta Ceremonial Guard

Eventually, our feet take us outside the Old City and towards the Old Port. As we walk, the buildings turn from white brick to wood and thatch, marred here and there by claw marks. The air starts to take on the salty tang of the sea, along with a heady medley of raw sewage, stale incense and the spice of local stews. Humans and sea orcs are few in number; instead, coastal elves abound, dressed in roughly-hewn tunics bound with coarse belts made of hemp. 

We also notice a number of totems scattered about the area. They range in size from an elf’s arm, all the way to tree-sized edifices. There are two types of totems – wooden ones that have an air of Elvish delicacy to them, and stone ones that emanate an orcish stoicism. But one thing is common across all these totems: they are studded by blue-glowing mystra. The locals seem to treat these totems with reverence, going quiet and tucking their heads down and as they pass them. Some even pause to genuflect before going on their way. 

Curious, Karlai surveys one such totem and finds that they are latent with untapped mystral magic. 

Elven totems	Orc totems

As we continue our ramble, a kitten approaches and sidles up to Sharky, who pets it. There seems to be nothing untoward about it; it is just a kitten. But then, an elf, bare as on his naming day, bursts out of a nearby building and runs off, fear etched on his fine features. Right after him, a clothed orc emerges. He sees us, and snarling, asks if we saw where the elf went. Quentin, quick to see an opportunity for profit, begins to ask what that information is worth to the orc, but before he finishes, the orc, not pausing to listen, has dashed off as well. 

As the bemused party stares at the rapidly receding orc, a young elven boy, hair and face caked in dirt, approaches the party. He introduces himself as Laiwa and offers to shine the party’s weapons. But as Quentin’s weapon is a quill and thus requires no shining, he decides it might be a good idea to hire Laiwa as a local guide instead. Laiwa enthusiastically agrees.

As Laiwa takes us on a tour of the district, we ask him about his home and about Sangretta. Laiwa does not have much of an impression of Sangretta save that they seem to be involved in a number of community projects in the town, such as the construction of a school for the local coastal elves. We express an interest in this school and he obligingly takes us there. 

The site of the school abounds with frenetic activity. Teams of elves are hammering, sawing and swinging away at a skeleton of a building that seems a long way from being finished. In the eye of this hurricane of construction, a young, richly-attired human man surveys the scene with a nobleman’s detachment. Boldly, Quentin marches up to him and strikes up a conversation while a bored Sharky does some side exploration.

Quentin and the man hit it off almost immediately. The man introduces himself as Robert Pemble, the scion of a noble family of Sangretta, and he is overseeing the construction of this school as one of his family’s gestures at helping the local community. Taken by Quentin’s preternatural charisma, he offers, almost despite himself, to host the party at his family’s manor that night. Taken by this unexpected offer – and disinclined to turn down the prospect of food and drink – we agree. Pemble excuses himself to make preparations.

Laiwa then takes us to the local market – in particular, a well-concealed, shall we say, greyer corner of it. There, we meet a herbalist with an assortment of tinctures, leaves and potions. After some negotiations, and a green light from Karlai – who apart from his love for ruins is also somewhat of an aspiring naturalist – Sharky procures three sachets of Goodleaf Ganja (1d8 + 2 healing outside of combat) and a pipe to match, while Karlai and Quentin procure 2 Jellies of Constitution each (1d10 temporary hit points).

Later that evening…

After spending the rest of the day touring the city, we arrive at the Pemble family manor, Laiwa in tow. Before we enter, Karlai sends his familiar, an infernal Eye, up to do some scouting. 

Karlai’s Familiar

We are greeted at the entrance by a curious frogman butler named Abner, who welcomes all of us except for Laiwa, who he seems to consider unfit to enter the premises. We convince Abner that Laiwa is an important member of tonight’s entertainment, and that perhaps we could prevail upon his resources to clean him up a little. Abner deliberates a moment and snaps his fingers to two attendants, who silently usher Laiwa away, presumably to be freshened up at the servants’ quarters. 

We are ushered into a lavishly appointed room where the Pembles – father and son – greet us and offer us a selection of liquors. Sharky elects to try a local spirit – a rough concoction that has made many a lesser man keel over, but Sharky’s dwarvish constitution holds up. Quentin and Karlai opt for wine. 

Abner The Butler	Duke Robert Pemble (Snr)

Duke Robert Pemble (senior) is a distinguished, handsome man and a gracious host. As we make conversation, he tells us a great deal about himself. The Pembles are a family of Sangretta, and as such, are men who have benefited much from trade and commerce, especially in these new lands. Indeed, the family’s greatest wealth has been built upon the mining and sale of mystra, and they own one of the largest mines in the region, located a few hours from Port Rivia by boat. 

But he sees himself also as having a responsibility to return largesse to the local community, through employing coastal elves in the mines, and, indeed, financing good works like the school we visited earlier.  

He also asks us about ourselves and why we are in Port Rivia. Quentin deflects the question adroitly, citing our employer’s need for discretion. The Duke seems to accept this explanation.

Eventually, it is time for the evening’s entertainment, and the Pembles have asked us to perform. Rising up to the challenge, Quentin summons his quill and conjures a magical – and very flattering – mural of Duke Pemble surrounded by singing elven children, standing in front of a beautiful school building, that seems to coalesce in stages from abstract to real. Karlai contributes an aural backdrop of the scene, using thaumaturgy to evoke the angelic choruses of singing children and the tolling of school bells. 

The Pembles appear very taken by the performance. The senior Duke sits in stoic appreciation, while the younger Robert weeps in approbation at this vision of the Pembles’ good works made tangible in art.

Sharky wonders if he should take the opportunity to pilfer some minor trinkets from the room while the Pembles are distracted by the performance, but decides against it. 

Following the entertainment, the room empties out and we are left with the Pembles in the room. It is clear that, despite everything, they are disturbed by something, and it seems that our time together has convinced them that we can be trusted with this burden. 

The Duke is concerned because there has been unrest amongst the coastal elf population – despite all the good works that his family has done – and he is at a loss as to why. In addition, shipments of the precious ore have disappeared en route to warehouses; and mines are suffering mysterious collapses. Sangretta has long maintained a delicate balance with the Orc kingdom, paying the King his tithe of the profits in return for mining rights. But with these new troubles, Sangretta has not been able to pay the King his due, which has made Hunapu Hōte very displeased – and this is not an enviable position for Sangretta to be in.

Eventually, the intent is made bare – they would like our party to investigate the situation that night – most particularly, in the Pembles’ Mystra mine. Payment will, of course, be made. The team deliberates, and, in the interests of earning some extra side income – accepts.

On our way out of the manor, Quentin nabs a few more canapes from the servants, and sends the now-freshened up Laiwa to the boat to inform the rest of the party of what has transpired and where we are going. 

In the dead of night…

We sail to the mines on a small skipper, the full moon overhead and reflected on the waters. As we arrive at the small jetty, we realise how difficult it must be to navigate large ships from the ports to the mines. 

Ever cautious, we proceed slowly, alert to any signs of danger. Karlai sends out his familiar to scout ahead. As we inch closer to the mine’s entrance, however, we hear a commotion. Through the familiar, we see that there is a fight going down between the Sangretta guards and the coastal elf miners. The elves brandish makeshift spears and pickaxes, though some are casting furious magics on the battlefield. The Sangretta guards, massively outnumbered and pinned down, shoot back with newfangled arquebuses that charge and spit globs of magical missiles, but they are slowly being overwhelmed.

We decide to hang back and wait for events to play out. 

Shortly, the battle is done and the Sangretta guards have all perished to a man. The elves begin to drag and position their bodies, for purposes that we are unable to divine. Eventually, their work done, all the elves disappear back into the mine save for two guards. 

We decide to take a peaceful approach, relying on Quentin’s charismatic powers and waltz into the camp, saying that we are the mercenaries who freed their comrades from Makutu-Mate, here to bring tidings on behalf of Vesomir. The elves, suspicious, call out:

“What time does the tide come in tonight?”

It is clearly some sort of code, but one that we are not privy to. Quentin tries to dissemble and deflect, but even his powers of persuasion fail to convince the elves of our peaceful intentions. The elves whisper together, and we hear only the one word – “run” – before one elf charges at us while the other rushes into the mines.

Quentin dashes in to intercept the running elf while Karlai conjures a web to trap him, but the elf manages to tear himself free and disappear into the depths of the mines. Meanwhile, we are caught up in fighting the other elf. We try to capture him alive, but in the heat of battle, Karlai’s Mind Sliver spell worms its way into the weakened elf and causes him to expire and deflate into a seething mass of black psychic parasites. 

After the fight ends, we inspect what’s left of the body – and discover that it has been tattooed with a distinctive sigil – one we had also seen on the bodies of the coastal elves that we had freed on Makutu-Mate. But the elf himself is not anyone we have seen before.

Coastal Elven Tattoo Marking

We make the decision to investigate further, entering the mines behind our elf runner. We opt to continue our open and friendly approach. To convince the elves that we are not hostile (notwithstanding the combat fatality), Quentin calls out for parlay. 

But there is no one left in the dank, dripping mines save the corpses of Sangretta guards. The elves have simply disappeared. 

As we prowl through the twisting tunnels, we start to see objects stuck all over the walls. A quick inspection suggests that they are explosive in nature. 

Filled with an increasing sense of foreboding, Karlai sends his familiar down a tunnel emanating a faint blue light – and discovers a vast grotto filled with barrels and pulsing veins of Mystra. Hanging in the centre of the grotto is a rope that leads up into a hole in the ceiling – one that opens up into the surface. And as we survey the scene we spot the last few elves frantically climbing their way out of the cave.

The realisation dawns – they are going to blow the mines. Turning tail, we run as fast as we can out of the mines. As we clear the entrance and emerge into the moonlight we hear an awful rumble behind us – one that grows closer and closer until we are enveloped in a cloud of dust. As we turn back to look, we see that the entire hillside has collapsed, sealing the mine. 

Shocked, we consider our options. We intend to report an abbreviated version of what has happened to the Pembles, but we also need to ensure that we do not jeopardise our employer’s mysterious connection to these coastal elves. And for that, evidence of our activities in this mine should be disposed of. Grimly, Karlai casts a fireball and burns the body of the elf we killed. Then we cart his ashes to the shore and dump it into the sea.

Arriving back at Pemble’s manor, we tell the Duke that the mine was sabotaged and had collapsed by the time we arrived, and that there were no Sangretta guards left alive, as far as we can tell. It seems to us, we say, like an escalation, and that there is likely no way of working together with the perpetrators. And we feel certain that Mystra is involved in the centre of it all. 

Pemble thanks us for our service and leaves after assuring us of our payment, saying that he must make some preparations. Sangretta has lost their biggest Mystra mine in the Port Rivia region, and this will change the balance of power with the sea orcs.

As we leave the manor, we see Sangretta guards rushing in. Heading back to the main port, we prepare to end our shore leave and meet Vesomir for our next assignment.

Mysteries

1. Why do the coastal elves want to disrupt mystra supply?
2. What is the significance of the totems?

INTERLUDE

DM notes

Character Downtime

The following things take place for all characters on their first full day in Port Rivia:

	Arithmus Contador	I want to talk to locals to find out more about the Orc King Counselor. The idea is to compare and contrast the information we are getting from our employer. You speak to some of the locals around Port Rivia’s city centre. Some of the friendlier Sea Orcs share some interesting information about the Counsellor’s identity, her background and her relationship with the King.You gain some Insight bonuses from your encounter with Vesomir (see below).For session 2, you will also gain advantage for any History checks involving Sea Orc politics.
	Fiern	I went out looking for a nice meal You have some fresh seafood from the port.For Session 2, you gain +5 temporary HP. You also gain Advantage for the next Saving Throw you make. In your evening prayers to Eldath, you also reflect on the events that transpired in Session 0. She bestows a sliver of her divine wisdom to one of her most loyal supplicants. You add the Brassard of the Meek to your inventory
	Yaygor	I went out looking for a nice meal You sample some spiced meats at the nearest local market. For Session 2, you gain +5 Temporary HP. You also gain Advantage for the next Saving Throw you make.
	Sharky Steelsmeth	I went out looking exploring Port Rivia You gained some valuable information about the Sangretta’s operations here in O’Shude, and bear witness to an act of overt sabotage from a faction of Coastal Elven rebels. As a token of gratitude from the Pemble family, you are given a small giftYou add Pemble’s Shield to your inventory You reflect on the events that transpired in Session 1. Maybe it was due to your proximity to Mystra, or your witness to the Coastal Elves up close. Either way, a new power has awakened within your scimitar.You add Moon Sabre to your inventory
	Karlai	I went out looking exploring Port Rivia You gained some valuable information about the Sangretta’s operations here in O’Shude, and bear witness to an act of overt sabotage from a faction of Coastal Elven rebels. From the mangled body of the Sangretta Foreman outside the mine, you loot some magic scrolls. After a quick bit of translation and research (maybe a bit of experimentation on your own), you develop your own notes and formulas for  these new spells and scrawl them into your Spellbook.You add the following spells to your spellbook: Earth Tremor, Feather Fall, Darkvision, Earthbind, Maximilian’s Earthen Grasp, Erupting Earth
	Quentin	I went out looking exploring Port Rivia You gained some valuable information about the Sangretta’s operations here in O’Shude, and bear witness to an act of overt sabotage from a faction of Coastal Elven rebels.To be revealed
	Maturin	I went looking for the nearest Temple of Thassa, seeking answers about the magical hammer To be revealed
	Thaid	???

Answers from Vesomir

Vesomir arranges a meeting with the players in the morning of the second day. All are present, except for Maturin (who has decided to extend her shore leave to pursue a personal matter) and also Karlai, Sharky and Quentin (who arrive too late due to their side-adventure the night before).

The party has set-up temporary lodgings in an abandoned inn sourced by Vesomir. After a good night’s rest, they wake up at early dawn and prepare to meet with the High Elven Emissary, hoping to get updates on their contract, and some long-awaited answers about their mission in Port Rivia. Vesomir addresses the players first by thanking them for their patience, and for their assistance and cooperation at Makutu-Mate. He shares that the High Elven Empire has petitioned the King to allow the Explorer’s Guild to establish a more permanent presence in O’Shude, and that an outpost here in Port Rivia would benefit all parties with a steady flow of seasoned adventurers (and of course, gold). He produces the deed of the abandoned inn and hands it over to the party, smiling as he does so: “Congratulations. You’ve just founded the Explorer Guild’s first chapter in the New Continent.”. What can you tell us about our mission here in Port Rivia? Vesomir apologies for being secretive about the first mission, explaining that the situation was diplomatically precarious: “the High Elven Empire cannot appear as taking any sides or directly interfering in the domestic situation here in Port Rivia”. Understandably, this was a delicate line to tread, given that their overarching goal in Port Rivia was to investigate and uncover any Sangretta rights abuses, and ensure the overall well-being of all of the sentient races and communities in Port Rivia. He shares a bit more context about how the Sangretta has been violently suppressing any information about their violence and abuses from leaving the continent, but that the Empire was petitioned by some of the locals here to intervene. In the absence of any verifiable information to take such a drastic call, they first had to ensure that there was irrefutable evidence of Sangretta wrongdoing, and that their presence within Port Rivia was on more solid ground. Otherwise, they could spark off a diplomatic incident; possibly even escalations to a full out war. What can you tell us about the Coastal Elves we freed from the prison? The Sangretta’s history of abuse in O’Shude has sowed the seeds of their own destruction. A fledgling freedom fighter movement, known as the Three Moon Resistance, have emerged and are behind some of the latest guerilla attacks on Sangretta-controlled mines.  The leader of the Three Moons, Amir, was the very man that we rescued from the prison. As a prominent voice speaking out about the Sangretta’s violence within the mines, and also a victim of their suppression tactics, it was deemed important to liberate him and the other political prisoners. What can you tell me about the Orc King’s counsellor? What is your relationship with him?  “You must be referring to Counsellor Ulani”, Vesomir notes wryly. “Well spotted”. He explains that the Three Moon Resistance has not only grown in popularity amongst the Coastal Elves, but also amongst the other races in Port Rivia who have grown incredibly uncomfortable with their plight. Counsellor Ulani, he explains, is unlike most of the Orcs who sit on and around the throne, who have gotten so used to the Sangretta status quo that they are blinded to the ruptures happening before their eyes. “She’s been a key ally of the Three Moon Resistance. Behind the scenes of course” [Arithmus’ interactions with locals has given him some important information about the relationship between Hunapu and Ulani. Does he choose to share this with the party in this moment?] He explains that a person sympathetic to the Coastal Elven within the King’s royal circle has been helpful in multiple ways. She was the one who convinced the King to invite the High Elven diplomats. She was also the one who saved Amir’s life by petitioning for High Elven help in the prison break.  [Arithmus’ interactions with the locals reveals how the Orcish people view Ulani. While Hunapu has their respect as leader, Ulani has their hearts. She is known through the people as being compassionate, adept at finding compromise, and resolving conflicts] What can you tell us about Sea Orcs here outside of the port?  “The Orc tribes outside of Port Rivia are fiercely independent. Stubborn, unyielding, orthodox. Uniting under the banner of Hunapu says a lot about the kind of leader he is”, Vesomir muses. He’s not very well versed about Orcish politics, other than what he has read about in second-hand accounts. All he knows is that while all of the tribes recognise Hunapu as sovereign ruler, not all participate in the Mystral economy and welcome the Sangretta. Some tribes have slowly yielded to the allure of coin; the more staunch traditionalists reject any changes to their way of life.

The meeting with Vesomir ends with a reminder: “Our goal remains to document the abuses and establish a case for diplomatic intervention. And, should a crisis emerge in the coming days, to offer critical assistance to the people here.”

He asks you to lie low while he gathers some additional intelligence. He tells the adventurers to await further instructions from him, via his Kestrel familiar.

SESSION 2

Scribe: Colin
DM: Clement 

Present at Session 2	Absent at Session 2

After the meeting with Vesomir, the party regroups at the newly-established Explorers’ Guild hall in Port Rivia – an abandoned building in the outskirts of town that now serves as our headquarters. Outside, a raucous squall obscures the setting sun’s light, casting a watery pall over the city. Karlai, Quentin and Sharkey share their experiences at the mine, and speculate on the intentions of their employer.

The Kestrel

In the midst of conversation, Vesomir’s kestrel familiar flies in through the window. To everyone’s surprise, its eyes start to glow, emanating an image of Vesomir onto a nearby wall – a mago-technological innovation none of us have ever seen. The Vesomir-image starts speaking.

“The situation in Port Rivia has just erupted into crisis,” the image says without preamble. “I’ve just received word that Sangretta are rounding up the coastal elves, looking for the perpetrators of the latest sabotage. I must sail back to the Empire to gather reinforcements.

“In the meantime, I have a job for you. Meet Counsellor Ulani, our liaison with the Orc Kingdom, at the stables near your guild building. She will tell you what you need to do.

“One more thing: My kestrel has brought a small something for Amir, our friend from the island. When you meet him, I’d be very obliged if you could pass it on.

“My kestrel will watch over you while I’m away.” The ghostly Vesomir smiles wanly. “I trust you’ll find her useful.”

With that, the image flickers out. The kestrel comes back to life, and, using its beak, unfastens a harness on its back holding a slim, weatherbeaten tome, which clatters onto the table. 

Arithmus picks it up and opens it at a random page. Dense, runic script covers the book – one he cannot decipher. Wordlessly, he passes it to Yaygor, who, muttering, runs his gnomish hands over it to check for hidden compartments, or mechanisms. There is none he can divine. 

It’s Karlai’s turn to study the book. He recognizes that the runes are actually an ancient form of the script currently used by the High Elven Empire, but written in a form of Old Elvish so archaic as to be another language entirely. Thinking that he may have some time to study the tome later, he tucks it in one of his robe’s voluminous pockets.

The Tome

Without much ado, the group trudges to the stables under the pattering tropical rain. There, a slim, hooded figure awaits, flanked on either side by two hulking palace guards. The figure looks up, and we see that it is Counsellor Ulani. She beckons us to enter the stable, where a horse-drawn carriage awaits, and asks us to enter. We all do so, except Yaygor, who, electing himself to first watch duty, sits on the driver’s seat, in between Ulani’s henchmen. The kestrel, which has been following closely, flutters over to perch on his head.

Counsellor Ulani

As the carriage starts to move, Ulani removes her cloak. “I apologise for the rush,” she says. “I am not sure what our mutual friend has already told you , but there is an urgent crisis that I need help with.”

“We’re bound for Akkamu’s Bay, the home of Akkamu’s tribe. You may have heard about what happened to Sangretta’s mines. Well, the bay provides the sole maritime access to the last remaining known untapped mystra reserve in the kingdom, and the Sangretta are champing at the bit to open it up, so that the supply of mystra can continue to flow.

“They are sending a contingent of Sangretta troops to secure the site as we speak. Akkamu’s tribe are proud isolationists who have, till now, repeatedly denied Sangrettas’ overtures to grant access to the area. But Sangretta is desperate now. I fear they will no longer be as diplomatic this time. We must get there before Sangretta does, so we can manage the situation to our advantage.”

It is an oblique statement. The party casts glances at each other, unsure what exactly Ulani means by “managing” the situation, the nature of her liaison with Vesomir, or, indeed, what her ultimate objectives are. 

We ask why she has chosen to work with Vesomir, an agent of an outside authority, to manage the situation. 

“Sea orcs and coastal elves have always lived in harmony here in O’shude,” she replies, not answering the question. “But ever since King Hunapu united the scattered tribes and opened up the mystral trade to Sangretta, this relationship has changed, and not for the better.”

“I’ve witnessed Sangretta’s attitude towards the coastal elves. They trumpet their contributions to the coastal elf community, but the way they treat them, in the mines? Working them to the bone to dredge mystra from ever deeper depths, heedless of the risks. I’ve seen what extreme mystra exposure does, even to coastal elves, with their natural resistance. Accidents are common, because Sangretta won’t deign to invest in safety equipment. I’ve seen the bodies of elves killed in mystral explosions, skin erupting in festering blisters, piled up in charnel houses. Their families never see them again, and all they get in return is a standard letter of condolence and a few silver pieces. Any elf who objects to their treatment, they imprison on trumped-up charges.”

She sighs. “With Vesomir, I have been doing what I can quietly to help the elves, but I had no idea that their Three Moons … group … had escalated to committing active acts of sabotage. This has greatly complicated things, and sped up our schedule.” She spreads her hands. “And that is why we are here.”

Fiern is the first to ask the question still on our minds. “So what does this all have to do with Akkamu’s Bay? What are we hoping to accomplish there?” she asks.

Ulani considers her words carefully before replying. “Of late, King Hunapu has not been … receptive to my counsel,” she says. “He has come to greatly value the wealth Sangretta has brought to the kingdom’s coffers. Perhaps too much. In doing so, he ignores the plight of his subjects to his, and our kingdom’s, peril.

“Akkamu is an important voice on the tribal council, who elected Hunapu as King during the founding days of our kingdom. I am hoping that if we help him through this crisis, he will be a voice of reason that can set our kingdom back on the right path.”

“And if the King doesn’t relent?”

“Then,” Ulani says with care, “the tribal council, who chose him as King, may choose another.”

We wonder if Ulani, sister to the King, means herself. 

***

As we near the end of our two-hour journey, another doubt starts to coalesce in our minds, which is what Vesomir, and the High Elven Empire – our employers – hope to gain by involving themselves in this situation. But care must be taken in these investigations. 

Arithmus sends a telepathic message to Yaygor to distract the kestrel. With typical gnomish derring-do, Yaygor obliges, clambering up to the top of the caravan, kestrel in tow.

With that done, Arithmus turns to Ulani. “Counselor, what exactly have you promised Vesomir in return for his help?”

“Vesomir is an elf,” Ulani says, affecting surprise. “Would he not leap at the chance to improve the lives of his fellow elves? As representative of a powerful Elven empire, he provides a conduit to gather support for the legitimacy of the elvish grievances against Sangretta.”

Arithmus’ eyes blaze. “I’m not sure if you’re pretending naivete, counselor,” he says coldly. “Do you expect that he is doing this out of charity?”

“Truly, Abacus, your moniker is well-earned,” Ulani replies, chuckling. “You need not worry that I am blind to venality. Vesomir has his agenda, and I have mine. Of course, he wishes a piece of the mystral trade for his Empire. That is well. With another player to check Sangretta’s dominance, and one that I have ties with, the coastal elves’ lot will be bettered. Vesomir can get his cut, our nation will not be mired in rebellion, and our coffers will continue to grow.” 

We reflect on this with varying levels of skepticism. For what it’s worth, we believe Ulani to be sincere in her regard for the elves’ plight, but uncertain if her stratagem will work, economically.

Finally, the carriage jolts to a halt. “We’re here,” Ulani says. Drawing her hood up, she exits the carriage. We follow.

It’s midnight. A waning gibbous moon glows over the sky. A cool sea breeze rustles the pale-lit grass underfoot. Before us stretches out a field of thatch huts at the edge of a long, sandy beach. 

Chieftain Akkamu

A figure emerges from one of the bigger huts. His face is lined and weathered, but the way he carries himself speaks of old martial glories. “Counselor,” he rumbles in a gravelly baritone. “Have you come as Ulani, or as Hand of the King?”

“I have come on my own, Chief Akkamu,” Ulani replies. “I bring grim tidings.” She proceeds to explain that Sangretta is coming to seize the bay, and that she has come here with some security, gesturing vaguely at us, to ensure events do not get out of hand. 

Akkamu’s face is stone. “We will handle this,” he grates. He seems annoyed by Ulani, and has little to say, but notices us. 

Yaygor approaches Akkamu and tries to speak to him in Thieves’ Cant. But Akkamu merely looks confused and leaves, ducking back into his hut. 

Arithmus asks Ulani where she expects the Sangretta to come from. “Like as not they will approach from both sea and land, in numbers,” Ulani replies. “I expect, however, that they will not expect resistance or a fight. They will seek to intimidate, and present an offer that Akkamu cannot refuse. Akkamu was a proud warrior in his time, and if he takes insult, he will resist. 

“But times have changed,” Ulani continues. “The Sangretta have mystra-powered guns now. They will come, wave after wave, unrelenting. If Akkamu and his tribe stand alone against them, they will be destroyed.

“This is where we come in. They will not be expecting us here. We must confront them from strength as well, and stare them down.” 

Our team, sensing some frostiness between Akkamu and Ulani, decide to speak to him alone. Ducking into the Grand Hut, we see the grizzled chieftain conferring with two of his warriors. Arithmus speaks. 

“Chieftain Akkamu, if we may – pardon our odd interlocution earlier. Perhaps a do-over is appropriate. We are from the Explorers’ Guild,” Arithmus says, introducing each of us in turn. “Our mission here,” he continues, “is to help you deal with the Sangretta incursion, in as bloodless a fashion as possible. We wish to understand where your heart lies on this matter.”

Akkamu sighs. “What choice do I have, outsiders?” he says. “The esteemed counselor outside thinks me impetuous enough to challenge the preening caw-caws. But I am not as I once was. If we resist, we will be crushed. The King has too many Sangretta ducats in his eyes; he will not come. As much as I and my brothers mislike giving outsiders passage to our ancestral lands, it is preferable to extinction.”  

“So you will capitulate?”

“I have not, in truth, decided,” Akkamu says. “Only when the Sangretta reach our gates will I decide. Until then, we will continue to sharpen our spears.”

“The counselor suggests that we add our strength to yours, and stand in force against them.”

“We cannot defeat them decisively this day.” Akkamu paces to the table, and studies a map. “We are exposed, outnumbered and our spears cannot match their guns. At best, it will be a holding action while the rest of our people flee into the heartlands.

“I know what the counselor intends. She has been coy with you about her design, yes?” We nod. “I have known her for years. She keeps her counsel close, a habit no doubt forged by the pressures at the Court of Sacred Shoals. She knows no resistance is possible without the tribes united.  She wishes to force a retreat, and rally the chieftains with this outrage to force a vote to unseat Hunapu and install a new sovereign, who will then have the combined strength and will of the tribes to renegotiate our position with Sangretta in strength.

“To be clear, I am not averse to this course of action in theory,” he continues. “However, I am as yet uncertain about whether her plan will bear fruit. I do not know if she has marshaled enough of the chieftains to force a vote. I do not know if there is consensus on who the next King – or Queen – will be.

“We chose Hunapu because in his heyday, he was the strongest of us. He slew five other chieftains in single combat, and alone hurled the Sacred Heartwood into the fires of Mount Shakura, sating it for the next thousand years. But since then, we have grown flabby and soft suckling on Sangretta’s teat. I do not think there is any chieftain today who can equal those feats of old. 

“And so, I have not decided if I will play along with her plan. I will not shed the blood of my tribespeople on a hypothetical. But perhaps, outsiders,” he muses, eyeing us, “you have some ideas?”

“It turns out that we do, Chieftain,” Arithmus says. He paces over to the map, and stabs a finger at the mystra mine. “All Sangretta cares about is this. Not your tribe. We control the mine, we control the conversation.”

“So, Chieftain,” he continues, “our counsel is this. Let Sangretta pass through your lands. Offer no resistance. We will head to the mines, fortify them, and make ready to defend them. It will be our bargaining chip to force concessions. If need be, we will destroy it. That way, the lands will have no value for Sangretta and they will have to focus their efforts on locating other sources of the mystra. They will leave you alone.”

Akammu considers this a moment, then nods. “You speak with wisdom. We have a saying: you can struggle on the sands to reach water, or you can wait for the tide to come. 

“Perhaps it is better to bend with the wind to withstand the storm. We will go with your suggestion, and wait for events to transpire. I will relate this to my people.” He sighs. “May my ancestors forgive me for allowing this trespass.”

“Will the people abide by your decision?” Arithmus asks, sharply.

Akkamu’s rheumy eyes flash momentarily clear. “Some hotheads may quail,” he says. “But I am yet chieftain. My tribe will follow.”

***

Having succeeded in persuading Akammu, we emerge from the tent. Ulani is standing outside. She asks what has transpired. Yaygor tells Ulani that we are going to head to the mine and secure it against Sangretta. 

Ulani is shocked. “You cannot be serious!” she exclaims. “You cannot hold the mines hostage! There is too much risk that we will destroy any access to the last of our mystra! That is the key to preserving the balance of powers in the region!” 

Heedless of her frenzied objections, we trudge by her, and begin the trek to the mines. Thaid takes a leap and transforms into an owl. Soaring up, he joins the circling kestrel in scouting up from a position of vantage. In the distance, they spy the silhouette of Sangretta ships sailing closer to the bay, and columns of horses approaching on the road. 

They are coming.

Twenty minutes later…

We reach a clearing at the entrance of the mines. The tunnel to the mystra-laden cave is prominent. But as we take stock of the area, we suddenly notice that we are surrounded by seven coastal elves. One of them steps forward. It is Amir. He raises a sabre and points it at us, but lowers it upon recognizing Yaygor. 

“Hail, friends,” he says, coming close and slapping Yaygor on the shoulder. “I hope that Vesomir has relayed the delicacy of our situation”, he says. “My scouts inform me that Sangretta is on the way to this shrine.” He smiles. “As we had hoped.”

“Now, one final piece remains. Do you have the Tome of Translation?”

It is at this point, when Amir asks for the book, that we realise the extent of Vesomir’s machinations. Despite our mistrust of our secretive employer, he has managed to manipulate and maneuver us to these caves, somehow knowing that, despite loaning our services to Ulani, we would reject her suggestion to stand and fight at Akammu’s Bay. 

Desperate to reserve some advantage, Arithmus quickly denies that we have the book.

Amir believes Arithmus, but is nonplussed. “I thought Vesomir would have…” he begins. “It will take much longer without the Tome.” 

Guardedly, we ask him what he intends to do here. Amir looks at us suspiciously. “If you are not here to pass me the Tome, what are you here for?”

Cursing Vesomir inwardly for his reticence, we reply that our intention is to hold the mine as a bargaining chip against Sangretta, and destroy it if necessary.

Amir nods. “That is our backup plan, yes. But it is a stopgap measure. Eventually, the collapsed shrines can be dug out. We need something more permanent…a final solution, if you will. A way to ensure they will never bother us again. 

“The Tome is the key. To awakening the shrine.” His eyes narrow. “I ask again, does one of you have it? Do you know where it is?”

We continue to stall for a bit. “What do you mean by awakening?” Karlai asks. “And why did you call these mines ‘shrines’?”

“You have given me no reason to trust you. Why should I tell you?” Amir barks. “I will not ask again. Do you have the Tome? If not, leave this place. Because I owe you my life, I will not order you killed.”

We look at each other. Bereft of any other good options, Karlai fishes the book out of his pocket and hands it to Amir.

“Thank you,” Amir says wryly. He opens the book and pores attentively through its contents. 

“This is it. This is what we need. I do not know what that show of ignorance just now was about, but I will let it pass because time is short.”

“Now, answers.” He closes the book and motions for us to follow him. “You asked why I need this Tome. It translates an ancient High Elven incantation that when read, will awaken this Shrine, to invoke the Guardian of the Moon Goddess, praise be to Her.” At this, Amir places three fingers upon his chest in an almost reflexive gesture of piety. The Guardian will protect the shrines, ensure that none but the Elves – those closest to the glory of the Goddess, praise be to Her – will be able to withstand its, shall we say,  volatile effects.”

We recall the lightnings that possessed the guards on Makutu-Mate, and shiver.

“I have been working with Vesomir to find a way to invoke this sacred protection, and he has provided me with the means by which we will do so. It is a day coastal elves have awaited for a very long time,” he whispers. “The ‘Time of Conjunction’ when the ‘estranged of the Goddess – praise be to Her – meet, and summon the Guardian from its cave’, as relayed in our prophecies. No more of our sacred mystra will be stolen from us.” 

This is at odds with Ulani’s theory that the High Elven Empire is in it for a cut of the mystral trade. We ask why Amir thinks that Vesomir and the High Elven Empire are helping them with this. 

Amir looks at us with luminous eyes. “Why, you ask? There is no ‘why’. This is a day long foretold. Vesomir is the vessel of the Goddess, praise be to Her, and when he came to our shores I was shown what that meant. Do you doubt Her design? When you are standing here, and I have the Tome in my hand!” His rich laughter reverberates through the tunnel. “Come along, you vessels of the Goddess, praise be to Her! Behold the inner shrine, and let your doubts cease!” 

As he shouts this, we crest a final ridge and emerge into a vast, deep cavern, brilliantly lit by pulsing veins of mystra – more than we have ever seen in one place. At its center stands a gigantic node of pure blue mystra; at its feet, a shimmering pool of azure liquid – a liquid whose sweet, floral smell reminds us of the bottles we filched at Makutu-Mate.

The Mystra Cavern

Arithmus quickly checks for ways to exit but finds none. “What is going to happen here?” He asks Amir.

“I will go to the central shrine and read out the incantation. We will awaken the Guardian, but it is said we will have to first show it that we are worthy.” Amir gives us each a searching look.  

“We will have to master it in combat.” 

We look at each other, shrug, and set to preparations. There is going to be a battle, after all. 

A short rest later…

It is time. 

Amir strips off, wraps the Tome in his raiment, and dives into the azure lake, swimming to the center of the cavern with Tome held aloft and dry in one hand. Reaching the crystal island, he unwraps the book and begins to intone at a fast but sonorous clip. The huge mystra crystal starts glows an iridescent blue, and there is a thrum that crescendos into a high-pitched trill. There is a blinding light, and we find ourselves transported to an ethereal plane suspended in an inky void.

It comprises two giant floating slabs of earth and crystal floating in space, connected by tenuous crystal bridges. We stand on one island. On the other, a giant crystalline dragon slumbers. A glow pulses from its chest, like a beating heart.  It must be the Ancient Guardian that Amir spoke of. Around it are massive pillars of mystra, pulsing in tandem to the Guardian’s glow.

The Ancient Guardian

Amir’s disembodied voice echoes in the chamber. “Listen, vessels!” he says. “Tame the Guardian! Master it in combat! Don’t kill it!” 

The slumbering crystal dragon seems unperturbed by the yelling. 

Yaygor sneaks up to one of the columns and inspects it. The columns do not appear to be harmful. He takes out a knife and tries to chip off a sliver, but the columns are hard as diamond. Boldly, he sneaks ever closer to the dragon to discover any weaknesses. But he steps on a piece of crystal and it shatters.

The dragon awakens and roars, sounding like a set of  very aggressive wind chimes. The fight ensues.

It is a tough one. The dragon’s powerful claws and tail make short work of anyone close enough to be in range, but it also has the ability to create crystal illusions of itself and breathe cones of pure energetic destruction.

Its diamond-hard crystalline exterior also makes it extremely damage resistant. 

But we discover that when it is injured, it disappears, and cocoons appear on a number of mystra pillars. Each time it does this, we refocus our efforts to target the cocoons, and destroy them one by one before the dragon can reemerge. Each time we destroy all the cocoons, the dragon re-appears, looking much worse for wear, its scales dulled and many shattered.

This goes on for a while, but eventually the dragon disappears one last time, transforming into cocoons all around us – more than we can count. Frantically, we blast magical energies about, and whittle the cocoons down to one. And just as that cocoon starts to split open, revealing whatever horror lurks inside, Karlai blasts an Erupting Earth spell that seizes the cocoon in a giant fist of rocks and dirt and squeezes, crushing it. 

The dragon reappears and collapses onto the ground, spent. And then, something wondrous happens. All around it, crystals glow brighter and seem to blossom into fantastic forms, creating a bloom of luminescence that envelops us in whiteness, growing brighter and brighter until our minds flee into oblivion and we know nothing more.

INTERLUDE

DM notes

The following things take place for the following characters as they recover consciousness from the battle with the crystal dragon:

	Sharky Steelsmeth and Arithmus Contador	You wake up after defeating the crystal dragon and you are back in the cave with the luminous tree. The Abacus is shaking you awake. He has seen a shape emerge from the tree and disappear further into the cave. Without waiting for the rest you speed down the tunnels in pursuit.
	Karlai	You are woken up by Vesomir’s kestrel gently pecking your head. You are in the garden. As you come to, it whispers in your ear: “If you are receiving this message, then Amir was successful in his mission. However, if this is true, then Amir can no longer be trusted with this power. I need you to make sure that he does not hold on to the book or make any copies of it. Whether he lives or dies, at this point, is not important. Be careful. There is a traitor in your party who is working with the coastal elves. Use this to help you.” The kestrel coughs up a small ring. It is a wish ring (1 charge)
	Thaid	The kestrel is on your shoulder. It whispers in your ear: “Be careful. There is a traitor in your party who is working with the orcs.”

SESSION 3

Scribe: Jay (and a ghost writer)
DM: Alf

Present at Session 3	Absent at Session 3

The Garden and the Tree

The battle is done, and we slowly reawaken in the cavern. But it has been utterly transformed. In place of the crystal tower, there is a vast tree festooned with bulbs of blue-glowing fruit, and all around us, tendrilled plants sway gently, caressed by unseen currents, pulsing with luminescence. All around the base of the tree, the elves are wrapped up in throes of rapturous worship.

Karlai, who is the first to awaken, looks around to take stock of his party members. All are still supine, but are starting to get up one after another. But Arithmus and Sharkey have disappeared. 

Yaygor is next to get up. His eyes fly open and he sees the elves worshiping the tree. Groggily seized with a desire for self-preservation, he  clambers to the tree and starts imitating the worshippers, silently but frantically beckoning us to do the same. 

Nobody moves to follow.

We look around for the Tome of Translation, and find it on the ground next to Amir. Finishing his genuflections, he rises and plucks a mystral fruit hanging from the tree. All around the elves follow suit. Amir raises the fruit aloft and issues a final sonorous chant, and at this cue, all the elves begin to bite into their fruit, electric blue juices running down their chins. As they do so, their eyes start to turn mystral blue. 

We approach Amir, who has finished his fruit and is licking his fingers clean with evident enjoyment. 

Fiern speaks first. “What’s happening here? What are you doing?” 

“We are taking in the Goddess’s power, praise be to Her,” Amir replies. “As you can see, there was a minor issue with my translation. The invocation was not to summon a guardian for the shrines, but to give us, the Elect of the Goddess, a garden where we may harvest the power to guard them ourselves. A power, I might add, that only we, the Elect, may partake.

“Well, perhaps I should have known from the start,” he muses, regarding the tree. “It certainly makes more sense that the Goddess, in Her wisdom, would want us to help ourselves.”

He turns back to us and frowns. “Where are your friends? The halfblood bean counter and the metal-clad dwarf?” 

We shrug, as confused as he is about their disappearance. “No matter,” Amir says. “Perhaps the Goddess keeps them with Her for Her purposes.” 

We ask Amir what he will do with his newfound power. 

“Why, use it to drive the Sangretta out of these lands, of course!” Amir says, grinning. 

“And then what?” Thaid asks.

“And then we will build a fairer and more just society for all who call O’Shude home,” Amir says. “All we want is for everyone, elven and orcish alike, to live in peace, under the Goddess.”

We mull what form such a peace might take.

“Now that this Garden has been secured, we will be leaving to open up the others, using the same method,” Amir says. “Your help today was invaluable. And I know you want to help us end the oppression. Can I count on your help to secure the other Gardens?”

We ask for some time to think about what to do. 

“Of course,” Amir says, after a beat. “But best not tarry – time is short.” With that, he starts jogging off ahead, his movements swift and charged with mystral vitality. 

We, too, start trudging toward the cavern exit, but at a more sedate pace. 

Yaygor, who had wandered away from the group for a spell, runs back towards us. Puffing with evident exertion, he emits a small burp that sends a mist of blue-speckled particles into the air.

We frown and ask where Yaygor went, but he evades the question. 

We’re about to clamber out of the exit when one of the elves guarding the entrance explodes in an electric shower of gibbets. 

A fusillade of mystral missiles shatters the silence, carving glowing holes in the sides of the cave. A tightly packed squad of Sangretta musketeers emerges into the glade, guns raised and pulsing with energy. 

Behind them, we spy Quentin and a bound Ulani amongst the troop. Seeing us clustered at the business end of the Sangretta muskets, he swiftly conjures up a Hypnotic Pattern spell that catches the massed Sangretta troop unawares from behind, causing them to see riotous colours in their field of vision, in tantalisingly bewitching hues that enrapture and enthrall them into compliant catatonia.

Using this distraction, we follow the elves in making our escape. As a parting shot, Quentin convinces the charmed Sangretta troops to link arms and dance a merry jig. We free Ulani from her bindings and she follows us.

As we run through the jungle, a winged goldfish emerges from the trees, followed immediately by Maturin, who sees us. With a quick gesture she makes the bewinged fish disappear. 

Maturin’s animal guide, N’amor	The more obvious solution in retrospect:

After a couple hours of bashing through the dense foliage, we emerge at a coastal elf hideout – a cluster of huts around a hot spring. Eucalyptus trees waft their scent around the clearing, and tiny statues with glowing mystra cast a pleasing glow on the wooden planks that crisscross pools of steaming blue-green water.

“We chose this place for its obvious benefits,” says Amir. “We will stay here tonight. Have your pick of the huts. Take a bath in the springs – Goddess knows we need it.” His nose wrinkles. “And think well of your next steps. I will tolerate no further delays. Tell me by dawn if you will follow or depart, so we can make our own arrangements.” 

With this, he turns and leaves. 

We settle in, agreeing to rendezvous for a party conclave at the springs. 

Half an hour later…

As we luxuriate in the steaming hot water, Quentin tells us his story…

As we’d agreed, I’d stayed behind, Quentin said,  to keep an eye out in Port Rivia, but Rob – er, Lord Pemble – had asked me to accompany a contingent of troops to secure what he had been told was an unoccupied mine.  But when we arrived at the bay, we saw that there were orcs around. The Sangretta commander… he didn’t attempt a parlay, or even threaten them. He just ordered his men to fan out and subdue the Akkamu orcs, killing the adult warriors and rounding up the children. I was in shock. I went up to the commander screaming for him to stop, but he just brandished an edict bearing the royal seal. I read it. It said…that Hunapu had given carte blanche to the troops to secure mystral sources by any means necessary.  I asked the commander if he thought this dishonourable massacre, this atrocity, was part of the edict’s remit. The commander merely shrugged and said he didn’t want to take chances with the Akkamu tribe, who had a reputation for bloodthirsty ferocity on the battlefield.  I was horrified, but there was little I could do except to get out there and try to save as many people as I could, discreetly. I found the Councillor while the troops were roving about. They took her prisoner. The good news is that the chieftain and a sizable chunk of the tribe were able to escape, melting into the forests.  But the village itself is gone, burnt to the ground. After pitching their command tent in the ruins, the Sangretta troops came for the mine. Ulani figured the rest of you were there so I decided to trail along. Glad I was able to help subdue those bastards.  The next time I see Robert. I’m going to pen him a death poem.

“I know where Akkamu will have gone,” Ulani says once Quentin is finished. “He will be at his tribe’s boreal burial grounds deep in the jungle – the ancestral redoubt of his tribe. 

“Look,” she continues, “I know that we have had our differences in opinion before. But I really need your help. After today’s events, it is clear that my brother has allowed his greed to overpower his responsibility to his subjects. He must be ousted.

“With Akkamu’s testimony against Sangretta’s crimes, we will have the support we need to summon the  chieftains for an Orcmoot and cast Hunapu down. But we need to make sure Akkamu can make it there. We must come to his aid. 

“Once we reunite around a new King – or, for that matter, a new Queen,” Ulani continues, blushing slightly, “then we can work together with the elves to eject the Sangretta once and for all. Without us, the elves don’t stand a chance against their mystral-powered weapons.”

“And you’re so sure about that?” Yaygor pipes up. He looks queasy. “Seems to Yaygor they don’t need – or want – your help, now they have those fruits to give them superpowers.”  He burps up another blue-flecked bubble.

“Fiern agrees,” Fiern says. “It doesn’t seem like your kingdom has demonstrated much solidarity with, or compassion for, the elves, while Sangretta was working them to death mining mystra. I say we let them continue their guardianing, carpe the diem and all that, as we like to say in the Conventical of Eldath.” 

Less effort on our part, too, she adds under her breath, forgetting for the moment that water is excellent at carrying sound. We all turn and frown at her, but she merely arches an eyebrow. 

Ulani’s face falls. “I…can’t deny our complicity as a whole,” she says. “But many of us do care. I myself have tried to speak up for the elves as Hunapu’s advisor.” She sighs. “But it is not easy to gainsay my brother when so much money is on the line.

“But think of the consequences of this course of action,” she continues, her eyes hardening. “Eliminating mystra as a source of income, and in its place giving the elves a frankly irresponsible amount of power? I agree that the elves deserve justice. But at what cost? To our kingdom’s economy? To the balance of our society?”

“I have to agree,” Quentin says, looking abashedly at Ulani. “My heart breaks for the elves, it really does. But power  has a…corrupting allure. It worms its way into everything you feel and do. Makes you think you’re better than others. That you have the right to impose your vision of what’s best for them. No one, orc, human or elf, is immune. There’s no shortage of bardic epics I could point you to as supporting evidence.” 

“Apocryphal anecdotes curated for mass entertainment are no basis for a system of government!” Fiern says. “We’ve seen nothing to suggest that the elves would so flagrantly abuse their power.”

“I have something to say about that,” Maturin, who has hitherto been sitting silently in the water, says. 

Her voice carries an urgent timbre that quiets the conversation around the pool. Maturin pauses, collecting her thoughts, before continuing.

“I haven’t told you about what I did after Makutu-Mate. After being hit by the hammer, I went to the Temple of Thassa to expunge the energies from my body, and seek answers. There, while receiving Thassa’s succour, I heard a story about the Moon Goddess from the elder priestesses.”

Maturin recounts the story:

One day, when the world was young, Thassa, on a rare stroll along the surface world, beheld the face of pale Ayyur, whose beauty outshone the moon itself, for Ayyur was goddess of the moon and the moon was also beholden to her. Instantly smitten, Thassa would come up to the surface to meet Ayyur, and they would play, and together they built beautiful things. Thassa built Ayyur a beautiful garden, and Ayyur lit it with the light of the moon that she trapped in small crystals. It was a beautiful garden, but a secret one, as secret as the love between them. But Ayyur was hungry. Her desire for love was insatiable, and when she could not get more she became evil and cruel. She would torture the moon, forcing it to look away from her every month, and from the moon’s pain she drew joy. She demanded more gifts, more adoration, more love from those around her. When Thassa could give no more Ayyur turned to the material plane, threatening to unleash her maddened lust on her followers, on the whole world. In a fierce battle, Thassa trapped Ayyur in her garden and used the same small crystals that had once lit up their love to seal the goddess inside. With great pain, she hid those crystals in the mountains and underneath the ground, before retreating once more into the water. It is said that the waves are Thassa’s subconscious, reaching out for Ayyur, before she remembers to pull back. It is said that the moon is still drawn to Ayyur, but when it gets too close to the surface, Thassa’s tides push it back.

As Maturn finishes her story, everyone remains quiet.

“Maddened lust?” Karlai asks, breaking the silence.

“Sounds positively apocalyptic,” Quentin says. 

“You can understand my disquiet when you mentioned that the elves were turning the mines into gardens,” Maturin says. “I’m not sure what it means, but I would be very cautious letting the elves continue their quest. At least not without checking the veracity of this story first.” 

“Okay,” Quentin says. “Let’s lay it all out.” He grabs his magic quill, taking care not to get it wet, and starts sketching out diagrams in the air. 

“Factions: There’s Sangretta, who we can all agree are bastards that need killing.” He draws a box, writes Sangretta in it, and sticks it with arrows. “Then there are the orcs, who need to unite to stand up against the greedy king.” He draws Hunapu squatting on the privy, shitting gold coins. Seeing this, Ulani gives a start, but says nothing.

“The elves, who are fighting for their freedom but risk destroying the world in the process.” He sketches Amir reading from the Tome, and, in the background, something that is either a tree or a mushroom-shaped cloud.

“Sorry to add another wrinkle,” Karlai pipes up. “But I think we also need to consider the machinations of our current employer.” 

“What about them?”

“Well, it’s clear that Vesomir has been manipulating events to the Empire’s benefit, and we have no idea what his game plan is. He gave Amir the book. And he’s coming back with a fleet of ships. They’re part of the calculus – whether we like it or not.

“And,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I should probably tell you: while we were all asleep at the tree, Vesomir’s kestrel came up to me as I awoke. He told me to retrieve the Tome from Amir before he continues to turn more mines into Gardens. He said that it was immaterial if Amir survived or not. And he also told me that one of our party was secretly working for the coastal elves.”

Hearing this, the party looks around. Thaid cocks a sardonic eyebrow at Fiern. “Are you the secret elf-supporter, Fiern?” 

“Secret?” Fiern scoffs. “Forget secret – I’m totally open about where I stand. But no, not actually employed, of course.”

Karlai continues, casting searching looks at each member of the party. “We know that the Empire has their own agenda in O’Shude. They’re not helping the elves out of the kindness of their hearts.  They’re after something else. The mystra, maybe, or the powers it bequeaths. We need to take that into account.” 

“Vesomir said all that to you?” Quentin sputters, nonplussed. “That conniving old bastard has been yanking our chain all this while. I’m honestly sick of his shenanigans.” 

“That, Fiern can agree with,” Fiern says. “I’ve never seen such a poor example of leadership and people management. And I’ve spent years in an Eldathyn hierarchate.” 

“I vote that we consider ourselves no longer in his employ,” Quentin says.  

Nobody in the party objects. Quentin draws an unflattering stick figure of Vesomir, and crosses him out with a flourish. “There,” he says, admiring his handiwork. 

“Can Yaygor snap the kestrel’s neck now?” Yaygor asks.

“It might be a mite too soon to openly antagonize our former employer,” Quentin says. “Sorry, Yaygor.” 

“Alright, then,” Yaygor says, looking slightly disappointed. “But let’s not wait too long. Yaygor is tired of being the kestrel’s perch.”

“What should we do now?” Fiern asks, staring at the glowing scribbles.

“Come up with a plan,” Quentin says. “But not in the bath. My skin is getting wrinkly.” 

DM notes

***

Later that night, after some plotting, we spring into action.

Our first act is to temporarily and discreetly put the Tome out of action, to delay the elves from awakening the Goddess without alerting them to our duplicity. To do this, we get Thaid to transform into his Raccoon form, sneak into Amir’s quarters, and steal the Tome, which he does with rousing success. Quentin then casts an illusory script on to obscure the true text and temporarily prevent its use. Thaid then takes the book and adroitly returns it to Amir’s room, with him seemingly being none the wiser.

The next morning, we tell Amir that we are setting off with Ulani to recruit Akkamu and the orcs as a prospective ally to the elves. 

“Overthrowing Hunapu, you say?” Amir muses. “The orcs could be a useful ally, I suppose. But I’m a little disappointed, I must admit. You saw the Garden, and felt the touch of the Goddess. Do you continue to harbour doubts that Her powers alone are inadequate to the task?”

“Um, no. We’re not saying that. But it’s always better not to have to fight two fronts at once,” Quentin says. “Less bloodshed, and all that.” 

“Of course, they’re welcome to come under the light of the Goddess,” Amir says, offhandedly. “If that is what you think is the best use of your talents. It is a shame to see you go, but we will manage the rest of the shrines just fine, don’t you worry. The Tome shall be our guide. 

“Meet us at the large former Pemble mine when you are done, and we will amass our forces for an assault on the Sangretta headquarters in Port Rivia.” He smiles. “By then, I trust the full extent of the Goddess’s power will burn away your doubt.”

***

We make speed for Akkamu’s redoubt in the boreal depths, Ulani guiding the way. When we reach the grounds, a dire sight awaits us.

Akkamu and the remainder of his warriors are cornered at the last great stump, besieged by a large force of magic-wielding Sangretta soldiers. He is putting up a valiant resistance, but without mystra-tech, he is no match for the Sangretta. 

We make quick preparations for battle. Thaid transforms into a bear and flexes his powerful claws. Karlai and Fiern hang back and charge their spells. Yaygor lets out a massive blue-tinged burp. 

“Y’know,” Fiern says, sidling up to Yaygor, “You’ve been looking a little blue the past few hours. Do you need me to have a look at you?”

“Yaygor’s fine,” Yaygor says, a mite too quickly. 

Fiern’s eyes narrow. “You did something, didn’t you? What did you do, Yaygor?”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t deny it! I won’t be responsible for you if you keel over during the battle!” 

“All right, all right, hold your horses,” Yaygor says. He reaches into his knapsack and draws out a half-eaten mystral fruit. “Yaygor just had a little bite, that’s all.”

The entire party lets out a collective groan. “You did not!” Fiern squawks. “Didn’t you hear Amir say that only elves could withstand mystral effects? 

“Yaygor thought maybe it would give him powers!” 

Quentin covers his face with his hands. “Yaygor, Yaygor,” he says. He turns a long-suffering gaze upon him. “Never mind. What’s done is done. Yaygor, can you fight?” 

Yaygor nods, twirling his daggers. 

“Good enough for me,” Quentin says. “Yaygor, if, at any point, you feel like you’re going to, y’know, explode or something, at least try to make sure you’re right next to the enemy, all right?” 

“You really think that Yaygor’d be anywhere else?” 

“All right, good talk. Team, you ready?” Quentin asks.

We all nod vigorous assent.

“Then let’s do this thing.” 

DM notes

And the battle is joined. Thaid summons moonbeams that slice Sangretta squads in twain. Karlai casts reality-warping hexes that cover soldiers in a debilitating necrotic slime. Maturin casts lightnings that leap from man to man, burning them into crisps. Quentin, quill in hand, pens grim elegies in the air; semiotic avatars that manifest their murderous meanings upon their victims. Yaygor leaps from guard to guard, plunging daggers into temples, an all-spinning, all-stabbing burping blue ball of murder. Fiern, brow wrinkled in concentration, heals us all as we butcher.

Thassa’s Claw (Maturin’s Spiritual Weapon)

At the end, we stand bloodied but victorious over a wasteland of Sangretta soldiers, with only three surrendering guards as prisoners.

Akkamu comes up to us, surrounded by his men. “You fought like demons, like the ancestors,” he said, surveying the carnage. “I am in your debt. Both for coming to our aid, and for making such a display of martial prowess that has made my blood sing with the joy of combat once again.”

“If I may suggest, Uncle,” Ulani says, emerging from behind us, “That you employ your renewed vigour in the service of the Kingdom?”

Quentin silently mouths Uncle? To Ulani, but she chooses not to notice.

“And what would you have me do, niece?” 

“Convene the Moot. Tell them of Sangretta’s actions, and the King’s enablement of this atrocity. Force a vote to elect a new monarch.”

Akkamu ponders for a moment, then nods. “Very well. You have played a good game, Ulani. I will summon the chiefs. You shall have your moot. 

“But know this,” he says. “We have confused wealth for strength, in these latter days. But our core traditions in this respect remain unsullied. It takes more than wiliness and cunning to lead the tribes. It takes strength of arm and joy in battle. 

“The Chieftains have forgotten much, but they will not have forgotten this.  I trust you understand what I am saying.”

Ulani’s fists clench, almost perceptibly. She fixes Akkamu with a burning stare. Her jaw tightens, working out angry words of recrimination. 

And she relaxes slowly, shoulders drooping, and looks away. “I understand, Uncle,” she says.

“And what will you do now?” Akkamu asks, turning towards us. 

“We,” Quentin says, “are going to seek some answers about the end of the world.”

DM notes

SESSION 4

Scribe: Chris
DM: Alf

Present at Session 4	Absent at Session 4

DM notes

It is evening. A light rain falls, washing away the blood of the fallen Sangretta troops at Akkamu’s redoubt, each falling droplet reflecting dusk-light and creating a blinding kaleidoscope of gold all around us.

Akkamu, Ulani and the surviving orcs have left, making speed for the Orcmoot. 

We are hoisting up our backpacks, preparing to leave, when we see a stout figure running noisily towards us. The characteristically ominous clanking of eldritch armor makes it clear – it is Sharky, returned from wherever he and Arithmus disappeared to. 

He reaches the group and stops, panting. “Saw those lights in the sky and figured it was you lot,” he says between breaths. “Ran here as hard as I could, I did.”

Quentin cocks an eyebrow. “You missed out on all the fun,” he says. “Where were you?”

“Now that’s a story,” Sharkey says, shaking his head. 

I woke up in that old cavern back in the mine after the battle, Sharkey said. But you were all still sleeping. Well, except the half-elf. He was awake too. We were gonna rouse the rest of you. But then the Abacus and me, we see this shape come flyin’ out of the tree and disappear down a tunnel. The Abacus and I, we started running after the thing. Weren’t afraid of losing my way underground, of course, bein’ a dwarf and all.  Chased the damn thing for a long time. reckon it started to notice. It rounded into a dead end. Thought we’d got it good. But then we got a good look at the thing. Stone-cursed monster, big as a horse. Giant thorns growin’ out of it.   Thing growled and charged us, so we got out of there real quick. No way the two of us coulda handled it ourselves. Rock’s Blessing – the thing weren’t that interested in chasin’ after us, so we got away.  Anyway, we went back to the cavern, but by then, you lot’d disappeared. Abacus said we should split up. He went chasin’ after the Sangretta, and I was supposed to track you all down. So here I am.

The Thorny Wolf

“New and mysterious player arrives on the scene, eh?” Quentin says. “No time to worry about that.”

“What’s the rush?” Sharkey asks. 

“We need to find out whether Amir and his lot are going to release a mad god and destroy us all.”

Sharkey does a double-take. “What in the molten hells did I miss?”

“We’ll fill you in later. Fiern,” Quentin says, turning to her, “Will you do the honors?”

“As you wish,” Fiern says. She sits down on the grass and closes her eyes.  She sits there, silent, for a spell, rain pattering around her:  Eldath’s essence, seeping into her hair, softly soaking her robes. Then, her lips move in silent supplication, and a glowing circle appears and envelops us in its light. 

Almost as abruptly, the circle vanishes. Fiern gets up and wipes her hands on her robes. “Eldath has shown me the way,” she says, looking into the distance. She snaps her fingers, and a pack of giant wolves slinks silently out of the lengthening shadows of the trees. Lupine steeds, such as the sea orcs sometimes use for rapid traversal in forest terrain. “Follow my lead,” Fiern says, as we each mount a wolf. 

Riding like the wind, we head for the Temple of Ayyur.

Some time later…

We have ridden for what seems like an eternity through dense thickets, but then, the first beams of moonlight start filtering through the thinning canopy. The wolves start to whimper slightly and pant as the land begins to rise at a gentle incline. 

Then, their paws scrabble on smooth pebbly sands, and they halt in unison. We have, at last, reached the edge of the jungle. 

The tree line ends abruptly to reveal a vast lake in the middle of an ancient volcanic caldera. The lake’s waters reflect the full moon, which hangs like a gravid yellow eye high above the firmament. The tides pulse in and out in a strange, metronomic rhythm.

“Yaygor doesn’t like the look of those tides,” Yaygor mutters. 

“And something else that’s odd,” Karlai adds, squinting at the sky. “The moon has been three days full at this point.”

We strain our eyes towards the lake, and in the distance, can just make out the faint outline of a temple, floating serenely on an island in the lake’s center. 

The Temple of Ayyur

Then, we hear voices, singing faintly. We walk towards their source. As we draw closer, we see four cloaked figures, hunched over at the edge of the water. 

“Yaygor, sneak close to them and find out what they’re saying,” Quentin says. Yaygor gives him the side-eye but clambers off, gnomish feet padding stealthily on the sandbank.  

Some moments, later, he comes trotting back, looking pale. “Yaygor is officially creeped out,” he says. 

“Who were they?” Quentin asks.

“Deformed old women,” Yaygor whispers. “With big boils on their faces, skin like tree bark. Pus leakin’ everywhere. Milky eyes like soft-boiled egg whites. Real bad juju. And they were chanting something, over and over.” Yaygor fishes out a piece of parchment from his pocket and thrusts it at us. “Yaygor wrote it down.”

“Good thinking, Yaygor,” Quentin says. We cluster around to read it. 

 Shine your full love wide and bright

What will you give up to see me one more night

Show me the moon, blue then true

Come see the real me, the one you never knew

The Crones

“A riddle?” Maturin asks. 

“Should we go up and ask ‘em about it?” Sharkey asks. 

Yaygor shudders. “Call Yaygor a coward, but Yaygor doesn’t want to go anywhere near them.”

“I’m not inclined to engage the locals, either,” Fiern says, “lest they prove less than friendly. I have Water Walk in my repertoire – I suggest we use it as a means of aquatic conveyance to the premises.” 

It seems like a good idea. Fiern casts the spell on the party, and we head out onto the water. The spell coats our footwear in such powerful hydrophobic magics that the water feels like solid ground beneath our feet. 

We jog over the water, heading in the direction of the temple. Ten minutes pass. Then half an hour. Forty-five minutes. 

“Is anyone else noticing that the temple doesn’t seem any closer than it was an hour ago?” Thaid finally asks. 

“That,” Quentin says, “does seem to be the case.” He looks around, surveying our surroundings, and squints in the direction of the shoreline. “And I think we’re about to have company.”

From the lakeshore, dark shapes are racing towards us. As they get closer, we make out details. A disturbing number of highly articulated legs. Large, menacing claws, convulsively snapping, desperate for victims to eviscerate. And at their head, a shimmering figure of ever-changing shape, rising out of the lake like a revenant freed from its watery grave.

“Chuuls,” Maturin hisses. “Guardians of Thassa. And a water elemental at their head.” 

A Chuul

“Can you tell them we ain’t the enemy?” Sharky asks. 

“I can try,” Maturin says. She raises her arms and Speaks a Radiant Word at the incoming chuuls. But the Word merely passes through them without effect.   

“No good. They’re bound by a stronger Word of Command. I can’t get through.”

“Can we win?” Quentin asks. 

“I…do not know,” Maturin says. “That water elemental is what I’m worried about. Normal weapons won’t work against it. Most spells won’t faze it. If we were on land it wouldn’t be a problem. We could just generate enough magical heat to turn it into vapor. But the lake is its turf. No matter how much we evaporate, it’ll be able to replenish itself endlessly from the water around us.”

“How can we beat it?”  

Maturin’s expression turns grim. “Run back to shore, maybe?”

But it’s too late. The elemental is too close. The party tenses. Maturin grips her hammer. Quentin brandishes his quill. Karlai raises his staff. Thaid unhooks his ax. Yaygor flourishes his twin daggers. Sharky draws his saber.

Then, Fiern strides forward, pushing Sharky and Maturin aside, and spreads her arms. Disregarding our protests, she strides towards the incoming elemental, and before it can pummel her with a watery fist, a portal rips open in front of her, sucking the elemental in with a terrible shriek, the protesting cry of a sundered reality. Yelling with effort, Fiern slams her hands together in a resounding thunderclap, and the portal snaps shut. 

We all stare at Fiern for a split second. “That was well done,” Maturin breathes. 

“I guessed the being had an extraplanar origin,” Fiern says, her voice straining from effort. “I Banished it into Eldath’s demiplane, for Her to deal with. But I need to Concentrate to keep the portal closed.” Beads of perspiration start to dot her head. “Best finish this before I lose focus.”

We rush forward to tackle the chuuls. It is a quick and savage fight. The chuuls grapple us with their claws, but we counter with moonbeams, slices, and stabs. Without the elemental to guide them, the chuuls, little more than beasts, fall quickly. 

Using his preternatural dexterity, Yaygor clambers up one creature’s back and, avoiding the snapping claws, grabs a cluster of the creature’s mouth tentacles and slices them off with one savage jerk of the knife. The creature, disoriented, flails, dribbling thick blue blood. Yaygor swings down and knifes it in the eye. The chuul gives a final spasmodic jerk and collapses, sinking into the depths. Yaygor yells  in triumph and stuffs the still-wriggling tentacles into his mouth, relishing his violently-harvested snack. 

Another chuul is quickly dispatched by Maturin, who swings her hammer into its flank with such force that it liquefies its internal organs. 

The last chuul, rearing up, has Thaid, in bear form, in its claws, but has trouble snapping it shut because of his layers of conditioned bear muscle. Sensing its frustration, Karlai attacks it with a Mind Sliver spell, breaking through its meager mental defenses. The spell amplifies the creature’s frustration to such a degree that it starts vibrating violently, cooking itself from within. Its carapace turns bright orange, and splits open to reveal masses of tender white chuul flesh.

With that, the battle is done. Yaygor, still chewing on the tentacles, looks at the last chuul, and his eyes light up. “Grab the meat before it sinks, and make sure you take the tomalley!” he shouts. “Damn thing’s delicious!” He scrambles up to the chuul and scoops up handfuls of the meat with his hands, stuffing it into his bag. We follow suit. The smell of the cooked chuul is too delicious to ignore. We harvest what we can before lake and gravity claim their tender and juicy bounty.

“When we get to shore,” Yaygor says gleefully, “Yaygor is going to prepare a feast. Saute the meat with garlic and butter, make some risotto on the side. You’re all invited.” 

“Where are you going to get garlic and butter?” Thaid asks, munching on a piece of chuul. 

Yaygor waggles his eyebrows and gives his knapsack a good whack. “Yaygor never travels unprepared.” 

“That being the case,” Fiern quickly interjects, “I think we can all agree that there’s something about the lake that’s preventing us from reaching the center. I suggest we return to land before more of those lobsters can have a go at us.”

We think it’s sound advice. 

DM notes

***

Back at shore, safely away from the disturbing crones, we consider our options. 

“Clearly, the temple cannot be accessed through normal means,” Fiern says. “It must have something to do with the riddle the crones were singing.”

“You’re probably right,” Quentin says. “Shine your full love wide and bright…I feel sure the way to the temple is through the water, somehow. Karlai, could you dunk Eye underwater for a bit? Tell us what he sees?”

Karlai obliges. He gestures to Eye, who comes flying over, reluctance plain in every beat of its tiny wings. Karlai whispers indistinctly to his familiar, who rolls his one eye dramatically before diving into the water. After a while, it shoots back out, its eye tightly closed, spinning violently and pelting the party with lake water in the process. 

“He says he only saw a whole lot of seaweed and some toothy fish down there,” Karlai reports. 

“I guess that’s a wash,” Quentin says. 

“Why don’t we fly Eye around the lake and see if he spots anything?” Maturin suggests.

“Can do.”

A now-dry Eye flaps away happily into the darkling sky, zipping along the shore. 

“It says there are some strange circular structures around the lake, not too far from our position,” Karlai reports.

We make for the structure in a straight line, making use of our remaining Water Walk time, but being sure not to venture too far from land. A few minutes later, we find ourselves standing in front of a large stone aperture, resting on a dais. It seems possible to move the aperture sideways and up and down.

The Lens of Ayyur

With a grunt of effort, Quentin points the aperture towards the moon in the sky. It frames it perfectly, but otherwise does nothing. Quentin taps his chin thoughtfully, and after sketching abstract geometric diagrams in the air with his quill, he snaps his fingers and turns to us. 

“I think I’ve figured it out. Thassa and Ayyur were lovers, weren’t they? The riddle says to shine your full love…we need to focus the moon’s light onto the surface of the water itself. Give me a hand with this, will you?”

Together, we move the stone aperture – the lens – so that the side facing land is angled up at the full moon, while the other side faces down on the water. As we work, the moon seems to burn brighter, and the few wisps of cloud that are hitherto dancing around its face seem to disperse. 

Then, as the aperture finally cranks into place, the moonbeam turns into a liquid bar of fire, illuminating a spectral pathway from the shore to the temple. 

Yaygor prods the pathway with his foot, and finds it reassuringly solid. He starts clambering down the path, whistling away. We follow suit.

After a much shorter walk than expected, we arrive at the temple. What had looked like ruins from a distance is revealed as a beautiful sanctuary up close, with stained glass windows framing a great wooden door. But it is locked shut. Maturin and Thaid take turns swinging their weapons into the door, but to no effect – the building rattles heavily, shaking leaves and dirt free, but it stays stubbornly sealed. A quick aerial survey also reveals no obvious ingress points. 

We scrutinize the entrance more carefully, looking for clues, and notice that the glass windows depict four different scenes, each featuring the same young woman as their subject. 

The first is of the woman relaxing under a giant crystal tree. The second, of her playing a lyre. The third is of her petting a small wolf. And the last is of her standing under the moon. In front of each mural is a shallow stone bowl jutting out of the stonework. 

Stained-Glass Windows at the Temple Entrance

“Is this the next clue? What will you give up? Are we supposed to offer something to enter?” Karlai asks.

The next few minutes see us unpacking our rucksacks and dumping a great variety of objects onto the shallow stone bowls, to no avail. Quentin, scowling, offers up his lute, while Yaygor grudgingly gives up his half-eaten fruit, as well as handfuls of chuul meat and lake water. 

Then, Fiern flips a golden Sangretta  ducat onto each of the trays. With a grinding sound, the doors open, leaving us gaping.

“All it took was money?” Quentin sputters. 

Fiern nods coolly. “We of the cloth may preach many things, but we all think alike. When all’s said and done, clerical robes and myrrh incense don’t buy themselves.”

We stride in, and find ourselves in a cavernous circular hall. At its centre stands a cylindrical tower, encircled with twenty-eight stone pressure plates, each inscribed with its corresponding number. On the opposite walls are carvings of celestial bodies in different phases. At the far side is a door, held tightly shut. We don’t bother trying to open it. 

“Another puzzle?” Quentin groans. 

“Today’s tenday. But like the wizard said, the moon’s been full for three days. Yaygor is going to try seven.” Before anyone can stop him, he scurries over and hits the button. Sparks fly, and we see an outline of his skeleton for the briefest moment, before a singed smell fills the air. 

“That hurt,” Yaygor moans, blue smoke trailing from his mouth. Sighing, Fiern walks over to minister a Healing word. 

“Wait,” Maturin says. “Blue then true. Blue moons are the third of four full moons in a season…don’t they usually occur around the third week of the month?” She strides over and presses the plate inscribed 21, and the door opens.

“Wait…how or why did that work?” Karlai asks. “Not all blue moons occur on the 21st.”

“Well, doesn’t matter now,” Quentin says. “The door just opened. Let’s keep moving.”

We find ourselves now in a long corridor that stretches to our left and right, while in front of us, a giant and unmoveable boulder blocks the straightforward entrance to the central chamber. Karlai sends his familiar to scout the two adjoining halls. 

The room on the left is unlit, save for a  skylight in the ceiling, which shines a thick shaft of moonlight that bisects the room. At its far end, a little girl sits in the darkness. 

The room on the right is lit up with the glow of decorative motifs along the wall. Each material pulses with a different-colored glow. One of them is made of mystra. 

“Puzzle room on the right, or dark room with mysterious ghostly child on the left?” Thaid asks in a sardonic tone.

We decide to take our chances with the puzzle room. 

“I really hope this is the last puzzle,” Quentin says through gritted teeth.

“Yaygor thinks we should just brute-force it,” Yaygor says. He presses the sapphire button at random and immediately swells up like a blueberry. We back away, fearful he’ll explode in a burst of concentrated mystral energy. Fortunately, he deflates. 

“Yaygor, you’re off pressing duty, effective immediately,” Fiern says. Yaygor grunts, but relents. 

Karlai tries the diamond plate, but gets unceremoniously shocked as well. Thaid presses the mystra plate, and the door opens. 

“In retrospect, maybe we should’ve gone with that first,” Karlai says, smoking a little.

We peek through the door to behold the cavernous main chamber. Wide steps lead up to a vast platform where, at its center, an enormous tree grows. A shaft of moonlight streams down and bathes the tree in a nourishing white glow. Wherever the light touches, sparkling motes rise off the tree, flitting about. Its leaves wave about tremulously, seemingly dancing amidst the motes.

Behind the tree, the back of the hall is covered in eight ornate mirrors, casting the light of the tree back at it, amping up the ethereality of the scene. 

Before the tree kneels a young-looking woman dressed in robes of purest white, offsetting her glossy mane of raven-black hair. Her head is bowed in silent meditation, but she does not appear to notice us. 

“Uhh…let’s try talking to the small girl first,” Quentin says. We dart back into the main corridor and make our way to the other room. 

As we enter the room, the girl looks up at us, and we tense up. But she only smiles shyly. “Hello,” she ventures.

We relax. She seems like a normal child. 

“Hello, little one,” Quentin says back. “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Ayyur.”

We look at each other. Ayyur, a child?

“Do you live here, kid?” Yaygor asks.

She nods shyly in assent.  

“It’s a really pretty place, Ayyur,” Quentin says. “The giant tree in the main hall is really nice.”

“I don’t know any tree,” Ayyur says, looking down. “I’ve never left this room before.” 

“You…what?” Yaygor says. “Why not?”

“I’m scared of the light,” Ayyur mumbles. She glances up at the shaft of moonlight that separates us from her corner of darkness. 

“It’s just moonlight, kid. It can’t hurt you.” 

“It shows you who you really are.”

We mull over that for a bit. 

Yaygor speaks up, his voice gruff but his eyes kind. “Yaygor thinks you’d like it outside. It’s got trees and grass and sauteed lobster tail and fresh air. All sorts of fun things to do. And eat. Don’t you get lonely cooped up in there? Wouldn’t you like to see what it’s like?” 

Ayyur seems to mull this for a moment. “Yeah,” she mumbles, bashfully. 

“Would you like Uncle Yaygor to help you get out?” 

The child blushes and nods. “Could I…could I get a hug first?” she says. 

“Of course. Uncle Yaygor’s gonna cross the moonlight and give you a hug, alright?” 

“Are you quite sure you want to release a manifestation of Ayyur, Yaygor?” Fiern hisses.

“It’s just a kid. Yaygor doesn’t see any harm.”

Before we can say anything else, he jumps into the light – and suddenly, starts to look more rock-like. He inhales sharply – it’s like a boulder breathing; rocky lungs grinding stone – before rumbling over to the other side. Once he exits the moonlight, he reverts to himself again. 

“The moonlight,” Maturin whispers, shuddering. “It showed Yaygor’s truest self.” She inches away from it. 

Quentin, unfazed, checks  his Trueself out in the light. It scintillates…musically.

Yaygor envelops Ayyur in a one-armed hug for a few moments, then exchanges a quiet word with her. She nods at what he says, and, hand in hand, they walk into the light. But when Ayyur passes under the light, she winces, and transforms into a ghostly wolf, teeth bared in anger. 

Rock-Yaygor, who had been holding her hand, looks back at his fingers touching locks of ethereal fur instead. He sees the wolf and gives a rock-like yelp, clambering to the other side. The wolf pounces at Yaygor, but as it emerges into the darkness on the other side, it transforms back into the child Ayyur. 

The Girl’s True Form

We stare at her for a moment. Ayyur looks at us back and turns away. “The light shows who you really are,” she mumbles again. 

Yaygor continues to hold Ayyur’s hand as we walk back down the corridor and return to the central chamber with the tree. The woman in white, finished with her meditations, is standing at the tree. Hearing our approach, she turns to us and smiles. And as she does so, our breaths hitch at our throats. 

She’s beautiful. 

“I bid you welcome to the Temple of Ayyur, travelers,” she says. Her voice is a rich, smoldering alto. “I am a priestess of Ayyur, and caretaker of this temple.” She smiles an inviting smile. “ It’s been a while since we’ve had visitors.”

“That might have something to do with all the puzzles and guardians outside,” Quentin says. 

The priestess lets out a rich laugh. “They’re a wonderful way to deter those of lesser grit, wouldn’t you say?” She chuckles again, and glances at the tree. “The rewards of our abode are not given out lightly.”

“What rewards?” 

“Knowledge,” she smiles. “Secrets.” She pauses significantly, giving each of us a look that seems to last subjective lifetimes. “Fulfillment of your deepest desires.”

Fiern clears her throat. “Fulfillment that would be tragically short-lived,” she says. “You’re a succubus, aren’t you?”

The priestess’s smile falters for a moment, but returns, tinged with wryness. Suddenly, she doesn’t seem as beautiful as before. “Your sight is keen, child of Eldath,” she says. 

“Why are you a priestess here?” Fiern asks.

“Who better to learn the arts of love from, than she who loved the fiercest?” The priestess eyes Fiern knowingly. “I had considered taking vows for Eldath too, you know. But her arts, I fear, did not suit my style.” 

Fiern looks like she’s about to say something, but instead, she stays silent, her mouth pressed into a thin white line. 

“You’d call Ayyur a lover?” Maturin asks.

The priestess cocks her head, favoring Maturin with a lovely smile. “And was she not, child of Thassa?” 

“From what I hear, she didn’t love, as much as lusted.”

“And what is love, but lust that gives as freely of itself as it takes?” The succubus twines her delicate fingers together, striking a pensive pose. “Ayyur desired to be loved, so she gave out her love as fiercely as the sun. But the world could not withstand the force of her love, for that love demanded more than the world could bear.

“So Thassa sealed her up. It was her love for Ayyur that drove her to this deed,” the succubus says. “But the things we do for love often hurt those we love the most.”

She turns her head to regard the child Ayyur, who is hiding behind Yaygor. “I see you’ve met her already. Come forward, child,” she says, addressing Ayyur. Yaygor bristles, but Ayyur, with visible trepidation, steps out behind him. 

“Look at yourself in the mirrors, if you would, dear.”

Ayyur stares at the Priestess, trembling, but moves to obey. She climbs the steps to the tree, then slowly looks up at her reflection. 

At once, she falls to the floor and curls up around herself, sobbing, a lonely keen that stabs us in our hearts. Yaygor makes to move to Ayyur, but Fiern puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. 

“She’s not fully Ayyur,” the priestess says. “Merely a vestige, if you will, haunting these halls, the last, innocent remnant that Thassa could not bear to imprison.

“But she is…instructive. For her essence is Ayyur’s essence. And what it tells us is that Ayyur’s weakness is her self-hatred. It is why she was driven to love, and seek love, from without. 

And it works – for a while. She can fool herself into thinking that it will be enough. But there is an insatiable void within her, so vast that the world would disappear within it. And when she beholds that void – that nothingness – the fearful knowledge of her own emptiness overwhelms her, and she does – this.”

Before us, Ayyur’s anguished sobs continue, unabated.

The priestess closes her eyes in meditative repose. “Your time here is up. Use what you have learnt as you must.” 

Her voice, and the sound of Ayyur’s sobbing, start to fade away, and the tree, too, starts to dim. She smiles, blows us a last kiss, and blackness overwhelms us.

DM notes

***

We find ourselves lying on the grass, back in Akkamu’s redoubt. 

Quentin shoots up, looking around. “Wait…” he says. “Was that, like, a dream?”

“I suppose so,” Fiern says, slowly pushing herself up. She brushes her robes. “At least we didn’t actually give up our ducats.”

Just then, Yaygor emits a long, tortured wail. We all turn around to look at him in concern. His pack is open and all its contents – mostly bulbs of garlic and the occasional lemon – are strewn on the ground. He looks at us, stricken. 

“The chuul meat! It’s gone!” 

Fiern snorts a laugh.  “Yaygor, there was never any.” 

“It tasted so good, though!” 

“Probably because you imagined it tasting good.” 

“When this is over, Yaygor is going crab fishing,” Yaygor grumbles. Sullenly. he starts to put his things back in his knapsack.  

“More importantly,” Quentin says, “We now know the story of Ayyur is real, she has a weakness – self-regard – and that her true form is a wolf. I think it’s clear we have to stop the elves from turning more mines into gardens.” 

“I suppose so,” Fiern concurs. “Consider my objections withdrawn for now.” 

“We’ll need to steal the Tome away from them.”

“Should we first consider a more diplomatic approach?” Fiern asks. 

“We can try, but we need to prepare for the worst.” 

At that point, Karlai clears his throat. “I have something that may be of advantage to us,” he says. 

We turn to look at him.

“When the kestrel whispered in my ear,” Karlai continues, “he didn’t just tell me about the book – he also gave me this.” He reaches into his dimensional bag and brings out a ring. A brilliantly cut topaz glimmers in the evening light, held in place by a setting that resembles two grasping hands.

Maturin gasps in recognition. “That’s a wish ring,” she says in hushed tones.

“What’s a wish ring?” Thaid asks. 

“It warps reality to grant its user one wish. This is one of the most powerful artifacts in existence,” Maturin replies. She turns to Karlai. “Why did Vesomir give this to you?”  

“I’m not sure,” Karlai says. “But I was holding it back until I was reasonably sure none of you were actually in cahoots with the elves.” He pockets the ring again. “We should think about how best to use this, in light of the revelations at the temple.” 

“Let’s do that,” Quentin says. “But let’s make haste for Amir’s rendezvous. I hope, for all our sakes, that we’re not too late.”

Some hours later…

Making haste, we return to the cave, where, mere days ago, we had helped to unleash the first tendrils of Ayyur’s power to the world.

As we enter, we see mystra-charged plants lining the entrance. Creeping vines glow softly on the walls, while blue-lit shrubs and pink grasses dot the tunnels. 

“The garden’s spread throughout the whole cave,” Maturin says. “I don’t like what that implies.”

Finally, we reach the center of the cave network, the vast cavern with the giant, fruit-laden tree. It is riotous with color, and the rough elven encampment which had been set up has been overgrown. 

There, Amir and a clutch of his fellow revolutionaries stand. They hear our approach and turn. 

Their eyes have turned fully blue. A massive, thorn-ridden wolf pads out from behind the tree.

“It’s that stone-cursed monster we chased,” Sharky whispers to us, his voice tinged with dread.

Amir smiles at us, baring his teeth, and as he does so, we see a mystral glow emanating from the back of his throat.

“My friends,” he says, “you’ve returned! And just in time, too, to witness the final release.”

“Eating that fruit really does a number on you, huh, Amir?” Yaygor says. “Yaygor knows the feeling.”

“I don’t think that’s Amir any longer,” Maturin mutters. “Something else is speaking through him.”

“Oh,” the thing speaking with Amir’s voice replies, “But I’ve never felt more like myself. Ayyur’s love fills me, and my love fills her.” As he says Ayyur, he trembles as if wracked by throes of overriding ecstasy. 

“But you, on the other hand…”  he starts to pace, and adopts a hectoring tone, as if lecturing to a group of unrepentant children. “You tampered with the Tome. You return to try to thwart us from our holy purpose. Did you think you could fool us with your feeble subterfuge? Fool Ayyur?” He walks to the wolf and strokes it. His hand brushes past a fearsome spike on the wolf’s hide, slicing it open. Bright blue ichor begins to flow down his hand, and he curls it into a bloody blue fist, luxuriating in his pain. 

“I had hopes for you, truly I did. I would have found a way for you to partake of Ayyur’s love. You have disappointed me.

“And so you will die.”

The final battle begins. 

Not-Amir’s warriors and the wolf begin to rush us, while the spellcasters among them hang back and start preparing energies of death and destruction to hurl at us. 

They are no longer coastal elves, but slivers of divine power inhabiting fleshy husks, their former souls long seared to nothingness by the force of Ayyur’s lust. They fight with demonic, berserk disregard, their bodies healed at opportune moments by not-Amir’s newfound healing magic.

But we have ourselves grown since our first expedition. We have learned new abilities, but have also begun to reap the benefits of effective teamwork. Karlai hangs back to conjure his own symphonies of action-at-a-distance carnage. Fiern provides morale and healing. Yaygor uses his dexterity to befuddle and distract, then stabs them in the ears. Thaid transforms into a bear and becomes the center of attention, grappling with the thorn wolf, two beasts locked in fearsome combat. Quentin, Sharkey and Maturin blend physical prowess with magical abilities to rain death in a thousand shades upon the elves. 

Slowly, painfully, we pick the elven spellcasters off one by one, faster than Amir can heal them. We force the elves back, inch by inch. Then, Thaid, back in dwarven form, summons a moonbeam – one which seems to emanate from the cavern tree – that lances through Amir, taking off a huge chunk of his body – frying half his face, disintegrating his left arm, and taking his left leg off just above the knee. He collapses on the floor, a twitching marionette leaking blue essence. 

With the spellcasters and Amir’s healing out of the picture, we push the remaining elven warriors back. But the thorny wolf is still at large. Thaid, switching between dwarven and bear forms, can barely keep up with holding the wolf at bay. 

“We can’t fight the wolf head-on for much longer,” Quentin pants. 

“Remember what the succubus said about self-regard being Ayyur’s weakness?” Maturin says. “I’m going to try something.” Casting her battle-hammer aside, she points at the wolf and murmurs a cantrip. 

The cavern seems to dim, an oppressive misty chill descending, the taste of decay in the air. Far above, as if from some distant unseen church tower above the mists, a dolorous bell tolls. 

Ding. The wolf perks its head up, confused. 

Dong. Panicked, twisting this way and that, it searches for the source of the ringing.

Ding. It howls, as if recognizing, in the tolling bell’s resounding, its own, broken self. 

Dong-ong-ong… The bell answers in kind, a mournful, lingering note that shimmers with callous knowing. The wolf cringes and howls again.

“Something’s working, but what?” Quentin wonders.

“I’m modulating the bell to echo the wolf’s howl,” Maturin says. “I’m presenting it with an aural reflection of itself.”

The bell tolls. The wolf howls. But with every call and response the wolf’s cry becomes weaker and more mournful, its thorns retracting, shrinking in size until it is merely the size of a normal wolf, trembling on the ground, its howls now piteous yelps. 

“Don’t stop, Maturin,” Quentin says. “It’s cruel, but she needs to be contained.”

The rest of us move to subdue the remaining warriors, who are enveloped in paroxysms of trembling, as if mirroring the reactions of the wolf.  

In the hubbub, none of us notices Amir.

He lies on the ground, body in ruins, a blue glow still leaking from every hole that the combat has torn open in his body. With his one good arm, he levers himself to face us, ruined face arranged in a frozen grin. Drooling ichor, he croaks:

“I would have made you the final sacrifice… but it seems … I will need to push the schedule forward.” He reaches for a dagger from his belt. 

Maturin sees this, and shouts. “Yaygor, stop him!” 

But it’s too late. Amir plunges the dagger into his neck. He twitches once, violently, then the pent-up mystra seems to leave his body. Amir’s blue-charged eyes film over into an empty and unseeing brown stare. An ecstatic rictus lingers on his stiffening face.

The garden pulses, releasing a rolling wave of blue energy that envelops the chamber and washes away the oppressive air of Maturin’s tolling bell. 

The wolf transforms. It grows larger and larger, rising above us in an amorphous twisting blob of pure light, ascending up and up until it seems to brush the stalactites hanging from the ceiling of the cavernous chamber. 

Then the light fades, revealing a towering figure. Her robes are the color of the deepest night. Her hands are beringed with fiery gemstones, forged in celestial furnaces at the dawn of creation. Her face is framed by a long, straight head of hair that seems to trail into an eternal darkness. Atop her head, a glittering moonstone diadem sits. Her eyes are pools that lead into a chitinous void, where vast, dark entities roam endlessly, gibbering into the formless expanse. 

Ayyur looks down upon us and smiles. Then, she opens her mouth and screams. 

The force of that sound rings endlessly in our ears and knocks us onto the ground. But it seems to have a greater impact on Maturin. Her eyes splay wide open, pupils dilating, as she trembles uncontrollably. She looks at us, and her gaze lacks any recognition. Emitting a fearful cry, she charges at us with her hammer.

“She’s frenzied!” Thaid shouts. We scramble out of Maturin’s path as she swings. But Fiern isn’t fast enough. She tries to duck Maturin’s wild attack, but a blow from the hammer glances off her head. She folds onto the ground, insensate. We cry out.

Ayyur

Ayyur opens her mouth to scream again. 

“How about a taste of your own medicine, eh?” Thaid growls, summoning a moonbeam that lances through the chamber and hits Ayyur squarely in the face as she vocalizes. 

Ayyur’s burgeoning scream cuts off. Her features contort in annoyance. She turns her depthless gaze onto Thaid and raises both her hands. Bars of liquid-hot moonfire arc towards him. He rolls out of the way in bear form, but one of the beams grazes him, burning off a chunk of flesh. 

From behind the battle lines, Karlai thinks furiously of what to do, as he fires off spells and watches his comrades fight for their lives. He knows this is the opportune time to use the Wish Ring, but to do what? How to exploit Ayyur’s only known weakness? 

Then a shout from Thaid, “The mirrors, Karlai! Wish us back to the mirrors!” 

Of course. Karlai takes out the ring, slips it on, and makes his wish.

The very fabric of reality seems to tremble and unravel, matter phasing into matter, light splitting into a thousand unnameable shades of colors never before seen and never to be beheld again. Then, reality snaps back into place, and we find ourselves back in the central chamber of the Temple of Ayyur. 

But it seems that much time has passed. It has fallen into a state of disrepair, as if long abandoned. The central tree is a dead and withered corpse. Parts of the ceiling have caved in, and the broken masonry is twined through with thick and ancient vines. Through the holes in the ceiling, we can see the moon, looming like a blood-red eye in the sky, watching the fate of the world unfold. 

Fortunately, the mirrors, though slivered and broken, are still there, glinting in the moonlight.

Ayyur, summoned against her will by the power of the Wish Ring, materializes squarely in the focal point of those mirrors. She sees the thousand sharded images of herself, and for the first time in the battle, her ageless face shows fear. 

Her ensuing scream sounds almost human. 

She lashes out like a cornered animal, casting moonbeams at the source of her pain. Karlai is caught in the blast, which lacerates his body. He falls to the ground in agony, unable to move. 

Ayyur, eyes tightly shut, casts moonbeams about, carving great molten scars onto the ruined temple. We can barely avoid them. 

But in her panic, Ayyur’s hold on Maturin’s mind slips. Maturin reclaims herself. Seeing Fiern on the ground, she rushes to her and ministers a healing word, rousing her from her catatonia. 

“We’ve got her down!” Thaid shouts. He casts a moonbeam at Ayyur, and this time, it leaves a deep burn on her body, which persists for a time before closing. Ayyur cries out.  

“It’s having an effect! She’s not recovering as quickly!” 

While the team wears her down with everything they have, Fiern rushes over to Karlai and revives him with a holy incantation. 

“She’s a Divinity,” Fiern observes as she works. “She might be weakened for now, but no amount of damage on the physical plane is going to destroy her.”

“I think,” Karlai says slowly, “I know what I need to do.” He raises his arm at Ayyur, mutters a cantrip, and goes limp in Fiern’s arms. 

***

Karlai finds himself in an endless dark expanse. The ground is covered in a perfectly still layer of water, stretching out into infinity. Above, massive constellations of stars drift and dance silently in an inky void, eternities of stellar motion taking place across seconds of subjective experience.

“It worked,” he whispers to himself, looking around. 

In Ayyur’s moment of distraction and weakness, he has pierced through her psychic defenses and penetrated into her deepest core of her being. 

The mind of a god.  

Karlai hears the sound of weeping in the distance. He walks towards its source. 

As he approaches, he sees Ayyur, in her child form, kneeling on water, looking at her reflection. Tears fall from her eyes onto the water’s surface, creating ripples that mar its mirror-like perfection. 

She looks up at Karlai, her face streaked with tears. “I never wanted things to turn out this way,” she whispers. 

Karlai crouches down, and awkwardly puts his arm around her. 

They stay like this for a few moments. 

Then she looks up at him. Her tears have stopped. “You’re going to have to put me back to sleep, aren’t you?”

Karlai looks at her sadly. “Yes.”

“That’s alright,” the child Ayyur says. “I know you have to stop the me outside from doing bad things.”

Karlai nods.

“Sleeping is nice,” Ayyur says. “I get to dream. Dreaming is nice. When I dream, when I see myself, I don’t cry.” She closes her eyes. 

Gently, Karlai lays Ayyur on the water. He places his hand on her head and murmurs a cantrip of somnolence. As she drifts off into slumber, Ayyur’s breath turns shallow and regular, and her body begins to sink. As the last of her disappears beneath the water, she smiles, as if reliving a pleasant memory. 

Perhaps, Karlai hopes, she is recalling the sound of crashing waves, back when the world was young. 

Then, everything turns white. 

*** 

Karlai awakens on the cold steps of the temple, the members of his team clustered concernedly around him.

“Is she gone?” he asks. 

“Yup,” Sharky says. “We was fightin’, then she just screamed and melted into a puddle of moonwater.”

“I have no idea what you did, Karlai,” Quentin says, “but good work.”

“So we just saved the world, huh?” Yaygor pipes up. He fishes out a bottle of sparkling wine from his knapsack. “How about a  little celebratory drink?”

DM notes

***

EPILOGUE

DM notes

And so our journey ends, with a divine apocalypse averted – for now. The moon has returned to its appropriate phase and place in the sky.  Akkamu and Ulani convened the Orcmmoot, where the orcs deposed Hunapu and crowned Akkamu King of the united tribes. Akkamu marched to the elven encampment and defeated the rest of the possessed elves, seizing the Tome.  But before they can destroy it, it disappears from the encampment overnight. The next morning, Quentin, too, is nowhere to be found. The Sangretta company is defeated by Akkamu’s forces in pitched battle, and forced to withdraw from these lands. But the lot of the coastal elves is barely improved, for the orcs view them with barely veiled suspicion, fearing that they will attempt to resurrect their goddess. Ulani is given an advisorship in Akkamu’s court, but Akkamu, old and set in his ways, heeds her counsel little.  On the ocean, the sails of a hundred High Elven Empire ships flutter in the wind,  speeding them to O’Shude, where they will no doubt fill the vacuum that Sangretta has left… As for our adventurers, their fates are recorded here thus: Quentin steals the Tome from Akkamu, presumably to safeguard it from abuse. He disappears into the forest. Fiern, disgusted with the lack of progress for the coastal elves’ lot, returns to the Old Country. She renounces her vows to Eldath, and sets up her dream cat sanctuary.  Yaygor returns with Fiern to help her out with the sanctuary as resident cat foodologist. But with every passing day, he gets weaker and weaker from his mystral affliction. He dies peacefully, young for a gnome. Maturin buys a ship and embarks on a career as a privateer for hire. She works with the newly arrived High Elven Empire to police the waters of O’Shude, keeping an eye out for attempts to smuggle the increasingly rare and precious mystra.  Thaid stays in Port Rivia for a spell, often eating sumptuous dinners. One night, he embarks on an epic bender, starting with fruity reds and progressing to stronger and stronger drink. Adequately lubricated, he sets off on an extended quest to find and kill the people who murdered his parents.  Karlai receives a map from a mysterious friend, showing locations of mysterious ruins in the depths of O’Shude. He sets off on his personal quest to find answers about his people’s ancient heritage. Arithmus, the Abacus, misses most of the action while keeping tabs on Sangretta’s location. After the fight, he finds a wonderful new business opportunity along the way, reselling a local variety of the Rivian beverage known as ‘anath tea’, that everyone on O’Shude seems to love to hoard, but never to drink. But the respite for those who stay on O’Shude is brief. For Vesomir, livid at the actions of the party, has declared Quentin, Karlai, Thaid, Sharky and Arithmus fugitives for disobeying orders and stealing Empire property.  Armed with fragments of a mysterious mirror, they seek out the Tome, with the intent to perhaps release and control Ayyur for their own ends…