Luke Thomas

Written by Chevaliersf

Son of the local apothecary. Twin brother to Hayley. Smart except when it comes to women.

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Sneaking into Whitewail
??, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   Revenge, they say, is a dish best served aflame. But today, it tasted like frost and missed opportunities.   Whitewail rose from the frozen waste like a dagger of night. Black stone sheathed in ice, its gates yawning wide as a predator’s grin. Fey flit in and out, their forms shimmering with otherworldly grace, as though the cold itself dare not cling to them. Liliana stood beside me, her breath frosting the air as she spoke of the labyrinth beneath: palaces and keeps knitted together by tunnels, a hive of frost and shadow where Vivienne holds court. “The portal we seek,” she said, “lies deep in the belly of it. Further behind the mountain lies the harbor. There is a passage hidden under miles of stone.”   Her voice was steady, but I saw the way her fingers tightened around her sword. Five years of servitude here, five years of footsteps echoing in those ice-locked halls. I wonder if she hears them still.   The plan is simple, if suicidal: sneak in disguised as fey, sprint through Vivienne’s domain to the portal, and pray it spits us out at Ulther’s castle before the yetis tear our throats out. Liliana swears she knows the quickest path. “Winter wolves guard the paths,” she warned, “Eladrin and more patrol the streets. They’ll scent your fear if you let them.” Alistan nodded, but even he looked pale beneath his stubble.   We’d have marched straight in then and there, if not for the exhaustion. Gods, the Feywild gnaws at the soul. My magic flickers in my veins like a guttering candle. My friends looked equally spent from our fight with the strange birds. Gael said nothing, but his hair had bleached to winter-white, blending with the tundra around us. A fitting omen.   So we camped in the lee of a frozen ridge. I wove a small humble dome of fire to keep the cold at bay. Most of us huddled close, keeping ourselves within the confines of the dome. Liliana sat slightly apart, sharpening her blade. The ice-light caught her face, and for a moment, she looked as ancient as the realm that once owned her.   The Feywild’s nights are not meant for mortal eyes. Four stars fell from the sky during my watch—no, not stars. Eyes. Winter wolves, their pupils blazing like twin sapphires forged in the heart of a glacier. They prowled the tundra, breaths frosting the air into daggers. We froze, huddled in my meager dome of warmth, praying the spell would hold.   One wolf paused, nostrils flaring. It caught a whiff of us, or maybe just of our fear. Gael whispered a plan before I could even rouse the others. He slipped into the dark like shadow given legs, luring the beasts deeper into the wastes with a trail of enchanted frost. Clever. Infuriatingly so. Why must Gael make heroism look so effortless?   The rest of the night passed in shivers and silent gratitude. Dawn came grudgingly, the sun finally obeying its proper course, a small mercy in a realm allergic to them. We cloaked ourselves in glamours, our mortal edges softened into fey ambiguity.   Whitewail’s gates loomed, their icy spikes dripping malice. We slipped in among a procession of Eladrin, their hair like frozen starlight, their eyes cutting through us like shards of glass. The guards barely glanced our way. Success or so I hoped.   Inside, the city was a paradox: beautiful and deranged. Streets coiled like serpents, defying logic, architecture a cacophony of spires and hovels, all sheathed in ice. Colors? Only winter’s palette: blues so cold they ached, whites that blinded, silvers that whispered of betrayal. Fey thronged the boulevards, bartering trinkets that probably stole years from your life. Stalls offered “delicacies”: fruits with heartbeat-pulses, meats that still twitched, wines that wept when poured. Hayley stared with hunger in her eyes, but even she took the wise decision to stay away.   Hayley broke the silence with her trademark subtlety: “Liliana, it’s all up to you now!” Liliana didn’t flinch. She led us with the grim familiarity of a prisoner retracing old steps, her breath misting the air like a ghost of resolve, and led us toward a frozen lake—a vast, glassy wound in the tundra, snow clinging to its surface like a burial shroud. A hill ahead loomed, crowned by a watchtower that pierced the sky like a frozen thorn. “Careful,” Liliana murmured. “They see everything.”   Dadroz vanished into the white, a shadow against the snow, and returned with grim news: a hundred-foot keep, tracks crisscrossing the path, no blind spots. A ten-foot-wide gauntlet of ice and stone, guarded by gods-know-what. Alistan gripped his shield, muttering a prayer to justice. Gael nocked an arrow, his hair now the gray of storm clouds. And me? I flexed my fingers, itching for a spark. But fire here would be a death knell.   Our plan? A fragile ballet of fog and folly. Hayley wove the mist—thick, silent, swallowing sound and sigh. We clasped hands like children in a nightmare, shuffling forward.   The tower’s shadow fell over us, its presence a weight, a held breath. Somewhere above, boots crunched snow. A guard’s laugh, sharp as icicles. The fog trembled. Hold, hold. And we slipped through, hearts pounding in unison. For once, luck (or Hayley’s flawless magic) held. The cave mouth with the portal inside yawned ahead, dark and welcoming as a grave.   The cave exhaled frost like a slumbering leviathan, its breath biting through our glamours. Ahead, shadows loomed: yetis, their fur matted with ice, and winter wolves with eyes like frozen coals. A colossal yeti snored in the corner, its snores rattling the icicles above. Liliana strode forward, fearless, her voice steady as she parlayed in Sylvan. The beasts grumbled, their words a guttural avalanche, until the giant one stirred. It loomed over us, breath reeking of old blood, and barked a challenge.   “We bring urgent word for King Ulther,” Liliana declared, her tone sharper than her blade. The yeti’s gaze narrowed, suspicion icing its features. My fingers twitched with a held-back fireball as the large creature considered Liliana’s words. Miraculously, it stepped aside, gesturing to a crevice slick with black ice. “Hasten,” it growled, as if bored by our mortality.   We slipped past, hearts lodged in throats. The cave deepened, its walls closing in like a glacier’s ribs. Then, a door. Ironbound and frosted shut, flanked by twin golems of shimmering ice. Liliana froze. “These weren’t here before,” she whispered. Ulther’s handiwork, no doubt. A welcome gift for our upcoming apology.   Gael nodded, already stringing his bow. “I can silence them,” he murmured, and the plan unfolded: his magic would smother sound, mine would melt our problems. (Fire. Finally.) Hayley grinned, no doubt envisioning the explosion. Alistan tightened his grip on his shield, muttering, “Quietly. For once.”   Gael’s spell webbed itself over the room, as Liliana and Alistan soundless ran forward. The golems lunged, their icy fists crashing down on Liliana with a sound like shattering bones. My blood roared, not in fear, but in fury. Firewall. The spell tore from my hands, a serpent of heat and spite, coiling around the frost-born abominations. They writhed, hissing into puddles, their frozen hearts dissolving into steam. With our magical and physical onslaught, the golems soon melted into nothingness. After they were down, Liliana rose again with the help of a bit of magical healing, battered but unbroken, her smile determined.   The corridor beyond was a gauntlet of ice and locked gates. But with Dadroz’ skill we soon found ourselves standing before the last door to the portal. Dadroz bent to its lock, an artist at work; until it detonated in his face. Through the smoke strode Vivienne, her presence a blizzard given form. Hair like frozen starlight, eyes like the void between stars. The air crackled, her magic a tempest howling for our blood. Five years ago, she took Liliana from us. Today? Today, I wanted to burn her.   But Dadroz, that glorious fool, lunged headfirst into the portal. The rest of us were forced to follow, Vivienne’s storm clawing at our heels. I lingered, just a breath, fire dancing at my fingertips. One spark. One moment of defiance. But then I caught a cold glimpse in my sister’s eyes and the determination on Alistan’s face. Not here. Not yet.   The portal swallowed us, its cold a slap. I’ll never forget Vivienne’s smirk as we left. Was she pleased that we had bested her somehow? Or did she revel in the thought that we were likely heading into our certain deaths at the hands of High King Ulther?

The birds have wings
??, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The grasslands near Whitewail shifted like a painter’s whim—vibrant green fading to burnished gold, stalks towering taller than a man. Summer’s heat clung to us, thick and syrupy, the sun forever teetering on the horizon, bathing everything in dusky amber. Our fey mounts raced forward, but distance here is a liar. An hour? A day? Impossible to tell.   Then the flowers appeared. First orange, a sea of them rippling between the golden grass, their petals glowing faintly as if lit from within. Our drake slowed, nostrils flaring, its copper scales shivering with unease. Above the blooms, hummingbirds darted—if hummingbirds had butterfly wings and eyes like molten glass. A dozen began trailing us, their wings a kaleidoscopic blur. Harmless, we thought, until we noticed their beaks: needle-sharp, glinting like obsidian.   We crossed an unseen threshold. The orange flowers bled into crimson, and the air crackled. Behind us, the hummingbirds burst in showers of feathers, reforming as sparrows twice their size, butterfly wings now spanning like stained glass. They circled higher, watching. Waiting.   We rode onward, the golden sea of grass giving way to fields of violet blooms so deep they seemed to swallow the light. The hummingbirds—now owls with vast, shimmering butterfly wings—hovered above, their silent flight unnervingly precise. Gael tried speaking to them in Sylvan, his voice lilting with the old tongue, but they stared blankly, their movements arranging into eerie patterns: a wing curled like a finger, talons splayed like a hand. Signs? Or fey mockery?   Hayley’s magic brushed against their minds, confirming what we feared: no intelligence, only instinct. Puppets of the realm, nothing more.   Now fatigue is a mortal affliction, and the Feywild delighted in reminding us of that fact. Just as our limbs grew heavy and our eyelids began to droop, the sun—that fickle, golden bastard—leaped backward in the sky, dragging noon back with it like an overeager suitor. Our mounts, blessed with their unfeeling stone hearts, pressed onward without complaint. No hunger, no exhaustion—just the endless, indifferent clatter of hooves against earth. Meanwhile, the rest of us were left to suffer in this beautiful, unrelenting dreamscape.   The birds behind us, at least, had the decency to tuck their needle-beaks into their wings and surrender to sleep. A small mercy, or so I thought—until the flowers turned blue.   Now, I’ve always had a fondness for blue. It’s the color of Keralon’s evening skies, of Elsa’s favorite ribbons—but this? This was blue as a bruise, as a warning. And then came the pops. Like corked wine bottles at a noble’s feast, if the wine were made of pure malice. The owl-butterflies returned, but bigger—wings vast as sails, talons like scythes, eyes the crimson of fresh-spilled blood. Their screeches sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with magic.   Battle was inevitable. We wheeled our mounts around, blades and spells at the ready. Alistan’s sword flashed like silver justice, Gael’s arrows whispered death, and Liliana—gods bless her reckless courage—charged ahead like the Feywild itself owed her coin. The owls fell quickly, but victory was short-lived. The air hummed, then buzzed, then swarmed with insects, their bites sharp as betrayal.   I swear, if one more winged thing tried to drink my blood that day, I was going to set the whole realm ablaze.   Hayley rode her goat straight into the fray. She wove a spell of draining magic, sapping the strength from the remaining owl-beasts, and I—being the gracious brother and brilliant pyromancer I am—followed up with a fireball. Because as always, the answer is fire.   Between swatting insects and incinerating fey abominations, we finally cleared the field. The surviving owls fled, their wings casting fractured shadows as they vanished into the ever-shifting horizon.   Just when I thought the Feywild had exhausted its capacity for terror, it unveiled its latest masterpiece: a roar ripped from the throat of the horizon itself. We turned as one, and there it was—the sky woven into a face of a thousand tiny birds, their wings a shifting mosaic of fury. No hesitation. No grand speeches. We ran.   Mounts? Yes. Dignity? Left somewhere in the violet flowers. The ground beneath us split into mirror images of our frantic flight—fey doubles that moved just out of sync with reality. A stroke of luck! We sent them careening in the wrong direction, buying seconds with borrowed shadows. Alistan and I lagged behind, our drake built like a fortress, not a racehorse.   The land itself conspired to aid our escape—forests melted into deserts, illusions flickering like candle smoke. I seized the fraying edges of the magic and pulled, weaving our scent, our sound, our very presence into the chaos. The swarm lost us, their shrieks fading into the honeyed air. Safe. For now.   We collapsed, adrenaline still singing in our veins like a poorly tuned lute. Sleep came fitfully, dreams full of wings and needle-beaks.   But morning brought no respite.   The birds had reformed: not a face now, but a hand, vast and grasping, as if some unseen puppeteer guided their hunt. Hayley reshaped our faces into fey likenesses, while Gael’s primal magic muffled our steps. For hours, it worked. Then… cliffs. Because, of course, there were cliffs. Alistan, our mount and I tumbled into a crevasse, bruises blossoming like ill-timed roses, before scrambling back out like startled cats.   And there it was: Whitewail, looming at last. But time, that slippery fiend, had slipped through our fingers. The deadline pressed against us like a knife to the throat.   Then Liliana, bless her reckless heart, offered a new plan: abandon the boat heist. Storm Vivienne’s palace instead. Plunge straight through her portal to King Ulther’s castle.   Madness.   But then again—when has that ever stopped us?

Into the Jaws of the Warg King
??, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We were putting the final touches on our drake statue, the village draped in autumn’s fiery hues, when the howls pierced the air. No hesitation—Alistan and Liliana surged forward, shields raised, as Liliana summoned a phantom steed that materialized in a burst of spectral light. The creatures that lunged from the treeline were abominations: wolves with the twisted faces of men, their eyes glinting with cruel intelligence.   I loosed a fireball, the explosion scattering the first wave in a shower of embers and ash. Hayley followed with a curse that left the beasts retching, their guttural snarls dissolving into whimpers. The fight was over in moments, our preparations leaving the wolves little room to breathe, let alone strike.   Afterward, we sifted through the remains—autumn wolves, their fur streaked with russet and gold, their human-like jaws frozen in snarls. These were no mindless beasts; they understood speech, carried commands from their master. Their tracks, half-hidden under fallen leaves, led northeast, deeper into the woods.   As we travelled onward, we spotted a twister looming ahead, a spiraling monolith of dust and leaves—yet not a breath of wind touched us. It was surrounded by a set of standing stones. Unease prickled my spine as we approached the menhirs, their stones etched with Elven runes naming the seasons. Hayley’s identify spell confirmed their purpose: ancient conduits to bend the realm’s very rhythm.   Gael plucked goodberries from his pouch—their blossoms still dewy—and laid them at the spring menhir’s base. The air shimmered, the twister collapsing into nothingness as a warm breeze surged forth. Rain fell soft as whispers, revealing a grassy hill and the dark maw of a cave.   Inside, Gael’s call echoed into the depths. "We seek the lord of this dwelling!"   The answer came as a growl. The head of a hound emerged—massive, fur black as a starless night, eyes like smoldering coals. Likely the Warg King himself (and not War King as Alistan corrected me). "Prey," it rumbled, jaws dripping disdain.   Liliana smirked. "And you look like a doggy."   The beast snarled in anger, vanishing into shadow, daring us to enter its dark lair. We followed, the cave’s throat tightening around us.   The cave swallowed us whole, its walls slick with moisture and tangled with roses that should not bloom in darkness. Alistan’s torchlight trembled as a screeching howl tore through the air—a sound that clawed at the mind as much as the ears. The dire worg lunged from the shadows, a hulking mass of muscle and malice. Alistan met it head-on, sword flashing, but the beast’s fury drove him to his knees, blood staining the grass beneath us.   I hurled magic missiles into the creature’s flank, their force staggering it long enough for Hayley’s raven to channel healing energy into Alistan. He surged back up, blade biting deep into the worg’s throat. For a moment, we thought it over—until the cave’s cursed magic stirred. The roses blackened, the worg’s wounds sealed, and its eyes snapped open with renewed hunger.   Dadroz’s arrow pierced its skull mid-lunge, and I finished it with a firebolt. Flames engulfed the beast, spreading to the unnaturally lush grass, smoke curling like vengeful spirits.   Then came the wolves—two more, slinking from the dark. Gael’s bell trap chimed a warning, giving us a heartbeat to react. Liliana’s sword cleaved one in half, while Alistan’s strike severed the other’s spine.   We took a rest on the scorched grass, catching our breath. The cave reeked of burnt fur and blood, but the silence was a balm. Ten minutes. That’s all we dared take.   We pressed deeper into the next cave, its walls giving way to a chamber dominated by a gnarled tree, its leaves wilted and clinging to skeletal branches. Beneath it lay a moss-crusted stone, two dire wolves lurking in its shadow. Liliana approached, her voice steady as she parleyed. They spoke of duty—bound to aid their Warg King in winter’s den. When reason failed, Hayley’s magic coiled around their minds, bending their will to silence.   The winter cave was a tomb of ice. Alistan and Liliana led, their boots skidding on glass-smooth floors. The Warg King awaited us there, a hulting beast with frost-caked fur and eyes like frozen blood. He laughed, a sound like cracking glaciers. “Foolish prey. Ulther needed only two days’ delay—you’ve gifted him four.” His grin widened. “Slay me. The High King will simply stitch me back from shadow.”   The Warg King’s taunts were cut short by Hayley’s guttural curse—a wave of sickly green energy that slammed into him. He retaliated with a howl that vibrated in our bones, teeth rattling, vision blurring. Alistan and Liliana charged, blades raised, while the rest of us loosed arrows and spells. But the beast shrugged off fire and steel alike, its frost-furred hide defying even our fiercest strikes.   Liliana fell first, the Warg King’s jaws clamping around her torso before hurling her aside like a broken doll. “Prey,” he sneered, blood dripping from his maw. Alistan’s roar echoed through the icy cavern as he hacked wildly, driving the creature back. It was Dadroz who ended it—a single arrow through the eye, the Warg King collapsing mid-snarl.   We found nothing in his lair but cold and silence. Liliana, revived by Hayley’s magic, delivered the news to the remaining dire wolves. They growled, unyielding, refusing to abandon their home. So we left them to their hollow existence.   Back in the village, the fey flocked to our statues. Their gazes breathed life into the stone—our drake’s scales shimmering, muscles rippling, until Thor’yn (as Alistan named him) stepped free, a creature of living copper and fey whimsy. The villagers gifted us a silver tray that conjures a feast once daily—a small comfort in this treacherous realm.   We rode hard for Whitewail, Thor’yn and the other statues brought to life carrying us swiftly through the Feywild’s ever-shifting terrain. Grass bowed in our wake, no longer a labyrinth. Yet time twisted again—the sun froze at the horizon, dusk clinging like a shroud.   Now we camp in eternal twilight, my wards humming against the unknown. Galiene’s curse gnaws at my thoughts. Ulther’s games loom. But tonight, we rest.   Tomorrow, we steal a boat.

A Feywild Festival
??, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The village was a patchwork of whimsy and unease—cottages crowned with grass and moss, trees in full bloom despite the season’s caprice, and air thick with the scent of melted chocolate and candied roses. Music drifted through the lanes, lutes and flutes weaving a melody that tugged at our feet. Not a compulsion, but a suggestion, as if the ground itself hummed with rhythm. I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to tap along.   Elves and eladrin emerged from their homes, their eyes bright with curiosity as they waved us toward the square. Alistan and Liliana returned the gestures, their guard lowered by the Feywild’s honeyed illusions. I hung back, my staff a comforting weight.   The square buzzed with chaos masquerading as festivity. Tents sagged under garlands of ivy, kegs overflowed with orange liquid that glowed faintly, and stalls offered cupcakes dusted in gold. But it was the stone blocks that chilled me—each the size of a wagon, half-carved by fey hands. Some bore the beginnings of elegant figures; others lay untouched, their surfaces smooth and waiting.   Alistan approached a couple of eladrin perched on a bench, their fingers entwined as they critiqued a half-formed statue of a dancing dryad. The woman—Selphine Doomglimmer—grinned at his questions. “No reason for the festival!” she trilled. “We simply woke and decided to be glorious!” Her companion pressed cups of orange drink into our hands, his smile too wide.   I declined, but the others drank. Within moments, their laughter grew looser, their movements fluid as creek water. Hayley twirled, her new draconic armor glinting, while Gael’s usual stoicism melted into a grin. Even Liliana’s words lilted like a song.   Selphine gestured to the stones. “Join the competition! Sculpt beauty, and watch it breathe.” Her words slithered with promise.   We joined the sculpting contest, we had heard that this was our opportunity to acquire a mount to help in our traversal of the Feywild. But with the fey drink’s haze clouding the others’ judgment, we knew we had to be careful. Alistan and I started carving a drake, its stone form rough but taking shape under his hammer and my guidance. The elves flitted around us, offering candied meats and pastries glazed in honey—temptations I refused, nibbling instead on stale rations. Time warped around us; the sun hung fixed at noon, yet exhaustion weighed our limbs as if days had passed. When we begged rest, the fey shrugged, indifferent. “Sleep where you like,” they said, as if the concept of an inn were quaint.   We pitched tents at the square’s edge. I layered wards around us, spells humming like angry bees. Sleep came fitfully—and when we woke, the world had iced over. Winter’s bite gnawed through cloaks, the village now cloaked in darkness, breath visible in the air.   The festival had twisted. Lutes played dirges, glühwein steamed in place of orange nectar, and meat pies oozed greasy warmth where sweets once sat. My friends drank again—their laughter louder, movements clumsier, minds sharpened in some ways, dulled in others. Alistan’s grip on his hammer was fiercer, but his feet stumbled. But we picked ourselves up and continued work on our state, our minds almost covered in the haze of this twisted realm. Each pick of a chisel sounding as a melodious cymbal in tune with the otherworldly festival.   Then the wolves came.   Fangs tore into my cloak, pain searing my arm. I shoved the beast back, blood slick on my sleeve. More wolves surged past, toward the square’s heart. I hurled a fireball, flames engulfing fur and stone alike—a statue shattered in the blast. Alistan barred the rest with his shield, steel ringing against claws as I chanted spells, the air reeking of burnt hair and ozone.   When the last wolf fled, the fey drifted back, giggling at the carnage as if it were part of the revelry. No concern for the broken statue, the blood on snow. Just another verse in their endless, capricious song.   We carved until our hands ached, the drake’s form emerging jagged and proud. But time here is a riddle—how long had we labored? Hours? Days? When we asked the fey when the contest might end, they giggled and clapped. “An endpoint! What a delightful notion!” They agreed to consider it, their laughter trailing us as we retreated to camp, exhaustion dragging at our bones.   Sleep came like a hammer blow. We woke to a scorching dawn, heat rippling across the village in visible waves. Winter’s snow vanished in an eyeblink, grass surging waist-high, emerald and voracious. The square had transformed again: fey danced in silken scraps, red wine flowed like blood, and the air swam with the sizzle of spiced meat on open flames.   We returned to our statue, the drake’s scales still rough. My boggle familiar, Pim, proved unexpectedly useful—his… excretions, when refined, formed a pearlescent mortar that shimmered like true dragonhide. The fey crowded around, cooing at the glittering effect, their fingers brushing the stone as if it were alive.   Then the wolves came—summer wolves this time, fur like molten copper, fangs dripping embers. Gael’s arrows pinned them in a tangle of vines before they could strike, but one broke free, lunging at Liliana and Hayley. The heat radiating from its body forced them back, their armor scorching. Hayley with a quick flick of her wrist, warped space to hurl the beast back into the pack.   Fire spells were useless here—I dared not risk empowering them. Instead, I loosened magic missiles, their force knocking wolves aside as Alistan and Liliana carved through the rest with blade and prayer. Even singed and sweating, we drove them off, the fey barely pausing their dance to notice.   After driving off the wolves, Gael questioned the fey about the attacks. "Does this happen often?"   "Once a day," they chimed, as if discussing the weather. "A war king sends them. All seasons but spring—how droll."   Gael bargained: "Point us to this king. We’ll put a stop to his raid, in exchange for… advantages in your contest."   The fey tittered, but agreed. "A fair trade! But first—finish your statues."   We slept uneasily, dawn breaking on an autumn morning. The air bit with a crisp chill, leaves blazing amber and gold. Clouds hung low, spitting occasional rain. The music had shifted—structured, almost solemn—as the fey murmured encouragement. "Almost done," they whispered, their eyes gleaming.   Alistan knelt by the drake, melting copper into scales that shimmered like liquid sunset. A cold wind gusted, carrying the distant howl of wolves.   We tightened our grips on weapons and wills.   The war king’s pack would come again.   And this time, we’d be ready.

From Keralon into the Feywild
22nd of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   I woke in my own bed at the Wolf’s Den for the first time in weeks, the familiar creak of the keep’s timbers a comfort after so many nights spent on the road. Dawn painted the room in pale gold as I dressed, my mind already turning toward the journey ahead. Today, we leave for Neverhold—not as heroes, not as knights on a noble quest, but as apologists, sent to grovel before King Ulther for our trespass in Immerglade.   The memory still stings. We’d fought a fey guard to gain entry, yes, but we hadn’t been the instigators of the entire mess, that had been the hobgoblins. Now, the King of Keralon commands us to make amends, lest our recklessness spark a war between realms. A simple apology, they say. A few words, a bowed head, and all will be forgiven.   I don’t believe it for a second.   Ulther is no fool. He’s a predator, and we are walking into his court with our throats bared. Two weeks to reach Nimmerburg, the capital of Neverhold in the Feywild—two weeks for him to weave traps, to twist time, to ensure we arrive just too late to satisfy his pride. Delay us, humiliate us, give himself an excuse to claim our lives as forfeit. That’s the game.   None of us want this. But none of us will shirk it, either.   We are knights of Keralon, sworn to serve. Even when the service tastes like ash.   Let Ulther play his games. We’ll play ours.   The scent of caramelized sugar and warm batter filled the Wolf’s Den this morning—Dynia had outdone herself. Stacks of golden pancakes, towers of crisp waffles drizzled in honey, platters of fruit so vibrant they looked stolen from a fey banquet. She flitted between the stove and the table, her cheeks flushed from the heat, insisting it was a thank you for letting her stay in the keep while we were away.   "Eat well," she said, pressing a cup of spiced tea into my hands. "You’ll need your strength."   Gael, of course, pretended not to notice the way her fingers lingered near his arm, or how she’d memorized exactly how he took his coffee. Hopeless, the both of them.   Then Liliana shattered the peace.   "Dynia," she said, setting down her fork with deliberate calm. "Who placed the glamour on you?"   Dynia blinked, her smile faltering. "I—what? I can’t do magic."   The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Vivienne had warned Liliana yesterday that a powerful glamour spell existed on the elf. At very least, Dynia’s memories were veiled, her past obscured by fey trickery. And given Dynia’s history as Titania’s servant, sent by Ulther himself… well. The threads all led back to Neverhold.   We exchanged glances. Now was not the time to unravel this. Not when we were hours from walking into the lion’s den. Dynia, oblivious or willfully so, turned back to the dishes, humming as if the conversation had never happened.   Vivienne’s arrival nearly made me spill my tea. She slipped through the kitchen door like a shadow given form, her presence still setting my teeth on edge. Five years of Liliana’s life, stolen. Five years we’d never get back. And yet here she stood, asking if we were ready to leave as if she were just another member of the party.   "We have a few things to settle first," Alistan said, his voice carefully neutral. “But we have been planning our route and the map has many points that are unknown to us.”   Vivienne tilted her head, her smile all sharp edges. "Ask your questions, then. I will be truthful about what I can share."   Liar. But we needed her. The Feywild was her domain, and without a guide, we’d be lost before we crossed the threshold.   The map of Neverhold sprawled across our table, its edges curling like leaves in autumn. One marking in particular caught our eye—Kingscleft, a red scar across the parchment. Vivienne traced it with a slender finger, her expression unreadable.   "A wound on the land," she said. "A river of lava meeting the sea, a wall of steam that never fades. Even I do not know its true nature—Ulther keeps his secrets close."   We pressed for more—names of towns, customs, dangers—but her answers were honeyed thorns. "Everyone will be friendly," she assured us, her smile sharp. "But remember—their kindness may ask for your teeth in return. And they will adore you. Mortals are such rare delicacies in the Feywild."   The map’s lack of roads unnerved me. Vivienne laughed—a sound like icicles breaking. "Roads? Oh, they exist. They simply refuse to stay where you left them. Time and space are... suggestions in my homeland."   Then came the true blow. "Ulther controls the flow of time there," she said. "A day for you could be a year in Keralon. Or the reverse. Unless..." Her gaze slid to Liliana, then away. "I could shield you. Anchor you to your own time. For a price."   "A year of service," she offered.   The words hung like a noose. A year. Galienne’s curse would claim her in that time. And if Ulther stretched our stay beyond that...   Alistan’s knuckles whitened around his tankard. None of us could forget the five years Vivienne had stolen from Liliana. But could we risk the alternative?   We parted ways to prepare—Alistan and Liliana to bury their brother, finally freed from the Black Knight’s curse (only for it to claim Galienne in his stead). I went to the academy’s library, though the scholars still eye me like a stray dog let indoors.   The texts were clear: only a powerful fey could reliably shield mortals from the Feywild’s temporal whims. Non-detection spells might stop Ulther from targeting us if we weren’t right up on his nose—if I could cast them on all of us, or even any of us, which I can’t. Not without draining myself to the dregs.   So here we stand: a fey’s bargain, or a king’s mercy.   I left the academy with my head full of half-formed spells and dread, clutching the small silver locket I’d bought for Elsa. The walk to her manor was supposed to clear my thoughts—until I saw the two knights storming out, one red-faced and bellowing about unfinished business. My stomach twisted.   Elsa wrenched the door open before I could knock, her usually composed face flushed with anger. "I said I’m not—" She froze. "Luke." Her shoulders slumped, the fire dimming. "Forgive me. It’s been… a day."   A servant scurried past, hastily shoving scrolls into a cabinet. Elsa guided me to the parlor, her fingers tight around the locket I offered. "It’s lovely," she murmured, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Then, haltingly, she confessed that she had something that she needed to confide in a friend: she’d been swindled.   "Bromly Darkwater," she spat the name like poison. A merchant who’d charmed her into investing her fortune, then vanished—leaving behind an empty warehouse and a mountain of debt. The missing gaps in her home’s decor suddenly made sense. "I haven’t told my family in Tarn," she admitted, voice fraying. "But everything here may be sold. Even the manor."   Then the plea: "The Knights of the Longtable hold a loan coming due. Alistan and Hayley are members—could they… intervene?"   Friend, she’d called me. The word stung, but the desperation in her eyes burned worse. I raced back to the keep.   Hayley listened, then snapped her fingers. "Rachnar." The draconic ambassador owed us favors. We stormed the embassy, and after some persuasion, Rachnar agreed—first with a chest of gold, then (at our urging) with a direct meeting. Elsa deserved more than a handout; she deserved dignity.   By dusk, Elsa stood in our hall, the weight lifting from her shoulders as Rachnar’s envoy outlined the new terms. "Thank you," she whispered.   A small victory. But tonight, at least, her home is still hers.   Vivienne arrived just as the last of our preparations were made, her pale eyes glinting like frost under moonlight. "Have you decided?" she asked, her voice smooth as a frozen pond.   Dadroz had already refused her deal, and we stood united—no bargains, no debts. "We decline your protection," I said, the words heavy on my tongue. Galienne’s fate weighed on me, but the cost was too high. I’d seen what fey "favors" did to Liliana, her white hair reminds us every day. Some chains aren’t worth wearing, even at the risk of everything.   Vivienne inclined her head, her smile unreadable. "As you wish."   Dynia pressed a cloth-wrapped bundle into my hands—food for the journey, her fingers lingering just a moment too long on Gael’s. Her glamour still hung over her like a veil, but we had no time to unravel it now.   Vivienne led us deep into the Lorewood, to a pond so still it mirrored the sky. A single water lily floated at its center, pristine as a fey’s promise. "Drink," she instructed, "then circle the pond three times counterclockwise. The path will open."   As we obeyed, the air thickened with the scent of damp earth and something older—wild magic, the kind that prickled my skin. The third circuit complete, the trees ahead shivered, their trunks parting to reveal a mist-wrapped trail. The Feywild’s threshold.   Vivienne stepped back, her form already fading into the woods. "I return to Winterwail," she said. Then, softer: "Ulther has given me orders, too. Should our paths cross in the Feywild..."   An unspoken warning. A lingering threat. An ominous confession.   Then she was gone, and the trees sighed shut behind her.   We stood at the edge of two worlds, the weight of time and curses pressing down. Ahead lay Neverhold, Ulther’s games, and answers we might not survive to use.   But we stepped forward anyway, through the gap revealed by the trees.   Into the unknown.   The moment we stepped through the threshold, the world twisted. The sun plunged below an unseen horizon, painting the sky in twilight hues—though only a heartbeat ago, it had been midday. The Lorewood, vast and impenetrable mere steps behind us, now seemed to shrink into the distance as if politely stepping aside. Before us stretched a sea of tall grass, studded with wildflowers in colors that had no name in the mortal realm—petals that shimmered like crushed gemstones, blues too deep, reds too vivid.   As we walked, the grass parted obediently, weaving itself into a path beneath our feet. For a fleeting moment, I dared to hope the Feywild might favor us—until the trail led us to a wall of bushes, two meters high and thick with dark, wine-colored berries. They stretched endlessly to either side, an impassable thicket.   Gael crouched and addressed the bushes directly. "Might you let us pass?"   A snort answered him. From behind a tangle of vines hopped a hare—wearing a velvet waistcoat and a look of profound skepticism. "Expecting the bushes to answer?" he drawled, adjusting his cuffs. "I’m Rollam. The landlord of this particular inconvenience."   We gave our names—I offered "Thom" without thinking, a habit born of caution. True names are power here, and I’ve no desire to be any fey’s collateral.   Rollam’s ears twitched. "I’ve rented the place out for a wedding party. Middle of the thicket. Lovely affair, I’m told—not that I’m invited." His nose wrinkled. "But I’ll let you through. For a price."   "A tear of happiness from the bride," he said, as casually as one might ask for a copper.   The absurdity of it all nearly made me laugh. Here we were, racing against time to save Galiene, and now we’re haggling with a dapper hare over wedding gatecrashing.   But this is the Feywild.   The rules are written in smoke.   We tried to circumvent Rollam’s deal—foolish, in hindsight. The moment we stepped off the path, the grass swelled, stalks thickening into towering green walls taller than Alistan. Our blades and hatchets barely made a dent; for every handful of stalks we hacked down, twice as many sprang up behind us, sealing our retreat.   Hayley sent Fiachna skyward, the raven’s sharp eyes guiding us through the emerald labyrinth. Progress was agonizingly slow, but eventually, we stumbled past the berry-laden bushes and back toward the path—only to find ourselves at the doorstep of a lone hut, its door yawning open like a mouth.   Alistan knocked. Silence. Inside, a gaping hole in the floor led to a tunnel, its depths swallowing the light. I summoned Pim, my boggle familiar, who scampered into the darkness with his usual manic glee. He returned minutes later, bouncing on his toes. “Tiny tunnel! West to east! Smells like mushrooms and bad decisions!”   Exhausted, we opted to camp outside the hut rather than venture into whatever fey nonsense lurked below. I wove my wards around us, spells humming like a lullaby of paranoia.   The Feywild’s rules are fickle, but one truth holds: never trust a door left open.   Sleep was a fragile thing in the Feywild, shattered by the chime of my magical alarm. A small, mole-like creature—Nog—had poked its head from the tunnel, beady eyes blinking in the dim light. The moment the alarm sounded, it ducked back into the shadows, but Alistan and Liliana coaxed it out with the gentle persistence of seasoned diplomats.   "Why are you here?" Nog squeaked, dusting off his velvety fur.   Gael replied in fluent Sylvan, explaining our journey. Nog’s nose twitched. "Then why camp at my door?"   Liliana offered a shrug and a half-truth. "We are headed to Hall and needed rest."   Nog considered this, then brightened. "You can use my tunnels. But only at night—I sleep all day. And I’ll need a treat."   Hayley produced a honeyed nut from her pack, and the deal was struck.   We followed Nog into the earth, squeezing through narrow passages that smelled of damp soil and something faintly metallic. The walls pressed close, roots brushing our backs like skeletal fingers. Nog warned us not to stray into side tunnels—"Unless you like becoming lost forever."   Then, abruptly, he vanished.   We found ourselves beneath another hut, its trapdoor leading to a settlement of twig-and-leaf cottages, quaint as a child’s dream. Dawn had barely broken when we emerged—but the Feywild, ever capricious, hurled the sun across the sky in a blink. Noon light scorched our eyes before we could even adjust.   Time here is not a river, but a fickle trickster.   And we?   We’re its playthings.

The Tragedy of Alistan De la Roost
17th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The morning dawned crisp and clear as we departed Latebra Velora, the weight of Lady Morathin’s tacit approval settling over us like armor. My companions, once hesitant, now moved with purpose—Alistan’s jaw set, Liliana’s fingers tracing the hilt of her sword, even Hayley’s usual quips subdued beneath the gravity of our task. The Black Knight’s camp awaited, and this time, we would not turn away.   Before we left, Surina had pulled us aside, her voice low. “That shadow you saw in the grasslands,” she said, “might belong to the copper dragon whose lair you disturbed. If you encounter it again… discourage it from nearing our borders.” There was an edge to her words, a tension I couldn’t quite parse. Territorialism? Old grudges? Dragons, it seemed, carried feuds as long as their lifespans.   As we traveled, Gael took the lead, his connection to the land guiding us. He knelt beside a brook, whispering to the birds in a language of rustling leaves and trilled notes. They answered eagerly—yes, a dragon had passed here, its wings stirring the treetops, its shadow vast as a storm cloud. They led us to a clearing where the earth bore the deep, scalded imprint of a massive body, the grass still flattened in the shape of coiled limbs. But the dragon itself was gone, leaving only the ghost of its presence and the faint, metallic tang of ozone.   I crouched, brushing my fingers over the indentation. The copper dragon—if Surina was right—was nearby. Watching? Waiting? The thought sent a thrill through me, part dread, part fascination. Dragons were creatures of legend, of fire and fate, and we had blundered into their games like knights in a bard’s tale.   We made camp in the same spot as before, the ground still bearing the scars of Alistan’s duel with the undead retainer. Gael and I took first watch, the night air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. At first, all was quiet—until a deer fell from the sky, landing with a sickening thud. The sound of massive wings followed, and then she appeared: Cypria, the copper dragon, descending like a storm given form.   She tore into the deer with casual brutality, her claws rending flesh as easily as parchment. We stepped out of our protective bubble, waiting—because what else does one do when a dragon decides to dine beside your campfire?   Alistan introduced us. Cypria’s voice was a rumble of amused thunder. “I am called Cypria,” she said, and then—“I know you were in my lair.” My heart skipped. But she only nodded, approvingly. We hadn’t stolen from her hoard. We’d dealt with the infected wyverns. We’d spared her basilisks. And, oh yes—she’d been the owl watching us all along.   She questioned us about the Black Knight, her golden eyes glinting as Gael explained our plan to capture, not kill, to avoid the curse. She listened, then asked why we hunted the undead at all. “Our friends asked for our help,” Gael said. Cypria’s snort sent embers swirling. “Humans with dragon friends. How novel.”   Then came our warning: “Lady Morathin does not welcome you in her territory.” Cypria knew. She had no desire to challenge the Fenhunter—“She is stronger than anything in these woods.” A chill crept down my spine.   But the real surprise came when Cypria extended a claw to Alistan. “A word,” she said. And just like that, he climbed on her, and they vanished into the night sky.   He returned hours later, grinning like a man who’d stolen the moon. Cypria knew about the stolen lance—it had belonged to her rider, whose tomb we’d missed in her lair. She wanted it returned. A reward was offered. And—here Alistan’s voice dropped, smug as a cat with cream—she’d hinted he might prove worthy to be her next rider.   Showoff.   We slept fitfully after that, the weight of dragons and curses and stolen relics pressing down on us. The next day, we would go after the Black Knight. We were resolved to get our answers—or blood.   But that night? I dreamed of wings…   We returned to the undead camp at dawn, the air thick with the dissonance of their mockery of life—blades being sharpened, pots clattering over fires, all performed by creatures who needed neither food nor rest. The same ghast from before slithered forward, its hollow eyes gleaming. "Changed your minds, then?" it rasped.   Gael didn’t flinch. "Lady Morathin’s orders. Leave her lands."   The ghast’s laughter was a dry rattle. "The Fenhunter owns no lands. Filthy lizard." The insult hung in the air like a challenge. Tension coiled tighter, and Alistan’s hand drifted to his sword. The ghast sneered. "You came for violence."   Alistan simply laughed in reply, the sound sharp as steel, and drew his blade.   The camp erupted. Gael’s arrows struck first, punching through the ghast’s chest like nails into rotten wood. I followed with a fireball, the explosion scattering undead like kindling, their ragged cloaks igniting. The de la Roosts locked shields, a wall of steel and defiance, but the undead surged like a tide. Alistan faltered for half a heartbeat—just long enough—and they swarmed him. Claws and rusted swords found gaps in his armor, blood splattering the earth. Hayley’s curse billowed behind them, a sickly mist that choked even the breathless, but too late. Alistan crumpled.   Then he emerged.   The Black Knight strode froward from a tent, his armor blacker than the void between stars. And behind him a skeletal dragon golem, its bones pieced together from the cavern near Ravensfield. I knew those ribs, that skull. The same bones we’d stood beside months ago, now animated by necrotic fury.   The Knight’s visor turned toward us, and for a moment, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.   This was no longer a hunt.   It was a reckoning.   The Black Knight’s voice was a blade through the air—"You have broken the sanctity of the challenge." Then came the shockwave, a pulse of dread so thick it near choked me. My muscles locked, screaming to run, to flee, to do anything but stand before that abyss-clad horror. This was no mere retainer. This was the true Black Knight, and his presence alone was a curse.   The bone-dragon golem lunged for Liliana, its skeletal talons screeching against her shield. She held, but barely. Desperate, I hurled another fireball into the fray, incinerating the last of the lesser undead—except one stubborn wight—clearing space to focus on the real threats. The Knight responded with a flick of his gauntlet. The earth heaved, a wall of stone erupting to split our party in two. Hayley, Gael, and I were cut off from Liliana and Alistan, the battle suddenly fractured.   Gael shouted a final warning as we scrambled around the barrier: "Leave, by order of Lady Morathin!"   The Knight’s reply was ice. "If the Fenhunter wishes to speak, let her challenge me herself. She knows nothing of honor."   Then—Cypria. The copper dragon plummeted from the sky like a falling star, her claws raking through the bone-dragon’s ribs, tearing at the necrotic magic binding it. The golem shuddered, but the Knight was already moving. I threw a ring of fire around him, forcing him to stride through the flames. His armor blackened, but he didn’t falter.   He mounted the golem, and my blood turned to frost when he drew the lance—gleaming, wicked, the same one stolen from Keralon’s cathedral. Dragon-slaying steel. Alistan’s cry of recognition was drowned as the bone-dragon unleashed its breath: a torrent of petrifying mist. Liliana and Alistan collapsed, their limbs stiffening to stone mid-fall.   I acted on instinct, flinging a spell to warp the golem’s form—foolish. Golems resist such magic. The Knight only laughed, his hand pressing to the construct’s spine. Dark energy surged, knitting bone and malice anew. With a thunderous beat of its wings, the abomination took flight.   "I await you at my keep," the Knight called, his voice fading into the clouds.   We gave chase in a frenzy of spells and steel, the sky alight with fire and fury. Alistan leapt onto Cypria’s back, his resolve unshaken even as blood seeped through his armor. Hayley’s magic froze the bone-dragon’s wings mid-beat, sending it lurching, and the two colossal beasts clashed again—copper scales against necrotic bone, a battle of myth and ruin.   The Black Knight’s voice cut through the chaos like a dagger. "I sought to leave. Now you choose to die here." He drove the lance toward Alistan, the cursed steel biting deep. Cypria wrenched him free, spiraling toward Hayley, who caught him with hands already glowing with healing light. Liliana and Gael charged, blade and arrows flying, but the Knight and his golem wrenched skyward once more. My fireball scorched their retreat, but they didn’t fall—not yet.   Alistan, still bleeding, still standing, locked eyes with Cypria. "Get me close," he demanded. The dragon hesitated—"You are wounded." But Alistan’s voice was iron. "I swore to retrieve that lance."   Cypria’s roar shook the trees as she surged upward. Alistan’s sword flashed, a single, perfect strike—and the lance tumbled from the Knight’s grip, plummeting to the earth. The dragon’s claws found their mark, tearing into the Knight’s armor, sending him crashing down in a cacophony of rust and shattered plate.   We ran for the fallen Knight, victory bitter on our tongues—until the black tendrils erupted.   They coiled around Cypria like serpents, veins of shadow spreading across her scales, her form writhing, shrinking. The mighty dragon contorted, muscles withering, until before us stood not Cypria, but Galienne—pale, trembling, her elven features twisted in agony. The curse had transferred.   And the armor? It crumbled to dust, revealing the corpse within. Liliana’s gasp was a knife to the heart. "Brother," she whispered.   The truth crashed over us like a wave. Their fallen sibling had been the Black Knight, the curse had used him, wearing his body like a glove. And now Galienne—sweet Galienne, Alistan’s paramour, the priestess who blushed at her own prayers—was a dragon. A dragon who had taken the curse upon herself. To spare Alistan? To spare us?   The curse’s toll was clear. She would wither. She would die. And in a year’s time, she would rise again—not as Galienne, not as Cypria, but as the next Black Knight.   The forest was silent. The lance lay in the dirt, its metal dull. Some victories taste like ash.

Latebra Velora
15th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We continued our trek toward Latebra Velora, leaving the Lorewood behind and trading its tangled shadows for endless, windswept grasslands. The sky hung low with thick clouds, offering only fleeting glimpses of sunlight. Brief showers drenched us to the bone, leaving our cloaks heavy and spirits damp. The open plains held no obvious danger, but misery clung to us like the mud caked on our boots.   On the final evening before reaching the city, we camped in the middle of the barren expanse. Gael and I took first watch. He seemed unusually tense, his eyes fixed on the southern horizon where he claimed to have spotted a large shadow. I saw nothing but rolling gray fog, though I quietly reinforced our camp’s magical defenses—lingering paranoia from the nightmare shadows still gnawing at me. The night passed without incident, and I collapsed into my bedroll, dreaming not of fey or flames, but of dry clothes and a warm hearth.   The next morning, we woke surprisingly rested, the damp chill of the plains momentarily forgotten in our eagerness to reach Latebra Velora. The weather remained bleak, but by noon, the grasslands gave way to the edge of a dense forest. The road twisted beneath its canopy, the packed earth a welcome respite from days of slogging through mud. My boots finally felt solid beneath me, though my thoughts drifted to Elsa—how she’d laugh at the state of my robes.   As we followed the forest road, we spotted signs of a camp ahead: a thin curl of smoke rising beyond a small bridge. Hope flickered—perhaps friendly travelers, or at least directions to a decent inn. But as we crossed the bridge, the scene soured. A black flag hung limp in the damp air, its pole strung with human skulls. Beside a sputtering fire sat an undead knight in black full plate, its visor revealing a bleached skull grinning beneath. It rose slowly, gauntleted hand resting on a rusted sword.   “Halt, travelers,” it rasped, voice like gravel dragged over stone. Its hollow gaze swept over us, lingering on our weapons. “You look… capable. Will one of you duel me to the death?” The sudden appearance of the undead left us stunned. Was this the legendary Black Knight?   Alistan stepped forward, jaw set, but shook his head. “We don’t dance with curses,” he said flatly. We knew that any duel with the Black Knight would be a lose-lose, either we would die by its hand or we would be cursed to die within a year. The knight tilted its skull, as if disappointed, then shrugged and slumped back onto a mossy log, its sword clanking against the earth.   Alistan and Liliana settled onto a damp log near the skeletal knight, their postures wary but curiosity piqued. When Alistan remarked that the knight seemed far from his keep, the creature let out a rattling laugh. “I am no Black Knight—only his retainer. I test those who seek him. Few survive.”   Liliana leaned forward, her voice sharp. “And why here?”   The knight’s skull tilted, as if savoring the question. “The Black Knight rides these woods. Challenge me, and earn the right to face him. Or flee if you wish to live.”   Alistan’s hand tightened on his sword. The name Black Knight hung between them like a blade. This was the creature who had slain his brother. Without a word, he stood, armor clinking. “I’ll duel you,” he said, voice steady. No curse, no grand oath—just cold resolve.   The knight nodded and rose, sword scraping against stone.   They faced off by the creek, the water murmuring as if bearing witness. Alistan struck first, a feint that knocked the knight’s rusted blade into the mud. The retainer retrieved it slowly, movements labored—a ruse. His next strike was a viper’s lunge, slicing through Alistan’s armor. Blood seeped into the cloth beneath, but Alistan gritted his teeth, rallying with a flurry of blows. Shield raised, he slammed the knight to the ground, pinning him with a boot to the chest.   “Your name,” Alistan demanded.   “Baron Perenolde,” the knight rasped, voice fading.   Alistan’s blade fell. Bones clattered, armor collapsing into a hollow shell. The skull rolled toward the creek, its grin finally still.   Alistan stood breathing hard, victory bitter on his tongue. No cheers followed—only the weight of what lay ahead. The real Black Knight waited, and this duel had been but a whisper of the storm to come.   Gael’s voice cut through the grim silence. “Baron Perenolde… I’ve heard that name. A Knight of Keralon, vanished fifty years ago after challenging the Black Knight.” His words hung in the air like fog. I knelt beside the skeletal remains, probing for clues, but found nothing—no sigils, no curses, just old bones. Death had stripped the baron of his legacy, leaving only a cautionary tale.   The knight’s tent yielded stranger truths. Inside lay standard traveler’s fare: bedrolls, rations, a rusted kettle. Odd, for an undead who needed none of it. Had he clung to mortal habits, or was this a macabre performance? The skulls on the flag offered darker answers—human and dragonborn, polished smooth, their hollow eyes staring. Near the creek, we found the rest of their remains, scattered and forgotten. Liliana, Hayley, and Gael set to burying them, their hands steady but faces tight. Alistan, meanwhile, tore down the black flag and cast it into the fire. The skulls hissed as flames consumed them, as if whispering final curses.   We pressed onward, the forest closing around us like a fist. Fifteen minutes in, the woods fell silent—no birds, no crickets, just the creak of branches. Gael nocked an arrow, his voice low. “Something’s wrong.” Hayley sent Fiachna ahead, the raven’s wings slicing the stillness. We crept forward, tension coiled in our muscles… until life rushed back—birdsong, rustling leaves—as if the forest had merely held its breath. We backtracked, but the silence didn’t return. A fey trick? A warning? Whatever it was, we had no choice but to march into its teeth.   As we walked, Gael broke the quiet. “What’s the plan if we find the Black Knight?” Alistan and Liliana exchanged glances. “Assess him,” Liliana said. “Learn his weakness.” But the lie was thin. We all knew the truth: if there was a way to break the curse, they’d strike. Revenge simmered beneath Alistan’s stoicism, and Liliana’s grip on her sword betrayed her hunger for justice—or vengeance.   We pressed deeper into the woods, the air thickening with the scent of decay. Soon, the muffled sounds of a camp reached us—laughter, clattering cookware, the crackle of fires. Peering through the trees, we saw tents lit by torches, weapon racks standing orderly, undead milling about as if alive. Skeletons polished blades, wights stirred pots over flames, and ghouls lounged on bedrolls. But the land around them was blighted: grass withered to ash, trees stripped bare, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. Life itself recoiled from that place.   I opened my magical senses and immediately spotted the owl—perched high in a dead oak, its feathers shimmering with a transmutation aura. A scout, no doubt. Before I could warn the others, the undead noticed us. A gaunt, unarmored wight approached, its flesh sagging like melted wax. “Visitors,” it croaked, voice like wind through a crypt. “Which of you bested Perenolde?”   Alistan stepped forward, jaw set. “I did. But we’re not here to challenge your master. We seek only to speak with him.”   The wight’s lipless mouth twitched into a mockery of a smile. “The Black Knight does not speak. Return to your Silver City. Dust your books if you aspire to answers.”   Liliana’s hand drifted to her sword, but Alistan shook his head. “Another time,” he said coldly, and we withdrew. As we retreated, I glanced back—the owl was gone.   Once safely distant, Hayley frowned. “I heard whispers of ‘the Final Tournament’ in that thing’s thoughts. The King of Keralon’s design, apparently.” None of us recognized it, not even Alistan, whose family lineage is woven into the city’s history. Suspicion gnawed at me. What tournament? And how was it related to the Knights of Keralon?   Alistan pulled out Galienne’s sending stone, his voice clipped as he relayed the question. No reply came. The silence felt heavier than the forest’s curse.   As we trudged onward, I couldn’t shake the image of that camp—undead mimicking life, the land itself rotting beneath their feet.   We set up our own camp under a bruised sky, the debate over the Black Knight lingering like a bad spell. No one wanted to say it aloud, but fear had coiled around my friends’ resolve. The curse—whispers of lives snuffed mid-swordstroke, souls bound to eternal duel—had turned their courage to ash. Even Alistan sat silent, sharpening his blade with a vacant stare. Rachnar sent us here to resolve this, I thought bitterly. Not to cower in the shadows of stories.   As dusk deepened, we ate in an uneasy quiet. The fire spat embers into the wind, and I caught Liliana glancing over her shoulder, as if the trees themselves might bear the Black Knight’s sigil. Gael muttered something about “strategic retreat,” but strategy without action is just delusion. Hayley, usually the first to jest, poked listlessly at the flames. I wanted to shake them, to remind them of the skulls on Perenolde’s flag, of the sacrifices that we might be making by taking on this mission as foretold by the hag. But duty, like fire, cannot be forced to burn.   Then came the hoofbeats—slow, rhythmic, inevitable. Another undead knight emerged from the gloom, its armor blackened and pitted, horse skeletal beneath it. It passed our camp without a glance, as if we were ghosts beneath notice. The sight clawed at me. Here was our quarry’s servant, daring us to act, and we… let it go.   I clenched my staff until my knuckles ached. This is why we came. Weeks of muddy roads, nightmares, and hollow victories—all to falter at the edge of the storm? The Black Knight’s camp festered barely a league away, and we’d turned tail. For what? Fear of a curse? Since when did knights of Keralon quail at folktales? Even if it was real, we would have a year to find a way to stop it.   But my friends slept fitfully, as I took the first watch, the weight of silence heavier than any blade. Maybe soon, reason would return. Maybe the dawn would remind them—and me—that some risks carve the path to honor.   The road to Latebra Velora offered no respite from its grim tapestry. This morning, we stumbled upon the remains of the undead knight and his horse—shredded like parchment, scattered in a gruesome mosaic. Gael crouched to inspect the carnage, tracing claw marks wider than a shield. “Something big did this,” he murmured, though the forest gave up no further secrets. No tracks, no roars—just the eerie silence of a predator long gone. We pressed on, the weight of unanswered questions gnawing at me.   By midday, the forest peeled back to reveal Latebra Velora. The city rose from a crater, its ancient ruins reborn under a veil of vines and blossoms. At its heart loomed a tree unlike any I’d seen—its trunk gnarled and silver-barked, leaves shimmering like emerald scales. Dragonborn and kobolds moved through the streets, their voices a low, resonant hum. At the gates, draconic guards eyed us with measured suspicion until Hayley presented Rachnar’s letter. The wait that followed was taut with anticipation, but when Surina Mystan arrived, her presence dissolved the tension like sugar in tea.   She was elegance incarnate: a green dragonborn draped in robes of jade silk, her scales catching the light like polished malachite. Her voice, smooth as aged wine, bid us follow. The carriage ride through the city was a blur of verdant arches and murmuring fountains, but the inn she led us to was a sanctuary. Cooled wine, fresh fruit, baths steeped in lavender—luxuries I’d nearly forgotten. I scrubbed the road’s grime from my skin and donned my finest robes, the silver thread catching firelight like stardust.   Surina awaited us in the common room, her demeanor poised yet approachable. When I inquired about etiquette for meeting Lady Morathin, she waved a clawed hand. “The Lady values candor over ceremony,” she said, revealing her role as Rachnar’s superior—a diplomat weaving alliances thicker than dragonhide. That she greeted us personally spoke volumes. Rachnar’s letter had painted us as saviors, it seemed. Flattering, though I wondered what debts we’d unknowingly incurred. Soon after, my friends joined us in the common room and we were led towards the lair of the great dragon herself.   The cavern was a cathedral of shadows and gold. Lady Morathin’s lair swallowed us whole—her emerald scales glinting like cursed treasure, claws longer than a man’s reach curled into the stone. The air reeked of damp moss and ancient power, the kind that prickled my skin like static before a storm. When she spoke, her voice didn’t come from her maw but from the walls themselves, deep and resonant, as if the mountain had learned to whisper secrets.   “You are the first humans to enter my domain in peace,” she said, each word a rumble that vibrated in my ribs. “Perhaps the first to leave alive.” Alistan bowed low, his knightly decorum unshaken, and we followed his example, stunned at the sight of the large dragon. Here was a creature older than kingdoms, wiser than libraries.   She thanked us for aiding her kin in Keralon, though her gratitude felt like a blade balanced on its edge. When we mentioned the Black Knight, her slit-pupiled eyes narrowed. “A curse from your lands that has come to my doorstep,” she hissed, disdain curling through the air like smoke. “As it came from your kind, you are best equipped to resolve it.” Permission to act was granted, but her indifference stung. Even dragons, it seems, have no patience for human follies.   Alistan dared ask about libraries. Her laugh nearly toppled me—a thunderclap of amusement that sent ripples across the pool beneath her. “Dragons do not forget,” she replied, as if the question were a child’s prattle. The dismissal was crisp, final. We were dismissed with a flick of her tail, the water sloshing as she submerged herself again, leaving us drenched in the weight of our insignificance.   Back at the inn, Surina had arranged a feast: roasted meats glazed in honey and firepepper, bread so soft it melted like cloudstuff. Hayley devoured a skewer of spiced lizard-kebab, declaring it “better than Keralon’s soggy pies,” while Gael traded wary glances with a kobold server. I picked at my plate, my mind still echoing with the dragon’s voice.   Afterward, we wandered the city—a labyrinth of roots and stone. Buildings burrowed into the earth, draped in vines that glowed faintly, as if fed by starlight. The dragonborn watched us pass, their stares sharp but curious. Hayley vanished into a market stall, emerging with a set of scaled leather armor that shimmered like serpent skin. “Practical and pretty,” she declared, striking a mock-heroic pose.   I slipped into a scribe’s den, lured by the scent of ink and parchment. The shopkeeper, a wizened half-dragon with spectacles perched on his snout, sold me a vial of ink distilled from midnight blooms and several scrolls etched in Draconic runes.   Now, as I write this by lamplight, the city’s hum seeps through the inn’s walls—a low, rhythmic growl, like a beast dreaming. Tomorrow, we return to the forest, to the Knight and his curse. Lady Morathin’s ambivalence gnaws at me. Are we heroes or pawns? Fools or fate-touched?

Strange Dreams of the Northern Wetlands
12th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We continued our journey north from the ruins of Ravensfield, heading toward Latebra Velora. Soon after leaving Ravensfield, the weather took a turn for the worse. The air grew colder, and storm clouds loomed in the distance, their dark shapes promising rain and wind. We entered the Northern Wetlands, a stark and desolate region. To our left stretched a vast swamp, its waters murky and still, while to our right lay a dense forest, its trees towering and ancient. This was the edge of Keralon’s lands, far from the safety of the Silver City’s patrols and guards. Civilization felt like a distant memory here.   The road was lonely, with only the occasional clearing to mark where travelers might have once set up camp. When we stopped for the night at one such clearing, we noticed a dead tree near the campfire site. Its gnarled branches reached out like skeletal fingers, and it was clear that no one had camped here in a long time. The sight was ominous, but with no better options, we decided to risk staying the night.   Sleep did not come easily. I tossed and turned, plagued by strange dreams. In them, I kept waking up, each time seeing a silhouette behind the dead tree. Two green, glowing eyes stared at me from the darkness, filled with malice. The figure felt like it was watching me, hunting me, its presence suffocating. Every time I fell back asleep, the image returned, pulling me back into the same unsettling vision. By morning, I felt haggard and drained, as if I hadn’t slept at all.   I cast a detect magic spell, hoping to find some explanation for the dreams, but I sensed nothing out of the ordinary. When I asked the others, no one else had seen or felt anything unusual during the night. It must have been my imagination, I told myself, though the memory of those green eyes lingered in my mind like a shadow.   We set out again on the next day, the 12th of Brigan, continuing our journey along the rough, overgrown path that skirted the edge of the forest. The trail was barely recognizable, covered in wet grass and mud, a clear sign that few travelers ventured this way. By the end of the day, our boots were soaked, our trousers caked in mud, and our cloaks filthy. The Northern Wetlands were as unforgiving as they were desolate.   As we searched for a campsite, that same foreboding feeling from the previous night crept over me. It was as if a pair of unseen eyes were watching me, filled with malice. I scanned the area but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Hayley pointed out a small path leading away from the main road to a clearing on a hill. She claimed it felt safe, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Still, we decided to investigate, hoping to uncover the source of my unease.   The clearing was littered with traces of refuse left by previous campers, but it was what lay beneath the bushes that caught my attention. I pushed aside the foliage to reveal the remnants of an old altar, its surface stained with ancient, dried blood. Next to it stood a small menhir, its surface covered in moss. I cast a spell to decode the druidic script carved into the stone. The menhir spoke of Brother Stalker and Sister Willow, ancient fey spirits of the land once worshipped by druids. They had a reputation for brutality, though I didn’t know what had become of them. The discovery sent a chill down my spine.   Determined to appease whatever spirit might be following me, I tasked Gael with catching an extra rabbit during his evening hunt. When he returned, I sacrificed the rabbit on the altar, hoping it would satisfy the entity. The blood was rapidly absorbed, and when I pulled my hand back, the rabbit’s body was completely rotten, as if it had been left out for weeks. The sight was unsettling, but I told myself it was a sign that the offering had been accepted.   Despite my lingering unease, we set up camp in the clearing. I cast several protective wards, hoping to keep whatever malevolent force was at bay at a distance. As I retired to my bedroll, the memory of the rotten rabbit and the ancient altar lingered in my mind.   The night was anything but restful. As I slept, I felt the eyes of several shadows watching me, their gaze filled with malice. In my dreams, I saw through their eyes, their twisted perspective fixed on our camp. The nightmares made me toss and turn, and sleep was fleeting, broken by the oppressive sense of dread.   When Hayley and Liliana were on watch, the camp was suddenly beset by nightmare shadows. These ethereal creatures, fey dream eaters, fed on the fear of sleeping individuals. They pulled Alistan and Liliana away from the protective spells I had cast, but the de la Roost siblings fought back with unwavering determination. Their swords cut through the strange, shadowy forms, but the creatures were relentless.   I woke with a start as one of the nightmares shrieked at me, its voice a cacophony of fear and darkness. My body moved involuntarily toward it, drawn by its malevolent presence. I could see its giant maw, twisting in shadows and darkness, ready to consume me. Around me, my friends were also under attack, each beset by their own nightmare.   Three of the creatures loomed near Alistan, their forms shifting and writhing. I flicked my wrist and sent a fireball hurtling toward them, the flames blasting through their shadowy forms. Turning to the nightmare next to me, I prepared for its attack. As it lashed out with its claws, I raised a shield of magic, deflecting one set of claws but not the next. Realizing I was outmatched, I scrambled away, my heart pounding.   I looked back just in time to see Alistan strike at one of the last nightmares, his sword cutting through its form. Seeing the shadow weakened, I sent a firebolt at it, the flames consuming its essence. With a final arrow from Gael, the last of the nightmares dispersed, leaving the camp eerily quiet.   We took a moment to catch our breath, our bodies and minds exhausted from the fight. Liliana said a few prayers, her voice steady and calming, while Hayley passed around healing potions. Eventually, we returned to bed, the protective spells renewed and the camp secure. This time, there were no nightmares, and the night passed uneventfully.   When we woke the next morning, the camp was quiet, the lingering tension from the night’s battle replaced by an eerie calm. My sister Hayley was the first to notice something unusual—a doll resting on the altar near us. As she picked it up, it felt familiar, like a relic from our childhood. It held a small bracelet with charms, delicate and worn, but I couldn’t quite place where I had seen it before.   Hayley whispered a quiet “thank you” to Sister Willow, her voice soft but filled with reverence. When I asked her about the doll, she reminded me of a story from our childhood. We had been playing hide-and-seek in the Lorewood, and Hayley had gotten lost. When she finally returned, she had a doll just like this one. I vaguely remembered teasing her about it, though the details were hazy. What had happened to the toy? I couldn’t recall.   The discovery left me unsettled. The doll felt like a message, a token from the ancient fey spirit Sister Willow. Whether it was a blessing or a warning, I couldn’t say. But it was a reminder that the land we traveled was steeped in old magic, and the spirits here were far from indifferent to our presence.   We packed up camp and continued our journey, the doll tucked safely away. The road ahead was still long, and the mysteries were far from solved. But as we moved forward, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched—not just by the shadows of the night, but by something far older and more powerful.

Sorry we stole your hoard
10th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We were deep underground, far below the lair of the ancient copper dragon. The caves were damp and filled with pools of acid, their surfaces bubbling ominously. With the ethereal creatures now dispersed, we turned our attention to the statue of a dwarf standing before us. Its hand was outstretched, as if expecting a gift, and a small inscription beside it spoke of a gem. Intrigued, we tried placing the gem we had found earlier into the statue’s hand, but nothing happened. Frustrated but undeterred, Dadroz suggested we backtrack to the other corridors to see if we could find another clue.   We ventured down a small corridor we had skipped before and came upon another statue of a dwarf, this one accompanied by a text discussing a green gem. Continuing on, we found a third statue, now describing a red gem. The pattern was clear, but the purpose remained a mystery. As we pressed forward, we entered another chamber dominated by a large pool of acid at its center. Alistan was walking ahead when he was suddenly ambushed by his worst fear—a pack of rust monsters!   The creatures clambered out of small holes in the cave walls, their antennae twitching as they homed in on Alistan’s metal armor. I could see flakes of iron turning black as the rust monsters began to consume his gear. Panicked, I sent a firebolt at the nearest rust monster, hoping to drive it away, but it barely flinched. Alistan, in a moment of desperation, yelped and kicked the rust monster into the pool of acid. The creature’s carapace began to dissolve as the acid ate away at it, but more rust monsters were closing in.   Gael, Liliana, and Alistan quickly formed a defensive circle, their backs to each other as they fended off the rust monsters. They struck at the creatures whenever they got too close, their movements precise and coordinated. The rust monsters, realizing we were more dangerous than they had anticipated, began to retreat. But between me and my sister lobbing fire spells, we managed to clear them out, leaving the chamber eerily quiet once more.   With the rust monsters defeated, we pressed on, descending a massive set of stairs that led us into an even larger chamber. The room was dominated by more pools of acid, their surfaces bubbling ominously, and at its center rested a giant gem, glowing faintly in the dim light. It was an obvious trap, and I wasn’t about to walk into it blindly. I began writing down the runes for a detect magic spell, my fingers trembling slightly as I focused. Once the spell was cast, I noticed two distinct auras: the gem radiated a very strong evocation aura, while the island it rested on was surrounded by an abjuration aura. This was no ordinary treasure—it was a carefully crafted magical trap.   As we cautiously approached, a voice echoed through the chamber, speaking in Common. “You are not welcome here,” it said, its tone cold and menacing. The words sent a chill down my spine, but I wasn’t about to back down. I summoned my boggle familiar, instructing it to use its portal ability to reach the gem. The small creature tried to teleport to the island, but its portal was blocked by an invisible barrier. It placed its hand against the air, and I could see the faint shimmer of a wall of force.   We debated our next move. Gael tried shooting an arrow at the gem, but it bounced back as soon as it crossed the river of acid. I had my boggle attempt its portal again while I cast identify, confirming that the barrier was indeed a wall of force. The voice returned, calling us meddlers, and the pools of acid began to churn and coalesce into a towering figure. It declared, “I have claimed this place.”   The words struck me like a thunderbolt. Putting two and two together, I realized this was no ordinary ruins—it was the Elemental Tower of Earth, one of the elemental towers my master Amarra had tasked me with securing. The figure before us was the guardian of this ancient and powerful place. We made the wise decision to retreat, regrouping for a short rest to plan our next move.   The Tower was far more dangerous than I had anticipated, but we couldn’t afford to fail. The fate of Keralon—and perhaps the world—depended on securing these elemental towers. As we rested, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the responsibility pressing down on me.   Gael tried to convince me to retreat and return another day to challenge the master of the Tower. He argued that we weren’t at full strength and that facing the master now would be too dangerous. But I countered that defeating the master immediately would make our return trip much safer—and if we left now, the master would only have time to resummon his defenses. After some debate, I managed to convince my allies to strike now, while we still had something resembling the element of surprise.   We walked back into the chamber, Alistan and Liliana flanking me as I shouted a challenge to the master. His response was simple and chilling: “Interlopers.” Almost immediately, he sent small oozes of acid slithering toward us. The creatures were quickly dispatched thanks to a barrage of arrows from Gael and Dadroz, but the real threat was still to come. The master himself emerged, his form coalescing from the pools of acid that filled the chamber.   The battle was fierce from the start. The master unleashed a poisonous cloud that filled the air, and I immediately began coughing, losing concentration on the flaming sphere spell I had prepared. Through the haze, I could just make out Liliana’s form as she dropped to the ground, overcome by the poison. I scrambled to the side, clutching the ledge above an acid pit, my mind racing. I knew I needed to disrupt the master’s concentration, so I fumbled for a scroll of fireball and began speaking the runes. The battle raged around me as I focused, and within moments, the master was engulfed in a giant explosion. The fireball tore through his form, forcing him to recoil in pain. He wasn’t dead, but the poisonous cloud dissipated, giving us a brief reprieve.   Alistan seized the opportunity, rushing forward to strike at the master with his sword. But the master retaliated, summoning ooze tentacles that rose from the ground and clutched at Alistan and Liliana’s unconscious form. Fiachna, my sister’s raven familiar, darted forward, dodging the tentacles to land on Liliana and revive her with a burst of healing magic. With Liliana back in the fight, we began pelting the master from afar, disrupting his spells once more and causing the tentacles to disappear.   The master roared in anger and turned his attention to me. I clung to the small ledge, his pseudopods lashing out as I desperately tried to stay alive. It was only thanks to a well-placed curse from my sister that the master’s attacks missed me. But as the master loomed so close, Liliana’s strikes hit me as well, leaving me battered and struggling to hold on.   The battle felt endless, but eventually, with a perfectly placed arrow from Dadroz, the ooze master let out a final whimper and dispersed, seemingly defeated. The chamber fell silent, save for the faint bubbling of the acid pools.   With the master defeated, we turned our attention to the gem. The barrier around it was still active, as we discovered when we threw a small stone and watched it bounce off the invisible wall. We theorized that placing the gems on the statues we had found earlier might disable the barrier, but we were still missing the necessary gems. The only gems we had seen were in the maw of the Xorn, but none of us had an appetite to slay the gentle brute. Exhausted and battered from the fight, we had no choice but to set up camp in the chamber of the gem. We barricaded ourselves in as best we could and rested, grateful that the monsters in the dungeon left us alone.   The next morning, feeling somewhat restored, I decided to take a more direct approach. Using my magical powers, I brute-forced the barrier surrounding the gem, overwhelming it with sheer magical energy. I smirked as the barrier fell away, but my triumph was short-lived. I sent my boggle, Pim, ahead to retrieve the gem through its portal. While Pim made it to the gem, it couldn’t return—the barrier had reactivated. Undeterred, I told Pim to get ready and recast dispel magic. This time, the plan worked, and Pim handed me the gem.   But the moment the gem was in my hands, a tremor shook the cave. Just like the last time we had removed a tower’s heart, the structure began to collapse. We didn’t waste a second—we ran, splashed on all sides by acid as the walls tore apart. Ooze tentacles reached out, trying to grab us, but my sister summoned a fey creature to distract them. It was instantly consumed, but it bought us the opening we needed to escape.   We sprinted up the stairs, past a large, now-empty basin that had once been a pool of acid. The sound of crashing stone echoed behind us as the lower levels collapsed, the acid having eaten away the supports. We didn’t stop running until we burst into the chamber of the copper dragon, gasping for breath and covered in acid burns.   The chamber was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos we had just escaped. We took a moment to catch our breath, our hearts still racing from the narrow escape. As we left the ruins, we noticed the dragonels watching us from a distance. This time, however, one of them approached us. Alistan began speaking to it in Draconic, asking if more wyverns had appeared. To our surprise, the dragonel responded—apparently, they could communicate after all. It thanked us for our efforts but then asked if we had taken anything from the hoard. When we confirmed that we had, its expression grew serious. “She won’t like that,” it said. It seemed the dragon whose hoard this was might still be alive, though it hadn’t returned in a long time.   With a collective sigh, we decided to return the gold we had taken. Antagonizing a copper dragon was the last thing we wanted, and we had only taken the gold because we believed the dragon to be dead. The dragonel seemed relieved and suggested that returning the hoard might earn the dragon’s gratitude, especially since we had also saved the dragonels from the Kyuss worm infection. It was a small consolation, but one we were willing to accept.   When Liliana mentioned her desire to hunt down the basilisks next, the dragonel spoke up again, warning us that the basilisks were part of the dragon’s defense system. Killing them might still provoke the dragon’s wrath. Instead, the dragonels offered to give us a lift back closer to the village. Up close, we noticed that the dragonel speaking to us had copper scales, unlike the others. It took the lead as they flew us away, their powerful wings carrying us swiftly through the air.   We landed near the spot where we had left our horses, grateful for the dragonels’ assistance. Mounting up, we rode back to the hamlet, where the villagers eagerly asked what had happened. We explained that we had defeated the wyverns and uncovered the cause of the disease. They were relieved, though the weariness in their eyes mirrored our own.   Exhausted, we spent the night in the hamlet once more, the warmth of the villagers’ gratitude a small comfort after the trials we had endured. The journey was far from over, but for now, we could rest.   The next day, we continued our journey north toward Latebra Velora. About two days into our travels, we came across the ruins of Ravensfield. The sight was haunting—the village was completely abandoned, its charred remains silent and lifeless. We set up camp in the stone basement of the inn, one of the few structures still standing, and took shelter for the night.   The following morning, we decided to search for Reynis’ camp, hoping to find the cursed half-elf hunter now that we knew how to cure him. We found the remnants of his camp, but it was clear he hadn’t been there in months. Gael went to speak with the dryad he had met during our last visit. The dryad emerged from her tree cautiously, her expression weary. She confirmed that she hadn’t seen Reynis since the village burned down, months ago. It seemed he had vanished without a trace.   With no sign of Reynis, we turned our attention to the cult’s lair. When we arrived at the location, we found something unexpected—a large hole in the ground, leading to a tunnel that hadn’t been there before. Curiosity and caution warred within us, but we decided to investigate. The tunnel led us into the large cavern we had explored months ago, but the dragon skeleton that had once dominated the space was gone. The cavern felt emptier, colder, as if its heart had been ripped out.   The absence of the skeleton raised more questions than answers. Where had it gone? Who had taken it? And what did it mean for the cult’s plans? We stood in the cavern, the weight of the mystery pressing down on us. Whatever had happened here, it was clear that the cult was still active—and their ambitions were growing.   As we made our way back to Ravensfield, something strange happened. We found ourselves on a path lined with small stones, their surfaces smooth and almost unnaturally placed. Activating my magical senses, I noticed wisps of energy surrounding us—different schools of magic intertwined like an invisible mist, dense and cultivated. The forest felt alive in a way it hadn’t before, as if the very air was charged with power.   As we walked further, we began to notice dolls hanging from the trees. They swayed gently in the wind, their movements accompanied by the soft sound of windchimes. The atmosphere grew more surreal with each step. Animals appeared along the path, unafraid of us. Squirrels sat at the edge of the trail, watching us intently. Gael used his primal magic to speak with one of the squirrels. It told him that the path led to Grandmother Knottie Rootskewer, one of the hags. The name sent a chill down my spine, but we pressed on, curiosity outweighing caution.   The path eventually led us back to the ruins of Ravensfield, but the scene before us was unlike anything we had seen before. The faint sound of children playing filled the air, and near the ruins sat an old woman on a stone, watching the children with a serene expression. In the distance, skeletal villagers moved through the burned ruins, going through the motions of daily life as if nothing had happened. The children, however, looked normal, their laughter echoing through the eerie landscape.   The old woman called us closer, inviting us to sit with her. She apologized for taking the only stone to sit on, claiming her bones were weary. She placed a basket near us and invited us to take a bite, her tone warm but laced with something unspoken. She told us she had heard about us from her sisters—some things good, some things bad—and that she was curious to speak with us. She knew we were heading north to confront one of the Knights Nemesis and predicted it would be an interesting encounter, especially for some of us.   She brought us a grim prophecy: if we continued, two people close to us would die. If we returned to Keralon now, only one would die. But if we delayed dealing with the Knight, many would perish. She added, cryptically, that not every life was worth an equal amount and that we should decide wisely. With that, she stood, called the children to her, and disappeared into the forest. The stone path vanished, the skeletons collapsed into piles of bones, and the only thing that remained was the basket of goodies.   We debated her words, weighing the risks and the unknowns. In the end, we decided to press on. We didn’t trust the hag, and her vague warnings gave us too little information to justify turning back. The road ahead was uncertain, but we couldn’t afford to let fear dictate our actions. Whatever lay in store, we would face it together.

Descent into Acid
9th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   There I was, face-to-face with the wyverns that were infected with the Kyuss Worm as they devoured their prey on the rocky outcropping. My fireball was ready, my fingers tingling with the heat of the spell, poised to launch and take out the infected creatures. But before I could act, Liliana charged forward, her eldritch blasts streaking through the air and striking the wyverns as they picked at the corpse of a dragonel. Alistan was right beside her, his shield raised as he positioned himself protectively in front of his sister, ready to absorb any incoming attacks.   My sister Hayley, in her polymorphed spider form, scuttled forward with surprising speed and shot a web at one of the wyverns, pinning it to the ground. One of the other wyverns at the back took off, circling above as if trying to assess the situation. Dadroz and Gael began firing arrows at the wyverns, their shots precise and deadly. The last wyvern lunged at Alistan, its diseased fangs piercing through his thick armor and finding flesh. I could see the strain on his face, but he held his ground.   Finally, I unleashed my fireball, the flames roaring as they struck two of the wyverns. The explosion burned away Hayley’s web, freeing the pinned wyvern, but it was a worthwhile trade as the flames seared its flesh. Liliana rushed forward, her sword flashing as she chopped at the recently freed wyvern, fighting alongside Alistan, who struck at the other burned wyvern. They moved like a single unit, their shields interlocking and their movements perfectly synchronized to block the wyverns’ attacks.   The final wyvern turned its attention to me. I used my magic to deflect one of its blows, but I wasn’t fast enough to avoid a scratch. I felt the sting of its claws and, worse, the unmistakable sensation of a worm burrowing into my flesh. Panic surged through me, but I activated Ashardalon’s Stride, blasting away from the wyvern in a fiery blaze. As I sped out of harm’s way, I lobbed a firebolt at the creature, the flames licking at its scales. I rushed past the wyvern attacking Liliana, my fiery trial scorching it as I moved out of the way again.   Before the wyvern could react to my assault, Liliana and Alistan stepped in front of me, their shields forming an impenetrable wall. Before long two of the wyverns fell to our relentless assault. Behind me, I heard Hayley casting a spell, and the ground turned grey and dark as life force was pulled away. The worm that had tried to burrow into my flesh dropped dead to the ground, its threat neutralized.   The last wyvern, realizing it was outmatched, tried to flee by taking to the air. But I wasn’t about to let it escape. I sent a barrage of magic missiles after it, the glowing darts striking true and bringing the creature down. It crashed to the ground, bleeding out as the fight came to an end.   After the battle, we inspected the corpses of the dragonel and the three wyverns. Each was riddled with Kyuss Worms, their bodies twisted and corrupted by the infection. To prevent the plague from spreading further, we decided to burn the corpses. The flames roared as they consumed the remains, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air. It was a grim task, but a necessary one.   Alistan called out to the remaining dragonels in Draconic, assuring them that it was safe now. But there was no response. We still aren’t sure if the dragonels even understand us, or if they’re simply too wary to trust us. They kept their distance, watching us from afar but not hiding. It was clear they were cautious, and I couldn’t blame them.   As we looked around, we discovered a large stone gate adorned with the image of a majestic copper dragon. The gate was pristine, its surface untouched by time, thanks to magical protections—an archaic version of the arcane lock spell. Intrigued, we decided to take a short rest while studying the gate. The dragonels left us alone, staying far away but not fleeing entirely. Their behavior suggested curiosity rather than fear.   We debated the purpose of the gate. Given its grandeur and the lack of any ominous signs, we concluded it was more likely the entrance to a throne room than a prison. Determined to uncover its secrets, I cast dispel magic to remove the magical protections. The spell worked, and the gate’s ancient enchantments faded away. We sent Dadroz ahead to check for locks and traps. While he didn’t find any traps, the gate was still locked. With his incredible dexterity and a small set of lockpicks, Dadroz managed to unlock the massive keyhole—a feat that left us all impressed.   The gate, despite its size, swung open with surprising ease, well-oiled and maintained even after all these years. Behind it, we found an old staircase, weathered by time but still intact. The air grew cooler as we peered into the darkness, the steps leading down into the unknown. Whatever lay beyond, it was clear that this was no ordinary ruin. The dragonels watched us from a distance, their eyes glinting with an unreadable expression. We exchanged glances, our curiosity outweighing our caution. Together, we stepped through the gate and began our descent.   We climbed down the ancient stairs and entered a large, dimly lit room dominated by a towering statue of a copper dragon. Its scales gleamed faintly in the light of my lantern, and its eyes seemed to follow us as we moved. To the left, a fancy door adorned with gold and gemstones caught our attention—it looked like a vault door, promising treasures beyond. To the right, a more traditional stone door stood, its surface weathered but still bearing the faint image of a human or elf in full plate armor, shield raised as if in defense.   Dadroz checked the plain stone door first. Finding no traps or locks, we pushed it open to reveal a long, dark corridor. Liliana, with her darkvision, quickly noticed that the corridor had collapsed long ago, its path blocked by rubble. But then she did something unexpected—she stepped forward, calling out a loud "hello" as if trying to get someone’s attention. As she walked further down the corridor, one of the stones suddenly sprouted arms and legs, rising to look at her with a menacing growl. It was a small earth elemental, a creature I recognized from my studies as a Galeb-Duhr. These beings aren’t inherently hostile, but they prefer to be left alone.   Deciding it was best not to provoke it, we backed out of the corridor and closed the door. The Galeb-Duhr didn’t follow, content to return to its slumber. With that path closed off, we turned our attention back to the main room. Alistan and Dadroz conducted a thorough search, their keen eyes eventually spotting a mechanism hidden inside the copper dragon statue, near its neck. It seemed designed to allow the statue to swivel, and the burn marks on the walls and the statue itself suggested it was part of a trap. However, we couldn’t find the trigger, leaving us wary of activating it accidentally.   The burn marks also hinted at something else—there was likely a secret door behind the statue, one we couldn’t reach without triggering the trap. The mystery deepened, and the room seemed to hum with latent energy, as if daring us to uncover its secrets. Whatever lay beyond that secret door, it was clear that this place was more than just a forgotten ruin. It was a puzzle, one we were determined to solve.   We opened the fancy door next, revealing a large chamber that felt both grand and foreboding. At its center stood a weathered statue of a knight seated on a throne, his stone gaze stern and unyielding. Flanking the throne were two pools of acid, their surfaces bubbling ominously. Between them lay a large mound of gold—likely the hoard of the copper dragon whose statue we had seen in the other room. Given the state of the ruins, we had assumed the dragon was long dead or gone, and had not expected the hoard to be intact.   I sensed magic emanating from both the statue and the pile of gold. Moving closer to the statue, I noticed the aura was coming from a wand at its belt. The wand itself was made of stone, but the gem at its tip was real and pulsed faintly with magical energy. I realized it was likely connected to the secret door in the other room, functioning as a key. But before I could share my discovery, Hayley’s curiosity got the better of her. She moved closer to the hoard, drawn by the magical items I had detected.   The moment she approached, part of the gold seemed to come alive, sprouting wings and swarming her. A swarm of scarabs erupted from the pile, their tiny bodies biting at Hayley before she could react. My friends and I sprang into action, attacking the scarabs to drive them away from her. But then we heard a bubbling sound from one of the acid pools, and a dragonblood ooze emerged, its gelatinous form slithering toward us. It immediately attacked Gael, its pseudopods lashing out and splashing acid across the ground. Gael dodged with his usual grace, but the situation was growing dire.   The scarabs, meanwhile, began spreading a strange dust over Hayley and Liliana, who had rushed to help. The dust marked them as having tampered with a dragon’s hoard—a warning to any dragon within ten miles. The scarabs overwhelmed Hayley, dropping her to the ground. I cast a quick spell, drawing life force from the scarabs and channeling it back into my sister to revive her. But the swarm continued its relentless assault.   Alistan tried to retreat from another ooze that had emerged, but its pseudopods crashed into him with crushing force, bypassing his armor and leaving him unconscious on the floor. Then, another ooze turned its attention to me. In one swift strike, it grasped me, its acidic touch biting into my flesh. The pain was excruciating, and darkness closed in as I fell unconscious.   The last thing I remember is the sound of my friends shouting before passing out, their voices distant and muffled.   I woke up still trapped in the ooze, its acidic grip burning into my flesh. Desperation fueled my magic as I unleashed several magical blasts into the creature. Its gelatinous form distorted with each impact, but it wasn’t enough to make it release me. Just as I felt my strength waning, Alistan rushed forward and pulled me free. I gasped for air as I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling from the ordeal. Looking around, I saw that most of the oozes had been defeated by my friends, though the battle had taken its toll. The last ooze thrashed about, landing a solid hit on Gael and knocking him out. But Liliana’s sword struck true, and the creature finally went down.   Alistan helped me to my feet, his grip steady despite the exhaustion etched on his face. We had survived, but barely. While we hadn’t expected a dragon’s hoard to be unguarded, the sheer ferocity of its defenses had caught us off guard. Hayley immediately began tending to our wounds, handing out healing potions and patching us up as best she could. Once we had recovered enough, we collected what we could from the hoard, though the experience had left us wary of lingering too long.   With the immediate danger behind us, we turned our attention to the secret passage. Hayley and I examined the dragon statue more closely, eventually finding an indentation that matched the crystal we had discovered earlier. We placed the crystal into the slot, and a section of the wall slid away, revealing a giant pit of acid. A narrow staircase wound over the pit and descended deep into the earth. The sight was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.   Alistan and Liliana rushed forward. Alistan charged ahead, laughing as if he were winning some sort of race. But his laughter was cut short as a pseudopod emerged from the acid, splashing him and beginning to eat away at his clothing and gear. Liliana and Alistan leaped ahead, narrowly avoiding further attacks. The creature coiled, ready to strike again, but I acted quickly, engulfing it in a ring of flames to block its view of us. With the creature momentarily distracted, we all rushed forward, hurrying down the winding stairs and away from the acid pit.   The air grew cooler as we descended, the walls of the passage closing in around us. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that this place held secrets far older and more dangerous than we had anticipated. But we pressed on, driven by a mix of curiosity and determination.   The winding stairs led us into a vast cave system, its walls glistening with moisture and small pools of acid scattered throughout. The air was thick with the acrid smell of sulfur, and the faint bubbling of the acid pools created an eerie soundtrack to our exploration. Ahead of us loomed a massive creature, its grotesque form unlike anything I had ever seen. It had too many limbs and a giant maw filled with rows of teeth, which it used to gnaw on the rock walls of the cavern. A single, enormous eyeball beneath its mouth swiveled toward us as we entered, but the creature seemed entirely unperturbed by our presence.   I recognized it from my studies—a Xorn, though I had never imagined they could grow so large. Alistan tried to speak to it, but the Xorn ignored us completely, content to continue its meal of stone. Deciding it was best not to disturb it further, we turned our attention to the corridors branching off from the cavern.   We chose the path to the right, passing several small, bubbling pools of acid. The air grew warmer as we moved, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the tunnels. Gael noticed something unusual on the rock floor—tracks. He identified them as belonging to rust monsters, creatures notorious for their ability to corrode metal. Liliana quipped, “I don’t ‘rust’ this,” earning a groan from the rest of us. Alistan, however, was less amused. The thought of losing his gear to rust monsters was enough to make him insist we turn back.   We retraced our steps and headed down the other corridor. As we moved, I cast detect magic to get a better sense of our surroundings. To my surprise, the pools of acid radiated magical energy. It was a curious discovery, and one that left me wondering what other secrets this cave system held. The air grew cooler as we pressed on, the walls narrowing and the path becoming more treacherous. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that this place was far more than just a natural formation. The magic in the acid pools hinted at something deliberate, something ancient. And we were walking right into the heart of it.   We turned a corner and found ourselves in a hidden room adjacent to an acid lake. At the center of the room stood a statue, its surface weathered but still bearing a strange inscription about a gem. My magical senses tingled as I detected two conjuration auras emanating from the lake. Before I could warn the others, the auras coalesced into two bizarre creatures—a mix of ethereal energy and acid, their forms shifting and bubbling as they floated toward us.   One of the creatures drifted closer, and suddenly we were engulfed in a whirlwind of acid vapor. The mist burned at our skin and armor, and I could feel its corrosive energy eating away at us. Liliana reacted quickly, striking the creature with her sword and dispersing some of the mist. But the creature reformed almost instantly, its acidic form continuing its relentless assault.   My sister Hayley teleported us away from the chaos, placing me near Alistan. But the movement attracted the attention of the second creature, which turned its focus toward us. I acted fast, casting dispel magic to banish the summoned creature back to the aether from which it came. With one threat neutralized, we turned our attention to the remaining creature, attacking it from all sides. Gael’s magical arrow struck true, and the creature dissolved into a pool of harmless liquid.   The room fell silent, save for the faint bubbling of the acid lake. We were battered and exhausted, but we had survived. The statue and its inscription about the gem remained, a tantalizing mystery we had yet to unravel. Whatever secrets this place held, it was clear that we were only scratching the surface. But for now, we needed to regroup and tend to our wounds. The journey was far from over, and the challenges ahead would only grow more daunting.

How we got Sixteen Cows
8th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We’ve arrived at the chapel where the zombie tracks led, hoping to uncover the source of the Kyuss worm infection plaguing the hamlet. The chapel is ancient and crumbling, its gate hanging loosely on rusted hinges. Dadroz carefully checked for traps or locks but found none. With a gentle push, we opened the door and stepped inside. The interior was a mess—broken chairs and pews littered the floor, but there were clear signs of recent habitation. Scrolls and scraps of parchment were scattered about, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. As we entered, a faint scratching sound echoed from a dark corner, like a swarm of small creatures scurrying across stone. Before we could investigate, a door creaked open to our right, and we immediately drew our weapons.   A sickly elf emerged, his body covered in bloody wounds and his coughs rattling through the chapel. Alistan and Liliana stepped forward, but the elf backed away, his hands glowing with necrotic energy. He cast a spell, and a wave of dark magic washed over us, draining our life force. Before we could recover, a zombie burst through the door and swiped at Alistan, its claws scraping against his armor. Then, from the basement, a swarm of crawling undead hands surged forward, overwhelming Gael and crawling over him with foul necrotic energy. The swarm quickly moved on to Liliana, leaving Gael battered and struggling.   I acted quickly, casting a spell to drain life force from the wild grass poking through the chapel floor and channeling it into Gael to revive him. Gael, now back on his feet, turned into mist and retreated from the chaos. Meanwhile, Liliana called upon her divine might to smite the swarm attacking her, dispersing it with a burst of radiant energy. Alistan seized the opportunity to rush the elf, knocking him down and slashing at him with his sword. The elf retaliated, summoning more zombies to overwhelm us and hurling bursts of arcane energy at Alistan, who deflected them with his shield.   The zombies were clawing at Alistan and Liliana, hitting mostly shields and armor. Alas there was little I could do for them, as any explosive spell I could cast would hit the De la Roost twins as well. Instead I turned to help Dadroz, who was now under attack by another swarm of undead hands. I lobbed a firebolt at them, but as I did, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Liliana was overwhelmed by the zombies and went down. A worm began burrowing into her, but her divine purity caused it to die almost instantly. I distracted the zombies with psychic mind blasts while Hayley sent her raven to heal Liliana. Hayley then signaled me to prepare my most powerful spell. I began the incantations as she warped space to pull Liliana out of the fray. Once Liliana was safe, I unleashed a massive fireball into the center of the zombie horde, blasting them apart. I only hoped I hadn’t hit Alistan, who was lost somewhere in the chaos.   Liliana, despite her injuries, yelled for her brother and pulled herself up, running back into the room. The heavily injured elf limped out of the room I had just exploded, casting two spells that instantly took Dadroz out of the fight. Reacting quickly, I unleashed a barrage of magic missiles, perforating the necromancer elf and finally bringing him down.   The fight was over, and a strange calm descended over the chapel. We moved outside, just in case there were more zombies lurking about, and took a moment to catch our breath. My sister cast a soothing spell of rest to restore our stamina and handed Gael one of her signature healing potions. After a short rest, we headed back into the chapel to sift through the papers and scrolls scattered about.   Among the debris, we found a jar containing a Kyuss worm and a handbook on how to raise them. It was clear now—this elf necromancer was behind the plague. His notes detailed the surrounding farmlands, the cows that grazed there, and even the flight routes of nearby wyvern nests. It was chilling to see how meticulously he had planned this. Curiously, we also found a creepy nursery rhyme dedicated to someone—or something—called the Old Mother, next to a small demonic statue. The iconography was unfamiliar to me, and it left me with an uneasy feeling. Who—or what—was the Old Mother?   We searched the elf’s body and found several potions of healing and water breathing, as well as a magical lantern of revealing. Eager to test it, we activated the lantern, but it revealed nothing invisible in the chapel. Slightly disappointed, I put it away for later. We divided the potions among ourselves, knowing we’d need every advantage in the days to come.   By then, it was late, and we decided to head back to the hamlet to rest before chasing after the infected wyverns the next day. The evening had fallen by the time we returned, but the village was still bustling. Gael called everyone together to explain what we had found in the chapel and to ask if anyone else had symptoms. My sister examined the villagers, diagnosing a few more cases. We also found about sixteen cows showing signs of infection. It would have been nearly impossible to cure them all, so we made the difficult decision to buy the cows from the peasants to have them slaughtered and burned, eradicating the disease from the area. We each contributed 8 gold to purchase the cows, a small price to pay to stop the plague. As we set about dispatching the cows, Liliana and Hayley felt sorry for them. So they worked together to try to save two of them, their combined efforts a small beacon of hope amidst the grim task.   Exhausted, we finally went to bed. The next morning, we woke to find the villagers had prepared a large breakfast to thank us for our help. It was a touching gesture, and one that reminded me why we do what we do.   We set out early, heading toward the wyvern nests. The journey through the forest would take all day, and we expected to reach our destination by evening. As we trekked, I couldn’t help but notice how different this forest was from the Lorewood near Keralon. It was well-maintained, with old trees promptly removed and far less overgrowth. The atmosphere felt less oppressive, less dangerous, and the path was much easier to navigate. It was a welcome change, though I remained wary—forests, no matter how tame they seem, always hold secrets.   Somewhere in the afternoon, I spotted a rocky hill rising just above the tree line. It wasn’t marked on any map, but its prominence made it the most likely location for the wyvern nests. We adjusted our course and continued toward it. As we moved through the forest, we noticed several humanoid figures watching us from behind the dense foliage. At first, we thought they were scouts or hunters, but as we kept our eyes on them, we realized they were perfectly still. Liliana approached cautiously and called back to us—they were statues. A collection of woodsmen, frozen in defensive poses, as if they had been turned to stone mid-action.   My mind immediately went to basilisks. Their petrifying gaze was the most likely explanation, though I had no idea if such creatures roamed this forest. Gael searched the area and found large, lizard-like tracks that could belong to basilisks. He estimated they were a few hours old, which meant the creatures could still be nearby. Not wanting to risk an ambush, we decided to set up camp downwind, hoping to avoid drawing their attention.   As we searched for a suitable campsite, we stumbled upon several small ruins. The structures were ancient, most of their walls no higher than a meter, and fairly nondescript. But as I sifted through the rubble, I found pottery and other small objects adorned with dragon iconography. It was fascinating—we surmised that these ruins might be remnants of an ancient precursor to the Draconic Empire, dating back to before the creation of the World Tree. The discovery added a layer of history to our journey, though it did little to ease my nerves about the potential basilisk threat.   We retired for the night, setting up a cold camp to avoid drawing attention. No fires were lit, and I used the dim light from my new magical lantern in its hooded mode to provide just enough illumination without risking detection. The forest was quiet, but the stillness felt heavy, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.   The night passed quietly, and we woke early to continue our journey to the wyvern nests. After about an hour of walking, we finally spotted a group of winged creatures circling the hills in the distance. We decided to sneak closer, though Alistan grumbled about the lack of honor in such tactics—despite the magical assistance Gael provided to help him move more quietly. As we approached, it became clear that this area was once the heart of the ruined city the forest had grown over. The hill was crowned with the remnants of an ancient castle, its stone walls crumbling but still imposing.   Despite our best efforts at stealth, it seemed the creatures had noticed us. However, they made no move to attack, instead ignoring us entirely. My sister Hayley sent her raven familiar, Fiachna, ahead to scout. Fiachna reported back that the ruins of an old fort were indeed a nesting site, with about a dozen of the creatures making their home there. Surprisingly, none of the creatures showed any signs of the disease. Still, we decided to investigate further.   The hill was steep and difficult to climb, so we circled around to find an easier path. Eventually, we discovered a set of weathered stairs, though they were nearly as treacherous as the hill itself. We began our ascent, moving as quietly as possible. Two creatures landed ahead of us, but they seemed more curious than aggressive. As we got a closer look, we began to suspect these weren’t ordinary wyverns. Their features were strikingly similar to the small dragon-like creatures we had encountered in Ravensfield. Alistan tried speaking to them in Draconic, explaining the plague in the nearby village and our concern that they might be infected. The creatures simply stared at him, their expressions unreadable, before scurrying away.   After about half an hour, we reached the top of the hill. As we rounded a corner, we found the two dragon-like creatures waiting for us. Alistan tried speaking to them again, but before he could finish, a roar echoed through the air. The creatures took off quickly, and we looked up to see three wyverns flying overhead. Alistan, who had clearly taken a shine to the dragon-like creatures, urged us forward to try to save them. We ran ahead and soon came upon a grim sight: one of the draconic creatures lay dead, its body being torn apart by the wyverns.   We readied our weapons, preparing to engage the wyverns in case they were infected. The tension was palpable as we moved into position, the fate of the remaining creatures—and perhaps the entire region—hanging in the balance.

Elves and worms
4th of Brigan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   On the fourth of Brigan, it was finally the full red moon of the Witch again—a night steeped in mystery and magic. The night when a fey emissary of King Ulther arrives at the ruined church near our district. Our plan was to confront the emissary, though the thought filled me with a mix of anticipation and unease. Tensions between us and the Fey High King Ulther have been high ever since we opposed several of his schemes. Still, our goal was clear: to ensure the safety of the people in our district. We intended to approach this meeting diplomatically, as one lord to another.   Gael and Liliana prepared a gift—some food and perfume, tokens of goodwill to hopefully ease the conversation. It was a small gesture, but in the world of the fey, even the smallest gestures can carry great weight. As we set out, the sky was a deep, unsettling red, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. We followed the old path to the ruined church, a trail so overgrown it felt like the forest itself was trying to reclaim it. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and the faint sound of music drifted toward us from the distance.   As we drew closer, the music suddenly stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The ruined church loomed ahead, its crumbling walls illuminated by the flickering light of dancing candles visible through the gaps in the stone. At the entrance stood an old, dry fountain, its basin cracked and empty. Stairs on either side led up to the church, their steps worn smooth by time and weather. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, as if the very air was holding its breath.   The tension was palpable as we approached the ruined church, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the troll stepping out from behind the fountain. My hand instinctively went to my staff, memories of our confrontation with the troll lich flashing through my mind. But this was no undead abomination—just a troll, clearly in service of the fey. It raised its hand and spoke in broken Common, its voice gruff but firm. "Stop. Not welcome," it said, its eyes narrowing as it assessed us.   Liliana stepped forward and explained that we were the lords of Wolf’s Rest, here for an audience with the emissary. The troll grunted, then demanded we leave our weapons in the fountain. Reluctantly, we complied, not wanting to antagonize the fey before the meeting had even begun. Liliana, however, simply dispelled her massive sword, causing it to vanish into thin air. The troll blinked, clearly confused, but eventually nodded and allowed us to pass.   We ascended the stairs, the air growing heavier with each step. Small fey darted about, their tiny forms flitting behind stones and debris like mischievous shadows. One of them, a diminutive figure with a rapier at his side, approached us. He introduced himself as Genlamin, a guard tasked with ensuring only those with good intentions reached Lord Quinn. His tone was polite but wary, and his eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence.   Gael explained that we were here to build a friendly neighborly relationship. Genlamin, however, seemed unconvinced. He suggested a few "tests" to prove our worth, his smile just a little too sharp for comfort. I exchanged a glance with the others. Dealing with the fey is always a game of wits and wills, and it seemed this meeting would be no exception.   The fey’s idea of a "small test" was as bizarre as it was unsettling. Genlamin pointed to a set of small pebbles and instructed us to throw them at a group of tiny fey who had scurried up the wall. Liliana immediately protested, calling the idea cruel. Genlamin, however, simply shrugged and agreed—though he added that it was also "very funny." His casual tone did little to ease our discomfort. We hesitated, wary of falling into some kind of fey trick. The last thing we wanted was to offend Lord Quinn’s court before we even had a chance to speak with him.   Gael, ever the quick thinker, suggested a compromise. He offered to take the place of the small fey, reasoning that it would be better than attacking members of the court. Alistan, perhaps a little too eager to prove his willingness to cooperate, picked up one of the stones and threw it at Gael. Mid-flight, the pebble transformed into a dagger, striking Gael square in the shoulder. He winced as the blade embedded itself, and the fey immediately accused us of smuggling weapons into the court. Genlamin’s tone turned sharp as he declared that we must provide some kind of music as recompense.   Gael, clutching his shoulder, argued that it wasn’t our doing. "It doesn’t make sense for me to stand here and have a knife thrown at me by my best friend," he said, his voice tinged with both pain and exasperation. Alistan, caught off guard, blushed and stammered that he hadn’t realized they were best friends. The moment of awkward bromance aside, Genlamin seemed to accept Gael’s explanation. He conceded that the rock likely "wanted to be a dagger," as if such a thing were the most natural occurrence in the world.   Genlamin, seemingly satisfied with our "aim," decided it was time to test our intelligence. He summoned three doors, each leading to a different peril: a pool of lava, a cage with lions that hadn’t eaten in five years, and a large drop into a pool of hungry alligators. The choice was mine to make, and I stepped forward, determined to prove our worth. I quickly reasoned that lions couldn’t survive without food for five years, so I chose the second door. To my relief, I found myself in a cage filled with lion skeletons—dead, not undead. It was a macabre sight, but at least I wasn’t being devoured.   Genlamin, apparently amused by our efforts, declared he’d had enough fun and finally allowed us to proceed. We walked further into the church, entering the main courtyard. The atmosphere was eerie, with only a few stones and a couple of redcaps in sight. There was no sign of Lord Quinn. Gael called out a greeting into the aether, his voice echoing through the ruins. To our surprise, one of the stones unrolled itself, revealing a small fey with a long beard. He introduced himself as Lord Quinn, his voice carrying an air of authority despite his diminutive size.   He asked for our names, but we were careful not to give them, knowing the power names hold in the fey realm. Instead, we introduced ourselves cautiously. When Lord Quinn asked why we were here, Gael explained that we had come for a respectful visit. The fey lord, however, shook his head, his expression stern. He accused us of disrespecting fey traditions, failing to honor our deals, and upsetting the balance that had been in place for centuries. "Chaos can be fun," he said, "but not always."   Gael, undeterred, replied that he still hoped we could become good friends. When Lord Quinn asked what that would entail, Gael spoke of mutual respect and leaving each other’s subjects alone. The fey lord seemed surprised, admitting he had expected us to come with rules and demands, to be the "big bogey men" he had heard about. Instead, he found us… reasonable.   With a whistle, Lord Quinn summoned the shadows to dance around us. Small lights flared to life, and the music began again, filling the courtyard with an otherworldly melody. It was a strange but beautiful sight, and for a moment, it felt as though we had made progress.   The night took an unexpected turn when Lord Quinn invited us to sit and eat with him. He walked away, flanked by his redcap bodyguards, and led us into the main hall of the ruined church. There, we were served sweet wine and pastries adorned with colorful frosting. The atmosphere was surreal, the air filled with the faint hum of fey magic and the soft glow of dancing lights. Liliana presented the gifts we had prepared—food and perfume—to Lord Quinn. The fey lord, ever the eccentric, drank the perfume straight from the bottle, smacked his lips, and declared it tasty but "could be sweeter." I couldn’t help but chuckle at his peculiar tastes.   We stuck out like sore thumbs among the small fey, our towering frames contrasting sharply with their diminutive forms. But as the night wore on, the divide seemed to blur. Liliana, Alistan, and Gael took out their instruments and began to play, their melodies blending seamlessly with the fey music. The courtyard came alive with laughter, song, and dance, and for a few hours, it felt as though we were part of their world. We celebrated with the fey until the moon began to set, its red glow fading into the horizon.   Just before the end, Lord Quinn approached Liliana and gifted her a rope as thanks for her earlier gift. She accepted it graciously, though I couldn’t help but wonder what purpose such a gift might serve in the hands of the fey. As the moon disappeared, so too did the fey, vanishing into the shadows as if they had never been there at all.   We made our way back to the fountain to retrieve our weapons, the troll still standing guard. As it wandered off, I seized the moment to ask if it knew of any trolls who had disappeared for a few days, hinting at the troll lich we had encountered at the cathedral. The troll, however, seemed genuinely confused and claimed no knowledge of such a creature. It was a dead end, but at least we tried.   As we walked back to the keep, the weight of the night’s events settled over me. We had made progress with Lord Quinn, but the mystery of the troll lich and the stolen lance still loomed large. The fey may have retreated for now, but I know their games are far from over. And so are ours.   The next day was a whirlwind of preparations as we readied ourselves for the journey to Latebra Velora. The trip will take about ten days, and we’ve spent the morning gathering supplies and making final arrangements. Our mission is clear: investigate the Black Knight who has been spotted near the Draconic capital. I’ve packed every book I own on the Immortal Knight Nemesis, the enigmatic and almost mythical group to which the Black Knight belongs. If there’s any clue to be found about his weaknesses or motives, it’ll be in those pages.   Alistan swung by the cathedral this morning—though I suspect his visit wasn’t solely for spiritual reasons. He apparently spoke with Galiene, who shared that they still have no leads on who attacked the city. However, they did discover that the fires were started with special lamp oil, a detail that might prove useful later. The gate to the city’s mausoleum was also damaged, which could explain where the lich obtained the bodies to create its undead minions. Before Alistan left, Galienne gifted him a sending stone, explaining that it would allow them to stay in touch. Alistna mentioned, somewhat cryptically, that if the need was great, she could be there within the hour. Alistan didn’t elaborate, and I was left wondering how Galienne had access to such high-level magic. There’s more to her than meets the eye, it seems.   Hayley went to inform Ambassador Rachnar of our departure. He provided her with an introductory letter to ease our entry into the Draconic Empire. It’s a small gesture, but one that could make all the difference in a foreign land. As for me, I spent far too long packing my books and ended up rushing to Elsa’s manor later in the morning, missing her as she had already departed for the palace. I left flowers and a note excusing my absence for the next month, assuring her she would be in my thoughts every day. It’s a small comfort, but I hope it conveys how much she means to me.   When I returned to the keep, I stumbled upon a bittersweet scene between Gael and Dynia. Gael was explaining, in his usual dismissive tone, that it was far too dangerous for her to come along. Dynia, tears in her eyes, agreed reluctantly. It’s clear she cares deeply for him, but Gael remains stubbornly oblivious to his own feelings. I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Love is complicated enough without one party refusing to acknowledge it.   We set off from the keep early in the morning, leaving Dynia and the comforts of home behind. Our path would take us north, past the ruins of Ravensfield, towards the Draconic Empire, a place steeped in both history and danger. As we passed the site where we fought the construct dragon, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. The memory of that battle is still fresh, the creature’s lifeless form now a subject of study. Several guards stood watch near an impromptu palisade, their presence a stark reminder of the threat the construct once posed. The rhythmic clang of tools echoed in the distance, likely scholars from the Briar Ring breaking down the creature’s remains for further investigation.   As nightfall was approaching, we set up camp nearby. The guards, recognizing us, allowed us into the palisade. Inside, we saw laborers meticulously dismantling the construct, piece by piece, each fragment carefully carried to a pool of acid for disposal. They warned us—though we already knew—that approaching the creature would drain our life force. It was a grim reminder of the power we had faced and overcome.   We spent some time talking with the laborers and guards. The guards and wizards were from Keralon, but the laborers hailed from the surrounding rural areas. As we chatted, they shared unsettling rumors of a strange disease spreading to the north-west. Animals were developing black patches, growing weak, and dying. Several farmers had already lost entire herds to the illness. Hayley noted that it sounded like a disease affecting herd animals.   The news piqued our curiosity. While it would mean a small detour to the west, we decided it was worth investigating. If this disease is as dangerous as it sounds, it could pose a threat not just to livestock but to the people who depend on them. We planned to head north to see what we can uncover.   The journey eventually took us right up to a mostly empty grassland, save for four sickly cows grazing listlessly. Liliana and Gael were the first to notice the telltale signs of disease—black spots and an emaciated appearance. Concerned, we left our horses with Alistan and approached the cows for a closer look. I hung back, wary of catching whatever illness plagued them, but my friends quickly noticed something else: strange patches of grass stained with what looked like dried blood. I used my magical senses to investigate, but found no traces of enchantment or foul play. Whatever had happened here, it was purely physical.   Liliana used her divine magic to tend to one of the cows. The creature seemed to perk up slightly, a small but hopeful sign. Meanwhile, Hayley took a more scientific approach, examining the cows closely and collecting samples from the ground. She concluded that the animals were severely sick and starving, unable to digest their food properly. She also made a disturbing connection: the cows had definitely grazed on the blood-soaked patch of grass.   Gael, using his primal magic, communed with the cows and fed them magical berries to ease their suffering. Through their shared connection, he learned that the bloodstained grass was the site of a gruesome event. The cows’ sisters had been killed and eaten there by a flying predator with claws and teeth. The description sent a chill down my spine. What kind of creature could do such a thing?   On the other side of the field, Alistan struck up a conversation with a young boy named Kal and his dog, Zara. The boy had an open wound on his hand, surrounded by a black, necrotic ring. When Alistan mentioned the wound, Kal pulled back, reluctant to show it. After some coaxing, he allowed Alistan to take a closer look, but it quickly became clear that this was beyond Alistan’s expertise. He called us over, and Hayley examined the wound. She diagnosed it as a bite, with the black ring indicating dying flesh. Liliana tried to heal it with her divine magic, and while the wound improved slightly, the boy winced in pain. Then, to our horror, a worm several centimeters long crawled out of the wound, falling to the ground and dying.   I recognized the worm immediately from my studies: a Kyuss worm. These vile creatures burrow into their hosts, eventually reaching the brain and turning them into zombies. When the infected bite others, the cycle continues. Kal explained that he had been bitten while helping clean up the dead cows a few days ago. The implications were dire. If this disease were to spread, it could devastate not just the livestock but the entire region. We needed to act quickly—and carefully.   We followed Kal back to his village—or rather, his hamlet. It was little more than a cluster of ranches, barns, and a well, nestled in the middle of nowhere. A middle-aged woman, Kal’s mother, approached us, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. We explained the situation, and her face grew pale as she listened. She thanked us for helping her son and invited us inside for tea, a small gesture of hospitality in the face of such grim circumstances.   Over tea, she told us about the recent wyvern attacks on their cows. The wyverns, she explained, were behaving strangely. They would attack the cows but leave them uneaten, as if their only goal was to spread death. The villagers had begun to suspect that the wyverns were carriers of the disease, but their hunters had been unable to track them down. It was a troubling revelation, and one that added urgency to our mission.   We asked if there were others in the village with wounds similar to Kal’s. His mother mentioned a stable boy who had been bitten one night, and we resolved to investigate further before moving on. The last thing we needed was for this infection to spread unchecked.   We made our way to the barn where the stable boy’s bite had occurred. As we approached, a faint moaning sound reached our ears, sending a chill down my spine. We asked one of the villagers to open the barn door for us, but as they did, a zombie lunged out, grabbing the villager and dragging her inside. The sight was horrifying—the infection had already taken hold, and now we were face-to-face with its gruesome consequences.   The fight was on. We couldn’t let this creature harm anyone else, and we certainly couldn’t let the infection spread further. Gael was the first to react, firing a volley of arrows that embedded themselves into the creature’s rotting flesh. Dadroz darted to the side, his rapier flashing as he stabbed the zombie in an attempt to make it release the screaming villager. For a moment, it seemed to work—but then the zombie’s wounds began to close, its grotesque form regenerating before our eyes. It turned its attention to Liliana, its claws raking across her arm and drawing blood. Worse still, a worm wriggled out of the zombie’s wound and immediately began burrowing into Liliana’s skin.   I didn’t hesitate. I launched a firebolt, the flames engulfing the zombie and reducing it to a smoldering heap. But as the first zombie—the stable boy—crumbled, a second zombie crawled out of the barn, its lifeless eyes locking onto Alistan. It clawed at his armor, unable to find flesh, but Alistan stood his ground. With a swift slash of his sword, he struck the zombie, drawing its attention away from the villager and toward himself.   Meanwhile, Hayley rushed to Liliana’s side, her dagger flashing as she swatted away the worm before it could burrow deeper. It was a close call, but Liliana was safe—for now. Gael finished off the second zombie with a well-placed arrow, the creature collapsing in a heap.   The fight was over as quickly as it had begun, but the aftermath left us shaken. The villagers were safe, but the infection was spreading, and we were no closer to stopping it. Liliana’s wound, though treated, was a stark reminder of how dangerous this disease could be. We needed to find the source—and fast.   After the chaos of the zombie attack, we searched the barn thoroughly, hoping to find answers—or at least ensure there were no more undead lurking in the shadows. Thankfully, we found no other zombies, but the signs of the stable boys’ presence were everywhere. It was clear they had been living there, sick and suffering, for some time. When we checked the villager we had saved, we discovered another worm inside her, a grim clue that the infection was far more widespread than we had initially thought.   We called everyone from the ranch together, determined to root out the infection before it could claim more victims. Alistan, with his commanding voice, and the villager we had saved helped gather the people. As we examined them, we found several more infections. Through questioning, we learned that all the infected had been sleeping in the stables and had woken up during the night feeling something bite them. It was a chilling pattern, and one that pointed to a deliberate source.   Hayley began performing complicated surgeries to remove the worms. Liliana’s divine magic reserves were too depleted to heal everyone, so Hayley stepped in, her hands steady and her focus unwavering. Most of the surgeries went well, but one—an older man—nearly ended in disaster. As Hayley began, the worm started burrowing deeper, forcing Liliana to step in and mend the wounds to stop the bleeding. It was a close call, but they managed to save him.   While Hayley and Liliana tended to the infected, Alistan and I investigated the barn. At first, we found nothing unusual, but then we noticed a foul smell emanating from beneath the floorboards. We pried them up and discovered worn tracks of a zombie crawling around underneath the barn. It was clear now: the zombie had been depositing the worms that were infecting the villagers. We followed the tracks outside, finding a small hole hidden behind a bush, with tracks leading away from the barn.   We gathered the others and let Gael take the lead, his tracking skills unmatched. The tracks led us to a small, overgrown temple on the other side of the hamlet. The place was ancient, its stone walls covered in moss and ivy, and the tracks led straight through its crumbling entrance. Whatever was inside, it was clear that this was the source of the infection—and possibly the key to stopping it.

Undead at the Cathedral
30th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The past week had been… quiet, at least. I’ve spent most of my time buried in books and scrolls, trying to uncover the history of the staff I retrieved from the depths of Cairn Fussil. It’s a fascinating artifact, really. From what I’ve pieced together, it once belonged to a mage named Ondirius—a fire mage, like me. He was known for invoking a spell called Burning Rain, a spell lost to time. I can’t help but feel that rediscovering this spell is the key to unlocking the full potential of the staff. The thought of wielding such power is exhilarating, though I know I must tread carefully. Fire is as beautiful as it is dangerous, after all.   Yesterday, Alistan, Hayley, and Dadroz returned from their mission. They’d been chasing the mercenaries who attacked our keep in Wolf’s Rest. According to their report, the mercenaries were hired by someone wearing a fox mask. They were paid to attack the keep while we were away at the village festival, but their orders were specific: only target the guards. They claimed no knowledge of the elven priest or the assassin who also showed up during the attack. A fox mask… it’s unsettling. Who would go to such lengths to target us? We don’t have a shortage of enemies. But I can’t help thinking, why attack like this? The questions swirl in my mind, but answers remain elusive.   This morning, I was jolted awake by the ringing of the cathedral bells. It was still dark, half an hour before dawn, and the bells were sounding an alarm. I rushed to the window and saw flames lighting up the night sky near the cathedral. My heart sank. We didn’t hesitate—Alistan, Hayley, Liliana, Gael, Dadroz, and I mounted our horses and raced toward Keralon. The city gates were wide open, which is unusual for this early hour. Crowds of people were streaming in, carrying bales of water to fight the fire. The sight was chaotic, almost surreal. The Silver City, our home these past few years, was under threat once more.   As we approached the cathedral in the Silver District, my heart sank further. It wasn’t the cathedral itself that was burning, but several buildings at the foot of the hill where it stands. Among them was the academy where I had just graduated as a mage a week ago. The sight of flames licking at its walls stirred mixed emotions in me. The academy made my life a living hell during my studies, but I’d never wish harm upon it. And the library—gods, the library! So much knowledge, so many secrets, all potentially lost to the flames. Thankfully, the fire seemed contained to storage areas and wasn’t spreading to the more critical parts of the campus. Still, the sight of burning trees and storage houses was unsettling. The fire was scattered, unnatural, as if it had been set deliberately.   A few guards were slumped against a wall, nursing wounds from what looked like a fierce fight. Liliana rushed to heal them while the rest of us gathered around to hear their story. The guards explained that they had passed by the opera building and noticed three drunks acting suspiciously outside. When they approached, they realized the “drunks” were actually zombies, seemingly trying to attach something to the wall. The guards managed to defeat them, but not before a series of explosions erupted, igniting the fires. It was clear now—this was no accident. Someone had orchestrated this chaos.   Everything pointed to this being a grand distraction, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something far more sinister was at play. I began surveying the area, my eyes scanning for anything out of place. That’s when I looked up at the cathedral and noticed a faint light flickering from within. My stomach churned. We rushed to the cathedral, our footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the early morning. Pushing open the massive doors, we were met with a chilling scene.   Galiene, the kind-hearted elven priestess of Irminsul and—dare I say—Alistan’s paramour, lay unconscious on the cold stone floor. Standing over her was a monstrous troll, its body hulking and grotesque, with a human skull for a head. The skull glowed with an unnatural, dark magic, casting eerie shadows across the cathedral’s grand interior. The creature turned to us, its hollow eye sockets seeming to pierce through my very soul. It scoffed, a sound that sent shivers down my spine, and then, as if to mock us, it kicked Galiene’s limp form, sending her sliding further across the floor. Without a word, it turned and began to walk away, its heavy footsteps echoing like a death knell.   My fists clenched, and I could feel the heat of my fire magic simmering beneath my skin. This wasn’t just an attack on the city—it was an attack on everything we held dear. And whoever—or whatever—was behind it would pay.   The moment Gael fired an arrow to ensnare the troll, the air itself seemed to tremble. But before we could even breathe, a rattling noise erupted from the cathedral’s grand organ, and a massive minotaur skeleton climbed out, its hollow eyes locking onto Liliana. It swung at her with a thunderous crash, missing her by inches and smashing into the wall instead. Then, as if things weren’t dire enough, a ghast floated out, its spectral claws slashing at Gael. The cathedral erupted into a cacophony of clashing steel, roaring flames, and the eerie wails of the undead. The fight was on.   Hayley, thinking quick, cursed the minotaur skeleton with a spinning cloud of dark energy that clung to its bones. Liliana, swung her sword in a flash of divine light, causing the skeleton to shudder violently. I wanted to charge forward, but the lich troll creature was too far away, out of range for my spells. So, I spun around and hurled a firebolt at the ghast, the flames searing its spectral form as I sprinted forward. Alistan and Gael finished it off, and Gael darted ahead with his elven grace, his movements fluid and precise.   The troll, however, wasn’t done. It laughed—a deep, guttural sound that sent chills down my spine—and conjured a cloud of sickly green mist. Hayley, always one step ahead, warped space around Alistan, sending him next to Galiene so he could feed her a healing berry. I activated my speed spell, my feet igniting with flames as I dashed forward. Galiene, despite her injuries, reached out and teleported herself and Alistan further down the cathedral, beyond the mist. She shouted that they were after the lance. My heart raced. This was bigger than we thought.   Gael, the brave fool, ran into the mist and immediately started choking. I kept running, whispering incantations to dispel the mist as I went. Through a gap in the wall, I caught a glimpse of Alistan locked in combat with a zombie ogre while Galienne and the troll struggled over the engraved lance. Before I could react, more zombie ogres burst forward, charging at Gael. He dodged with inhuman agility, turning to mist and teleporting ahead to aid Alistan. Hayley warped Liliana forward, and she struck one of the ogres with a divine strike that shook the very air.   I ran forward, my mind racing, and cast a wall of fire around Alistan, Galiene, and the undead, hoping to trap the troll and prevent its escape. The flames roared, obscuring my view, so I counted to ten and dropped the spell. The ogres were scorched and reeling, but the troll-lich-whatever-it-was stood unharmed. Desperate, I tried invading its mind, forcing it to stagger for a moment, but it resisted my intrusion. The troll, clearly fed up, conjured another cloud of green mist, choking Alistan and Galiene. As Alistan collapsed, the troll seized the lance.   I prepared to dispel the mist again, but one of the ogres charged me. Hayley, bless her, summoned a fire sprite to aid me. I dispelled the mist, saving Alistan and Galiene, and then used a spell to make the ogre’s swing miss my head by inches. But when I looked back, the troll was gone—vanished with the lance, despite its size. I blasted the ogre before me with everything I had, but it landed a solid hit on me with its morning star. My head rang, the pain blinding, but Gael’s arrow struck true, felling the ogre before it could finish me.   The fight was over, but the victory felt hollow. The aftermath of the battle left us all drained, but there was no time to rest. The troll had escaped with the lance, and we were battered and bruised. Galiene, still shaken, explained what had happened before we arrived. When the guards came to sound the bells, she was on duty at the cathedral. After they left, she heard a knock at the door. Foolishly, she opened it—only to find the lich troll and its ogre minions waiting. The lich had barked orders to the ogres to retrieve the lance, and Galiene, brave as she is, tried to stop them. She apologized profusely for failing, but Alistan comforted her, insisting it wasn’t her fault. He even admitted his own failure, and I could see the weight of it pressing heavily on him.   The lance, it turns out, is no ordinary weapon. Galiene told us it was once wielded by a knight of Keralon to slay a dragon. The implications are staggering. This was clearly the work of the cult that we had fought before as they had used undead creatures in the past, and have a penchant for targeting draconic foes to harvest their essence. We speculated that the cult might use the lance to take on someone or something in the Draconic Empire—perhaps even the great dragon Velora herself. The thought sent a chill down my spine. I cast a locator spell to track the lance, but it had already moved out of range. Of course.   As we walked away from the cathedral, Alistan seemed unusually downcast. Liliana tried to cheer him up by reminding him that he’d at least saved Galiene. It was a small comfort, but I could tell it didn’t fully lift his spirits. Hayley, always thinking ahead, suggested I visit the academy to research the troll lich. I groaned inwardly—the academy and I have a… complicated relationship—but I knew it was necessary.   At the academy, I combed through dusty tomes and ancient scrolls, searching for any information on the troll lich. What I found was unsettling. The transformation into a troll lich is considered barbaric, even by mage standards. It requires sacrificing a portion of one’s magical power in exchange for physical strength, regenerative abilities, and immunity to fire. The creature also gains truesight, making it a formidable foe. The only way to stop its regeneration is with acid or divine magic. The process is similar to creating a demilich—removing the head of a lich and placing it on a headless troll. The process can be reversed and both the troll and the lich can be restored. Trolls are often in the service of hags in the region, so that might be a lead to follow up on. Although I am not eager for another encounter with Mother Marblehook.   Meanwhile, Liliana headed to the Draconic Embassy to inform Ambassador Rachnar about the fire and the theft of the lance. He was visibly disturbed by the news and vowed to send a message to the Draconic Empire, putting them on alert for the cult and the lance. Liliana also invited Rachnar back to our keep to discuss a favor he had mentioned earlier. By the time we returned to the keep, the others were exhausted from helping extinguish the last of the fires in Keralon. The city was safe—for now—but the lance was gone, and the troll lich was still out there. Whatever the cult is planning, it’s bigger than we imagined. And we’re running out of time to stop it.   The evening meal was a quiet affair, a rare moment of respite after the chaos of the day. But as always, peace doesn’t last long in our line of work. Liliana and Ambassador Rachnar arrived at the keep, their presence immediately shifting the mood. Rachnar, ever the diplomat, began by enquiring about the recent attack on our keep. He offered his help and resources without hesitation—his guards, the cells beneath the embassy, anything we might need. His gratitude for us revealing the theft of the lance was genuine, but I could tell there was more on his mind. He hesitated, then admitted he felt guilty asking for yet another favor.   What followed was a tale that sent a chill through the room. Near the Draconic capital of Latebra Velora, a black rider has been spotted. This figure, clad in a terrifying helmet and riding a black horse, has been challenging warriors to duels to the death. Those who refuse are left unharmed, but those who accept… well, their bodies are found beheaded. The description was enough to make even the bravest among us uneasy. Liliana and Alistan exchanged a look, their faces darkening. They wondered aloud if it could be the Black Knight—the very same knight who killed their brother. But this was unusual; the Black Knight rarely leaves Zwartkeep. Still, the similarities were too striking to ignore.   Rachnar asked us to investigate, citing our familiarity with the knights of Keralon as an advantage. Alistan’s reaction was immediate. He thanked the ambassador, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. I could see it in his eyes—this was personal. The Black Knight had taken his brother, and Alistan had long dreamed of facing him. Rachnar, sensing the gravity of the situation, promised a favor if we could deal with the Knight. A favor from the Draconic Empire is no small thing, but I know Alistan isn’t doing this for rewards. This is about justice. Closure. Vengeance.   As the conversation wound down, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what’s to come. The attack on the cathedral and the rumours of the Black Knight have only added to our list of problems. We still had to confront the emissaries of King Ulther in our district in a few days. And there was also the attack on our keep last week orchestrated by the mystery figure in the fox mask. My hireling Brenda also gave me some valuable information about Anaya, the sorceress whose prison we found empty in the Lorewood recently. She is tied to the elemental towers around Keralon, which is pushing me to complete the quest given by my mentor Amarra to find their locations as soon as possible.

Battle of the Bards
26th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   It was the evening of the festival, and the Battle of the Bards was about to begin. I was sitting on the front row with Elsa, our anticipation building. Four bands were vying for the coveted prize:   Brass Quartet: A group of stout Dwarves, their instruments gleaming in the fading light. Fiendish Grace: A group of Tieflings, their dark features and haunting melodies promising a unique performance. Dead Divas: A group of young women with a distinctly gothic aesthetic, their instruments adorned with skulls and other macabre decorations. Feyroost Five: My friends, ready to take the stage and showcase their musical prowess.   The excitement was palpable, the air thick with anticipation. The competition begon at the signal of Mazrif. First up: the Feyroost Five versus the Brass Quartet.   The music erupted, a cacophony of sound. The Dwarves, with their powerful brass instruments, created a wall of sound, a relentless assault on the senses. Alistan, undeterred, met their challenge head-on, his violin a whirlwind of melody.   The competition quickly escalated. Alistan, locked in a musical duel with one of the Dwarves, outmaneuvered his opponent with a series of breathtakingly complex runs, leaving the Dwarf visibly stunned. Dadroz roared his approval from the stands, quickly inciting the crowd to join him.   The Feyroost Five, riding a wave of momentum, seemed poised for victory. However, Alistan, caught off guard by a particularly challenging passage, stumbled, missing several notes. But he recovered quickly, his fingers dancing across the violin with renewed vigor, regaining the lost ground.   Finally, the music faded, the crowd erupting in cheers as the Feyroost Five emerged victorious.   A five-minute break was called, allowing the musicians to catch their breath and replenish their energy. My friends, exhilarated by their victory, descended from the stage, eager to celebrate. As they joined us, we noticed a group of new arrivals, a band of mercenaries with armor gleaming in the firelight. They had purchased drinks and food, their presence adding a touch of ruggedness to the festive atmosphere. But something felt off about them…   Alistan approached the mercenaries, eager to learn more about them. "Greetings," he said, extending a hand. "Where are you from?" The mercenaries, however, were less than welcoming. "South," one of them grunted, his gaze shifting away. "Just arrived." Their curt responses, their guarded demeanor, suggested a less than friendly disposition. The encounter left a slightly sour taste in our mouths. These newcomers, it seemed, were not as eager to embrace the festivities as the rest of the villagers.   The next round pitted the Dead Divas against the Fiendish Grace. The music that followed was a bizarre yet captivating blend of somber melodies and upbeat flute tunes. The Dead Divas, with their haunting vocals and melancholic guitar riffs, ultimately captivated the audience, their performance a poignant reflection on life and loss.   A five-minute break was called, the tension palpable. Dadroz began to cheer loudly, jumping up and down on his hay bale. He quickly garnered a few odd looks from the more reserved members of the audience. The final round arrived: the Feyroost Five versus the Dead Divas. The music erupted, a clash of styles, a battle of wills. Gael and Alistan, their fingers a blur of motion, countered the Dead Divas' somber melodies with a vibrant, uplifting counterpoint. After what seemed like an eternity, the music faded, the crowd erupting in cheers as the Feyroost Five were declared the victors.   Mazrif announced a half-hour break, allowing the musicians to rest and the audience to savor the excitement. The anticipation for the final showdown, the battle against Mazrif himself, was palpable. Suddenly, my sister approached me, her voice urgent. "The mercenaries," she whispered, "they've left the festival and are heading towards the keep."   Dadroz had followed them, sensing trouble. A wave of panic washed over me. Our guards, outnumbered and outmatched, would be no match for a band of hardened mercenaries. We rushed towards the keep, our hearts pounding. As we approached, the scene of carnage unfolded before us. Two of our guards lay motionless on the ground.   But the mercenaries had not come alone. Two giant spiders, their bodies glistening with venom, descended upon us. They were summoned by an eleven priestess who had positioned herself next to our keep, waiting to ambush us. I managed to fend off one, but its mandibles sank into my arm, a searing pain shooting through my body. Above us, in the shadows of the trees, an assassin, their form cloaked in darkness, unleashed a volley of arrows. Liliana, struck by an arrow, crumpled to the ground. Gael, with a swift movement, administered a healing berry, restoring her to consciousness. With a burst of speed, Liliana teleported behind the elven priestess, her blade finding its mark. The priestess, mortally wounded, collapsed. I, seizing the opportunity, unleashed a fireball, the flames engulfing the mercenaries, forcing them to retreat. The assassin, sensing defeat, fled into the darkness.   I tracked the assassin with my magic, the trail a faint thread of dark energy. Liliana, her face pale but determined, and Gael, his eyes narrowed in anger, followed close behind. We pursued the assassin towards the old water mill, a dilapidated structure on the edge of the forest. However, as we approached the mill, we were met with a surprise: a fire elemental, its form flickering and dancing, blocked our path. It was clear that the assassin had reinforcements. I drew upon my reserves of magic and transformed the elemental into a small, bewildered rabbit. Liliana, with a chuckle, scooped up the creature and tucked it into her cloak. We were all injured, our strength sapped by the previous encounter. Continuing the pursuit would be unwise, especially against an unknown number of enemies. We retreated, heading back towards the festival, a pang of frustration hung between us as we had let the assassin get away.   We recounted the events of the attack to Alistan and Hayley. My sister, her face etched with concern, dispatched Fiachna, her raven, to follow the trail of the fleeing mercenaries. She then produced a small vial of witches' brew, a potent concoction that quickly began to mend our wounds.   I, eager to impress Elsa, recounted the events of the battle, embellishing my role in the skirmish with a touch of dramatic flair and showing my injuries. I still remember who I have never gotten healed by Elsa’s magic, and had hoped that today would be my best chance. However, Elsa, her attention focused on the mercenaries, seemed preoccupied. "Who would attack us here?" she mused, her brow furrowed in concern. "And what were their motives?" The attack, a senseless act of violence, had left us with more questions than answers. Who were these mercenaries? What were their intentions? And why had they targeted us?   Mazrif, his eyes twinkling with excitement, approached us. "Ready for the final showdown?" he inquired. Gael, still recovering from the adrenaline rush of the recent events, requested a five-minute reprieve. "Just a moment," he said, "to gather our thoughts."   As we waited, a strange sight caught our attention. Vivienne, Liliana's former fey master, sat perched on a throne of ice, her presence radiating an aura of otherworldly power. The crowd, seemingly oblivious to her arrival, continued their festivities.   Liliana, her eyes widening, acknowledged her presence with a subtle nod. However, we decided to approach her later, the impending battle demanding our full attention. The final battle commenced. The crowd, a sea of expectant faces, held their breath as the Feyroost Five faced off against Mazrif, the legendary musician. Liliana, channeling her fey magic, unleashed a powerful solo, her voice soaring above the din of the crowd. Dynia, her fingers dancing across the flute, captivated the audience with a mesmerizing melody. I cheered along with the rest of the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest. Mazrif, a formidable opponent, pulled out all the stops. He summoned two extra arms, the ethereal limbs playing a trumpet and a tambourine with astonishing skill. But Liliana, with a final, breathtaking flourish, brought the house down. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a thunderous wave of approval. The Feyroost Five had emerged victorious. They generously shared their winnings with Dynia, and after much deliberation, decided to use the magical upgrade on Liliana's violin. Mazrif, with a mischievous grin, promised that the instrument would be ready for collection in a week's time. Liliana, eager to locate Vivienne, scanned the crowd, but her fey master had vanished as mysteriously as she had appeared.   The festival, a whirlwind of excitement and unexpected events, had come to a close. As the music faded and the crowd began to disperse, I reflected on the day's events, a smile gracing my lips. The attack on our keep had left a sour note, another enemy to add to our growing list. But I cannot be unhappy having spent the evening with Elsa, and seeing my friends victorious on the grand stage.

The festival of Wolf's Rest
26th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   Today is the day of the festival! The celebration of our district's expansion and its renaming to Wolf's Rest. The morning dawned clear and bright, a perfect day for a feast. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of baking bread and roasting meats, drifting from the village towards the keep. Faint strains of music, lively and joyous, carried on the breeze, creating a festive atmosphere.   I headed towards the Grubby Griffon, eager to see how the preparations were progressing. The streets were alive with activity. Colorful streamers adorned the newly constructed houses, while torches, stacked high, awaited the evening festivities.   At the inn, Gideon greeted us with a broad smile. "Everything's coming together," he declared, gesturing towards the bustling activity. Extra hands, hired for the occasion, were scurrying about, setting up tables and chairs beneath brightly colored parasols.   "The whole village is buzzing with excitement," Gideon continued. "The square is already filling up with entertainers, all eager to perform. And the best part? Mazrif, a renowned musician trader from the city, has arrived and is setting up a stage." The news filled me with excitement. The festival, once just an idea, was now a reality, a testament to the resilience and spirit of our community.   Gideon then turned to us, his gaze expectant. "When would you like to give your speech?" he inquired. I turned to Alistan, assuming he would be the one addressing the crowd. He was the one of us who had been a noble the longest (especially since his sister was out of the circuit for five years) and I had every bit of confidence that he would do well. Alistan didn’t seem entirely eager, but also didn’t shy away from the task. "Perhaps just before noon," I suggested, "as a formal opening to the festivities." Gideon nodded in agreement. "Excellent idea. We can use the musician's stage to ensure everyone can hear."   We made our way to the village square, a simple patch of grass that now bustled with activity. A magnificent stage, adorned with colorful banners, had been erected. Several tents, each offering a unique experience, dotted the landscape. To our surprise, a group of Dwarves had set up a makeshift distillery, their banner proclaiming "Khan's Mysterious Brews." Nearby, a towering Furbolg, his muscles bulging beneath his thick fur, was meticulously arranging pieces of wood. The square, once a simple gathering place, had been transformed into a vibrant spectacle. The festival was slowly getting started. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of tankards. The villagers, their faces beaming with joy, mingled with the visiting entertainers. The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, tantalizing our senses.   We approached the stage, a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds. An elf, his arms adorned with intricate tattoos, was directing a group of stagehands, instructing them on the placement of hay bales, which served as makeshift seating for the audience. The elf, upon seeing us, immediately assumed we were the lords and ladies of Wolf's Rest. "Welcome, welcome!" he exclaimed, his voice booming across the square. "Mazrif, at your service, from Mazrif's Musics." He launched into a rapid-fire sales pitch, extolling the virtues of his magical instruments. "But today," he announced, "we have a special treat! A Battle of the Bards!"   We briefly discussed the usage of Mazrif’s stage to give a speech, which he readily accepted. Then Alistan raised his hand. "We'd also like to participate in your contest," he declared, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Liliana and I would like to enter as a band." Mazrif, intrigued, agreed, "Of course! The entrance fee is a mere 50 gold pieces per band. And the prize? A hefty 500 gold pieces and a magical upgrade for one of your instruments!" Alistan, his curiosity piqued, inquired about the nature of the magical upgrade. Mazrif, however, remained coy. "That," he declared with a mischievous grin, "is a surprise."   Before returning to the keep, we decided to explore the bustling square, eager to experience the festive atmosphere. Our first stop was the Dwarven distillery, but the pungent aroma of fermenting ales indicated that they were still in the process of setting up. We then approached Cleatus, the towering Furbolg, who was meticulously arranging pieces of wood. He greeted us with a slow, rumbling voice, "Greetings, travelers." I inquired about his stall. "These," he explained, gesturing towards the wood, "are pieces of Irminsul, the World Tree." He continued, "Each piece is unique, imbued with the essence of the world itself. I can shape them according to your desires, crafting them into anything your heart desires." Cleatus claimed that the pieces of Irminsul had been gifted to him personally by the World Tree itself. His words, though fantastical, held a certain allure. The prospect of owning a piece of the World Tree, a tangible connection to the very essence of our world, was undeniably intriguing. But it would have to wait until the festival started proper.   We returned to the keep, the excitement of the festival still buzzing within us. Liliana, her eyes sparkling with mischief, turned to Gael. "Would you like to join our band for the Battle of the Bards?" she asked. Gael, however, declined, claiming a sudden lack of interest in performing. Liliana, undeterred, turned to Alistan with a cunning plan to get Gael on board. "Let’s ask Dynia first," she instructed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Alistan, with a knowing smirk, approached Dynia, who is certainly not Gael’s girlfriend despite all evidence to the contrary, extending the invitation. Dynia with some initial hesitation was eventually persuaded by Liliana's enthusiastic encouragement. However, Dynia immediately enquired if Gael would join them. The twins replied that that is a great idea and sent Dynia to invite Gael again, knowing full well the effect that the elf girl has on our friend. "It always sounds better when we play together," she remarked to Gael, her voice soft and persuasive. Gael, despite his initial reluctance, found himself unable to resist her charm.   While my friends sorted out their musical arrangements, I spent the remainder of the morning selecting the perfect attire for the festival. A touch of elegance, a hint of flair – I wanted to make a statement. The possibility that Elsa might grace the festival with her presence added an extra layer of motivation.   By noon, the music had reached a crescendo, a vibrant tapestry of sound filling the air. We made our way back to the square, eager to witness the festivities. Approximately 200 villagers, their faces beaming with joy, had gathered in front of the stage. Many held tankards of ale, while others savored delicious treats. Mazrif, the musician, was already on stage, his fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar, filling the air with a soothing melody. As we approached the stage, the crowd turned towards us, a murmur of anticipation running through them. Mazrif, with a flourish of his cloak, bowed deeply. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice booming across the square, "please welcome the heroes of Ravensfield!"   The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a wave of appreciation. Liliana, Alistan, and I stepped onto the stage, the weight of their gaze upon us. Alistan stepped forward, his voice resonating through the crowd. "Thank you," he began, his voice sincere, "to everyone who helped make this day possible." He spoke of new beginnings, of the district's rebirth, its name forevermore to be Wolf's Rest. "And remember," he added, "the doors of the keep are always open. We are here for you, to help in any way we can." Liliana, her voice warm and inviting, followed Alistan. "I hope," she declared, "that we can all live together in peace and harmony. No formalities, no airs and graces. We are all part of this community now." The crowd erupted in cheers, the atmosphere electric with excitement. The festival truly began. People milled about, visiting the various stalls, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Children, released from their parents' watchful eyes, darted through the crowd, their shrieks of delight echoing through the square.   We attempted to join the festivities, but the villagers, despite their newfound freedom, continued to treat us with a reverence that made me uncomfortable. Alistan, recognizing the awkwardness, began to shake hands with everyone he encountered, a deliberate effort to break the ice. Hayley, true to form, embarked on a culinary adventure, sampling delicacies from every food stall. She chatted with the villagers, her infectious laughter echoing through the square.The Ravensfield refugees, despite their initial apprehension, seemed to have settled into their new homes. The unease that had plagued them in the early weeks had subsided, replaced by a sense of belonging.   We approached Cleatus' stall, our curiosity piqued. He greeted us with a warm smile, "Ready to choose your piece of the World Tree?" We paid the gold, our anticipation growing. Cleatus instructed us to close our eyes and allow our hands to drift over the wood, selecting the piece that resonated with us. I followed his instructions, but felt nothing, no connection to any particular piece. Disappointed, I moved on and got my money back. Dadroz and Gael, however, seemed to have a different experience. They closed their eyes, their hands tracing the contours of the wood. Suddenly, their hands paused, a sense of connection evident in their expressions. Cleatus, with a knowing smile, invited them into his tent. The air within was thick with the scent of herbs and incense. When they emerged, Dadroz was carrying a wooden circlet, intricately carved with silver lines. Gael, on the other hand, held a wooden pendant, the silver inlay depicting a swirling vortex. Their experiences, unlike mine, had been truly magical, a connection to the very essence of the World Tree.   Our next stop was the Dwarven distillery. Three Dwarves, their faces flushed with the joy of creation, manned the operation. One, a burly Dwarf with a booming voice, introduced himself as Morin Khan. "Welcome, friends," he boomed, gesturing towards the array of ingredients. "For 100 gold, you may choose three ingredients to combine in a unique brew." Intrigued, we began to examine the selection. After much deliberation, I chose three ingredients: Luring Lily Perfume, Betulua's Wing Dust, and Red Dragon Breath Glandules. The Dwarves, their eyes widening, carefully measured and combined the ingredients. The resulting concoction, a shimmering, iridescent liquid, bore an uncanny resemblance to a potion of flight.   As we continued to explore the festival, Gael suddenly veered off course, heading towards a stall overflowing with colorful cupcakes. He purchased two cupcakes. To my surprise, Gael slipped one of the cupcakes underneath the table. A small, furry creature, a Boggle, emerged from beneath the table, its eyes wide with curiosity. Gael, with a gentle murmur, engaged the creature in conversation, his voice a low, soothing hum. After a few moments, Gael returned, a smile playing on his lips. The encounter with the Boggle, it seemed, had brought a touch of unexpected magic to the festival.   As evening approached, our invited guests began to arrive. Among them was Rachnar, the Dragonborn ambassador, accompanied by an imposing retinue of guards. Their presence, initially intimidating to some of the villagers, quickly subsided as Rachnar, with his booming voice and genuine warmth, put them at ease. He commended us on our efforts in rebuilding the township, offering his assistance in any way possible. "There may be a small matter," he mentioned, "that could use your assistance in the near future. Nothing urgent, more of a…nuisance." He extended an invitation for us to visit the Dragonborn embassy at our convenience. Noticing the absence of other dignitaries, Rachnar inquired about the expected protocol. "Are gifts customary for such an occasion?" he asked. Gael replied, "No gifts are expected, Rachnar." To our surprise, the dragonborn waved at two of his subordinates, burdened by a large chest, and they began to move away. The ambassador quickly recovered, joining my sister in her culinary explorations. Within the hour there was a remarkable transformation in Rachnar's demeanor. The stoic ambassador, known for his stern countenance, was now engaged in lively conversation with my sister and the inhabitants of Wolf’s Rest, his earlier formality completely forgotten.   As the festival continued, a sight that sent my heart racing unfolded before my eyes. A magnificent carriage, drawn by four majestic horses, arrived at the square. Elsa, radiant as ever, stepped out, her beauty captivating the crowd. But my joy was short-lived. Following Elsa emerged none other than the King of Keralon himself. The crowd, bewildered by the unexpected arrival of an unknown noble, fell silent. Alistan and Liliana stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Your Majesty," Alistan declared, his voice firm.   A wave of shock rippled through the crowd. Everyone, including myself, dropped to one knee, paying homage to the King. The King, however, seemed less than pleased. "Rise, rise," he commanded, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment. "I had hoped to remain incognito." He explained that Elsa had mentioned the festival and, intrigued, he had decided to attend in disguise. The crowd, still reeling from the King's presence, remained hesitant to resume the festivities. The King, sensing their unease, chuckled. "Relax," he said, "it's alright. In fact," he added, "I rather enjoy this. It's one of my guilty pleasures, to observe my subjects without the weight of royal expectations." He assured us that he would not stay long, his guards, no doubt, already searching for their missing monarch. Before departing, the King presented us with a gift: a small chest containing a golden key. "The key to the Gates of Keralon," he declared. And then, much to the astonishment of the crowd, the King proceeded to send for a sampling from a food stall, ordering a plate of roasted boar with a side of roasted potatoes. He seemed to relish the experience, savoring the local cuisine.   After the King departed, Elsa immediately approached me, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I am so sorry," she apologized, "I had mentioned that I was attending the feast this evening. But I had no idea he would insist on coming." My friends, excusing themselves, headed towards the stage, eager to prepare for their performance. Elsa, eager to make amends, suggested we explore the festival. We strolled through the square, hand in hand, admiring the sights and sounds. I showed her the new constructions, the bustling market stalls, the vibrant energy that now permeated Wolf's Rest. However, we made sure to return to the square in time for the Battle of the Bards. We secured front-row seats, eager to witness the performance of our friends.

Tales of Immerglade
22nd of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   So we decided to test our luck, to see if we could slip past the vigilant giant and get to the Immerglade gate. Stealthily, we approached the structure, hoping to avoid detection. But our efforts were futile. The giant, his senses heightened, spotted us immediately. A fireball, a torrent of searing energy, erupted from his hands, engulfing me and my friends in a wave of heat.   I stumbled back, dazed and disoriented. The air was suddenly thick with the cries of the undead as a swarm of pixies, their forms grotesque and menacing, descended upon us. Liliana, her movements hindered by the onslaught of the creatures, fought valiantly, her sword a blur of motion. She attempted to reach the giant, her desperation evident, but the pixies, relentless in their pursuit, swarmed her, biting and stinging.   Alistan, his shield battered, was close to being overwhelmed by the sheer number of the creatures. Hayley, with a swift movement, teleported Alistan to Liliana's side, relieving him from the pixie onslaught and bringing him within striking distance of the giant.   In the opening created by Alistan’s sudden teleportation, I saw my chance. I immediately unleashed a burst of fire, incinerating a large portion of the swarm. The twisted screeches could be heard all over the battlefield as the fairies were consumed. But I did not get them all, and before long, we were once again swarmed by the tiny biting flying creatures.   The giant, sensing our growing desperation, unleashed a bolt of lightning. Dadroz, his reflexes honed by years of combat, dodged the worst of the attack. But the lightning, its path altered by the chaotic energy, struck Tommel, his body convulsing as life drained from his eyes. But the giant was relentless and with bold strikes, knocked out Gael, Liliana and Alistan before him.   As I saw my friends go down, I tried to stay calm, knowing that rash action would not save them. I drew a complex rune in the air, siphoning the life force of the earth, bringing Gael once more back into the fight. I then unleashed another barrage of firebolts, the flames at last consuming the last of the pixies.   The giant, sensing that we were determined, retreated, teleporting away with a chilling threat. The High King, he warned, would be informed of our actions. The battle was over, the victory hard-won, but the cost was heavy. Tommel, our subject and guide, was gone. The loss is likely heaviest on Gael as Tommel was a connection to his mysterious past and he had sworn to keep him safe for his family. I worried for my friend as this is probably the biggest loss for him since Sylvesse.   We cautiously ventured through the gate. The world transformed before our eyes. The dense forest gave way to a breathtaking vista: a pristine beach, the sand warm beneath our feet, the air filled with the salty tang of the sea. On the other side, we witnessed a dense forest, lush and green. After all these years of stories and whispers, we were finally in the Feywild.   The air shimmered with magical energy, a constant reminder of the otherworldly nature of this place. Exhausted from the day's battle, we decided to rest for ten minutes, our bodies recovering from the ordeal. We then walked over to Tommel’s body that we had brought with us through the gate. I collected a lock of Tommel's hair, a small tribute to our fallen friend. We could perhaps still find a way to bring him back, to restore him to life. But for now, we laid him to rest in the feywild, a place that had lived in his memories for all these years.   Hayley, her eyes scanning the horizon, spotted a tower in the distance, its silhouette piercing the clouds. "Let's investigate," she suggested, her voice filled with a sense of adventure. We followed her gaze, our curiosity piqued by the sight of the mysterious tower.   We ventured into the forest, the air thick with the magic of the Feywild. As we walked, a strange silver rain began to fall. It slid harmlessly off our clothes, pooling on the forest floor.   Suddenly, a catchy tune, the "Young Stag," a popular song that had been sweeping through Keralon, began to play in my mind. My sister, seemingly affected by the same melody, joined me, our voices blending in a rather off-key rendition of the song.   As we continued our journey, a disconcerting realization dawned upon us. The tower, despite our steady progress, remained stubbornly distant. Liliana and Gael, their experienced eyes scanning the horizon, confirmed our suspicions. We had been walking for hours, yet the tower seemed no closer. The Feywild, we realized, was a place where perception could be easily distorted, where reality itself was fluid and ever-shifting.   Frustrated by our lack of progress, Gael decided to utilize his primal magic. He communicated with a small bird perched on a nearby branch, his voice a low, guttural sound. The bird, after a moment of hesitation, responded, its voice a series of chirps and whistles.   The journey to the tower, the bird explained, was unpredictable, its distance fluctuating. It warned us of a dangerous predator that resided near the tower.   Despite the warning, we decided to follow the bird, its flight a beacon of hope in the otherwise confusing landscape. As we progressed, a disturbing sight emerged. The trees were covered in a thick layer of webs, casting an eerie shadow over the forest floor. Liliana, her face pale, remarked that she wasn't prepared to face a horde of giant spiders.   We emerged from the dense thicket of trees into a small clearing. The scene before us was both bizarre and enchanting. A giant spider, its legs the size of tree trunks, sat amidst a gathering of animals, reading from a book. As we approached, the spider, startled by our presence, lowered the book. The animals, sensing our arrival, scattered into the undergrowth. The spider, its eight eyes gleaming, regarded us with suspicion.   Hayley stepped forward and addressed the spider in Sylvan. She explained our intentions, our journey from Keralon, and our desire to reach the tower. The spider, its voice a low rumble, introduced itself as Yarnspinner. It confirmed that the tower was indeed close by, but warned that the journey was fraught with peril. It had been a long time, it confessed, since it had ventured near the tower.   Liliana inquired about Yarnspinner's role. The spider, with a gentle chuckle, explained that she (It? He? I am not an expert on spider genders) was a lore keeper, a storyteller of the Feywild. She gathered stories from across the realm and weaved them into a tapestry of myths and legends. These stories, she explained, were recorded in her golden book by magic.   Intrigued, we shared our own story, our journey from Keralon, our encounter with the hobgoblins, and our perilous passage through the gateway. We showed Yarnspinner our magical Tarn stones, artifacts of great power. Yarnspinner widened her eyes as she recognized the stones. She spoke of a legend, a tale of a knight of Immerglade who, lost in another realm, had planted his stone, cultivating a magical gateway back to his homeland. The story resonated with us, a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainties of our journey.   Yarnspinner, sensing our weariness, invited us to stay the night in her grove. We accepted her offer, grateful for the respite. My sister Hayley requested permission to gather herbs from the surrounding forest as she was eager to replenish our diminishing supplies. Yarnspinner, with a nod of approval, granted her request.   As we settled in for the night, Yarnspinner, settling near us, opened her book. "A story before bed?" she offered, her voice a gentle hum. All of us accepted, except for Gael.   Yarnspinner began to read, her voice weaving a mesmerizing tale. Animals, drawn by the allure of her storytelling, gathered around, their eyes fixed on the spider. The story began with a young prince, ambitious and power-hungry, who sought the hand of the Queen of Immerglade. Rejected, he embarked on a series of conquests, his kingdom growing in power and influence.   The Queen of Immerglade, fearing for her realm, once again refused his advances. Humiliated, the prince declared war, his armies threatened to overwhelm Immerglade. The Queen, sensing that defeat would come soon, agreed to marry him to stop the bloodshed, their union a fragile alliance.   However, love blossomed between the Queen and a knight from Irminsul, a forbidden love that threatened to shatter the fragile peace. The prince, consumed by jealousy, unleashed his wrath, cursing the knight and imprisoning the Queen in a distant tower.   As Yarnspinner concluded her tale, a sense of unease settled over me. The story seemed to resonate with a chilling truth. The echoes of the past, the echoes of betrayal and ambition, lingered in the air. I drifted off to sleep, the story's chilling message lingering in my mind.   We awoke to an eerie silence. Yarnspinner had vanished, leaving no trace of her presence. As we surveyed the clearing, we noticed that the tower, once a prominent landmark on the horizon, had disappeared. In its place, a range of mountains stretched across the landscape.   The Feywild, we realized, was a place of shifting realities, where landscapes could change in an instant. We decided to head towards the mountains, our curiosity piqued.   As we journeyed, we stumbled upon the ruins of an ancient city, its grandeur overshadowed by the passage of time. In a valley between the mountains, a magnificent sight awaited us: a tower, its spire piercing the clouds, its surface shimmering with an ethereal light.   We entered the ruins of the city, a haunting reminder of a civilization long past. As we explored the crumbling structures, a cold wind swept through the streets, chilling us to the bone.   Dadroz soon noticed his crossbow missing. I cast a spell to locate the missing item, the magic guiding us to an abandoned inn. The inn was now only a collection of crumbling walls and forgotten memories.   Inside, we found the crossbow, resting on a pristine stage. A small goblin, its eyes wide with fear, was hiding amongst the rubble. Dadroz, engaged the creature in conversation. The goblin, after a brief interrogation, confessed to stealing the crossbow, captivated by its unique design. We agreed to release the goblin, but only after he answered two questions. Gael, eager to learn more about our surroundings, inquired if the goblin knew the name of the village. The goblin confirmed and added that this was the first of the two answers we would receive. I then stepped in and asked the creature for the name of the village. The goblin revealed the name: Whisperwind, and then ran off.   We continued our exploration, searching for clues, for any remnants of the past. However, time had taken its toll. The city, once a thriving metropolis, was now a collection of ruins, its history buried beneath the sands of time.   We left the ruins of Whisperwind, our journey continuing towards the enigmatic tower. As we ventured deeper into the forest, a sense of unease settled over us. We felt watched, eyes following our every move. Gael confirmed our suspicions. "Someone is following us," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. We scanned the surrounding trees, but our eyes met only with the shadows.   Suddenly, a small creature emerged from the undergrowth, a dragon, no larger than a dog. Its scales shimmered with an iridescent sheen, its eyes bright and intelligent. The dragon, after a moment of hesitation, introduced itself as Waffles.   Waffles, intrigued by our presence, inquired about our journey. Gael explained our mission, our quest to reach the tower. Waffles, upon hearing our destination, warned us of the dangers that lay ahead. Dlardrageth, a powerful dragon, guarded the tower.   Despite the warning, Waffles, joined by three other diminutive dragons, accompanied us on our journey. We approached the tower, its imposing presence dominating the landscape. As we drew closer, a low growl echoed from within a nearby cave.

Anaya's Prison
21st of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We were lost, the Lorewood a labyrinth of endless trees. Gael climbed the tallest tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of civilization. But the vast and impenetrable forest offered no clues.   Alistan suggested we head west, a direction that should lead us back to Keralon. We followed his advice, our hope dwindling with each passing hour. As we ventured deeper into the woods, we noticed a strange phenomenon. The trees were coated in a thin layer of a mysterious substance, a residue that evaporated upon contact. A closer look revealed that the substance seemed to be magical residium, a key component in artificing and certain magical spells, and that it covered the ground. It is very rare to find this substance outside places of intense magic or an arcane laboratory.   In a bout of youthful playfulness, Liliana ignited a bit of the residium with a bolt of magic. The substance, highly flammable, burned with an intense heat. Inspired by her success, Hayley coated her dagger with the residium, imbuing it with a temporary magical aura. Though the effect was subtle, it was a promising discovery. As we continued our journey, we stumbled upon a peculiar sight. A small clearing, hidden among the trees, held a forgotten treasure: a backpack, a quarterstaff, and various supplies. The items, covered in the mysterious residue, had been left there for quite some time.   We examined the backpack, its contents a mix of wizard's tools and survival gear. Spell components, flint and steel, and rations were neatly packed. Yet, there was no sign of the wizard who had once owned these items.   Faced with this mystery, Gael sought the help of the forest's creatures. He coaxed a fox from its burrow, communicating with it in a language of clicks and whistles. The fox revealed the history of the forest from its perspective. The residue, it explained, had been there for as long as it could remember. The backpack and its contents had been abandoned long ago. Although the fox was relatively young, so long ago was, of course, relative.   The fox then led us to a hidden clearing where it claimed the substance had originated. A large rock, surrounded by a small pond, dominated the landscape. Towards the side a small cave led into a hill. The pristine forest had been scarred by destruction as it had bore witness to a cataclysmic event. Toppled menhirs stood as silent sentinels with runes etched with ancient symbols.   Liliana and her vast knowledge of the Sylvan language deciphered the runes. The menhirs were once part of a powerful containment circle, but had now been shattered. We looked around trying to puzzle together what had transpired in this part of the Lorewood. As Alistan disturbed the earth near the large rock, a low growl echoed from the depths of the forest.   Suddenly creatures, grotesque amalgamations of tree and beast, advanced towards us. Their roots, gnarled and twisted, tore through the earth, their branches clawing at the air. Gael and Dadroz unleashed an immediate barrage of arrows, but the creatures were unfazed.   As the creatures lunged, Alistan was attacked by another unseen foe. A small, shadowy figure, its form shifting and changing, struck from a distance with surprising speed and ferocity. Alistan, wounded but unyielding, braced to defend the rest of us from the onslaught of the two large trees. I, seizing the opportunity, unleashed a devastating firebolt, the flames engulfing one of the awakened trees. Its screams echoed through the forest, a chilling sound that sent shivers down our spines. The second tree momentarily hesitated.   Gael, his focus unwavering, meanwhile pursued the unseen assailant. The creature, a master of stealth and deception, struck again, a thorn piercing Gael's side. The pain must have been excruciating, but Gael persevered.   I attempted to burn the second tree, a firebolt hurtling towards its base. But the creature resisted the flames much better than its companion. Instead, Dadroz with a well-aimed shot in a soft spot of bark, felled the tree. Its massive form came crashing to the ground. The final unseen foe was soon revealed to be a twisted and corrupted dryad. Drawn out from its hiding space, it immediately attacked Liliana. The creature, its form distorted, its eyes filled with a feral madness, lashed out with thorny vines.The thorns digging into Liliana flesh as they draw blood. To our horror, the vines start consuming the released blood, draining our paladin friend.   I unleashed a fireball, aiming to destroy the creature, or at the very least distract it to save Liliana. But the dryad was highly resistant to my attack, and survived the blast that tore through the clearing. Alistan and Liliana, their movements hindered by the vines, struggled to reach the creature. Finally, Liliana broke through the barrier, her sword flashing in the dim light as she cut the corrupted dryad in two.   As we examined the creature's remains, we discovered traces of the residual magic, a dark influence that had corrupted its mind and body. The creature, once a guardian of the forest, had been twisted into a monstrous being.   We rested and allowed our bodies to recover from the ordeal. The cave, shrouded in mist, beckoned us. Liliana, her senses attuned to the supernatural, detected an undead presence within. We ventured into the cave with our weapons drawn and our hearts pounding with anticipation.   The first chamber was dominated by two colossal statues. However the rest of the chamber was completely wrecked by explosive blasts, with smoldering embers of the destruction illuminating the scene. Liliana, her eyes scanning the room, identified an undead aura emanating from one of the statues. Alistan addressed the statue as his voice echoed through the cavern. The statue, its movements slow and deliberate, stepped forward, its voice a haunting whisper. It declared that entry was forbidden, a decree issued by the ancient wizard, Myrdin.   I presented my sigil, a symbol of my authority as a Knight of Briar Ring. As my order is closely tied to Myrdin, I had hoped to sway the statue to let us through. But the statue, bound to its ancient duty, remained unmoved. Alistan, undeterred, inquired about Myrdin's whereabouts. The statue, its response mechanical, revealed that Myrdin had long since departed.   As I surveyed the chamber, I noticed a shadowy figure lurking in the corner. A naga, its serpentine form coiled and ready to strike. The guardian, aware that it had been seen, moved towards us, its voice a low, ominous rumble.   Gael engaged the guardian in conversation, explaining our intentions. The naga, bound by an ancient oath, revealed the history of the place. Five years ago, a powerful sorceress, Anaya, Myrdin’s longtime rival, had escaped from her imprisonment within the cave. Myrdin himself had been staying in the prison to keep it secure, but had gone after Anaya in an attempt to recapture her. A desperate attempt to recapture her with summoned fey creatures had resulted in the release of a powerful force, the residual magic that plagued the forest. Neither Anaya nor Myrdin had returned in five years.   The menhirs and the runes of the prison, once a powerful barrier, had been destroyed, their protective power lost. The guardians, bound to their duty, remained, their existence a silent vigil. We decided to spend the night in the cave and keep the creatures company with the hopes of getting more information from them. As we drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder about the timing of it all. Five years ago was when we had journeyed from Tarn to Keralon, and had gotten stuck in the Lorewood. During that troublesome time, the magic of both my sister and I had gotten strangely enhanced and unpredictable. Could we have picked up an aftereffect of the residual magic that had been released from Anaya’s escape?   The next morning my head was still spinning so I once again approached the naga guardian. I inquired about the elemental towers in the area of Keralon, knowing somewhat of their important role in the city’s magical history. The guardian confirmed that the towers had once been under the control of Anaya. Later, Myrdin had seized control, using them for his own ends. They were a massive source of magical power and thus a precious prize for any spellcaster.   I also asked about High Magic, the pinnacle of arcane power. The guardian explained that within the depths of the cave, in the chambers of Anaya and Myrdrin, tomes of ancient knowledge were hidden. However, access to these chambers was strictly forbidden. The only way to get to the tomes was to get permission from the missing Myrdin, or overcome the guardians and the cave’s protections. I did not wish to test my skill against that of the legendary Myrdin, nor did I have any appetite to kill the guardians he had left behind. I want to acquire this power to get stronger and project the people I care about, but not at the expense of who I am. Otherwise I would be no better than the fey.   As I pondered the guardian's words, a thought occurred to me. Amarra, my mentor, had once held the power of Cairn Fussil and now had urged me to secure the entire quadrumvirate. Could there be a connection between her and the ancient wizards, Myrdrin and Anaya? Her cryptic past, her knowledge of arcane secrets, definitely hinted at a deeper involvement in the world of magic.   The possibility of encountering Myrdrin, or perhaps even Anaya, during my attempt to claim the towers as my own does excite me. And I am left wondering what it would be like to discuss the details of magic with the legendary spell casters, after the strong disappointment that is the magical academy of Keralon. As we emerged from the cave and headed back into the Lorewood, a magnificent sight caught our eye. A giant butterfly, its wings shimmering with silver, fluttered nearby. Liliana recognized the creature from Vivienne’s gardens during her time in the Feywild.   I focused my senses on the butterfly and detected a faint divination aura. The creature, it seemed, was part of a spell to lead us somewhere, its path a mystery. Though I was hesitant to trust anything fey related, I had to admit that we were also thoroughly lost. So while it seemed to take us away from Keralon, we diligently followed the magical creature. The butterfly, its flight effortless, led us deeper into the forest, towards a hidden glade.   As we entered the clearing, we were greeted by a host of tiny fey, their forms ethereal and enchanting. The air was filled with magic, the very essence of the Feywild. But the butterfly did not stop and guided us further along the path. We are soon brought into a smaller area with a gate similar to those we had encountered before. We had long since speculated that they were passages to Immerglade, but the previous gates had been broken beyond repair. However this gate seemed intact and offered an irresistible chance to journey into the lost fey kingdom.   As we approached the gate, a towering elven guardian emerged, his form imposing and his voice commanding. He ordered us to halt under the orders of High King Ulther, his words echoing through the clearing. Hayley stepped forward, introducing Liliana as an emissary of Lady Vivienne. Liliana, however, declined to deceive the guardian, admitting that her current connection to Vivienne was tenuous at best.   Alistan sought to learn more about the guardian. The giant, whose name was Davozan, explained that he was tasked with guarding the gateway, preventing unauthorized entry. Instead we asked about the way back to Keralon, but the giant was barely aware of the city.   With the path blocked, we were forced to consider our options. The guardian was formidable, but also an agent of King Ulther, for whom we share no love. The ever cautious Gael hesitated to challenge the guardian. However, the others, their determination unwavering, urged him to reconsider. The butterfly, a messenger from the Feywild, had led us here. It was a sign qnd a chance to explore the mysteries of the realm.   We voted and decided to take the risk. With a mix of hope and trepidation, we approached the gate once more, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The young stag and the undead wolf
20th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We woke up in the familiar comfort of our keep, which we have now nicknamed The Den, after the fishy adventure in Marsh’s Fury. The events of the past few days were still fresh in our minds. After a hearty breakfast, Gael addressed us, a serious look on his face. He produced a small, silver box. It was a relic from his past, a connection to a time when we were still younglings in the small town of Tarn.   Gael explained that the box had been with him when he was found in the forest as an orphan. He also revealed a knife, a gift from Tommel, once belonging to their shared mentor, Sylvesse. The knife, he believed, held the key to unlocking the secrets of the box.   Gael was cautious, his hesitation evident. He feared that opening the box could unleash a force beyond our control. The fey, with their enigmatic ways and ancient power, were not to be trifled with. Yet, the allure of the unknown, the promise of answers, compelled him to proceed.   Gael, still uncertain about the nature of the box and the knife, had opted for a cautious approach. He had hoped to wait for Tommel to fully recover, to gain more insight into the mysterious artifact. However, the specter of Cornu's return loomed large.   I, unable to resist the urge to delve into the unknown, proposed a simple ritual to detect any magical properties of the box. Alistan was slightly miffed that I had carved the ritual circle directly into our kitchen table, but drastic times call for drastic action (and I can re-use the rune circle later with some touch-ups). The ritual was a success and I found a faint illusionary aura emanating from the box. It was a subtle enchantment, likely designed to conceal the box from prying eyes.   We decided to leave the aura intact as it probably has a protective nature. The mystery deepened and the stakes rose. The box, a relic of the past, may hold the key behind Gael’s origin and the reason why Cornu had relentlessly chased us down so many years ago.   Gael, his resolve strengthened, visited Tommel, seeking his aid. When Gael returned, his face was a mix of excitement and apprehension. Tommel, despite his recent illness, had agreed to accompany Gael on the journey to the mysterious cabin. He had even donned an old army uniform, armed himself with a short sword and a longbow, ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.   Alistan immediately began preparing our supplies and making preparations for our absence from Wolf’s Rest (the new name is finally catching on). Provisions were gathered, gear checked, and orders were given to ensure the smooth running of the district in our absence.   Tommel, his spirit rejuvenated, explained the journey ahead. The cabin was located deep within the Lorewood, a perilous journey of several days. Despite the passage of time, he seemed confident in his ability to navigate the treacherous terrain.   We ventured into the Lorewood with ancient trees casting long shadows. Alistan inquired about the cabin and its location as a means to pass the time. Tommel, his voice filled with nostalgia, recounted a tale from his youth. Lost in the forest during a storm, he had stumbled upon a hidden clearing. There, he had encountered Sylvesse, the familiar stag, who had guided him to a secluded cabin.   The cabin, a haven of peace, was home to an elven couple. They had sheltered Tommel, offering him warmth and comfort. Sylvesse, a guardian of the forest, had forbidden Tommel from revealing the location of the cabin to others, a secret to be kept until the time was right. Now, a dream from Sylvesse had told him that time had come to show it to Gael.   As we delved deeper into the Lorewood, we encountered strange anomalies. Small clearings, patches of disturbed earth, dotted the forest floor. Gael speculated that these were the remnants of menhirs like we had encountered before, powerful artifacts connected to the ancient conflict between the Immerglade and the Neverhold.   The first day of our journey was uneventful. We set up camp, the towering trees providing shelter from the elements. The forest, though ancient and mysterious, had seemed peaceful for our initial trek, but that would soon change.   The morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting dappled light on the forest floor. Before long, we cross the tracks of a large group of humanoids, about ten to twenty people accompanied by horses and dogs. It was likely that they traversed during the night, and may have been the tracks of the hobgoblins we encountered later. We decided to continue on, not wanting to get distracted.   As we continued our journey, we stumbled upon another peculiar sight. A trail of destruction, a swathe of dead and decaying vegetation, stretched before us. The trees, once vibrant and alive, were now skeletal husks, their leaves withered and brown. No footprints marred the forest floor, no sign of the creature or force that had wrought such devastation. The mystery deepened, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding. This was our first indication that there was something unnatural in the forest with us, which we would encounter the next day. Yet, undeterred, we pressed on, our resolve unwavering.   As we ventured deeper into the forest, a strange sound reached our ears. Soft voices, carried on the wind, guided us towards a clearing. Gael, his senses heightened, volunteered to scout ahead, his stealthy movements allowing him to approach the clearing undetected.   Hayley sent Fiachna along to investigate. The raven returned with disturbing news: a group of hobgoblins had set up camp. With them were death dogs, creatures of shadow and death. The clearing, once a place of tranquility, was now a den of evil.   We decided to try waiting, to let the hobgoblins move on. Fiachna kept us informed of their movements. However as the hours passed, the tension grew. The hobgoblins showed no signs of leaving. Gael then suggested a direct approach. He would attempt to reason with them, to find a peaceful solution. I prepared a fireball, ready to retaliate if necessary. The god of Death was often represented as a hobgoblin, a fact that filled me with unease as we dealt with the fey-associated creatures.   Hayley, her knowledge of the goblin tongue invaluable, stepped forward, her voice soothing and reassuring. She explained our intentions and our peaceful mission. The hobgoblins, initially wary, listened intently. They revealed that the clearing was an ancient ruin, a place of power and mystery. The hobgoblins state that they are simply passing through and have set up camp here for now. They invited us to join them in the ruin, which we hesistently accepted.   We entered the ruins and see the labyrinth of crumbling walls and overgrown vegetation. Tommel, his memory sharp, guided us through the complex, pointing out familiar landmarks. The once grand cabin, now reduced to rubble, was a testament to the passage of time.   The hobgoblins were a curious lot. They kept to themselves, their conversations a low murmur in the goblin tongue. We were offered a meager meal, a gesture of hospitality, but their attention was focused on their own affairs.   A peculiar structure, a stone gateway adorned with ancient runes, caught our eye. The runes, similar to those we had encountered in Tarn and hinted at a connection to the Immerglade. This used to be a portal to another realm, a land that we had only heard of in stories, but whose path keeps crossing ours. Only Liliana has gone into the proper Feywild and returned. It took her five years and did not age her, except for her now stark white hair. Thoughts of journeying into the Feywild still sends shivers down my spine, as I know that if we would ever need to go there, we would not return the same.   As we studied the gate, my sister Hayley tried engaging the hobgoblin leader in conversation. She soon returned, her face a mix of intrigue and concern. Despite their aloofness, we still did not trust the hobgoblins. We knew that there was a good chance that they were agents of the fey, but did not want to attack them without cause either.   That night, we kept a watchful eye on the hobgoblins. I even fortified myself with protective spells before going to sleep, a precaution I rarely took. As the night wore on, a disturbance awakened us. Liliana and Dadroz were engaged in a fierce battle with the hobgoblins, their swords flashing in the dim light. It seemed that either the hobgoblins had finally made their move on us while we slept, or there had been another triggering incident. In any case, there was no time for second guessing with my friends in danger.   I saw the chaos unfold, cracked my fingers and unleashed a devastating fireball. The inferno consumed half a dozen hobgoblins, their bodies reduced to ash. The flames licked at the ruined walls of the cabin, casting eerie shadows. Alistan and Liliana, their shields raised, formed a defensive line, blocking the enemy's attacks. The battle raged on, a clash of wills, a test of strength and skill.   A few hobgoblins, sensing defeat, fled into the forest. Gael, however, was soon found frozen in fear. A monstrous figure, a creature of darkness, emerged from the woods. Cornu, the elven hunter who had tormented us years ago, had returned, his form twisted and corrupted. It was also thanks to the prophetic dream that we shared before that we even recognized his form, but his intent was unmistakable. His eyes, glowing with malice, fixed on Gael.   Gael, terrified, stumbled backward, his mind clouded by fear. The creature, its movements swift and deadly, advanced towards him. Alistan and Liliana, sensing the danger, rushed to Gael's aid. They fought valiantly, their swords a blur of motion.   I, unable to stand idly by, unleashed a barrage of firebolts, hoping to weaken the creature. But the creature, its power amplified by dark magic, proved to be a formidable foe. It struck at Liliana, its claws aimed at her heart.   Hayley, her magic surging, intervened. She summoned a powerful spirit, a guardian of light, to protect us. The spirit, its form ethereal, attacked the creature, its strikes swift and precise. The creature, its life force waning, let out a final, desperate roar before disappearing into nothingness.   As the dust settled, we gathered around Gael, his body limp and unresponsive. I administered a healing potion, its magic coursing through his veins. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, his breath returning. The ordeal was over and Cornu had been vanquished once again. But his form had disappeared, leaving no body behind. A sinking feeling suggested that this would not be the last time we would be confronted with the fey hunter.   With the immediate threat neutralized, we turned our attention to exploring the ruins. Beneath a fallen beam, we discovered a tombstone, a testament to a fallen hero. The inscription revealed that this was where Vincent was buried, and it referred to him as a hero to those who hate him. It also spoke of his love for someone called Reeva and that he was a friend to Sylvesse.   We decided to move on to one of the hobgoblins that we had captured. The hobgoblin stirred after being force fed a magical berry. Alistan attempted to question him, but the creature, unable to comprehend the Common tongue, remained silent.   Hayley, with her knowledge of the Feywild and its languages, stepped forward. She communicated with the hobgoblin, extracting information about their mission. The hobgoblins, it seemed, were under the orders of the High King, tasked with ambushing a group that would be coming towards the ruins and stealing from them a powerful artifact. The description of the artifact matched the silver box, a chilling realization.   The revelation about the box's purpose sent shockwaves through our group. Gael, his curiosity piqued, reconsidered opening it. Alistan encouraged him, pointing out Sylvesse's trust in him. Dadroz voiced his concerns, but ultimately deferred to Gael's judgment.   With trembling hands, Gael turned the key. A small drawer slid open, revealing a series of Elven runes. The runes spelled out a single word: "Revanche", Elven for vengeance. We speculated on how to proceed as it was clearly meant as a puzzle to open the box. Gael, in a flash of inspiration, used the runes to spell out the name of Reeva, which triggered the box.   The box opened fully, revealing half a mask, its surface marred by a deep gash. As Gael placed the mask on his face, it seemed to melt into his skin, his form shifting and changing. He emerged, his appearance altered to that of a human version of himself. When he removed the mask, his original form was restored.   Alistan, intrigued by the mask's power, tried it on. The same transformation occurred, his human form replaced by an elven one. The mask, a relic of the past, held the power to alter one's appearance, a dangerous artifact with the potential for great evil.   I examined the mask, my magical senses tingling. The transmutation aura, a powerful force, was evident. The mask, I realized, was a piece of a larger artifact. It also bore too many similarities to the mask once wielded by the leader of the Leper Revolt, a dark chapter in Keralon's history. This brought on many more questions that it answered. We suspected that the king of Keralon had strong ties with the fey, and may even be a fey himself. Could the Leper Revolt, a seemingly unrelated dispute on the power of the guilds, have been related to ancient conflict between Immerglade and Neverhold?   We rested, our bodies recovering from the ordeal. The mask, a relic of a bygone era, held immense power. We packed our belongings, preparing to leave the forest.   As we emerged from the ruins, we heard the distant barking of dogs. The escaped hobgoblins had alerted their allies, who were now on the hunt. We quickly retreated into the forest, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of trees.   But the forest, once familiar, now seemed to twist and turn, its paths leading us astray. The once comforting canopy now cast a menacing shadow, the tranquility of the woods replaced by a sense of unease. We were lost, trapped in the labyrinth of the Lorewood.

The Fury of the Marsh
11th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We decided to delve deeper into the mysteries of the swamp. Alistan, his curiosity piqued, examined the silver chest. Inside, he discovered an old diary, its pages filled with tales of loss and despair from a long time ago. The diary belonged to a man who had lost his wife and daughter to the treacherous waters of the swamp. The statue on the island, it seemed, was of his wife, Marina. Although the diary was vague about her exact fate, it did mention that the man had placed the ring on it, as a final act for his lost love. His daughter, on the other hand, had been cursed and overtaken by a nameless entity lurking in the swamp. It was a tragic tale, and one whose remnants are likely the reason for all that had been happening in Marsh’s Fury.   Intrigued by the diary's revelations, we ventured further into the swamp. The dense vegetation hindered our progress and the murky water slowed our movements. Yet, we pressed on, our determination unwavering. In the distance, a strange glow emanated from the water's depths. A hidden chamber deep underwater, its secrets concealed beneath the surface. As we approached, the glow intensified, drawing us closer to its source.   We dove into the murky waters, our bodies having been adapted to the aquatic environment by the strange curse that had started affecting us too. As we swam deeper, the light grew stronger, revealing the source of the strange energy. Two swamp creatures, their forms grotesque and menacing, emerged from the shadows. A cold shiver went down my spine as I considered that I was probably also turning into one of these creatures. A skeletal serpent, its bones reanimated by dark magic, slithered towards us, its gaze fixed on Gael.   The serpent unleashed a torrent of icy energy, freezing the water around Gael. But Gael, with the agility of a seasoned warrior, dodged the attack, his arrows finding their mark. The swamp creatures, their movements slow and deliberate, charged towards us. Liliana and Alistan, their shields raised, deflected the attacks. One of the creatures, its form weakened, was soon knocked unconscious by the pair.   I focused my energy and a wave of fire surged through my veins. I knew my fire magic would do little good underwater, so I had to switch tactics. I targeted the skeletal serpent, my magic piercing its mind, shredding it. The serpent recoiled and unleashed a bolt of lightning, its energy arcing through the water. The electric shock coursed through our bodies, Alistan, weighed down by his metal armor, taking the brunt of the attack. I managed to absorb some of the energy as my magic shielded us from the worst of the assault. Dadroz, seizing the opportunity, unleashed a bolt from his crossbow, striking the creature's vital point, taking it out.   We rested, our bodies recovering from the ordeal. Alistan was still recovering from the electric shock and needed a breather. I, too, was weary, the battle having taken its toll. Luckily Liliana offered to heal my electrical burns.   The swamp creature that we had captured, had his human form restored when he had been knocked unconscious. He introduced himself as Eevre, one of the residents of March’s Fury. He explained that he had been drawn to the swamp, seeking solace. The transformation, he claimed, had happened without his consent. He recognized the statue, a monument to the mayor's wife, a woman cursed to stone. The island, he said, was considered a place of safety, a sanctuary from the dangers of the swamp. Villagers often visited, leaving offerings to appease the spirit of the mayor's wife. Eevre recounted a local legend similar to what we had discovered in the diary, the tale of the mayor's daughter, who had vanished into the swamp.   We did not want to risk venturing into the swamp again before we had figured out what the relationship was between the former mayor and the current situaiton, so we decided to escort Eevre back to the village. As we approached, a cacophony of sounds assaulted our senses. The once peaceful village was now a battlefield and had been overrun by undead creatures. Spectres, their forms ethereal, and swamp creatures, their bodies grotesque, wreaked havoc. Villagers, terrified and confused, fled in all directions.   We charged into the fray, our weapons drawn. Liliana, her sword a blur of motion, struck down a spectre. Dadroz, his crossbow deadly accurate, took aim at a swamp creature. I unleashed a barrage of firebolts, the flames consuming the undead.   A pair of giant crocodiles emerged from the shadows, their jaws snapping. I focused my magic, a sphere of flame materializing in my hands. I hurled the sphere, a wall of fire blocking the creatures' path. The spectres were more difficult to combat. They moved through us, their attacks bypassing our defenses.   But I had other things to worry about as I was suddenly swarmed by a torrent of undead frogs, their grotesque forms a testament to the dark magic that had corrupted them. Their tongues, slimy and disease-ridden, lashed out, aiming to strike. I managed to evade their attacks, a flash of inspiration allowing me to manipulate fate, a fleeting moment of arcane intervention. The frogs, their movements slowed, their tongues tangled, were no match for my magic.   However we were beset on all sides by enemies. A swamp creature, its form hulking and menacing, lunged towards me as I leaped down from the roof. I dodged the attack, seeking refuge behind Liliana's protective shield. As the creature closed in, Gael unleashed a deadly arrow, piercing its heart. As the last creature fell, silence descended upon the village.   We returned to Meredith's cabin, the weight of our failure heavy on our shoulders. Signs of a struggle were evident, the room disheveled, the air thick with tension. We discovered drag marks, leading towards the swamp. The trail ended at the water's edge. So it was clear that she had been taken by the swamp creatures for some nefarious purpose. It had been easy to surmise that the ring Meredith wore was similar to the one that had been placed on the petrified woman, and that she was likely the direct descendent of the former mayor, if not in blood, then in spirit.   Despite the danger, we ventured into the swamp, our determination unwavering. Liliana, hindered by her heavy armor, struggled to keep up. We pressed on, the darkness enveloping us. As we delved deeper, a strange glow emerged from the water. The same hidden chamber that we had spotted before, now beckoned us. There was no time to wait anymore with Meredith in danger and our bodies changing, so we swam inside the cave. As we passed through a barrier, we discovered a pocket of air filling a beautiful cavern. Luminescent moss and brightly colored fungi was scattered along the walls.   As we rounded a bend, a horrifying scene unfolded before us. A strange, blue creature, its form ethereal and menacing, stood before an ancient altar. This was likely what remains of the mayor’s daughter, tormented and twisted after hundreds of years of the curse. A great fury could be seen in her eyes as she glanced towards us. Meredith, unconscious, lay nearby, clearly the target of some kind of eldritch ritual. Beside the altar, a monstrous serpent, its scales shimmering with dark energy, guarded the altar.   Gael, swift and decisive, teleported to Meredith's side, snatching her from the creature's grasp. I unleashed a fireball, hoping to weaken the creatures. A powerful explosion erupted from the altar, the force of the blast sending the blue creature and the serpent reeling. The serpent, its form corrupted by dark magic, retaliated, a bolt of lightning striking the ground.   Liliana, her sword glowing with divine energy, charged towards the blue creature, her strikes relentless. But the creature proved to be a formidable foe. It erected a wall of water as a barrier that protected it from our attacks.   Liliana charged through the wall of water with fierce determination, the force of the torrent pummeling her body. Meanwhile the snake guardian was striking at us. I attempted to invade the snake guardian's mind, to disrupt its concentration. But my magic was met with a powerful resistance, the creature's will stronger than I had anticipated.   A piercing scream echoed through the chamber, Liliana's voice filled with pain. Gael, his instincts honed by years of combat, rushed to her aid, his bow flashing in the dim light.   I, unable to reach the creature, resorted to a different tactic with the help of my sister Hayley. I focused my magic, preparing to channel my energy into a single powerful barrage. As Hayley signaled, I prepared myself as I was suddenly teleported beyond the water wall next to Gael and could now see the blue-skinned fury before me. I immediately unleashed my most powerful spell, wrecking the creature with my magic.   The fury, enraged, retaliated, striking Liliana down who stood in front of it. Its voice then became a haunting melody. The sound, a siren's call, ensnared my mind and pulled me closer.   Liliana, her life force waning, lay motionless on the ground. Gael, his heart heavy with sorrow, fed her a healing potion, a desperate attempt to revive her. The creature, sensing its advantage, lunged towards us. I used my magic to barely dodge the attack, with the knowledge that a direct hit from the fury might be the end of me. I unleashed another barrage of missiles, hoping to weaken the creature. As the creature recoiled, Alistan seized the opportunity, his sword flashing in the dim light.   Alistan charged through the wall of water. With a swift and decisive strike, he pierced the creature's heart. But Liliana, her divine power surging, intervened and brought the creature back from the brink of death. She wanted to free the girl from her curse, not see her dead. So Liliana reached out, her hand glowing with celestial light, in an attempt to banish the evil from the girl’s body. The fury, sensing the threat, lunged forward, its grip tightening around Liliana. As Liliana's form began to turn to stone, a surge of divine energy erupted from her, pushing back the creature's influence.   I focused my magic, my will pushing back against the creature’s spell threatening to overtake Liliana and turn her to stone. I reached out, my energy intertwining with Liliana's, dispelling the dark magic that threatened to consume her. With a final effort, I severed the connection, freeing Liliana from the creature's grasp. It had been the last of my magic, so I had hoped that it would be worth it.   Hayley moved swiftly, her dagger flashing in the dim light. She struck the creature, a decisive blow that ended its reign of terror. As the creature fell, the magical energy that had transformed us began to dissipate. Our bodies, no longer adapted to the aquatic environment, struggled to stay afloat.   The water, once still, now surged, the rising tide threatening to consume us. Gael pushed on, trying to keep Meredith afloat. Alistan, his courage unwavering, swam back to assist Dadroz, who was struggling against the powerful current.   I, too, was overwhelmed by the force of the water. My body, weakened by the loss of the magical enhancements, struggled to stay afloat. Just as I was about to succumb to the water's relentless pull, Hayley's magic intervened. A surge of energy propelled me upwards, my body breaking through the surface.   We pulled ourselves onto the shore, our bodies exhausted, our spirits weary. Hayleystarted passing out strange concoctions, their magic soothing our wounds. As we rested, we took stock of the situation. The statue, once a symbol of hope, now lay in ruins. We had been unable to save the cursed daughter. There had been a moment of peace in the creature’s eyes when Liliana had channeled her divine energy into it. But it had just been a moment and the creature had been far too dangerous to persist. My sister had ended its reign, and we can take solace in the outcome. The evil that had plagued the swamp had been defeated and the curse had been broken.   Meredith, her eyes slowly opening, looked around, confusion etched on her face. She thanked us for rescuing her, her voice filled with gratitude. We discussed the strange events, the corrupted creatures, the ancient ritual. The ring, Meredith’s heirloom, now seemed to radiate a different energy.   We returned to the village, our bodies weary, our spirits heavy. The mayor, his face etched with relief, greeted us warmly. He thanked us for saving the village, for freeing his people from the clutches of the dark magic.   We explained the nature of the curse, the influence of the ancient evil. The villagers, though confused, were grateful. The ones who had been transformed, now restored to their human form, were unaware of what had happened. They remembered only the alluring music, the siren's call that had drawn them to the swamp.   We returned to Meredith's cabin and found no signs of any remaining swamp creatures. Meredith thanked us once more for our heroic deeds. As a token of her gratitude, she presented us with a reward: a chest filled with 400 platinum pieces. The wealth was staggering, enough to fund the upcoming festival and perhaps even a few resurrections, should the need arise.   With heavy hearts, we bid farewell to Meredith, the adventure in Marsh's Fury drawing to a close. We mounted our horses and rode back to Keralon, our minds filled with the events of the past few days. The journey home was long and arduous, but the satisfaction of a mission accomplished fueled our spirits. As we approached the gates of Dogville, we knew that new challenges awaited, new adventures to be had.

Venturing into dangerous waters
11th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The morning sun struggled to penetrate the gloom as we awoke, our sleep disturbed by a shared nightmare. In the dream, Cornu, our fearful nemesis, had returned, his form twisted and corrupted. His head had been replaced by that of a wolf and then he was tasked to find us.   We gathered in the common room, our faces etched with worry. The dream, a shared vision, had shaken us to our core. We knew that Cornu, if indeed resurrected, would seek revenge.   Dadroz, Gael, and Alistan volunteered to scout the district, their eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of the undead. I joined them, my senses heightened, my magic ready. We followed the tracks of giant geese and found a trail leading away from Dogville. The tracks grew fainter as we ventured deeper into the forest, eventually disappearing. It suggests that Aunty had left the region, as Mother Marblehook had promised. So that was at least one worry less. We found no traces of Cornu or any undead, and so we decided to return to the Keep.   The rest of the day passed in relative quiet. While my companions rested, I delved into the mysteries of the kitchen, searching for clues, for any sign of Naira’s destined doom. I scoured every inch, my magical senses attuned to the slightest anomaly. But I found no hidden doors, no secret portals, no lurking tadpoles.   Frustrated, I remembered the legends of Banderhobbs, monstrous creatures created by hags to carry out their vengeance. If the prophecy was accurate, then a Banderhobb would be the likely culprit. The creature, after consuming its target, would vanish, leaving no trace. This would explain how a giant frog would suddenly come to be in our Keep.   I called out to my friends, my voice filled with a mix of relief and dread. Alistan scolded me a bit for the mess I had created. But his kinder sister, Liliana, offered to help clean up. As we cleaned, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Aunty Patty, the enigmatic hag, was the likely culprit. She had manipulated Tommel, ensuring his compliance with her sinister plan. The prophecy, a twisted game, was her way of securing a possible heir. It was still possible that she may make a move on Naira, but now we knew what to possibly expect.   The next morning, as we sat down to breakfast, a knock sounded at the door. One of our guards entered, bearing a letter from Amarra, my former fire mage mentor. The letter urged me to seek out the Grimoire of Creation, a powerful tome of arcane knowledge. She also warned me of a potential threat, a dangerous enemy who may be hunting me and my friends.   The only place in Keralon that might hold such knowledge was the Academy of Mages, a place I had sworn never to return to. The memories of my time there, the trials, the betrayals, the pain, all came flooding back. Yet, the stakes were high, the fate of many resting on my shoulders.   I would have to face my past, to confront the demons that haunted my dreams. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but I was determined to see it through. The Grimoire of Creation, a relic of ancient power, could be the key to gaining enough power to free our destiny from the fey that plague us. And so I immediately set forth towards the Academy, bringing Alistan and Liliana along as emotional support companions.   After a short trip to Keralon, the familiar halls of the academy stretched before us, their grandeur unchanged. Students hurried past, their faces etched with youthful ambition. Professors, their robes flowing, strode through the corridors, their minds occupied with arcane pursuits.   We approached Brunhilde, the headmaster's secretary. Her appearance hadn't changed much, her skin still an unnatural shade of red, her dress adorned with intricate web-like patterns. She recognized me, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. I explained my purpose, my new role as a knight of Keralon.   A few minutes later, we were ushered into the headmaster's office. The room was a testament to his power, filled with magical artifacts and ancient texts. The headmaster, a bald man with a stern expression, sat behind his desk, his gaze fixed on us.   The headmaster, while recognizing me, was wary of my request. He reminded me of my previous visit, my desperate plea to save Liliana from her imprisonment by the fey, which had been rejected and ultimately led to the death of an academy student. The failure of that endeavor had left a lasting impression. He emphasized that the only way to gain access would be to attend the full curriculum, a process that could take years if not decades.   I argued my case, highlighting my growth, my advancements in magic, and my contributions to Keralon. I proposed a trial, a test of my abilities, a chance to prove myself. Reluctantly, the headmaster agreed. He would organize a series of trials, a rigorous assessment of my knowledge and skill.   With a heavy heart, I accepted the challenge. The path to the magical secrets of the Academy was fraught with obstacles, but I was determined to overcome them. If they wanted me to jump through hoops like a show dog, then that is the role I will play for now. As we left the academy, a sense of frustration washed over me. I thanked Liliana and Alistan for their support, my voice filled with a mix of anger and determination.   To relieve the tension, Alistan and I headed to the local tavern. We spent the evening drinking ale and shooting firebolts at driftwood along the Lorerun River, the cathartic release helping to ease my frustrations.   The following day, Gael and Alistan returned from their knightly duties, bearing news of three potential bounties. A village in distress, a mysterious griffon disease, and a haunted museum. We opted to investigate the plight of the village first, the urgency of the situation compelling us to act swiftly.   We were led to the manor of Meredith Marsh, an elderly elf woman of noble birth. Dressed in simple clothes, she was preparing to leave Keralon, her efforts to find help for her village had proven fruitless until we had shown up. The village, Marsh's Fury, had been found empty one day. Its inhabitants, seemingly overnight, had disappeared with no rhyme or reason.   The village was located southeast of Keralon, near the Lorewood and a treacherous swamp. I had heard about the area she is referring to, as several large battles had been fought between humans and elves during their conflicts. Meredith urged us to depart immediately, the urgency of the situation evident in her voice. We agreed, promising to investigate the mystery of the missing village, and returned back to our keep to prepare for the journey.   A few hours later, Meredith arrived, her simple attire and modest equipment a stark contrast to her noble lineage. She was ready, her spirit undeterred. We mounted our horses and our journey began. As we rode, I inquired about the dangers of the area. Meredith explained the perils of the Lorewood, the lurking shadows and the ancient magic. She also mentioned the swamp, a place where many had met their untimely demise. The legend of her grandfather's disappearance, a mystery shrouded in time, added a layer of intrigue to the already ominous atmosphere.   The journey was longer than expected, the terrain challenging and the directions unreliable. After two arduous days, we finally reached Marsh's Fury. To our astonishment, the village was bustling with activity. People were going about their daily lives, oblivious to the recent disappearance.   Meredith was bewildered, her confusion evident. She swore that the village had been empty, its inhabitants vanished without a trace. Alistan assured her that we believed her, the inexplicable nature of the situation a mystery to be solved.   We settled into Meredith's large log cabin, our horses stabled nearby. As night fell, we prepared for the night ahead. We divided the watch, each of us taking turns to keep watch over the village. I, armed with a ritual to heighten my magical senses, scanned the area. I detected two significant magical auras: Meredith's bow, a weapon capable of firing poisoned arrows, and her ring, an ancient artifact of elven justice.   Meredith, surprised by our discovery, explained the ring's history. It was a family heirloom, but was unaware that is a powerful tool used by ancient elven justicars to imprison those who threatened the world. However, its power had dwindled over time, its magic now nearly depleted.   Later that night, Dadroz and Liliana, while on watch, witnessed a strange sight. Several villagers had ventured into the swamp and started covering their bodies with the murky water. The reason for this peculiar behavior remained a mystery, a puzzle piece missing from the grand scheme.   The next morning, we discussed the strange occurrence. The villagers' actions were perplexing, their motives unclear. We decided to investigate further and to delve deeper into the secrets of Marsh's Fury. After a hearty breakfast, we ventured into the swamp. The tranquil waters were bustling with activity with many fishing boats dotting the surface. I cast a detect magic spell, scanning the area for any anomalies. The results were inconclusive, no discernible magical presence.   We questioned the villagers about their unusual nighttime activities. They explained that the warm weather had drawn them to the water for refreshment. However, their behavior and appearance raised suspicions. Many exhibited strange physical changes, their skin developing scales, their feet webbing.   Gael, using his primal magic, communicated with one of the dogs. The dog revealed that the villagers had ventured deeper into the swamp, drawn by an unknown force. Guided by the dog, we followed the trail, the swamp's murky waters our guide.   The dog led us to a small island, a hidden oasis amidst the treacherous waters. A life-sized statue, its features weathered by time, stood at the center of the island. Surrounding it were offerings, a testament to the reverence with which it was held.   As we moved closer to the statue, we spotted something unusual in the water: a group of crocodiles. Before we could react, they lunged, their jaws snapping at us. With swift reflexes, we defended ourselves. I unleashed a barrage of fireballs, while Liliana's blade danced, her strikes precise and deadly. Dadroz, with his stealth and agility, struck from the shadows.   Just as we thought we had defeated the crocodiles, one of them stirred, its body reanimating. Its scales shifted, its form growing larger and more menacing. It lunged at Alistan, its jaws wide open. Alistan raised his shield, deflecting the attack. With a powerful strike, Liliana severed the creature's head, its lifeless body falling into the water.   The source of the disturbance was a haunting melody, an eerie song emanating from the nearby trees. Gael proposed using music to lure the creature out. Alistan and Liliana joined in, their instruments creating a harmonious symphony.   As the music filled the air, a reply came from the distance, an ethereal voice. However, as we listened to their song, we began to feel a strange sensation, a tingling in our necks. We were undergoing a transformation, similar to what had happened to the villagers. A sense of worry set in as we still did not know the intentions of this entity and if the transformations were harmful or reversible. But now we were committed, and could only press on.   With our newfound abilities, we dove into the pool, seeking what had driven the villagers to this place and was causing these strange changes.

Best served cold
9th of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We rushed to the temple, our hearts heavy with grief. The ritual to revive our fallen friends was a desperate act, a gamble against the forces of death. We used our recently acquired knighthood to commandeer the clerics and got them to set up the ritual for us. When everything was set, the temple was cleared out, the silence broken only by the soft whisper of our footsteps.   Dorr, his craftsmanship unmatched, carved effigies of Dadroz and Gael, placing them beside their lifeless bodies. Hayley, her magical abilities a beacon of hope, prepared the ritual site. Alistan and Feyris began to play, their melodies filling the air. Their music was a soothing balm to the solemn moment. I lit the effigies, the flames dancing in the dim light. Liliana, her voice choked with emotion, attempted to deliver the eulogy. But her grief overwhelmed her, tears streaming down her face. Hayley with a firm voice added a threat to the ritual, a warning to the souls of Dadroz and Gael to return, lest they face dire consequences.   As the flames consumed the effigies, the energy in the room intensified. The souls of Dadroz and Gael, tethered to the mortal realm, began to return. With a final surge of power, the ritual was complete. Dadroz and Gael stirred and their eyes slowly opened once more. We had defied death, brought our friends back from the brink. The victory was bittersweet, a testament to our determination and the power of friendship. But the threat of Aunty Patty remained…   A week passed, a period of rest and recovery. Liliana, Hayley, Gael and Dradroz resolved themselves to unlocking the secrets behind their magical items, secluding themselves in study. Alistan, meanwhile, took the opportunity to learn more about the people of Dogville, their hopes, their dreams, their fears. He sought to understand their needs, to connect with them on a deeper level.   I, driven by curiosity and a thirst for knowledge, sought information about Aunty Patty. I visited the Briar Ring, their wisdom a beacon in the darkness. They revealed the nature of the deal between Keralon and the fey, a pact that had existed for centuries. It was notable that harming the innocent was forbidden, except for a single night. While the hag's actions were extreme, she had indeed not harmed anyone directly.   Making sense of fey deals was as always exhausting, and reminded me too much of worse times. So I resolved to spend the rest of my week to distract myself while my friends prepared themselves for an eventual confrontation with Aunty Patty. One of my ambitious side projects was the organisation of a festival in our district, to celebrate our rise to nobility and the arrival of the Ravensfielders. With a date soon set, I worked closely with Gideon Mudfoot, the enthusiastic innkeeper. Together, we planned the festivities, ensuring that every detail will be perfect. I also dragged Gael and Alistan along on some late-night excursions, sharing my knowledge and experience with them. But the less is said about what happened, the better…   With the acquisition of our keep, we also now had staff that we could hand off tasks to. Finally a chance to lay back while someone else does the hard work. My realm of responsibilities contained the library, where both my sister and I had recruited some staff to help us with our magical research. I had high hopes for our new assistants, the promise of new blood, youthful energy and forbidden workplaces romances. Alas, arcane researchers willing to stay in Dogsville were in very short supply, so I have to make due with Jim and Brenda. Jim is a young lad who mostly keeps to himself and seems almost entirely lacking in personality and ambition, but at least he knows his arcane runes. Brenda is a kind elderly widow, who was seeking new opportunities after her husband passed a few years ago. But from her appearance and demeanor, it is clear that time has not been kind to her.   During the past week, Hayley had tasked her underling Khiria with researching Aunty Patty. They discovered that she was a dusk hag, a creature of shadow and deceit. According to the records, she has never taken a daughter as hags are known to do.   I had tasked Brenda to do research into Galaron. After a week, I got back a detailed report that he is a summer Eladrin, courtier of Neverhold and oversees all lands south of the Lorerun River. The most interesting thing was that in the past he has known to clash with Vivienne as rivals at the court of Neverhold. On the one hand, this means he could be an ally against Vivienne if we intend to challenge her. On the other hand, he might be even worse.   The 9th of Aran arrived, and with it, a sense of urgency. We gathered to discuss our plan, the fate of Naira hanging in the balance. The decision was clear: we had to protect her, to prevent the hag's prophecy from coming true. But we also all realized we couldn’t directly challenge Aunty. But she was part of a coven, which could give us an alternative option to direct confrontation. As part of the deal with Keralon, there was always a representative of the coven staying in the Lorewood on the other side of the city. So we decided that before taking any rash actions, we would first go talk to the other hag and see if there was anything that could be done to resolve this conflict diplomatically.   We set off towards the Lorewood, our destination the hag's hut. The cabin, a formidable structure, stood amidst a dense forest. Animal skins hung to dry, wooden dolls adorned the trees, and a giant spinning wheel stood on the porch. Ravens and crows, likely the hag's loyal companions, perched on the branches, their watchful eyes following our every move.   Alistan, summoning every iota of bravery, knocked on the door. The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a cozy interior. A feast was laid out on the table with a fire crackling in the hearth. A gnarled staff, its roots sprouting bells, leaned against the fireplace.   I cast a detect magic spell, my senses heightened. The cabin was imbued with a powerful evocation aura, the staff a conduit of arcane energy. Intrigued, I approached the staff, my fingers tracing its intricate patterns. As I reached out to touch the staff, a commotion erupted outside. Angry shouts echoed through the forest. We rushed outside to find several ice trolls, their massive forms blocking the path to the cabin. The surroundings transformed into a brutal winter landscape.   Gael at first attempted to reason with the trolls but his words were soon lost in the cacophony of battle. The trolls, their eyes filled with rage, charged towards us, their weapons raised. We fought back with magic and steel. Liliana, her sword ablaze, struck with deadly precision. Hayley, her dagger gleaming, danced between the trolls, her attacks swift and lethal. I unleashed a barrage of firebolts, each one a searing inferno. The trolls, their regenerative abilities a formidable defense, proved to be a challenging foe. We had to focus our attacks, to inflict fire damage, our only hope of defeating them. The battle raged on, a chaotic dance of life and death. The relentless trolls were slowly being worn down. One by one, they fell, their bodies melting into pools of ice. As the last troll fell, we breathed a sigh of relief.   The wintery illusion dissipated, revealing a strange, blue-skinned woman. She introduced herself as Mother Marblehook, her voice carrying an ancient, otherworldly quality.   Gael explained the situation, detailing Aunty Patty's intrusion and the chaos that had ensued. Mother Marblehook listened intently, her expression impassive. She explained that hags were free to traverse the land unless actively hindered, and Dogville, lacking any kind of outer wall or protection, had been unequipped and unprepared to repel Aunty Patty.   When Gael mentioned the deal with the Dresner family, Mother Marblehook's expression turned hard to read. She acknowledged the gravity of the situation, the potential consequences of her covenmate's actions. Mother Marblehook offered us a deal: she would intervene with Aunty Patty, but in return, we had to partake in a meal she had prepared in her cabin. It was an enormous pile of food, and almost seemed impossible to finish in one sitting. But after some direct questions and magical proding, we at least knew that it wasn’t poison. And so reluctantly, we agreed. The meal, at first, seemed ordinary. However, as we ate, Mother Marblehook suggested that she make herself more comfortable. With a flick of her finger, the temperature in the room began to plummet. The icy chill seeped into our bones, our bodies shivering uncontrollably.   I, however, was unaffected. My chair, warmed by my magic, provided a sanctuary from the cold. I noticed Liliana struggling, her teeth chattering, her body shivering. I discreetly warmed her chair, offering her some respite from the freezing temperature.   After what felt like an eternity, the meal was finally over. The hag, satisfied, reignited the fire, the warmth returning to the room. She assured us that she would speak to Aunty Patty, putting an end to her harassment. As we left the cabin, I realized that I was the only one unaffected by the cold. My friends, their bodies still shivering, struggled to warm themselves. The hag's power, a subtle manipulation of the elements, had nearly caught us off guard.   We returned to our keep, our minds filled with the events of the day. The encounter with Mother Marblehook had been a harrowing experience, a reminder of the dangers of dealing with the fey. But we had survived, hopefully now secured Dogsville from the evil machinations of Aunty.

Aunty's Wrath
3rd of Aran, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   It all started with Liliana feeling unwell this morning. It was her sleep this time that was disturbed by unsettling dreams. Since moving into the new keep, every morning at least one of us awoke feeling terrible. So we decided to investigate in the hopes of identifying if there was an actual cause or if it was all in our heads.   I cast a detect magic spell, my skepticism tempered by recent events. To my surprise, a faint aura surrounded everyone except Gael. It was an illusion aura, which could indicate a magical technique used to manipulate dreams and induce nightmares.   Hayley and I discussed the possibility, our minds racing. We had heard of such magic, its dark power capable of tormenting the sleeping. It could be the explanation for our recent troubles, though it didn't bring us any closer to identifying the culprit.   Gael went to find Pim, the boggle who had become a part of our lives. He inquired about the strange occurrences, the disturbed sleep, and the unsettling dreams.   Pim nonchalantly told us that an old woman had been wandering the halls at night. Our surprise was palpable. We had thought to have been safe in our keep, but whatever this being was, we had had no idea that it was visiting us each night.   The boggle described the woman, but was very vague and indistinct. I showed him a picture of Aunty, the hag we had encountered in the forest. Pim, his eyes scanning the image, couldn't identify her. Gael formulated a plan. He and a few others would stay up and try to watch for the intruder. However we would have to wait till nightfall to act. This would leave us uncomfortable and tense the entire day.   As the day wore on, our responsibilities pulled us in different directions. Hayley, Dadroz, and Gael headed to the Dresner house to check on Tommel's progress. Liliana and Alistan went to assist the Ravensfielders in their new home.   I took the opportunity to delve into the world of dreams, researching techniques to remember them, to protect ourselves during sleep. The recent events had made me acutely aware of the vulnerability of our minds.   Hayley and Gael returned, their faces filled with concern. Tommel had awakened, his health improving. However he had managed to reveal the insidious truth to them – he had been cursed by a hag, a punishment for his rudeness.   The hag had visited Tommel one day when he was tilling his field. She gave him a horrible premonition, his daughter Naira would soon die. But the hag could save her life, if he so wished. The only thing that she asked in return was his unborn child. Apparently Tommel did not know yet, but his wife was expecting his third child at that very moment. Tommel, desperate to save his daughter, had agreed to the hag's terms.   However Tommel soon came to regret the deal. Aunty kept coming to visit his wife, offering gifts to make her life more comfortable. As if she was fattening a goose before the slaughter. Tommel became angry at the hag and chased her off, and this is when she had turned on him. The curse was meant as a chilling reminder of the fey's power and the deal that now hung over the Dresner family.   Hayley had offered to help, her determination unwavering. We discussed the situation amongst the group and we all reached a consensus that we couldn’t let the situation stand. The hag's intentions were clear – she desired the child for some sinister purpose. But her motives remainded shrouded in mystery. Was she planning to consume the child, or perhaps turn it into one of her kind? The possibilities were terrifying.   The time for action was limited. The child was not due for several months, but we couldn’t just dismiss the threat of the powerful hag that lived on our grounds. Although we were bound by the King’s orders not to interfere, this was the first evidence that it was not going to be easy to let the hag be. And as the day progressed, our relation with Aunty would only sour even further.   As night fell, we prepared for our stakeout. The others devised elaborate plans to stay awake. I, however, decided to get a good night's sleep. The intruder was likely a powerful spellcaster, capable of detecting our attempts to remain awake. My observational skills were limited and so my chances of catching the intruder slim. I would have to rely on my friends to protect me and try to get plenty of rest to keep my spellcasting sharp.   In the middle of the night, I was awakened by Fiachna's screech. The raven had flown into my room, its feathers ruffled, its eyes wide with alarm. Dadroz had confronted the intruder, but the creature had managed to escape. Hayley and Liliana were now in pursuit.   I rushed out, my heart pounding. A blob of darkness moved across the courtyard, its malevolent aura palpable. Before I could react, Liliana charged forward, her sword glowing with divine energy. With a powerful strike, she dispersed the darkness, revealing Aunty the hag.   We surrounded the hag, our weapons drawn. She held up her hands, her eyes filled with a mix of defiance and fear. She admitted to entering our keep, her words dripping with disdain. She claimed to have been feeding on all of our dreams, except for Gael whose fey dreams did not suit her tastes.   Liliana, her anger evident, accused the hag of directly attacking us. The hag, her voice filled with arrogance, dismissed the accusation. She claimed that her snacking was harmless, that no one had ever died from her intrusions.   Hayley, her voice firm, forbade the hag from feeding on the dreams of our people. The hag immediately protested. Hayley then pushed further into the confrontation with Aunty as the tensions were boiling to a point. She demanded to know what the hag had done to save Tommel's daughter.   Aunty, her facade crumbling, admitted that she had not yet acted. The prophesied death was imminent, a fate she intended to prevent. However, she refused to divulge her plans, her leverage over Tommel was a bargaining chip she was unwilling to relinquish.   Hayley, her magic surging, probed Aunty's mind, her gaze piercing through the hag's defenses. The vision was horrifying – Naira, consumed by a giant frog, her life extinguished in a cruel and twisted fate.   Aunty reacted in anger as she felt Hayley probe her mind. She warned us that we had made a powerful enemy, that our interference would have consequences. With a final glare, she turned and walked away.   I cast a tracking spell as Aunty moved away from our keep. The hag's trail led back to her hut in the forest. So she had returned to her abode, luckily not moving on the Dresner family yet. It seemed that her vengeance would probably be directed towards us.   We discussed the situation, our minds racing. Naira was safe, for now. We didn’t know when Aunty would act. And so Gael volunteered to stay up, keeping a lookout for any impending dangers. We would retire and get some sleep, and discuss how to proceed in the morning. But we would not get the chance…   I was once again awakened by Fiachna's piercing screech. Leaping out of bed, I rushed towards the door. A fey with a blood rep cap and a sharp sickle, its blade glinting in the dim light, stood on the landing outside my door. Alistan, rushing down from his room, intercepted the creature, his sword blocking its attack.   With a combined effort, Alistan and I fought back, our magic and steel a formidable force. Another fey, its form shrouded in darkness, joined the fray. Hayley engaged the creature, her dagger a blur of motion as the fey was distracted by a spirit that she had summoned. Soon enough, the two fey on the first floor were pushed back, creating an opening for me.   I ran forward to the central hall and saw Liliana and Gael, their bodies sprawled on the floor. I sensed Gael’s spirit being drawn away by a sinister force, probably Aunty herself. With a surge of power, I channeled my magic, reinforcing his soul, pushing back the darkness. While my friend lay dead, I could find solace that at least his immortal soul remained intact.   As Hayley and Alistan continued to fight the fey onslaught, I noticed Liliana stir slightly. It wasn’t too late to save her! So I ran forward and administered a healing potion, its magic coursing through her veins. Liliana, her eyes fluttering open, gasped for air. She stirred and her strength slowly returned. With a simple nod, she joined her brother in the defense of our keep, her sword resummoned to the palm of her hand.   In the distance, I heard another fey going through our stables, slaughtering our prized horses. Its rampage was causing chaos and destruction. Alistan and Liliana, the twins reunited, fought the creature, their combined might eventually prevailing.   Another fey on the first floor had its balance disrupted and fell down a well, its cries echoing through the keep. I followed, my magic crackling with energy. With a barrage of missiles, I dispatched the creature, and extinguished its life.   Behind me, I felt the hag's presence once again, her evil aura a chilling reminder of her power. Now she was after Dadroz, who had bled out in a dark corner of the keep. I could act just in time to preserve his soul, giving him the strength needed to push back the hag’s hunger.   With two of our friends fallen, our hearts are heavy with grief, but we know that we have to act. The hag has to be stopped, by any means. But first we would seek the help of the temple, their divine power our only hope of reviving our fallen comrades.

Dealing with the fey
30th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Dear Diary,   Morning had dawned, casting its golden light upon Dogville. Naira, her energy boundless, was already cleaning the keep, her diligence a testament to her character. Dorr, his measuring tools in hand, was assessing its restoration.   We delved into the paperwork left by Nordic, our minds focused on the financial aspects of our new domain. After sifting through the documents, we discovered the annual tribute to the king – 4000 silver coins. However, this figure was based on the previous population count. With the expansion of the village and the arrival of the Ravensfielders, the tribute would likely increase. Another debate over taxes loomed, again without any clear decisions.   The day passed in a blur of activity. We visited the Rusty Crab for lunch, the aroma of seafood filling the air. The tavern was bustling, thanks to Aisa's culinary skills. So far with the samplings by us, and especially the ample portions that my sister has consumed, we have not noticed anything wrong with the food as Gideon indicated the day before.   As the afternoon wore on, most of the gang joined the Ravensfielders, lending a hand in their new home. I decided to take advantage of the quiet to organize the library, my mind still reeling from the recent events.   As I sorted through the books, I noticed my bag was open, three spell scrolls missing. A wave of panic washed over me. I cast a tracking spell, the magic swirling around me. The scrolls were nearby, hidden in a secret compartment under the floor in a nearby storage room.   The room had been untouched, its contents undisturbed. Dust covered everything, tiny humanoid tracks leading through the room. As I investigated, a loud bang echoed from the library. I rushed back, my heart pounding.   One of the shelves had been tipped over, books scattered across the floor. I quickly cleaned up the mess, my mind racing. I called for Hayley and Gael, hoping that I wasn’t going crazy or something.   After I explained the situation, Hayley started whispering incantations, her magic searching for any trace of the intruder. She eventually sensed a presence, a small, unseen creature.   We searched the entire floor, our eyes scanning every corner. Under Hayley's bed, we caught a glimpse of a small, shadowy form. We pulled back the blanket, our hearts pounding with anticipation.   The creature, revealed in the dim light, was a boggle, a small, timid fey creature known for its hoarding tendencies. It was no surprise that it had hidden my scrolls. But just as quick as we caught a glimpse, it dropped itself through the floor, disappearing once more from sight. The three of us rushed downstairs but found no sign of the creature. The only discovery was that one of my books was now missing.   With a sigh, I resigned myself to the loss. The search for the missing book would have to wait. I continued cleaning the library, my eyes scanning the shelves, but the boggle remained elusive.   When the others returned, we filled them in on a mysterious house guest. Dadroz was captivated by the idea of the small creature and ended up staking out in the library. His patience paid off as he witnessed the boggle emerging from a portal, a small gardening tool clutched in its tiny hands.   With a well-placed arrow, Dadroz knocked the boggle unconscious. We were awakened by the sound of the impact and the cries of victory from Dadroz. The boggle, its hands and feet bound, dangled from the roof, was quite a pitiful sight when we reached the library.   Hayley, her voice filled with curiosity, woke the boggle. Liliana and Gael, their knowledge of the Feywild extensive, began to communicate with the creature. The boggle quickly confessed to stealing the books under the intense investigatory pressure from the two. It explained its hoarding tendencies, its need to collect and possess. It also introduced itself as Pim.   Liliana and Gael proposed a solution. They suggested that we provide the boggle with a large chest, a place to store its treasures. This way the boggle could keep hoarding our items, but we would at least know where it would place our belongings. The boggle, its eyes lighting up, agreed. We further enticed the boggle into keeping an eye on the fort in exchange for feeding it food, which it also agreed to.   As we released the boggle, it vanished through a conjured portal. However, we knew it was still nearby, its presence a constant reminder of the hidden mysteries that lurked within our walls.   I pondered the possibility of the boggle becoming my familiar. Its intelligence and abilities could be a valuable asset. I made a mental note to purchase a scroll of Find Familiar, a spell that would bind the creature to my will (or ask my sister to make one for me).   As we woke up the next morning, Alistan complained of a restless night's sleep. We gathered in the common area, the aroma of breakfast filling the air.   Just as we were about to dig in, Pim, the boggle, appeared, his tiny form hovering above the table. He spoke in Sylvan, his voice a whisper in the morning stillness. Someone was at the door.   We went to open our gate of the keep, our curiosity piqued. Tharven Miller, the man tasked with restoring the mill, greeted us with a mixture of excitement and concern. He had discovered something strange beneath the structure, a hidden entrance concealed by overgrown shrubs.   We followed him into the mill, our shadows panning across the empty hills of Dogville in the early morning light. The entrance was small and led to a narrow tunnel. We ventured into the darkness with pounding hearts. The tunnel led to a hidden chamber, a magical circle surrounded by three menhirs. Offerings of food and flowers lay scattered around, evidence of recent activity.   As we examined the menhirs, the runes etched into their surface became familiar. They were the symbols of the Neverhold, the fey domain where King Ulther reigns.   Gael, with his extensive knowledge of primal magic, recognized the circle as a teleportation portal. It was a connection to the Neverhold itself and likely a gateway for the fey's agents.   We explored the chamber, our eyes scanning for clues. Tracks, both adult and child, crisscrossed the floor, evidence of frequent use. The small population of Dogville alone could barely account for this level of activity.   A chill ran down my spine. The Neverhold, the dark forces that had taunted us in the past and had spirited Liliana away. The presence of the fey had permeated even this secluded district. The implications were chilling and the danger imminent.   We sought information from the townspeople, starting with Darion Faric. Liliana, her curiosity piqued, explained our findings, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Darion denied any knowledge of the hidden chamber. However, when Liliana hinted at the possibility of removing the circle, his demeanor changed. He became defensive and his voice laced with urgency.   We continued our investigation, visiting Thomas Teller at the kennel. He too expressed ignorance of the hidden chamber, his response mirroring Darion's. However, he suggested that we leave the circle undisturbed and that it might be best to forget about it.   The mystery deepened, the puzzle pieces refusing to fall into place. We returned to the keep as we hoped that our new friend could shed some light on the situation. Pim, the boggle, appeared, his tiny form hovering above a cupboard. Gael inquired about the magical circle. Pim explained that the circle was a door, a passage to another realm. He mentioned that people offered sacrifices to those who guarded the area, their offerings a tribute for assistance.   As we sat in our kitchen, discussing our next steps, a knock sounded at the door. Thomas, Gideon, and Laine entered with their faces filled with anticipation. Laine placed a large pie on the table and its aroma soon filled the room. Before an eager Liliana could dig in, Hayley intervened, her magical senses tingling. She probed Thomas's mind, her magic revealing a hidden truth.   Long ago, the inhabitants of Dogville had made a deal with the fey, their services exchanged for assistance with the land. The pie was made from ingredients that had been grown as part of this deal. By eating the pie, the trio believed that we too would become part of the deal.   Hayley warned us sharply of the consequences. The others immediately backed away from the pie. The food, once fresh and inviting, began to decay, a stark reminder of the danger it posed. Laine, her eyes filled with sadness, admitted their plan and confessed to the entire story, with the belief that the deal was now broken. She apologized for her actions, her voice filled with regret.   Hayley assured her that we understood. The deal, made in a time of desperation, was no longer relevant. With the reinforcements from Ravensfield, we explained, Dogville would likely no longer be reliant on the fey.   As the trio left, we decided to have another go at investigating the cave, our curiosity piqued by the recent events. Upon reaching the cave, we found no changes. The magical circle, the remnants of the offerings, remained undisturbed. So we made the difficult decision to seal the cave. But we decided to wait a few days, to see if any reaction would come from the fey who had made the deal.   As the day wore on, Alistan purchased a puppy from Thomas, naming the adorable creature Lore. Meanwhile, I accompanied Gael to the city, our mission to gather supplies. While there, I convinced Hayley to write down a spell scroll for binding a familiar, similar to the one she used for Fiachna.   That evening, we camped out at the Neverhold gate. Our eyes remained focused on the magical circle. As midnight approached, the runes began to glow, a column of light erupting from the center. Three figures emerged from the portal and their forms bathed in an ethereal glow. A golden humanoid fey, flanked by two smaller creatures, stood before us.   Surprised by our presence, they bowed, their voices echoing through the night. Galadron, the leader of the group, introduced himself, his tone polite yet firm. Gael and Liliana, their voices filled with authority, informed him of our new status as rulers of Dogville. Galadron nodded, his expression unreadable. He revealed that he had been sent to investigate the broken deal with the farmers. Hayley, her voice steady, explained that the deal had been broken accidentally. She said our actions were unintentional and the villagers deserved no blame.   Galadron looked at us in suspicion and immediately insisted on a new deal. Hayley, her determination unwavering, demanded that we be included in the negotiations. Galadron, his pride evident, refused, his words filled with a sense of entitlement.   Gael and Liliana, sensing the danger, offered to negotiate directly with the fey. The rest of us refused as our distrust of the fey unwavering. Especially Alistan and I wanted nothing to do with any deals of the fey as we had both seen first hand the horrors that they could bring.   And so it was only Gael and Liliana that followed the fey to a clearing nearby, where the townsfolk would gather. We waited in the cave with anticipation and trepidation. Some time later, the two returned, their faces a mix of relief and determination. The deal had been remade and a new agreement forged between the fey and the people of Dogville.   Neither Gael nor Liliana could reveal the terms of the deal as the secrecy was a condition of the agreement. My frustration grew. My desire to confront the fey was overwhelming. I wanted nothing more than to lob a fireball in the midst of these outsiders who had once again pressed these poor villagers and our friends into their servitude. However, I recognized that the decision was not mine to make. We just had to put fate in our friends that they knew what they were getting themselves and the villagers into.   Galadron, the fey representative, announced that Quinn, the ruler of the area, would be at the old church under the light of a full moon. He suggested that we meet with them, a chance to establish a relationship, to negotiate terms that would benefit both sides.   We returned to the keep, our minds filled with the events of the night. The deal with the fey, while shrouded in mystery, offered much uncertainty.

An apple a day...
29th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The morning after the celebration at the palace, a messenger arrived with a letter from Nordic, the administrator. He invited us to visit the old keep in Dogville, our new territory.   We set off, our journey taking us through the countryside. Dogville, while part of Keralon, was a bit of an isolated outpost, accessible only by road or ferry. As we approached, we saw the distant landmarks – the decrepit windmill and the bustling farms. The old kennel, the origin of the district’s name, still stood.   We arrived at the keep, a small, stone structure that had seen better days. Nordic, a man of routine and efficiency, had been waiting for us, his pen poised over a notebook. He greeted us warmly, his eyes scanning our faces.   Nordic handed us a bundle of keys, the keys to our new home. He led us on a tour of the keep, pointing out the various rooms and their state of disrepair. It was clear that the keep hadn't been used in a while, the air thick with dust and neglect.   Nordic read from his notebook as he took us around, following a tiny map scribbled with notes. He explained the history of the keep, its purpose, and the challenges we would face in restoring it. However, his eagerness to move on was evident. As we entered the keep from the courtyard, a wave of dust and cobwebs enveloped us. The once-grand space was now a neglected ruin, the tapestries rolled up and discarded, the furniture covered in cloth.   Nordic led us around, pointing out the various structures. There was a small walkway leading to the first floor from the outside. The entire area was in a state of disrepair, a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace.   After Nordic spent the next hour showing us around, he then allowed us to explore the keep, our footsteps echoing in the empty halls. When we returned, the administrator prepared us for the next part of our tour, the residential area of our domain. Nordic explained that the population of Dogville was small, but there were plans to expand the housing to accommodate the refugees from Ravensfield.   Nordic led us to the first farm, a modest dwelling nestled amidst the rolling hills. A burly man, Darion Faric, greeted us, his face etched with lines of hard work and experience. He apologized for his rough demeanor, admitting that he wasn't accustomed to noble company.   Alistan assured him that we were new to this as well, our nobility a recent development. The sound of children's laughter reached our ears, but we couldn't see them. Darion introduced us to his wife, Sala, a kind-hearted woman with a warm smile.   He offered us mugs of ale, which we accepted gratefully. The awkward silence that followed was broken by Liliana, who inquired about any issues we should be aware of. Darion informed us that the ferry was operational, the threat of the dragon cult neutralized. He mentioned a minor dispute between him and a farmer called Dresner, a disagreement over a fishing spot.   Liliana, her curiosity piqued, asked if there were any other problems, any monsters or unusual occurrences. Darion assured her that the area was peaceful, the old windmill, despite its spooky reputation, not haunted. The previous owners had simply passed away, and no one had stepped up to take over the mill.   Alistan suggested that one of the refugees might be interested in operating the windmill. He mentioned the resettlement plan, the influx of new residents. Darion's face lit up at the prospect, the possibility of growth and prosperity a welcome change.   Darion then slowly broached the topic of taxes, a delicate matter. Alistan explained that a 10% tax was typical, but we were still exploring our options. It was clear that while Alistan and Liliana were nobles by birth, they lacked experience in managing a district.   Nordic, sensing the awkwardness, urged us to move on. We had other visits to make, other responsibilities to attend to. With a nod of farewell, we left Darion's farm, our minds filled with the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.   Nordic led us to the kennel, a bustling hub of canine activity. Dogs of all shapes and sizes barked and played, their enthusiasm infectious. A half-elf emerged from the canine mass, dusting himself off. He introduced himself as Thomas Teller, the kennel's owner.   With a proud gleam in his eye, Thomas explained that he had the best dogs in Keralon. His ancestors had supplied the royal court, their reputation for breeding exceptional dogs unmatched. However, after the revolt, the royal family had ceased their patronage.   Thomas hoped that we, as the new nobles of Dogville, would consider using his services. With the revival of the district, there might be a renewed demand for quality dogs.   Liliana, her love for animals evident, jumped at the chance to explore the kennel. She spent the next half hour playing with the puppies, her laughter a welcome contrast to the seriousness of our recent endeavors.   Nordic eventually interrupted Liliana, reminding us that we had other places to visit. With a sigh, Liliana reluctantly pulled herself away from the adorable canine companions.   Nordic led us to the Rusty Crab, a bustling tavern known for its seafood. Unlike the inns, the Rusty Crab didn't offer lodging. It was primarily a restaurant, with a large kitchen and a spacious courtyard for outdoor dining.   Inside, a middle-aged half-orc woman was hard at work, juggling the demands of her customers. The tavern was packed, the air filled with the aroma of freshly cooked food.   Hayley immediately joined the queue for food, as expected of my sister. With a few copper coins, she secured a steaming bowl of crab, the aroma enticing.   The half-orc cook, her attention focused on the never-ending stream of orders, didn't even notice us. Nordic tried to catch her attention, but she was too busy to spare a glance.   Hayley suggested we move on, allowing the cook to focus on her work. Nordic agreed, apologizing for the inconvenience. As we left, he mentioned the cook's name, Aisa. We promised to return at a less busy time, eager to sample the tavern's fare.   Nordic led us to the Grubby Griffon, a stark contrast to the bustling Rusty Crab. The tavern was deserted, the only sound the gentle strumming of a lute. A halfling, his eyes wide with excitement, jumped over the bar, introducing himself as Gideon Grubfoot.   Gideon, eager to impress his new landlords, offered us drinks and food. Hayley ordered a bottle of wine. Gideon, his eyes sparkling with pride, presented the bottle, a rare vintage he had been saving for a special occasion.   With a flourish, he proposed a toast to collaboration, his enthusiasm infectious. He outlined his plans for the Grubby Griffon, his passion for the establishment evident. He had made renovations, improved the facilities, and even imported food from the main city.   However, he lamented the lack of customers, his business overshadowed by the Rusty Crab. He claimed that the food at the Rusty Crab was subpar, the ingredients contaminated with sand and dirt. He warned us of the potential health risks, his words laced with a hint of malice.   Liliana, her curiosity piqued, pressed him for details. Had anyone actually gotten sick from eating at the Rusty Crab? Gideon, caught off guard, admitted that he hadn't heard of any such cases. He quickly changed the subject, his eyes scanning the room.   The halfling then mentioned that he had passed by our new keep and had seen its dismal state. He then placed a gold coin in front of us, a donation to help with the repairs. My companions and I shared a disappointed glance. It is clear what kind of person Gideon was, and none of us were inclined to take his bribe. In fact, each of us probably had already acquired a thousand-fold in money from our adventures.   I did feel sorry for Gideon, it was clear that the halfling was ambitious, if a little misguided. If we were planning to grow Dogville to a proper district of Keralon, these were the people we would have to deal with sooner or later. So I suggested that Gideon might see a spike in business with the arrival of the Ravensfield refugees. He seemed intrigued, the possibility of increased clientele a glimmer of hope in the midst of his struggles.   We also discussed the idea of organizing a small festival for our new subjects in Dogville. Gideon, his eyes lighting up, offered to provide a tarp, a makeshift stage for the festivities. With a renewed sense of purpose, we left the Grubby Griffon, smiling about the naivety of the halfling.   Nordic led us next to the ferry, a small vessel that plied the waters between Dogville and the main city. To our surprise, we encountered an old acquaintance, Tevon the bugbear, who had helped us escape Keralon weeks earlier.   When Liliana informed him of our new status, Tevon erupted in laughter. He joked that we had been rewarded for our efforts in negotiating with the Fenhunter army, but that the contributions of the "little folk" like him were often overlooked.   He revealed his smuggling operation, a lucrative business that brought goods into Keralon at a lower price. He claimed to be doing it for the good of the people, but his greed was evident. He offered us a percentage of his profits, a tempting proposition.   Liliana and Alistan, their instincts sharp, hesitated. The idea of working with a smuggler was morally questionable. I suggested an alternative, a favor-based arrangement. Our influence could protect him, our connections a valuable asset.   Tevon agreed, his eyes gleaming with excitement. With a handshake, the deal was sealed. As we walked away, we discussed the implications of our decision. The ever pragmatic Hayley pointed out that even if we arrested Tevon, someone else would take his place. The smuggling operation, based in the main city, would continue regardless.   The decision was a difficult one, a compromise between our ideals and the realities of the world. But for now, we had to make a choice, what kind of rulers we would aim to be, a decision that would shape the future of Dogville.   As we continued our journey, we encountered a small child hiding in the bushes. With a mischievous grin, he jumped out, brandishing a wooden sword. He declared himself to be the "great knight Kas," a fearsome robber.   Hayley, her laughter infectious, played along. She feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock terror. She then pushed Alistan into engaging Kas in a mock duel, their wooden swords clashing harmlessly.   Kas, his confidence bolstered by his victory over Alistan, demanded a toll. Alistan, with a knowing smile, handed him a few copper coins. Kas's eyes widened in delight, his earlier bravado melting away.   Just then, Kas's mother appeared, her face flushed with worry. She apologized for her son's behavior, explaining that he was a mischievous child. Alistan and Hayley assured her that it was all in good fun.   The woman introduced herself as Laine Dresner, her eyes filled with concern. She explained that her husband, Tommel, had been ill for weeks. Her daughter, Naira, was taking care of him, but his condition was worsening.   Liliana and Hayley offered their assistance, their medical knowledge a beacon of hope. Laine led us to her home, a modest cottage nestled among the trees. As we entered, we heard the faint sound of a cough.   Naira, her face pale and drawn, was tending to her father. Tommel lay in bed, his skin clammy, his eyes sunken. Hayley approached, her medical expertise honed by years of experience. She examined Tommel, her brow furrowed in concentration.   The diagnosis was grim. Tommel was gravely ill, his condition deteriorating rapidly. The healers from the city had been unable to help, their remedies ineffective. Hayley, her heart heavy, administered a potion, a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.   Tommel coughed, a violent spasm wracking his body. A cloud of flies erupted from his mouth, a repulsive sight. Hayley, unfazed, continued to treat him.   As Tommel settled back into bed, his breathing steadier, Naira let out a sigh of relief. Hayley instructed her to let Tommel rest, to call for help if his condition worsened. Naira, her eyes filled with gratitude, nodded.   While Hayley and Liliana attended to Tommel, Alistan spoke with Laine. He inquired about the town, the recent events, the ongoing disputes. Laine, her voice filled with frustration, explained the conflict between her husband and Darion, a petty squabble over fishing rights. She claimed that the two used to be friends and fished together, but after falling out, they no longer wanted to see each other. Each now claimed the fishing spot as their own. Her face almost broke in a sigh of relief as she explained that the situation was simply ridiculous, given the current state of her husband. It is clear that she longed for a time while husband was well enough to pursue petty feuds.   As we were speaking with Laine, Gael started impatiently scanning the room and was soon drawn to a painting sitting in the corner of the living room. It depicted a young man with a majestic stag, a familiar image that sparked his curiosity.   He approached the painting, his eyes scanning the details. The stag, he realized, was Sylvesse, his former mentor. Laine, noticing Gael's interest, explained that the painting was a memento from her husband's time in the city guard.   Intrigued, Gael asked about the stag, its significance in her husband's life. Laine, her voice filled with a hint of mystery, revealed that her husband claimed the stag could speak. If Gael wanted to know more about it, he would have to ask her husband himself.   Hayley and Liliana returned downstairs, their faces filled with relief. They explained that Tommel's condition was improving, the curse they had removed taking effect.   Laine, her eyes filled with gratitude, thanked them for their help. She then mentioned a strange woman who had visited the farm, selling apples that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Her husband had chased her away, their argument echoing through the quiet streets of Dogville.   Intrigued, I examined the apples, my magical senses tingling. The apples, despite their age, were perfectly preserved, a testament to the woman's magical abilities. I took the apples with me, eager to study the magic behind it.   As a token of her gratitude, Laine suggested that her daughter, Naira, could help us at the keep. We agreed, our need for assistance growing with each passing day.   Hayley assured Laine that she would check on Tommel regularly, her medical expertise a source of comfort. Laine, her eyes filled with gratitude, thanked us for our kindness.   As we prepared to leave, Alistan inquired about the previous nobles who had owned the land. Laine, her voice tinged with bitterness, explained that the Crestfall family had been typical nobles, distant and uncaring. They had only visited the town to collect taxes, their presence a fleeting shadow.   She mentioned the shady characters who had frequented the Crestfall estate, their activities shrouded in mystery. I remembered the news of their arrest for treason, a scandal that had rocked the kingdom. The patriarch had been executed, but the fate of the others remained uncertain, likely simply imprisoned.   Nordic, sensing the time, urged us to move on. Our duties awaited us, our responsibilities calling. With a final farewell to Laine, we left the Dresner home.   As we made our way back to the keep, we passed the Rusty Crab. The tavern was less crowded than before, the once-bustling atmosphere replaced by a sense of tranquility.   Aisa, the half-orc cook, approached us, her face flushed with embarrassment. She apologized for her previous behavior, her focus on her customers preventing her from acknowledging our presence.   She introduced herself and her restaurant, her pride evident in her voice. Aisa mentioned that the old mill and the church in the forest were in need of restoration. The church, in particular, had become a haven for shady characters.   Intrigued, we listened to Aisa's suggestions. The restoration of the mill and the church could revitalize Dogville, attracting new residents and boosting the local economy.   We accepted her offer of food, our hunger piqued by the tantalizing aroma. As we enjoyed our meal, Nordic grew impatient, his desire to return to the palace evident.   With a final farewell, we left the Rusty Crab, our bellies full, our spirits lifted. The future of Dogville was uncertain, but with our leadership and the support of the townspeople, we believed that we could create a thriving community.   Nordic, his carriage waiting outside, urged us to hurry. He had other responsibilities to attend to, the affairs of the kingdom demanding his attention. With a nod, we bid him farewell, the weight of our new responsibilities settling upon our shoulders.   With the day still young, we decided to investigate the old church mentioned by Aisa. The journey through the forest was peaceful, the sunlight filtering through the dense canopy.   Emerging from the woods, we found the church, a crumbling ruin surrounded by a overgrown cemetery. The once-grand structure was a shell of its former self, the windows shattered, the roof partially collapsed.   We ventured inside, the fallen door providing easy access. The interior was a stark contrast to the vibrant life of the city. Old benches, chopped into firewood, littered the floor. Bedrolls and half-eaten food scattered throughout the church, evidence of its occasional inhabitants.   Liliana, her curiosity piqued, urged Dadroz to search for hidden corridors. Despite her brief tenure as a landed noble, she was already eager for adventure. Dadroz began his search, his eyes scanning the walls and the floor.   He found nothing of significance, just strange tracks leading away from the church. The tracks, large and distinctive, were clearly not human, but more fowl-like in nature. Liliana joked about being on a wild goose chase.   Following the tracks, we emerged from the mist into a clearing. Our eyes widened in surprise. Two giant geese, their feathers ruffled, stood guard over a small cabin. A third, even larger goose, with five heads, towered over the others.   As we approached, the geese became agitated, their hisses a warning. An old woman emerged from the cabin, her voice filled with annoyance. She scolded the geese for waking her, her words laced with a touch of magic.   The woman turned to us, her eyes narrowing. "Visitors?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.   We introduced ourselves, our new status as nobles of Dogville. Aunty, as she was known, congratulated us, her tone a mix of sarcasm and indifference. She made it clear that despite our titles, she wouldn't be taking orders from us.   Hayley inquired about the apples that had been sold to the Dresner family. Aunty dismissed the question, her eyes darting around the clearing.   I decided to investigate, my magical senses tingling. A quick spell confirmed the presence of the same preservation magic within the cabin. The apples, a gift from the mysterious woman, were the missing piece that tied Aunty to the scene of the crime.   The others, sensing the tension, urged me to drop the matter. Aunty was not someone to be crossed. We decided to let the matter rest, focusing on our exploration.   As we left the clearing, we discussed the woman, her identity shrouded in mystery. We suspected she might be Patty Gravehand, a hag known to reside in the nearby woods. Her connection to Keralon, her dealings with the supernatural, made her a figure to be wary of.   The king's order was clear: we were not to interfere with her or her coven. But as we walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that Patty Gravehand was a threat, a danger lurking in the shadows.   As we returned to the Bastion, Dan, the representative of the Consortium, was waiting for us. He engaged us in small talk, his eyes scanning our faces for any signs of fatigue.   Eventually, he got to the point. He requested a piece of land within our territory, a place where he could rebuild his consortium. Liliana and Hayley, fierce supporters of the people, immediately agreed. However, Alistan and I were more hesitant.   Guilds had been banned in Keralon, a decree issued by the king. The Consortium, while technically not a guild, operated in a similar manner. We were torn between our debt to Dan for his help with the cult and our adherence to the king's laws.   Dan, sensing our hesitation, excused himself and headed towards the clearing where the refugees from Ravensfield were arriving. We followed him, our curiosity piqued.   The refugees, their faces a mix of hope and uncertainty, greeted Hayley with warmth. She singled out a man with experience in milling, her eyes filled with purpose. She explained the need for a new miller to operate the old mill in Dogville.   The man's eyes lit up, his excitement evident. He gathered his family and headed towards the mill, eager to inspect their potential new home. The other refugees began to discuss their plans, plotting out their new lives in Dogville.   We returned to the Bastion, our hearts filled with a sense of accomplishment. The future of Dogville was taking shape, the refugees a beacon of hope in the midst of the ruins.   As we prepared for bed, we cleaned up the Bastion, our efforts a small step towards restoring the once-grand structure.   The next morning, as we gathered in the common area, Liliana looked pale and exhausted. She confessed to falling out of bed several times during the night, her sleep disturbed by unsettling dreams.   Early in the morning, Hayley and Liliana set off to check on Tommel Dresner.   As we enjoyed our breakfast, Dorr, our former Deurgar companion, arrived, offering his services. He lamented the state of the Bastion, his expertise in construction evident. He suggested that with the help of local dwarves, he could restore the keep to its former glory.   Alistan suggested that we discuss the matter with the others. Dorr, his stomach growling, helped himself to Alistan's breakfast, his manners not having improved since we last saw him.   When Hayley and Liliana returned, they shared a troubling discovery. The Dresner family had captured a goose a few weeks ago, a creature that seemed to have a connection to the mysterious woman who had cursed Tommel.   The realization struck us like a bolt of lightning. The woman, likely a hag, had probably cursed Tommel in retaliation for the captured goose. It was a classic case of magical retribution.   We then moved to the subject of our Dwarven friend and agreed, our decision unanimous. The bastion needed to be restored, a symbol of our strength and resilience. With Dorr's help, we could transform the crumbling structure into a valiant fortress. I am very keen to make the keep worthy enough to hold the former heart of Cairn Fussil, so that I can repay the debt to my Amarra.

A Royal Reward and a Challenge
28th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear diary,   After joining the Circle of the Briar Ring, Alistan and I tried to convince Gael to join us for a celebratory drink. Gael protested that he was too busy and had to focus on his new duties. Unfortunately, Gael's stress was evident. He stumbled over his words, his mind clearly elsewhere. Later I had heard rumors of his reputation as the "runt" of the Rose Circle, his uptight nature a source of amusement among his fellow knights.   Disappointed in Gael but understanding, I decided to join my new companions for a night out. They led me on a bar crawl, their enthusiasm infectious. We laughed, we joked, and I quickly realized that I had made a good impression.   However, as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, I found myself becoming a target for pickpockets. My inebriated state made me an easy mark, and before I knew it, I was 25 gold lighter. Alistan managed to avoid the thieves, but my fellow knights chided me for my carelessness as they revealed that this had been a kind of hazing ritual.   It was a harsh lesson, but a necessary one. As a knight, I had to be vigilant, always aware of my surroundings. The world was full of dangers, and even in the midst of celebration, one had to remain alert.   That reminds me, when we next saw Dadroz, I couldn't help but notice a slight wobble in his step. He explained, with a sheepish grin, that his circle had decided he needed a little "toughening up." Apparently, they had administered a mild poison to teach him a lesson.   I couldn't help but chuckle. Compared to the near-death experiences we'd had, a bit of poison seemed like a minor inconvenience. At least his circle hadn't tried to sacrifice him to a dark deity or anything.   I shared a knowing look with Alistan. We had both experienced our fair share of hazing rituals, and this was just another one. It was a rite of passage, a test of our resilience and determination. And while it wasn't exactly pleasant, it was a small price to pay for the honor of being a knight.   A week after joining the Briar Ring, I received a summons to the royal court. Excitement and anticipation coursed through me as I prepared for the grand event. With the help of my companions, I selected a new wizard robe, adorned with the crests of the Briar Ring, symbolizing my newfound status.   We gathered at the palace gates, our hearts pounding with anticipation. Ser Donovan, the noble Octagon knight himself, greeted us warmly, his eyes filled with pride. He joked about our previous misadventures, a lighthearted reminder of the challenges we had faced.   Ser Donovan explained that the royal family wanted to recognize our contributions, to reward us for our bravery and sacrifice. We would be presented to the king, our names etched into the annals of history.   He also revealed that the knights had investigated the hidden passage beneath the embassy. The tunnel led to an abandoned cave, a place where the cult had likely set up a temporary base. The location was close to Ravensfield, explaining how the cult was able to mobilize an army to siege the town on short notice. Ser Donovan assured us that the gate had been sealed, preventing further infiltration. The city was safe, for now.   He outlined the events of the day, starting with an official proclamation. We would be given a chance to introduce ourselves to the court. Following that, a celebratory feast would be held. The day would culminate in an acceptance ceremony, where we would officially become members of our respective knightly orders.   And finally, there would be a grand party, attended by the nobility and the elite of Keralon. The excitement was palpable, the anticipation building with each passing moment.   Ser Donovan asked if there was anyone we wanted to invite to the festivities. Hayley suggested Zem and Saphira, her loyal companions. I inquired about Elsa, and Ser Donovan confirmed that she had already been invited, her presence a reminder to her growing influence. Alistan requested that Ragnar and Norgar be invited to further cement our close alliance with Velora Morenthene.   As we started heading up Palace Hill, Ser Donovan led us to the royal stables. A magnificent sight awaited us – a collection of warhorses, their coats gleaming in the sunlight. We were each presented with a steed, a gift from the king.   I chose a majestic white horse, its spirit as wild and untamed as my own. However, the horse seemed less than enthusiastic about me. It bucked and snorted, clearly unimpressed by my attempts at bonding. With the help of a stable hand, I managed to finally mount the beast, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear. I decided to name my new horse, Ardent, to match his character.   We rode up the hill towards the palace, Ser Donovan leading the way. The palace was a grand structure. As we entered the courtyard, trumpets sounded, announcing our arrival. A small army of servants greeted us, their efficiency and professionalism a testament to the royal court's organization.   We were led to the residence of the king himself, a palace within a palace. The opulence was overwhelming, the furnishings luxurious, the decor exquisite. It was a world away from the dusty roads and makeshift camps of our recent adventures.   We entered a long corridor, its walls adorned with tapestries and paintings depicting the history of the kingdom. The stoic visages of kings past followed us as we walked in awe. The silence was broken only by the soft rustle of our footsteps.   We arrived at a large, imposing door. Four guards stood guard, their eyes fixed on us. From a hidden alcove, a man emerged, his staff topped with a brilliant gem. The old man, his eyes piercing, inspected each of us, his staff glowing with an otherworldly light. Our magical items, the signs of our knighthoods, were revealed. He then asked us to speak our names into the gem on top of his staff. With a nod of approval, he allowed us to pass.   We were led into the throne room, a vast chamber filled with the opulence of royalty. King Carolus III, a towering figure, sat upon his throne. His mismatched eyes, one blue and one gray, held a regal intensity. His lean build, while not muscular, was undeniably intimidating. His greasy hair, styled to the best of his advisors' abilities, added a touch of eccentricity to his imposing presence.   Next to him sat Queen Adelaide, whom we had met at the embassy a week earlier. To his other side, an empty throne stood as a reminder of the absent crown prince. As we entered the room, a hush fell over the crowd. Over a hundred nobles, their eyes fixed on us, awaited our arrival. With a newfound sense of purpose, we stepped forward. Our names sounded through magical means, our heraldic symbols displayed on unfurling tapestries. The nobles, their applause timid at first, grew louder as we approached the king.   I spotted Elsa, standing near the front, her eyes filled with pride. I puffed out my chest, a surge of confidence coursing through me. This was it, the moment we had all been waiting for.   The king, his voice booming through the hall, welcomed us as his valued knights. He had heard of our exploits, our bravery and determination. Our names were spoken with reverence, our deeds celebrated.   He reiterated his gift of the warhorses, a symbol of our new status. He encouraged us to use them on our future adventures, to defend the kingdom and uphold the principles of chivalry.   With a nod, he invited us to share our tales. We stepped forward, each of us taking turns to recount our adventures since reuniting in Keralon. From the harrowing escape from Ravensfield to the epic battle against the dragon-men, our stories captivated the audience.   When we finished, a wave of applause swept through the hall. The nobles nodded in approval, their eyes filled with admiration. The king turned his attention to Alistan and Liliana, the last scions of the De La Roost family.   He spoke of the rebellion their father had faced, a dark chapter in the kingdom's history. He asked about their lives, their experiences, and Liliana's time in the Feywild. The king's expression softened as he heard the name of Lady Vivienne. She was a frequent visitor to the court, her presence a reminder of the kingdom's connection to the Feywild.   The king then turned his attention to me and Hayley, his curiosity piqued. We introduced ourselves, revealing our magical abilities. Hayley explained that she was a witch, her magic drawn from the natural world. I, on the other hand, was a wizard, my powers rooted in arcane knowledge.   The king expressed his hope that none of his nobles would find themselves on the receiving end of our magical abilities. Hayley, with a playful grin, assured him that as long as they didn't give her a reason, they had nothing to fear.   The conversation then turned to Ravensfield. The king informed Hayley that she would be pleased with the gifts that he was still planning to give us, hinting at a benefit for the displaced Ravensfield residents.   I mentioned my time at the magical academy in Keralon, dancing around the topic of what had happened at the tournament with Emily. I did promise to hold no grudges for what had transpired and to not misuse my new position as a knight. The king, intrigued, asked for a demonstration of my magical abilities.   With a flourish, I pointed my finger at an empty space outside the window. A fireball erupted, its fiery fury sending shockwaves through the palace. The nobles, startled by the display, gasped in amazement.   I turned towards the Valeborn family, a mischievous grin on my face, a reminder of what I am capable of just in case they decide to come after me again. The king, impressed by my power, applauded, his eyes filled with admiration. However, I could sense a hint of concern in his gaze. My boldness, while appreciated, was a reminder of the violent nature of magic.   The king turned his attention to Dadroz, his curiosity piqued and asked him about his skills.Dadroz humbly explained his expertise with the bow. The king, intrigued, requested a demonstration.   He asked Alistan and I to choose a member from the audience. Not wanting to further antagonize anyone, we pointed to Vern Skald, the herald whom we had grown to trust.   Dadroz took aim, his eyes focused, his hand steady. The arrow flew true, striking the target inches from Skald, who jumped back in surprise. The king, while impressed, seemed a bit underwhelmed.   Finally, the king turned to Gael, his knowledge of the elven ranger limited. He asked about Gael's time in the forest.   Gael, his voice filled with pride, spoke of his life among nature, his skills honed in the harsh wilderness. The king, intrigued, requested to examine Gael's bow. Rising from his throne, he approached Gael, his imposing stature dwarfing the smaller elf.   The king inspected the bow, his eyes scanning every detail. "A magnificent weapon," he declared, his voice filled with admiration. "Truly unique."   Gael bowed, his heart filled with pride. The bow was a gift from a dear friend, a symbol of their bond.   The king turned back to the crowd, his voice echoing through the hall. "I have great expectations for you," he declared, his eyes filled with hope. "You have already done so much for this city. You deserve to be rewarded."   He turned to us, his gaze sweeping across our faces. "You are all raised to the lowest ranks of nobility," he announced. "Except for Alistan and Liliana, who are already of noble birth."   A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. We had been recognized, our contributions acknowledged.   The king continued, "Liliana, you have earned a special privilege. You may carry a single magic item, even though only knights are normally allowed." Liliana, her eyes wide with surprise, thanked the king.   The king, in a gesture of generosity, also bestowed upon us the Dogville district, a land rich in history and potential. However, Hayley, ever the independent spirit, refused the title and the land. The king, while surprised, honored her decision.   He turned to the rest of us, a twinkle in his eye. "The name Dogville," he said, "is a bit...unfortunate. Perhaps a change is in order."   We discussed the possibility of renaming the district, brainstorming ideas that would reflect its new status. Suggestions ranged from the grand and majestic to the quirky and whimsical, but remained undecided until a later date.   Finally, the king dismissed us, his words a testament to our contributions. We were free to join the acceptance ceremonies of our respective knightly orders. Ser Donovan, waiting outside, greeted us with a warm smile. He congratulated us on our achievements, his eyes filled with pride. He inquired about Hayley's decision, his curiosity piqued.   Hayley explained her reasons, her voice filled with a mix of determination and weariness. She had witnessed the darker side of nobility, the corruption and the power struggles. It had shaped her worldview, her belief in a simpler life.   Ser Donovan listened intently, his respect for Hayley seemingly growing. He understood her decision, her desire for freedom and independence. We were led back to the Octagon, a grand structure that housed the headquarters of the knightly order. We were given ceremonial robes, their colors and symbols reflecting our newfound status.   As we prepared for the acceptance ceremony, we were asked if we followed any particular deity. I revealed myself to be a follower of Zebulor, the god who chose his own path. Alistan, ever the just man, chose the symbol of Aitlas, the god of justice.   We entered the cathedral, a sacred place filled with the prayers of the faithful. The leaders of the various knightly circles were gathered, their faces etched with a mixture of pride and anticipation.   The acceptance ceremony began with a solemn oath, a vow to protect the city and its people. Religious services followed, prayers offered to the gods, seeking their blessing. A priest approached each of us, whispering a question into our ears. We were asked to reveal our deepest desires, our hopes for the future.   I spoke the truth, to prove myself worthy and claim my place in the world, find love, and secure my own legacy.   As the priest laid his hand on my shoulder, I felt a surge of energy, a burning sensation that coursed through my veins. I fell to my knees, a cry escaping my lips. When I rose, a symbol was etched onto my skin, the two-faced hourglass of Zebulor, a mark of my initiation.   We were officially Knights of Keralon, our names forever linked to the city's history. As we emerged from the cathedral, a crowd of people awaited us, their faces filled with admiration.   I hurried over to Elsa, who congratulated me on my new title. She offered her assistance, her knowledge of the city and its politics invaluable. I thanked her, grateful for her support.   As the party kicked off, we mingled with the crowd, our eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble. The ever vigilant Liliana kept a close watch for potential cultist infiltrations.   To our surprise, she instead found Lady Vivienne, her fey mistress, standing at a table. A shiver ran down my spine. I remembered our encounters with Vivienne, her deceptive nature, her connection to the darkness of Neverhold.   Liliana approached Vivienne, as if greeting an old friend and not a being of terrible power. I watched from a distance, my heart pounding in my chest.   Suddenly, Liliana let out a cry, her body collapsing to the ground. I rushed forward, a firebolt forming in my hand. The other guests, startled by the commotion, turned to see what was happening.   Vivienne, her face a mask of innocence, inquired about the disturbance. Liliana, her voice weak, explained that Vivienne had given her a gift, a piece of her power. My blood ran cold. Vivienne's intentions were clear. She was using us, manipulating us for her own ends. Anger surged through me, but I held back, my focus on Liliana's well-being.   An hour later, the king arrived, his attire now less formal, his crown and cape laid aside. He mingled with the crowd, his presence a magnet for attention. Despite his towering height and imposing stature, he blended in seamlessly.   We approached the king, our excitement tempered by the recent events. He greeted us warmly, urging us to be less formal, to address him by his first name. The king then revealed that he had another gift, a surprise that had us all on the edge of our seats. He urged us to follow him to a quieter area away from the crowd.   When we arrived, there were only a few nobles in the area whom we did not recognize. The king, his eyes twinkling with mischief, announced that he had a challenge for us. He had arranged a friendly duel, a test of our skills as knights. He added a wager, if we won, we would be granted wealth to repair our recently acquired fortification. However if we lost, we would have to return his prized war horses.   He presented us with two opponents, both golems, creations of arcane power. One was a lumbering, steam-powered machine, its movements slow but powerful. The other was a sleek, glass construct, its form shimmering with an otherworldly light.   We inspected the golems and assessed their strengths and weaknesses. The steam-powered golem, despite its brutish appearance, seemed to be heavily warded against the elements. We decided to face the smaller opponent, our confidence bolstered by our recent victories.   The king nodded, his approval evident. We stepped forward, our weapons drawn, ready to demonstrate our skills. Liliana charged straight at the golem, her sword a blur of steel. Three illusions of Liliana appeared, confusing the golem and creating an opening.   Gael and Dadroz unleashed a barrage of arrows, their aim true, their shots finding their mark. The golem's surface cracked and chipped, a testament to their skill. I summoned a ball of fire and its fiery fury engulfed the golem. The creature staggered, its glass form weakened. As the golem approached Liliana, I manipulated the threads of fate, causing its attacks to go astray.   Zebulor, my patron deity, smiled upon me, his favor evident. With a renewed sense of determination, we pressed our attack, our blades a whirlwind of steel. The golem, its defenses breached, crumbled to the ground, a defeated husk.   The king, his eyes filled with admiration, nodded his approval. We had won the wager, our reward a fortune in gold, a gift to help us build our new estates. As the nobles around us dispersed, their comments echoed in our ears. They had been impressed by our performance, acknowledging our strength and skill. The city was safe, thanks to knights like us.   Liliana, her curiosity piqued, attempted to engage the nobles in conversation. However, the king urged her to follow him, his impatience evident.   As we walked away, my sister Hayley expressed her suspicion about the nobles. She believed they might be fey, their true nature hidden beneath a human guise. The implications were chilling, a reminder of the ever-present danger lurking in the shadows.   We followed the king back into the palace, our minds racing with the recent events. As we parted ways, the king bid us farewell. The adventure was far from over, but for now, we could savor the moment, the victory, the recognition.

Why you can never trust a bard
20th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We entered the room, our hearts pounding with anticipation. Robert was seated on a rock, his expression a mix of resignation and defiance. He held up his hands, a gesture of peace. "You're here to find Norgar," he said, his voice calm.   Liliana and Alistan confirmed, their voices filled with urgency. Robert explained that Norgar was safe, but they needed him for a ritual. He assured us that it was a temporary procedure, which would ultimately benefit Keralon. He promised no permanent harm to Norgar, as they only aimed to extract a small part of his draconic essence, which would be recovered with some rest.   Hayley wasn't convinced. She saw through Robert's facade, recognizing the deception lurking beneath his words (with some magical help). With a piercing gaze, she called him out, accusing him of stalling for time. Robert's facade crumbled, his true nature revealed. He lunged at Alistan, his fists a blur of motion. Dadroz, ever the vigilant guardian, intervened, his rapier finding its mark. The doppelganger stumbled backward, his eyes filled with rage.   I sensed something amiss, a magical aura surrounding Robert. With a quick spell, I revealed his true nature, a doppelganger impersonating the facade of our former friend, meant to distract us while the real Robert could carry out his evil plan.   The doppelganger, weakened but not defeated, continued to fight. We fought on, our determination fueled by the need to protect Norgar. Finally, with a combined effort, we managed to subdue the imposter, binding his hands and feet.   We continued our search, our hearts pounding with anticipation. Another door was opened, revealing a chamber unlike any we had seen before. Six massive drakes, their scales shimmering in the dim light, stood guard over a ritual circle. In the center, Norgar lay bound, his body a canvas for strange, glowing runes.   Without hesitation, we drew our weapons and charged into the fray. Alistan and Liliana led the assault, their blades a blur of steel. The drakes, sensing our presence, roared and lunged, their claws outstretched. Alistan, overwhelmed by the sheer number of opponents, fell to the ground, his body battered and bruised.   Hayley and I, our hearts pounding with adrenaline, joined the fray. We cast the same spell, our magic intertwining, drawing life force from the drakes and channeling it into Alistan. The creatures, their bodies wracked with pain, collapsed one by one, as we continued our assault.   As the dust settled, we approached Norgar, our eyes scanning his body for signs of injury. He was bound to a giant dragon statue, strange runes etched into its surface. A gem, glowing with an eerie light, was embedded in his chest.   I examined the gem, my fingers tracing the intricate patterns. It was a container, a phylactery of sorts, designed to hold a soul. Removing it would be like ripping a piece of him away. Hayley, using her magical senses, confirmed my suspicions. The gem was a vital part of Norgar's existence. Freeing him might mean killing him. The realization hit us like a ton of bricks.   With a heavy heart, I decided to disrupt the ritual, hoping to free Norgar from the cult's clutches. I took a deep breath, focusing my magic, and unleashed a powerful construct at the very limits of my abilities to cast. The ritual faltered, its energy disrupted. Norgar, his color returning, stirred from his trance.   We rushed to his side, lifting him onto our shoulders. With renewed determination, we made our way through the ruins, the weight of our mission heavy upon us.   As we emerged from the underground labyrinth, the fresh air filled our lungs. We rested briefly, our bodies weary but our spirits unbroken. Liliana pocketed the gem, a reminder of our valiant rescue.   As we prepared to leave, we decided to look at the rest of the ruins, hoping to uncover more clues about the cult's activities. With renewed energy, we set off, our torches illuminating the darkness. We discovered hidden chambers, each filled with its own secrets. The cultists had transformed the ruins into a fortress, their presence felt in every corner. As we ventured deeper, we sensed a familiar presence. It was Robert, his voice echoing through the halls.   He pleaded with us to leave Norgar behind, his words laced with a hint of desperation.   Alistan, his voice firm, refused. Our bond with Norgar ran deeper than any loyalty to Robert, especially after he seems to have deceived us for so long. We were determined to see this through to the end. Robert sighed. He knew we would not back down. With a heavy heart, he admitted that he had no choice but to stop us.   As the door behind us opened, revealing a horde of draconic abominations, we knew we had no option but to flee. We ran, our legs heavy with exhaustion, Norgar a precious burden on Alistan's shoulders. The drakes pursued us, their roars echoing through the ruins.   We burst through the surface, the fresh air a welcome relief. The embassy was just ahead, a beacon of hope in the face of overwhelming odds. We pushed ourselves to the limit, our bodies screaming for rest. Finally, we reached the safety of the embassy, Norgar safe in our arms.   As we emerged from the basement, the dragonborn guards were waiting for us, their faces a mix of relief and concern. A guard rushed to find Ragnar, Norgar's adoptive father. The other guards brought us to the chapel on the embassy grounds and informed us that a priest was on the way, ready to tend to our wounds.   As we waited, a strange light emanated from Liliana's pouch, the gem we had taken from the cultists. Hayley quickly seized the pouch and tossed the gem into a basin of holy water, hoping to dispel whatever was going on. Dadroz, his senses heightened, sensed vibrations in the ground. We knew the dragon cult was close, their presence a constant threat. Alistan, taking charge, positioned himself at the door, guarding our sanctuary.   Suddenly, the ground beneath our feet rumbled. A massive hole appeared, revealing a creature of pure horror. It was a dragon-like abomination, its scales shimmering with an unnatural light. Its eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the room.   The creature's voice, a guttural growl, echoed through the chapel. It was Robert, transformed into a monstrous abomination by the dragon cult. Their champion.   The sight of him sent a shiver down our spines. The creature's appearance was a grotesque blend of dragon and human, its features distorted and twisted. Its body was covered in thick, leathery scales, its eyes glowing with an unnatural intensity. Greasy hair, remnants of Robert’s own locks, plastered his scalp and face. Its limbs were powerful and muscular, its claws razor-sharp. It was a creature of pure evil, a testament to the dark magic that had corrupted it.   Gael fired an arrow at the abomination. The arrow pierced its hide, but the creature's regenerative abilities were astounding. The arrow fell to the ground, its impact barely a scratch.   The abomination retaliated, spewing a ball of acid towards Liliana. She raised a magical shield, deflecting the attack. I turned to run, seeking cover from the creature's wrath.   Behind me, I heard Alistan's grunt of pain. I glanced back to see him locked in a fierce battle with cultists who tried barging through the door of the chapel. Liliana, her resolve unwavering, carried Norgar towards safety towards the back.   As I distanced myself from the abomination, I saw Alistan charging towards the creature, his sword a blur of steel. The abomination, sensing the threat, turned to face him. Alistan's strikes landed with a satisfying impact, weakening the creature before it dropped down entirely. The powerful slashes of the Knight of Keralon had proven too much for the abomination that was Robert. Proving that for all their bluster for dragon-infused strength, they were still no match for hard work and determination.   The cultists, enraged by their champion's defeat, rushed towards us. I retreated, seeking a strategic position to defend Norgar. As a cultist lunged forward towards the back where Ragnar was kept safe, I unleashed a blast of magic, forcing them back.   The battle raged on, a desperate struggle for survival. We fought with everything we had, our bodies aching, our spirits weary. The cultists, driven by their dark masters, were relentless.   Finally, the last cultist fell, its lifeless body a testament to our victory. We collapsed, our breaths ragged, our bodies trembling. But we had survived, and we had protected Norgar.   As the fighting subsided and we caught our breath, a priest burst into the hall, crying over the loss of his brand-new chapel.   We regrouped in the main hall and were seated at a table with Ragnar and representatives of the major factions. We were then asked to recount the events of the evening. Ser Donovan listened intently as Alistan and Liliana detailed the entire story.   When we finished, Ragnar thanked us for saving them from the cult again. He explained that the gem he and Norgar were carrying contained part of their souls, ensuring that if they died, they could be brought back to the city and reunited with their ancestors. We speculated about the cult's intentions with the gem but didn't have all the answers.   Ragnar asked if the threat had passed, and we replied that while the immediate crisis was over, there were still cultists out there, especially near Ravensfield. Ser Donovan volunteered to coordinate with the Fenhunters to hunt down these remnants.   Our discussion was interrupted by guards who reported discovering a magical gate deep underground while investigating the tunnels we had been in earlier. This was likely how the cult had been smuggling troops into the city.   Ser Donovan, his voice filled with gratitude, thanked us for our bravery and sacrifice. He assured us that our actions would not go unnoticed, that the royal family would want to recognize our contributions personally.   Ildan, the herald of the High Circle, stepped forward, his eyes filled with admiration. He informed us that while no official quest had been assigned, our actions had earned us the opportunity to earn a mettle. He turned to me and Gael, offering to explore the possibilities.   Liliana, her heart heavy with doubt, declined the offer. She needed time to reflect, to consider the implications of joining a knightly order. Ildan, while surprised, respected her decision.   He also addressed the knights present, saying they could still expect an acceptance ceremony, as the oversight in not having one was likely due to a mistake.   As the Keralon representatives departed, Ragnar pulled us aside and expressed his indebtedness. He assured us that we were always welcome in the embassy and that he would think of a suitable reward. If there was anything we needed, we should simply ask him or Norgar if he was unavailable. Hayley nudged Dan toward the rebuilding and relocation efforts around Ravensfield. Ragnar nodded and said that the loss of Ravensfield and the homelessness of its people were on his agenda.   We suggested that they change the locks, as the cult had access to the manor keys. Ragnar nodded in agreement. My date, Elsa, spoke up and suggested that the guards had likely been infiltrated by the cult, as we had seen before. This was probably why the cult had access to the building, as the locks hadn't been changed before the transfer of ownership. She offered her assistance to Ragnar and the embassy and suggested they handle the lock change themselves to avoid spies.   With a renewed sense of purpose, we returned to the city, our minds filled with the events of the past few days. Alistan, overcome with guilt, apologized to his date, who reassured him that she was used to such adventures. His mother, surprisingly proud, congratulated him on his bravery and announced that he had been invited to meet the king.   Lady Sofia then suggested that Liliana should consider the position of ambassador's wife. It was a tempting chance, she explained, a chance to rise through the ranks of society. Liliana gave a timid nod, despite all her strength, she still has trouble standing up to her mother.   Before we left, Elsa volunteered to act as our liaison with the royal court, if we did plan on taking up responsibilities as Knights of Keralon. With her connections and influence, she could help us navigate the complexities of court life. I personally wouldn’t mind seeing her more often.   I offered my companionship to any future outings that Elsa might need to attend, and she said that she would consider it. I know that she has several suitors and that she must consider her position in high society. I will simply have to work myself through the ranks as knight to become a worthy companion for someone like Elsa.   As we walked through the city, the weight of our recent adventures seemed to lift. We had faced countless challenges, overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, and emerged victorious. The future was uncertain, but we were ready for whatever it might bring.

The Search for Norgar
20th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   As we continued our search for Norgar, Hayley dispatched Fiachna to keep watch for any suspicious activity. Meanwhile, I focused on the gem, using a tracking spell to pinpoint its location. The gem, once the elusive target of the dragon cult, now held the key to unraveling the mystery of Norgar's disappearance.   The spell revealed the gem's presence somewhere to the north and down from the embassy. With renewed determination, we hurried towards the underground level, leaving our dates behind in the safety of the main hall. As we entered, the basement was cool and damp, the air thick with the musty scent of neglect.   Dadroz examined the ground for any clues. The floor was a patchwork of footprints, evidence of the many who had passed through this chamber. We searched every nook and cranny, our hearts pounding with anticipation.   As we explored, Hayley stumbled upon a door leading further underground. With a cautious push, she opened it, revealing a dark and ominous chamber. Unfortunately the cult was two steps ahead of us, and had placed a trap on the door. A fireball exploded in Hayley’s face, the sudden blast knocking her back. Liliana and Dadroz, caught in the crossfire, were also injured.   The darkness of the chamber beyond was pierced by the flickering light of torches, revealing a group of cultists engaged in a sinister ritual. Others, sensing our presence, turned towards us, their eyes filled with a feral glint. A large, fleshy golem stepped out from the shadows, its monstrous form a chilling reminder of the dangers of the cult we were fighting.   Unfortunately, most of us had left our weapons at home, unprepared for such a violent encounter. We gritted our teeth as we realized that we were outmatched, outnumbered, and outgunned. But we could not let the innocents attending the ball get hurt, and stopping the cultists’ ritual before it finished was the only way to prevent that. We grasped hold of what few weapons we had, and moved to engage the cult.   Alistan stepped forward, his sword a blur of steel. He struck a cultist, knocking their dagger aside. Dadroz, not to be outdone, followed up with a well-placed arrow, silencing another threat. Liliana, her fey magic surging through her veins, unleashed a devastating slash as her weapon appeared in her hand, cleaving a cultist in two.   Gael conjured a tangle of vines, an unnatural growth that sprung up from the basement floor, hindering the cultists' movements. In the background, the cultists continued to chant, their voices a sinister chorus. I couldn't stand idly by, watching as they completed their ritual. With a surge of anger, I unleashed a fireball, its destructive force aimed at the heart of the ritual circle. The cultists caught in the blast were reduced to ashes, their evil plans shattered.   The remaining cultist, fear etched on his face, turned to flee. Hayley summoned a small fey spirit, and a dart of light struck the final cultist down. Alistan, his sword dripping with blood, faced the flesh golem, its skin charred and blistered from the fireball. With renewed vigor, he pressed his attack, his sword a whirlwind of steel. The golem, weakened, crumbled to the ground, its monstrous form a lifeless husk.   As the dust settled, we took a moment to take in the scene. The cultists, their bodies twisted and charred, lay scattered across the floor. The magical circle, now disrupted, hummed with residual energy. We examined the cultists, their identities revealed by the remnants of their clothing. There were merchants, guards, and even a noble among the fallen. The dragon cult had infiltrated all levels of society, their tentacles reaching into every corner of the city.   With the immediate threat neutralized, we made our way forward, hoping to find any signs of Norgar. Dadroz disarmed a trap on a door forward, preventing another unpleasant surprise. The door led to a staircase, the same one we had used to reach the office earlier.   We returned to the party, our faces a mix of exhaustion and relief. We quickly approached one of the dragonborn guards. Alistan explained the situation, informing him of the cultists we had discovered in the basement. The guard thanked us, promising to send a team to investigate.   As we mingled with the crowd, I checked in with Elsa, making sure she was okay. She was concerned about our well-being, offering healing spells to Liliana, Hayley, and Dadroz. With a grateful nod, they accepted her aid. Hayley noticed something amiss. The signal from the gem and the tracking spell, the one that had led us to the basement, had disappeared too far north. The basement we had found was too small to accommodate such a distance.   Elsa, with her knowledge of the embassy, suggested that there might be other basements within the complex. With renewed determination, we headed towards the northernmost building of the embassy complex. As we approached, we noticed tracks leading around the structure. Dadroz volunteered to check for traps. We followed him into the building, our hearts pounding with anticipation.   The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with dust. At first, we thought it was a storage room, but as we ventured deeper, we realized it was inhabited. There were bedrolls and tables laden with food. A small office caught our attention. We entered cautiously, scanning the room for clues. A set of stairs led to a lower level. As we descended back into the second basement, the darkness enveloped us, the air thick with the stench of decay. The smell of blood was overpowering, the source a nearby larder filled with slaughtered pigs. We continued our exploration, navigating the winding corridors and dark chambers.   Our search led us to another building, a series of barracks filled with the remnants of the draconic occupation. The air was heavy with the stench of sweat and stale food. We pressed on, our determination fueled by the urgency of the situation.   As we ventured deeper, we discovered another underground chamber, a small, cramped space filled with supplies. A trio of dragon-men, their forms shrouded in shadow, emerged from the darkness. One of them breathed a wave of fire, a searing blast that engulfed us.   I managed to shield myself with a protective spell, but Liliana was caught in the crossfire, her body wracked with pain. Dadroz retaliated with a well-placed arrow, piercing the dragon-man's armor. I unleashed a firebolt, but it barely scratched the creature's hide. The dragon-man grinned, its teeth a menacing display of power. As I stumbled away, looking for cover, I saw Liliana, Gael, and Alistan struggling to hold their own. One by one, they were going down under the furious attack by the dragon-men.   With a surge of determination, I cast a spell to sap the life force from the remaining dragon-men, channeling it into Liliana. She regained a boost of energy, getting back on her feet. I quickly made my way over to the fallen Alistan too, administered a healing potion, watching as his color returned.   The battle raged on, a claustrophobic melee in the cramped quarters. We fought with a ferocity born of desperation, our lives hanging in the balance. After a heated clash, the dragon-men fell, their bodies a testament to our resilience.   As the dust settled, we took a moment to catch our breath. We searched the fallen dragon-men, discovering a tattoo linking them to the demon dragon cult. The pieces were slowly falling into place. We knew it was time to move, to leave this place of death and destruction behind. But before we did, we scavanged the chamber for supplies, gathering any weapons or armor we could find. Among the spoils, we discovered a stash of healing potions. Alistan, ever the pragmatist, insisted on returning them, but we overruled him. He had earned them, and he needed them.   As we continued our exploration, our eyes scanning the walls for any sign of a hidden passage, we stumbled upon a narrow, unmarked opening. With a cautious push, we revealed a secret tunnel, carved into the stone with precision. The tunnel led north, towards the outskirts of the city.   Following the tunnel, we discovered evidence of ancient mining activity. The walls were scarred with the marks of tools, the air thick with the musty scent of decay. Tracks, fresh and clear, led us further into the depths. The tunnel opened into a vast cavern, illuminated by a strange, otherworldly glow. It was an ancient ruin, its walls adorned with strange symbols and forgotten carvings.   Dadroz was examining a hidden door when he collapsed, his body limp and lifeless. A shimmer in the air revealed a cloaked assassin, his sword drawn. The assassin pulled his blade back from Dadroz's unconscious body. Two imps, their eyes filled with malice, emerged from the shadows, their stingers aimed at Gael.   I unleashed a firebolt, hoping to deter the imps, but to my frustration, they were immune to fire. It was not a good day to be a fire mage…   The assassin, his form shifting and fading, reappeared beside Liliana, his sword raised. Alistan shouted a warning, urging Liliana to take advantage of the assassin's momentary opening. With a swift movement, Liliana struck, her sword a blur of steel. The assassin stumbled backward, his grip on his sword loosening.   The battle raged on, a chaotic dance of steel and magic. Eventually we maange to trap the assassin out, and take him down, followed closely by dispatching the two imps. The air was thick with the stench of blood, the silence broken only by the sound of our ragged breathing.   ​​We were bruised and battered, but our spirits remained unbroken. With renewed determination, I cast the Locate Object spell on Norgar's gem. The spell revealed his location, a mere stone's throw away. We ventured east, following the faint trail left by the gem. The ruins of the ancient mine stretched out before us, a maze of crumbling structures and hidden passages. We navigated the debris, our eyes scanning for any sign of Norgar.   Our search led us to a chamber filled with the remnants of a draconic construct, similar to the ones we had encountered before. It is clear that the cult was operating from here as a base deep underneath Keralon, and was building more of the vile creations. For what purpose exact, remains still unknown.   Another chamber revealed a chilling sight – a giant, blue creature sleeping peacefully on a bed of rubble. The creature was massive, with large horns. Startled by our intrusion, it awoke with a roar, its eyes filled with anger. Liliana, with her usual charm, approached the creature, her voice soothing. She explained that we had disturbed its slumber accidentally, and that it should return to sleep. The creature, still agitated, demanded to know the time. Liliana informed it that it was still night and that it could still sleep more.   The creature, mollified by the explanation, settled back down, its heavy breathing filling the room. We continued our search, our hearts pounding with anticipation.   As we continued our exploration, we discovered a large room, its walls adorned with strange symbols. And there, in the center, stood Robert Talespinner, our so-called friend and the supposed champion of the dragon cult.

A Grand Ball of Intrigue
20th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We finally made it to Robert Talespinner's room, a mix of excitement and trepidation filling our hearts. The door creaked open, revealing a surprisingly tidy room. Robert's backpack was propped against the wall, a collection of dragon-themed books scattered across the bed, and a few articles of clothing strewn about. It looked like a perfectly normal bachelor pad, if a bit cluttered.   But we weren't here for sightseeing. I decided to give the room a magical once-over, just to be sure there weren't any hidden traps or lingering enchantments. As I was channeling my inner mage, I felt a distinct magical aura emanating from Robert's backpack. With a mix of curiosity and care, I opened it up.   Inside, I found a treasure trove of mundane items – socks, a toothbrush, etcetera. But hidden amongst the everyday essentials was a small, unassuming object – a magical sending stone. This was definitely something Robert could be using to communicate with the cult.   Continuing my investigation, I discovered a peculiar set of keys. They were identical, down to the last detail. A dozen keys, all with the same markings. It was like a bad joke, a puzzle with no answer.   With no other clues to be found, we decided to leave the room, taking the keys and the sending stone with us. The mystery of Robert Talespinner deepened, and our quest for answers was far from over.   Our next stop was the Briar Ring, the mysterious fortress hidden deep within the Gloom. We needed to inform them about the dragon construct and ensure its remains were properly dealt with. As we approached the imposing structure, a guard emerged, his face etched with a firm scowl. Alistan explained the situation, his voice filled with urgency.   The guard led us to Selios, the head of the Briar Ring, who listened intently to our tale of the dragon construct. His eyes widened in shock as we described the creature's horrifying appearance and the magical nature of its creation. He assured us that the Briar Ring would take care of the matter, promising to send a team to retrieve the remains.   As we were about to leave, Liliana casually mentioned our invitation to the embassy ball. Selios' expression shifted from professional detachment to genuine surprise. He explained that the ball was a prestigious event, attended by royalty and nobility alike. Our presence was unexpected, to say the least.   With a newfound sense of importance, we left the Briar Ring. Hayley joined back up with us, and had already managed to organize the refugees from Ravensfield, ensuring their safety and well-being. Her compassion and efficiency were truly inspiring.   With the immediate threat of dragon-men and mind-controlled villagers behind us, we turned our attention to a more pressing matter – what to wear to the fancy dress ball. Liliana suggested a visit to our noble friend, Elsa Colline, for some much-needed style advice. I, being the shameless opportunist that I am, eagerly volunteered to accompany her.   Elsa's mansion was as grand as ever, a testament to the family's wealth and influence. Unfortunately, she was busy with royal duties, leaving us to explore the grounds. As we wandered through the gardens, a magnificent warhorse caught my eye. It was a creature of beauty and power, clearly not your average stable pony. It likely belonged to Edward, Elsa's brother.   Intrigued, we inquired about Edward's whereabouts. The servants informed us that he had arrived earlier that day, eager to attend the embassy opening. A reunion with our old friend was in order.   We were greeted by Edward with open arms, his infectious enthusiasm warming our hearts. He had returned to Keralon at the king's request, a testament to his growing influence in the kingdom. He had arrived a few hours ago and was a bit upset that his sister Elsa didn’t make the time to greet him when he arrived, mentioning how busy she has gotten.   We spent a delightful afternoon chatting with Edward, catching up on old times. He was as charming as ever, his stories a welcome distraction from our recent ordeals. Just as Edward excused himself to go freshen up, Elsa made a grand entrance. She looked absolutely stunning, her beauty enhanced by a gown of shimmering blue. She was surprised to find us there, having only just taken a break from her royal duties.   Liliana wasted no time in asking for style advice. To our surprise, Elsa offered to lend Liliana and Hayley a dress each. The offer was met with an enthusiastic squeal from Liliana, and sly grin from Hayley. I doubt that my sister would be interested in any of Elsa’s more colorful styles, but she clearly had something in mind.   But the surprises didn't end there. As we discussed the upcoming embassy ball, Elsa casually mentioned that she was looking for an escort. Before I could even process the situation, Gael had volunteered me for the job. I managed to stammer out a polite acceptance, my face probably as red as a tomato.   Elsa smiled graciously, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She arranged for a carriage to pick us up at her manor at eight o'clock that evening, ensuring we would make a grand entrance. Liliana looked a bit nervous about arriving fashionably late.   With Elsa back to her royal duties, Edward suggested we take a trip to his personal tailor to outfit ourselves for the ball. As we strolled through the city, we shared stories of our adventures, the laughter echoing through the streets.   The day ended with a delicious dinner at a charming little tavern, the perfect way to unwind after a whirlwind of events. We talked about the future, about our hopes and dreams, and about the challenges that lay ahead.   The morning dawned, a mix of excitement and dread. I woke up with a start, the image of the dragon-construct still fresh in my mind. As I made my way to the common room, I found Liliana already there, her face etched with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.   She dropped a bombshell – her mother, the infamous Lady Sofia de la Roost, was in town and would be attending the ball. Given her history with the archfey Ulther, and the heated discussion we had with her five years ago about Liliana, the news was met with a sense of dread.   Hayley then made the curious decision to find a date for the evening. She set off to find Dan, our merchant friend, to ask for his company. Alistan and I were left to prepare for the grand event. I decided to purchase a bouquet of flowers for Elsa, a small gesture to show my appreciation for her kindness.   When we arrived at Elsa's mansion, she was waiting for us, looking more radiant than ever. The sight of her took my breath away. After exchanging pleasantries, Liliana explained our predicament.   As we waited for the carriage, Lady Sofia arrived, her presence casting a shadow over the group. Her disapproving gaze fell upon Galiene, Alistan's companion, her disdain barely concealed. It was clear that she had expected someone of higher social standing.   Finally, the carriage arrived, a luxurious carriage drawn by two magnificent horses. We climbed in, our anticipation growing with each passing moment. The ball was about to begin, and with it, a night of mystery, intrigue, and hopefully, a little bit of fun.   The carriage pulled up to a grand estate, an imposing structure that looked more like a fortress than a place of diplomacy. It was a three-story behemoth, built of red brick and surrounded by a low wall adorned with rather unsettling dragon imagery. Given the Fenhunter's penchant for all things draconic, it wasn't entirely surprising. As we stepped out of the carriage, we were greeted by a sea of people, all dressed to the nines. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the clinking of jewelry. It was like stepping into a real-life fairytale.   As we stepped out of the carriage, the full extent of the embassy's grandeur hit us. It was a world away from the dusty roads and makeshift camps of our recent travels. The air was filled with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, a stark contrast to the harsh reality we had escaped.   Liliana's mother beckoned us over. Standing beside her was a man, impeccably dressed and with a certain air of authority about him. This, Liliana explained, was Samuel Valeborn, her escort for the evening.   The moment I saw Samuel, a wave of memories washed over me. It was like looking into a mirror of my past, a reminder of a time when I had all of my happiness stripped away from me. The situation is tense and he makes a remark about the incident at the tournament. He clearly still holds a grudge against me for what happened to Darius. Despite all that has happened and everything that I have done, he still just thinks of me as a lowlife murderer. I wanted to do nothing more than scream in his stupid face that I had nothing to do with his friend’s death. But I didn’t want to make a scene in front of Elsa. So I just froze and I couldn’t think anymore what to say.   I just turned away as we silently entered the embassy for the party. My stomach still turning over the presence of Samuel. I always thought that if I would see him again, we would be able to bury the hatchet. I would be able to calmly explain what had happened that day at the tournament and that we would be able to put it behind us and move on with our lives. But being confronted with him just brought all of my anger and frustration back. The look on his face and his remarks made it clear what he thought of me, always his lesser.   However before I can dwell too much on those thoughts, we spot our next problem, Robert Talespinner is in the library and has apparently been hired to tell stories. But we decided to put a pin on it as we are overwhelmed by the entire situation.   We made our way through the bustling crowd, seeking out Ragnar, the host of the evening. Spotting him within the dining area, we approached his table. Upon recognizing us, Ragnar’s expression transformed into one of genuine surprise and admiration. With a thunderous clap, he announced our arrival as the honored guests who had saved the Fenhunter delegation several times.   Invited to join his table, we were bombarded with questions about our adventures. As we recounted our battles with the dragon-men and the terrifying construct, a hush fell over the crowd, their eyes wide with disbelief and awe. We also let him subtly know about our suspicions of Robert and his possible involvement with the dragon cult. Ragnar, clearly impressed, promised to have his guards keep a close watch on Robert Talespinner, concerned that the missing bard might be involved in something sinister.   Our conversation with Ragnar was interrupted when we heard a commotion erupting from the grand hall. Curiosity piqued, we hurried towards the source of the disturbance.   The sight that greeted us was nothing short of breathtaking. Snowflakes were gently falling inside the hall, a magical spectacle that had the guests in awe. At the center of attention was Vivienne, her arrival causing a stir among the crowd.   Vivienne approached Ragnar and made an elegant bow. She announced that the High King Ulther, unable to attend in person, had sent her as his representative. Liliana, her face a mix of surprise and apprehension, approached Vivienne. The two women exchanged a brief greeting, their conversation a hushed murmur that was lost on the rest of us. We had encountered Vivienne before, and while it had not led to a confrontation, we still did not forget what she had done to Liliana. Her presence here, as the High King's envoy, was a twist we hadn't anticipated. Only Gael makes some small talk with the fey, the rest of us stayed as far away as possible.   Samuel, my eternal source of irritation throughout the evening, immediately questioned how we were so well connected to Vivienne. Liliana explained the circumstances of their meeting, revealing fragments of the deal her family had made with Ulther. Samuel remarked with surprise that we (and specifically me) would willingly associate with fey.   I stepped forward, my voice shaking as if we were teenagers again. I tried to explain that Liliana had been forced into the deal, her choices limited by the circumstances. I wanted to explain that it was different from what had happened to Emily and Darius, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak their names.   As the evening progressed, Gael found himself mingling with a group of distinguished guests headed by Sileos of the Briar Ring and the two heralds. Among them were Sir Callos, the head of the Circle of the Long Table, Lady Leah of the Court of Thorns, and Lady Thoma of the Bronze Hand.   Recognizing Gael as the guest of honor, the group greeted him with a mix of admiration and respect. They had heard tales of his bravery and cunning, and were eager to meet the man who had saved the Fenhunter delegation.   Alistan, meanwhile, was having a fanboy moment, chatting excitedly with the knights of the Octagon. He regaled them with tales of his adventures, his voice filled with enthusiasm. The knights, impressed by his bravery, listened with rapt attention.   Hayley and Dan, ever the opportunists, took advantage of the gathering to network with the Fenhunter dignitaries. Dan discussed potential business ventures, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of expanding his trade. Hayley, with her usual charm, focused on the plight of the Ravensfield villagers, hoping to secure aid for their rebuilding efforts. She did get a reply that they might be willing to help relocate some of the villagers, but they weren’t inclined to intrude upon the territory of Keralon to help with the rebuilding. Despite the new embassy, it was clear that tension between the two nations was still high.   As the music swelled, I took Elsa's hand and led her onto the dance floor. The crowd parted, creating a small circle around us. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as I spotted Liliana and Samuel twirling gracefully across the room.   Determined to prove myself, I remembered the dance lessons Emily had given me years ago. With newfound confidence, I began to lead Elsa through a series of intricate steps. It was a battle of skill and style, a silent duel between me and Samuel.   With a surge of determination, I pulled out all the stops. I twirled Elsa with a flourish, dipped her low, and finished with a dramatic flourish. Samuel, visibly impressed, retreated to the sidelines, a rare show of defeat. I couldn't help but smile.   As I danced with Elsa, my eyes scanned the room. I spotted Vivienne chatting with Gael, her words a soft murmur lost in the din of the music. A wave of unease washed over me. I knew Vivienne's intentions, her seductive charm a dangerous weapon. I watched as Gael listened intently, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and wariness. I strained to hear their conversation, but the music and the chatter of the crowd made it impossible. Just as I was about to give up, a fanfare sounded, announcing the arrival of Queen Adelaide.   The crowd parted, creating a path for the queen and her entourage. She was a regal figure, her presence commanding attention. After a brief speech apologizing for her husband's absence, she began her tour of the embassy.   Sir Donovan escorted her towards our group. As she approached, I could feel a wave of anticipation wash over me. The queen, her eyes scanning the crowd, finally landed on us. She smiled, her voice warm and inviting.   She asked who among us had been knighted. Alistan, Hayley, and Dadroz stepped forward, their chests swelling with pride. The queen congratulated them, her words a balm to our weary souls.   Turning to the rest of us, she offered a chance to join one of the knightly orders. Gael, ever the adventurer, expressed his interest in the Rosegarden. I, with a newfound sense of purpose, declared my intention to join Myrdin's Circle. Liliana, however, hesitated. Her past with Vivienne cast a shadow over her, making her unsure of her worthiness.   The queen reassured Liliana, her words kind and encouraging. She praised her bravery and her unwavering loyalty. With a newfound determination, Liliana accepted the queen's offer, her eyes filled with hope.   Before departing, the queen reminded us not to hesitate to ask for help if we needed it. She assured us that we had allies at court, nodding towards Elsa by my side as she did so. As she turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude. Our journey had been filled with challenges, but we had survived, and now, we had the support of the queen herself.   As the queen departed, a guard approached us, his expression a mix of urgency and concern. He informed us that Lord Ragnar requested our presence. Curiosity piqued, we followed the guard upstairs to a small sitting room.   Ragnar, pacing nervously, greeted us with a mixture of relief and worry. He explained that his adopted son, Norgar, had gone missing. Given our recent encounters with danger and intrigue, Ragnar believed we might be able to help.   Reluctant to cause a scene, Ragnar asked us to investigate discreetly. He handed us a key, a symbol of his trust and a sign of the desperation he felt. Chills ran down our spines as we realized that it was the same type of key we had found in Robert Talespinner's room. Could Robert be involved in Norgar's disappearance? We mentioned this to Ragnar, our voices filled with urgency. He listened intently, his face a mask of concern. Alistan had a thought on how we could further track Norgar. Rangar confirmed that Norgar indeed still possessed the gem that the cult had tried to steal during the parade. With renewed determination, we set off on our search, our hearts heavy with the weight of responsibility.   The air grew heavy with tension. The disappearance of Norgar, the lingering threat of the dragon cult, and the presence of our old enemies – it all added up to a perfect storm of intrigue.

A Reminder to Take Action
18th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We have left the burning ruins of Ravensfield behind, a bittersweet goodbye to a village that had become our home, albeit briefly. The refugees were already a good distance ahead when we had escaped from our battle, a long line of weary travelers heading towards Keralon. The dragon cultists were regrouping as we made our getaway, waiting for the fires to die down before launching their next attack.   As we traveled, Hayley sent Fiachna to scout ahead, the little bird disappearing into the morning mist. We waited, a mixture of anticipation and dread filling our hearts.   Fiachna returned with news that the village had been completely engulfed in flames, but a sudden downpour had extinguished the fire before it could spread to the forest. The dragon-men, seeing their plans thwarted, had set up camp on the outskirts of the village, and so far seemed not intending to pursue us.   We pressed on, the refugee caravan our guiding light in the darkening landscape. The journey was long and arduous, but the shared sense of purpose kept us going. By nightfall, we found a suitable spot to rest. The world felt smaller, more vulnerable without the protection of the village walls.   I volunteered for the first watch, Gael by my side. The night was clear, the moon casting an eerie glow over the surrounding forest. As we scanned the horizon, a dark silhouette caught our attention. It was flying, larger than any bird we'd ever seen. Gael, with his eagle eyes, identified it as a dragon, far larger than the wyvern we had fought before.   We watched as the creature disappeared into the night, leaving us with a sense of unease. Something big was out there, something even more terrifying than the dragon-men.   The night passed slowly, filled with restless sleep and jumpy awakenings. We traded watches, each of us taking turns to keep an eye on the sky. The second watch, manned by Dadroz and Liliana, also spotted the mysterious creature, confirming our suspicions.   The morning sun finally broke through the remnants of the night, casting long shadows across the ravaged landscape. We stretched our stiff limbs and took stock of our situation. Ravensfield was gone, a smoldering ruin, and there was an insane cult that had sworn vengeance on us.   As we caught up with the refugee caravan, a wave of relief washed over us. The sight of so many people huddled together, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty, was a stark reminder of the chaos we had escaped. Alistan went ahead to speak with the mayor and Dan. I could hear their voices, a mix of concern and determination, as they discussed the next steps.   While they strategized, the rest of us caught up with Zem and Saphira. They were eager to hear about our encounter with the dragon-men, their eyes wide with excitement. Gael, the most eager storyteller, took over, regaling them with tales of fiery battles and narrow escapes.   Saphira had tales of her own, and mentioned that while she was scouting ahead of the caravan this morning that she had found strange tracks. Several trees had been knocked over and scorch marks were everywhere. The tracks led to nowhere so she assumed that it might have been a flying creature. We immediately thought back to the large dragon we had spotted the previous night. However it also reminded us of Reynis, and his night-time form. Reynis had fled Ravensfield when the battle turned bad, and we did not know where he was.   We hit the road with the refugee caravan, a motley crew of weary travelers. Days turned into nights, and nights into days, as we trudged through the unforgiving wilderness. Our spirits were dampened by the constant threat of the dragon-men, but the sight of the villagers, young and old, clinging to hope, kept us moving forward.   One night, as we settled into our makeshift camp, Dadroz and Gael volunteered for watch duty. Their mission? Keep an eye out for any sign of Reynis, our shapeshifting friend-sometimes-potential-menace. As luck would have it, their night watch turned into a front-row seat to a rather spectacular show.   A colossal, armored dragon-construct, its body crackling with flames, descended from the sky like a fiery meteor. It landed with a thunderous crash, its glowing red eyes scanning the refugee camp. After a tense standoff for several hours, the creature took off into the night, leaving behind a pair of Dadroz and Gael.   The next morning, over a breakfast of questionable rations, we discussed the implications of this new threat. A giant, armored dragon-construct? It was like something out of a nightmare. Liliana suggested we try talking to the creature. I agreed with her as another unknown was the last thing we needed.   In the end, we decided discretion was the better part of valor. We would keep our distance, hoping the creature would lose interest and move on. After all, we had a long journey ahead, and facing off against a giant robot dragon wasn't exactly on our bucket list.   The last day before reaching Keralon was filled with anticipation and unease. As I rode in the cart with Zem and Saphira, my mind wandered, lost in a haze of exhaustion and fear. Suddenly, something snapped. My staff, normally a tool of creation and control, was now an extension of my rage. Zim, caught off guard, became the unfortunate recipient of my newfound aggression.   Hayley's voice cut through the chaos, her words a stark contrast to the violence unfolding before me. I had no recollection of what had happened, only a vague sense of regret as I looked at my trembling hands.   A strange wind swept through the caravan, a chilling sensation that preceded a wave of madness. People turned on each other, their eyes filled with a feral glint. The peaceful caravan transformed into a chaotic battlefield, friends and family turning into enemies.   I managed to regain control of myself, the madness receding as quickly as it had come. Suddenly, a blinding light filled the caravan. A deafening roar echoed through the air as the construct dragon unleashed its terrifying weapon. The air crackled with energy, an invisible force that tore through the caravan. I felt a searing pain as the beam of light struck me, a sensation unlike anything I had ever experienced before.   The world seemed to slow down as I struggled to regain my senses. The screams of the villagers were a haunting melody, a stark reminder of the horror unfolding around us. As my vision cleared, I saw the devastation. The caravan was a wreck, bodies strewn across the ground, a testament to the creature's destructive power.   With a surge of adrenaline, I focused my magic, summoning a ball of flame. I launched it at the dragon construct, a desperate attempt to fight back. The fireball collided with the creature, a brilliant explosion of light and heat. The construct staggered, its metallic form momentarily distracted.   It was a brief respite. The dragon construct turned its attention back to us, its eyes glowing with an unnatural intensity. We braced ourselves for the next attack, our hearts pounding in our chests. This was a fight for survival, a battle against a force of unimaginable power.   The dragon construct, sensing an opportunity, turned its attention towards Alistan. With a swift movement, it slashed out with its metallic claws, aiming for the knight's unprotected side. Alistan managed to deflect the blow, but the impact sent him reeling.   Liliana launched a counterattack, her magic crackling with energy. Her strikes landed with precision, chipping away at the construct's armor. We were relentless in our attacks as we tried to hit every potential weak spot. The creature, enraged by the onslaught, attempted to take flight, its wings beating furiously.   We unleashed a barrage of arrows and spells, a desperate attempt to bring it down. My fireball exploded in a shower of sparks, temporarily blinding the creature. Liliana seized the moment, her magic weaving a net of energy that ensnared the construct. With a final, concerted effort, she unleashed a burst of divine power, sending the creature crashing to the ground. Exhausted but triumphant, we stood over the fallen beast, our hearts pounding with adrenaline.   The ordeal had taken its toll, but we had survived. And as we looked at the remnants of the caravan, we knew that this was just the beginning. The war against the demon dragon cult was far from over. With the immediate threat neutralized, Alistan stepped up to play the role of calming influence, his voice cutting through the chaos like a beacon of reason. Liliana transformed into a blur of motion, tending to the wounded.   We approached the fallen dragon construct with caution. Its once-impressive form was now a mangled mess, its fiery aura extinguished. As we examined the creature, we discovered strange runic markings etched into its metallic skin. It was clear now – this wasn't just any dragon-construct, it was a product of dark magic, a brutish golem brought to life. We even managed to detect remnants of a strange metal harvested from the Hells, a nasty little surprise that explained our earlier bout of madness.   As we turned to leave, the realization hit us – we were looking at the remains of a very expensive, very dangerous piece of war machinery. We erected a makeshift warning sign to deter any unsuspecting travelers and resolved to get help from the Knights of Keralon.   Returning to the caravan, we found a somber atmosphere. A villager had lost their entire family to the chaos. Alistan approached them, offering words of comfort. They nodded, their eyes filled with a mixture of grief and resignation. The mayor, a pillar of strength in the face of adversity, had also fallen victim to the mind-control spell. We buried them both in a hastily dug grave, a silent tribute to the lives lost.   Finally, we reached the gates of Keralon, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Alistan introduced ourselves as the refugees from Ravensfield, our voices filled with weariness and relief. The guards, after a brief moment of hesitation, allowed us to enter the city. The villagers were free to go, but we were detained for questioning. It was a long, tedious process, filled with paperwork and endless questions about our identities and origins. But hey, at least we were safe.   For now.   With the immediate threat neutralized, we gathered to discuss our next steps. It was a long list: transfer the prisoners, warn the knights about the dragon cult, find Robert Talespinner, and secure the dragon construct's remains. It was clear we couldn't do it all at once, so we split up. Alistan and Hayley headed to the headquarters of the Circle of the Long Table, while the rest of us prepared to deliver the prisoners to the Briar Ring. Alistan and Hayley returned, their faces a mixture of relief and frustration. The promised reinforcements had never arrived in Ravensfield, and we had not encountered any sign of them on our own journey. It seemed our knightly allies had dropped the ball on this one.   Meanwhile, we navigated the labyrinthine maze that led to the Briar Ring, a prison hidden deep within the Gloom. We were greeted by a rather grumpy-looking elf named Sileos, a jailor. After a brief explanation of our situation, complete with dramatic reenactments of the dragon-man attack, he agreed to take in our prisoners.   Sileos warned us that the Briar Ring would hold the prisoners for questioning, and if they turned out to be innocent, we would have some explaining to do (Well, Dadroz would, since we used his credentials). With that, he handed us a key and pointed us in the direction of the cells.   Exhausted but relieved, we left the Briar Ring, the weight of our responsibilities slightly lessened. The quest ahead was still long and uncertain, but at least we had made some progress. And as for the missing cultist champion, our good friend Robert? Well, that was a mystery for another day. For now, we needed sleep. Lots of sleep.   Exhausted but relieved, we returned to our lodgings. As we were nursing our wounds (both physical and emotional), all of us discovered a rather fancy-looking invitation. It was an invitation to a ball, hosted by the representatives of Velora Morenthene to celebrate the opening of their new embassy. Excitement bubbled up within us, but a tinge of caution crept in. After all, whenever the Fenhunter does a public move, the dragon-cult is sure to follow.   The next morning, we sought out Feyris, the innkeeper, to inquire about Robert Talespinner's whereabouts. He confirmed that Robert still had a room at Erna's Wish, but hadn't been seen in a few days. A chill ran down my spine. Something wasn't right.   We acquired the key to Robert's room and ascended the creaky staircase. As we approached the door, a sense of foreboding washed over us. Dadroz, with his uncanny ability to spot trouble, noticed something amiss about the door. A trap, he warned. With a deft touch, he disarmed the mechanism, saving us from a potentially explosive encounter.   The door creaked open, revealing a darkness that seemed to swallow the light. We stepped into the unknown, our hearts pounding in anticipation.

Battle at the Burning Village
17th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We stood there, gaping at the mysterious figure hovering above us like a particularly dramatic cloud. The rider, clad in shimmering gold armor, stared down at us with a mix of arrogance and… well, let's call it "intense determination."   A moment of stunned silence passed, broken only by the soft rustle of wind through the trees and the distant squawk of a particularly confused crow. We were all looking a bit worse for wear, thanks to our encounter with the dragon-men. So Hayley rummaged through her bag and pulled out a collection of healing potions. With a practiced hand, she administered a dose to each of us, a welcome respite from the adrenaline rush.   The rider finally broke the silence, his voice booming down like a thunderclap. "Are you knights of the Circles of Keralon?" he demanded. He explained that he was here for revenge, a payback for our interference at Hollowhill. And to top it off, he had plans to raze Ravensfield to the ground.   The nerve of this guy! He even had the audacity to offer us a "generous" ultimatum: evacuate the village by tomorrow or face annihilation here and there. And if we tried to protect the villagers, he'd bring an army to finish the job. Talk about a power trip!   After a moment of stunned silence, he soared into the sky, disappearing over the horizon. We were left standing in the middle of the village, staring at the spot where he'd vanished, our minds racing.   Twenty-four hours to evacuate the village? That was barely enough time to say goodbye to our favorite sunbathing spot! And facing an unknown army? Not exactly our idea of a relaxing afternoon.   Okay, diary, after that encounter, we officially entered "chaos mode." The news of an impending demon-dragon-cult invasion wasn't exactly met with cheers and applause.   Hayley took charge. She became a masterclass in multitasking if I've ever seen one. First stop: the village mayor, to break the news of our impending doom (a delicate conversation, I'm sure). Next, a visit to Dan, the consortium boss, to inform him of the situation and enlist his help in organizing the evacuation.   Hayley explained the situation, emphasizing the villagers' innocence in our little demon dragon cult debacle. Thankfully, both the mayor and Dan understood the gravity of the situation. Carts, wagons, and any beast of burden they could find were quickly pressed into service. People started packing their belongings, a mix of panic and determination filling the air.   In the midst of the chaos, Zem and Sapphira appeared, their faces etched with concern. They offered their help, eager to be part of the action. Gael suggested they escort our captured cultists to Keralon. It was a risky mission, but with Zem and Sapphira's combined skills, they were our best bet.   The problem of Reynis loomed large. Sending him with the villagers was too dangerous, but leaving him behind seemed like a death sentence. He surprised us all by volunteering to stay and fight. "I'm done hiding," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "I want to face this." He even accepted an offer to ride Thorin if need be, despite his lack of equestrian experience.   Gael stepped forward with a plan that was equal parts brilliant and slightly pyromaniac. He suggested fortifying the barn, turning it into a death trap for any incoming dragon-men. We'd fill it with flammable materials, lure them in, and then set the whole thing ablaze. A risky plan, sure, but when you're facing down a dragon-riding army, desperate times call for desperate measures.   Hayley took the plan to the next level. "Let's not just burn down the barn," she suggested with a glint in her eye, "let's burn down the entire village!" It was a drastic measure, but she had a point – if we didn't burn it down, the cult would.   With a plan in place, we split up. Hayley and I transformed into amateur pyromaniacs, gathering flammable materials from every nook and cranny. The others focused on turning the village into a fortress, reinforcing the walls and setting up traps. Gael and Reynis, our resident outdoorsmen, took charge of the perimeter, setting up traps to slow down any advancing army.   Alistan decided to invest our hard-earned loot in some much-needed supplies. A trip to Dan's shop yielded a healthy supply of healing potions and spell scrolls – because who wants to face a dragon-riding army without a full health bar, right? We even managed to secure a sizable wealth of lamp oil – because what's a good village-burning plan without a little extra flair?   The morning dawned, heavy with anticipation. Gael handed out his magical berries, a small but comforting gesture. Hayley sent Fiachna out on reconnaissance duty, the little raven disappearing into the morning mist. We waited, a tense silence hanging in the air.   As the hours ticked by, my mind wandered to darker places. I couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. I found myself pondering the meaning of life, the universe, and everything, all while staring at a particularly stubborn knot in the floorboards. Was this how our grand adventure would end? A last stand against an incoming army might be the tale of heroes, but this wasn’t what I had in mind when I left Tarn all those years ago. I dreamed of epic tales, whirlwind romances and good triumphing over evil.   It was enough to have doubts cloud my mind. About how we were about to get slaughtered for defending an empty village that barely had a name a few months ago. But it is the right thing to do. These houses are people’s homes and they deserve to live their lives free from the tyranny of this cult. If that means I have to lay down my own life, so be it.   I thought about the idea of writing letters, to let my loved ones know what had transpired, but soon realized that I had no one to send it to. I haven’t spoken to my father since leaving Tarn, and have no desire to. Amarra is long gone, and she is probably better off not knowing what happened or else she might blame herself. I think neither Emily or Lyra, despite all the time we spent together, want to hear from me. And I have a terrible suspicion that Seraphine will be waiting for me to cross to the other side, which scares me more than death itself. So who is left? Feyris? We traveled together for a few days, but I wouldn’t call us close. Elsa? She seems more intent to focus on her own life now. The last letter I sent (not counting those to my sister) was probably a magical book for Anna in Rosebloom.   No, everyone who I care for in this world is right along with me, in Ravensfield. And that terrifies me more than anything else. It is up to me to make sure that they get out of this. I am not as powerful as I used to be, before Seraphine, but it is coming back more quickly in the last few days. If it is Arisia’s will that we all die here, then she will have to compete with my magic. I just need to seize every opportunity that I can to make sure that my friends make it out of here.   And if I do make it out of here, diary, I promise to make sure to put myself out there again. After all that had happened with Seraphine, I guess I had gotten scared of bad endings. But being confronted with it all ending like this, I realize I don’t want to end up alone. I have my friends, and I have my sister, but there needs to be more or else what will our legacy be?   My musings were interrupted by the frantic squawking of Fiachna, a clear sign that something was amiss. The little bird returned, bearing grim tidings – the enemy was approaching. A massive cloud of dust rose in the distance, a stark reminder of the impending battle.   The army, according to Fiachna, was a horrifying amalgamation of creatures – drakes, undead, and cultist hybrids. A veritable who's who of the demonic. Great. Just great.   And then it began. A swarm of dragonels, like angry wasps on steroids, descended upon the village. Their leader, the golden-armored rider, hovered menacingly above us. Alistan, with a level of coolness I could only aspire to, asked for his name. Turns out, the guy's name is Rayl. Quite the dramatic entrance, don't you think?   Rayl wasted no time getting to the point. He wanted us dead, preferably at his own hand. So to toy with us, he said that his army would stay back and that our first fight would be against him. He gave us a brief window of opportunity for our last words, but Gael just replied that we can just get this started.   We weren't about to go down without a fight. Reynis took the first shot, firing an arrow at the wyvern with surprising accuracy. I followed up with a well-placed firebolt, aiming for the beast's scaly hide. It dodged the worst of it, but the flames did a number on its otherwise pristine appearance.   The wyvern, clearly annoyed by our resistance, decided to take matters into its own claws. It lunged at Thorin and Alistan, its stinger aimed for the horse. A swift strike, and Thorin was down, Alistan tumbling unceremoniously to the ground! Undeterred, Alistan sprang back to his feet, a whirlwind of sword-wielding fury. I continued my pyrotechnics display, hoping to distract the wyvern while Alistan and the others dealt with the scaly menace. It was a chaotic dance of fire and steel, with a side order of dragon-related mayhem.   The battle was heating up, and I mean that quite literally. Rayl, the golden-armored rider, decided to turn up the heat by infusing his sword with flame. Alistan took the brunt of the attack. The flames licked at his armor, but thanks to his natural knightly resistance, he seemed mostly unharmed.   I decided to lend a hand (or rather, a magical one). I remembered the promise I made to keep my friends safe and manipulated fate itself to deflect the incoming attack. It was a risky move, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Unfortunately, my magic wasn't foolproof, and the sword still connected, albeit glancing off Alistan's armor.   Liliana, never one to miss an opportunity to show off her divine powers, stepped in to heal Alistan's wounds. Meanwhile, I unleashed a barrage of firebolts at the wyvern, hoping to distract it long enough for the others to regroup. The beast roared in pain, its scales sizzling under the fiery assault, before buckling and throwing Rayl to the ground.   Alistan seized the moment. With a powerful swing, he connected with Rayl's sword, sending it flying. The golden-armored rider was momentarily stunned, giving us a precious few seconds to regroup. And then, in a moment of pure magic, I managed to corner Rayl with a particularly well-placed fireball. Trapped between a wall of flame and the relentless attacks of our team, the golden-armored villain finally succumbed to the pressure, collapsing to the ground in a heap.   Victory! Or at least, a temporary victory.   A blast from a horn echoes through the village, the signal for the army to attack. We quickly retreated to the fortified barn, a last stand against the encroaching dragon-men and their undead minions. The air was thick with anticipation, a heady mix of adrenaline and soon the smell of burning wood. The approaching army was throwing torches unto the buildings, and were caught off guard by how flammable everything was. Ravensfield was turning into a giant bonfire, and I was starting to question my life choices.   As we pressed up against the barn, we noticed a group of draconids sneaking closer from the south. We readied our weapons and laid in wait for them to come closer. As we sported them turn the corner, I unleashed a ball of fire, aiming for the heart of the fray. It exploded in a satisfying burst of flames, scorching out a few of the smaller dragon-men. But the bigger threat was the leader, a particularly nasty-looking white draconid with an attitude problem.   Liliana and Alistan formed a formidable frontline, their swords flashing with every parry and strike. I provided magical support, launching firebolts and shielding spells whenever possible. Dadroz picked off the smaller threats from the sidelines.   Things took a turn for the worse when a particularly aggressive draconid decided to go for a ground attack. It burst through the flames, its claws outstretched, aiming straight for me. I dodged at the last second, feeling a cold shiver as its claws grazed my arm.   With my escape route cut off, I found myself trapped in a corner. The draconid, smelling blood (and the scent of fear), lunged at me. Just as its claws were about to make contact, I threw myself out of the way, landing with a painful thud on the ground.   Dodging, weaving, and burning things – it was becoming my new favorite pastime. I managed to evade the first swipe from the white draconid, but the second one connected with a satisfying crunch. My leg, now sporting a rather impressive bruise, was protesting loudly.   Just as I was starting to think I might become a human pincushion, I managed to land a lucky blow, and my flaming sphere enveloped the drake in a fiery embrace. It staggered back, giving me a precious moment to catch my breath. But the respite was short-lived. The white commander, sensing an opportunity, lunged at me. I rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding becoming a dragon-snack. My sister blurted out a spell, and the commander’s eyes glazed over as he closed in to finish me off. With little warning, he unfurled his large wings and took off into the sky.   The barn behind us was starting to look like a bonfire on steroids. Flames licked at the rafters, and the air was thick with smoke. It was time to evacuate. As we pulled back into the barn to escape the town, one of the drakes slithered up and lunged at me, its claws aimed for my vital organs. I felt its teeth sink into my flesh, a sharp pain shooting through my body. As I crumpled to the ground, I caught a glimpse of Gael rushing to my aid, a determined look in his eyes.   I woke up to the gentle ministrations of Gael, a berry being forced into my mouth. The world was a blur of smoke and fire, the battle raging outside. I got up as fast as I could and rushed through the barn to escape the blaring inferno, and just managed to stumble out as it collapsed behind me.   The dragon-men were retreating away from the village, their plans thwarted by our stubborn resistance. We watched as the commander flew away into the distance, leaving behind a smoking ruin. I spotted my sister keeping her concentration on the spell, and asked her how long she can keep it up. With a smile, she replied 8 hours.

The Determination of an Undead Kobold
16th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We emerged from the dusty depths of Hollowhill, with two prisoners in tow! We used our handy escape rope to climb out of that creepy hole. As we blinked in the sunlight, Reynis materialized from the nearby bushes – talk about perfect timing! Apparently, four or five hours underground feels like an eternity when you're waiting on a bunch of adventurers who keep getting sidetracked by cultists and dragon skulls.   We filled him in on our findings – the altar that cursed him, the lack of magic on our end to reverse it (curse these beginner spells!), and the scroll option (gotta find someone with good penmanship, those things can be pricey!). We also had sent word to Keralon before – so reinforcements might be on their way, hopefully with a high-level magic user? Fingers crossed!   Night was approaching, and with Reynis still cursed, we needed a plan (and some strong coffee). Here's the thing – his monstrous form can teleport through shadows, which is kind of a party foul when you're trying to keep him contained. Brainstorming session commenced!   Thankfully, Alistan, our resident knight-in-shining-armor (and apparently an expert in livestock restraint), found some sturdy manacles at the general store. They weren't exactly high fashion, but hopefully they'd do the trick for our temporary dragon-man friend.   We handed over our two cultist prisoners to Zem and Saphira – those two can handle some guard duty. Dadroz also volunteered to stay behind and keep an eye on the cultists, which made me more comfortable with the situation as I have no doubt that Dadroz’ swift reflexes would knock them back out before they had a chance to stir.   We headed to Reynis’ former camp and got comfortable. Then came the not-so-fun part – Reynis' transformation. When he started to change, we unleashed everything in our magical arsenal (firebolts, divine fury, the whole shebang), but it wasn't enough to knock out the beastly form. With a roar that could shake a mountain, it burst through the chains like they were made of paper. Oops.   Time for round two! We went all-out assault again, this time with more success. Thankfully, we managed to subdue the beast before it could turn the nearby forest into its personal stomping ground. Phew!   The beast reverted back to Reynis, so we decided to head back to Ravensfield. With him (hopefully) under control and the cultists safely detained, at least we could get some sleep (and maybe a celebratory pastry – adventuring is hungry work!). However when we arrived back, our cultist prisoners, bless their unfortunate souls, had woken up in the meantime.   Liliana greeted them with a chipper "good morning!" This, of course, sparked a hilarious debate between her and Alistan about the proper etiquette for waking up grumpy, dungeon-dwelling cultists. Let's just say "good morning" wasn't on the list.   Our prisoners, unsurprisingly, remained silent. The "professor," as we'd learned, wore a permanent scowl that could curdle milk. Liliana decided to try and reason with him (bless her heart). Her attempt to denounce his work only elicited a smug smirk from the professor – not exactly the warm and fuzzy response we were hoping for.   Hayley took a different approach. She delved into the professor's mind, a mental spelunking expedition if you will. Turns out, the guy was scared – terrified, actually. He fully expected to be toast (metaphorically speaking, of course).   Alistan cut to the chase. He demanded answers about Fezzir's goals. The professor, however, remained tight-lipped. But Hayley, with a mental nudge deeper into his thoughts, revealed a juicy tidbit – he'd been tasked with creating a ritual to turn people into dragons!   The professor, realizing Hayley could crack his mental vault like a particularly easy nut, finally spilled the beans. He justified his creepy experiments by claiming they were necessary sacrifices for the "greater good" – yeah, right. Apparently, they envisioned themselves and their sacrifices being celebrated as heroes after their dragonic transformation. Talk about a warped sense of heroism!   Gael questioned their logic. Why turn people into dragons? Apparently, the professor believed humans were weak and frail, while ancient creatures like dragons were strong. His solution? Become dragons ourselves, of course! Talk about a superiority complex on steroids.   They believed they were entitled to power, that it could only be seized, not earned. Apparently, in their twisted worldview, power could only be stolen from gods or fairies. Liliana tried to argue that people could grow in power themselves, but the professor scoffed at the notion.   Alistan asked why they were kidnapping people instead of using their own cultist buddies. The professor, the pragmatist (in his own twisted way), explained that cultists were needed for "menial labor" – not exactly a glamorous job description.   I chimed in. I asked about their long-term plan – what happened after everyone became a dragon? The professor, with a maniacal gleam in his eye, explained that once they were all dragons, they'd be unstoppable! No equals, just pure domination! World domination by dragon-people, you see? Not exactly the bedtime story we were hoping for.   Hayley pushed for more information. Sadly, the professor didn't know the location of the Keralon base or Fezzir's hideout.   I decided to press the professor about the champion they sent to Keralon. What did this mysterious figure look like? The professor, however, slammed his mouth shut faster than a clam at high tide. Hayley, maybe a little addicted to mind-reading at this point, stepped forward.   The professor, in a desperate attempt to keep his secrets, did something truly bizarre. He bit down on his own tongue and SPIT IT OUT! Talk about a commitment to silence! Liliana, probably the only one of us with a decent stomach, rushed forward with a healing spell. Thankfully, the bleeding stopped, but the poor guy's tongue remained firmly detached.   Let's just say that incident put a damper on the interrogation for a bit. We stared at the professor, who sported a rather unsettling bloody grin, and the severed tongue on the floor. It wasn't exactly the image we were going for.   The other cultist prisoner, who up until now had been wisely keeping his mouth shut, turned a rather interesting shade of green at the sight. Suddenly, he started waving his hands frantically, clearly eager to talk. Seems like the professor's little display of "tongue fu" had him rethinking his silence.   He offered a description of the champion in exchange for his freedom – a tempting offer, considering the whole "missing tongue" thing had put a screeching halt to our interrogation with the professor. Alistan shut that down faster than you can say "prisoner swap." Making deals with kidnappers and murderers? Not on his watch.   Liliana tried a different approach. She suggested we could put in a good word for the chatty cultist, maybe get him a lighter sentence. But the guy, wasn't buying it. Apparently, in his mind, a lighter sentence still meant a death sentence. So, with a heavy sigh (and maybe a touch of disappointment – who wouldn't want to hear all about this champion?), we decided against letting the guy go. Back in went the gag.   After the interrogation shenanigans, we decided to call it a night. Watches were set, and dreams of comfy beds and delicious breakfasts filled our heads (well, most of our heads – Liliana probably dreamt of smiting evil and Alistan likely dreamt of perfectly executed battle strategies).   The problem of Reynis's curse still loomed large, though. We needed a solution, and fast. Our quest for a "scroll of polymorph" led us to Dan, the friendly (and now barn-owning) Consortium leader.   With a hopeful glint in my eye, I inquired about the spell. Dan disappeared into his inventory (which, thanks to recent deliveries, was overflowing). Sadly, the scroll we needed wasn't in stock.   But Dan wasn't one to give up easily. He offered a suggestion, albeit with a touch of hesitation (probably worried we'd think less of him for it). Turns out, Dan wasn't always a traveling merchant – he used to be a Ravensfielder himself!   The solution he proposed was… unconventional, to say the least. Apparently, there was a dead tree on the outskirts of town, a place where criminals used to meet their untimely demise (not exactly a cheerful historical landmark). A path lined with peculiar mushrooms led from the tree to some standing stones etched with mysterious runes. In the center sat a bowl – a rather ominous centerpiece, if you ask me.   The real kicker? You then had to offer a sacrifice – a chicken would do. Then, a hag would appear (delightful!). And this delightful hag, according to Dan, might be able to help us with a spell scroll (although, knowing hags, it wouldn't exactly be a bargain).   I relayed this information back to the others, who, unsurprisingly, weren't exactly thrilled with the idea of bartering with a swamp-dwelling hag. Chicken sacrifices? Standing stones? It all sounded a bit too "evil fey deals" for their taste.   Hayley, however, ever the determined one, decided to take another crack at the professor's mind. This time, she managed to glean a juicy detail – the champion they sent to Keralon was a young man with a penchant for flamboyant hairstyles and a wardrobe dominated by the color red (shocking, I know, for a group of cultists).   The surprise? This champion also sported a rather fetching red hat, complete with red plumes. Alistan, with a sigh that could deflate a dragon, recognized the description all too well. It matched our bardic friend, Robert Talespinner, perfectly. His penchant for disappearing acts and fascination with dragons suddenly made a whole lot more sense.   Just when we thought things might settle down in Ravensfield, all hell broke loose. Shouts and screams erupted from outside, shattering the evening tranquility. We bolted out of the house, adrenaline surging through our veins like a bad case of the hiccups.   Alistan and Liliana, the picture of efficiency, wasted no time. With a synchronized leap, Liliana landed on Alistan's trusty steed, Thorin, and off they charged towards the heart of the village, Alistan urging the horse forward with a determined yell.   The scene that greeted us was pure chaos. Creatures unlike anything we'd ever encountered lumbered through the streets – part human, part dragon, and radiating a seriously creepy vibe. Mixed in with this unsettling menagerie were zombie kobolds – yes, you read that right, undead kobolds! It was like someone had unleashed a particularly nasty horror play in the middle of our peaceful village. The demon dragon cult, clearly, wasn't playing around.   Gael didn't miss a beat. Even mid-run, he managed to nock an arrow with impressive dexterity and launched it towards one of the larger creatures. Unfortunately, the distance proved challenging, and the arrow sailed harmlessly past its target.   Taking a deep breath, I channeled my inner fire mage and unleashed a flaming orb on one of the smaller kobolds. The creature shrieked as the flames engulfed its flesh, a gruesome but necessary measure. My sister summoned a circle of sharp spikes that materialized right in the middle of the square, catching some of the advancing creatures by surprise.   The remaining dragon-men (can we officially call them that now, diary?) roared and charged towards us, their movements a grotesque mix of human and reptilian. Dadroz wasted no time – an arrow found its mark, sending one of the zombie kobolds back to its final dirt nap.   Alistan and Liliana, a fearsome mounted duo, charged into the fray. Liliana unleashed a barrage of fey magic bolts, while Alistan directed Thorin, his trusty steed, to plow through the zombie horde. Liliana, with a graceful leap, dismounted and dispatched a zombie with a single, well-placed strike. Alistan, meanwhile, became a whirlwind of steel, knocking weapons from the grasp of the remaining creatures and leaving a trail of fallen zombies in his wake. Thorin, proving himself a valuable member of the team, stomped one of the unfortunate kobold zombies into dust, adding a touch of equine brutality to the fight.   The battle raged on, a chaotic whirlwind of claws, fangs, and desperate spells. Just when we thought we were gaining the upper hand, a hulking brute of a creature emerged from behind a house, its gaze fixated on Dadroz.   Dadroz, bless his quick reflexes, dove into the nearest bush like a startled rabbit – stealth mode activated! A heartbeat later, an arrow whizzed from the bush, lodging itself deep in the creature's shoulder. The brute let out a roar that could curdle milk, then proceeded to do something truly disgusting – it SPIT ACID!   Dadroz, despite his valiant bush-diving maneuver, wasn't entirely spared. The acid splashed across him, eliciting a whimper that would have made a wounded puppy proud.   Meanwhile, I decided to unleash a little firestorm on the remaining zombie kobolds. The flaming sphere roared back to life, engulfing the creatures in a fiery inferno. Just to be sure, I tossed in a few extra firebolts for good measure.   But these weren't your average zombies, diary. They were the persistent kind – the kind who kept shambling forward even while engulfed in flames. It was like trying to extinguish a particularly stubborn campfire.   There was one kobold in particular who deserves a special mention in the "Most Determined Undead Creature" award category. This little guy was burned, pummeled, trampled, and generally poked and prodded, but it just wouldn't stay down! It was only when Gael, with a sigh and a perfectly aimed arrow, finally put the poor thing out of its misery that the rest of us could breathe a sigh of relief. Talk about a relentless foe!   With the immediate threat neutralized, we turned our attention to the source of these unholy creatures. Following a trail of suspicious footprints that led out of the village and into the forest, we were suddenly ambushed… from above! Four dragonels, each a miniature dragon with a rider perched on its back, swooped down from the sky, claws bared and swords flashing.   Luckily, I have a sixth sense for impending decapitation (a valuable skill in this line of work!). Spotting a shimmering sword hurtling towards my head, I channeled my magical mojo and twisted fate itself. Suddenly, I was standing a few feet to the side, narrowly avoiding a gruesome haircut. The dragonelrider, however, wasn't so lucky. Their attack went horribly wrong, their sword flailing harmlessly through the air.   This close call, however, wasn't without its consequences. The dragonel, annoyed at having missed its target, raked its claws down my back, leaving a stinging trail of fury and minor dragon-scratchies.   But these dragon-riding fiends weren't finished yet. They circled back, their swords glinting menacingly in the fading light. This time, however, I wasn't so lucky. Just as I braced myself for another attack, a sword sliced through the air, carving a painful wound on my arm.   Desperation fueling my steps, I scrambled for the nearest building, bursting through the door with a dramatic (and slightly undignified) crash. Once inside, I slammed the door shut, heart pounding like a drum solo.   A quick peek through the back window revealed a scout plummeting from the sky, courtesy of a well-placed arrow from Dadroz (seriously, the man is a hidden sharpshooting gem!). Through the front window, I saw Liliana and Alistan battling the dragonriders with fierce determination. Unfortunately, the dragonels' agility made them elusive targets, swords flashing past them as they dodged and weaved.   My poor sister even took a hit from one of the dragonels, adding insult to injury. This wasn't looking good, diary. Trapped indoors, wounded, and with my companions facing aerial assaults… what was a brave adventurer to do?   Feeling trapped and more than a little singed, I burst out of the house, vengeance fueling my every move. A flaming missile streaked towards the rider who dared to harm my sister, leaving them with a nasty burn – payback for messing with a mage's sibling!   My little show of offensive magic, however, did provide a much-needed distraction. Seizing the opportunity, Hayley scrambled towards the house, dodging sharp claws and gnashing teeth like a seasoned pro. She burst through the door, gasping for breath and sporting a few new "battle souvenirs" – namely, some rather nasty scratches.   Meanwhile, outside, the battle raged on. One particularly grumpy dragonel, freed from its rider thanks to Dadroz's impressive archery skills, landed right in front of Liliana and Alistan. Claws lashed out and the scene became a chaotic dance of dodge, block, and counter-attack.   Just as things seemed to be reaching a critical point, disaster struck! The dragonel, with a swipe of its razor-sharp claws, ripped open a gash on poor Thorin's throat. The valiant steed let out a whinny of pain, buckled, and sent Alistan tumbling to the ground.   Seeing this, I knew I had to act fast and ran back out again. Another barrage of magic missiles erupted from my fingertips, finding their mark on one of the remaining scouts. Gael did the same, sending the other scout to meet his fiery demise. Satisfied with my contribution, I fled back in to the safety of the house. (Don’t judge me, diary. Liliana and Alistan were fighting in full-on armor, meanwhile I am fighting in a *robe* that has trouble holding itself together on a good day.)   The riderless dragonels, free from their aerial masters, landed with ferocious growls, ready to unleash their own brand of claw-and-fang fury. One particularly grumpy beast focused its attention on the house where Liliana and I were hiding. With a terrifying roar, it launched itself at the door, its claws tearing into the wood like a particularly enthusiastic paper shredder.   Desperate to keep it at bay, I summoned a flaming sphere, hoping to deter its advance. It worked – the dragonel recoiled from the fiery barrier, its reptilian eyes filled with a healthy dose of fear.   Feeling like a cornered rat, I raced around the house, desperately searching for a better position. Just as I rounded a corner, a sound sliced through the air – a booming horn call that echoed through the twilight sky.   We all looked up, and there it was – a majestic wyvern, a two-legged dragon with leathery wings, soaring above us. Perched on its back sat a figure clad in shimmering golden armor. Friend or foe? It was too early to tell.   The arrival of this mysterious dragon-rider had definitely put a pause on the battle. The dragonels, sensing a shift in power, beat hasty retreats, soaring back into the sky.   We were left with a battlefield littered with the aftermath of the fight, our own wounds a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Liliana, our strongest fighter, looked particularly worse for wear, I don’t know if we can still count on her in the next few hours. One thing's for sure, diary – if another fight breaks out, we might be in some serious trouble…

Dragon Bones in the Dark
15th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

The morning sun greeted us with a gentle warmth, casting a hopeful light on our situation. Reynis, thankfully, had remained human during what was left of the night, his monstrous alter ego seemingly taking a well-deserved nap.   With renewed purpose, we packed our bags and set off for Hollowhill. This ancient tomb, now suspected to be a secret hideout for those pesky demon-dragon cultists, held the key to Reynis' curse and, perhaps, the key to stopping their nefarious plans.   Gael and Hayley led the way through the dense forest, their noses practically glued to the ground like particularly enthusiastic hounds. After what felt like hours of navigating tangled undergrowth and swatting away overzealous insects, a sight materialized in the distance – a lone hill, proudly bald amongst the sea of trees.   As we approached, a faint outline of a stairs leading up the slope emerged. Reaching the top, we were met with a collection of rubble, a testament to some long-forgotten structure. A broken elven statue, its graceful form now marred by shattered pieces, stood as a silent guardian.   In the center of the rubble, we found a gaping hole. A low stone wall encircled its perimeter, hinting at a descent into the earth below. Liliana announced that her darkvision revealed remnants of winding stairs leading deep into this dark chasm.   Tying our ropes together, we created a makeshift lifeline. Alistan, weighed down by his ever-present armor, and Dadroz, the epitome of caution, descended with the grace of particularly slow snails.   As we went deeper into the earth, a faint glow emanated from below, promising (or perhaps threatening) a hidden chamber. Finally, we reached the bottom, our feet landing on a surprisingly solid surface.   Before us lay a circular room, illuminated by flickering torches. Four imposing doors, each bearing a faint resemblance to those found in tombs, guarded the room's exits. They bore no markings, offering no clues to their destination.   Despite the dust and the undeniable tomb-like atmosphere, the chamber was surprisingly well-maintained. Torches flickered on the walls, casting an eerie orange glow. The distinct lack of cobwebs and a general sense of order left one undeniable conclusion – someone, or something, was living down here.   We descended into the heart of Hollowhill, a sense of foreboding growing with each step. Dadroz took point, carefully checking the ominous doors for traps. His vigilance was rewarded (or maybe not) when he discovered a nasty-looking poison dart cleverly hidden on one of the doors. His attempt at disarming it was, shall we say, less than successful. Thankfully, his reflexes were on point, allowing him to yank his hand back just as the needle snapped forward.   The remaining doors seemed less enthusiastic about impromptu acupuncture sessions, so we opted for one that wasn't actively trying to kill us. Dadroz managed to swiftly unlock the door with such speed that we weren’t sure if the door was even locked in the first place.   The scene that greeted us behind the door was not for the faint of heart. The chamber was a twisted mockery of a holy space, converted into a macabre ritual room. An altar, stained a worrying shade of crimson, bore draconic symbols that sent shivers down my spine. Skulls and severed heads adorned the walls like grotesque trophies.   A figure was visible among the shadows – a bald man, nose buried in a dusty tome. He looked up, startled by the light filtering through the doorway. Before he could utter a single word (probably something along the lines of "Intruders!"), Dadroz lodged an arrow deep in his shoulder.   The bald man, his scream echoing through the chamber, unleashed a massive fireball. A nostalgic pang shot through me – a reminder of the fiery magic I once wielded with such ease. Thankfully, his attempt at fiery obliteration seemed…lackluster, compared to my past pyrotechnics. We all managed to scramble to safety, singed but (mostly) unharmed.   Liliana, channeling her inner fey warrior, launched a magical blast at the man, but it merely grazed him. Hayley conjured a forest of spikes, momentarily hindering the movement of the cultist and a stone guardian that had sprung to life by his side.   Seizing the opportunity, Gael let loose an arrow, finding its mark on the golem's rocky hide. Feeling the heat of the battle, I summoned a flaming sphere, positioning it strategically near the bald man. A satisfying sizzle filled the air as the flames licked at his side.   The stone guardian, seemingly unfazed by Hayley's spiky welcome mat, lumbered forward and delivered a mighty punch to Liliana, sending her sprawling. Alistan rushed to his sister's aid, the two forming a temporary barricade against the golem's relentless advance.   Meanwhile, the bald man, sporting a burnt arm courtesy of my fiery intervention, found his voice again. Another fireball erupted from his hands, this time packing a bit more punch. Thanks to my flame-mage training, I managed to absorb most of the impact, but the rest of the team nursed some nasty burn wounds. Alistan might even have lost an eyebrow in the fiery blast.   The battle raged on, a chaotic ballet of spells, arrows, and a surprisingly resilient golem. Sensing the need for a decisive move, Liliana grabbed her sword and sliced the stone guardian to pieces with a single hit in a display of impressive swordsmanship.   "Surrender," she demanded of the bald mage, her brother Alistan flanking her for added emphasis. Just to hammer home the point, I lobbed a frostbite spell above his head, followed by a well-placed flaming sphere for good measure (gotta keep the branding consistent, right?).   Suddenly, a shout of warning from Gael pierced the air. It seemed our elven friend had spotted reinforcements arriving through another door, an observation promptly confirmed by a barrage of dark magic conjuring some very unpleasant-looking shadowy weapons.   The mage, desperate to save his skin (or at least what was left of it after my fiery intervention), muttered some cryptic words. Alistan, poor guy, went rigid, temporarily frozen by the mage's spell. Thankfully, my flaming sphere wasn't discriminatory – it continued to singe the mage's robes even as Liliana launched an eldritch bolt at his face. The combined assault seemed to do the trick – the mage shook his head, his face a mask of pain and fury, as Alistan thawed out next to him.   Hayley announced that more cultist goons were piling in. These two, unlike their weakened leader, seemed fresh and eager for a fight. Thankfully, their dark magic was as shoddy as their fashion sense – both their shadowy weapons missed their mark (Dadroz and Gael, take a bow!).   The battle transformed into a chaotic melee. I continued my personal vendetta against the bald mage, while Alistan, seizing his opportunity, landed a well-placed pommel strike to the head, knocking the mage unconscious. Job well done, Alistan!   Turning our attention to the newly arrived reinforcements, I yelped as a dark weapon grazed my ear. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor (at least for the moment), I retreated around the corner, launching magical bolts behind me like a fiery, retreating gremlin.   Around the corner, I watched as Alistan, channeling his inner knight in shining armor, charged into the fray. He managed to disarm one of the cultists, causing them to drop their very menacing-looking dagger. Hayley, joining the fight, cast a spell that warmed my fire-loving heart – her very own firebolt! Take that, cultists! With it, she managed to finish off one of the goons in a blaze of glory.   Meanwhile, Liliana and Alistan held the remaining cultists at bay, while Dadroz patiently picked them off one by one from afar. It wasn't long before the last cultist crumpled to the floor, joining his comrades in the great cultist nap in the sky.   With a sigh of relief, I approached the altar, drawn by the pulsating runes. Studying them closely, I realized they were imbued with dark magic, their purpose seeming to twist humanoids into draconic creatures. Yikes!   Alistan chimed in with a remark about having "two copper pieces" now – one for each time he'd encountered a cult trying to turn people into dragons.   As I kept studying the runes, it dawned on me that I could use the altar to reverse the curse that had been placed on Reynis. But darn it, I needed a "polymorph" spell to fully reverse the curse, a spell that was on the edge of my power back when I was at my peak. It seemed so far away now.   Looting the unconscious mage (hey, gotta finance future adventuring gear!), we found a key (score!) and, even better, his spellbook! It was like a magical Christmas morning – familiar fire spell runes, the intriguing mysteries of "hold person" and "knock," and… a basic polymorph spell! Perhaps there might be a way to convert the description held within the spell book into something that I could even with my limited power.   With newfound motivation (and a spellbook to pore over later), we unlocked the northern door, revealing an old tomb converted into a cultist barracks. Not exactly a five-star vacation spot. We did find a suspiciously broken wall on one of the tombs – someone clearly wasn't respecting the dead here. Gael stumbled upon a beautiful statue of an Elven god – the protector of forests, according to Hayley. A quick prayer for the disturbed spirits later, we moved on.   The eastern door beckoned next. Key in hand (courtesy of our unconscious friend), we revealed a desecrated chapel. Dark runes adorned the walls, mocking the sacred space. New statues, depicting regular-looking humans, stood sentinel in the corners. There was also a circle in the middle of the room – never a good sign in these spooky places.   Hayley, with an edge of recklessness that I am not used to from her, stepped into the circle. Big mistake. The statues, fueled by dark magic, sprung to life. Time for round two!   I, channeling my inner pyromaniac, summoned my trusty flaming sphere and hurled it at one of the statues. Boom! Liliana, Alistan, and Dadroz, with a battle cry worthy of bards, charged the remaining statues. The clang of metal on stone echoed through the chamber as chip after chip flew off the statues.   These things were like slow-moving golems, thankfully. It gave me ample time to pepper them with magical bolts. The rest of the team weren't having much luck with their weapons – let's just say the statues weren't exactly known for their delicate constitutions.   Gael, managed to bring another one down with a well-placed arrow. Alistan, bless his brave (and slightly foolhardy) heart, charged into the fray, taking on a statue head-on. Liliana, channeling her inner warrior princess, delivered a final blow, shattering one of the statues into a million tiny pieces.   With teamwork (and a healthy dose of fire magic), we finally surrounded the last statue and pummeled it into submission. Whew! Talk about a workout.   After our lively statue smackdown, we caught our breath and tackled the desk in the desecrated chapel. Papers, glorious papers! We found blueprints and a collection of letters addressed to a mysterious "Professor" – our recently-unconscious mage friend, no doubt.   The letters themselves were a goldmine of intel. Apparently, they'd performed some dark ritual and crowned a champion (yikes!), who was then sent off to Keralon to further their nefarious cult plans. Most importantly, it seemed a valiant group of knights (that's us! - well, Hayley, Dadroz and Alistan, but we helped!) was a major thorn in their side, preventing them from meddling with the alliance between the Fenhunters and Keralon. Take that, cultists!   Returning to the main chamber, we discovered our bald buddy the mage had displayer-beast-ed his way out of his bonds and vanished. Good thing I snagged his spellbook before!   Gael, our tracker extraordinaire, sniffed out a hidden tunnel beneath a table. Picture a badger hole crossed with a particularly claustrophobic drainpipe. We also spotted tiny tracks – an invisible imp, perhaps? Ignoring the potential claustrophobia and imp-related shenanigans, we squeezed into the tunnel, following the mage's trail deeper underground.   The tunnel eventually opened into a vast cavern, so deep we couldn't even see the ceiling. Running the numbers of the distance traveled, we realized that we were under the very foundations of the village! A distant incline hinted at a possible exit, and a small underground lake added a touch of eeriness to the scene.   Liliana, cast light-up spells so we weren't navigating in complete darkness. And what did we find in the center of the cave? A pile of stones… that upon closer inspection turned out to be a giant dragon skeleton! And next to the bones was our old friend the bald cultist mage! Talk about a surprise houseguest.   Just as the bald mage started chanting over the skull (probably not a good sign), Gael knocked him out again with a swift blunted arrow. Crisis averted, at least for the moment.   We examined the skeleton, finding a few stray green scales. Just to be safe, we removed any lingering runes the mage had placed on it. Sadly, no dragon hoard in sight.   Gael and Dadroz discovered a massive crystal embedded in the wall, covered in vines like a neglected houseplant. It looked pretty damaged, with cracks crisscrossing its surface. They called me over for a closer look, but honestly, after the whole statue fight and imp-avoidance tunnel crawl, I needed a breather. Told them I'd be over in half an hour (gotta prioritize self-care, even in a dragon cave!).   While they waited, they spotted a shimmer – the invisible imp, back for round two! Luckily, Gael's arrow reflexes were on point, and the imp met its demise with a satisfying poof.   Finally, after a much-needed rest, I joined them at the crystal. Using my magic, I detected an aura of… well, magic! Specifically, abjuration and conjuration. After a bit of magical analysis , I concluded it was a protective crystal, deliberately hidden by the vines and dirt. It seemed like this crystal was blocking access to an unknown alternative entrance.   We then squeezed our way back through the claustrophobic tunnel, emerging back into the dusty ruin feeling like particularly dirty noodles. After that whole "dragon skull" incident, we decided to finish exploring the remaining doors. South was next on the list!   Using the handy-dandy key collection liberated from Mr. Bald Mage, we unlocked the door. Inside, we found another unfortunate statue of the old Elven god – seems these cultists weren't big on interior decorating.   There was another locked door in the room, leading to what appeared to be a storage room. Jackpot! We cracked it open, revealing a treasure trove of shiny objects – gold, enough art to rival a museum, and even a strange-looking armor worked from a very tough metal. Score!   Feeling flush with our newfound riches (and maybe a little greedy – hey, adventurers gotta get paid!), we moved on to the other side of the room. Another door, this one leading to a rather fancy tomb filled with… well, a whole lot of bones. Not exactly the most inviting place, but hey, we couldn't leave any unexplored nooks and crannies, right?   As brave Liliana stepped into the tomb, things got a bit… lively. The bones, as it turned out, weren't just decorative. They started twitching, then assembling themselves into horrifying skeletal creatures! One looked like a half-formed dragon, missing half its body but still sporting menacing claws. The other looked like a giant, lumbering man with a bull's skull for a head – not exactly the kind of dinner guest you'd invite for tea.   Liliana, channeling her inner paladin, unleashed a blast of divine fury at the dragon skeleton. It definitely took a hit, but that one remaining eye seemed to glare back at her with defiance. Time to bring on the heavy artillery! I summoned a flaming sphere, and launched it at the dragon. It slammed into the skeletal beast, leaving behind a trail of charred bone. Nasty, but effective.   Liliana, realizing direct confrontation might not be the best strategy, cast a magical shield around herself, deflecting the ferocious bites of the skeletal dragon. Dadroz let loose an arrow, but it whistled harmlessly through the rattling bones.   Alistan, seeing an opening, charged forward and struck the dragon in a critical weak spot. With a satisfying crack, the skeletal beast crumbled, its bony parts scattering across the floor. Take that, you creepy bone dragon!   The minotaur skeleton, meanwhile, lumbered towards Liliana, its horns glinting menacingly. Thankfully, my flaming attacks were doing their job, slowly roasting the bony monstrosity. Dadroz and Gael joined the fray, peppering it with arrows. The creature's movements became sluggish, the injuries taking its toll. Finally, with a final, decisive blow from Liliana, the minotaur skeleton crumbled, joining its dragon brethren in a pile of dust and bone.   Panting and slightly bleeding (but victorious!), we surveyed the carnage. Taking a closer look at the remaining bones, it became clear these weren't just any skeletons. They were a mishmash of different creatures, some of them looking suspiciously like the young draconics who had gone missing. Yikes. It seems these cultists were up to some seriously creepy experiments.   We collected any remaining valuables (gotta pay for therapy after all this) and exited the tomb, a little shaken but definitely richer (and maybe a touch traumatized).

The Terror of Ravensfield
13th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Well, the dust has settled after the whole "festival fiasco". Time to pack up our slightly singed robes and head north to Ravensfield, Hayley's stomping ground as the resident village witch. Apparently, strange happenings are afoot – missing items and animal attacks. Sounds like a typical Haulday for us, right?   Speaking of Hauldays, getting out of Keralon involved a healthy dose of nostalgia. We unearthed the trusty old cart that carried us on our first adventure all those years ago. Talk about a blast from the past! Hayley even managed to snag a draft horse to pull the cart, completing the whole "teenagers-moving-away-from-home" aesthetic.   Before we set off, Hayley gave Alistan and Gael a not-so-subtle nudge. Apparently, her Ravensfield companions fought on the opposite side during the Fenhunter war. Let's just say "awkward conversations" were to be avoided.   Our journey north was a peaceful affair. Keralon's bustling streets quickly gave way to a quiet, dusty road, snaking its way along the edge of the mysterious Lorewood. Lush green hills rolled by, the perfect backdrop for a relaxing (and thankfully monster-free) journey.   After three uneventful days, Ravensfield finally emerged from the rolling green hills. Unlike the sleepy village I remembered from my last visit (which must have been shortly after I got married with Lyra), a flurry of activity buzzed through the streets. People of all races – humans, dragonborn, even a couple of kobolds scurrying around with buckets – were working feverishly on a massive barn.   The scene resembled a chaotic beehive, with ropes straining and hammers pounding in a rhythmic symphony of construction. Overseeing the whole operation was a clipboard-wielding figure, a stranger neither Hayley nor I recognized. But we did spot Saphira, Hayley’s dragonborn friend waving to us from the roof.   Hayley flitted over to Bart, the village baker, with a friendly greeting. After some small talk about the Keralon festival, the conversation turned to the puzzling thefts plaguing Ravensfield. Apparently, loaves of bread were disappearing in broad daylight, but the coin collections were left untouched. Talk about picky thieves!   Bart recounted the tale of his missing bread, stolen while he was momentarily distracted in the back. Hayley, ever the resourceful witch (and, let's be honest, a little eager to sink her teeth into a juicy mystery), promised to investigate. We were then introduced as her trusty companions, ready to lend a hand (or, in Gael's case, a well-placed arrow).   The barn, Hayley learned, was being built by a group called the Restoration Society. Apparently, they were dedicated to rebuilding the war-torn countryside, and Ravensfield seemed like the perfect base of operations. More importantly, they offered good pay, a fact confirmed by Bart's enthusiastic nod towards the clipboard-wielding Dan, the man funding the whole construction project.   Not willing to waste too much time, we headed on. Soon enough, Hayley's cabin, nestled amidst the trees, greeted us like a familiar friend. Zem, her kobold companion, stood guard outside, his beady eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and mischief (knowing Zem, it was probably a healthy dose of both). As the one who sent the frantic letter, he seemed genuinely relieved to see us.   The cabin itself hadn't changed a bit. A large, welcoming room with a massive table, perfect for gatherings of all shapes and sizes. Zem, bless his resourceful heart, offered a steaming pot of tea and a plate of (admittedly slightly stale) biscuits. Apparently, Bart's recent commitment to barn construction had impacted the local pastry economy.   Without wasting any time, Hayley delved into the mystery that had been plaguing the village. Zem confirmed the thefts, adding that they seemed to occur around sunrise or early morning. The stolen items had shifted from survival gear to mostly food in recent days.   Liliana, suggested a fey creature might be the culprit. Alistan, the pragmatist of the group, inquired about any tracks. Zem described a large footprint, a bizarre hybrid of draconic and feline features. Apparently, Saphira and Zem couldn't agree on the creature's identity (shocking, I know).   Zem continued, detailing the creature's attacks on livestock and pets. Two unfortunate shepherds had also lost their lives in a sheep-related incident. Thankfully, that seemed to be the last major attack. However, the increasing frequency of tracks closer to the village had Zem worried.   Armed with a healthy dose of curiosity (and a slightly stale biscuit in my stomach), we followed Zem out of the village and towards the forest's edge. There, amidst the tall grass, Zem had marked off a section using sticks. In the center lay the culprit's calling card: a set of large, impressive footprints.   Gael and Hayley crouched down for a closer look. The tracks belonged to a massive creature, easily horse-sized or larger. It bore a resemblance to those of a drake, but with an unexpected twist – four toes instead of the usual three.   Gael confirmed it was unlike any creature he'd encountered. Liliana chimed in with the possibility of another construct, like the one we faced earlier.   With a determined glint in his eye, Gael wasted no time. He followed the tracks deeper into the forest, their age a testament to the passage of time. After an hour of navigating the dense woods, the trail abruptly vanished in a sun-dappled clearing. The prints seemed to meander back and forth, almost as if the creature were searching for something, or perhaps even engaged in a fight.   We scoured the clearing, finding nothing but a chilling reminder of the beast – a large, severed claw and a handful of glistening black scales.   Gael suggested a teleportation ability if it were a construct. My attempt at a quick tracking ritual proved fruitless, unsurprising considering the time elapsed.   Shifting gears, Gael inquired about the sheep attack, and Zem offered to guide him to the survivors. Alistan scooped up the claw and scales as evidence.   As we crossed the village, we encountered a group of wary shepherds clutching longbows. Zem introduced us, explaining Gael's desire to speak with the sheep who witnessed the attack.   The shepherds watched in amusement as Gael launched into a series of bleats and baas. The sheep, in turn, exploded into a flurry of excited bleating of their own. Apparently, the language barrier between Gael and the ovine kind was nonexistent.   Their conversation, however, proved mostly unhelpful. The sheep described a terrifying shadow, blood, claws, and something about spikes and a tail (not unlike the information we'd already gleaned). The shepherds, ever exasperated by their flock's lack of self-preservation, used the opportunity to vent their frustrations. They couldn't understand why the sheep insisted on wandering off in all directions.   Gael, acting as translator, relayed the sheep's simple but profound response: "A sheep will always follow its stomach, and only wander off when there's greener grass on the other side."   The shepherd sighed, muttering something about stubborn sheep and questionable intelligence.   Well, that was...enlightening.   With a clear night sky and a bright moon bathing the landscape in silver, Gael proposed a new plan: using the newly-constructed barn as a makeshift lookout tower. The beast seemed nocturnal, and a bird's-eye view might just give us the advantage we needed.   Back at the barn, the construction crew had called it a day. Dan, the overseer, was busy inspecting the finished work with a critical eye. Liliana, ever the social butterfly, introduced our ragtag group as adventurers from Keralon, investigating the recent thefts. Dan, to his credit, didn't bat an eyelid and wished us luck in our endeavors.   We then launched into our daring request: using the barn's roof as a lookout post. Thankfully, Dan (perhaps impressed by Liliana's charm) agreed, with a stern warning about falling off and not damaging the newly-built structure. He also mentioned having heard about Hayley's return, and that he wanted to have a chat with her sometime soon. After a brief farewell, Dan headed off for some well-deserved rest, leaving us to our stakeout preparations.   Zem volunteered to grab some food for the group. Hayley, with a mischievous glint in her eye, suggested he bring Saphira. Zem launched into a playful protest, insisting that he was planning to bring turkey for dinner and not Saphira. Hayley, undeterred, insisted on both. It seemed she wasn't giving up on her matchmaking attempts, no matter how many times I pointed out that Saphira wasn’t my type. Our personalities don’t match very well.   Moments later, Zem came rushing back, Saphira trailing behind with a basket in tow. Saphira's entrance was anything but graceful, thanks to Zem's enthusiastic "encouragement." Apparently, scaling the barn roof wasn't her idea of a good time. Hayley, ever the problem solver, lowered a rope, earning a flurry of complaints from the disgruntled dragonborn.   The reunion with Saphira and Zem was filled with their usual playful bickering, a blast from the past that took me back to our days chasing down Hector with Seraphine. It was good to see some things never changed.   As we settled in for our night watch, Hayley filled Saphira and Zem in on the details of our latest adventure – the missing eggs, the horrifying constructs, and the dark magic at play. They were both appalled by the atrocities committed against the draconic races.   Saphira brushed off the notion that the draconic nation couldn't handle it themselves. Hayley, however, pointed out the additional magical resources at the knight’s disposal. This led to a new revelation – Hayley's recent knighthood. Both Saphira and Zem seemed genuinely surprised (though Zem couldn't resist a jab at Hayley's "squishy" nature despite her knighthood).   Hayley recounted the events that led to her being knighted, leaving Saphira curious about the lack of a traditional lance and sword. This sparked a mini-rant about sexism in knightly equipment, with Sapphira accusing Alistan of receiving male-preferential treatment (which, considering he had indeed been just given his magical sword, wasn't entirely unfounded).   Nightfall draped itself over Ravensfield, casting long shadows and an unsettling silence. We took turns keeping watch, eyes peeled for any sign of our mysterious beast.   Just as I started to think my eyelids were permanently attached to each other, Gael nudged me awake. He pointed towards a dark shape flitting between the houses. Sleep instantly fled my bones, replaced by a jolt of adrenaline.   Gael inched closer to the figure. Hayley, taking no chances, sent her raven familiar on a reconnaissance mission. Unfortunately, the creature must have had a nose for trouble, because it caught a whiff of Gael's approach.   Hayley, with the grace of a frantic crow, yelled a warning. We scrambled off the roof, a flurry of limbs and barely suppressed yelps. Just as we rounded the corner, the scene unfolded before our bewildered eyes.   There next to Gael, perched on the roof like some kind of demented lizard-cat hybrid, was the creature we'd been chasing. It resembled a giant, brightly colored lion sculpted from living scales. Honestly, who even designs these things?   Liliana wasted no time. A bolt of magic arced through the air, catching the creature on its flank. Gael unleashed a volley of arrows from close range, dodging the beast's swipes with impressive agility. He then, in a display of impressive magic, turned into a wisp of mist and materialized next to us just as the creature swiped at empty air.   Hayley patched him up with a quick spell, while we gazed at the empty space where the creature had just been. Apparently, it had vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but an air of mystery.   So that was anticlimactic.   Left with no other option, we decided to follow the creature's tracks. They led us out of the village, a trail marred by a few specks of blood (thanks, Gael!). The tracks clearly belonged to a fleeing creature, and after a few hours of determined tracking, they reached another disheartening dead end.   Just as we were about to call it quits, a new set of tracks caught our eye – faint human footprints nestled between the large paw prints. Intrigued, we followed them, the trail leading us back towards the village.   We emerged into a clearing, where a small, abandoned tent stood amidst the tall grass. A burnt-out fire provided evidence of a recent occupant. Gael called out a greeting, assuring whoever it was that we meant no harm.   Tentatively, we approached the deserted campsite. Inside, we found a few bloodstained bandages, a bedroll, and some flint and steel. There were no personal belongings, no clues to the identity of the mysterious camper.   The rising sun cast long shadows across the clearing. It was clear our visitor had come and gone before dawn.   Okay, so hiding in the bushes wasn't exactly glamorous, but we had little other choice if we wanted to get to the bottom of the incidents. We staked ourselves out near the abandoned campsite, waiting for our mysterious visitor to return.   Just as boredom threatened to win, a figure emerged from the trees – a half-elf with a wary expression. They spotted us in a flash, but before they could make a run for it (or maybe turn into a giant monster, who knows?), Gael got creative. With a flick of his wrist, vines erupted from the ground, gently (but firmly) slowing our new friend down. Escape plans clearly foiled, they surrendered with a sigh of resignation.   We escorted them back to their campsite, Alistan making a valiant effort to juggle the stolen food and a healer's kit the half-elf had somehow managed to acquire. Introductions were made – Reynis, the half-elf, looking as relieved as we were confused.   Hayley explained our presence, mentioning both the thefts and the, ahem, "colorful" lion-lizard creature. Reynis, bless his nervous heart, practically flinched at the mention of the beast.   "You...you were the ones who I fought with last night?" he stammered, his eyes wide.   We assured him of our peaceful intentions (mostly peaceful, anyway), and Reynis, cautiously trusting, decided to spill the beans.   It seemed Reynis had quite a story, explaining how each night he changed into the creature. He'd tried everything – chains, locks, the whole shebang – to keep his nighttime transformations in check, but nothing worked.   To add insult to injury, he had no clue where he was or what year it was. Apparently, he had been taken from his home in the middle of the night and held deep underground for experiments, which wasn't conducive to a good sense of direction.   "Drybank," Reynis mumbled, piecing together fragments of his memory, "that's where I'm from… I was a hunter, living alone. Then… red cloaks with demon-dragon tattoos came and held me deep in the darkness…"   Gael's eyebrows shot up. Yep, those were definitely the same cultists we'd tangled with in Keralon. Not exactly a welcome reunion.   Reynis confessed to having no control over his nocturnal alter ego, and the guilt over the livestock he'd attacked gnawed at him. Gael assured him it wasn't his fault. He was just a pawn in someone else's twisted game.   So, with Reynis in tow (and a renewed determination to stop these creepy cultists), we decided to set up camp and keep an eye on him. Meanwhile, Hayley, with a mischievous glint in her eye, suggested Alistan write a letter to Keralon requesting backup.   "After all," she teased, "he's such good friends with Sir Donovan now."   Alistan grumbled about detecting a hint of jealousy in her voice. But hey, at least he agreed to write the letter.   We emerged from the forest, blinking in the sunlight, and stumbled upon Zem. Our tale of the guilt-ridden half-elf, Reynis, left him wide-eyed. True to form, Zem's solution to Reynis' nocturnal transformations involved a large bottle of "elf-calming whiskey." Hayley, ever the pragmatist (and a sucker for free booze), readily agreed (even though Zem, in classic Zem fashion, quickly backtracked on the "free" part).   Hayley decided to whip up a proper sleeping potion for Reynis. This meant a quick dash back to her cabin for supplies – a welcome break from the day's bizarre events.   While Hayley procured her potion-making tools, Zem, ever the helpful (and slightly smug) companion, volunteered to deliver the letters to Keralon. He couldn't resist a jab at Alistan, promising to "check his spelling so he can focus on his knightly brooding."   Hayley, having refueled on a healthy dose of sleep (and maybe a bit of leftover biscuit), decided to answer Dan's summons. He led her to a table strategically placed near the barn, offering her something to drink. Coffee, it seemed, was the new currency of influence in Ravensfield.   Dan, a man of few words but apparently a wealth of information, launched into a passionate explanation of the "Restoration Society." Hayley, ever the champion of a good cause (and a free cup of coffee), listened intently. Apparently, the society aimed to rebuild the war-torn north of Keralon, a region neglected in favor of the flashier (and safer) south and west.   Dan, sensing a potential ally, appealed to Hayley's influence. He wanted her to convince the village's merchants to join their cause. Hayley, touched by his dedication, agreed to put in a good word.   This "good word," it seemed, came with an additional reward – the Restoration Society's resources would be at Hayley's disposal if she helped them out. Hayley, my shrewd negotiator sister (and a woman who appreciated having options), readily agreed.   Meanwhile, back with Reynis, Gael had an unexpected encounter. A dryad, a creature of the forest, materialized from a nearby tree. Apparently, she had witnessed Reynis being taken from a place called Hollowhill, an ancient tomb nestled in a nearby hill (the name is a bit of a given away). When we returned to the camp, Gael filled us in.   With a plan cobbled together and a newfound sense of purpose (fueled by coffee and ambition), we settled in for the night. Our goal for the next day: investigate Hollowhill, the ancient tomb where Reynis's transformation seemingly began.   While we waited for nightfall to cloak the land in darkness, we brainstormed solutions to keep Reynis in check. My nimble fingers weaved spare materials into a chain necklace, just in case our "scaly friend" decided to take off on another midnight adventure.   Liliana, bless her nurturing heart, attempted to soothe Reynis with bedtime stories. The scene was comical – a ferocious (well, potentially ferocious) shapeshifter being lulled to sleep with tales of talking squirrels and enchanted mushrooms.   As the moon replaced the sun, casting its silvery light across the scene, the inevitable happened. With a series of bone-chilling cracks and a disturbing shift in skin tone (think midnight black), Reynis transformed.   There, before our bewildered eyes, stood the creature from the night before – a fearsome, brightly colored lion sculpted from living scales. Forget sleeping potions, Hayley!   Our carefully crafted plan went out the window quicker than a squirrel chased by a particularly motivated hawk. Liliana conjured fey hexes, entangling the beast with dark magic. I focused on slowing the creature down with my own set of spell.   Liliana, a whirlwind of determination, charged forward, blade crackling with magic, while Gael fired arrows like a one-man archer brigade. Alistan, bless his brave (and slightly foolhardy) heart, played the role of a glorified matador, dodging swipes and roars with surprising agility.   Chaos reigned as the battle unfolded. The creature, enraged by our interference, unleashed a blast of strange, luminous breath, catching Liliana and Alistan full in the face. It managed to knock them both unconscious in one explosion, leaving us in a dangerous situation.   Gael, ever the sharpshooter, managed to find a vulnerable spot, a well-placed arrow finding its mark. Hayley and I, wasting no time, focused our healing magic on our fallen comrades. Liliana, regaining consciousness with a groan, unleashed a burst of magic that finally subdued the beast.   With a sigh that would make a dragon jealous, the creature reverted back to Reynis, thankfully unconscious. We spent the rest of the night keeping watch, a little worse for wear but relieved that Reynis remained human (at least for now).   As the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, Reynis stirred awake. To our immense relief, he had remained unchanged the remainder of the night. Maybe the potion was taking its time, or maybe the night's battle had exhausted his transformation energy. Either way, we were grateful for a (relatively) peaceful night.                            

Festival Frenzy
10th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   Cairn Fussil. Gone. Reduced to smoldering rubble in a single, fiery night. Not exactly the morale booster a budding mage needs, but hey, such is the life of an adventurer, right? (Though a life with slightly less near-death experiences would be truly delightful.)   Back in the comforting embrace of Feyris' tavern, I sought solace in the familiar scent of ale and grilled meats. Surprisingly, the place was bustling – a stark contrast to the heavy silence that now clung to my heart. But duty called, and duty, in the form of dusty tomes and cryptic symbols, beckoned from my room upstairs.   Flaming Sphere – mastered! Now I can conjure a ball of fiery fury without setting my eyebrows ablaze (again). Comprehend Languages – finally cracked that one! No more deciphering cryptic Ignan riddles with a dictionary the size of an overweight gnome. Progress, I suppose.   Amarra's absence looms large. My mentor vanished into thin air (literally!). The weight of her expectations pressed down on me, a constant reminder of the unfinished quest and the knowledge I still yearned to acquire.   Anyway, enough moping. Town crier just announced a peace festival with the draconic army! Remember that time we snuck out of Keralon on that super-secret Hedgeknight mission? Yeah, that's how this whole thing started. Apparently, our little peace-brokering escapade (and Norgar's undeniable bromance with Alistan) actually worked! Gotta say, feeling pretty proud of ourselves right now.   The city's already buzzing with excitement. Banners are going up, merchants are flocking in, and the bards are probably sharpening their lutes as we speak. Sounds like things are going to get pretty lively around here. Maybe a little too lively for studying obscure magical texts. Looks like this mage is gonna have to trade in his dusty tomes for some festival fun (and maybe, just maybe, a chance encounter with some kind of fairytale maiden). Wish me luck, diary!   But just as we were about to melt into a pile of parties and festival treats, who waltzes in but Robert Talespinner himself! Turns out, our bard extraordinaire got swept up in the whole draconic army arrival thing. Poor guy, apparently, the city was a chaotic mess (though knowing Robert, he probably found a way to turn it into an epic tale by now). We spent the next few hours catching up, trading war stories. The man's even decided to extend his stay and rent a room next door!   Speaking of questionable, Robert also brought a letter for Hayley from Zem and Sapphira. My sister has been a whirlwind since we got back – apparently, being a noble knight comes with guard duty and all sorts of grown-up responsibilities. Meanwhile, Liliana's been slumming it in the taverns, reliving her "wild Feywild days" as she puts it. Me and Gael, on the other hand, decided to stick to the middle ground – a little exploration of the city's diverse nightlife, you know, for research purposes. Managed to snag some valuable contacts, a couple of merchants and the like – gotta build that network, right?   Speaking of Gael, the guy's got me worried. Five years alone in the woods seems to have taken its toll. I get that he's probably still mourning his stag mentor, Sylvesse (RIP, the majestic beast), but come on, a little companionship wouldn't hurt! Tried to set him up with some lovely ladies – your friendly neighborhood mage makes a fantastic wingman, if I do say so myself – but the guy wouldn't budge. All he wants to do is hang out with dusty old men in coffee bars, "building connections" with merchants and travelers. I mean, who chooses cigars over flirting? Maybe I should join Liliana on her next pub crawl – at least she knows how to have a good time!   The day of the dragonborn army's arrival dawned bright and bustling. The planned parade route snaked through the heart of Keralon, promising a spectacle unlike any other. We decided to snag a prime viewing spot – the roof of Erna's Wish!   The tavern itself was a different story. Even at the crack of dawn, the common room buzzed with pre-festival jitters. Feyris barely had a moment to spare, tossing us the key to the roof with a gruff "Keep it quiet up there, alright?" Apparently, a rooftop mosh pit wasn't part of the festivities.   Liliana and Alistan, bless their hearts, arrived laden with festival delights – a "dragon bun" (a suspiciously familiar pastry), "dragonfire elixirs" (hopefully fruit punch, not actual fire), and candied "dragon scales" (gummy bears, anyone?). Robert, the bard extraordinaire, joined us on the rooftop perch, and with fifteen minutes to spare, we eagerly awaited the spectacle.   A small contingent of dragonborn on drakes marked the approaching delegation. It was a far cry from an invading army that people had initially feared, more like the diplomatic envoy that people liked. Relief washed over me, quickly replaced by awe as the gate creaked open. Trumpets blared, and the procession began. Leading the way were none other than Norgar and Ragnar, looking every bit the powerful dragonborn in their fancy dragonscale armor.   The crowd erupted in cheers, a vibrant tapestry of flags and flowers dancing in the air. The knights, ever stoic, guided the procession forward, while Norgar and Ragnar acknowledged the well wishes with regal waves. Liliana, ever the show-off, used her flaming sword to grab their attention, earning a nod and a small bow from both.   Then, chaos erupted. As Norgar bowed, he lost his balance and tumbled spectacularly off his drake. The procession screeched to a halt, replaced by the sounds of frantic shouts and a flurry of arrows. Ragnar, with the reflexes of a seasoned warrior, leaped off his own drake and rushed to his adopted son's side. The knights whirled around, scanning the rooftops for threats. Panic rippled through the crowd, a stark contrast to the joyous cheers just moments before. We, frozen on the rooftop, could only watch in stunned silence as the dragonborn formed a protective circle around the fallen Norgar. Hayley, the quick thinker, dispatched Fiachna to Norgar's aid, while Liliana and her keen eyes spotted the would-be assassins on a nearby rooftop.   Gael, bless his elven reflexes, reacted like a bolt of lightning. Vines erupted from the rooftop, courtesy of his primal magic, entangling the assassins in a verdant prison. Liliana unleashed a hex on one of the attackers, followed by a wild magical bolt as she rushed into battle.   Alistan rallied us into action. He barked orders at Gael to keep the assassins pinned down while he launched himself with impressive agility to the next rooftop, closing the distance on one of the assailants. I joined the fray with a well-aimed firebolt, searing the assassin's leg just as he attempted to escape. Dadroz, never one to miss an opportunity, delivered a swift blow with a blunted arrow, sending the would-be killer sprawling.   On the opposite rooftop, a chilling sight emerged – an undead creature, its hands glowing with a sickly blue light. It launched a bolt of energy towards Alistan, striking him with a sickening thud. Alistan staggered, barely clinging to the edge of the building. The remaining assassins, seizing their chance, unleashed a barrage of arrows, but Alistan deflected them with his shield.   Hayley, with a witch's cunning, conjured a row of wicked spikes that erupted from the rooftop beneath the assassins' feet. Gael, not missing a beat, rained arrows down on them, finding his mark with a fierce strike. The assassins, trapped and desperate, writhed in pain.   Alistan, in a feat of stunning acrobatics that had Liliana cheering, navigated a taut washing line to confront the undead creature. Seeing the undead creature cornered, I summoned a flaming sphere, blocking its escape route and bathing it in an eerie orange glow. Alistan, fueled by both adrenaline and concern for his fallen dragonborn comrade, charged towards the creature.   The undead creature, sensing its imminent doom, tried to cast a spell, but its efforts were in vain. Alistan delivered a decisive blow, his sword finding its mark. I followed suit, crushing the creature with my flaming sphere, reducing it to a pile of smoldering embers.   The battle raged on multiple fronts. The assassins, trapped by Hayley's spikes, writhed in pain as Gael's arrows rained down. One, desperate for escape, managed to pull himself free, only to lose his footing on the washing line and plummet to his death.   Suddenly, a monstrous roar shattered the air. A giant Manticore, its wings casting a grotesque shadow, landed heavily on Erna's Wish! Panic surged through me as the creature swiped at Gael, who narrowly dodged, tumbling away with a gash on his arm. Liliana positioned herself between the Manticore and the rest of us, facing the beast head-on.   The fight with the remaining assassins and the undead creature had taken its toll, but we weren't about to give up. Alistan charged towards the Manticore, while Hayley's curses hampered the beast's movement. Liliana landed a glancing blow on the Manticore as it attempted to take flight. Dadroz, proving his worth once again, brought the creature down with a well-placed arrow, sending it crashing through Erna's Wish and causing a shower of roof tiles.   The adrenaline rush of the fight slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a chilling realization: the battle wasn't over yet. The sounds of clashing steel from the street below could still be heard across the rooftops. Several figures in dark robes, an unsettling echo of the traitorous guards we'd faced before, were locked in combat with the dragonborn.   Alistan noticed one of the robed figures breaking away after what appeared to be a successful pickpocket on the still-injured Norgar. With a shout, he took off in pursuit, Gael transforming into a wisp of mist right beside him, blurring into the crowd with practiced ease. Hayley, quick-thinking as ever, dispatched her raven, Fiachna, to track the fleeing figure.   Liliana and I unleashed a volley of magic after the thief, hoping to slow them down for our friends on the ground. Unfortunately, our spells found their mark a bit too late and he managed to get away. Alistan and Gael also lost sight of the thief in the bustling crowd, but Fiachna, Hayley's loyal raven, kept a watchful gaze, leading them back on the trail.   Dadroz joined the chase, though with a bit of delay after a few wrong turns. A tense ten minutes passed before Alistan and Gael finally cornered the thief in a deserted square. But their triumph was short-lived. Two more cultists, their faces hidden in shadows and daggers glinting in the waning sunlight, emerged from the periphery.   Hayley, experiencing the chase through Fiachna's eyes, relayed the scene to us. Apparently, Gael unleashed a barrage of thorny vines, attempting to restrict the cultists' movements. A fierce melee erupted, Alistan and Gael fending off the thieves while Dadroz, with practiced precision, skewered a surprised cultist with his rapier.   Then, everything turned sinister. Through Fiachna's eyes, Hayley saw one of the cultists mutter a chilling phrase in a language only she understood, "release the beast." One of the cultists flung open a nearby gate, revealing a horrifying monstrosity – a patchwork undead creature stitched together from the mismatched corpses of at least a dozen people. The sight, according to Hayley's description, was enough to curdle your blood.   Alistan lured the grotesque creature into Gael's existing vine trap. The ploy offered a temporary reprieve, allowing them to unleash a flurry of arrows. However, the arrows seemed to have little effect on the stitched-together monstrosity.   Desperate and losing ground, Alistan resorted to waving a lit torch at the creature. It recoiled momentarily, only to retaliate with a bone-crushing blow that sent Alistan sprawling, the air knocked out of his lungs.   Dadroz, realizing the gravity of the situation, sent me a frantic message. My reply was simple, yet urgent – run. This fight wasn't one for blades and arrows. It called for magic, and Liliana (who had been busy delivering the captured assassin to the city guards) was the closest one who could answer that call.   We sprinted through the crowded streets, fueled by a mix of fear and urgency. Reaching the scene just in time, we witnessed a chaotic tableau – the city guards, emboldened by Dadroz's arrival, had managed to hack the flesh golem into pieces. It wasn't a clean victory, but it was one nonetheless.   Just as we were catching our breath (and dodging nervous glances from the increasingly jumpy townsfolk), who waltzes in but Sir Donovan himself, knight of the prestigious Octagon Order. Apparently, twice the cultist attacks, twice our merry band gets tangled up in it. Seems a bit suspicious, even for Keralon.   Sir Donovan seemed more intrigued than suspicious. He did the whole "official inquiry" thing, which mostly involved listening to Alistan (knightly bragging mode: activated) recount the epic takedown of the flesh golem, and Liliana (dramatic paladin mode: engaged) describe the terrifying Manticore encounter. Hearing it all put together, the traitor’s monster collection is as eclectic as Feyris's bar clientele.   On the bright side, the captured assassins sported the same nifty tattoo as the previous bunch, solidifying our theory of these guys being major Fenhunter-haters. Sir Donovan agreed, though he found their attempt to assassinate the dragonborn delegation in broad daylight particularly puzzling.   Turns out that the entire fight was a distraction, those sneaky cultists tried to snag something shiny from the delegation. Luckily, Alistan, Gael and Dradoz helped retrieve the item from the fleeing thief before being almost pummeled to death by the patchwork flesh golem. Sir Donovan showered us with thanks (and whispers of a formal palace pat-on-the-back to come).   Then came the real kicker. Alistan was lamenting the lack of a magical blade against the flesh golem. Turns out, Sir Donovan has a heart of gold (or maybe a well-stocked armory). He casually handed Alistan a guard's sword, positively glowing with basic runes (probably worth a small village back home, but hey, free stuff!). Apparently, the guard can just "request" another one. Talk about a knightly upgrade!   Gael tried to refuse some gem-encrusted rings Sir Donovan offered to cover our expenses (elf math must be different, because those things were blingin'). But with a well-timed reminder about the bottomless pit that is a mage's magical supply bill, I convinced him to accept.   We limped back to Erna's Wish, the city abuzz with post-attack clean-up. Feyris wasn't exactly thrilled about the roof damage (though he didn't blame us, which is a win in my book). Luckily, Hayley used some magic to patch up the worst of the cracks.   So, here we are, bruised but not broken, with a story to tell. This festival may have taken a detour, but hey, at least it wasn't a *boring* one!

The Fall of Cairn Fussil
4th of Nuan, 126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   Seems like fate has a cruel sense of humor. Here I am again, without a roof over my head. The events of the last few days have left me feeling strangely adrift, like a ship tossed about in a stormy sea.   Two days ago, we had spent the evening in the boisterous confines of The Dull Blade, a haven for Keralon's Hedgeknights and the headquarters of the Long Table. Alistan, Hayley, and Dadroz had been eager to report back and share their experiences.   While Alistan and Hayley were each awarded a weighty coin, a symbol of their "mettle," their paths diverged from Dadroz's. Both were whisked away to the basement, beckoned by the promise of joining the ranks of the Long Table. Dadroz, however, received instructions for a separate initiation at a location shrouded in mystery - the mausoleum.   Hayley filled me in on her initiation experience after it concluded. A man at a seemingly innocuous table greeted her and Alistan, the coin serving as a key to a door further beyond. Downward they ventured, emerging into a less bustling common room where a dozen knights sat around a long table, an air of casual camaraderie filling the space.   After a brief period of introductions, refreshments, and small talk, they were led to meet "Claus." The setting turned decidedly more dramatic as they found themselves facing a colossal gate that opened onto a vast, gothic hall. The chilling air and echoing whispers gave way to a swirling mist that coalesced into a spectral dragon, its roar shaking them to their core.   But their courage held. They stood their ground, and the fearsome dragon, after a moment of surprise, transformed into a more amiable entity – Claus. He congratulated them on their bravery and welcomed them as recruits, commending them for not fleeing at the first sign of a spectral dragon! It seems even knights have a sense of humor, albeit a slightly morbid one.   Claus explained their living quarters and the inner workings of the Long Table's headquarters, offering them a haven for rest, food, and information. While they could seek lodging here, they still retained the freedom to accept missions from the heralds.   Hayley's description was captivating, even if she downplayed it as a simple "hello and welcome." The spectral dragon certainly added a touch of drama to the whole affair! Liliana and Gael and I had eventually spent an hour and a half waiting for their return, worry for our siblings had remained constant in our hearts. So we were very relieved when they returned at last.   The weight of exhaustion finally pressed down on us as we emerged from The Dull Blade. With a newfound sense of purpose, we found ourselves drawn back to the familiar warmth of Erna's Wish.   Feyris greeted us with an eyebrow raised. Last we had seen him, we had run off to tackle an entire dragonborn army. Alistan launched into a detailed account of our experiences. Gael even strummed his lute in accompaniment, adding a touch of dramatic flair.   A small crowd gathered, their initial curiosity morphing into confusion as Alistan's narration stumbled. He backtracked, forgot details, and his enthusiasm seemed to wane with each halting sentence. Liliana, sensing his struggle, took over, but even her recount proved riddled with gaps and inconsistencies. The late hour and sheer exhaustion undoubtedly contributed to their muddled performance.   Despite the lack of a clear narrative, the celebration continued. Word of Alistan and Hayley's ascension to the ranks of the Long Table knights spread like wildfire, transforming the tavern into a hub of boisterous revelry. For the night, at least, we could set aside our worries and celebrate the triumphs, however fragmented they might have been.   Feyris, our ever-generous host, offered us free room and board for the duration of our stay. This kindness, amidst the uncertainty, was a much-needed reprieve.   However, the tranquility of my sleep was shattered in the early hours of the morning. A sudden surge of heat woke me to the sight of a flickering fire elemental hovering at the foot of my bed. Before I could utter a greeting, the elemental dipped its fiery finger, sending a trail of molten letters across the stone floor. It read:   Need you back at Cairn Fussil, need assistance, bring your friends, Amarra   The message burned into my mind as the elemental vanished. Amarra, my enigmatic mentor, had a well-known habit of utilizing fire elementals. The open window, its lock melted away, further emphasized the urgency of the situation.   I roused Hayley and Gael. Hayley, bleary-eyed and understandably grumpy about the early wake-up call, grumbled about the unseemly hour. Gael, however, surprised me as he had been sleeping. He explained that while his meditation skills allowed him to stay alert for extended periods, sleep was not completely out of the picture. “You can live off rations, but a warm meal is always welcome”, he quipped, a sentiment I wholeheartedly agreed with.   Making our way to the De la Roost mansion, I found Alistan and Liliana locked in a mock fight in the garden. Hastily explaining Amarra's message, I watched with exasperation as Alistan, in his eagerness, donned his armor (at last!) while leaving his shield behind (again!). Despite him becoming a knight, he still didn’t risk taking out his late brother’s shield. The knightly symbol he was supposed to wear as a badge of honor wouldn't be ready until later.   We secured an extra horse from Feyris, upon learning of the urgency. With a heartfelt thanks and a promise to return soon, we embarked on a journey fueled by a mixture of apprehension and determination.   The journey back to Cairn Fussil was a blur of urgency. Gone were the leisurely observations of the passing scenery; every beat of our horses' hooves resonated with the gnawing fear in our hearts. The familiar plume of smoke that normally marked the tower from afar was absent, a chilling premonition of what awaited us.   Hayley sent her raven companion, Fiachna, ahead to scout. Its shrill cry upon returning confirmed our worst fears. Cairn Fussil was under attack. Two monstrous creatures, described by Fiachna as hulking insects with snapping mandibles, were tearing the very foundation of the tower apart. Hayley's sharp senses and my own knowledge of monstrous creatures identified them as Umber Hulks – fearsome brutes known for their devastating strength and mind-warping gaze.   The stench of battle hung heavy in the air as we crested the final hill. The once proud tower bore the scars of the siege. Several columns lay shattered, and gaping holes marred the outer walls.   Without hesitation, Gael unleashed a whistling arrow, catching one of the Umber Hulks square in its armored carapace. Liliana, her magic crackling fueled by her connection to the Feywild, charged forward, but her spell went awry, exploding harmlessly in the air. The enraged beast retaliated with a swipe of its massive claws, sending her crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.   Alistan, mounted on his loyal steed Thorin, roared a challenge and charged. His blade flashed as he aimed for the hulk, but the creature sidestepped the attack with surprising agility. Hayley's raven swooped down, its touch mending Liliana's wounds and bringing her back into the fight.   The second Umber Hulk, its gaze fixated on me, lumbered forward. Steeling my nerves, I locked eyes with the beast, its mind-warping magic washing over me. But I held firm, the power of my will deflecting the effect. A torrent of fire erupted from my fingertips, searing the Umber Hulk's carapace.   The battlefield became a chaotic dance of death. Gael peppered the creatures with arrows from afar, while I weaved spells of fire and fortune, turning the tide of battle. Liliana, fueled by fury and Hayley's mystical support, battled with renewed vigor. Alistan, dismounted after Thorin bolted in fear, drew his sword and engaged one of the hulks in a desperate duel.   The fight swung back and forth, a desperate struggle for survival. Just as one Umber Hulk fell under Alistan's relentless assault, another brutal swipe sent Liliana crashing to the ground once more. Hayley's swift healing magic brought her back to the fray, but the toll of the battle was evident in her fading strength.   With renewed determination, we focused our attacks on the remaining Umber Hulk. Liliana, her movements fueled by rage and guidance from Hayley's magic, landed a blow that tore through the creature's exposed underbelly. My magical missiles rained down, peppering the beast with arcane energy. Just as it lunged for Alistan, Hayley's whispered curse took hold, sending the attack wildly astray. A final barrage of spells from myself sealed the Umber Hulk's fate, its lifeless form crashing to the ground with a resounding crack.   Silence descended upon the battlefield, broken only by our ragged breaths and the crackling flames that consumed the nearest Umber Hulk carcass. Relief washed over me, tinged with the bitter aftertaste of loss. Cairn Fussil stood wounded, a testament to the ferocity of the attack. But we had emerged victorious, albeit at a cost.   Straightening my aching back, I surveyed the scene. A flicker of anger sparked in my eyes as I noticed the familiar scorch marks on the remnants of my former bedroom. A silent vow escaped my lips – revenge would be served. For now, however, there were more pressing matters at hand.   With both Umber Hulks lying still outside, the air reeking of burnt chitin and damp concrete, we raced into the tower. The scene that greeted us sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over me. Cairn Fussil, once a haven of knowledge, was now a shattered shell of its former glory.   The ransacking was meticulous and brutal. The laboratory, the heart of Amarra's research, was a mangled mess. Shattered beakers littered the floor, their contents staining the flagstones with a rainbow of strange colours. Scorch marks marred the walls, mute testimony to the destructive power unleashed upon the room. Books from the library, some probably centuries old, lay shredded and scattered – irreplaceable knowledge lost forever.   The destruction wasn't confined to possessions. The very structure of the tower had suffered. Shattered support beams hung precariously, threatening a cascade of masonry should they give way. Crumbled stairs led to gaping holes in the floor, testaments to the Umber Hulks' destructive rampage. Even the air itself felt stale and heavy, thick with the dust of destruction.   My own heart ached as I surveyed the wreckage of my former bedroom. The familiar desk where I had spent countless hours poring over dusty tomes was now a pile of splintered wood. The charred remnants of my clothes hung limply from a mangled rack. Five years of memories, reduced to ash and splinters. A silent scream welled up within me, a potent mix of anger and grief.   Our search for Amarra was frantic in the face of such devastation. Gael's keen eyes found nothing but telltale Umber Hulk tracks leading in and out of the ravaged rooms. Desperation gnawed at me. I felt out with my magic senses trying to find some hint where Amarra had gone. Eventually I came to the teleportation circle nestled off the central chamber. It was in ruins, the intricate patterns inscribed on the stones ripped apart with savage force. No residual magic lingered, suggesting it hadn't been used in the recent attack.   But amidst the despair, a flicker of hope emerged. My senses, sharpened by urgency, picked up something else – a faint hum of magic emanating from the vicinity of the basement entrance. Five years ago, before Amarra took me in as her apprentice, I had faced my apprentice test there. The memory sent a shiver down my spine, but also a spark of excitement. The basement entrance, which normally stood unassuming, now seemed curiously blank. A closer inspection revealed a cleverly crafted illusion – the doorway was hidden in plain sight.   A sigh of relief escaped my lips. Inside the hidden cellar, we found Amarra. She lay crumpled near a wall, her face pale and drawn. A sense of urgency warred with the need to be cautious. Liliana, ever the healer, rushed forward, her restorative magic flowing into Amarra's weakened form. Soon, a flicker of life returned to the weary woman's eyes.   Before she could even rise, I gently urged her to stay put. She needed rest. Her gaze swept over each of us, her brow creasing in concern. "The Umber Hulks... are they...?" she rasped, her voice weak. Reassuring her, Alistan filled her in on the battle, while Hayley, with practiced efficiency, whipped up a restorative soup over an improvised fire. The witchy concoction, bubbling in its cauldron, promised a much-needed boost of strength.   The air hung heavy with the aftermath of our victory. Relief mingled with the bitter taste of destruction as we gathered around Amarra, her frail form a beacon of hope amidst the wreckage. Gael's question cut through the tense silence, "Where did the Umber Hulks come from?"   Amarra's sigh rasped in the damp air. "They are... connected to the forces that attacked me five years ago," she whispered, her voice barely above a rasp. "A mistake from my past." Her gaze flickered to me, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes. "A past relationship gone wrong," she elaborated, "something you might understand."   The weight of her words sank in. A rival mage, a vengeful ex-lover – a chilling echo of my own past resonated within me. "He keeps sending forces after me," she continued, her voice gaining a hint of strength. "He found me again. This time, he wasn't subtle." A flicker of anger sparked in her eyes. "He wants not only to kill me, but to undo everything I've built, everything I stand for."   "We can rebuild," I asserted.. But Amarra's sigh extinguished the spark of hope. "No. He won't stop now. He's found me. This tower... it's no longer safe."   Her words hung heavy in the air. Abandonment. A bitter pill to swallow, yet a seed of pragmatism bloomed within me. Gael interjected, "Could we try to free the Umber Hulks? Maybe they can help us fight back?"   Amarra's response was measured. "Perhaps," she murmured. But it was Alistan who asked the question I was almost too afraid to ask. “Will he come after Luke too?”   Amarra looked at me, and explained that while I had been her apprentice (although a very poor one), it is unlikely to be seen as a threat to the rival mage. So three cheers for my less-than-stellar work ethic. Amarra did elaborate that I was a talented mage and that she still expects great things from me if I can remain focused.   She held out a worn piece of parchment, a faint magical aura shimmering around it. "This," she explained, "is a one-time teleport scroll. It leads to the heart of Cairn Fussil."   My heart pounded with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. "The heart?" I echoed.   "The source of its power," she elaborated. "If you can retrieve it, plant it in another tower strong enough to hold it... it could grant control over the elemental energies of Cairn Fussil." Hope flickered in her eyes, a flicker I desperately clung to.   But a nagging question clawed at me. "Who is this mage?" I asked, the question hanging heavy in the air. "At least tell me his name…"   Amarra's gaze hardened for a brief moment. "No," she said firmly. "This is my fight. And I won't risk dragging you into it." Frustration bubbled within me, but I conceded, understanding the fierce protectiveness in her voice.   With a heavy heart, we set about salvaging what we could from the wreckage. Mattresses were dragged down to reinforce the makeshift shelter in the basement. I worked tirelessly, hauling down lab equipment, rescuing unburnt books from the library – a desperate attempt to preserve a fragment of the knowledge held within these walls. Every object brought a pang of familiarity, a reminder of the life that had been so violently disrupted.   As I moved through the ruined tower, the precarious state of its structure became painfully apparent. With each gust of wind, a fresh groan echoed through the halls, a chilling reminder that time was running out. Desperate to secure the basement entrance, I summoned my magical servant, hoping to move some of the larger stones to reinforce the structure. But it turns out that it was even weaker than I am.   Defeated, I called for help, and together with my friends, we managed to shore up the entrance using brute strength alone. As night fell, the weight of exhaustion settled upon us like a shroud. We settled into an uneasy sleep, guards posted to watch for any further threats.   But dawn brought a new shock. Amarra was gone. Gael explained how he noticed her vanish in the dead of night, a shimmer of magic preceding her disappearance. That seemed very typical for Amarra, she isn’t one for tearful goodbyes.   The tower, once a proud symbol of arcane might, now resembled a maimed giant, its remaining structure clinging defiantly to existence. But despair wouldn't solve our problems. With a resolute nod, I took charge. Amarra's trust, embodied in the magical circle, weighed heavily on me. Without further delay, I channeled my magic, activating the intricate runes etched onto the parchment. A blinding flash of light enveloped us, and then...   We were somewhere else. Gone were the damp stones of the cellar. Instead, the acrid stench of sulfur and the searing heat of molten lava assaulted our senses. A vast cavern bathed in an infernal glow stretched before us. In the center, a pool of molten rock bubbled and churned, casting grotesque shadows on the cavern walls. Within the pool, a glowing red marble shined alluringly. A colossal head, sculpted from obsidian and dripping with molten fire, dominated the far side of the cavern. The sculpted head featured a prominent marble-shaped indentation, an invitation to solve the challenge before us.   The air crackled with raw fire magic. Curiosity piqued, we ventured deeper into the cavern. The first discovery was a weathered statue. Etched in front of its base was a pulsating magical circle – a conduit to the plane of fire, I realized. Further exploration led us to an altar adorned with an ancient tome and another intricate circle etched into the stone floor. Eager to unlock the secrets of this place, I devoured the text, only to find it written in Ignan. With a sigh, I thought back to the several times that Amarra had insisted I focus my studies on learning the language of the fire plane, and my own tendency to get distracted. Just as I was about to toss it aside, a single phrase on the cover jumped out at me – "Part 2." Disappointment gnawed at me, but I tucked the book away, in the hope that some more research in a less fiery setting would unlock its secrets.   Continuing our search, we stumbled upon a second altar, its weathered surface mirrored the first. And found another tome, its aged leather cover emblazoned with the words "Part 1" in faded letters. As we continued we ended up back at the first chamber where we had teleported into. We had inadvertently walked in a circle. Satisfied that we had mapped out the entire cave, we turned to solving the puzzle before us.   Returning to the first altar, I cautiously stepped within the glowing circle, the magical energy swirling around me. For a fleeting moment, the runes flared brightly, but then, just as quickly, they died down. Frustration bubbled within me. Clearly, this wasn't the solution.   All eyes turned to the marble, and its clear role in whatever enigmatic puzzle was keeping the Heart of Cairn Fussil safe. With a deep breath, I channeled my magic once more, forming a protective shield against the searing heat radiating from the brazier where it lay. Reaching out, I grasped the glowing orb, the heat searing my magical barrier despite my precautions. Approaching the molten maw of the demon head, I attempted to place the marble within its indentation, but it stubbornly remained inert.   Desperate for a solution, I retreated back to the altar where Liliana stood guard. With the magical marble in hand, I stepped into the circle etched before the altar. The moment I crossed the threshold, a wall of fire erupted around me. Panic surged through me, as from within the fiery inferno, grotesque creatures materialized – a fire mephit, a swirling vortex of fire, and a serpentine monstrosity with scales glowing like embers.   Liliana rushed quickly to my defense. With a wave of my hand, I unleashed the frigid grasp of fate, a chilling tendril of magic coiling around the mephit, coating it in a layer of frost. Gael too wasted no time, his arrow finding its mark and sending the creature sputtering to the ground. Liliana, her movements a blur of silver and emerald light, danced around the fire snake, her blade a flickering barrier against its venomous fangs. Alistan ran in from the nearby cave and rallied the group, his booming voice urging Gael to continue the attack.   The battle raged on, the cavern echoing with the clash of steel and the sizzle of searing flesh. Liliana, her face a mask of determination, ignored the searing blood splattering against her armor as she cleaved the fire snake in two. But even with the immediate threat neutralized, the circle remained active, holding me prisoner.   With the marble in my hand and no solution in sight, the burden of responsibility weighed heavily upon me. Thinking outside the box, I hurled the marble across the cavern, its fiery glow illuminating Alistan's resolute face. He mirrored my actions, stepping into the circle near the other altar. The now-familiar sequence of events unfolded - a fiery cage, monstrous spawns, and the desperate struggle for survival.   While trapped in my circle, the echoes of battle were my only connection to the unfolding events. The clang of steel, the roar of the fire snake, and the distant cheers offered glimpses into the fight. However, the true entertainment came from an unexpected source. Hayley's biting remark, even though I couldn't quite make it out, sent a wave of amusement through me. The image of her berating the fire snake about its lack of boot-making potential was a welcome distraction from the oppressive heat and the ever-present danger. And it seemed to have worked, as the creatures were defeated once again. But now Alistan was also trapped.   The distance between me and the others felt vast, the cavern’s echo catching pieces of conversation. Liliana took the marble from Alistan and marched towards the final circle. By this point, the heat and the tension were getting to all of us. Even Alistan, trapped in his own fiery prison, couldn't resist the urge to break the monotony. He drew his violin from its case and began to play. At first, the mournful melody felt out of place amidst the fiery chaos, but Alistan was turning this desperate challenge into a bizarre performance.   As the melody reached a crescendo, Liliana stepped into the final circle. A wall of fire erupted around her, engulfing her form. From my vantage point, I could only hear the sounds of battle – the hiss of flames, the clang of metal, and Liliana's determined battle cries. Alistan's music continued in the background, a strange counterpoint to the violence unfolding within the cave.   The minutes stretched into an eternity. Just as worry began to gnaw at me, cheers erupted from the other side of the cavern. The music stopped abruptly, replaced by the sounds of relieved laughter. The circles deactivated, releasing Liliana, Alistan and myself. Liliana emerged, a little worse for wear but with a triumphant grin on her face. She tossed the now-glowing marble to me, its warmth a beacon in the cavern's gloom.   With renewed hope, I waded back through the molten rock to the demon head, the searing heat licking at my boots. The marble settled snugly into the indentation on the statue, a satisfying click echoing through the cavern.   A hidden chamber materialized before our eyes. With a collective leap of faith, we jumped across the fiery chasm, landing on a ledge overlooking a pool of lava. But our moment of triumph was short-lived. A colossal fire elemental, roused from its slumber, roared in fury, its molten form flickering and twisting with bursts of flame.   Alistan stepped forward, his shield raised in defiance. I took refuge behind my companions, the heat radiating from the creature an uncomfortable reminder of our precarious situation. The battle raged on, a desperate dance between mortals and elemental fury. Liliana and Alistan hacked and slashed at the creature, their movements a blur of determined aggression.   My frost spell, usually so potent, seemed to have little effect on the flaming behemoth. It was Gael who brought the turning point. With a well-placed arrow, he struck the elemental in a critical spot, eliciting a roar of pain. The enraged creature slammed into Alistan and Liliana, scorching their forms. Instinctively, I channeled my magic, weakening the blow on Alistan. But even with my intervention, flames licked past his shield, igniting Liliana's clothing.   Alistan, with the swiftness of a seasoned warrior, used his cloak to smother the flames, his concern for his sister etched onto his face. We continued our assault, slowly but surely wearing down the elemental. Just as victory seemed within reach, the creature surged with renewed power, its fiery form growing larger. The despair in Liliana's eyes as the flames engulfed them both mirrored my own fear.   Time became a precious commodity. Desperate to save my friends, I unleashed a bolt of frost, momentarily distracting the elemental. This was my chance. Diving deep into the fabric of fate, I weaved a tapestry of possibilities, searching for the path to victory. A vision flashed before my eyes - Gael's arrow finding its mark, the elemental dissolving into embers. With a surge of will, I nudged reality, forcing us all onto that path.   Gael, as if guided by an unseen hand, loosed an arrow that pierced the elemental's core. A deafening roar filled the cavern as the creature collapsed, its fiery form disintegrating into nothingness. Relief washed over me, tinged with a bittersweet pang. Liliana, visibly shaken, slumped to the ground, her clothes singed and her face contorted in pain. My sister sent her raven once again to deliver its healing touch. Liliana sat up, the heat radiating from her body a stark reminder of the inferno we had just faced. A weak smile curved her lips. "I take it back," she croaked, her voice raspy. "Maybe Vivienne's ice palace wasn't so bad after all."   The demise of the fire elemental marked a turning point in our perilous journey. As the creature dissolved into embers, a staff clattered to the ground, its red gem pulsing with an otherworldly glow. Drawn by an invisible force, I reached out and grasped it. Power surged through me, a torrent of raw fire magic held captive within the ruby heart of the staff. This, I realized with a jolt of excitement, could be a weapon of immense power in the battles to come.   But our quest wasn't over. The heart of Cairn Fussil, the very essence of the fallen tower, still awaited us. A quick glance at the central pool of lava revealed our prize nestled within its fiery depths. The heat radiating from the molten rock was enough to melt steel, yet I knew I had to retrieve it. Drawing upon my reserves of magical energy, I waded into the lava, the heat searing even through my protective enchantments. Reaching out, I grasped the crystal, the coolness of the artifact a stark contrast to the inferno surrounding it. As if responding to my touch, the lava began to cool, solidifying into a harmless black rock. With a triumphant grin, I leaped back to safety, the heart of Cairn Fussil clenched tightly in my hands.   A sudden tremor shook the cavern, sending debris raining down from above. A worried glance upward confirmed our fears – the tower, deprived of its essence, was collapsing in on itself. There was no time to waste. We ran up the stairs in the first chamber and emerged in the familiar darkness of the tower's basement, the air thick with dust and the scent of damp earth.   With heavy hearts, we exited the ruins through a pre-prepared escape tunnel, blinking into the bright sunlight. Thorin whinnied a greeting, standing patiently beside a pile of the salvaged supplies from the tower. Keralon now beckoned us with the promise of solace and a chance to regroup.   The journey back was filled with a quiet contemplation. The weight of the past day hung heavy in the air. The loss of Cairn Fussil was a bitter pill to swallow, but it did feel good to be reunited with my friends from Tarn. As we approached the city gates, a flicker of concern crossed our minds regarding the magical artifacts we now carried. But to our relief, the city guards, having been somehow informed of Hayley and Alistan's recent knighthood, waved us through without a second glance. The weight of the Flameheart Staff, a constant presence in my hand, served as a stark reminder of our recent ordeal.   The decision of where to stay, however, presented a new challenge. Alistan offered me a room in his mansion within the Northwall district. The thought of returning to that world of privilege, however, held no appeal for me. The thought of accidentally running into Emily even less so. With a grateful smile, I declined Alistan's offer, instead choosing to return to the warmth and familiarity of the Feyris' tavern. There, I knew I could find at least a sense of solitude and refocus on my studies. The future remains uncertain, but with the heart of Cairn Fussil pulsing with power in my hand, I intend to face it head on.   Now, how do you make a wizard tower?

The Emissaries of the Fenhunter
15th of Mannan, 126 Year of the Tree

The sun beat down mercilessly as Ragnar led us out of the tent, a growing throng of draconoids gathering around the makeshift arena that served as the battleground. Nervous anticipation crackled in the air, the weight of the challenge pressing down on us with every step.   A black-scaled dragonborn approached Ragnar, clapping the leader familiarly on the back. Norgar, Ragnar's son, we learned later, greeted us with a boisterous grin.   And then we saw him. Drann, his imposing figure dwarfing even the largest dragonborn we had seen. Twice the size of a normal fighter, his powerful muscles strained against his thick hide. Massive, leathery wings folded behind his back, completing the picture of a fearsome warrior. A toothy grin stretched across his face, devoid of any hint of warmth.   Ragnar's booming voice cut through the tense silence. He announced us as Drann's opponents, emphasizing the need for non-lethal combat. With a bellowing laugh, however, Drann quickly added a caveat – he wouldn't be held responsible if any of us "weaklings" died accidentally.   Liliana, her voice laced with defiance (thanks to Alistan's swift translation), retorted that the same went for Drann. Drann, unfazed, simply shrugged, his grin widening further.   The air crackled with anticipation. Ragnar's shout marked the beginning of the fight, and we charged forward, a ragtag group facing a seemingly invincible foe. My first attempt, a frost spell aimed at slowing Drann, fizzled harmlessly against his thick hide. Drann retaliated with a ferocious roar, his wings propelling him forward with surprising speed. His massive sword cut into Alistan, drawing a crimson line across his chest.   Gael's arrow found its mark, embedding itself in Drann's shoulder with a satisfying thunk. Alistan, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, lunged forward, his own blade finding purchase on the dragonborn's armor. But Drann's counterattack was swift and brutal. I instinctively reached out, weaving the threads of fate to deflect the attack. Alistan was spared the lethal blow, but the impact was still enough to render him unconscious. Liliana, her agility masking her small stature, darted forward, landing a flurry of strikes that left even Drann momentarily stunned. Dadroz joined the fray, his arrow implanting deep in the dragonborn's leg. Hayley cast a curse, weakening Drann's defenses. But it wasn't enough.   With a primal roar, Drann unleashed a fury attack, his body engulfed in flames. Fire erupted around us, singeing our clothes and scorching our skin. Even Ragnar and Norgar, caught in the periphery of the fiery blast, snarled in surprise.   Hayley cried out, collapsing onto the dusty ground, her form flickering in the heat. Without hesitation, Gael sprang into action, a magically-enhanced goodberry finding its way into her mouth. With a ragged gasp, her eyes fluttered back open.   Alistan, having also regained consciousness with a grunt, spurred Gael on. With a determined glint in his eye, Gael drew his enchanted bow, focusing all his power into a single, powerful shot. The arrow, infused with magic, struck Drann with a resounding thud, the force enough to dispel the fiery aura surrounding him.   Drann, his eyes wide with surprise, crumpled to the ground, finally succumbing to unconsciousness. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. The seemingly invincible champion had been defeated.   Liliana stepped forward once the dust settled. With a flick of her wrist and a whispered prayer, she channeled divine magic, coaxing Dran back to consciousness. Her next act, however, surprised us all. She extended a hand to the defeated warrior, a smile on her face.   "A fierce bout," she declared, her voice clear and unwavering.   Dran, his eyes blinking open in confusion, stared at the hand for a moment. Then, with a grudging nod, he grasped it firmly. A flicker of respect, or perhaps grudging admiration, shone in his eyes before he lumbered away, defeated but not broken.   Alistan, a hint of a grin on his lips, yelled as the dragonborn stepped away. "Good fight," he declared in Draconic, his voice echoing across the now-silent camp. Dran, pausing in his stride, turned his head back.   "Indeed," he rumbled, his voice surprisingly deep. "Until next time. And next time, I win."   Ragnar approached us. His gaze swept over each of us, lingering on the burns and bruises we had sustained in the fight. "You have proven yourselves worthy," he declared, his voice heavy with grudging respect. "You will serve as emissaries for Velora Morenthene."   A wave of relief washed over me. We had done it. We had faced a legendary warrior and emerged victorious, or at least relatively unscathed.   "But," he continued, gesturing towards a large deer roasting on a spit over a crackling fire, "you look like you could use some rest. Help yourselves to food. There's plenty to go around."   With that, he left us to our own devices. The fire crackled, casting an inviting warmth.   Norgar, Ragnar's son, joined us as we collapsed onto the dusty ground, our bodies protesting the recent exertion. He was a younger dragonborn, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of curiosity and bravado. He explained that this was his first campaign, his initial foray into the world of war.   Conversation flowed easily, facilitated by Alistan's fluency in Draconic. Norgar expressed his curiosity about human cities – their abundant use of wood and their position above the ground - a stark contrast to the underground dwellings that he was used to.   Alistan, his voice tinged with a touch of sadness, inquired about the previous conflict between Keralon and the dragonborn, the one led by Fenhunter. Norgar, however, was too young at the time, a mere hatchling by his own admission. The question, however, sparked his own curiosity. He asked Alistan if he had participated in that conflict, a query met with a somber nod from the human warrior.   Norgar's demeanor darkened for a moment. He eyed Alistan with a newfound intensity. "Did you… kill many of mine?"   Alistan, his voice devoid of emotion, simply nodded. Gael interjected. "War has its consequences," he stated bluntly.   Norgar pondered this for a moment, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "I suppose," he mumbled. "My… adoptive father, he killed many humans too."   He glanced at us, his brow furrowed in what seemed like genuine curiosity. "You don't look that old," he remarked. "How old are you anyway?"   Alistan, with a faint smile, confirmed that we were indeed just a few years older than Norgar himself.   As if on cue, a cloaked figure, a draconic cleric by the looks of it, approached Norgar. With a mumbled incantation and a gentle touch, the cleric healed the burns Norgar had sustained during Drann's fiery outburst.   The interaction raised several questions. Norgar's black scales, a stark contrast to the green hue of most of the other dragonborn, were a curiosity. And then there was the matter of his adoption – a detail that hinted at a more complex story lurking beneath the surface.   As we ate our fill, the weight of the day's events settled upon us. We had won the duel, but the situation remained fraught with tension. Norgar's curiosity, his glimpse of humanity beyond the battlefield, offered a sliver of hope for a peaceful resolution. But the scars of war ran deep, and the path to peace, if there was one, was likely to be long and arduous.   As we contemplated our next steps, a plan began to take shape. Hayley pulled out parchment and quill, her brow furrowed in concentration. With a few deft strokes, she penned a message to the Hedgeknights, the elite guard responsible for the city gates. Explaining the arrival of the dragonborn army, our victory in the trial, and our subsequent assignment as emissaries, she requested a peaceful re-entry through the main gate.   Fiachna, her loyal raven familiar, materialized beside her. The letter secured to his leg, he took flight, a dark speck disappearing into the twilight sky. Now, a waiting game commenced.   To ease the tension, Alistan and Liliana, with a mischievous glint in their eyes, retrieved their violins. Alistan's bow danced across the strings, a melody filled with a melancholic longing for home. Liliana's counterpoint, bright and playful, wove a tapestry of sound that resonated across the camp.   The music seemed to have a strange effect. Dragonborn warriors set aside their weapons, drawn towards the unfamiliar sounds. One by one, they joined in, some with crude drums and others with clashing cymbals. The once-tense atmosphere gave way to a strange cacophony, an unlikely meeting of musical traditions.   Liliana, her laughter echoing amidst the cacophony, threw her hands up in mock surrender. "By the stars," she declared, "we're starting a band!"   Hayley, however, found the noise overwhelming. She sought refuge in a quiet corner of the camp, her eyes scanning the crowd in search of familiar faces. Three years had passed, but perhaps…   After two hours of fruitless searching, a flicker of recognition sent a jolt through her. Three kobolds, huddled together, their faces etched with worry, approached her. She remembered them – they had been among those that she had helped after the battle.   The reunion, however, was tinged with a sense of unease. The once-optimistic kobolds now carried a burden of worry. They spoke of a tense atmosphere back home, a dark secret lurking beneath the surface. Hesitantly, they revealed that kobold eggs were disappearing from their nests, stolen by an unseen entity that seemed to bypass even the most vigilant guards. Even one of Velora Morenthene's own eggs, supposedly well-protected, had vanished.   This news, coupled with their arrival at the city gates, painted a disturbing picture. Their fear, it seemed, wasn't solely directed at Keralon, but at something far more sinister. Their hope, they confessed, was to enlist the help of Keralon's mages – perhaps someone with the ability to track the creature or use magic to communicate with the gods could intervene.   As Hayley listened to their tale, a new layer of complexity was added to the situation. The dragonborn army, Velora's sudden peace offering, the theft of the eggs – it all seemed to point towards a larger plot, a threat that transcended the simple issue of war.   Night had fallen, a blanket of stars glittering in the clear sky. Norgar, his earlier bravado softened by the music, revealed more about what had transpired. He explained how the army had arrived so swiftly – Velora, it seemed, had opened a magical gate, allowing them to travel a vast distance in a short time. He reiterated their purpose – a mission of great importance, he called it, though the details were shrouded in secrecy.   Fiachna returned soon thereafter, a message clutched in his beak. The Hedgeknights, the guardians of Keralon, had responded. We were to head to the gate in the Foregate district, where they would facilitate our entry as part of the official delegation from the Fenhunter army.   With renewed purpose, we packed our supplies. Hayley, her face etched with concern, shared the disturbing news gleaned from the kobolds with me. She vowed to help them, even if Keralon remained unmoved. I, in turn, expressed my resolute support, a divination wizard's abilities potentially proving invaluable in such an investigation.   As we set off towards Keralon, a flicker of movement in the sky caught Dadroz's eye. Three shadows, initially mistaken for birds, grew larger with alarming speed. Dissent dawned on his face as he got a better look at one of the creatures – a winged beast with blue scales, far too large to be classified as a simple avian predator.   Panic gnawed at us as the creatures doubled back towards us. Two skeletal dragons, their bony frames a grotesque mockery of life, swooped down. The third, a magnificent yet terrifying creature with sleek blue scales, a strange hybrid between reptile and dragon, dove even lower, its target – Gael.   Instinct took over. A fiery bolt from my fingertips launched towards one of the smaller dragons, but it was still too far for accuracy. The larger creature, with a deafening screech, landed a brutal attack on Gael, its razor-sharp claws raking down his side, drawing a spray of red.   Norgar reacted swiftly. His sword flashed, coated in a deadly green flame courtesy of his acidic spit. Dadroz, in a desperate attempt at stealth, dove into a nearby bush, his first arrow aimed at one of the skeletal dragons, unfortunately missing his mark.   The battle raged. The skeletal dragons, their attacks resembling the stings of giant insects, focused their assault on Norgar. But Gael, undeterred, summoned the power of nature, vines erupting from the ground, ensnaring the creatures in their grasp. Although as he attempted to retreat, the larger dragon snapped at him with ferocious speed.   Seeing Gael in imminent danger, I reached out with my magic, manipulating the threads of fate. The dragon's attack found its mark, but not with the severity it once possessed. The power of fate, diverted for a moment, flowed towards Liliana, granting her a surge of fortune.   Alistan struck swiftly, his blade finding its mark, putting one of the skeletal dragons to rest. He wasted no time, his next movement a blur of practiced grace as he dispatched the other one.   Liliana, her own blade ablaze with divine and fey power, capitalized on the opening. Aided by my luck, she struck the large dragon in a vulnerable spot, its ear-splitting scream filling the air. Overwhelmed by the combined attacks, the magnificent creature had no choice but to take the assaults as it kept screeching and scratching.   Dadroz and Gael, their faces grim but relieved, continued to pepper the demon dragon with arrows. Hayley's barbs, directed at the beast, did little to faze it. But Alistan, with a well-timed shield maneuver, shoved the dragon to the ground, creating an opening that Liliana seized upon with deadly efficiency. Her blade, imbued with divine and otherworldly power, plunged deep into the creature's heart, silencing it once and for all.   Gael knelt beside the fallen skeletal dragons. He picked up one of the smaller creatures, its bony form light and brittle in his hand. A grim determination hardened his features. "We need to understand what this is," he muttered, tucking the skeletal dragon into his pack for further investigation.   The larger creature, however, held our attention for a longer period. A closer look revealed a horrifying truth. It wasn't just bone and sinew; there were intricate clockwork mechanisms woven into its very being. And there, amidst the gears and springs, were unmistakable draconic elements – scales, claws, even a single, skeletal wing. A chilling realization dawned upon us. These weren't simply monstrous creatures; they were abominations, stitched together from the parts of stolen dragon children. Someone with a twisted mind and a dark purpose had created these chimeras, and the connection to the missing eggs was undeniable.   The implications were horrifying. The battle we had just fought wasn't an isolated incident; it was a chilling glimpse into a much larger, and far more sinister, plot. Dadroz, his voice laced with a newfound urgency, spoke up. "I saw them approach from the west," he declared, his gaze scanning the horizon. His words hung heavy in the air, adding another layer of worry to our already burdened hearts.   With a heavy sigh, we shouldered our packs and continued towards Keralon. The image of the monstrous creations, a grotesque testament to a depraved mind, lingered in our minds.   As we approached the city gates, a sense of hope battled with the unease that gnawed at us. The sight of numerous guards, some of them the elite Knights of Keralon, instilled a flicker of reassurance. But even their imposing presence couldn't completely dispel the dread gripping our hearts.   The gates creaked open even before we reached them, a testament to the message carried by Fiachna. A knight, his armor gleaming in the sunlight, strode forward. His gaze swept across our group, finally settling on Hayley. "Are you the group that sent the raven?" he inquired, his voice stern yet professional.   Hayley, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. "Yes, sir," she confirmed, her posture exuding confidence. "This is Norgar," she continued, gesturing towards the dragonborn, "son of Ragnar Ergoll, general of the dragonborn army. He carries a message for the king."   The knight's brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Follow me," he directed, leading us towards a bustling thoroughfare. "You'll be escorted to Palace Hill. Horses have been prepared to speed your journey."   A wry smile spread across Norgar's face. "Never ridden a horse before," he admitted sheepishly. Alistan chuckled. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll make sure you stay on." With that, Norgar clambered onto the horse's back, Alistan swiftly climbing on behind him.   The clatter of hooves against cobblestone faded as we entered the bustling heart of Keralon. The city, a testament to human ingenuity, sprawled before us – towering structures of carved stone, bustling markets teeming with life, and the imposing silhouette of the Royal Palace perched upon Palace Hill. Yet, amidst the city's grandeur, a seed of unease sprouted within me.   We arrived at the barracks, our designated destination. Anticipation crackled in the air as we dismounted, expecting to be greeted by a delegation or at least some official acknowledgement of our arrival. But to our surprise, the place seemed deserted. An unsettling silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant murmur of the city below.   Approaching a lone guard, we explained our purpose. Hayley, spoke clearly and concisely. "We are emissaries from the dragonborn army," she declared, gesturing towards Norgar. "He carries a message for the king."   The guard, a young man with a wary expression, blinked at us in confusion. "Emissaries?" he echoed, his voice devoid of recognition. "Message for the king?" A furrow deepened between his brows.   A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. This wasn't the reception we had anticipated. The guard, however, seemed more bewildered than hostile. He beckoned us inside, his voice hesitant. "Come in," he muttered, leading us into a sparsely furnished dining hall.   "There's some bread and beer behind the bar, if you'd like," he offered, his gaze flitting nervously between us. He gestured towards a wooden counter in the corner, where a few loaves of bread and a half-empty keg sat forlornly.   Through the windows, a breathtaking vista of the Royal Palace stretched out before us. Its spires gleamed in the afternoon sun, an alluring yet intimidating symbol of power.   Liliana turned to Norgar. "What do you think of Keralon?" she inquired. A hint of fascination colored her voice.   Norgar, his brow furrowed in thought, pondered for a moment. "Strange," he finally rumbled, his voice surprisingly low for someone his size. "Everything is built above ground. We… the kobolds prefer to dwell below. Stone, always stone. No wood." He paused, then added, "We use magic, too. To shape the trees, grow walls, strong walls. It's a gift from Velora, our… our ancestor, you could say. She has a connection to nature."   Time crawled by, each minute stretching into an eternity. Forty-five minutes passed, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic clinking of pewter mugs against the wooden table. Then, a sudden noise shattered the oppressive quiet – a door slamming shut with a resounding bang from somewhere deeper within the barracks.   It was the first sign of activity we had encountered since our arrival. Alistan rose to his feet. "I'll investigate," he declared with a determined nod.   He reached the indicated door and rapped his knuckles against the solid oak. Silence. He called out, but his voice echoed back unanswered. A hint of unease flickered in his eyes. With a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob.   The door creaked open, revealing a dark interior. Alistan stepped inside, his silhouette disappearing into the gloom. We waited, our breaths held in anticipation. Then, a flash of movement from within, a glint of cold steel. A gasp, choked and sudden, pierced the silence.   Alistan stumbled back, a hand clutching his side, blood staining his tunic dark red. He collapsed backwards, his face contorted in pain. A group of figures, clad in the familiar armor of the Keralon guard, materialized in the doorway. But one detail shattered the illusion of security – a crimson sash, worn diagonally across their chests, contrasting starkly with the gold of their official garb.   A wave of terror washed over us as the crimson-sashed figures, their faces contorted in a murderous rage, burst into the dining area. Their blades, glinting with a cold metallic glint, slashed towards Alistan, who still clutched his bleeding side. He stumbled back, overwhelmed by the sudden aggression.   One of the figures, presumably the leader, surged forward, his hands glowing with an unnatural light. A spectral weapon, a shimmering blade of pure energy, materialized in the air, aimed squarely at Norgar. Before it could connect, Dadroz, with a cry of defiance, lunged forward, his rapier a blur in the dim light. He sank the blade deep into the chest of one of the attackers, a gasp escaping the cultist's lips as he crumpled to the floor.   But the assault continued. Another cultist’s blade found its mark, plunging deep into Alistan’s chest. He cried out in pain, collapsing onto the dusty floor, seemingly lifeless. Despair threatened to engulf me, but a surge of determination flared within Liliana. With a desperate prayer and a burst of radiant energy, she reached out to Alistan, the power of her magic pulling him back from the brink.   I reacted instinctively, a bolt of fire erupting from my fingertips. It struck a cultist squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling with a scream. Alistan, miraculously revived, roared in defiance. He surged forward, his rage a palpable entity as he disappeared into the darkness of the room from which the attackers had emerged.   The remaining cultists, momentarily stunned by this turn of events, shifted their focus. One lunged at Liliana, his weapon aimed with deadly intent, but a surge of my bestowed luck intervened. The blade skittered harmlessly past her cheek, embedding itself in the wooden wall behind.   Suddenly, the sound of shouts and clanging metal reached our ears. The real guards of Keralon, alerted by the commotion, were arriving. Confusion reigned for a moment, weapons drawn on both sides. The leader of the renegade guards shouted an order to kill us to the new arrivals. His eyes burning with malevolent energy, then raised his hands. Dark energy crackled around him, a malevolent spell on the verge of unleashing.   But Alistan, emerging from the shadows like a vengeful spirit, lunged. With a well-timed dodge, he avoided the brunt of the spell, the energy dissipating harmlessly into the air. Hayley, her voice sharp with anger, unleashed a curse upon both cultists and guards alike, her magic weaving a web of misfortune upon them.   Gael recognized an opportunity. A charm spell flowed from his fingertips, washing over one of the arriving guards. His face softened, confusion replaced by a flicker of understanding. For a moment, at least, one of them was on our side.   The battle raged. Empowered by my luck, Dadroz moved with deadly precision, another renegade falling victim to his rapier. Dadroz and Norgar took then cover behind the bar, using it as meager protection. Liliana, her blade wreathed in green flame, danced a deadly ballet, each strike finding its mark. I channeled the power of the weave, stealing life force from a cultist, weakening him in the process.   The charmed guard turned to his comrades, his voice raised in confusion. "Hold!" he yelled. "These are the emissaries! Stand down!"   The guards didn’t listen and one of them, his face contorted in a mixture of fear and rage, lunged at Dadroz, a spear aimed at the rogue's chest. Dadroz, with a snarl, parried the blow, his rapier flashing in a riposte that sent the attacker reeling.   Another guard, his intentions unclear, lunged at me, his spear aimed true. I twisted at the last moment, the blade whistling past my ear. Heart pounding, I bolted towards the opposite side of the room, desperate to put some distance between myself and the chaos.   The cultist leader, his eyes burning with hatred, attempted to unleash another dark spell. But before he could complete the incantation, I reached out, the last vestiges of my magic gathering around me. With a final, desperate tug, I manipulated the threads of fate, causing the spell to fizzle harmlessly.   In the same breath, I channeled the remaining luck I had gathered throughout the day towards Liliana. She seized the opportunity, her blade striking with deadly precision. One of the crimson-sashed guards crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.   Seeing an opening, I unleashed a final firebolt. It streaked across the room, finding its mark in the chest of the remaining renegade. He let out a choked scream before collapsing to the floor, his eyes vacant.   Alistan, a whirlwind of fury, slammed into the supposed leader of the renegade guards. Their bodies collided with a bone-jarring thud, sending both crashing to the ground. Alistan, fueled by adrenaline and righteous anger, rained down blows until the cultist leader lay unconscious, his face a bloody mess.   The remaining two guards, their initial confusion morphing into panic, turned and fled. But their escape was short-lived. Gael loosed an arrow that found its mark, the blunt projectile hitting him squarily in the head. The guard stumbled, his cry of pain echoing through the room. Moments later, the second guard fell victim to another of Gael's well-placed arrows, both men lying incapacitated on the floor.   With the battle over, a heavy silence descended upon the room. Exhaustion settled upon us, a wave of relief battling with the lingering shock of the brutal encounter. We tended to our wounds, the gashes on Alistan and Dadroz thankfully superficial. Liliana, her magic pulsing with a soft inner light, stabilized Alistan's condition, ensuring his recovery wouldn't be unduly impeded.   As we caught our breath, our gaze fell upon the fallen renegades. A closer look revealed a chilling detail – each man bore a hidden tattoo, a stylized image of a dragon etched on a hidden part of their body. The discovery sent a shiver down my spine. These weren't just rogue guards; they were members of a clandestine organization, one with a clear connection to dragons.   We turned towards the charmed guard, the only one who remained conscious. His face, still etched with confusion, mirrored our own. "Why?" Gael asked, his voice hoarse. "Why did you attack us?"   The guard blinked, his gaze darting between us and the fallen figures. "Our sergeant… he said," he stammered, pointing towards the renegade leader, his voice barely a whisper, "... you were a threat." He shook his head, his brow furrowed. "But… he never explained why."   His words hung heavy in the air, painting a disturbing picture. There was a faction within Keralon, a faction with power and influence, who seemed determined to derail the peace talks. And their motives, shrouded in secrecy, made them all the more dangerous.   Ten minutes stretched into an eternity, the heavy silence punctuated only by the ragged gasps of those recovering from the fight. Then, a distant sound echoed through the barracks – the unmistakable clanging of heavy boots on stone. We exchanged wary glances, a knot of tension tightening in our stomachs.   This time, the door creaked open to reveal a different kind of visitor. Six figures stood before us, clad in gleaming plate armor, each adorned with a flowing cloak emblazoned with the sigils of Keralon. Their leader, a knight with a stern yet noble expression, stepped forward. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the scene of carnage.   "What in the blazes happened here?" he boomed, his voice tinged with authority.   Gael stepped forward. "Greetings, sirs," he began, his voice steady despite the recent events. "We are the delegation from the Fenhunter army, escorting Norgar,, who bears a message for the king." He gestured towards Norgar, who stood tall and resolute despite the shock etched on his face.   "Fenhunter delegation?" the knight echoed, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Strange. We received word you were waiting at the gates, not… here." His gaze flickered towards the fallen figures, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "These guards with the red sashes," he muttered, his voice low. "Unorthodox.” He then looked at the renegade leader, “And the sergeant shouldn't have been here."   A glimmer of hope sparked within me. This knight, at least, seemed receptive. He wasn't part of the conspiracy. "They attacked us, unprovoked," we added, "We were forced to defend ourselves."   The knight – Donovan, as he had introduced himself – pondered for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "This is a serious breach of protocol," he declared, his voice firm. "I will investigate this matter further. Rest assured, those responsible will be held accountable."   A flicker of relief washed over me. Justice, it seemed, would be served. Donovan then proceeded to inform us of the next step. "You mentioned a message for the king," he said, his gaze settling on Norgar. "Then the council awaits. Let us escort you to the Silver Palace."   With a gesture, he ushered us towards the exit. Outside, a carriage waited, drawn by two sleek, silver-coated horses. Donovan, with a pointed glance towards the charmed guard who still trailed behind us, sent him back to his post. Gael, sensing the unspoken request, released the guard from his enchantment.   Under heavy escort, we began our ascent of Palace Hill, the imposing keep looming before us, its silhouette etched against the darkening sky.   The carriage creaked to a halt before the imposing Silver Palace. A retinue of guards, their polished armor glinting in the waning light, stood watch. Under Donovan's watchful gaze, we disembarked, the weight of scrutiny heavy in the air.   We were ushered through a series of corridors, each adorned with opulent tapestries and gleaming suits of armor. The sheer grandeur of the palace whispered of power and wealth, a stark contrast to the simple life we had known. Finally, we arrived at a grand chamber, its walls lined with tapestries depicting epic battles and forgotten heroes. A massive, half-moon shaped table stood at the center, flanked by imposing figures – knights clad in gleaming armor and nobles adorned in rich fabrics.   Norgar stepped forward, his voice echoing in the vast hall. He introduced himself and the delegation, emphasizing their role as an honor guard – a way of showing Keralon respect by sending their strongest warriors. The air crackled with tension as he proposed a peace treaty. His words were measured, his tone firm. He proposed a division of the land between Keralon and the Draconic home, a line drawn upon a map he unfurled upon the table.   He hinted at further requests, leaving the specific details for later discussions. With a flourish, he concluded, "Everything is open for negotiation. I have the authority to secure a lasting peace between our two nations."   Murmurs rippled through the room. Several nobles rose in rapid succession, launching into passionate speeches about the importance of peace and collaboration. It was a display, undeniably, but it also held a glimmer of genuine hope.   The council finally reached a decision. Norgar, they declared, would be granted residence within the keep for the duration of the negotiations. A tense silence followed, then all eyes turned towards us.   Donovan stepped forward, his voice a steady baritone. "These are Keralon citizens," he explained, gesturing towards us. "Loyal defenders of the realm. They were tasked by the Fenhunter army with ensuring Norgar's safety on his journey here."   Relief washed over me. We weren't considered threats, at least not for now. A curt nod from the head of the council was our dismissal. With a final bow, we turned and exited the grand chamber, the heavy oak doors closing with a resounding thud behind us.   As we emerged from the palace, the setting sun cast long shadows across the city. A sense of calm had descended upon Keralon, a stark contrast to the frantic energy that had gripped the city upon our arrival. Word of the ongoing negotiations had spread like wildfire, and the tense anticipation of an imminent invasion had morphed into a cautious optimism. People bustled about their lives, but a flicker of hope shone in their eyes.   Our destination for the evening was an inn aptly named "The Dull Blade," a notorious hangout for Keralon's Hedgeknights – an independent order known for their dedication to the city's safety. Alistan, informed us that the place was likely overflowing with activity tonight, given the day's dramatic events.   Indeed, as we pushed open the creaky oak doors, a wave of noise assaulted us. The common room was a cacophony of conversation, laughter, and the rhythmic clinking of tankards. Easily two hundred patrons filled the space, their boisterous energy a stark contrast to the tense silence that had gripped us all day.   Alistan's keen eyes spotted Vern, the Herald of the Hedgeknights, tucked away in a corner booth. A weary smile played on Vern's lips as we approached, his gaze conveying a silent acknowledgement of our success. A quick exchange confirmed what we already suspected – the Hedgeknights had received word of our arrival and the initiation of peace talks.   But Vern's next words threw us for a loop. Apparently, he was already privy to most of the details, including the events that transpired within the confines of the Fenhunter camp – at least, the details that transpired outside of tents and buildings. His network of informants, it seemed, was far more extensive than we had anticipated.   Hayley wasted no time in relaying her findings about the mysterious portal used by the dragonborn army, along with the unsettling truth behind their true motives – the retrieval of stolen eggs and children. She further posited a compelling theory, suggesting a connection between the missing children, the monstrous draconic creations we encountered, and the recent attacks by the so-called dragon cult.   Vern's gruff demeanor softened slightly as he listened to Hayley's deductions. There was a newfound respect in his gaze as he acknowledged the depth of our discoveries. For our efforts, Alistan, Dadroz, and Hayley were each presented with an oversized coin, a symbol of their "mettle" – their courage and resourcefulness in the face of adversity. Vern explained that these coins could be used to formally apply for membership within the ranks of the Hedgeknights.   He then revealed another surprise. The basement of the very inn we stood in housed the headquarters of the enigmatic "Long Table". If Alistan and Hayley were interested, they could begin their trials for membership immediately. Dadroz, however, was directed to a different location – the mausoleum. His trials, it seemed, would be of a different nature.

The Reunion
14th of Mannan, 126 Year of the Tree

Well, this old diary. Seems like a lifetime ago I was scribbling down my teenage angst and adventures in this dusty tome. Five years, that's how long it's been gathering cobwebs in the corner of my room at Cairn Fussil. Funny how time flies when you're busy fighting dragons and fending off cultists. But hey, a new chapter starts today, and what better way to mark it than by reviving this neglected friend of mine?   Tomorrow. That's the big day. Five years to the day after Liliana walked out that gate, her fate tethered to a deal with a conniving Fey. Five years of uncertainty, of wondering if she was okay, what Vivienne had put her through. But tomorrow, her contract ends. She's due back on the Material Plane, and we've arranged a reunion. Not at some fancy noble gathering, mind you. No, we're keeping things casual – a get-together at Feyris' bar, Erna's Wish.   Remember Feyris? The amnesiac fellow who landed himself in the middle of our Lorewood chaos? Well, it seems he's found his calling behind the bar. Five years have been good to him (and apparently good for business too). The location's perfect – Foregate district, far enough away from the stuffy Academy in the Truesilver District and also far from the Dumont household (I really don’t want to run into Emily by accident).   We've sent out invitations to the whole gang, including Robert, Dorr, even Elsa. No idea if they'll make it – haven't heard a peep back yet. But hey, even if it's just me, my sister and the De La Roosts, that's all that matters. There's so much to catch up on, so much that's happened since we last saw each other. Five years ago, I was a naive teenager with dreams bigger than my magical aptitude. Now, well, I'm still a bit naive (some things never change, I guess), but at least I've got some scars (literal and metaphorical) to show for it.   My magic's still a work in progress, nowhere near where it was before Seraphine. But I'm working on it, rebuilding my spellbook one painstaking inscription at a time. And hey, there's always a silver lining, right? Maybe all this craziness has made me a bit more… resourceful. The world throws curveballs, that's for sure, but sometimes, those curveballs lead you to unexpected places, introduce you to extraordinary people (and devils, and fey, let's not forget them).   Cairn Fussil is a good day's journey from Keralon, and by the time I reached Erna's Wish, my eyelids felt like lead weights. Feyris greeted me with a laugh and a backslapping hug , but I was too wiped to stay up and reminisce. A quick apology for the early arrival, a mumbled "see you tomorrow," and I was practically sleepwalking to my room.   The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the window did little to dispel the grogginess. I stretched, yawned, and stumbled out to the common room, expecting the usual pre-lunch bustle. Instead, the place was eerily quiet. No clatter of tankards, no murmur of patrons, just an unsettling stillness. A quick peek behind the bar revealed Feyris, humming cheerfully as he was preparing food.   When he saw me, he gestured to an overflowing platter, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Closed the bar for the day, just for our little reunion. Thought it deserved a proper celebration, wouldn't you agree?"   Surprise warmed my chest. Feyris always had a knack for grand gestures, but this was something else. Before I could stammer out a response, the sound of the inn door opening drew my attention.   Liliana. But somehow different. Her hair, once a cascading curtain of black, was now a stark white, framing eyes that shimmered like summer skies. A gasp escaped my lips. Beside her stood Alistan, his face etched with a weariness that mirrored my own.   They arrived early, it seemed. Liliana's gaze met mine, a mix of emotions swirling within it. A forced smile tugged at the corners of my lips.   "Liliana," I stammered, the apology heavy on my tongue. "I… I'm so sorry I wasn't able to…"   She cut me off with a gentle shake of her head. "My service is up, Luke. It’s over now. If Vivienne wants me back, she needs to negotiate."   Relief washed over me, mingled with a knot of unease. Her words hinted at a story left untold, a price paid for her freedom. We would have time for that later, though. For now, there was catching up to do.   The awkwardness descended then, a thick silence punctuated only by the sizzling of meat and the clinking of silverware (courtesy of a very enthusiastic Feyris, who had apparently given his waitresses the day off). I had a lot to explain, five years' worth of stories and experiences. There was also the delicate task of mentioning… well, the ex-girlfriend situation. Three of them, in five years. Not exactly my proudest moments. I opted for a vague, "Let's just say there have been some… developments…" while internally wincing at the understatement.   The door creaked open once more, and Dadroz slunk in, his usual stoic demeanor in place. Liliana's eyes widened in surprise.   "Dadroz! How have you been?"   He shrugged, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Odd jobs here and there. Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid."   Alistan raised an eyebrow. "Hopefully nothing too… shady?"   Dadroz chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Always by moonlight, my friend. Never any shade involved." He winked, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Speaking of which, been trying to get into the Moon Blossom Circle myself."   The Moonblossom Circle – a Knightly Circle with a questionable reputation. They present themselves as information brokers and mediaries, but rumors have it that many of them are spies and thieves, working at the behest of the King. A good fit for Dadroz though.   The reunion continued with another surprise entrance. Gael burst through the door, a wide grin splitting his face. His booming greeting echoed through the room, and his eyes landed on Liliana. Relief tinged his voice as he spoke.   "Liliana! It's good to see you again. Been worried sick about you, these past years."   A faint smile touched her lips. "There was nothing to worry about, Gael. I'm back, and that's all that matters."   The conversation flowed, a mix of shared stories and cautious questions about the years we'd spent apart. Just as I was about to explain my "developments" on the ex-girlfriend front, the door creaked open once more. This time, it was Hayley, stepping into the room like a whirlwind in black. No jewels adorned her simple tunic, a full embrace of her position as the resident witch to a small village up North (so small that I am not even sure it has a name).   She threw her arms around me in a tight hug, her voice laced with amusement. "Well, well, well, look who it is! Though I must say, brother dearest, no new conquests to introduce this time?"   I winced internally. "Let's just say… I'm taking a break from the whole romance thing for a while."   Hayley raised an eyebrow, but before she could continue the playful interrogation, Feyris emerged from the kitchen, his booming voice announcing the official start of festivities.   "Alright, everyone, gather around the table! Lunch is calling, and trust me, you won't want to miss this spread." He gestured to a massive pot simmering over the fire. "Open bar, folks. Consider it a welcome home gift from yours truly."   I grimaced internally. Alcohol, while tempting, was definitely off the menu. The memory of that near-disastrous encounter with a dragon (and the lingering fallout with Lyra) was still fresh in my mind. But to give Feyris a bit of a break, I conjured a magical servant to serve everyone their drinks.   Just then, the door creaked open again. This time, two men entered, their hands instinctively resting on the pommels of their swords. A moment later, Elsa swept in, a vision in a dress that shimmered with jewels and silken finery. The years had been kind to her – if anything, she was even more breathtaking than I remembered.   A pang of something akin to my old teenage crush flickered within me, but I quickly squashed it. She sent her guards back outside with a curt nod, then apologized for the delay. A brief hug was bestowed upon each of us, followed by a curious glance at Liliana's new white hair.   "My word," Elsa murmured, "quite the transformation, wouldn't you say?"   Conversation swirled around the table, a whirlwind of questions and gossip. Elsa, it seemed, had heard whispers about our adventures (and apparently, some not-so-flattering rumors about yours truly) at court. I skillfully steered the conversation away from that topic, offering her a drink instead.   Her attention then shifted to Alistan. "So, I hear you fought in the war against the Fenhunter?" she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of aristocratic curiosity.   "I did, a few years ago," Alistan replied, patiently explaining the details of the conflict.   Elsa, never one to miss a beat, then turned to Gael. "And rumors abound that you were instrumental in saving Robert's life. Is he joining us today?"   Gael shook his head. "Not sure, to be honest. We didn’t hear back from him."   A sudden burst of shouting from outside shattered the peaceful lull. We all exchanged glances, a sliver of unease creeping into the room. A moment later, the door slammed open with a bang, revealing one of Elsa's previously dismissed guards stumbling in, face flushed and clothes askew. Before he could stammer out an apology, a figure filled the doorway – Dorr, the gruff dwarf, pushed the guard aside with a grumbled oath.   "Took you long enough to let a decent bloke in!" he bellowed, his booming voice echoing in the bar. Elsa sighed and waved the bewildered guard away. Hayley launched herself at Dorr with a warm hug, shoving a tankard of ale into his hand.   "Dorr! Good to see you, old friend!"   Dorr grunted in response, downing half the ale in a single gulp. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand, then turned to Liliana, a look of concern etched on his weathered face.   "Liliana, my dear! Heard you were back. How you been holdin' up?"   Liliana smiled, a touch sad. "It's a long story, Dorr. But I'm free now, that's the main thing."   A lively conversation erupted, fueled by ale and a shared history. Dorr and Liliana launched into a surprisingly deep discussion about the existence of earless fey, their voices growing louder and more nonsensical with each passing minute.   I took the opportunity to sidle up to Elsa, curiosity gnawing at me. "So, Elsa," I began, "what have you been up to all these years?"   She took a sip of her drink, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Finishing school, for one. It was a very strict place, and I couldn't keep in touch with anyone. But it paid off in the end." She smiled wryly. "Now, I'm a courtier for the King. Representing the common people at the court. A humble farmer can’t be expected to know how to properly petition the king, you see. So we act a bit as an in-between person."   The conversation flowed from there, a tapestry of shared stories and updates. Alistan revealed he was still in the same house, surrounded by his companions. Hayley, as I knew, lived in a small village up north, close to where the battle against the draconic army had taken place.   Alistan's brow furrowed. "The battle? Hayley, were you there?"   Hayley shrugged. "Mostly spent my time tending to the wounded after the dust settled. Not exactly the thick of the fight."   Dorr, his voice thick with ale and a touch of melancholy, interjected. "Made a good coin off that battle, I did. Plenty of kobolds to kill. Too many good people died though."   He slammed his tankard down on the table, the force of it making the others jump. "Draw, that's what it was! Can't be happy with a draw, can you? Victory or defeat, that's what makes sense. Least it was just one battle, and that Fenhunter himself didn't show his ugly mug."   A shared shudder rippled through the group. The mere mention of the dragon sent chills down my spine. The war might have ended with a stalemate, but the threat of Fenhunter loomed large, a dark cloud on the horizon.   A jarring clang of bells shattered the jovial atmosphere. The sound echoed through the streets, growing louder with each passing moment. We exchanged startled glances, a collective sense of unease settling in the pit of our stomachs.   Feyris set down his tankard with a sigh. "Sounds like trouble's brewing."   Curiosity burning bright, we pushed back from the table and headed outside. The once bustling street was now a scene of controlled chaos. People leaned out of windows, their faces etched with concern, pointing frantically towards the north. Armed guards, faces grim, hurried towards the Foregate district gates.   Gael pointed towards the horizon. A plume of dust rose in the distance, a swirling brown cloud against the clear blue sky. A feeling of dread coiled around my heart – it was getting closer, whatever it was.   Hayley commanded Fiachna to take to the skies. She let out a gasp as she peered through her raven familiar’s eyes. "An army," Fiachna's voice echoed, laced with urgency. "A vast army, marching towards the city. They bear the banner of the Fenhunter!"   We watched in stunned silence as the chaos escalated. The guards, despite their attempts to maintain order, were clearly overwhelmed. They shouted instructions at the bewildered citizens, urging them to stay calm and return home. Vague mentions of evacuation to the Highcity, a walled district within Keralon mostly reserved for nobility, were met with panicked murmurs.   Of course, we weren't nobility. We were a ragtag bunch of adventurers, misfits, and one apprentice. As we approached the guards, their hurried pronouncements turned into a dismissive wave of the hand.   "Not part of any Knight Circle, are you? Then head home and stay there! We'll handle this."   The frustration was palpable. They were urging calm while simultaneously offering no explanation for the approaching army. But arguing with panicked guardsmen was a losing battle. Dejected, we retreated back to the inn.   The festive atmosphere within Erna's Wish had vanished. The fancy carriage that had been parked outside was gone, presumably whisking Elsa back to the safety of the nobility district, her guards hovering protectively. The roof of the inn, however, held a surprise.   Dorr and Feyris were sprawled out there, a feast laid out before them – the remnants of our interrupted lunch. Snacks and stew had been arranged into a surprisingly artistic picnic, their faces devoid of worry (or perhaps blissfully ignorant, courtesy of the ale).   "Ah, there you lot are!" boomed Feyris, a tankard raised in greeting. "Care to join us? Plenty of food left, and the view from up here ain't bad!"   With a sigh, we clambered up onto the roof. We settled down around the makeshift picnic, casting wary glances towards the approaching army. They had stopped their advance, just out of sight, a vast encampment slowly taking shape on the fields beyond the city walls.   Alistan's voice broke the silence. "How did they manage to get so close without alerting the scouts?"   Gael shook his head. "More likely we just weren't informed. Not the first time that the higher-ups are keeping their cards close to their chest."   A heavy silence descended upon us then. The future stretched before us, shrouded in uncertainty. All we could do was wait, and hope that whatever plan the city had in store, it would be enough. The once-joyful reunion was overshadowed by the approaching threat. This wasn't how I'd planned on spending my day with old friends. But then again, when did anything ever go according to plan in my life?   The weight of the impending siege lingered even as we descended from the rooftop. The final bits and pieces of the meal sat untouched on the table in the common room, a testament to the collective unease. Hours bled into each other, filled with nervous chatter, punctuated by the occasional clink of tankards and the comforting crackle of the fire.   The topic eventually turned morbid, a dark humor creeping into our conversation. We began recounting the most bizarre battles we'd faced over the years. Alistan regaled us with the tale of a monstrous tree that had captured a dark fey, named Khrys, whom he ended up befriending (the fey, not the tree).   A sudden rapping on the door shattered the gallows humor. Feyris grumbled and lumbered towards the door, intent on shooing away any unwelcome patrons. However, upon flinging the door open, he found nothing but empty air. A confused frown marred his face.   Just as he was about to close the door, a faint sound from the kitchen caught Alistan's ear.   "Did anyone hear that?" he asked, his voice hushed.   We all exchanged a glance. With a silent nod, Alistan cautiously edged his way towards the kitchen, the rest of us trailing close behind. The scene that greeted us was unexpected.   Standing amidst the clutter of pots and pans was Vern Skald, the Herald of the Hedgeknights, one of the Outer Circles. Recognition dawned on his face as he spotted us.   "Well, well," he boomed, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Look who it is! Alistan, Hayley, Dadroz – fancy meeting you lot here."   Alistan recovered first, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. "Vern! What are you doing here?"   Vern chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Came here for a reason, that's for sure. And it involves you three."   He gestured to the table, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Catching up with old friends, are we?"   Alistan stepped forward, curiosity piqued. "Vern, what's going on?"   Vern's face turned serious. "Let's just say it's not exactly leisure that brought me here. I have a… pledge for you three. An urgent one."   I recalled the concept of the pledges – special quests that served as a gateway to joining a Knight Circle. Alistan, ever quick to grasp the situation, put two and two together.   "This has something to do with the army outside, doesn't it?"   Vern nodded grimly. "Indeed. We need to know what they're up to. Their plans, their intentions. Most importantly, how they managed to sneak up on the city. If they have hostile intentions, we need their battle plans, and we need them now."   A tense silence followed his explanation. This wasn't an official city mission; it was a rogue operation sanctioned by the Knights. Leaving the city, let alone re-entering, would be a major challenge.   Hayley's brow furrowed. "Do you still have that messaging spell, Luke?" she asked, a flicker of hope in her eyes.   I shook my head, the weight of my lost power settling heavily in my stomach. Seraphine taking my magic felt like a lifetime ago, yet the consequences were all too real.   The conversation shifted to escape routes. Dadroz began listing a litany of secret passages and hidden tunnels, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.   "There's a ferry in Fishtown," he said, a gleam in his eye. "Runs across to Dogville. Probably closed by now, but I can almost guarantee a few gold coins would loosen the ferrymaster's tongue."   Another option emerged – rumors of hidden tunnels in the Huntington graveyard. A long shot, perhaps, but it could potentially lead them right to the heart of the enemy camp.   Gael and I interjected here and put our foot down that we weren't going to let our friends shoulder this burden alone. Luckily they readily accepted our help.   With renewed purpose, we set about preparing for our departure. Alistan, Dadroz, and Gael headed for the Northwall gate, intending to retrieve their equipment. Unfortunately, the news that greeted them was grim – the gate was closed, a security measure due to the approaching army.   Undeterred, we decided to head straight for Fishtown, the ferry our only hope of escape. The streets were a chaotic mess, teeming with panicked citizens. News of the army had spread like wildfire, and fear hung heavy in the air.   Conversations were filled with worries about the inner gates closing, leaving the outer rings, including Fishtown, vulnerable to attack. People knew they were often the first sacrifice in such situations, left to fend for themselves as the city battened down the hatches.   Hayley tried to calm the throngs. She assured them that the Hedgeknights were working tirelessly to ensure their safety. Her words, while sincere, had a limited effect. It was Liliana and Alistan, their familiar faces and reputations, that finally started to quell the rising panic. People began to disperse, heading home with a sliver of hope clinging to them.   Reaching the ferry landing, we found our escape route in question. The building sat locked and guarded by city watchmen, their faces grim under their helmets. Dadroz decided to take a more… clandestine approach. He sidled towards the door, his nimble fingers working on the lock. Just as the guards rounded a corner, on their usual patrol, Dadroz managed to fling the door open with a click, barely a second before they appeared.   He emerged triumphant, a glint in his eye and a keyring dangling from his fingers. One of the keys might hold the ticket to our freedom – access to the repair building and a chance to commandeer a boat. Unfortunately, driving a boat was a skill none of us possessed.   Noxis' Tap, a smoky, old tavern notorious for its questionable clientele, became our next destination. It was a long shot, but we hoped to find the ferrymen – the ones who could navigate us across the water. The bar was mostly deserted, the air thick with stale beer and pipe smoke. Three hulking bugbears sat nursing their drinks, their hairy backs turned to us.   Noxis, a tiefling with a grumpy expression, barked a greeting at us. "Closed! Come back tomorrow!"   Dadroz, undeterred, sidled closer to the barkeep. He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper, and exchanged a few cryptic words with Noxis. A glint of understanding passed between them, followed by a sly smile from the tiefling. Coin changed hands, a silent conversation conducted in gestures and whispers.   Noxis' gruff explanation shattered any hope of a simple solution. The guards, it seemed, had taken it upon themselves to lock down the entire ferry fleet. The owners, understandably wary of being caught in a siege, had taken the last ferry across the river and weren't about to risk returning. We were trapped, at least as far as a legitimate ferry crossing was concerned.   A glimmer of hope flickered in the form of one of the bugbears at the bar. Tevon, a hulking creature with a surprisingly gentle voice, admitted to having some boating experience. A silver piece per head was his price, and he was willing to take us across the river – provided we could get him a boat.   Dadroz negotiated a midnight rendezvous. We would secure the boat, and Tevon, our unlikely savior, would ferry us across the water. But a new wrinkle emerged – the ferry would not wait around for our return. Re-entering the city, once we had the information we needed, was going to be another challenge entirely.   Thinking fast, Hayley hatched a plan. Fiachna could send a message to the bugbear, letting him know when it was time to pick us up.   The next few hours were a blur of failed attempts and near misses. Dadroz's attempts to "borrow" a fisherman's boat ended in frustration, twice, his nimble fingers failing to bypass the watchful eyes of the patrolling guards. Finally, with desperation gnawing at our resolve, we returned to the docks, setting our sights on the larger ferry boats in dry dock.   Hayley and I knew we needed a distraction. A quick glance confirmed a patrol of three guards was making its rounds. With a shared nod, we sprang into action. Hayley cast a subtle spell of suggestion on one guard, sending him on his way with a fabricated errand that took him far from the docks. I focused my magic on the remaining two, weaving a charm that manipulated fate to ensure my success.   One guard reacted poorly, his hand instinctively reaching for an arrow. But just as the fletching grazed Hayley's arm, the full force of my charm took hold. Apologies tumbled from their lips, their previous stern expressions replaced by a look of bewildered friendliness. Suddenly, we had two new "best friends," eager to assist us in any way they could. A stolen ferry boat seemed a small price to pay for their newfound loyalty.   With a newfound understanding of the docks' machinery thanks to a quick bit of tinkering on my part, we lowered a sturdy ferry boat into the water. Tevon, our gruff but reliable boatman, took the helm, and with a wave goodbye to our charmed guards, we set sail into the night.   The journey was swift, the cool night air whipping through our hair. Tevon dropped us off a safe distance downstream, promising to return once he received the signal from Fiachna. As we huddled together on the riverbank, the weight of the mission settled upon us.   Tomorrow, we would approach the enemy camp, a ragtag group venturing into the heart of danger. But tonight, under the cloak of darkness, we would allow ourselves a moment of respite, a chance to formulate a plan and steel our nerves for what lay ahead.   A sliver of sunlight pierced the darkness, rousing us from our slumber. Gael made the rounds, offering his trusty magically-enhanced goodberries. Alistan, a nostalgic smile gracing his lips, mumbled something about missing those during his travels.   Hayley summoned Fiachna, her raven companion, sending him on a reconnaissance mission. His report upon return was both unsettling and intriguing. The approaching army was entirely draconic in composition, a vast collection of kobolds and dragonborn. Most surprisingly, they didn't seem to be preparing for battle; there was an air of… organization around their camp.   Driven by a mix of apprehension and curiosity, we decided to approach them directly. A simple walk-up, a greeting, and a hope for open communication. The plan, while audacious, seemed our best option.   A group of dragonborn and kobolds materialized on the horizon, their approach a mixture of caution and curiosity. Gael, ever the diplomat, boomed a greeting in their direction. One dragonborn, distinguished by thick golden armor and a deep green hue, stepped forward. He surveyed us with a critical eye, his posture radiating a sense of authority.   "Who are you?" his voice rumbled, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.   Gael, unfazed, introduced us one by one, explaining our origins and purpose. The dragonborn, however, seemed unimpressed. He muttered something under his breath, a dismissal more than anything, and began to walk away.   Undeterred, we followed, attempting to engage him in conversation. Gael argued that perhaps we had some value to offer, something they might find useful. The dragonborn, however, remained confused by our very presence. The concept of strangers approaching an army, seemingly unafraid, was apparently a novel one to him.   Hayley, sensing our struggle, chimed in. She explained the lack of a rigid hierarchy in Keralon, a stark difference from the seemingly structured military force before us. She then pointed to Alistan, mentioning his noble lineage.   This piqued the dragonborn's interest, but only succeeded in confusing him further. Our explanation of noble houses and their intricacies seemed to go over his head. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer bewilderment, he conceded that we might represent some semblance of a city delegation. With a grudging nod, he gestured for a group of kobolds to escort us towards his camp.   The bustling activity within the camp was a sight to behold. Dragonborn warriors milled about, attending to various tasks. Some warriors glanced our way, a flicker of curiosity in their eyes, but most seemed unfazed by our arrival as if they had been expecting us. We were led toward a large, round tent, its fabric adorned with intricate patterns, nestled against the makeshift wall surrounding the camp.   Inside, the green dragonborn, now identified as Ragnar Ergoll, the leader of the army, gestured towards a plush camp chair. He settled in, his gaze fixed on us. He explained, rather bluntly, that he had come to establish a closer bond with Keralon, acting on the orders of his "mistress," Velora Morenthene, whom we call the Fenhunter. Velora, it seemed, wished to avoid future conflict. Sending her strongest warriors, apparently, was a gesture of goodwill.   Ragnar's next request caught us by surprise. He desired an immediate audience with the King. We explained, with some trepidation, that such a speedy meeting might be difficult to arrange. Instead, we offered to deliver a message, a formal letter explaining the situation and requesting an audience at a later date.   Ragnar scowled. This human complexity, this fondness for paperwork, seemed to baffle him. Hayley, with a wry smile, confirmed his suspicions – humans, she admitted, loved making things more complicated than they needed to be.   A quarter of an hour later, Ragnar emerged from his tent, a frustrated look etched on his face. "This whole situation," he declared, "is far too convoluted." He had a new proposal – he proposed appointing us as emissaries, representatives of their army, to speak to the King on their behalf.   But before we would even be considered worthy of representing the Fenhunter, there was one more hurdle to overcome, Ragnar said – a challenge of combat against a renowned dragonborn champion.   Alistan was the first to speak. "I'll do it," he declared, a glint of determination in his eyes.   Ragnar let out something that could only be vaguely described as a laugh. "One against one? Hardly fair, wouldn't you say?" He swept his gaze over all of us, a mischievous glint in his reptilian eyes. "This will be a group challenge. All of you, against my champion, Dran."   A wave of unease washed over me. A group fight? Against a single opponent, no matter how skilled, could be chaotic at best. Alistan, however, seemed intrigued.   "Dran, you say?" he muttered, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "I've heard whispers about him. A formidable fighter, wields a massive greatsword."   Ragnar nodded. "Indeed. But fear not, humans. This is not a fight to the death. Simply knock him unconscious, and the challenge is yours."   My heart hammered in my chest. Fighting hand-to-hand wasn't my forte. But then, neither was diplomacy, apparently. I voiced my remaining concern.   "Magic," I asked cautiously. "Can we use magic in the fight?"   Ragnar shrugged. "Dran won't hold back. Expect him to utilize his magic as well."   We exchanged nervous glances. Alistan and Liliana were seasoned warriors, confident in their physical prowess. Hayley, with her arsenal of witchcraft and curses, appeared ready for the challenge. Gael was likely already formulating a plan in his head. Even Dadroz, with his nimble fingers and bag of tricks, could prove invaluable.   As a group, we were a formidable force. But against a renowned dragonborn champion, with magic thrown into the mix, the odds seemed far from even. Taking a deep breath, I steeled my nerves. This wasn't the time for doubt. We had a mission, and this challenge was the first hurdle.   With a collective nod, we accepted Ragnar's terms. The fate of Keralon, it seemed, rested on our ability to outwit and overpower a dragonborn champion. The details of the fight, the location, the rules – all remained unclear. But one thing was certain – we would face Dran, and the outcome would determine our next step. The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon us, a flicker of determination ignited within our hearts. We were in this together, and we wouldn't back down.

Letter to Hayley VI
14th of Mannan, 125 Year of the Tree

Dear Sister,   As promised, a letter to let you know that I have arrived back safely at Cairn Fussil.   Luckily Amarra was present when I arrived, and I was able to tell her immediately that I was going to pick up my apprenticeship again. She didn’t really say much, except that she expected me to work twice as hard to make up for lost time. I did also warn her that it might be useful to invest in some additional magical defenses for the tower to protect us from incursions by my devil ex-girlfriend, but I don’t think she fully believed me.   Somehow in the more than two years since I have been gone, very little has changed at Cairn Fussil. I am still the only apprentice, as I suspect that with all the drama that I have caused her, Amarra must have had serious regrets with her first apprentice.   My magic still hasn’t fully recovered after the incident with Seraphine. The lost spells from my spellbook didn’t return as I had hoped, so I do expect I will have to transcribe them again. The good news is that I found the spell scrolls that Amarra gave me all those years ago that I hadn’t used, so that at least is a start. I am still far weaker than I should be, I am pretty sure that even if I had the runes for a simple fireball spell I wouldn’t be able to cast it.   I do want to also thank you again with your help with the devil-worshiping cultists. It did end up taking quite a bit longer than expected (although I should have guessed in advance that their leader Hector would know wards against divination magic). But it was fun going on an adventure with the five of us, even if it didn’t end like we had hoped.   I am still also not sure what happened to Hector’s body. I have tried several divinations, but they all come up with nothing (again, he was warded against them). I am pretty sure that final strike left him more than dead, and it did release Seraphine’s essence back to her, so I don’t really know what is going on. Let’s hope he doesn’t turn up as an undead or something.   As for Seraphine, the more I think about it, the more I believe that you were right. The memories of a few months, had no chance against a life that has experienced millenia. When we freed her essence from Hector, the two lives fused together and the original was restored. While I think we had all hoped that there would have been more left of the Seraphine we had gotten to know, but in retrospect that was a bit foolish of me.   I asked her several times, before it all went down, if restoring her essence was what she really wanted. But she always replied that there was no doubt in her mind. She told me that she could always feel the part that was missing. That even though she was happy with all of us, with me, she knew that she wasn’t the person she was supposed to be.   I don’t know if she actually knew that who she was, was a terrifying devil that wanted to drag my soul to The Pit. It is quite lucky that you, Zem and Saphira were there in the end. I don’t think I would have been able to banish her if it wasn’t for your help. Even with your help, she managed to drag away quite a bit of my power.   As I write all this down in my old room at Cairn Fussil, I can’t help but notice that with my money gone and most of my spell power gone, I am back where I started five years ago when we just arrived in Keralon. (I think I have exactly the same amount of gold, down to the last copper piece as back then.)   Looking back now at all these years, I now wonder if I would have done things differently, and honestly I don’t think I would.   Despite everything that happened at the end with Emily, I still think back often on the plans we were always making about our future. How we were both going to become powerful wizards, how we were going to have the full grand noble wedding, how we were going to have three children (two boys and one girl). And those dreams are something that I wouldn't trade away for anything in the world.   The time I spent with Lyra were honestly the happiest days of my life. They were always full of adventure and excitement (maybe too much excitement sometimes). But even in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of us on the road, there was a sense of belonging like I haven’t really ever experienced before or since.   And it may sound strange, but I think I genuinely loved Seraphine, or at least the Seraphine as she was before everything else happened. When I was with her, it felt like she completed a piece that was missing inside of me. Even now that she is gone, it feels like she is still a part of me.   I am most reminded of the old idiom ‘It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all’. And despite all of the misery and heartbreak, I think I can understand.   Give my regards to Zem and Saphira (sorry it didn’t work out between us).   I hope you’ll come to visit me soon in Keralon, sis.   Your loving, and sometimes foolish, brother,   Luke

Letter to Hayley V
7th of Daga, 125 Year of the Tree

Dear sister,   I have gotten in over my head and I need your help. I am in need of some kind of banishment ritual. I don’t suppose you have a collection of spell scrolls in your tiny village?   It all started when I promised a poor farmer to find his missing son. I used my divination magic to track him to a strange ruin on the edge of the Bogrun river. It seemed like it was an old keep, perhaps dating from before the time of the Tree, that had sunken in the ground. The only entrance being a window of the top tower that now barely cleared the forest floor.   I climbed in and started to descend into darkness. It was immediately clear that the ruin wwasn’t entirely deserted as dust had been cleared and signs of inhabitation were obvious. It didn’t take long before I found out who was living there. I turned a corner and pretty much ran into one of the cultists.   I got lucky and reacted just a second quicker, and managed to blow him up. But the explosion did rock the entire keep. I heard shouts so it was clear that there were several cultists in the ruin. They also seemed to have some defense system in place, and the main entrance collapsed, trapping me in with the cultists.   Now as you are reading this letter, you have guessed correctly that I survived and managed to make my way out of the ruins. Although, I have to admit it was very much touch-and-go. The cultists had access to powerful necromancy magic, and I had to use all my wits to take out the remaining two without getting killed myself.   With the cultists gone, I was able to look around. I found notes that they were devil worshippers, seeking to boost their magic through infernal means. I also found plenty of beds, indicating that there were many more of them, but they just weren’t around. What’s worse, their leader was a man called Hector, a powerful dark wizard that I had heard rumors about. Eventually I found the dungeon, and unfortunately the remains of the son I had been sent to find, as well as several other children that had been sacrificed by the cult. I kept checking all of the cells, hoping for the best, and did manage to find a survivor at last.   At first, I thought the survivor was a human girl about our age, but when I got closer, I realized that there was something very wrong with her. Her eyes were black, she had tiny horns and her nails were almost claws. Her skin was pale and she looked very sickly as she was chained to the wall. Whereas all other prisoners had been held captive with a single chain, she had several, limiting her movement.   She was clearly some kind of fiend (and not the ordinary tiefling kind). The cultists had been using her for rituals as she was surrounded by magical runes. When she noticed me and saw I was not a cultist, she begged me to help her.   I knew I should kill her then and there, and send her back to the Hell from where she came. But I was somewhat distracted as I heard several other cultists return to the ruin, startled to find their defenses triggered. The fiend called out that she could help me escape the cultists if I freed her from her restraints.   In normal circumstances, I would have never considered the offer. But I was in no shape to take on a cultist army, and it seemed like a worse idea to leave her there for the cult. Honestly, I also couldn’t stomach killing her in cold blood as I should have. I had just seen a bunch of kids strung up and she looked far too human.   So I freed her, shattering the chains that held her back. I prepared to defend myself, but she was still very weak so I actually had to help her up. She thanked me and said her name was Seraphine. Together we limped deeper into the ruins, towards a secret path that she knew about. We hoped to get away before the cult could clear the entrance again. As we journeyed deeper and deeper, I discovered just how large the ruins were. The structure where the cult had their main base and kept their prisoners was just a small section of a much larger underground keep. Several parts had collapsed over the ages, and we were forced to make our way through.   Alas we soon ran into a cultist that, I assume had been sent around to find an alternative entrance. This time I was too slow, and the cultist got the upperhand. But Seraphine saved me, throwing her weight into the cultist just before he could launch a killing spell at me. I was surprised to witness her strength, as I keep forgetting that she isn’t a human girl. Her attack on the cultist was vicious, clawing at his face. The cultist didn’t survive, as he was beaten into a bloody pulp.   Seraphine was kneeling over the body, covered in blood, and started to shiver and cry. I pulled her away, and used my magic to clean her up. We left the body and continued further down the passage. It took us a few hours, but eventually the ruins gave way to a cave, which emerged in a small forest.   I set up a small camp, and Seraphine told me her story, or what she remembered from it. She had been summoned by the cult several months ago. They had performed some kind of ritual to steal her power and give it to their leader Hector. Seraphine described the horrible acts of the cult that she was forced to undergo. In the end, she was very weakened and had lost most of her memories. She only knew bits and pieces, but she did know that as long as Hector holds her essence, she is bound to this plane. Killing her or banishing her, would likely rip her apart. In any case, she was bound to serve, and returning to the Pit after her capture by the cultists would meet severe punishment.   I was taken back by how much her story reminded me of Liliana. I never got the impression that Seraphine chose her fate, or that she had any say in who her master was. I know that fiends are dangerous creatures that play on your emotions, and I’ve dealt with my share of skilled manipulators over the years. But I really couldn’t bring myself to kill her or turn her over to whatever priesthood would deal with devils, like any rational person would do. Besides there is still a dangerous cult out there, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend, I think?   So I said that I would help her take down Hector and get her power back. Once she was whole again, I would send her back to Hell. Seraphine told me that she understood, and could agree to those terms.   Now two issues with my impromptu promise.   Firstly, by allying myself with a fiend, there is no way that I can call on any knights or guards to help. There is no one that I trust enough to not attack Seraphine on sight, neither do I fully trust Seraphine with anyone else. This was my decision so I don’t want to put anyone else in danger (that includes you, sis). So it is Seraphine and I against the cult.   Secondly, I don’t really have a way to banish anything. Even if we are able to defeat Hector, I cannot on my own send Seraphine back. Hence my earlier request for anything that I could use to banish a fiend. I have attached what little gold I have saved to this letter to cover your expenses.   I am sure that you don’t agree with my decision to help Seraphine. And honestly there is a better chance than not that this will get me killed. Although, don’t count me out just yet, I have learned more than my fair share of tricks to hunt down bad guys these past few years. But after everything that has happened, I need to do this. I have to put a stop to this cult, and maybe just once save the girl.   Your brother,   Luke

Letter to Hayley IV
17th of Gobu, 124 Year of the Tree

My dearest sister,   It is over between me and Lyra. I suppose I’ll need to find some kind of cleric to disband the marriage. A cleric of Spade seems appropriate somehow.   I’m sure you can guess how it all went wrong. But there were some things that I didn’t mention last time we met. I could say that they were small details that we just hadn’t had time to share, but the honest truth is that saying these things out loud would have meant that I would have had to stop and think about what I was doing.   I first noticed something strange back when we first headed back together from Dryhaven to Keralon.   We took the long way round, as we didn’t want the man who had ambushed us, the one called Kassian, to follow us. Although I was looking forward to seeing everyone again, neither of us were in a hurry to get back to Keralon.   We stopped at a few more small villages, most of them hadn’t seen a Knight patrol pass by in years. Some of them were desperate and greatly needed our help. And for all of the things that would go wrong later, I have to admit that Lyra and I made a great team. We took down all manner of bandits, monsters and villains. I like to believe we really made a difference during this time.   I didn’t notice it at the time, but whenever we helped people, Lyra would be quick to collect whatever reward they had offered. I always felt a bit guilty, as many of these people barely had anything. I think if I had been alone, I would have refused most of them. But Lyra convinced me that we needed to survive ourselves, and we should start building on our life together. We did manage to make enough gold so that we could stay in much nicer inns, and had three full meals every day.   There was also one strange occurrence that I didn’t question at the time. We had stopped in a small roadside inn, and helped them take out a pack of wolves that was eating their goats. We got a few gold coins as thanks, but as we were walking away I noticed that Lyra had a new necklace. When I asked her about it, she said that it had been part of the reward we had gotten. The thing is that I remember seeing that necklace around the neck of the innkeeper’s wife. The evening before, she had told me it held great sentimental value as it had belonged to her deceased daughter. It seemed like it held little actual value, so I wasn’t sure why they would have given it as a reward.   But even with the long way round, after passing by your village, we eventually got to Keralon. We met up there with several old friends and luckily managed to get through everything without too many incidents. We stayed away from the noble district, the Canalside district and the academy, just to be safe. I didn’t visit Cairn Fussil, as I didn’t want to confront Amarra just yet about my tutelage. We had both decided that we didn’t want to stay too long and one night in the inn we heard the tale of the Heart of Gold. It was said to be a Fey gift to the Ravensong family that could show, and perhaps even grant, someone’s greatest desire. It was said to be lost in the Whitefang Ocean, after the ship that was carrying the head of the family went down with its crew. It had been thought lost for 50 years, but recently a piece of the ship’s wreckage had been found to the east of Zwartkeep. The family had put out a substantial reward for anyone who could find it.   This sounded like the perfect job for a divination wizard/adventurer, so this is why we left Keralon in such a hurry. We journeyed North and chartered a ship to help in our search. I also bought like a ton of water breathing potions (but spent them all in the search). We were of course not the only ones searching for the lost artifact, and had plenty of conflict with our rival treasure hunters.   But in the end, Lyra and I managed to find the Heart of Gold and bring it back to the Ravensong family. The reward was substantial, more than enough to set Lyra and I up for life. And they also arranged a grand banquet to celebrate the return of the item, which we were invited to.   I was already discussing my potential retirement plans with Lyra (I had just the day before spent a bit too long in the gut of giant squid - long story - I don’t want to talk about it), when we spotted none other than Kassian at the banquet, dressed as a noble. We alerted the guards, but they only said that they would keep an eye on him, he had an official invitation so they couldn't just kick him out.   Lyra suspected that he was there to steal the Heart of Gold, so we followed him. He noticed us, and we ended up fighting on the roof of the Ravensong mansion as a lightning storm raged. In the end, I was able to subdue Kassian with a few clever magical spells. I actually made sure to capture him so I could turn him over to the guards.   But when I did, Kassian pointed out to me that Lyra had disappeared. I was used to her tendency to pop in and out by then, so I didn’t immediately notice. Kassian just laughed at me and told me that she had probably stolen the Heart of Gold and pinned it on me, just like had happened to him. I argued that he was talking nonsense and that Lyra loved me. Kassian replied that he once thought the same before she betrayed him.   I sped away and was stunned to discover that he had been right, both Lyra and the Heart of Gold were gone. I chased after her immediately, but the quest for the artifact had spent most of my magic that day. It was like she had planned it on purpose. But she underestimated me and I managed to track her down a few hours later driving a stolen carriage away from the Ravenson mansion, with the Heart of Gold and a few other chosen items.   She was surprised, but quickly tried to take on a sweet voice. She started telling a story of the evils of the Ravensong family, how just like all nobles they had exploited their subjects. But the illusion was broken for me, and I refused to believe her, seeing her now for the person she truly was. When she asked how I found her, I explained that the magical weave that I had once (drunkenly) used to put together our wedding rings was easily enough for me to follow. Rain continued to pour around us as we stood there arguing in the middle of the road.   I would not let her leave with the Heart of Gold, but I gave her an ultimatum, throwing my bag of holding on the road with all my gold. Come back with me to return the items, or accept the payment in exchange for the items and I would return them on my own. I didn’t want to fight her, but I also wouldn’t let her leave.   She took the gold, and that was the last I ever saw of her.   I returned the artifact to the Ravensong family, and obviously I didn’t get a second reward for returning the same item (honestly not getting arrested might have been my reward). I left Kassian in their dungeon, but he hadn’t stolen anything, I am sure he’ll be out soon enough. On the one hand, I half expect him to come after me, on the other hand, he might recognize me as a kindred spirit now. Only time will tell.   I don’t know what I will do now. I am staying in an inn near Zwartkeep, and feeling honestly a bit wrecked after everything. I keep second guessing every single interaction I had with Lyra. Now that I know her for the liar and thief she is, I wonder if she ever even loved me. I am in no state to return to Keralon, as I wouldn’t be able to focus on any magical studies.   I might try to find some new adventures, after I find that Cleric.   One thing is for sure, I am done with women for a good long while.   Your loving brother,   Luke

Letter to Hayley III
24th of Edon, 123 Year of the Tree

Dearest Sister,   I hope you and your goats are well, it has been quite a while since we heard from each other.   I have big news, I have gotten married to a wonderful girl called Lyra.   I am sure that you will love her as much as I do. Don’t worry, she is nothing like Emily. She is so full of life and has a great sense of humor. The closest she has ever gotten to a noble is when she spat on one’s shoes. I have never seen her open a book, in fact, I am not even sure she can even read. But it doesn’t matter, because I love her dearly.   So as you know, I left Keralon last year, hoping to find myself again. But honestly I was a mess and I just wandered from place to place, hitching a ride along with every caravan that would have me. I was a guard, I tried being a scout, I was even a driver for some. While I built up some goodwill and reputation among the caravan taskmasters, guard never really felt like a life for me.   It was after one such caravan trip, that I ended up in a small wayside inn. During my stay some drunks began bothering one of the servants. The owner yelled at them to stop, but the drunks refused and taunted the old man to try something. I intervened, and honestly a single fire spell was enough to send the drunks out of the door. It is always the loudest that are the biggest cowards.   The owner thanked me and offered to pay me gold, but I told him to just give me a free night and meal. But the incident did remind me why I wanted to become a wizard in the first place. I wanted to help people, to keep them safe.   So I started to wander from village to village, seeking out those that needed help. It started small, dealing with some wild animals that were attacking livestock or helping to find some misplaced items. But soon enough, I was working together with a local guard or sheriff, tracking down a thief or a wayward sheep.   By the time I arrived in the small village called Sweethaven, I was feeling very confident in my role as an adventurer. It was here that I met Lyra, as she was working as a barmaid in a local tavern called the Rusty Flagon. Alas at the time, the village was under attack by a monster. The locals asked me to help drive the creature away, and I knew I had to help them as they were too distant for any patrols from Keralon. But it was Lyra that had caught my attention, partially because of her beauty but mostly because she was convinced that I was a fool to go up against the monster. She called me cocky and arrogant, but I refused to back down.   Long story short, ten minutes later, I was alone in the town square, filled with more than a bit of liquid courage, yelling out for the monster to show itself. Now of course, the monster turned out to be a small dragon. Although, I find the term ‘small’ a bit of a misnomer when it comes to dragons because the thing was still as big as a cart. But I was far too committed to prove myself to Lyra to back down (and also far too drunk).   The next part is very hazy, but the villagers told me there was a lot of fire and explosions involved. But apparently I injured the wyrm enough to make it flee. The villagers said they saw it limping through the sky, and they threw rocks at it. As far as I know it never returned to Sweethaven. So either your warding shamble that I still carry everywhere with me is keeping me safe. Or I must be the luckiest person alive.   Of course, with the dragon driven away, there was cause for more celebration and more alcohol. Then the next thing I clearly remember is waking up in bed two days later with the worst hangover I have ever experienced. The first thing I noticed was that Lyra was in the bed next to me. The second thing I noticed were the impromptu wedding rings. When I asked Lyra about them, she first teased me about the fact that I couldn’t remember the night we spent together, but she was a bit more insulted when I told her that I couldn’t remember us getting married.   I know that you think me some sort of foul that I fell for this. But after first confirming that this wasn’t an elaborate prank by Lyra (although she did admit that it would be funny), I checked with the other villagers. They all confirmed the same thing, Lyra and I had gotten married the day before. They had even got a cleric and everything to perform the ceremony (I met the old priest, he seemed nice). Apparently it was held in the tavern, and the ceremony was lovely and brief. They also confirmed that the local ale is a bit stronger than what most outsiders are used to, and I wasn’t the first visitor to wake up with a few days missing.   So, sister, I know you must have been angry when you read that I had gotten married without you being there, but I can guarantee that I was barely present myself.   I stayed in Sweethaven a few more days, trying to figure out where to go from there and to get to know who it was that I had married. I learned that Lyra was originally from Keralon, and that she had only arrived in Sweethaven a few months earlier. The tavern owner had been nice enough to give her a job. It sounded like she didn’t exactly leave Keralon by choice, but I wasn’t anyone to judge about that. She explained that she is also not normally this impulsive either, but after the dragon attack, she realized that she might be dead tomorrow. And seeing me fight the dragon, reminded her how much she dreamed of adventures and excitement. She never wanted to take advantage of me, and hoped that I would still keep my promise to take her with me, even if I don’t remember making it.   It probably won’t surprise you that I renewed my commitment to Lyra then and there, and by the next day we were walking side-by-side out of Sweethaven.   We traveled along the main road, which would take us to Drybank. But on the way, we were beset by three highwaymen who believed us to be newlyweds (which we were) traveling with substantial wealth (which was less so). This is also when I discovered two new things about Lyra. She has a penchant for disappearing, and she is very good with a dagger.   I am still not sure what life she led in Keralon, but she can certainly hold her own. This was a bit unfortunate for the bandits, but we made sure to keep them alive and tie them up for the next patrol to find.   When we arrived in Drybank, which is a larger town, or perhaps better said a large fort with its own town, I did notice a shift in Lyra’s behavior. I hadn’t known her for too long, but I could tell that something wasn’t right. When I asked her about it, she laughed it away and suggested a new activity for us to do. I think we ended up sampling every single inn and tavern in Drybank.   As we walked along the market to pick up some supplies for our further journeys, we noticed that we were being followed. We laid an ambush, and managed to corner a stranger that I had never seen before. My first thought was that it was someone from a gang I had crossed recently, but it turned out that it was someone who knew Lyra, who said something about wanting revenge. He attacked her, but I intervened with my magic, and we chased him off together.   After the incident, Lyra explained that the stranger had been a bad man called Kassian, someone who she knew from Keralon. It was because of him that she had fled the city, and she didn’t think he would chase her this far. She told me a bit more about her background, about how she had been an orphan, and that she had fallen in with the wrong crowd when she was just a kid. When she was old enough, she tried to leave but Kassian refused to let her go. So she did some drastic things, and she has been on the run ever since.   Lyra explained that Kassian wouldn’t give up, so we sped up our plans and got ready to leave Dryhaven the next day. As I am writing this letter, we are getting everything packed up and ready to go.   It is our goal to head back towards Keralon, so hopefully we can meet up. I do owe you some kind of wedding celebration after all, perhaps I can also send some invites to Alistan, Dadroz and anyone else who is around. (I may actually need Alistan’s help to get a place that is big enough.)   Your brother,   Luke

Letter to Hayley II
3rd of Solstice, 122 Year of the Tree

Dearest Sister,   I don’t know what you’ve heard, as I am sure the news has spread across the city, but I wasn’t responsible for Darius’ death. It also shouldn’t be a surprise that my engagement with Emily is over and I am going to need to leave Keralon for a while.   I put up the charms you sent me, for which I was very grateful. They did keep me safe in Cairn Fussil at least, but it seemed like all the wiccan protection in the world is no match for my love life.   It has been quite a while since we last met up, so I guess I first need to explain how I got into this mess. Long story short is that you were right about nobles in your previous letter.   At the start of the year, things were going well between Emily and I. She even started coming over to Cairn Fussil. I was super nervous the first time she met Amarra, I guess this must be what it is like having your girlfriend meet your parents. It went well and they didn’t kill each other. Amarra even taught Emily a few magical tricks, although Amarra did insist that Emily and I sleep in different rooms in the tower.   It was on one of the days that Emily was visiting that Gerald the peddler stopped by at Cairn Fussil. I don’t think you’ve ever met Gerald, right? He is a satyr merchant, although he doesn’t have a cart or horses. He usually just turns up at the strangest hours knocking at the door of Cairn Fussil. He seems to be aware when Amarra is at the tower, not sure how he does it. In any case, it always goes the same way. He and Amarra share a cup of (very) warm tea, and he starts producing all kinds of magical trinkets from his pockets. By the end of the tea, the table is full of goodies, despite him giving no indication that he was lugging several carts of merchandise around. Amarra then has a look, and usually buys an item or two.   This time was different a bit, as Gerald had brought a book written in Sylvan. He had remembered me pestering him about the Fey and pointed it out to me. I was excited at the time, as this had had the potential to be my big breakthrough after almost a year of investigation. Alas I couldn’t pay the price, as it was several years worth of my stipend. Just as Amara was saying that I could save up in time and that I had to appreciate the value of patience, Emily threw a pouch of gold on the table. Despite being from only a minor house, I would often forget just how much richer the nobles were in Keralon. In any case, she had more than enough to buy the book and said it was an early anniversary gift for me. Gerald tried to pawn several other trinkets to her (once he knew how wealthy she was), but Emily had told him that the book was plenty.   Emily and I then spent the rest of the evening deciphering the book. My Syvlan was still extremely rusty, but it was one of several languages that Emily had mastered. It was clear to the both of us that the book was old, and the dialect was uncommon. It was filled with strange poems and rhymes that almost didn’t make any sense. But there was one story that jumped out, which told of a farmer whose crops were dying year after year. One night a fey came to him, and made him a deal. In exchange for sanctuary in a small patch of trees on his farm, the fey would grant him the power to make his plants grow stronger and more powerful than before. The farmer agreed, thinking of his starving children. The deal was made, but when the farmer woke the next day, he found that nothing had changed. His farm remained as barren as before. But when he went to work his fields, he noticed that wherever he went, plants would grow in his footsteps. His blood, sweat and tears were causing the plant to bloom and spread. The harder the farmer worked, the faster and stronger the plants grew. The farm thrived, and the farmer was sure to build a shrine for the fey in the small patch of trees. The farmer continued to toil in the fields, working harder than he had ever before. He only lasted five more harvests before he died from exhaustion. The morning after his family buried him, they were stunned to find a large oak had sprouted on his grave. His eldest son took it as a sign and went to the patch of trees near the farm. When he passed, a few years later, it was the next in line.   The story ended with an illustration of a mighty oak forest, with at the center a small shrine which had several runes, very similar to those I had once seen in Hillfield and Logvale.   I still remember the chill down my spine when I finished translating the story with Emily. There was a certain inevitability behind the words, as if they were leaking power and intent. I remember thinking how foolish I was that we could ever stand up against such power. But it was Emily who hugged and comforted me, and told me that she believed in me, in us, and that one day we would also get strong.   So we rededicated ourselves to our studies. I had been more sure than ever that if I wanted to take on the fey and protect my friends, and protect Emily, I would need to get a lot stronger.   We would switch between Keralon and Cairn Fussil. At first, Amarra was more than happy to give us both some additional training exercises. Casting cantrips, readily untangling them and casting them again. Writing down ever more complex runic circles with just a flick of our hands. But after a while, Amarra grew concerned that we were both pushing ourselves too far and actually urged us to take a break.   Instead we spent more time in Keralon. Emily’s progress had impressed her teachers at the Academy as a second year student and had actually been given a bit more leeway. This meant she could get me on the Academy grounds as her ‘man servant’ (seriously, what is wrong with nobles…), and I was allowed to observe some of the higher level training sessions with her. This did cause more than a few rude comments from Darius and Samuel, who despite my only attending the Academy for a few weeks, still remembered me and some of their more colorful insults. Both Emily and I resolved to just ignore them and tried to learn as much as we could from the training. We would then replicate some of the practice ourselves in the garden of her family’s mansion, which was often empty during the early morning.   However one practice session was interrupted when Emily’s mother showed up. Apparently our activities had been noticed by some of the servants, and her mother had grown concerned that Emily had been sneaking off to a far corner of the garden with some boy. While she was glad at first to discover it was only magic practice, Emily confessed that we were also together and had pledged to get married.   I held my breath for the longest time as the frown on Emily’s mother’s face grew ever deeper with each new piece of information. Luckily I managed to not make a complete fool of myself, did the appropriate bow, mentioned my own status as a wizard’s apprentice and that we would not go through with the wedding without her father’s blessing. We got a ‘we will see’ from Emily’s mother, before she left us to our training. Emily told me that her mother not outright rejecting the idea of us getting married is a significant victory, although our future practice sessions were now permanently chaperoned by one of the Dumont servants.   This went on for several months, and we were both making significant progress in our magic. Progress that would be soon put to the test. One day Emily came with news about the Tournament of Mages. It was organized by the Magical Academy, but was open to any magically inclined individuals. Emily first introduced it as dueling practice for mages, but when she saw that this concept was equally foreign to me, she explained it was a contest, a battle of magical power. It was mostly meant as a showcase for the best and brightest upcoming mages. It would be attended by several Heralds, to scout for new potentials. According to Emily, placing high in the tournament is a surefire way to get on a pledge for Mirrdin’s Court, which is a very rare opportunity.   Without the organization of any true wizards’s guild, you did need a sponsor among the known mages of Keralon (which seemed to be mostly those in the Briar Ring, or at least those known to members of the Circles). When I asked Amarra about it, I had expected more resistance, but she actually said it was something that she could arrange for me. Even after living with the woman for almost two years, I still know very little about her or her relationship with the other mages of Keralon.   After we both managed to register for the Tournament, we focused our training, pushing ourselves harder than ever. I had gotten permission from Amarra to spend several days in Keralon for the tournament and had rented a room in a local inn in the Canalside district. As it was close enough to the Dumont mansion in Northwall district, Emily snuck out to visit me.   I was very restless for the Tournament the evening before, but Emily told me that I had nothing to worry about, that my practice would certainly pay off. When I told her the same, she confessed that she actually had an ace up her sleeve. I still remember the shock when she then promptly rolled up her sleeve to reveal several runes that she had drawn across her arm. I immediately recognized them. They were refined versions of the same runes we had found in the Sylvan book that we had bought from Gerald. The ones from the illustration of the fey shrine.   She explained that these runes were the reason for her rapid progress lately, and that it was giving her an edge over her classmates. Before I knew it, I was yelling at her for being so foolish. I don’t know everything I said, but I definitely called her out, that she didn’t know what she was doing and that she shouldn’t haven’t taken the book without my permission. She reminded me that she actually bought the book, and that I was in no place lecturing her as if she was some child. She called me a fool for ignoring this potential, and that she was doing this for us. She said that if she could win the tournament, she was sure she could restore her family’s political power and then her father would have to accept our plans to get married.   Our argument was cut short when a knock on the inn room door from one of the other patrons asked us to be quiet. Emily just huffed and said she was leaving anyway, and I could only look on as she sped out of the door back to her house. I keep wrecking my brain to this day for what I should have said to have things end differently. Maybe I should have been more clear about my concerns or that I should have insisted that she stay the night. But it was only the start of my many mistakes.   The next day, we gathered on the Academy grounds. A tribune had been set up for the audience. It was organized as a typical tournament, with one-against-one elimination matches until there was only one contestant left. Each match was the same, we were shown a relatively harmless spell that could easily disentangle its counterpart (a very simple version of the much more rare actual Counterspell) and the goal was just to dispel your opponents spell before your own was. A pure battle of wits and magical prowess.   Emily and I didn’t speak at all that morning. I had wanted to wish her luck, but I knew that if we spoke, we would end up arguing again. So I decided to wait until after the Tournament. In fact, I even hoped that if I could win the entire thing, I would be able to show her that any fey help was as worthless as it was costly.   One big advantage we had was that we were both placed in the lower age bracket. So we didn’t have to battle against experienced wizards (I actually have no idea how they deal with elves or other long lived races, but I am sure they have some kind of correction for it). However this did mean that we were in the same bracket as most of my former classmates, including Darius and Samuel.   The tournament placed us in random seeds, and me and Emily ended up on different sides. That meant that if we were to have to fight each other, it would be in the finals.   For my first match, I was placed against a noble girl I remembered from my time at the Academy. When I walked into the arena, I was immediately taunted as “farm boy” by the audience. No doubt the doing of either Darius or Samuel. As the referee started the match, I immediately worked through the verbal and somatic components of the spell. Despite the jeering of the crowd, it was over in less than five seconds. The spell unraveled in my opponents hands before she had even properly finished the first sigil. After our battles through Lorewood a year prior and all of the practice Emily and I had been doing, the girl hadn’t stood a chance. I walked off without a word.   As I waited for my next match, I was pleased to see Emily also win her match with ease. I kept a close eye on her, and was relieved to see that she hadn’t even needed to use the fey runes she had placed on her arm. Before long, we were both in our semi-finals. And of course, I had to fight Samuel.   I wish I could say that I maintained a professional and sportsman attitude, but one taunt in from Samuel, I yelled to him that I was going to wipe that fucking smile of his face (I was very on edge that day, ok?). The referee whistled, and our match started. And I immediately noticed that something was wrong. The signs and sigils that Samuel was using were not the ones we had learned that morning. They were faster, less complex, and far more powerful. It didn’t take long before I felt a pressure on my own spell, and its threads unraveling.   I didn’t have the time to think about it at the time, but the rules didn’t say that we needed to cast the spell as is without variation, leaving room for some creative freedom among contestants. And while I had only learned the spell that morning when the instructors gave us all a copy on a spell scroll, it was more than possible that some contestants had already learned the spell in advance, or a faster, more powerful version of the same. And if you can practice, you can outpace anyone who just learned the spell, even if your talent was lacking (and unfortunately for me, Samuel did have some talent).   But I wasn’t giving up without a fight. I immediately reinforced my spell, and moved to the defensive. I knew how to keep concentration and honestly I was also just very lucky. Samuel’s spell was hitting my spell construct like a sledgehammer, but I kept shifting it around, so that the only the sturdiest parts would get struck. As the seconds ticked by, his assault was relentless, and more than once my spell had come close to failing.   But I put everything I had into it. I had something to prove to Emily, and I refused to give up. No matter what fate dictated I was determined that I would not lose against Samuel. As I kept my spell on the defensive, I reached out and felt for the threads of fate. I envisioned the future I wanted and seized it from Arysia’s grasp. And in this path, Samuel made a mistake and his spell wobbled. Just enough to reduce the pressure on my own spell and within a moment I struck out, hitting exactly the right spot for his spell to fizzle out. It caused a slight explosion in his face, burning his eyebrows, which pleased me greatly. I walked off the arena with a smug smile on my face, knowing that my place in the finals was secured.   Then it was time for the other semi-final, Darius facing off against Emily. Whomever would win this battle was supposed to be my opponent in the finals. I was sure at first that Emily would easily win against Darius, as between the two knuckleheads, he was the less capable one. But when the match started, I grew very concerned as I realized that Darius had learned the same variant of the spell that Samuel had.   I noticed that Emily started gritting her teeth as she was also caught unaware. She reinforced her spell, and then I felt a chill down my spine. A chill I hadn’t felt in more than a year. I saw the runes on her arm start to flare and Emily’s simple spell seemed to become alive, latching on to her, feeding on her.   Emily started pulling power from whatever unholy pact she had closed with the fey, and it was clear that she wasn’t in control. I glanced at the referee, an elderly mage, who seemed to not comprehend what was happening. I knew I had to act, but I was still spent from my own fight against Samuel. But I had to save Emily.   So I used every inch of the magical reserve I had left, hoping to change the outcome that seemed so inevitable now. But I was too weak, and they were too far. Emily’s living fey-charged spell lashed out and consumed Darius’ spell. Then the arena exploded.   The next few hours were a blur. They put me in a small room where I was interrogated for what seemed like forever, by guards, by teachers of the Magical Academy, by some Knights and by one Cleric of Spade for some reason.   Finally a gruff guard entered the room and laid out the facts for me. Darius had not survived the explosion. Several wizards had confirmed that it was due to the interference of Fey magic in the tournament. I asked about Emily, but the guard would only say that she was still alive.   The guard continued. They had several teachers at the Academy testify that I had a particular interest in Fey magic. They had reports from students that Darius used to bully me. They even had a witness who claimed that I had had an argument with Emily at an inn the day before. There were several unconfirmed reports that I had been casting a spell during the match. Finally, with both Emily and Darius eliminated, I would have won the tournament.   Honestly, when I heard it all, I started to doubt my own innocence. They then offered me two options. Either confess and the incident would be ruled as an accident. Or maintain my innocence and stand trial for the murder of Darius Greyblood.   My first instinct was of course to fight it. But doubt had seeped into my mind. And best case, if they found out I was innocent, they would go after Emily next. So I gave up, and told them that I would admit my guilt.   They then told me what would happen. I would be disqualified, and Emily would be crowned victor of the Tournament of Mages. I would be barred from entering the Magical Academy grounds again, and forced to pay a fine of 1 000 gold. I would also issue a public apology to the Greyblood family. I realized how lenient these terms were, even if I had no idea where I would find so much gold.   I spent the night in the cell, and they drummed me up for the apology the next day. I was escorted to the Greyblood manor, where I stood before Darius’ parents and claimed responsibility for the incident. I don’t know what I expected to happen. I thought they would cry or be angry with me. But I hadn’t expected their vacant eyes and their silent nods as they accepted my apology. While there were a few officials attending the apology, likely to confirm that it happened, for some reason both Samuel’s mother and Emily’s father attended. They both gave me a hard look but didn’t speak a word to me.   The officials whisked me away before I could ask about Emily. And I was ushered into an administrator’s office to handle my processing. They laid out the same statements as I had heard before, and then said that I was free to go. When I enquired about the fine of 1 000 gold, the administrator looked confused at me and stated that it had already been paid. He got a large book and showed me a ledger which stated that my fine had already been completed in full.   When I was released, Emily’s house was my first stop. But it was her father who opened the door, who demanded to know why I had come. I told him that I wanted to see Emily, but he refused, saying that I had no standing to see her. After I made it clear I wasn’t leaving without seeing Emily, he relented, bringing out his daughter. At first I was glad to see that she was safe, despite a few telltale scars on her right arm, running up her neck. But I got chills when I saw the coldness in Emily’s eyes. Then she said that she also didn’t understand why I was here, there was no reason that Keralon’s most promising upcoming mage would waste time on a peasant boy.   I wish I could say that I confronted her nonsense or gave some kind of witty comeback, or even any words at all. But the truth is I just ran away, with tears in my eyes.   When I returned to Cairn Fussil, I locked myself in my room for three days. Amarra kept her distance, just having magical servants bring up food to my room at regular intervals. Food that I mostly left uneaten.   To Amarra’s credit, she never asked what had happened. She never forced me to do anything. When I finally left my room and told her that I was leaving Keralon and her tutelage, she accepted it without question. Amarra has said that I can return and pick up where I left off whenever I want, but that I can take all the time I needed.   So my bags are packed and writing this letter will be the last thing I do in Cairn Fussil. I don’t know where I will go or what I will do. I just don’t want to be here anymore and I can’t return to Tarn a failure either. Maybe I’ll come back in a few years.   I hope your studies with Greta are going well. I wished I had made the time to come over and visit you in Canalside. It always seemed like I had plenty of time to do so, until time ran out.   Take care.   Your brother,   Luke

Letter to Hayley I
1st of Ogan, 122 Year of the Tree

Dearest Sister,   I am sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. Although we are both living in Keralon (well, I guess I live a bit outside of it), the sheer size of this metropolis makes spontaneous visits almost impossible.   I suppose I should start with the biggest news. I am engaged to be married to a great girl called Emily! I am sure you will love her as much as I do.   I suppose I should backtrack a bit and fill you in on what has happened these past few months.   As you know, after Liliana left, I officially became Amarra’s apprentice and moved into Cairn Fussil. Apparently being a fire mage’s apprentice means a lot of housework, interspersed with dusty tomes and brief but explode-y practice sessions.   However it was also clear to me that I was her first student, and she was still figuring things out. But this was fine by me, as likewise this was my first apprenticeship. There would often be days when I was left to my own devices and I could just venture out on my own.   I had resolved myself to journey to Keralon as much as I could, trying to gain more information about the Feywild, the archfey Ulther and our own strange connection to the Fey courts. Unfortunately a nobody from Tarn, even if he was a mage’s apprentice from Cairn Fussil, wasn’t someone that many wanted to make time for. I even got a few surprised looks that the tower was even open again, and I think some might have suspected that I was some sort of squatter playing at wizardry.   So the first few months, I spent most of my free time in every single bookshop in the city. I used my relatively small stipend to buy every book on the Feywild that I could find, which was very few and more fancy tales. I did also manage to buy a few magical books on magical theory that I devoured myself, before arranging them to be transported to the girl Anna in Rosebloom along with a caravan passing that direction. Thinking back on it, I suppose the caravan must have also passed Tarn and I guess I should have sent a message to our father, but didn’t. I suppose it speaks a lot to our messed up family that I’ll send an expensive book to a girl I met for a few hours before sending a message to our father.   My time at the library in Cairn Fussil was also proving less than fruitful. There was plenty on evocation magic and the Plane of Fire, which really helped me strengthen my spells, but this only caused more frustration that I wasn’t any closer to figuring out what was going on with us or having a plan to save Liliana. Unless we could just blow up Vivienne. I now have plenty of plans that can do that, but I don’t think they will succeed.   I think Amarra noticed my irritation back then. My heart wasn’t in my studies anymore and my initial excitement of learning to be a proper wizard was rapidly fading. This might have been the reason that after about six months, she announced that she needed to take a trip and that it was far too dangerous for me to come along. She also didn’t want to leave me in Cairn Fussil alone and urged me to continue my studies as I had been falling behind. So she arranged temporary enrollment into the Magical Academy in Keralon. I still don’t know how she did that, or where she got the pull or money to do so but I was very grateful.   So Amarra took off, and I journeyed to Keralon for my first day at the Academy. I was hoping that it would distract me from my failures, and that it would offer an even greater library to scour for information. When I arrived, I was directly spirited to the headmaster’s office where it was made very clear that my enrollment was only temporary and my access was going to be limited, lest I interrupt the other students.   When I attended my first class, I immediately felt like a fish out of water. Every student just avoided me, and the teachers mainly pretended like I didn’t exist. They also put me in the most basic classes, and I was learning nothing that I hadn’t mastered years ago. Even more frustrating, the entire day my stuff would also constantly go missing. I found out a bit later that it was a pair of bullies, Darius and Samuel, both nobles, that were using the mage hand spell to chuck my books and writing utensils out of the window.   I had hoped to put that all aside so I could focus on my primary goal, learning more about the Feywild. I started by asking some of the instructors, but they wouldn’t give me the time of day or just give me the most basic of information. Most said that it was far too dangerous a topic that was beyond a first year student, and that I should focus on improving my spell techniques before chasing after fairy tales.   When I went to the library, I learned that it was divided in sections and as a newly enrolled student, I only had access to the most basic sections. Higher level magic was apparently also far too dangerous. So the frustrations piled up.   Even though I knew it was a betrayal of everything that Amarra had done for me, I knew I couldn’t let this chance pass me by. So I resolved myself that first evening to sneak out of the dorms and back into the library.   My plan went well at first, days of sneaking through the Lorewood meant I could be pretty stealthy without any use of magic (which I am sure they could have detected). I got through the entire academy without being noticed and was making good headway past all the classrooms.   What I hadn’t counted on was that I was not the only one making an illegal trip to the library that night. As I rounded the final corner, I basically bumped into one of my fellow students. This was, as you might have guessed, Emily, and she was a fellow student from my class who was also stalking the corridors at night.       We quickly realised what the other was doing, despite my somewhat nervous ramblings whenever I talk to a pretty girl. But we didn’t have much time to coordinate, as we heard footsteps from the night guard approach. We hid in a nearby classroom, holding our breaths and hoping that they would just go away.   Alas, we had no such luck and the guard caught us. I was already dreading explaining to Amarra how I had gotten expelled after a single day, but it was Emily’s quick thinking that saved us. She weaved a lie filled with so many embarrassing personal details that the guard didn’t dare question it. However, while we avoided a more severe punishment than a quick rap on our fingers, we were shunted back to the dorms past haste.   While my stealthy operation was a failure, I had managed to make a friend, or at least a partner-in-crime. We met up the next day before class to compare notes. Emily is the sole daughter of the Dumont noble family in Keralon. Apparently they used to be quite prominent, but have fallen into obscurity in recent times. Emily has her hopes pinned on becoming a powerful mage to re-elevate her family’s standing. This was why she has been trying to (unsuccessfully) sneak to the library at night. She wants to gain an edge over her fellow students and get ahead of the game. In return, I explained most of what had happened to us on the way to Keralon, leaving out a few details that we had promised Vivienne not to spread. And I guess I really caught her attention as she spent the rest of the day asking me about every single detail.   Suffice to say, we got very close over the next few days. We agreed we wouldn’t risk another trip to the library at night as getting caught a second time would certainly get us expelled. I honestly think we were both just glad to have found someone who would listen to us and was walking a similar path.   Emily also helped me deflect some of the worst follow-up pranks of the bullies Darius and Samuel. She revealed that they were from some of the most prestigious noble families of Keralon, and while her house was technically allied with them, she personally couldn’t stand them.   With Emily at my side, the weeks at the Magical Academy flew by and my temporary placement came to an end. But we promised to keep in touch as much as we could. My heart still flutters at the goodbye kiss that we shared (Sorry for the personal details, sis, but I can’t help myself).   I returned to Cairn Fussil just as Amarra had made her own way back. I told her about everything that had happened at the Academy. And while she wasn’t surprised that I had tried to sneak around at night, she was more worried about Emily. She made me promise that I wouldn’t let a teenage infatuation become a distraction for my studies. I did make the promise, but I already knew that it was more than just a silly crush.   The next few months, I took every single excuse to head to Keralon that I could. Letters that needed to be sent, no problem. New supplies to be picked up, I was Amarra’s man. Placing an order for a magical utensil, I was already on my way.   I discovered that if I left early enough in the morning on horseback, I have enough time for my errand and I could then join Emily for her lunch break. My temporary student assignment, while passed, still does allow me some access to the Academy grounds. After lunch, I then rush back to Cairn Fussil, reaching the tower before nightfall.   Most days though, Amarra keeps me busy with studies. She recently had me transcribe an entire tome of magical circles by hand! I had begged her to let me use a magical spell to make it go easier, but she refused as she said that it might interfere with the magical spell constructs. It took me eighteen days and my wrist still feels sore.   Luckily Emily knows a bit of communication magic, so we were able to keep in touch every day. It was in one of these sendings that she asked me to join her to the Soltice’s End Grand Ball of the noble families in Keralon. It would be a proper date, and it would give me a chance to meet her family.   I did have to beg Amarra that I could then stay overnight in Keralon after the ball as there was no way I could get back in time. While I did get permission, I had to agree to mucking out the stable from top to bottom first. Even with the best of my magic, that was not a fun job.   In preparation for the ball, I met up over lunch a few times with Emily, where she would take me shopping for new clothes (I couldn’t really show up in the patched up rags I had been wearing since Tarn) and she also taught me a bunch of proper table manners (There are like seventeen types of spoon, it is crazy stuff).   Before I knew it, the day was finally there and I left bright and early for Keralon, dressed in my new clothes and went to the Grand Theater for the ball. Inside, I was directed towards the Dumont family by the ushers, which was good because there must have been a thousand nobles present. I had hoped to see Alistan or Elsa, but if they were there, I completely missed them in the crowd.   A table had been set to the side of the Dumont family along with several other closely related houses. Unfortunately that meant that my former academy bullies, Darius and Samuel were also around, but I managed to mostly avoid them. I met up with Emily, and she looked stunning in her fancy ball gown. But when she tried introducing me to her father and mother things soon got awkward. Her father kept dismissing her, saying that he didn’t have time for her as it was important he have a discussion with Lord so-and-so. Her mother at least acknowledged our existence, but then she kept going on about how Samuel -of all people- had grown up into a handsome man. Suffice to say, we didn’t tell her parents about our relationship that evening. We tried to make the most of it, ate some food, tried some dancing, but Emily’s heart just wasn’t in it.   The entire evening came to a head, when we accidentally overheard Emily’s father make a comment to another Lord that he was disappointed by her performance at the academy and that he was doubting if the price tag wasn’t wasted on her. Emily reacted but he dismissed her that she shouldn’t act like a child. She ran outside and I found her a bit later crying in the garden. As the bells of Soltice’s End came and went, I comforted her. We both know that we are destined to be together, so under the sky filled with fireworks, I told her that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and to marry her. Tears were in her eyes as she said that she felt the same, so we made the commitment then and there to always be there for each other. We also both resolved to prove her parents wrong together. Emily would show them that she was a powerful mage that could restore their family, and I would make them accept me, despite my low birth.   So any wedding is of course still a while away, it’s our plan to only get married after we have both finished our studies in a few years in any case (beyond any hurdles that Emily’s parents may still throw our way). But I would very much like you to be my best (wo)man (or maid of honor, I am unsure what the right term is to use).   Your loving brother,   Luke

Too Many Goodbyes
20th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   Another night approached, leaving us sprawled across the rough benches of the Southroad Tavern's common room. The exorbitant price of our rooms still stung (seriously, sixteen gold for a room that smelled faintly like mildew? Highway robbery!), but at least we had a roof over our heads and a full belly (thanks to the unexpected cake windfall).   However, that dessert couldn't erase the unsettling feeling that had settled in our stomachs like a particularly stubborn pebble. Those shifty newcomers, with their secretive glances and their incriminating flyer… the words "Freehold Guild" echoed ominously in our minds. A quick history lesson from yours truly (because apparently, remembering stuff is a valuable skill) brought back the nasty business with the guilds a hundred years ago. Seems they tried to overthrow the king, a power move that didn't exactly go over well with the knightly crowd. Revolution quelled, guilds banned, associations squashed like week-old bread – the whole mess. Even magic users had to walk on eggshells, their academies and grand mage unions a thing of the past. The king wasn't taking any chances of another rebellion. Which explained the whole "magical items are illegal unless you're a knight" thing.   So, here we were, a ragtag bunch of adventurers with pockets full of contraband (well, some of us anyway). Alistan suggested just handing them over at the city gate and hoping for the best. Easy come, easy go, right? Me, not being a big fan of the idea, proposed stashing them back at the inn. Maybe they offered a cloakroom service for potentially illegal magical artifacts? Liliana decided to put the question directly to Brok, the friendly innkeeper.   Brok, however, seemed as clueless about magical item storage as a fish out of water. Apparently, magical items weren't exactly a dime a dozen around here (shocking, I know). The whole "banned" thing had inflated the black market prices to a ridiculous degree, making them more expensive than a pet dragon (and probably half as cuddly). Selling them was an option, though the thought of parting with our hard-won items left most of us uneasy, especially Gael whose magical bow was literally made from the body of his life-long friend.   Luckily, Brok, touched perhaps by our wide-eyed desperation (or maybe just the promise of a few extra coins), offered a solution. He could stash them in the inn's basement – a temporary haven for our potentially troublesome trinkets. As long as our stay was short, it seemed like a decent option. The jury was still out on whether the damp basement would be safe from wandering hands. With a sigh, we decided to sleep on it (metaphorically again – the lumpy beds in this place wouldn't exactly inspire restful slumber). Who knew that our arrival in Keralon would be so… complicated?   Exhaustion finally won the battle, and we retreated to our respective rooms. My sister and I shared a cramped space, the thin walls doing little to muffle the sounds of snoring from rooms around us. Thankfully, the Collins siblings and Gael and Dorr had managed to snag rooms of their own, their weary faces a testament to the long journey.   Sleep, however, proved to be a fickle friend. Liliana, our resident light sleeper, bolted upright in the dead of night, jolted awake by the sounds of a heated argument. Apparently, the six suspicious figures were having a particularly loud disagreement in their room. Like a sleep-deprived knight charging into battle, Liliana roused everyone around her (thankfully, I was blissfully unaware of the drama until later). Dadroz, Alistan, and a bleary-eyed Liliana marched into the common room, determined to restore some semblance of peace. Alistan, ever the diplomat (or maybe just the one least likely to get punched), politely requested that they take their scheming down a notch. One of the men, however, wasn't exactly receptive. He puffed out his chest and snarled at Alistan to mind his own business. A tense standoff ensued, the air thick with hostility. Alistan tried to defuse the situation, suggesting they all hit the hay before things got out of hand. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed, and the argument eventually fizzled out.   But the night wasn't over yet. A pungent odor, acrid and unmistakable, yanked us all out of our slumber. It was the unmistakable smell of smoke. Alistan’s voice cracking with panic as he yelled "Fire!" Liliana, still half asleep, mumbled something about fire being bad, her brain clearly not operating at full capacity.   The commotion brought the rest of the group scrambling to their feet. Hayley emerged from our room, and I, startled awake by the noise, stumbled out into the hallway. There, Dadroz was in the process of picking a lock, his face grim. He pushed open the door, revealing the smoldering aftermath of the argument. The six suspicious men were nowhere to be seen, but their parting message was etched into the wall – the words "Death to the Usurper King" burned black against the wood.   Brok, the innkeeper, materialized out of nowhere, his booming voice echoing through the smoke-filled room. Alistan showed him the burn marks, prompting a string of colorful curses from Brok. Apparently, he'd suspected the men were trouble from the get-go, and "vandals" didn't quite capture the severity of the situation. He bustled around, flinging open windows to clear the air and dabbing at the burn marks with a damp cloth (a frantic attempt at preventing a full-blown fire). Muttering reassurances about the fire hazard being under control, he shooed us back to bed, a hint of grudging respect in his voice for Alistan's quick thinking. Sleep, once again, seemed like a distant dream, replaced by a nagging sense of unease. Somehow trouble seems to keep following us…   Sleep, that elusive temptress, finally graced us with a few precious hours after the smoke-filled fiasco. Waking up, however, wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Alistan resembled a particularly haggard owl, his eyes puffy and his hair sticking out at odd angles. Bless his valiant heart, the smoke incident had clearly taken its toll. I urged him to catch some more shut-eye, but the man was a whirlwind of misplaced energy, insisting he was "too busy" to nap. Busy with what, I wasn't sure, but arguing seemed pointless. Maybe he was channeling his nervousness about entering the city into a flurry of non-existent tasks.   The burning message on the tavern wall, a cryptic accusation of a "usurper king," gnawed at our minds. Sure, a secret guild rebellion wouldn't exactly win them any popularity points with the current king, but the whole "usurper" bit threw a wrench into the theory. Keralon, as far as I knew, hadn't exactly been through a royal family drama recently. No deposed princes, no vengeful cousins plotting a comeback tour – just the same old royal lineage. It was a puzzling addition to the whole "rebellious guild" equation.   With a resigned sigh, we tackled the issue of our magical contraband. Brok, the innkeeper, emerged as an unlikely hero in this particular saga. He offered to stash our items in the inn's basement for a small fee – a silver piece a day. Considering the potential consequences of getting caught with them at the city gate (confiscation, imprisonment, maybe even a stern lecture on the importance of following the rules), a silver a day seemed like a steal. Besides, stealing our magical goodies would probably earn Brok a whole lot less than the lost trust and potential bad rap from a band of disgruntled adventurers. Win-win, right?   Brok led us down a rickety staircase into the depths of the inn. The air grew colder, the musty scent of damp earth filling our nostrils. Finally, we reached the "storage unit" – a crate overflowing with… potatoes. Yep, potatoes. Apparently, these were Brok's prized winter stash, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, he declared them the perfect hiding place for our magical trinkets. He even went the extra mile and marked the crate with a special symbol. Our Immerglade stones and magical artifacts would hopefully be safe and sound (and not sprouting eyes in the potatoey darkness).   With our secret stash secure, it was time to face the city gates. The queue stretched out before us like a slow-moving serpent, a motley crew of hopeful travelers eager to enter the fabled Keralon. Hayley noticed the guards scrutinizing travellers with a strange crystal – a magic detector, no doubt. Not wanting to part ways with her trusty magical dagger just yet, she hatched a cunning plan. Fiachna, her raven familiar, soared into the sky, the dagger securely fastened to his leg. A brilliant (and slightly unorthodox) way to bypass the magic check.   There were two gates leading into the city: Southbank and Newtown. Alistan declared we needed to reach Northwall, a completely different direction altogether. Thankfully, a kind stranger pointed us towards the Southbank gate, a bustling hub of activity. The queue moved at a decent pace, the guards efficient in their checks. A cursory glance at us, a muttered "next," and we were through the gate, officially citizens (or at least temporary residents) of Keralon. No magical item meltdowns, no accusations of treason – just us, a little lighter in the backpack department, and a whole lot more curious about what awaited us within the city walls.   We spilled out of the Southbank gate blinking in the sunlight, Keralon sprawling before us like a giant, bustling beast. Our first stop? A chaotic, cacophonous "caravanserai." Think a marketplace on steroids – merchants hawking their wares, caravan guards looking perpetually grumpy, managers barking orders, and enough paperwork fluttering around to make a paper airplane enthusiast weep with joy. It was a sensory overload in the best (or maybe worst) way possible.   A towering structure, its windows gleaming like watchful eyes, stood sentinel beside the gate. Figures in flowing robes milled about, clutching scrolls and books – mages, I had hoped. A grand bridge, elegantly arched, stretched across the River Lorerun, a silver ribbon snaking through the city. Apartment blocks, imposing and boxy, lined the streets, offering a glimpse of city life for those who couldn't afford a better life further into the sprawling metropolis.   Alistan approached the guards about a patrol to Logvale. The guard, bless his weary heart, just sighed and pointed him towards some distant barracks in the "Northwall" district. Then, with a not-so-subtle shooing motion, he urged us to move along – apparently, city gates weren't meant for extended chit-chat.   Curiosity piqued, I wandered towards the tower. A large sign proclaimed it to be the "Trade Register." Intriguing. Stopping a seemingly knowledgeable passerby, I inquired about the place. Turns out, it was a library, but not just any library – a treasure trove of trading records, apparently a very important thing in these parts. Interesting, sure, but not exactly the magical academy overflowing with spell-wielding wizards I'd been dreaming of. I bid the stranger farewell as he shook his head mumbling about tourists.   Returning to the group, I found them in a mild state of disarray. Liliana, the free spirit, had vanished like a wisp of smoke. A panicked shout of her name from Alistan and a frantic search later, Dadroz, our resident tracker, unearthed her from the throng. The sheer size and bustle of the city seemed to have overwhelmed her, poor thing. A metropolis, it turned out, was a far cry from the quiet village life we were all used to. Guess we had some adjusting to do.   Deciding to head for the city center, we made our way towards the colossal bridge that spanned the Lorerun River. The sheer size of it was jaw-dropping – a majestic archway heaving with the weight of countless carts and pedestrians. Below, a bustling flotilla of boats weaved its way up and down the river, the water reflecting the city's vibrant energy. Docks lined the banks, a testament to Keralon's bustling trade scene.   As we neared the bridge, a voice, high-pitched and inquisitive, cut through the city's hum. A girl, no older than fourteen, with short, messy hair and clothes held together with more patches than fabric, appeared beside us. "New in town?" she chirped, her eyes gleaming with an almost predatory glint. "Need a guide? I can take you anywhere!"   Liliana, ever the social butterfly (and admittedly a little overwhelmed by the city's sprawl), readily agreed. Our destination, the barracks in Northwall, was duly mentioned, and a silver coin exchanged hands. With our makeshift guide leading the way, we embarked on our journey across the bridge.   The bridge itself was a marvel. Carts rumbled by, their drivers barking orders and dodging pedestrians with impressive skill. Below, boats bobbed on the water. The far side of the river offered a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble chaos of the Southbank district. Trimmed hedges bordered meticulously manicured lawns, and grand mansions, their facades gleaming in the sunlight, lined the streets. This, we gathered, was the "Truesilver" district – a place where our guide, with her patched-up attire, was clearly not welcome.   "They don't like my kind over there," she mumbled, leading us through a maze of narrow alleys that snaked through the "Canalside" district. This area, unlike its posh neighbor, was all business. Warehouses replaced mansions, their occupants merchants clad in practical clothing rather than fancy silks. The streets were a labyrinth of twists and turns, and while Liliana and I tried our best to keep track of our location, it was clear our "guide" wasn't exactly taking the most direct route.   "Uh, excuse me," Liliana piped up, her voice laced with growing suspicion, "but why all the zig-zagging? Can't we just walk straight there?"   Our guide, her face an innocent mask, shrugged. "This is just how Canalside is built, miss."   Liliana's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, right," she muttered under her breath. "Look, we appreciate the help, but can we take a more direct route?" Her voice, usually light and friendly, had taken on a steely edge. "Or are we being led into an ambush?" she hissed, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword.   The poor girl, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, bolted down the street. Alistan sputtered, "Great! Now we are lost without a guide", as he took in the winding streets of the dense city.   Thankfully, Hayley stepped in. A quick muttered spell, a wave of her hand, and our guide toppled over in her flight. Sleep, the great equalizer, had descended upon her.   A few moments later, we woke her up, the situation a complete mess (with Alistan's profuse apologies and Liliana's mumbled "not my fault"). Hayley, her voice a low whisper laced with magic, gave the girl clear instructions: lead us to the barracks, the most direct way possible. The girl, her eyes glazed over, nodded numbly and set off again. This time, she led us along the canal, its murky water reflecting the bustling city life above. Finally, she brought us to a large, imposing fort. "Barracks," she mumbled, the sleep spell wearing off, and bolted like a startled rabbit. I am not sure how I feel about my sister’s reliance on mind control magic in this situation, and I did feel quite sorry for the girl. That being said, it was efficient.   We took in the sight of the barracks, a hulking structure that looked like it could withstand a dragon attack (or at least a particularly grumpy troll). The gate stood open, guarded by two knights who looked about as cheerful as a wet sock. Hayley, drawn to the siren song of a good market stall, wandered off in search of something more appealing than rations, while Alistan tried to get everything sorted to send aid to Logvale. He approached the guards, a nervous smile plastered on his face, and after a series of hand gestures and confused glances, managed to extract directions on how to request a patrol.   Inside the fort, a large hall awaited us, bustling with activity. Offices lined the walls, each one presumably containing another stern-faced guard ready to dispense information and aid (or lack thereof). Alistan launched into a dramatic retelling of the Logvale situation – the strange mists, the fey attacks, the whole shebang. Gael chimed in, adding the chilling detail of our petrified travel companion. Their pleas for a knightly patrol to investigate seemed to hit the right note – the guard, while not exactly cracking a wide smile, at least seemed to understand the urgency.   However, curiosity, it seemed, was a two-way street. The guard, in turn, inquired about our travels. Liliana and Alistan, with a sheepish grin and a touch of creative license, explained that we'd managed to traverse some "shortcuts" through the Feywild. Our place of origin, Tarn, also drew some scrutiny. The guard, after a long, hard look at a map to find all these places we were mentioning, finally grunted out a welcome to Keralon.   Gael then expressed his desire to join the aforementioned patrol. The guard, clearly not the one responsible for such decisions, simply asked for our lodging arrangements (gotta check with the bosses first and then send a notification, you know, protocol and all). We rattled off the addresses – the fancy De la Roost manor for some of us, another posh noble manor for Edward and Elsa (living the high life, those two). We also inquired about our poor abandoned carriage and horses. The guard, surprisingly helpful considering his initial stoicism, mentioned that if Gael did indeed join the patrol, retrieving our belongings might be a possibility.   Finally, the guard launched into a rapid-fire rundown of Keralon's "dos and don'ts." No magical items within the city walls unless you had a shiny knight badge, no fancy family symbols or guild affiliations (those pesky guilds were apparently still a sore spot), and absolutely no crime of any kind (stealing, murder, the usual suspects). He even threw in a tidbit about challenging people to duels – apparently, that was a knight-only privilege. Should any disputes arise, though, we were free to seek assistance from the guards or one of the knight orders (helpful, if a tad intimidating).   Alistan, never one to miss an opportunity, inquired about the nearest temple (our amnesiac friend was in desperate need of some divine intervention). The guard, pointing a finger towards a specific direction, directed us towards the Solemn district. But before we journeyed there, our band was slowly disbanding.   Bidding farewell was an emotional rollercoaster. Edward and Elsa, our noble companions, said their goodbyes with a flourish. Edward offered a handshake and a promise of future encounters (apparently, staying in the city was a shared goal). Elsa, the picture of elegance, doled out hugs that were surprisingly warm, leaving me breathless and blushing. Dorr, the dreugar with a heart of questionable gold, also decided to part ways. A parting jab about "not hunting down his companions" (referencing the rather unfortunate Hillfield incident) earned him a playful threat from Liliana (who promised no murderous retribution as long as Dorr stayed on the straight and narrow). Alistan echoed the sentiment with a teasing "no promises," and we all shared a laugh, the tension momentarily broken. With a final wave goodbye, they disappeared into the bustling city.   Following the canal's gentle curve, we arrived at an island that seemed trapped in a perpetual state of twilight. The buildings, adorned with gargoyles that looked more grumpy than decorative, exuded a somber air. Guards stood at the bridge, their uniforms adorned with unfamiliar symbols that offered no clues about their allegiance. Liliana approached them with a question: where could we find help for our amnesiac friend? Thankfully, they pointed us in the right direction, steering us away from the imposing edifice that turned out to be a "house of the dead" (not exactly the cheery atmosphere we were looking for) and towards a much more promising destination – the grand temple of Belenus.   The temple itself was a sight to behold. Gleaming walls soared towards the sky, and the large, stained-glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the interior. Stepping inside, we were met with a reverent hush, the only sounds the soft murmur of prayers and the rhythmic chanting from a hidden chamber. Liliana approached a robed figure – a cleric of Belenus, as it turned out. Explaining our predicament, she requested his help in restoring our amnesiac friend's memories.   The cleric, a kindly man with a gentle smile, ushered us to a bench and set to work. Three spells he cast, his brow furrowing with each muttered incantation. Finally, he shook his head, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. "No magical curse, no lingering disease," he explained, "at least, nothing within my power to cure."   Liliana, undeterred, pressed on. "Is there someone… higher up? A high priest, perhaps?" The cleric, looking slightly offended, explained their flat organizational structure – no hierarchy, no grand pooh-bahs to escalate to. "And my healing skills are some of the best," he added defensively, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes.   A heavy sigh escaped our amnesiac friend. Resignation flickered in his eyes, yet he seemed determined to make what he could of his new life. A name, however, was needed. Alistan suggested "Feyris," after the saint of the Tree. The cleric, seeing an opportunity, chimed in with an offer. He could help Feyris (our newly christened amnesiac friend) find a job – not within the temple walls, but perhaps with one of the patrons who frequented the services. Feyris, eager to start anew, readily agreed. Thanking us for a week of unexpected companionship (and a healthy dose of near-death experiences), he promised to find a way to repay us someday. Liliana and Alistan insisted it wasn't necessary. With a final farewell and a heartfelt wish for good luck, Feyris departed, leaving us with only our small band.   We finally reached the De la Roost manor, Liliana and Alistan’s home away from home in the posh Northwall district. It wasn't far from the market where Hayley, bless her always-hungry soul, had procured some pre-adventure sustenance. The house itself wasn't bad – a decent view of the canal (albeit slightly marred by the looming mausoleum across the water), and a faint aroma of coffee wafting through the air (promising, very promising).   Liliana practically burst through the door, her eyes scanning the room for her elusive eldest brother. The interior was surprisingly cozy – a small library to the side with two overflowing bookshelves flanked a sitting area. Curled up on a pillow next to a plush armchair, a dog the size of a small pony (seriously, that thing could have taken down a goblin with ease) snored peacefully. Liliana cautiously approached the slumbering beast. Alas, her calming techniques backfired spectacularly, and the dog, startled awake, launched into a ferocious growl that could have curdled milk.   Just as we thought things couldn’t get crazier, we heard a flurry of footsteps from behind. A woman, seemingly in her middle-ages, appeared clutching a rather substantial bread knife. Her expression, it goes without saying, was not one of warm welcome. A tense standoff ensued - the woman demanding our identities and threatening to summon the guards, Liliana and Alistan sputtering explanations about their ownership of the manor (and the rather convincing key in their possession).   The situation, to put it mildly, was about as awkward as a troll in a tutu. The woman, however, wasn't swayed by their pleas. Her voice rose several octaves as she threatened, yet again, to call the guards. Liliana and Alistan, at their wit's end, finally agreed. Guards it was.   We spilled out onto the street, Alistan muttering under his breath about the "joys" of mistaken identities. The woman, surprisingly calm now, joined us and explained the situation to the guard who, thankfully, showed up rather promptly. Intruders in her house, she claimed. Liliana and Alistan, desperately clutching at straws, explained the whole convoluted story – the key, the address. The guard seemed to find their explanation, complete with the aforementioned key, to be the result of some misunderstanding.   He then suggested settling the whole mess at the barracks. The woman, her initial fury simmering down, agreed to follow us and try to sort things out. As we walked, Alistan offered a sheepish apology for the whole debacle. The guard, with his professional demeanor (or maybe from just being used to dealing with bizarre situations), simply shrugged and said it was all part of the job.   Finally, we found ourselves ushered into a rather large dining room within the barracks. The air was thick with anticipation (and maybe the lingering smell of yesterday's stew). After what felt like an eternity (or at least enough time for the stew smell to really set in), a door creaked open and a figure lumbered into the room. This wasn't your average knight-in-shining-armor type. This guy, Nordic, was more like a walking butter churn – corpulent, bald, and sweating profusely despite the cool stone walls. He clutched a book the size of a small table, its leather cover worn smooth from years of thumbing through (hopefully not involving any particularly greasy meals).   Nordic, wiping his brow with a handkerchief that looked like it had seen better days, introduced himself as an administrator of the keep. Seems there was a bit of a mix-up with the whole "mansion assignment" thing. He flipped open his giant book, its pages crackling like autumn leaves, and squinted at the De la Roost name. "Ah, haven't seen your lot in Keralon for a while, have we?" he wheezed, his voice like air escaping a punctured bellows.   Apparently, a recent "change" had occurred. A local noble family, the Tarrins, had lobbied the king and managed to snag a better mansion, leaving the De la Roost family with the short end of the stick. Seems the king owned all the land in Keralon and doled out houses like a grumpy toddler with his toys. However in practice, a council of administrators did the "dividing up" bit, so politics (and possibly some hefty bribes) often trumped fairness.   Nordic, bless his sweaty soul, did manage to scrounge up a new address and key for Liliana and Alistan. A new "mansion," he called it, with an air quotes gesture so subtle it could easily be missed. "Decent place," he assured us, wiping his brow again. "Still Northwall, just a tad closer to the wall and, well, a tad smaller. But hey, better than where I live!" (That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, but beggars can't be choosers, right?)   Apparently, all the furniture had already been moved, which saved us the hassle of lugging it ourselves (small mercies, I guess). Nordic also mentioned something about petitioning for a different house in the future – a glimmer of hope amidst the bureaucratic nightmare. We exchanged strained pleasantries (mostly on our part – the man was practically melting), and with a final, "I’ll probably see you at court, De la Roosts!" (which sent shivers down my spine), he lumbered back up the stairs, leaving the two noble siblings to face their new reality.   As we stepped out of the barracks, I couldn't help but mutter under my breath about Fey deals and their apparent vulnerability to politics and bureaucracy. It is kind of ironic that this family was so keen on keeping their riches and fancy house by selling one of their children to the Fey, and still would be subject to something so trivial. The Fey protection didn’t seem to extend as far as Keralon, but of course there might be other forces at play. Or is this Ulther or Vivienne’s way of teaching the siblings a lesson, or keeping them on the edge so as to never renege on their agreement? It is hard to tell as it may still all be just a giant coincidence.   The new house, upon arrival, confirmed Nordic's "tad smaller" assessment. Tightly locked, with nary a soul in sight, it looked more like a forgotten relic than a noble residence. Inside, a layer of dust rivaled the snowdrifts back home. The furniture, piled haphazardly in the front rooms, only added to the feeling of neglect.   But hey, on the bright side, as Liliana ever-optimistically pointed out, it was a blank canvas. No stuffy decorations to replace, no previous owner's questionable taste lurking around every corner. Four bedrooms (including one for servants in the basement – fancy!), a decent layout – it wasn't a palace, but it was a start.   Liliana and Alistan, rolling up their sleeves, started sorting through the furniture. We quickly volunteered our aid. I muttered a quick spell, and a swirling dust bunny materialized beside me – my magical servant, ready to tackle the grime. The rest of the day was spent in a flurry of cleaning, dusting, and rearranging. By evening, the house wasn't exactly posh, but it was at least breathable.   Our stomachs, however, were definitely grumbling in protest. We ventured out into the bustling market nearby, our pockets lighter but our backpacks laden with enough food to feed a small army (or at least a very hungry group of teenagers).   Back at the house, a heavy silence settled over us. The realization hit us like a ton of bricks – only a handful of days remained until Liliana's ill-fated deal with the Fey was due. The thought of her becoming some stuck-up elf's slave/bodyguard was about as appealing as a week-old goblin pie. We settled in for a restless night, the weight of the approaching deadline hanging heavy in the air.   The next morning, a sliver of sunshine peeked through the dusty windowpanes, revealing a curious sight – Liliana's sword, back in its rightful place (her room), gleaming ominously. Attached to the hilt was a note, the elegant script dripping with sarcasm. "Take better care of your gifts," it read. Liliana's face turned the color of a particularly moldy cheese as she read it. That sword felt like a ticking time bomb, a reminder of the shackles that awaited her.   Gael suggested disguising the weapon – a simple sheet, he reasoned, so it would not be impounded by the knights of Keralon. Liliana clutched the sword close, a newfound fear flickering in her eyes. Navigating the city with dangerous goods would require some serious caution.   The day brought a flicker of good news amidst the looming threat. Word arrived from the barracks – the patrol to Logvale was a go, and Gael was officially on board! A glimmer of hope sparked in his eyes – a chance to go and maybe find Robert, our lost bard friend. As for Ileas, it seemed the satyr rebellion in Hillfield had fizzled out. He was summoned back to his family, an outcome I secretly cheered for (no offense to Ileas, but his service to the De la Roosts has never sat well since we visited them in Hillfield - even if his family’s involvement with the rebelion made them into extreme fanatics).   Another piece of news, delivered with a hint of amusement, was Feyris's new job – an innkeeper's assistant! The amnesiac fellow, it seemed, was embracing his new life with gusto. We all chuckled at the image, picturing Feyris fumbling with tankards and wiping down tables.   On the 17th of Lug, the day dawned clear and crisp. A bittersweet farewell was said to Gael and Ileas as they rode out with the patrol, their forms disappearing into the horizon on horseback (no magical shortcuts on this mission, apparently). We were a smaller group now, the silence heavier than ever.   Our peaceful routine in the De la Roost townhouse was shattered on the 20th of Lug. A knock on the door, a grim expression on the knight's face – it wasn't exactly the welcome party we were hoping for. The news hit us like a rogue troll's club – Alistan and Liliana's older brother was dead. Found in his bed, decapitated. The air grew thick with a suffocating silence as the weight of the news settled in. Alistan had spoken fondly of his brother, and I know he wrote him frequent letters.   Apparently, his brother had defeated the cursed Black Knight, but as legend spoke, anyone who bested it faced death within a year. Alistan's brother had scoffed at the superstition. Seems the curse had the last laugh.   The knight handed over his brother's personal effects – a full set of plate armor and a sturdy shield. The shield, the knight mentioned, was specifically requested to be given to Alistan. Liliana, her eyes red-rimmed, placed a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Keep the armor too," she whispered, "and that thick head of yours safe." A faint smile played on Alistan's lips, a flicker of warmth amidst the grief.   The next day loomed heavy. Liliana's departure date arrived, a bitter pill to swallow. Most of us accompanied her to the fey gate, a silent procession of worry and unspoken promises. As it was on our way, we moved our magical trinkets to Caern Fussil – no point in leaving them in a potato-filled basement.   As we reached the gate, I nudged Alistan, a question about our plan to break Liliana free from the Fey deal burning on my tongue. He simply shook his head, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. Liliana, it seemed, was determined to fulfill her duty, a misguided sense of responsibility chaining her to a fate worse than cleaning out a goblin horde's lair.   As much as I hated the idea, who were we to dictate Liliana's choices? The burden of being a sibling, Alistan explained, sometimes meant supporting even the most questionable decisions (a sentiment I was sure my own sister would readily echo)   However while he may have been willing to respect his sister's wishes, giving up wasn't his style. His plan, it seemed, had shifted – free Liliana, sure, but also free the next generation of De la Roosts from the clutches of that conniving archfey, Ulther.   A tearful goodbye, a promise to stay strong – Liliana was whisked away by Vivienne, leaving a void in our little group. We spent the night at Caern Fussil, the silence heavy with the weight of her absence. The next morning, we returned to Keralon, the city lights shimmering in the distance. Liliana might be gone, but our fight wasn't over. Even if it takes months or years. We had a plan, a purpose – and maybe, just maybe, a chance to defy fate itself.

A Master of Fire
13th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We lingered in the valley with the Menhirs and the shimmering portal, the frozen lake reflecting the setting sun like a shattered mirror. The others had scurried off to retrieve our belongings, leaving me, Liliana, and Vivienne in an uneasy truce. The silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of ice on the lake, felt heavy. Liliana was the first to break the tension.   "So," she began, her voice echoing slightly in the open space, "what exactly does being your bodyguard entail?"   Vivienne, her gaze fixed on the shimmering portal, offered a small smile. "While I am certainly capable of defending myself," she replied, "four eyes are always better than two, wouldn't you agree? Besides, all the attention is usually focused on me, leaving my bodyguards a little more… inconspicuous."   Liliana raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her eyes. "And what about past… bodyguards?" she asked cautiously. "Were there others from my family forced to serve in the Feywild?"   Vivienne's smile faltered for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered. "There have been others, yes," she confirmed. "You see, I am in good standing with Ulther, which means I receive… gifts from time to time." (Her choice of words sent shivers down my spine – "gifts" that sounded suspiciously like indentured servitude.) "But fear not," she continued, her voice taking on a reassuring tone, "all of them returned safely. As long as you follow orders, you'll be perfectly fine."   This whole bodyguard business left a bad taste in my mouth. My curiosity, however, was far from satiated. "How does one even make a deal with a creature of the Fey?" I blurted out, hoping to glean some information that could help Alistan and Liliana free themselves from this precarious arrangement.   Vivienne tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "We can always make a deal here and now," she offered, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.   I stammered, caught off guard by her proposition. The idea of striking a bargain with a powerful fey creature filled me with a mix of apprehension and morbid fascination. "I… I'm not sure," I mumbled, unsure if I was ready for such a momentous decision.   Vivienne chuckled, a sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. "The best deals are made with Ulther, of course," she admitted. "But I can offer my own services depending on what you seek."   The weight of her words hung heavy in the air. I just needed information, so I stalled her as best I could. "Can I have some time to think about it?" I asked hesitantly. "And is there any way to contact the Fey from Keralon?"   A hint of a smile returned to Vivienne's lips. "Mortals in Keralon," she corrected, "especially those like clerics, druids, or wizards, will have some knowledge of the Fey. They'll be able to point you in the right direction."   I pressed on, a sliver of hope flickering within me. "Are there any specific people in Keralon that the Fey trust? Someone who might be able to provide information about these… deals?"   Vivienne's smile vanished. A cold glint entered her eyes. "The Fey trust no one," she stated flatly, her voice laced with a hint of disdain. "Especially mortals."   "But how do they use mortals as bodyguards then?" I countered, my confusion mounting.   "The terms of the deal," Vivienne replied curtly, a clear indication that she wasn't willing to elaborate. "It's not mine to discuss. Ulther made the deal, not me."   Her words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the power dynamic at play. The Fey, it seemed, didn't play by the same rules as humans. And Liliana, unfortunately, was caught right in the middle.   The others returned, a collective sigh escaping their lips as they unloaded our packs. Hayley tossed my stuff at me along with a rundown of their encounter with Farrah. Apparently, Logvale’s leader wasn't fully buying their "decidedly not suspicious" story about the tunnel. They tried their best to keep the whole portal business under wraps, per Vivienne's request, but we shouldn’t be surprised if Farrah started sniffing around more.   On another note, we decided to ditch the carts and horses. Onvyr, unfortunately, also got left behind – a petrified statue propped conspicuously in the village square. Transporting a giant stone elf through a magical portal wasn't exactly feasible. Edward did bribe Farrah a hefty sum to keep the carts and horses safe for a few months. Maybe another caravan would be passing through and we could pay them to haul our stuff to Keralon. Who knows?   As we had all gathered in the clearing, Vivienne, with a flourish, manipulated the portal. The icy landscape within the gate dissolved, replaced by a breathtaking vista of the city itself on distant hills. Towers pierced the sky, gleaming in the afternoon sun. A collective gasp escaped our lips. This was it. Keralon.   "Ready?" Vivienne asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.   We exchanged nervous glances. Ready wasn't exactly the word I'd use, but turning back now seemed… unwise. She explained the limitations of the portal – it was a one-way trip, spitting us out a distance from the city walls. We wouldn't be seeing her again anytime soon, either. This was it – we were on our own.   Lilaina, however, received some specific instructions. "Return to the gate in fifteen days," Vivienne instructed, her voice firm. "Alone. Your friends cannot come with you." (There goes plan A for a dramatic rescue!)   With a deep breath, we stepped through the portal. A wave of icy coldness washed over us, momentarily stealing our breath. Blinking away the chill, we found ourselves on a grassy hill, the majestic city of Keralon sprawling in the distance. The towering structures seemed to pierce the very heavens, their grandeur both awe-inspiring and slightly intimidating.   As the last person emerged, we watched Vivienne give a final wave. The shimmering blue light of the portal flickered and died, leaving behind only an eerie silence. The gateway closed, and our mysterious benefactor was gone.   We started our trek towards the city, the air refreshingly clear with no sign of the oppressive mist. After a few hours of walking (and a lot of grumbling stomachs), we stumbled upon a dirt road leading towards the distant Keralon.   Alistan already started talking about a trip back to Logvale and retrieving the cart and Onvyr. Hayley quickly shot that down. "There will be a patrol soon and they will be able to help out," she argued, eyeing Alistan's increasingly pronounced limp. The poor guy looked like he was about to walk right out of his boot.   As the sun dipped towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills, Keralon remained stubbornly out of reach. Just as fatigue started to set in, Dadroz and Gael's sharp eyes spotted a flickering campfire in the distance. Relief washed over us – maybe some friendly faces and a warm meal were exactly what we needed.   We veered off the main road, following a smaller path that led towards the firelight. Curiosity piqued, we noticed a lone tower standing sentinel beside the road, a faint glow emanating from its windows. Suddenly, the air crackled with tension. Alistan, Dadroz, and Gael exchanged a worried glance. The unmistakable sounds of combat reached our ears – clashing metal, shouts, and the sizzle of magic.   "Get ready!" Alistan hissed, urgency lacing his voice. Before I could even process what was happening, the three of them were already sprinting towards the source of the commotion. I let out a groan and reluctantly followed, the rest of the group trailing behind.   We burst into a clearing, the scene before us a bizarre tableau. The tower, with its gargoyle ornaments and pointed roof, looked like it belonged straight out of a dusty old storybook. Scorched earth surrounded the base, and the tower itself bore scorch marks, evidence of a recent battle. In the center of it all, a woman wielding a glowing staff faced off against a trio of attackers. One was a hulking metallic construct clad in gleaming brass armor, its movements jerky and mechanical. Flanking it were two small, winged humanoids – pixies, if the legends were true.   One of the pixies zeroed in on us. It weaved its magic, and Alistan's face contorted in confusion. He stumbled, muttering incoherently, clearly the victim of a nasty spell. Before things got too out of hand, Gael, the sharp-eyed archer, let loose an arrow, catching the pixie mid-flight. The tiny creature crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Alistan, thankfully, snapped out of his daze.   The battle raged on. The mage, cloaked in a shimmering mist, teleported across the clearing, launching a fiery bolt at the hulking metal construct. (Hey! I recognized that spell – a basic firebolt! Maybe I wasn't such a magical dud after all.) The other pixie, seeing its companion fall, unleashed an entangling spell. Vines materialized from the ground, wrapping themselves around our legs and arms, effectively holding us out of the fight and turning this into a very dangerous situation.   Frustration bubbled within me. Instinct took over, and I unleashed a barrage of magic missiles, the crackling energy seeking its target. One of the missiles found its mark, the pixie dissolving into a puff of glitter and dust.   Gael aimed his bow at the construct's armored form, his arrow finding a weak point and leaving a dent. Lilaina, our ever-steadfast paladin, charged forward, using her shield to form a wall between the construct and the wounded mage. The metal monstrosity lunged, its spear aimed squarely at Lilaina. But she stood firm, the weapon clattering harmlessly against her shield. It even tried a clumsy bash with its own metallic shield, but Lilaina held her ground, immovable.   Dadroz joined the fray, his shortbow twanging as he loosed an arrow. It struck the construct in a weak point, causing it to stumble back. I joined in the offensive, launching a firebolt that sailed harmlessly past its metallic frame. Hayley cast a curse, attempting to jinx the creature's attacks.   Liliana, her eyes blazing with a strange inner light, called upon the power of the Fey through her sword. The blade pulsed with ethereal energy, mirroring the glow that emanated from the construct itself. Then, with a mighty cry, she struck. The construct roared in defiance, unleashing a torrent of power fueled by its mechanical fury in retaliation. A clash of steel and magic erupted, sparks flying in all directions. Liliana reeled back from the blow, but just in time – Alistan, with a desperate lunge, managed to block a follow-up attack from the construct, his shield taking the brunt of the force.   Just as things started to look dire, the mage called out a warning. "Get away from the tower!" she shouted, her voice strained. Alistan yelled back, "Just got here! Now I gotta leave again?" He retreated a few steps, but not before barking an order at Liliana – "Press it! Don't let it escape!" She gave a curt nod and delivered another blow with her enchanted blade.   Hayley, seeing the mage’s injuries, rushed to her side, tending to her wounds with a healing spell. But the construct, relentless in its onslaught, saw an opening. It lunged forward, aiming for a vulnerable spot on Liliana's armor. My heart jumped into my throat. Thinking fast, I channeled my magic, whispering a desperate plea to twist the fates. A tingling sensation ran through me, and the construct's attack veered off course, missing Liliana by a hair's breadth. The extra bit of luck, I siphoned off, sending it surging towards Dadroz, hoping he could use it.   The battle reached its climax. The mage, with a muttered incantation, activated the braziers around the tower. They roared to life, bathing the clearing in a sea of fire. The construct, though singed and battered, remained unfazed. With a final, desperate lunge, it attacked Alistan. Liliana tried to intervene, but she wasn't fast enough. The metallic shield connected with Alistan's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground with a pained cry.   Dadroz, however, saw an opportunity. He charged forward, drawing the construct's attention away from Alistan. Gael, seizing the moment, let loose a blunted arrow, striking the construct squarely in the head. The metal behemoth shuddered, then crumpled to the ground in a heap of dented parts. Silence descended on the clearing, broken only by our ragged breaths and the crackling flames.   The dust settled, leaving behind the acrid stench of burnt metal and the lingering scent of magic. The mage, catching her breath, let out a shaky sigh. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse.   Hayley scurried over to the unconscious pixie. A quick examination revealed a faint pulse and Hayley whipped out a vial of shimmering potion. "Healing brew," she muttered, administering the liquid to the tiny creature. Moments later, the pixie fluttered her iridescent wings, blinking in confusion. "Huh? Where am I?" she chirped, her voice high-pitched and surprisingly clear.   Hayley explained the situation. "Looks like you lost the fight," she said gently. The pixie's brow furrowed in a miniature frown. "Lost? But… I don't remember a fight. Just collecting nectar with my sister…" Her voice trailed off, a flicker of fear replacing the confusion in her eyes. "Why isn't she here? Why am I not home?"   Hayley explained, with a touch of sympathy (and a hint of guilt on my part, for accidentally blasting the poor thing into oblivion), that the mist likely played a role in her predicament. We pointed her towards the dark wall of trees that marked the edge of the Lorewood. "Head back through there," Hayley instructed, "and maybe you'll find your way home."   The pixie, spotting her sister's lifeless body, let out a shrill cry. "Who… who did this?" she sobbed. Hayley offered a quick explanation about self-defense. Gael, ever the charmer, offered the pixie a chance to travel with him once he finished his business, but the distraught creature was in no mood for company. With a tearful goodbye, she fluttered off towards the Lorewood, her future shrouded in the same mist that brought her here.   The mage, meanwhile, had begun dismantling the smoking remains of the construct. She muttered curses under her breath, a frown etched on her face. "Whoever attacked knew exactly what I was capable of," she grumbled. "This thing was built specifically to resist flames." She introduced herself as Amarra, the owner of this curious tower called Caern Fussil. Apparently, the place had some connection to the plane of fire, attracting mages seeking communion with the fiery element. She had inherited it from her master, and returning from a long journey, she was ambushed just outside the tower.   As a token of gratitude for saving her, Amarra offered us shelter for the night. We gratefully accepted – a warm bed and a roof over our heads sounded pretty darn good after the chaotic scene we'd just witnessed. Amarra apologized profusely for the lack of a grand feast, but assured us we could raid the supply cabinet for whatever tickled our fancy.   Following her lead, we climbed a winding staircase that spiraled upwards, the interior of the tower surprisingly warm. Maybe that whole connection to the plane of fire thing wasn't just a metaphor, after all. The staircase that led to a series of small, sparsely furnished rooms. Apparently, they used to be occupied by apprentices, but the tower hadn't had any in quite some time.   "Most students prefer apprenticeships with wizards within the city walls," she explained. "The tower's a good day's walk from Keralon, not exactly prime real estate for aspiring magic users." She made one very important rule clear, though – the basement was off-limits. Apparently, it housed some rather potent magic best left undisturbed.   However, the real treasure for me, at least, lay elsewhere. "There's a magical library," Amarra mentioned casually. "If anyone's interested in fire magic, be my guest." Needless to say, I practically bolted for the library the moment those words left her lips. My fingers itched to devour every dusty tome on the shelves, to soak up every scrap of knowledge they contained. The rest of the group, however, seemed less enthralled by the prospect of fiery incantations.   Alistan decided to pry into Amarra's recent travels. It turned out she'd been gallivanting around the southern cities, far from the comforts of Caern Fussil. In return, she inquired about our own origins. Gael spun a tale of us being adventurous youngsters from Tarn, a small town near Hillfield, seeking our fortunes in the bustling metropolis of Keralon.   Amara’s gaze however fell on Gael's imposing bow and Liliana's gleaming sword. "Hold on a moment," she interjected, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead. "Those appear to be enchanted items. In Keralon, only knights are allowed to carry such things." Uh oh. So much for swaggering into the city with our magical arsenal. Amarra offered a solution. "Best to keep those under wraps," she advised. "The guards at the South Gate are particularly vigilant when it comes to detecting magic."   She then revealed a less traveled passage – the Hunter's Gate, a smaller entrance used primarily by, well, hunters. Apparently, it was less guarded than the main entrance, making it the perfect entry point for a group of magical misfits like ourselves. With a grateful nod, we took down directions for this clandestine gateway.   The conversation then shifted towards our future plans. Gael explained his mission to secure aid for Logvale, while Alistan mentioned having a family house in the city so we could avoid the steep prices of Keralon’s hostels. "Excellent," Amarra said, clapping her hands together. "But securing an apprenticeship should be your top priority. Things have gotten a bit trickier since the guilds were disbanded, less structure and all that."   For the next few hours, my nose practically glued to the dusty pages, I devoured every scrap of information I could find about fire magic. It was a treasure trove of flaming projectiles, fiery walls, and heat manipulation spells. I thanked Amarra profusely for letting me loose in this magical library – it was like a dream come true.   She mentioned, rather casually, that this tower used to be a full-fledged school dedicated to the fiery arts. Apparently, she was contemplating reopening it someday.   Fuelled by newfound enthusiasm, I bombarded Amarra with questions. How did one learn magic in Keralon? Who could teach me? How did the whole apprenticeship thing work?   Amarra, ever patient, explained the options. There was the prestigious magical academy, but it apparently came with a hefty price tag. A sponsor, in other words, was a must. Not exactly ideal for a broke teenager like myself. The other option was apprenticing with a wizard – work for them, learn from them, the whole package deal.   She then inquired about my long-term goals. I proudly declared my interest in divination magic, though sadly, it wasn't exactly her area of expertise. However, I also revealed my lofty ambition – becoming a knight of Keralon, specifically one of the magic-wielding Circle of Myrdin. Saving people, upholding justice – it all sounded incredibly heroic, even if it was a long-term project.   Finally, I decided to come clean about the strange boost my fire magic received back in the mists. The memory of the supercharged firebolt, exploding with unexpected force, still sent shivers down my spine. Amarra, to put it mildly, was intrigued. According to her, magic usually followed a set of rules – fixed effects for fixed spells. This… anomaly… wasn't exactly standard wizarding procedure.   However, she did have a solution (or at least an attempt at one). There was a ritual she could perform to shed some light on the situation. She bustled around the room, gathering various objects – a flickering candle, a smooth stone, a feather light as a kiss – and arranged them on a table alongside a shimmering magic circle.   Following her instructions, I placed my hand over the circle, picturing the memory of the empowered spell. The minutes ticked by, filled only with the crackling of the candle and the sound of my own nervous breathing. Then, a soft gasp escaped Amarra's lips. "Interesting," she murmured. Looking up, I witnessed a scene straight out of a magic textbook. The candle flame had doubled in size, casting flickering shadows across the room. Even more astonishingly, the smooth stone hovered mid-air, defying gravity itself.   Amarra explained the implications of this bizarre display. Apparently, most souls had an affinity for two of the four elements – fire, water, earth, and air. However, based on the ritual, it seemed I was a rare case. One single element – fire – resonated with me. Furthermore, the floating stone hinted at a connection to the Feywild, specifically the Summer Court, known for their fiery personalities.   This revelation blew my mind. Solely fire magic? Now that was something you didn't hear every day. A mischievous grin spread across my face. If all this was true, then maybe apprenticing with Amarra, a master of fire magic, wasn't such a bad idea after all.   However, there was a slight hurdle – a series of tests located in the dreaded basement. Apparently, these weren't your average pop quizzes – past students had gotten, ahem, "slightly singed" attempting them. The good news? I could have my friends by my side for moral support (or, more realistically, fire extinguisher duty).   I found the others sprawled around the common room, nursing mugs of something suspiciously lukewarm. Hayley handed me a plate of what was once a delicious-looking stew, now a bit congealed from my library marathon. My stomach rumbled in protest, momentarily distracting me from my magical revelation. Food first, fire magic mastery later, right?   After devouring the stew, I launched into my explanation. The test for apprenticeship, the fire magic affinity, the strange connection to the Feywild – it all came pouring out. Hayley listened intently, her eyes wide with fascination. When I finished and asked them for help to pass the entrance test, Alistan, ever the supportive friend, grinned and declared, "You had me at 'test.'"   With full bellies and even fuller hearts (okay, maybe just a touch of nervous excitement), we retired for the night. Amarra, bless her kind soul, let us sleep in – a luxury we hadn't experienced in days. Refreshed and (hopefully) slightly less likely to set ourselves on fire, we found Amarra the next morning.   Deciding to test the waters, we asked if Hayley could also undergo the ritual. Amarra, ever accommodating, readily agreed. Once again, the room filled with the soft glow of the magic circle and the flickering candle flame. Hayley placed her hand on the circle, and we all watched with bated breath. This time, the results were slightly different. A single feather, as light as a whisper, began to rise, defying gravity for a brief moment. However, the candle flame, instead of growing larger, seemed to diminish slightly.   Amarra, her brow furrowed in concentration, interpreted the signs. Hayley, it seemed, possessed a strong affinity for air magic. Just like me, she resonated with only one element, a rarity in the world of magic. And, like me, she seemed to have a connection to the Feywild. This discovery left Amarra scratching her head. "Are you both… entirely human?" she inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.   Hayley simply confirmed that yes, we were both human, as far as we knew. Amarra sighed, muttering something about this being outside her area of expertise. She suggested we seek out someone well-versed in the Feywild, someone who could explain these strange connections.   But first it was test time!   Butterflies danced a frantic flamenco in my stomach as we approached the entrance test for my apprenticeship. Liliana inquired about the duration. "Usually an hour," Amarra replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She offered me a single piece of advice: "Contemplate the nature of fire. It is unsubtle." Easy enough, right? Just don't be a wallflower and hope the flames take pity on you.   With a deep breath, I followed the others into a room that Amarra promptly locked behind us. A wave of claustrophobia threatened to engulf me, but I forced it down. The only way out was through, so whining wouldn't do any good. The room itself was a utilitarian affair – bare walls, a dirt floor punctuated by several ominous hatches, and a panel covered in switches. Ten in one row, nine in another, each one sporting a tiny light and a cryptic letter. Taking a closer look, we deciphered a message: "Everything or Nothing." Intriguing.   Alistan, ever the gambler, flipped the first switch to "on." Nothing happened. Then another, and another, until all ten switches in the first row were glowing. Still nothing. We repeated the process with the second row, hearts pounding in our chests. Just as hope began to dwindle, a satisfying click echoed through the room. The door opposite the switch panel creaked open, revealing a passage bathed in an ominous orange glow.   Dadroz took point, carefully poking the floor ahead for any hidden traps (never underestimate the sadistic ingenuity of ancient wizards). Satisfied, we entered the next room. The sight that greeted us could have come straight out of a nightmare – four blazing pits of lava bubbled ominously, their molten fury threatening to spill over. Floating amidst the fiery chaos were four shimmering blue crystals, pulsing with an ethereal light. Blocking our path stood a wall of solid ice, a frosty barrier defying our progress.   Hayley, approached one of the crystals and nudged it tentatively towards a lava pit. The moment the crystal moved, the lava surged upwards, spilling over its fiery banks. We scrambled back as the heat intensified, cursing the lack of any decent fireproof cloaks. Hayley, repositioned the crystals, creating a fiery path towards the ice wall. The ice, however, remained stubbornly unfazed. A defeated sigh escaped her lips.   But she remained determined. "Luke, maybe a little fire magic will do the trick?" A mischievous grin spread across my face. Focusing my will, I unleashed a fiery bolt at the ice wall. The magical projectile struck true, shattering the ice with a satisfying crack. Cheering erupted from the group, a welcome sound amidst the tense atmosphere. Working together, we maneuvered the crystals back, creating a safe passage. Pushing open the final door, we emerged, blinking in the sudden brightness.   Amarra stood there, a surprised smile on her face. "Congratulations! That was much faster than I anticipated." Relief washed over me, quickly followed by a pang of fear. Had we been too reckless? Thankfully, everyone seemed to be in one piece, a minor miracle considering the fiery gauntlet we'd just run.   The unexpected twist came next. Amarra, in a surprising display of generosity, offered apprenticeships to all of us. Alistan, however, balked at the idea, claiming a complete lack of magical talent (though I suspect he just lacks commitment to try - I know you can read, Alistan). Hayley pointed out her weak fire magic affinity. Liliana, her voice heavy with regret, revealed she could only coat her sword in flames, and that an oath to the Feywild awaited her soon. A wave of disappointment washed over me. The thought of tackling these magical mysteries without them was daunting.   "But Liliana," I pleaded, "the fire sowrd is amazing! We can all learn together!" My enthusiasm, however, failed to sway her. Her mind was set, the pull of the Feywild too strong to resist. Alistan offered her a sympathetic smile, clearly bummed at the prospect of her leaving.   As a newly minted apprentice, I received a rather impressive gift from Amarra – a trio of spell scrolls! Flaming Sphere, Flame Arrows, and Fireball – my inner pyromaniac practically did a jig. These babies would take my fire magic to the next level, for sure. Just imagine the possibilities! Raining flaming arrows down on unsuspecting foes, conjuring a miniature sun to roast marshmallows (or, you know, actual enemies)… the applications were endless (and potentially very, very destructive).   With newfound determination (and a backpack full of magical scrolls), we bid farewell to Amarra and Caern Fussil. She estimated a day's travel to Keralon, arriving just as darkness fell and the city gates shut tight. Thankfully, a string of wayside inns dotted the road outside the city walls, offering weary travelers a much-needed respite.   The journey itself was a feast for the eyes. Keralon's majestic silhouette emerged on the horizon, the city walls gleaming like polished silver under the bright sun. A magnificent silver castle perched atop a nearby hill glittered like a giant jewel, earning the city its nickname – the Silver City. We passed by prosperous farms, their fertile fields a welcome sight after the wilds we'd traversed. And as we neared the city in the late afternoon, the unmistakable buzz of civilization filled the air – more people, less wilderness, a symphony of voices and bustling activity.   The racial diversity was astounding – bugbears with surprisingly dapper hats, half-orcs with booming laughs, even a towering half-giant lumbering down the road. It was a far cry from the secluded villages and monster-infested forests we were used to. This was a place teeming with life, magic, and who knows, maybe even a chance for us to make our mark on the world.   However, amidst the excitement, a shadow of concern lingered. Elsa and Edward, battered from the long journey, were clearly struggling. Edward, still recovering from his injuries, moved with a noticeable limp. Elsa also seemed sluggish and out of sorts. I scanned my meager spell repertoire, desperately searching for a way to ease their pain. Unfortunately, even my extended collection was of no use to them. Guess I had a lot more to learn about this whole wizardry thing.   We stumbled into the first inn we saw – the Southroad Tavern – a ramshackle building smelling faintly of stale ale and regret. The barkeep, a burly man with a beard you could knit a sweater from, immediately clocked us as wide-eyed newcomers. "A bunch of green newlings, are we?" he boomed, his voice gravelly enough to wake the dead.   Alistan, ever the jokester, shot back, "Actually, the lingering green is more from our forest trek through the Lorewoods." He gestured at our travel-stained clothes, a hint of pride in his voice. Apparently, surviving a near-death experience was a badge of honor in his book.   The task of securing rooms for our ragtag group fell to Alistan. His initial request for eleven rooms was met with a comical double-take from the barkeep, a man who went by the name of Brok. Long story short, we ended up renting out the entire remaining inventory – a large communal room and two smaller ones. The price, at 16 gold, was enough to make your teeth ache (especially considering what we were used to back in Tarn). Hayley and Gael stepped up and pooled their hard-earned gold to cover the cost.   Brok offered to carry our bags upstairs and asked if we wanted to stable our horses. We politely declined, the memory of Faerin and Thorin, our beloved steeds tragically left behind in Logvale, still too raw. With a sigh, Alistan swiped a single tear from his cheek (or so I think, the flickering candlelight made it hard to tell).   Settling into the common room, we ordered a round of drinks – a mix of beer, wine, and water to cater to everyone's tastes. The food was simple but hearty – a choice of local meat or fish with a side of bread. After days of dubious trail rations, it tasted like manna from heaven. Bellies full and spirits high, we finally allowed ourselves to relax, a sense of accomplishment washing over us. We were just outside Keralon, our final destination. The trials (well, most of them) were finally behind us.   The common room itself had a decidedly serious atmosphere. Unlike the jovial taverns we were used to, filled with raucous laughter and drunken gambling, this place held a tense silence. The only sounds were the murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. It was a bit unnerving, like the calm before a storm.   Just as we were about to call it a night, the barkeep surprised us with a complimentary dessert – a massive cake that looked suspiciously like it could feed a small army. Needless to say, we devoured it with gusto.   However, amidst the pastry bliss, a flicker of unease settled in the air. Liliana and Hayley, ever vigilant, kept glancing towards a group of men who had just entered the tavern. These guys were about as subtle as a brick to the face – all shifty glances and furtive whispers. They also seemed to be diligently scribbling something on scraps of paper.   Hayley, with her ever-reliable raven familiar, decided to take a closer look. The raven swooped down, landing unseen on a nearby table, and relayed its intel back to its mistress. The message sent a jolt of nervous energy through the group. Apparently, the men were writing a flyer – a flyer that mentioned the "Freehold Guild." The memory of Amarra's warning about banned guilds echoed in our minds. This wasn't just some shady tavern encounter – we were stumbling right into the middle of something… something potentially dangerous.

A Hidden Path to Logvale and Beyond
12th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   We pressed onward, the lumbering cart carrying us towards a destination that seemed to recede with every creaking wheel. Hope, once a flickering flame, had dwindled to a faint ember within us. Our last encounter in the Lorewood clearing with Bluey McShooty, as I had taken to calling the blue-skinned elf (I refuse to call him Cornu), had left us physically and emotionally scarred.   The landscape around us began to slowly change. The dense foliage of the Lorewood thinned, revealing open spaces where lumberjacks had clearly been at work. Stumps of felled trees, some fresh, others bearing the marks of a few days' weathering, dotted the landscape. These clearings were a stark contrast to the oppressive, claustrophobic embrace of the forest, but they offered little comfort. We knew, with a chilling certainty, that Logvale, our supposed haven, was still a good distance away.   However, amidst the bleakness, there were a few glimmers of hope. The once treacherous path transformed into a proper road. It wasn't a grand thoroughfare, but it allowed the cart to move with a semblance of ease compared to the arduous journey through the tangled undergrowth. The weather, mirroring our internal shifts, had also improved. The suffocating mist lingered, but it was less dense, the biting cold replaced by a crisp coolness.   The howls of distant wolves, however, remained a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the relative safety of the road. Each mournful cry sent shivers down our spines, a chilling echo of Bluey and his relentless pursuit. Despite our exhaustion, we pushed on, the urgency fueled by fear and a desperate hope of reaching Logvale before our pursuer caught up.   Alistan, battered and bruised from the fight, had been relegated to a makeshift bed on the swaying cart. His injuries were severe, and without proper rest or even the luxury of properly dressing our wounds, his strength waned visibly. But ever resourceful, he suggested using the Immerglade Stone – the magical artifact we had acquired back in Tarn – to contact Gael. After a few agonizing moments of waiting, a faint voice crackled through the stone. Gael's voice, weak but alive, filled the air. He spoke of Sylvesse, a glimmer of relief washing over us as we learned he wasn't alone. He assured us he was all right, but that it would take some time for him to catch up.   The news was a balm to our frayed nerves. Gael was alive, a small victory amidst the larger struggle. However, the relief was laced with a bitter aftertaste. Bluey McShooty remained a threat, his whereabouts unknown. Was he hunting Gael, or patiently waiting for us to make a misstep?   Our grumbling stomachs were the first to announce that it was well past midday. We hadn't stopped to eat, too focused on putting distance between ourselves and the ever-present threat of Bluey McShooty. Suddenly, the road forked, presenting us with a decision. The wider path looked inviting, but the other branch held our attention. Etched into the bark of the trees lining this narrower path were strange symbols, glowing faintly with an ethereal light as we drew closer.   Logvale was still a good two-day journey away, according to our admittedly unreliable itinerary. Faced with this dilemma, Hayley, with a theatrical flourish, unleashed Fiachna, her raven familiar. Fiachna cawed once in acknowledgment before launching themself into the air. They circled back a few minutes later, a series of excited caws escaping their beak. According to Fiachna's report, the path continued to be marked by the runes, but signs of civilization dwindled.   Faced with the choice between a potentially safer path with dwindling supplies or a wider road with the unknown lurking around every bend, the decision was a no-brainer. With a shared look of grim determination, we chose the runic path.   This new path was a stark contrast to the main road. Narrow and overgrown, it felt like we were pushing our way through a forgotten tunnel. The runes, once faint, blazed brightly as we passed, their ethereal glow illuminating the path ahead and pushing back the ever-present mist. It was an eerie sight, both beautiful and unsettling. The silence was even more oppressive here, broken only by the creak of the cart and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. Even the ever-present chirping of insects seemed to have been swallowed by the oppressive silence.   As the day wore on, the temperature plummeted. The mist thickened, and the air grew crisp, sending shivers down our spines. The time of day grew uncertain, as the sun remained stubbornly hidden behind the thick blanket of mist. Suddenly, an unsettling feeling washed over me – a feeling of déjà vu. We had been travelling for hours on this path, yet the landscape seemed oddly familiar.   Then, as dusk began to settle (or at least, what we presumed was dusk given the ever-present mist), we found ourselves back on the main road. It was as if we had travelled in a giant circle. I was visibly irritated as it seemed like we had just wasted several hours. But then Hayley's eyes widened in realization. "A shortcut," she breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "The path must have gone through the Feywild, where distances don’t work as you would expect."   The revelation sparked a flurry of debate. Should we risk setting up camp, inviting potential ambush, or press on, hoping to reach some semblance of safety before nightfall? Just as the tension reached a fever pitch, Hayley let out a gasp, pointing towards the side of the road. There, barely visible through the mist, stood a weathered signpost. Etched into its rotting wood were two words: "Logvale – 5 miles."   Relief washed over us like a warm wave. Hayley's theory of the Feywild shortcut was confirmed. "Push on," Alistan declared from his bed on the cart, his voice hoarse but resolute. "If this sign is right, we could be in Logvale within a few hours, warm beds and a proper meal finally within reach!"   His words were met with a chorus of tired groans, but a flicker of hope ignited in our eyes. The journey had been long, fraught with danger and uncertainty, but the promise of a safe haven spurred us forward. We pressed on, the runic path and its unsettling magic a distant memory, replaced by the anticipation of reaching our destination and finally getting a decent night's sleep.   After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only about an hour and a half, a flicker of hope pierced the oppressive gloom. Lights! Distant specks of warm yellow light, brighter than any campfire we'd seen on our journey. The clinging mist seemed to thin as we drew closer, revealing a sight that sent a jolt of excitement, and a healthy dose of apprehension, coursing through me.   A wooden palisade loomed before us, its sturdy timbers a welcome sign of civilization. But it wasn't the palisade itself that held my attention. It was the arcane runes etched into the wood, glowing with an otherworldly light. They pulsed with power, pushing back the ever-present mist as if it were a living, breathing entity. The mist writhed and recoiled at their touch, retreating like a frightened child from a scolding parent. Beyond the palisade, nestled within a protective barrier, a village lay bathed in the warm glow of lanterns, a haven free from the oppressive mist that had become our constant companion.   Relief, however, was a fleeting emotion. As we drew closer, a grim scene unfolded before our eyes. Shapes lay scattered in front of the heavy wooden gate, their forms still and unmoving. The telltale signs of battle – broken weapons and dented armor – confirmed our worst fears. Logvale hadn't been spared the touch of violence.   Suddenly, the air ripped with a guttural snarl. From the depths of the forest, monstrous figures emerged – two-headed wolves, their eyes glowing with a malevolent red light. Saliva dripped from their slavering maws as they lumbered towards us, their growls resonating with a primal hunger.   Before we could react, another figure materialized atop the palisade. The blue-skinned menace, Bluey McShooty, stood there, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Ah, there you are," he sneered, his voice dripping with a cruel amusement. "I expected you to take this route. And where, pray tell, is your little friend?"   Gael's absence, evidently, had not gone unnoticed. A flicker of annoyance crossed the elf's face. Liliana suggested – with a heavy dose of sarcasm – that perhaps he go and look for Gael himself.   The elf's smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl that could curdle milk. "No," he snarled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "I think I'll take a hostage instead. A little incentive to draw your friend out."   A sliver of hope, fragile as a spiderweb, materialized in the form of the heavy wooden gate groaning open. A woman, clad in armor and wielding a radiant symbol that pulsed with holy light, emerged from the safety of Logvale. A booming voice cut through the snarls of the wolves and the taunts of the blue menace. "Seek shelter within the walls!" she commanded, her voice laced with urgency. Before the words left her lips, an arrow, loosed from her bow, streaked through the air, aimed squarely at Bluey McShooty.   The elf reacted with a startled yelp, barely dodging the projectile. He whirled around, his single red eye blazing with fury. We started our mad dash for the promised safety of the walls of Logvale. Bluey’s bow materialized in his hand in a blur of motion, and with a snarl, he let loose an arrow of his own. The arrow found its mark in Liliana. She stumbled with a gasp, but her spirit remained unbroken. With a fierce determination, she pressed on, running alongside the cart carrying her wounded brother, before turning and charging towards the elf in a desperate act of defiance.   The chaos was overwhelming. The amnesiac, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, bolted away from the scene, narrowly dodging a savage snap from one of the two-headed hounds. Dadroz reacted instinctively. An arrow flew from his bow, finding its mark in the flank of the hound lunging at Liliana's feet. Following his lead, I channeled the last vestiges of my magic, unleashing a frigid blast that encased the other hound's leg in a shimmering cage of ice.   The enraged beasts, however, were far from subdued. One, howling in pain from Dadroz's arrow, lunged at him, its razor-sharp teeth sinking into his arm. The other, its icy prison shattered by its own frantic struggles, turned its attention to me and Elsa. It lunged, a gaping maw aimed at our legs. In that split second, panic surged through me, but instinct took over. With a desperate plea, I poured the remaining dregs of my magic into the fabric of fate, twisting it just enough to send the hound hurtling past us.   Hayley couldn't resist a snide remark. "Nice doggy manners!" she yelled infused with her magic, earning a startled yelp from the disoriented beast. That momentary distraction was all it took. Alistan, battered but determined, surged out of the cart and landed beside me. With a battle cry that echoed through the clearing, he swung his sword, the blade biting deep into the two-headed hound's flesh.   The battle raged around us, a whirlwind of snarls, arrows, and desperate scrambling. The cart, pulled by the remaining horse, lurched forward towards the safety of the open gate. But the rest of us were still caught in the maelstrom. Edward, fueled by a misplaced sense of heroism, had charged towards the elf, ignoring Liliana's pleas. He paid a terrible price for his recklessness. Bluey McShooty's sword found its mark, sending Edward crumpling to the ground in a heap, blood blossoming on his tunic.   Liliana's scream pierced the air, a cry of anguish and fear. "Edward!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with despair. "He needs help! Now!"   Just when despair threatened to consume us, a beacon of hope emerged from the very heart of the forest. Sylvesse, the majestic stag, burst onto the scene, antlers gleaming with an otherworldly light. Atop his back, battered but defiant, rode Gael. With a triumphant roar, Gael loosed an arrow, the projectile aimed squarely at Bluey McShooty. While it found its mark on the forest floor a hair's breadth away from the elf, it achieved its purpose: distraction.   The woman from Logvale, her face etched with grim determination, seized the opportunity. An arrow of her own sang through the air, striking the elf in a vulnerable spot between his shoulder plates. A guttural grunt erupted from his throat, a sound filled with pain and fury. Serves him right, the arrogant blue-skinned fiend! The tables had finally turned.   Sylvesse, emboldened by the distraction, charged. The earth trembled beneath his hooves as he slammed into the elf, sending him sprawling with a surprised yelp. One of the two-headed hounds, a whirlwind of snapping jaws and matted fur, leaped at Sylvesse, but the nimble stag sidestepped the attack with practiced ease.   With renewed hope coursing through my veins, I watched as Dadroz and Ileas, their movements hindered by their wounds, made a dash for the safety of Logvale. They were the first to reach the welcoming embrace of the palisade, collapsing through the gate in a tangle of limbs. The rest of us, however, weren't so lucky. The remaining hounds focused their aggression on us, snapping and snarling as we huddled around the lumbering cart.   The horses, usually stoic creatures, seemed to share our frustration. They reared up in a sudden display of temper, their powerful hind legs connecting with a hound's head in a satisfying display of equine retaliation. The beast yelped in surprise and scrambled back, momentarily stunned.   Amidst the chaos, a small miracle unfolded. Edward, tended to by Elsa's healing magic, stirred, his color returning. Liliana barked orders. "Get inside!" she commanded the Colline silings, her voice hoarse but laced with urgency. "The elf is distracted, now's your chance!"   Relief flooded me as I saw Elsa join Edward, the two of them weaving through the fray towards the safety of the palisade. With their safety (somewhat) assured, I focused my attention on Bluey McShooty. He snarled at Sylvesse, a mixture of rage and frustration twisting his features. Recklessly, perhaps foolishly, I decided to take a gamble. Ignoring the past instability of my fire magic, I channeled all my remaining energy into a fiery blast.   The gamble paid off. The flames erupted from my fingertips, licking hungrily at the elf's armor. He roared in pain, momentarily breaking eye contact with Sylvesse. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Perhaps, just perhaps, the tide was finally turning.   A flicker of hope ignited in my chest as Ileas, with a cry of defiance, plunged his sword deep into the remaining hound. Hayley, ever the resourceful one, followed suit, dispatching the other beast with a well-placed dagger throw. Two down, two to go.   But the battle was far from over. Sylvesse, locked in a desperate struggle with the remaining hounds, fought with the ferocity of a cornered stag. Bluey McShooty, momentarily distracted by the renewed assault, turned his attention back to us. A snarl ripped from his throat, a sound filled with primal cruelty, as he lunged towards Liliana. Alistan, battered but determined, reacted with lightning speed, throwing himself in front of his sister just as the elf's blade descended. The impact sent him sprawling, a sickening thud echoing through the clearing.   Horror filled me as the elf, a whirlwind of blue fury, continued his assault. He struck again, a crimson blossom erupting on Liliana's tunic as his blade found its mark. She crumpled to the ground, a strangled cry escaping her lips. Edward reacted immediately and left the safety he had found before, and scrambled to Liliana's side, pressing his hand against the wound in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood. Elsa, rushed to Alistan's side, once again. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she worked, her magic reserves depleted, forced to rely on the less spectacular, but no less crucial, techniques of first aid.   Driven by a desperate need to reach the safety of the palisade, I sprinted towards the gate, the pounding of my heart echoing in my ears. The cart, pulled by the remaining horse, rumbled behind me, kicking up dust and leaves. A quick glance back revealed Dorr, now grown to his larger size, hoisting the unconscious Liliana onto his back, Alistan cradled in his other arm. Edward, limping heavily and gasping for breath, stumbled towards me.   "Get inside!" I screamed, urgency thick in my voice. "Don't worry about me, just get inside!"   He nodded, his face contorted in pain, and with a final, desperate surge of energy, clambered through the heavy gate. I waited, my breath catching in my throat, for Elsa to follow.   Sylvesse, sensing our peril, let out a powerful bellow. With a renewed burst of energy, he charged at the elf and the remaining hound, horns lowered in a desperate challenge. But the elf was too quick, too agile. He danced away from the attack with mocking ease, the monstrous hound snapping at the stag's heels.   One last act of defiance. I channeled the dregs of my magic, unleashing a small but fiery bolt at the remaining hound. It yelped in surprise, momentarily distracted. That was all the time I needed. I bolted towards the gate, the heavy wooden doors groaning as the woman from Logvale, her face a mask of grim determination, cranked the lever.   I scrambled inside just as the gate slammed shut with a bone-jarring thud. Gasping for breath, I turned back to witness a scene that brought tears to my eyes. The two-headed hound, with a savage snarl, tore into Sylvesse's neck. The majestic stag's legs buckled, and with a mournful cry that echoed through the clearing, he collapsed to the ground. Bluey McShooty, a figure of pure malice, walked up to the fallen stag and plunged his sword into its neck, twisting the blade with a sadistic grin.   A choked sob escaped Gael's lips, a cry of raw grief that pierced the night. The stag who had been his companion and mentor, lay lifeless on the blood-soaked ground. We watched, hearts heavy with a mixture of terror and despair, as the hound ripped the head from Sylvesse's body, a final, brutal act of savagery.   As the heavy gate blocked our view of the carnage outside, the woman from Logvale turned to us, her voice filled with a quiet authority. "You are safe now," she declared, her words holding little comfort in the face of the tragedy we had just witnessed. Safe, perhaps, but at a terrible cost. Sylvesse, noble and brave, was gone. Liliana and Alistan, grievously wounded, lay unconscious.   Slowly, I dared to look around. About twenty faces stared back at us, a mixture of curiosity and concern etched on their features. Most were clad in simple garb, armed with axes and a smattering of worn leather armor - hardly the elite guard I'd envisioned protecting a village.   The woman who had closed the gate, the one with the impressive muscles and the no-nonsense demeanor, stepped forward. "Welcome to Logvale," she boomed, her voice surprisingly gentle for such a formidable figure. "I am Farrah, and it seems you've arrived just in time for all the excitement."   We offered a smattering of nods and mumbled greetings, the enormity of the situation leaving most of us speechless. Hayley took the lead andlaunched into a condensed version of our ordeal. "We've been traveling from Hillsfield to Keralon," she explained, waving her hand dismissively, "and let's just say the journey's been… eventful. We believe the barriers between the Feywild and our world are weakening, allowing all sorts of nasty creatures to slip through."   Farrah's brow furrowed in concern. "Fey creatures, you say? That explains some things. We've had issues ourselves lately. Groups of loggers disappearing into the woods, never to be seen again. Then, a few days ago, the attacks started. Thankfully, these runes carved into the palisade seem to ward them off. Peculiar things, though. We don't have any magic users in Logvale, so who put them there is a mystery."   A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. Perhaps the runes weren't just a coincidence, but a sign that someone, somewhere, was aware of the growing threat. Before I could voice this newfound optimism, Farrah gestured towards the largest building in the village. "The Broken Branch ale house," she announced with a wry smile. "Not much to look at, but it offers warm meals and a soft bed. Sounds like you lot could use both."   Gratitude washed over me as we shuffled towards the ale house, the promise of a warm meal and a respite from the relentless horror a welcome balm to our weary souls. As we entered the building, Hayley turned to Gael, her face etched with sympathy. "I'm so sorry about Sylvesse," she said, pulling him into a tight hug.   Gael, his face streaked with tears, simply nodded, his voice thick with grief. I settled in at a table, facing Farrah, and began to recount our encounter with the blue-skinned elf, his relentless pursuit of Gael, and the chaos that had unfolded moments ago. There was much to explain, and for the first time since we'd left Hillsfield, a sliver of hope began to take root.   Exhaustion settled over us like a heavy cloak. Elsa and Edward sat slumped at the table, picking at their food with a listlessness that mirrored our own. The weight of the day's events pressed down on us, leaving little room for conversation. We ate in a heavy silence, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery and the occasional creak of the old ale house.   Farrah seemed to understand our need for rest. After the meal, she led us to the guest rooms upstairs. There were two options: a common room with a whole six beds, or a smaller guest room with a measly two. Doing the math, we quickly realized this wouldn't be enough for our ragtag group. Hayley immediately volunteered to give up a bed. Gael, his face etched with a grief so raw it was almost painful to witness, followed suit. He mumbled something about needing to sleep under the stars, a request we readily granted. The loss of Sylvesse, his stag mentor, had clearly hit him hard.   That left us with one bed short. Nobody wanted to admit who badly they needed the rest. So there was only one solution – drawing straws. There was a collective grumble, but nobody offered a better solution, so we resigned ourselves to fate.   As luck, or rather lack thereof, would have it, Liliana pulled the short straw. Despite the lighthearted mood of drawing straws, a sense of unease settled in my stomach. It felt wrong, sending Liliana, injured and weakened, to sleep on the floor in the public area.   Little did we know, how right that uneasy feeling would be.   The night passed in a blur of exhaustion and fitful sleep. I woke with a start, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. A strangled yell pierced the night air, followed by the unmistakable sound of a scuffle. My heart hammered against my ribs as I scrambled out of bed. The other occupants of the room were already awake, making their way outside.   Bursting through the door, I found a scene straight out of my nightmares. Gael, his face contorted in pain, lay sprawled on the ground outside the ale house. A figure, cloaked in an unnatural mist, loomed over him. It solidified, revealing the Bluey McShooty, his face twisted in a cruel smirk. The runes etched into the palisade pulsed with an angry red light, searing the elf with each pulse. He hissed in pain, his eyes burning with hatred. I learned from Gael later that Bluey had pressed on into Logvale, confronting him in the middle of the night. While he stated that he now knew Gael wasn’t the one who he was hunting, Gael did have something that belonged to his prey, and he was here to retrieve it. Rather than hand it over, Gael attacked Bluey McShooty, but the elf was far too dangerous for him alone.   Liliana and Alistan, despite their injuries, charged forward, a united front against the blue menace. Fueled by a righteous fury, I followed suit, my sleep instantly forgotten. Thankfully, the rest I'd gotten seemed to have done wonders for my magic reserves. With a shout that echoed through the night, I unleashed everything I had, a volley of force bolts erupting from my fingertips. They slammed into the elf from all sides, forcing him to retreat with a startled yelp.   He snarled, his eyes burning with hatred, and lunged towards Liliana. But instinct, or perhaps a lucky twist of fate (thanks, me!), took over. With a desperate plea, I yanked on the threads of fate, causing his attack to go wildly off course. The satisfying clang of metal on wood filled the air as his intended blow found its mark on a nearby barrel instead.   Suddenly, from the ground, Gael rose like a phoenix (well, maybe not a phoenix, but you get the picture). Gritting his teeth through the obvious pain, he raised his bow and loosed a single, desperate arrow. It seemed to go wildly off course, but then something incredible happened. The bundle the elf clutched to his chest glowed with an otherworldly light, and with an unnatural yank, the arrow seemed to change direction, embedding itself squarely in the elf's face.   The effect was instantaneous. The elf crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, his body erupting in a shower of blue sparks. Gael, with a primal scream that echoed through the night, surged forward and delivered a satisfying kick to the elf's now-lifeless form.   We huddled around the fallen foe, a mixture of relief and morbid curiosity washing over us. A quick search of the elf's belongings revealed the source of all the trouble: Sylvesse's magnificent antlers, brutally severed from the noble stag's head. Gael, his face etched with grief, gently picked them up. And then, something truly magical happened. The antlers, as if responding to Gael's touch, began to shift and grow. In a matter of seconds, they transformed into a magnificent longbow, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the moonlight.   The elf's body started to burn with an unnatural green flame. It was a gruesome sight, but the runes etched into the palisade seemed to react positively. Within minutes, the body was reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, thankfully leaving Ileas (who'd gone a bit pale at the sight) unscathed – his partial fey heritage apparently not enough to trigger the runes' wrath.   The next day, the morning mist clung stubbornly to the ground as we emerged from the ale house, the air thick and strangely silent. The unsettling howls were gone now, replaced by an eerie stillness. After a welcome warm breakfast, Alistan and I cornered Farrah.   "Is there anyone here," I ventured cautiously, "who might be able to reverse… petrification?" The word felt awkward on my tongue, but it seemed to get the point across. Alistan elaborated on our predicament – poor Onvyr, turned to stone thanks to the unfortunate skirmish with Cornu.   Farrah shook her head. "No magic users in Logvale, I'm afraid. Though," she added thoughtfully, "we do get occasional visits from knights of Keralon. One might be passing through soon enough." A glimmer of hope flickered in my chest, quickly extinguished by the realization that "soon enough" could mean anything from days to weeks.   The discussion then turned to more immediate concerns – healing potions. As expected, Farrah had a limited supply, and those were reserved for emergencies in Logvale. She couldn’t just give them, which was understandable, but she did offer to sell us two potions for the next leg of our journey. Alistan, ever the responsible leader, dipped into our dwindling gold reserves, his face grim as he handed over his last coin but one for a single vial.   Next on the agenda was getting directions to Keralon. Alistan took charge, peppering Farrah with questions about landmarks and routes. His enthusiasm, however, was short-lived. Liliana, ever the voice of reason (and with a surprisingly strong grip for a girl her size), intervened. "Bed," she declared, a note of steel in her voice. "You're exhausted. Details can wait." Alistan, wounded but defeated, shuffled back inside, muttering under his breath about lost time and important duties.   Meanwhile, Edward, still nursing his injuries, had decamped outside with a blanket and a steaming cup of tea. He spent the day in a perpetual state of dozing, occasionally nodding off mid-sentence. Liliana, ever the doting sister, tried to settle Alistan next to Edward. This, unsurprisingly, backfired spectacularly. Alistan, convinced he had a mountain of work to do (despite Farrah offering to postpone any necessary tasks), kept popping up like a stubborn weed.   Hayley, meanwhile, threw herself into helping the villagers. Using her magic, she tended to the minor injuries sustained during the skirmish with the Dianios, earning grateful smiles and mumbled thanks. Liliana wandered the village square, her ears perked for anything that might be of use. A faint whisper of her name led her to a secluded, overgrown garden. The air there hung heavy, a sharp contrast to the rest of the village. A frozen pond shimmered in the center, reflecting the single rune carved into the palisade.   Liliana, her curiosity piqued, called out to us. We hurried over, drawn by her voice, and found her peering into the icy depths. A closer look revealed a hidden hatch submerged beneath the surface. Dadroz, our voice of caution, gingerly checked for traps before he threw his weight behind the hatch, prying it open. A dark passage gaped beneath us, the air emanating from it swirling with an unsettling chill.   Intrigue, that insatiable beast, roared to life within us. Exploring an underground corridor? In a village already brimming with strange occurrences? Sign us up! Hayley, ever responsible, dashed off to inform Farrah, who, while surprised, didn't actively try to stop us. "Just be careful," she warned, her voice laced with concern. Before long, Dorr also arrived with a theatrical sigh of "Why would you explore an underground tunnel and not invite your Dwarven ally?!".   Elsa and Edward, stirred by the commotion, pleaded to join. Hayley, predictably, wasn't thrilled with Edward's enthusiasm. "Rest!" she scolded, her voice laced with exasperation. "You're in no shape for spelunking!" Edward, never one to back down from a challenge, muttered something about being just as fine as Alistan, as if it was some kind of silly contest. So in the end, everyone turned up to join our expedition into the secret passage.   We plunged into the tunnel, the damp air instantly clinging to our skin like a cold, clammy hand. Dorr, our walking encyclopedia of all things subterranean, declared the tunnel to be ancient – centuries old at least. While not dwarven craftsmanship (which apparently had a certain… je ne sais quoi, according to Dorr), it was unmistakably the work of magic. A set of familiar faint blue runes pulsed along the walls, casting an eerie glow that did little to dispel the oppressive chill.   The walk felt like an eternity. We trudged forward, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drip-drip of water somewhere deeper in the earth. Finally, a sliver of light broke through the oppressive darkness. We emerged from the tunnel into a clearing, blinking in the sudden brightness. The air, while still cool, lacked the biting chill of the tunnel. Before us, nestled between two rolling hills, lay a clearing dominated by several towering menhirs – giant, standing stones that radiated an ancient power. In the center of the clearing stood a massive gate, intricately carved with runes that were similar to those lining the tunnel walls. Torches, fueled by some unseen magic, flickered atop the gate, spontaneously igniting as we approached.   Beyond the gate lay a wide lake, its surface partially frozen, reflecting the dying embers of the setting sun. A sense of wonder, tinged with apprehension, settled over us. We approached the menhirs cautiously, their imposing presence demanding respect. A closer look revealed intricate carvings on their surfaces, forming a complex magical circle. It was clear that this wasn't just some random collection of rocks – this was a place of power, a place where magic hummed in the very air.   Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the shimmering blue light of the gate caught our attention. A silhouette, tall and graceful, started to emerge, not from behind the gate, but within it – as if the gate itself was a portal to another place. Then, as if a veil had been lifted, the figure solidified, revealing an elven woman. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes glowed with an otherworldly light.   She spoke first, her voice melodic but laced with a hint of amusement. "Greetings," she began in Sylvan, then paused, seemingly sensing our confusion. With a shake of her head, she switched to Common, her accent as smooth as polished silver. "Forgive me. I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment. I am Vivienne." A small smile played on her lips.   A collective gasp rippled through our group. This wasn't just any elf; this was a powerful magic user who had somehow created the runes that had kept us safe on our journey. My bold sister was the first to speak up. "Why did you help us?" she asked, her voice demanding an answer.   Vivienne smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Let's just say I don't see eye to eye with Cornu the Hunter," she replied, a cryptic answer that only deepened the mystery. "I simply wish to offer you aid on your journey."   With a wave of her hand, she manipulated the blue light within the gate, transforming it into a breathtaking image of Keralon. The bustling city rose before us, its spires reaching towards the sky, a beacon of hope in this strange and perilous world.   Alistan wasn't about to let Vivienne's cryptic pronouncements slide. "You still haven’t answered our question, why did you help us? What is in it for you?" he pressed again. Vivienne, however, remained tight-lipped. She simply walked past him, her gaze flitting across each of us.   As her hand brushed against my cheek, a jolt of something akin to electricity shot through me. My face flushed crimson, as the touch of her fingers faded. However Hayley briskly pulled back from Vivienne's touch, unwilling for the fey’s touch. Vianna simply nodded, seemingly unfazed by our reactions.   She stopped at Liliana, her touch lingering longer on my sister's shoulders. "Protecting my investment," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. Liliana simply raised an eyebrow. This "investment" business, it seemed, was tied to the ancient pledge Liliana's family had made to a powerful archfey – a being straight out of nightmares and bedtime stories.   Liliana's eyes widened in surprise. "Is it time?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Vivienne sighed, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. "Not yet, child," she said. "You will have two weeks in Keralon first."   This only fueled my curiosity. "How are you connected to Ulther?" I blurted out, unable to contain myself any longer. (Ulther, for those keeping track, was the aforementioned archfey, the one looming over Liliana's family like a particularly nasty storm cloud.)   Vivienne's gaze met mine, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "He is my liege lord," she replied simply. "And Liliana," she continued, "will be my… bodyguard."   Bodyguard? Seriously? This woman, this powerful elf who could manipulate portals and conjure thrones out of thin air, needed a bodyguard? And who better to protect her than Liliana, who can barely sit still for five minutes and rushes off into the face of danger at the first chance she gets? The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh, but the situation was far too serious for any lightheartedness.   Frustration bubbled up inside me. "What are the terms of the deal?" I demanded. "The one between Ulther and their family?" Vivienne's brow furrowed. It seemed even she wasn't privy to all the details, just that some ancient pact had been made, a pact that now bound Liliana to the service of a powerful archfey.   With a heavy heart, we decided to head back to Logvale, gather our belongings, and prepare for the journey to Keralon. Vivienne, however, insisted on keeping Liliana behind for a "chat." Alistan, ever the protective brother (or maybe just terrified of Vivienne's brand of "investment"), put his foot down. We needed to discuss this whole "deal" with the elf before we blindly walked into it.   Vivienne, surprisingly agreeable, simply strolled to the edge of the lake and waved her hand, conjuring a shimmering throne made of ice. We retreated to a respectable distance and huddled together, the weight of the situation settled upon us.   The debate raged on, a heated back-and-forth echoing through the cavern. Gael, his face etched with the lingering fear of the mists, argued that the dangers we faced were simply too monstrous.   Hayley chimed in, her brow furrowed in worry. "The price of this aid could be too high," she agreed. "Besides, I haven't given up on finding Robert. We can't just leave him behind."   We all thought back to the wayward bard that we had encountered during our travels, who hed fled during our first encounter with Bluey McShooty, directly into the unknown. But the memory of the mist, the chilling howls of unseen creatures, and the razor-sharp weapons of the Dianios hung heavy in the air. The near-death experiences had left us all shaken, the scars – both physical and mental – a stark reminder of the perilous journey we had just experienced.   "Cornu is dead," Gael argued, a sliver of hope flickering in his voice. "He was our main threat."   I countered his point with a dose of realism. "The Lorewoods are teeming with dangers beyond a single elf. Going back into the mist to find Robert seems like a good way to get ourselves killed." I reminded him. "And let's not forget," I added, my voice dropping to a low murmur, "Sylvesse is gone. Our strongest protector is no more." A wave of sadness washed over me as Gael flinched, his sorrowful gaze momentarily averted. "Let's face it, we were lucky to escape with our lives the first time. Another foray into that death trap just seems… suicidal."   However, amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of opportunity emerged. "Maybe this is a chance to learn more about the Fey," I suggested, my voice gaining strength. "After all, it might offer an opportunity to learn more about the exact nature of the deal that was made with the De la Roost family, and give Liliana a chance at freedom."   As the discussion wore on, the weight of the decision settled upon us. Finally, with a heavy heart, we held a vote. The result: four to three. We would go through the portal. Searching for Robert, as much as it pained us, would have to wait. It was a harsh reality, but getting ourselves needlessly slaughtered wasn't exactly a noble sacrifice. (Sorry, Robert, wherever you are.)   With the decision made, we returned to Vivienne, her ice throne shimmering like a beacon in the cavern. As we informed her of our choice, a flicker of something akin to approval crossed her features. The others head back to Logvale to pick up our belongings. Seizing the opportunity, I decided to stick around a little longer. "Mind if I stay behind with Liliana for a bit?" I asked, curiosity gnawing at me. "There are a few more things I'd like to ask."   Vivienne offered a knowing smile. "Of course," she replied, her voice like wind chimes. As the others filed out, I couldn't help but shuffle a bit to the side. I felt like an intruder, as I glanced at Vivienne as she approached Liliana once again. A sly smile played on her lips as she asked Liliana to draw her sword – the same sword that looked decidedly worse for wear after our recent encounters. With a flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, Vivienne transformed the battered blade into something truly magnificent. The metal gleamed with an otherworldly light, the hilt adorned with intricate carvings that pulsed with a faint magical energy. "A worthy weapon for my new bodyguard," Vivienne declared, a glint in her eyes.

The Hunter
11th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

We were still in the thick of it - the Yeth snapping at our heels like a rabid dog, and Bluey McShooty (as I have resolved to call him), the blue-skinned elf with his creepy eye patch, giving us all a stern look. This jerk had turned Onvyr to stone with a single arrow, and now he was egging on the Yeth like some deranged cheerleader. His weird combo of dark blue skin and bright red hair sticking out from his head would have made him look ridiculous, if he wasn’t so terrifying.   Just as Alistan tried to disengage from the Yeth, the beast capitalized on his momentary lapse in focus. A sickening crunch echoed through the clearing as the Yeth's massive jaws clamped down on Alistan's shoulder. Liliana, her scream echoing with raw desperation, lunged at the creature, but it was too late. Alistan crumpled to the ground, his face contorted in pain, a crimson stain blooming on his chest.   Liliana's scream turned into a guttural roar, a primal fury replacing her usual calm demeanor. She charged at the Yeth, her sword ablaze with divine fire. But grief and rage can only take you so far. The Yeth, fueled by Bluey McShooty's malicious glee, swatted her aside with a single swipe of its paw. She landed hard, her sword clattering away from her grasp.   Panic clawed at my throat. Alistan and Liliana, the two strongest members of our group, were down. I scrambled to my feet, desperate to help, but my magic felt sluggish, refusing to obey my frantic commands. Useless bolts fizzled out before reaching their target, leaving me feeling even more helpless.   Thankfully, Edward surprised us all. He fumbled in his pouch and pulled out a strange, glowing berry – one of those weird things Gael had given him earlier. Without hesitation, he shoved it into Alistan's mouth. Whether it was the berry's magical properties or just dumb luck, Alistan let out a gasp, his eyelids fluttering open. He wasn't in great shape, but at least he wasn't dead.   Ileas muttered a quick incantation, his hands glowing with a faint green light. Liliana groaned, stirring on the ground as her wounds closed. With a grimace, she pushed herself to her feet, the divine fire on her sword flickering back to life. Fueled by vengeance and a divine spark courtesy of Ileas, she launched a desperate attack on the Yeth. The creature roared in pain as the flames licked at its hide, momentarily distracted from its assault on us.   Hayley saw the opportunity and turned towards Bluey McShooty. "There's no need for this!" she yelled, her voice strained. "We don't want to fight you!" Bluey McShooty just gave her a chilling smile, his single eye gleaming with malice. He ignored her pleas, content to watch his monstrous hound tear us apart. Seeing reason was a lost cause, Hayley did the only thing she could – she attacked. Her dagger, empowered by the runes, sank deep into the Yeth's leg, drawing another roar of fury from the beast.   Panic had turned the clearing into a chaotic ballet of terror. The horses, sensing the impending doom, whinnied and reared, their frantic attempts to escape their tethers adding to the cacophony. Gael let loose another arrow, the fletching finding its mark with a satisfying thud against the Yeth's flank. The beast roared in pain, momentarily distracted.   But victory, it seemed, was a fleeting notion. Bluey McShooty, with an inhuman calmness that chilled me to the bone, nocked another arrow. The air itself seemed to crackle with anticipation as the arrow left the string, finding its mark with a sickening thud. Gael crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with shock, before slumping unconscious.   Another arrow zipped past my head, the wind whistling a chilling lullaby. Dadroz, our nimble rogue, executed a spectacular dodge, the arrow embedding itself harmlessly in a nearby tree trunk.   A surge of adrenaline coursed through me, momentarily pushing back the fear. Alistan, his face a mask of pain and determination, used the momentary lull to roll away from the Yeth's snapping jaws. He gasped for breath, clutching his wounded shoulder, but his spirit remained unbroken.   Elsa, bless her divine heart, rushed to Gael's side. A soft, ethereal glow emanated from her outstretched hand as she cast a healing spell. It wasn't a complete fix, but it was enough to stabilize him for now.   Just as a glimmer of hope flickered within me, the Yeth lunged again, its sights set on Hayley. I desperately tried to muster up the last dregs of my magic, hoping to deflect the attack. But my efforts were pitiful, the spell fizzling out before reaching its target. I watched in horror as the Yeth's massive jaws clamped down on Hayley's leg, a sickening crunch echoing through the clearing. Hayley screamed, a raw, primal sound that tore at my heart.   Edward, the unlikely hero, surprised us all once again. He scrambled over, shoving another of those glowing berries into Hayley's mouth. Just like with Alistan, the effect was immediate, though not complete. Hayley winced, clutching her mangled le, but at least she was still standing. (Seriously, major props to Edward and his clutch berry supply. Thanks, Gael, for giving him those!)   Ileas unleashed a flurry of shimmering sparkles in the Yeth's direction. Whether it was a distraction or an actual attack, I couldn't tell, but it bought us a few precious seconds. Hayley, taking advantage of the reprieve, stumbled back, her face etched with a mixture of pain and defiance.   Gael, still woozy from Bluey McShooty's arrow, weakly raised a hand, signaling retreat. A smart move, considering our rapidly dwindling numbers. Bluey McShooty, however, seemed to relish our misfortune.   With a deadly swiftness, he nocked another arrow, this time aiming for Dadroz. The arrow found its mark, burying itself deep into Dadroz's chest. Our nimble rogue crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Another arrow followed in quick succession, taking down Ileas as well. The young satyr, his spell interrupted, collapsed in a heap, his face pale and lifeless (or at least, very, very still).   A primal scream ripped from Alistan's throat. He scrambled towards Dadroz, dragging him away from the fight. Miraculously, Dadroz stirred after Edward shoved another magic berry down his throat (seriously, is there anything those things can't do?). He rolled under a nearby bush, disappearing into the undergrowth.   Elsa, tears streaming down her face, rushed to Ileas' side. Her divine light enveloped him, a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness.   Driven by a desperate need to do something, anything, I focused all my remaining magic on Bluey McShooty. With a strangled cry, I unleashed a torrent of flames, the spell erupting from my outstretched hand like a miniature dragon's breath.   The effect was immediate and gratifying. The flames roared to life, engulfing the blue-skinned elf in a sudden inferno. A surprised yelp escaped his lips, and he stumbled back, clutching at his smoldering clothes.   But a surge of victory was quickly replaced by a sickening feeling of dread. My staff, Terrin's gift, the symbol of my budding magical prowess, began to overheat in my grasp. A horrifying crack echoed through the clearing as it overloaded, shattering into a thousand glowing shards. I barely had time to yelp in pain and fling the staff away before the fragments whizzed past my ears, leaving trails of singed hair and burnt flesh in their wake.   Goodbye, magic staff. It had been a good run.   Amidst the chaos, Dorr reacted to the panicked whinnies of the horses. With a few well-placed whacks of his axe, he severed the tethers holding them captive.   I lunged for the nearest available cover – the back of the Collines' cart. Hayley scrambled in beside me, her face a mask of pain and exhaustion. We exchanged a silent look, a shared acknowledgment of the grim situation.   Suddenly, a brilliant light pierced the swirling mist. A majestic form emerged, its antlers glowing with an otherworldly golden light. Sylvesse, the legendary stag, stood before us, its once proud demeanor marred by a splatter of fresh blood. Was this our salvation, a beacon of hope in the midst of despair?   My question was answered brutally. Bluey McShooty, seemingly unfazed by his fiery encounter, nocked another arrow. This time, his target was Elsa. The arrow sang past my ear, the wind ruffling my hair as it narrowly missed her beautiful face. She flinched back, her worried gaze darting between the elf and Sylvesse.   The elf, his cold blue eyes gleaming with malicious intent, turned his attention to Gael. Another arrow flew true, finding its mark and Gael went down again. A guttural roar erupted from the Yeth as it snatched Gael's limp body in its jaws, dragging him away towards the trees like a ragdoll.   Fury surged through me, but it was a hollow, impotent rage. After my outburst against the elf, I was drained, my magical reserves depleted. Liliana, her eyes blazing with defiance, snatched up Gael's fallen bow. She drew back the string, aiming at the retreating Yeth, but the unfamiliar weight and feel of the weapon threw her aim off. The arrow whistled harmlessly past the monstrous hound.   The sound of panicked whinnies and crashing hooves filled the air. The horses from Robert's cart had finally broken free, their thundering hooves sending the remaining survivors scrambling for cover. Alistan barely managed to sidestep the stampeding beasts, but Ileas and the last remaining Dianios were not so lucky.   The tiny satyr's body disappeared under a torrent of thrashing hooves, his mangled form emerging on the other side, barely clinging to life. Bluey McShooty, caught off guard by the sudden chaos, was also sent sprawling, the wind knocked out of him. He lay there for a moment, a look of pure fury contorting his face, before turning his venomous gaze in our direction.   Elsa, our beacon of hope in this nightmare, rushed to Ileas' side. She knelt beside his mangled form, her lips moving in silent prayer. A soft, ethereal glow emanated from her outstretched hand, and a sound like crackling twigs filled the air. Miraculously, Ileas' bones seemed to knit themselves back together, the gruesome injuries reversing before our very eyes. He gasped, his eyes flying open in a mixture of confusion and relief.   In the meantime, Sylvesse, the magnificent stag, had taken matters into its own hooves (or antlers, to be more precise). With a mighty bellow, it charged at the Yeth, its golden antlers gleaming with righteous fury. The creature, caught off guard by this unexpected attack, was no match for the legendary beast. Sylvesse's antlers slammed into the Yeth's side, skewering it with a sickening crunch. The monstrous hound let out a final, ear-splitting yelp before being hoisted high into the air. Gael, mercifully freed from its jaws, tumbled to the ground in a heap, unconscious.   Hayley scrambled to his side. Ignoring her own pain, she pressed her hand against the gaping wound in his chest, staunching the flow of blood. With a determined grunt, she then scooped him up and dragged him behind the nearest cart for cover. There, with a trembling hand, she popped another one of Gael's magical berries into his mouth.   Across the clearing, Bluey McShooty, the blue-skinned menace, seemed momentarily stunned by the turn of events. His form shimmered, his corporeal body dissolving into a swirling mist before reforming a few feet away from Alistan's reach. A cold, calculating glint returned to his red eye as he nocked two arrows – one for good measure, perhaps? His aim, however, was thrown off, the arrows whistling harmlessly past Alistan's head.   Alistan didn't waste any time debating his next move. He sprinted towards a nearby horse, one that hadn't gotten too far yet in their flight of panic. With a surprising agility for a heavily armoured knight, he vaulted into the saddle, his grip on the reins firm despite the chaos around him. He soothed the panicked creature with a quiet word and a gentle touch, its wild eyes calming under his gaze. With a renewed sense of purpose, he spurred the steed forward, directing it back towards the remnants of the caravan.   As the Collines family bolted past me, a wave of relief washed over me. Seeing Elsa safe, for now, warmed a tiny corner of my heart amidst the icy grip of fear. Before I could dwell on it, I hurled a desperate firebolt at Bluey McShooty, the rogue spell fizzling harmlessly at his feet. With a final, defiant glare, I turned and sprinted after the others.   Panic fueled our escape. We plunged deeper into the swirling mists, the trees blurring into a dark, menacing wall as we raced blindly forward. The oppressive silence, broken only by the rasp of our ragged breaths and the pounding of our hearts, was a terrifying counterpoint to the chaos that had just unfolded. The mist, thick and cloying, quickly swallowed us whole, separating us from the others.   When the last vestiges of the clearing faded from sight, I found myself stumbling through the undergrowth with a ragtag group: Ileas, his face etched with pain despite Elsa's ministrations, a battered and bruised Dadroz, Dorr muttering under his breath about lost horses, and the enigmatic stranger we'd found the previous day.   Thankfully, after what felt like an eternity (though it was probably only about half an hour), we heard the ragged gasps of the others pushing through the undergrowth. Relief flooded my face as Hayley, Liliana, and Alistan stumbled out of the mist, their faces grim.   The reunion, however, was short-lived. A harsh reality check awaited us – our horses and precious carts were gone, vanished without a trace. Hayley's face contorted in fury.   "We abandoned the road! We ran blindly into the forest at the first sign of trouble, and now we're lost!" she spat, her voice laced with a sharp edge of accusation.   There was no arguing with that. Defeated, we collapsed in a clearing, the weight of our predicament settling upon us like a physical burden. The healer's kits, thankfully well-stocked, came out, and we spent the next hour tending to our wounds – scrapes, bruises, and the ever-present sting of fear.   With a heavy sigh, Hayley turned to Gael, a flicker of desperation in her eyes. "Do you know anything about that elf?" she asked, her voice tight.   Gael shook his head slowly. "Only that he is one of the Fey," he muttered, his face grim.   The knowledge did little to soothe our frayed nerves. Once the sting of our wounds dulled a bit, we decided a course of action was better than succumbing to despair. We gathered ourselves, a ragtag band of weary travelers, and set off once more, hoping to find our way back to the road and, hopefully, our missing carts.   The forest seemed to mock our efforts. Our trek stretched into a grueling hour, the dense undergrowth and swirling mist making navigation a nightmare. Just when hope began to dwindle, we stumbled upon a sight that sent a jolt through me.   Our carts. They stood abandoned in a clearing, the horses long gone. But in the center, a horrifying tableau awaited us. Onvyr, our once-sturdy leader, stood frozen in the middle of the clearing, a statue carved from grey stone. The chilling truth of the blue elf's arrow hit me like a physical blow. Hayley rushed forward, her face pale, trying in vain a multitude of potions from her satchel. Each attempt was met with a sickening silence, the stone unresponsive to her pleas.   Liliana, her voice cracking with grief, let out a heart-wrenching cry of "Robert!" that echoed through the silent trees. The only response was the mournful howl of a distant wolf.   A flicker of hope flickered through the oppressive gloom. Alistan and Dadroz called out, their voices carrying through the trees. They'd found tracks – hoofprints in the soft earth, leading away from the clearing. Could it be...?   Our hearts pounded with a mixture of hope and trepidation as we followed the tracks, Alistan and Liliana leading the way. The dense foliage parted before us, revealing a clearing bathed in a dappled sunlight. And there, in the center, stood Thorin, our noble steed. His magnificent coat was marred by a fresh gash, a testament to the chaos of the previous battle, but he grazed peacefully, oblivious to the danger we had narrowly escaped.   Alistan approached the horse slowly, his hand outstretched in a gesture of peace. Liliana, our local horse whisperer, spoke to Thorin in hushed, calming tones. The tension in the air slowly dissipated as Thorin lowered his head, nuzzling Alistan's palm. It took ten minutes of gentle coaxing, but eventually, the wild glint in Thorin's eyes faded, replaced by a familiar trust.   Hayley whipped out a vial of clear liquid from her seemingly bottomless bag of potions. With a practiced hand, she poured it down Thorin's throat. The gash on his coat began to knit itself together, the wound slowly closing before our very eyes. It wasn't a complete heal, but it was enough to get him back on his feet.   The discovery of Thorin, however, forced a difficult decision. Our carts, laden with supplies, were too much for the two injured horses to pull. With a heavy heart, we decided to abandon everything except the carriage itself. The remaining supplies, food, and equipment were transferred to the carriage, a cumbersome task made all the more stressful by the ever-present weight of the McShooty's threat. Onvyr's petrified form, a grim reminder of our loss, was strapped securely to the top of the carriage.   By the time we finished, the carriage was overflowing, a lopsided testament to our hurried packing. But with two strong horses pulling, it lumbered forward at a decent pace. Gael, his face etched with worry, urged us to pick up the pace.   "We need to get out of these woods before nightfall," he rasped, his voice laced with a raw urgency. "Before he returns to finish the job…."   His words sent shivers down my spine. We were battered, bruised, and our spirits were at an all-time low. But the thought of facing him again spurred us on. We limped along beside the carriage, the rhythmic clopping of hooves a constant reminder of our precarious situation. Ruined, yes, but not defeated. The fires of determination still flickered within us, fueled by the unyielding desire to reach Logvale, to see this journey through no matter the cost.   As the hours crept by, the sun began its descent, casting long, ominous shadows across the forest floor. The last vestiges of light faded, plunging us into an inky blackness. The only sounds were the rhythmic creak of the carriage wheels, the occasional whimper of pain from a wounded companion, and the unsettling howl of wolves echoing in the distance. Dadroz scanned the tree line, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The oppressive silence of the forest pressed in on us, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked unseen.   Nightfall painted the forest in shades of inky black. The oppressive darkness felt like a physical weight pressing down on us. Exhaustion gnawed at our bones, but the thought of sleep was a luxury we couldn't afford. We stumbled upon a small clearing, a welcome respite from the dense foliage. A crumbling stone structure, a relic of some long-forgotten lumberjack camp, offered a semblance of shelter.   We worked in a tense silence, the events of the day replaying in our minds like a horrifying film reel. A small fire, barely more than a flicker, provided a meager source of warmth, but the chilling fear that gripped our hearts was far more pervasive. Hayley erected her tent, offering a refuge to Elsa, whose carriage was now overflowing with the remnants of our lost supplies.   I unfurled my bedroll within the ruins, a flimsy barrier against the encroaching night air. Sleep was a distant dream, but I yearned for a moment of respite, a sliver of unconsciousness to escape the harsh reality of our situation. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.   Just as exhaustion threatened to lull me into a fitful sleep, a shout jolted me awake. Dadroz and Gael's voices, sharp with alarm, pierced the oppressive silence. "Dianios! More Dianios!" they roared.   The gods, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. Just when we thought we'd reached the nadir of our misfortune, another layer of misery was heaped upon us. These wretched goat-goblin creatures, with their insatiable greed and razor-sharp claws, were the last thing we needed.   A surge of adrenaline propelled me out of my bedroll. I stumbled towards the edge of the ruins, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The flickering firelight illuminated a horrifying sight - a pack of Dianios, their beady eyes gleaming with avarice, weapons clutched in their clawed hands, descending upon our meager camp.   Without hesitation, I channeled the last dregs of my magic, unleashing a bolt of fire at the nearest creature. To my surprise, a gout of flame erupted from my hand, engulfing the Dianios in a sudden inferno. It wasn't as powerful as the blast that had decimated Bluey McShooty's arrows, but it was effective nonetheless. The creature shrieked in agony, collapsing in a burning heap.   The others reacted with a flurry of activity. Shouts and the clatter of steel filled the air. Liliana was the first to react, but her eagerness was met with a shower of arrows. Several thudded harmlessly against her shield, but the surprise attack left her vulnerable. She gritted her teeth, wincing as she plucked an embedded arrow from her shoulder.   Alistan, a blur of steel and determination, clambered onto a large stone, taking cover and drawing his sword. With practiced efficiency, he cut down a charging Dianios, the creature's surprised yelp swallowed by the chaos of the fight. He then turned his gaze towards Edward, just in time to deflect an arrow aimed at the young noble. The arrow clanged harmlessly against his shield, the metallic sound a brief counterpoint to the surrounding cacophony.   Gael seized the moment. He let out a bellowing roar, his voice echoing through the ruins, "Foolish creatures! We have faced the Hunter and survived! You stand no chance against us!" The words were intended to intimidate, but the arrow that followed, launched with more bravado than skill, sailed harmlessly over the heads of the Dianios.   Undeterred, the rest of us launched into a desperate counter-attack. Ileas, his face twisted in a grimace of anger, lunged forward, his rapier flashing in the darkness. He skewered a Dianios with a single, precise thrust, the creature collapsing in a heap with a choked gurgle. Hayley unleashed a torrent of curses and invectives, punctuating them with bursts of eldritch energy from her fingertips. One of the creatures recoiled with a shriek, its fur singed and smoking from the magical onslaught.   Liliana, her movements a blur of desperate energy, slammed her shield into the chest of a charging Dianios. The creature, propelled backward by the force of the blow, went tumbling head over heels before landing with a splash in the murky water of the pond. It emerged, dripping wet and enraged, its bestial eyes locked on Liliana, burning with a malevolent light.   A surge of relief momentarily washed over me, quickly replaced by a jolt of terror as I realized the precarious position Liliana and Alistan found themselves in. The initial fury of our attack had waned, and the Dianios were pressing their advantage. Both Alistan and Liliana were forced to fight without the familiar protection of their steel breastplates. Their shields, held high, deflected blows, and their swords danced a deadly ballet, parrying and thrusting. But exhaustion gnawed at their edges, and with every clang of metal on metal, I winced, fearing for their safety.   The sight was horrifying and mesmerizing in equal measure. I clenched my fists, willing myself to do more, to help somehow. Thankfully, Gael and Ileas, undeterred by the chaos, continued their relentless attacks.   Dadroz was the first to react. His eyes widened in a mixture of terror and recognition as a chilling voice echoed through the ruins. "So, here you are all hiding," it sneered, the voice smooth as polished marble yet laced with cruel amusement.   My blood ran cold. It was him. The unknown elf, Bluey McShooty (even though Sylvesse had called his name as Cornu, I refuse to call him anything else). He emerged from the shadows, his blue skin shimmering faintly in the moonlight. A glint of malice gleamed in his single red eye as he surveyed the scene.   Just as suddenly, disaster struck on the other side of the camp. A lucky shot from a stray Dianios arrow caught Alistan off guard. He crumpled to the ground, a pained groan escaping his lips. Our defensive line faltered, a momentary gap appearing in our makeshift shield wall.   Ileas reacted instantly. He darted towards Alistan, a vial clutched in his hand. Popping a magical berry into Alistan's mouth, he muttered a quick incantation. With a gasp, Alistan stirred, color slowly returning to his pale face. He pushed himself up, using his shield for support, just in time to deflect another blow from a charging Dianio.   The scene was utter chaos. The Dianios, sensing a shift in power, started to back away, their earlier aggression replaced by a primal fear. The arrival of Bluey McShooty seemed to have spooked them just as much as it had terrified us. It was a mixed blessing, to be sure.   Liliana, a warrior princess transformed into a desperate fighter, charged at the blue-skinned elf. I joined the fray, launching a volley of firebolts at him, hoping to provide some cover for her attack. (Don't tell Liliana, but my aim was a little too enthusiastic – I was aiming for the elf, not just a diversion.) Bluey McShooty, however, was a blur of movement. He dodged Liliana's every strike with effortless grace, his own sword flashing like a deadly serpent.   Once again, the elf shimmered, his corporeal form dissolving into a swirling mist. He reappeared a moment later, closer to our camp, his cruel gaze sweeping over us. A wicked grin stretched across his face as he nocked two arrows on his bow, aiming straight for Gael.   Without thinking, I reacted instinctively. My hand shot out, a surge of magic coursing through my veins. I twisted the very fabric of fate, my meager magic somehow causing both arrows to veer off course, whistling harmlessly past Gael's head. The enigmatic Gael did not act as he thought he would, and ignored the opening I gave him. He shouted something in a language I didn't recognize, Sylvan perhaps, before turning and disappearing into the woods, the elf tracking his every move with his eye.   My sister couldn't stand by and watch. With a defiant yell, she charged at Bluey McShooty, her dagger held high. "He keeps chasing us anyway!" she screamed, her voice laced with a desperate fury.   I tried to intervene, to unleash a burst of ice magic to slow the elf down, but my attempt fizzled, my magic reserves depleted from the earlier firebolts. Bluey McShooty backhanded her with a sickening crack, sending her sprawling to the ground with a grunt of pain.   "Pitiful children," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. He turned to leave, but Hayley, saw an opening. With a desperate lunge, she plunged her dagger into the elf's side, a small cry escaping his lips. The wound, however, seemed to have little effect. He roared in anger, before turning and disappearing into the forest, following the trail Gael had taken.   Hayley rushed to Liliana's side, shoving a magical berry into her mouth. Liliana groaned as consciousness slowly returned. "Did we get him?" she rasped, her voice weak. Hayley simply shook her head, her gaze fixed on the dark woods where the elf and Gael had vanished. A heavy silence descended upon us, broken only by the ragged gasps of our breaths. Liliana, pushing herself up, dusted herself off with a grimace. But despite the pain, a determined glint remained in her eyes. We may be battered, bruised, and utterly lost, but we were still alive. And as long as we had that, as long as we had each other, we would continue to fight.   Sitting there, a primal urge to act clawed at me. I couldn't just leave Gael. We'd already lost Onvyr to the blue-skinned fiend, Bluey McShooty, his statue a constant reminder of our failure. And Sylvesse, forced to abandon the stag amidst the chaos, was likely another victim of the elf's cruelty. This couldn't be another loss.   The memory of running once, abandoning the road, and the disastrous consequences that followed, flashed through my mind. But this time felt different. This time, a flicker of confidence, fueled by desperation and a fierce loyalty to our makeshift family, ignited within me. Together, we could take him. Even if we were battered, bruised, and our magic reserves depleted, we could still hurt him. We could slow him down, long enough for Gael to escape, or perhaps even turn the tide.   Ignoring the protests that formed on my lips, I bolted into the forest, the undergrowth whipping at my face. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, each beat echoing my growing fear. But the thought of Gael, alone with that sadistic elf, spurred me on. Friendship, loyalty – those were the weapons I wielded now, more potent than any firebolt or ice spell.   But the forest, once a place of curiosity and adventure, had become a treacherous enemy. The dense foliage swallowed me whole, the swirling mists obscuring the path ahead. The burning branch I'd snatched from the dying fire sputtered in my hand, casting flickering shadows on the gnarled roots and moss-covered stones that littered the forest floor. The comforting glow dwindled with every frantic step, plunging me deeper into an inky blackness.   Just as my bravado began to wane, a chilling sensation crept up my spine. The air grew thick, the silence broken only by the frantic rasp of my own breathing. Then, a whisper of movement, faint but unmistakable. I whirled around, the burning stick held aloft like a pathetic torch, but it was too late. The breath of something cold and cruel washed over me, the scent of pine needles and malice.   Darkness. Everything dissolved into an inky blackness, the last vestiges of consciousness slipping through my grasp. My desperate charge, fueled by loyalty and a desperate hope, had led me straight into the waiting jaws of the unknown.   …   Consciousness flickered back into existence with a dull ache throbbing through my skull. Hayley knelt beside me, her face etched with worry. She popped a berry from a familiar pouch into my mouth, its sweet, tangy flavor a jolt to my sluggish senses. She pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes flicking nervously towards a spot behind me.   Turning my head with a groan, I saw him. Bluey McShooty, the bane of our existence, stood casually a few feet away, his single red eye gleaming in the dim light. His lips were curled into a cruel smirk as he hunted his quarry - our friend Gael.   Rage flared within me, hot and impotent. I was weak, my magic reserves depleted, my staff – my only real weapon – destroyed forever. A helpless whimper escaped my lips. Hayley’s hand tightened on my shoulder, a silent plea for calm.   Suddenly, a groan echoed from beside me. Apparently Alistan chased after me, which is good, but was also knocked out, which is bad. He was battered but thankfully alive, and with my last berry, he stirred from his unconscious slumber. With a wave of relief so intense it almost made me lightheaded, I pointed towards the direction we had come from, the path leading away from the elf. A silent message passed between us, a shared hope that Gael had managed to escape.   We emerged from the treacherous forest a broken and defeated group. Dorr had prepared the carriage while we were entangled with the elf and whatever fate had befallen Gael. The rising sun cast a weak light upon our weathered faces, highlighting the grim toll the forest had taken on us. We were bruised, battered, limping shadows of our former selves. My magic, once a flickering spark, was now a cold ember, spent and useless.   There was a sense of finality hanging in the air, as heavy as the silence that shrouded us. We climbed aboard the cart, each movement a testament to our exhaustion and despair. One last glance back at the dark wall of trees yielded nothing but a chilling emptiness. Gael was gone, lost within the tangled depths of the Lorewood, pursued by the relentless elf. A heavy weight settled in my heart, a mixture of grief, fear, and a gnawing sense of helplessness. We had left a friend behind, and the journey ahead, shrouded in uncertainty, seemed more daunting than ever.

Maladies of the Mist
8-11th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Diary, well, Hillfield is officially a rearview mirror memory now. We're on our way to a place called Logvale – a summer-only logging camp that'll hopefully resupply our dwindling reserves before we tackle Keralon. Sounds positively rustic, doesn't it? Like, chopping wood and living off the land rustic. Though, a part of me wouldn't mind getting lost in this forest forever, as long as I wasn't lost without a certain white-haired someone by my side.   Today, however, was all about mental recuperation from our… let's call it "spirited encounter" with Griselda and her not-so-fluffy friend. The weather, mirroring our moods, remained stubbornly grim. The Lorewood lived up to its name – a dense, shadowy maze that seemed to actively repel our presence. The wagons creaked and groaned as they inched through the narrow path, branches scraping like skeletal fingers against Robert's poor wagon.   But hey, on the bright side, I scored some quality time with Elsa in our wagon. Practically a dream come true, even if most of it was spent buried in separate books, a comfortable silence settling between us. Every now and then, a rogue sunbeam would pierce the oppressive canopy, illuminating the fleeting silhouette of a white deer. Probably Sylvesse, Gael's elusive mentor, keeping a watchful eye on us. Maybe she's placing bets on how long it takes for Onvyr to snap under the pressure of dealing with us.   Evening finally descended upon the Lorewood, cloaking the forest in an even deeper shade of gloom. We set up camp in a small clearing, a few measly rays of dying sunlight struggling to pierce the dense canopy. A small fire sputtered to life, casting flickering shadows that danced across the tired faces of our group.   Liliana seemed determined to be entertained. She was Robert the bard's captive audience, his booming voice regaling her with tales of dragons – a running theme in his repertoire, I was starting to suspect. Ileas had taken to scribbling copious notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. Dragons, it seemed, were a topic worthy of serious documentation.   Elsa, meanwhile, was a picture of serenity, gracefully demolishing me at a board game (though in my defense, I was admittedly distracted). Onvyr, our perpetually grumpy elf leader, remained a restless spirit. He spent the day pacing between the wagons like a caged tiger, scouting ahead and generally making sure no rogue squirrels were plotting our demise.   After a hearty meal, Robert excused himself with a flourish. I barely registered his departure, my attention blissfully lost in the captivating depths of Elsa's eyes (seriously, girl, have mercy on a mage's fragile heart!). But then, Liliana's sudden movement caught my eye. She approached Robert, curiosity etched on her face. They huddled next to his wagon, Robert hunched over what looked like an ancient, very fragile book seemingly crafted from leaves and twigs.   Apparently, this was a recent acquisition from Hillfield – a collection of local fairytales, Robert explained, meticulously copying them before the book crumbled to dust. Liliana was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of delving into these local legends.   She approached me later, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Any chance you can, you know, magically reinforce the book?" she pleaded.   I had to shoot her down with a heavy heart. My magical repertoire, impressive as it might be to a novice, was still limited to setting things on fire – not exactly the delicate touch needed for book restoration.   But then, a voice chimed in from behind me. "I might be able to help with that," Hayley declared, ever the resourceful one.   Just as she gingerly picked up the book, a page fluttered loose, landing in her open palm. It wasn't a regular page, though. This one was filled with an ancient script, a poem titled "One Soul." It spoke of twins, born from a wish, and how one would stray from the path. A shiver ran down my spine as I read it, a sense of disconcerting familiarity washing over me. I glanced at Hayley, catching a flicker of the same unease in her eyes. The poem's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.   Nightfall descended like a heavy cloak, shrouding the campsite in an inky blackness. The usual debate about watch duty ensued. Gael, the show-off, volunteered for a double shift again. He also cast a "primal spell" (whatever that means - nothing that any arcane school would consider real magic) to create a batch of magical berries – emergency snacks that apparently healed minor wounds. After some debate among us, I was left with the unenviable task of taking the third watch.   Everything started out peaceful enough. Then, just as I was starting to lose the battle against boredom, the wind died down completely. In its place, a thick mist rolled in, like a scene straight out of a bad horror story. Visibility dropped to a couple of feet, making conversation (and monster spotting) a real challenge.   Needless to say, any notion of sneaking in a quick nap was non-existent. By the time dawn finally broke, I felt like a particularly grumpy, sleep-deprived gremlin. My head throbbed, my spells felt sluggish, and the only magic I could muster was the internal monologue grumbling about the lack of decent rest.   Breakfast did little to improve my mood. In fact, I was about to unleash a full-blown rant about the lack of decent food and sleep in this whole "adventure" business, when Liliana, bless her divine-touched heart, intervened.   A gentle touch, a warm light emanating from her palm, and… poof! My fatigue vanished, replaced by a wave of renewed energy. Apparently, her god (or maybe it's just Liliana – the girl's practically a walking miracle) had a thing for banishing aches and pains. My sister, Hayley, who was sporting a similar shade of green, received the same divine treatment.   We traveled for a few uneventful hours, the oppressive mist finally clearing to reveal a mostly normal (well, as normal as a giant forest gets) landscape. Then, the air was split by Liliana's frantic yell.   "Something big!" she shrieked, her voice bouncing through the trees.   We pulled the horses to a halt, hearts hammering against our ribs as we strained to see what had triggered her alarm. There, lumbering out of the undergrowth, was a truly horrifying sight: a sickly owlbear, its fur matted, bloodshot eyes gleaming with a feral rage. Large gashes raked its back, a testament to some previous encounter.   This wasn't a creature out for a friendly chat. It was a wounded beast, cornered and desperate. Before anyone could react, I launched a firebolt at the creature. I hated to attack an injured animal, but it was either that or risk my friends getting mauled.   Dorr joined the impromptu fireworks display with a well-aimed javelin, adding another gash to the owlbear's already impressive collection. Alistan and Liliana formed a defensive line, shields raised. Liliana clanged her weapon against her shield, a futile attempt to scare off the enraged beast.   The owlbear, fueled by pain and a surprising amount of spunk, lunged at Liliana. Alistan managed to deflect the brunt of the attack, but she still ended up with a nasty scrape on her arm. Just as it seemed things were about to take a turn for the worse, Hayley, ever the resourceful witch, stepped in. With a muttered incantation and a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a curse of sleep upon the owlbear. The creature, its fight abruptly over, collapsed in a heap at Alistan and Liliana's feet. Hayley cautiously approached the downed owlbear. She poked and prodded the poor creature, muttering about illnesses and other unpleasant things. Thankfully, she didn't find any obvious signs of disease. However, the owlbear's injuries, clearly inflicted by human or human-adjacent weapons, suggested a more sinister origin. This wasn't a random case of the Mondays – this creature had been in a fight, and a nasty one at that.   Now came the tricky part: what to do with the poor thing? Healing it was a gamble – it might wake up feeling peckish, and peckish owlbears generally don't differentiate between friends and snacks. Hayley helpfully informed us that owlbears, while originally manufactured monstrosities, had integrated themselves into the local ecosystem. Not the brightest candles in the forest chandelier, apparently, but still very dangerous.   We decided the safest course of action was to leave the sleeping (or possibly unconscious) owlbear behind and hope for the best (or worst, depending on your perspective on grumpy, wounded owlbears). We didn't stick around to watch the wonders of the natural world. A quick glance back confirmed our suspicions – the owlbear had woken up, but instead of seeking revenge, it opted for the more sensible option of flight. It lumbered back into the forest, nursing its wounds.   By noon, however, the good vibes started to wear thin. A familiar headache pulsed behind my eyes, and a wave of sleepiness threatened to pull me under. Luckily, I was sharing the carriage with Elsa, which meant I could spend my time napping and indulging in sweet, completely non-romantic dreams (okay, maybe a little romantic. Shut up, diary!).   But just as I was about to enter dreamland for the third time that day, Hayley barged in, shattering my peaceful slumber. Guess who else was feeling like a particularly grumpy troll? Yep, your friendly neighborhood twin. "Do you think it's something magical?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleepiness.   With a sigh that could probably power a small windmill, I mustered the last dregs of my magical energy to scan the area. And wouldn't you know it, magic was practically pulsating in the air, clinging to the mist like cobwebs. A thick, oppressive enchantment aura hung heavy, a possible source of our collective misery.   The question then became: why were only Hayley and I feeling the effects? Liliana suggested our connection to arcane magic might be making us more susceptible. But then Ileas, whose voice practically bathes in arcane energy, piped up that he felt fine. Gael mentioned that Elsa was also unaffected.   Edward, ever the defender of his sister, then interjected with the brilliant observation that Elsa was attuned to the divine, not arcane. Alistan chimed in with a dreamy, "Yes, she is," complete with a lovestruck gaze that would have made a lesser man hurl. If I wasn't so darn tired, I might have thrown a particularly moldy sock at him.   Night fell, and watch duty reared its ugly head once more. This time, however, I wasn't about to volunteer for a starring role in "Insomnia: The Forest Edition." Sleep, unfortunately, wasn't on the menu that night. I tossed and turned like a rotisserie chicken, my body a lead weight despite my exhaustion. It was like someone had siphoned all the energy out of me with a giant magical straw.   Morning arrived, shrouded in an even thicker mist that choked out the sun. Hayley and I felt like death warmed over – the worst flu ever multiplied by ten and then kicked in the teeth for good measure. A tough decision loomed: allow Liliana to give us a temporary magic boost, knowing it wouldn't last, or try to tough it out until it might actually be useful.   Hayley attempted to use her raven for recon. Big mistake. Every time she tried to see through its senses, a jolt of pain ripped through her head. Her face contorted in agony as she waited for the raven to return with its report. According to the feathered scout, the mist blanketed the entire forest as far as the eye (or rather, raven's eye) could see.   Just then, Gael, the diplomat (or maybe just the guy who yells the loudest), decided to have a chat with the mist itself. He bellowed some dramatic challenge, demanding to know who was messing with us.   To our surprise, a creature emerged from the swirling fog – a majestic white deer with a set of gleaming golden antlers. Sylvesse, Gael’s elusive fey mentor, had graced us with her presence.   Gael filled her in on our predicament, and Sylvesse, after requesting (and receiving) permission, proceeded to poke us both with her antlers. It felt… strange, like a magical acupuncture session gone wrong. Apparently, we were victims of some kind of fey enchantment, possibly a curse. The question was, had we somehow ticked off the local fairy population?   Sylvesse, with all her beautiful, horned heart, didn't have a cure. She also confirmed it was linked to the mist itself. With this newfound knowledge, Hayley whipped up a vile-looking concoction that seemed to perk her up… temporarily. With a grimace, I took a swig of the "magical pep potion" myself. It tasted like swamp water infused with despair, but hey, it did the trick (sort of).   Sylvesse, taking a closer look, dropped another bombshell. The curse, it seemed, targeted our magic. The worse we got, the weaker our magical abilities would become. The color drained from my face faster than you could say "mana shortage." Magic was basically all I had going for me!   Sylvesse did offer some reassurance. The curse, she explained, wasn't specifically aimed at us – the entire forest was shrouded in the mist. Our illness was probably just a nasty side effect. It was unlikely we'd managed to anger someone powerful enough to put a magical damper on an entire ecosystem.   Her solution? Find the edge of the mist. Apparently, leaving the magical fog would likely lift the curse's effects. We didn't have many options. Backtracking wasn't feasible – Onvyr, ever the ray of sunshine, informed us that the rest of the forest was crawling with gnolls (think vicious hyenas on steroids) and other unpleasant creatures. Not exactly cart-friendly terrain.   So, we made a pact. We'd use Hayley's questionable potions to keep us going during the day and rely on Liliana for a temporary reprieve at night. Hopefully, a few more days of pushing through this magical misery would see us free and clear. Onward, we trudged, illness be damned!   The rest of the day was unfortunately a write-off. The mist continued its unwelcome presence, clinging to the forest like a bad smell. My only solace? Being confined to the same carriage as Elsa, who, bless her heart, took it upon herself to be my personal nurse. She fed me lukewarm broth that tasted suspiciously like yesterday's stew, and fluffed up the carriage cushions to create a makeshift throne for my aching body. It was like a fever dream come true – being fussed over by the girl of my dreams. Almost, I said, almost made the throbbing headache and queasy stomach worth it.   Almost.   Still, I vow to cherish the memory of Elsa's gentle touch and concerned brow until the day I die (hopefully not anytime soon, preferably after a long, healthy life filled with epic adventures and maybe a few stolen kisses).   A few agonizing hours later, the front cart erupted in a cacophony of shouts. Apparently, they'd stumbled upon a scene straight out of a nightmare – a pile of dead horses, surrounded by the bodies of four unfortunate travelers, their throats slashed with chilling precision. Supplies meant for Logvale were scattered across the ground like a grotesque game of pick-up-sticks, and a web of tracks crisscrossed the scene. Small, booted footprints led away from the carnage and deeper into the forest.   While I languished in my carriage-turned-sickbed, the others set about the grim task of burying the dead. I watched from a distance, the world a blurry mess of grays and browns, as they dug makeshift graves with grim determination. Once done, Liliana whispered a prayer over the fresh mounds of earth.   Another day bled into another, the oppressive mist clinging to us like a damp shroud. My illness, unfortunately, remained my unwelcome companion. Just as I was starting to contemplate the merits of a permanent nap (preferably not the dirt variety), the usual commotion erupted from the front cart.   Apparently, they'd spotted something… well, someone. A lone figure stumbled down the path, dragging his feet like a particularly unenthusiastic zombie. He was a mess – clothes in tatters, bloody bare feet leaving gruesome crimson footprints in his wake. Alistan approached the stranger, offering him a cloak. Big mistake. The poor guy looked like he'd seen a ghost (or maybe a particularly grumpy owlbear), his eyes wide with terror. Alistan's attempt at kindness only sent him scrambling backwards, babbling incoherently before collapsing into a shivering heap at the side of the road. Dadroz tried to tempt the poor guy with some food, but received nothing but the sound of crickets (or maybe confused frogs, given our current location).   Hayley decided to take matters into her own hands. A touch, a muttered incantation, and a wave of calming magic washed over the poor guy. The spell seemed to have the desired effect, coaxing the man out from under the cloak. He was young, barely out of his teens, with a mess of white hair and eyes that still held a flicker of fear. He stammered something incoherent – he didn't know where he was, who we were, or apparently, even who he was himself.   Hayley suggested he join our little caravan, promising safe passage to Logvale. Unfortunately, the offer was met with more panicked whimpers and a desperate attempt to scuttle backwards like a particularly enthusiastic crab. Seeing as logic wasn't working, Hayley decided to take a more… persuasive approach. A quick sleep spell later, and our mystery guest was snoring softly in the front cart, finally succumbing to what looked like a much-needed nap.   That night, we settled into camp, morale lower than a gnome's kneecap. Hayley's dubious concoctions and Liliana's healing magic offered little relief against the relentless curse. The only silver lining? Elsa offered me a spot in her carriage for the night (apparently, Edward could "rough it" in mine). I readily agreed, despite a twinge of guilt. There's nothing quite like being nursed back to health by your crush, even if you're pretty sure the experience is turning you into a sniveling mess. Hopefully, the mist would clear soon, and I could regain some semblance of dignity (and maybe even impress Elsa with a heroic feat or two. A boy can dream, right?).   Morning arrived, and a miracle had occurred! Both Hayley and I were completely recovered. No more fatigue, no more head pounding – I felt like I could run a marathon, single-handedly slay a dragon, and still have enough energy left for a witty quip (or at least an attempt at one).   Breakfast was a glorious affair – a veritable feast compared to the questionable concoctions I'd been forced to endure the past few days. Hayley remained quiet through the meal though, staring intently at her magical dagger, a picture of intense concentration.   Finally, she approached me, the dagger held out like a prized possession. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a set of strange runes etched into the blade – runes that hadn't been there before. I focused my own magic on the inscription, and a curious sensation washed over me. The dagger felt… different, somehow intertwined with Hayley's own magical aura. It seemed to have gained new properties, a kind of malleable magic that could potentially grow stronger as Hayley herself did. The downside? The old runes were gone, taking their previous enchantments with them.   Just as we were engrossed in deciphering the dagger's secrets, our amnesiac guest from yesterday decided to wake up. He blinked blearily at the world, a series of questions tumbling out of his mouth faster than a startled squirrel. Liliana, ever the voice of calm, patiently explained our little rescue operation.   The traveler's tale was a confusing one. Flashes of battle, strange little green-haired creatures, a desperate flight – all of it swirling in a murky fog of forgetfulness. He vaguely remembered traveling with a wife, but the details remained elusive. It was like someone had cast a memory-fog spell on his entire life.   Liliana, bless her heart, offered some comforting words and assured him there was no need to force the memories back. But a chilling realization dawned on all of us: one of the bodies we'd buried a couple of days ago was a young woman. Could it have been his wife?   Liliana attempted to use her divine magic to further aid the poor guy, but it had little effect. The stranger, despite his amnesia, offered a heartfelt thank you for our rescue. He apologized profusely for having nothing to offer in return, but both Liliana and Alistan quickly reassured him that his gratitude was payment enough.   We decided the best course of action was to continue towards Logvale. Maybe someone there would recognize him, or perhaps a visit to the local temple could jog his memories. The man, visibly relieved, expressed his gratitude once more. Onward we pressed, a newfound mystery added to our ever-growing list of misadventures.   The day unfolded with a strange new twist. Gael and Ileas started giving us both these weird, sidelong glances, muttering about "unnatural phenomena." Apparently, light sources burned brighter when I was around, and plants seemed to perk up and bloom faster whenever Hayley was nearby. At first, we dismissed it as their usual brand of nonsense (Ileas could make a conspiracy theory out of a spilled cup of tea), but then Liliana, ever the pragmatist, decided to chase me around with a torch. Seemed a bit excessive, but hey, who was I to argue with a divine paladin armed with a flaming stick?   We did, however, notice a few… interesting effects. A flickering candle suddenly flaring into life, a wilting flower inexplicably regaining its vibrancy. Odd, sure, but a whole lot better than being bedridden with a magical hangover.   Our cautious journey continued, the oppressive fog clinging to us like a damp blanket. We remained on high alert, senses strained for any sign of danger. Unfortunately, our vigilance wasn't enough.   A bloodcurdling scream shattered the tense silence, followed by the unmistakable whizz of arrows tearing through the air. I peeked out the carriage window, my heart plummeting into my stomach. A horde of grotesque creatures swarmed the caravan – a nightmarish mix of goblin and goat, with tufts of matted fur and eyes that glowed with a malevolent green light. They descended upon us with a fury, their primary target: the horses pulling the carriages.   A horrified yell ripped from Alistan's throat as Thorin, our loyal steed, crumpled to the ground, felled by a well-placed arrow. The carriage jolted violently as one of the horses in front of us met a similar fate. Chaos erupted – panicked shouts, the clash of steel, and the sickening thud of arrows finding their mark. The once-peaceful mist now felt like a suffocating shroud, obscuring the battle and amplifying the sounds of terror.   The initial shock of the ambush faded, replaced by a frantic scramble for survival. Arrows zipped past the carriage, peppering the wooden frame with a sickening thwack. Dadroz and Gael roared defiance, unleashing a volley of arrows from behind the makeshift barricade of the carts.   Ileas leaped from Robert's cart with a battle cry that would make a barbarian proud. He charged straight at one of the creatures, his rapier flashing in the dim light. The creature, surprised by his audacity, took the brunt of the attack, crumpling to the ground with a surprised bleat. But victory was short-lived. A swarm of the green-skinned fiends descended upon Ileas, their jagged teeth bared in a feral snarl.   Just in time, Liliana materialized beside him, her shield a shimmering wall deflecting blows aimed at Ileas' exposed back. Her sword, a blur of silver, carved a path through the horde, her calm efficiency a stark contrast to Ileas' wild swings.   Alistan, grief and fury etched on his face, clambered out of the cart. With a guttural scream that would make a dragon reconsider its lunch plans, he charged into the fray. His longsword became a whirlwind of steel, carving a bloody swathe through the ranks of the smaller creatures.   Hayley stood atop the carriage, her voice laced with something that sounded suspiciously like ancient curses. One particularly monstrous-looking creature, its fur matted with blood and grime, seemed to shrink under her glare. It whimpered, its bravado dissolving, before collapsing to the ground in a heap of twitching limbs.   The situation, though dire, wasn't entirely hopeless. Onvyr emerged next to our carriage with a grave intensity. His sword whistled through the air, cleaving a smaller creature in two with a single, brutal swing.   I watched in a daze as the battle raged around me. Ileas and Liliana fought back-to-back, a whirlwind of steel against the relentless tide of green. A desperate hope flickered within me – maybe, just maybe, we could actually pull this off.   Fueled by adrenaline and a newfound surge of confidence, I decided to join the fray. I focused my magic, picturing a searing bolt of flame erupting from my fingertips. The result, however, was far beyond anything I'd ever imagined. Instead of a neat fire sphere, a torrent of fire erupted, engulfing the unfortunate creature in my sights. Its surprised yelp was cut short as the flames consumed it, leaving nothing but a smoking husk.   My jaw dropped. Where had that come from? Before I could dwell on it, the urgency of the situation returned. I tried to repeat the feat, but this time, all I managed was a paltry spark that sputtered and died before reaching its target. Luckily Alistan stepped in, delivering a swift blow that sent the creature sprawling.   The battle finally sputtered out, leaving behind a scene of carnage and confusion. Thorin, our loyal steed, lay panting on the ground, his once proud form marred by a gaping wound. Grief threatened to overwhelm Alistan, but before he could completely lose it, a strange urge washed over me.   It felt like… like nudging fate itself a little to the side. I focused on Thorin, picturing a future where the wound would close, and the blood would clot. I grabbed hold of that future and pulled with my magical senses. The effect was barely noticeable, but the bleeding slowed, then stopped altogether. Thorin's labored breaths remained, but at least he wasn't going to bleed out like a stuck pig.   Not exactly a knight in shining armor, more like a slightly dusty squire in training pants who could vaguely nudge the fates to allow a horse to live another day. But hey, a win's a win, right? Alistan, overcome with relief, tackled Thorin in a bear hug that probably sent the poor beast into a minor panic attack. Liliana followed up with some divine patching-up magic, ensuring Thorin's survival.   With the immediate threat neutralized, we turned our attention to our captives. Three of the green-skinned creatures, thoroughly unconscious, were unceremoniously tied up with some spare rope.   "These delightful fellows," Gael announced, gesturing towards the trussed-up goat-goblins, "are a particularly belligerent breed of fey known as Dianios. They're not supposed to be wandering the Material Plane, which raises a whole bunch of questions."   The Dianios, upon regaining consciousness, immediately launched into a synchronized routine of thrashing, snarling, and attempting to gnaw through their bonds with surprising enthusiasm. Liliana, ever the diplomat (or maybe just the one with a handy sword), silenced them with a cold glare and a blade held suggestively close to a particularly agitated creature's throat.   "Perhaps you would like to explain why you attacked us?" she suggested, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.   Through gritted teeth, the Dianios (via Liliana's impromptu translation service) accused us of trespassing on their territory. We, in turn, tried to explain that this was a bit of a geographical misunderstanding and we were just traveling through the Lorewoord. The Dianios, however, seemed more confused than a badger at a dance party.   Just as Liliana was about to resort to more… persuasive methods of interrogation, the Dianios' eyes widened in unison. A low, guttural howl echoed through the mist, sending shivers down my spine. The Dianios, their bravado momentarily forgotten, started babbling about "Yeth" and "hunting hounds."   "They say these are… hunting hounds, coming for them," Liliana translated, her brow furrowed in concern. "They beg us to release them so they can escape."   The mist churned once more, spewing forth a creature straight out of a nightmare. This was no goat-demon – this was a monstrous hound, the size of a horse, with rippling muscles and faces that were an unsettling blend of canine and human. A low growl rumbled from their throats, sending shivers cascading down my spine.   Gael urged everyone to stay calm and avoid any sudden movements. He cautiously approached the Yeth, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hand. "We mean you no harm," he declared.   The Yeth let out a bone-chilling howl, a sound that echoed through the mist and was answered by a distant counterpart. Then, in a split second, the beast switched from tense observation to a full-blown attack. A bark ripped through the air, so raw and primal that it seemed to shake the very ground we stood on.   My heart hammered against my ribs as the Yeth lunged, its powerful muscles propelling it forward like a furry battering ram. Liliana reacted first, her blade flashing as she attempted to intercept the beast. But the Yeth was too quick, twisting with unnatural agility to avoid the blow.   Chaos erupted. Robert the cowardly bard, bolted into the mist like a startled rabbit. His terrified form vanished into the swirling grayness, leaving me with a fresh wave of panic. Hayley swore a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, momentarily distracting the Yeth and causing it to flinch mid-lunge.   Alistan then met the beast head-on, his shield a solid wall against the Yeth's ferocious attack. Dadroz charged in, his rapier aimed for a vital point, but it met only with a sickening thunk as it bounced harmlessly off the Yeth's hide.   I squeezed my eyes shut, fear turning my limbs to lead. But fear wouldn't help. Focusing all my will, I unleashed a torrent of magic missiles, the tips glowing a faint blue. They flew from my outstretched hand, propelled by a surge of desperate energy. They found their target, punching small holes in the Yeth's thick hide.   The Yeth howled in pain, thrashing against Alistan's grip. Ileas, his face ashen, stood trembling in the distance, his rapier useless against such a foe. Thorin, whom I'd so recently saved, then suddenly broke free of his restraints and took off in flight. Ungrateful beast! Here I had risked magical exhaustion to save his hide, and he was off gallivanting into the forest during our time of need!   The distraction did give Hayley a precious opening. She brandished the dagger she'd gotten from Terrin, the runes glowing with an eerie light. With a cry of defiance, she plunged the blade into the Yeth's side. The effect was immediate – a deep gash opened up, and the creature roared in pain.   The situation was desperate. The Dianios started to break free from their bonds, scattering into the mist like a scattering of particularly grumpy green pebbles. Our fearless caravan leader, Onvyr then charged towards the back of the Yeth, hoping to draw its attention.   Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, a new figure emerged from the mist – an elf, his skin an unnatural shade of blue, and a single black eye patch obscuring one side of his face. He moved with a predatory grace, and in his hand, he held a wickedly curved bow. Without a word, he loosened an arrow, the fletching singing through the air.   The target wasn't the Yeth, but Onvyr. The arrow found its mark, burying itself deep into Onvyr's shoulder. But instead of a scream of pain, a horrifying transformation began. Fragments of stone erupted from the wound, rapidly spreading across Onvyr's body. His skin, once a healthy tan, began to turn a sickly shade of gray, hardening with each passing second. A look of pure terror contorted Onvyr's face as the petrification raced up his arm, threatening to consume him whole. We watched in stunned silence, the weight of this new nightmare settling upon us like a shroud.

A Betrayal of Satyrs
7th of Lugh, 121 Year of the Tree

Okay, diary, my legs felt like lead pipes by late afternoon, even though it had only been a single, incredibly eventful day. We stood in the deserted chamber, the stench of the makeshift altar still clinging to the air. The remnants of some unfortunate animal sacrifice lay scattered amongst ceremonial daggers - a sight that turned my stomach with a combination of morbid curiosity and sheer revulsion. Alistan was off to the side, negotiating with the Abbot. He wanted some extra muscle to secure the robed dudes we just… well, subdued (thanks again, Hayley, for the epic sleeping spell!).   The Abbot, looking paler than usual (and trust me, that's saying something), agreed to get some guards, but insisted the order handle the interrogation first. Makes sense, I guess. These robed wackos used to be brothers of the order after all, even if they've gone off the deep end worshiping Morhim.   With that settled, we descended the rickety ladder in the hidden store room we'd barely noticed in the chaos earlier. Remember the whole dead dwarf, city guard arrest fiasco? Yeah, that kind of throws a wrench in noticing things like secret passageways. Anyway, the ladder deposited us right back in the sewer system, practically next door to the room the dwarves were digging out earlier today. Talk about a small world, or should I say, a small, smelly world.   We climbed back out of the sewers, the stench clinging to us like a second skin, followed closely by a dull ache in my muscles and a lingering sense of unease. The Abbot, ever-efficient, had the captured cultists relocated – not to jail yet, but to a secure storage room next to the chapel. The same two guards from this morning were keeping an eye on them, looking bored out of their minds.   Liliana, never one to shy away from a good interrogation, took point. The cultists, now sporting some hastily-bandaged injuries and looking generally worse for wear, weren't exactly bastions of resistance. Their confession was… disturbing, to say the least. Apparently, they worshiped Morhim not out of fear, but out of twisted admiration. They saw him as a powerful magic user who'd conquered death itself, and they yearned to follow in his footsteps. Gross.   Liliana wasn't done yet. She pressed them, demanding to know if they acted alone. Her voice, usually laced with playful banter, held a steely edge that surprised even me. And surprisingly, it worked. One of the cultists cracked, revealing their leader – Brother Marik. Apparently, the good brother had hightailed it out of town after we "dealt with" the dwarves. The other two, however, clung to the belief that Marik wouldn't abandon them.   The question of their purpose in the sewers loomed large. Liliana, with a cunning glint in her eye, promised to put in a good word with the guard if they cooperated. The promise seemed to do the trick. The cultist, desperate for leniency, confessed they were searching for Morhim's spellbook, supposedly buried beneath his birthplace. Since Morhim had spent a significant amount of time at the monastery, Brother Marik had believed it to be hidden there.   Their initial attempts at digging were DIY, but a tunnel collapse claimed one of their own. Enter the dwarves, unwittingly recruited to continue the excavation. Their story took a darker turn when they confessed to desecrating the statues of Belenus. Believing they weren't doing enough to appease Morhim, they acted against Brother Marik's wishes. The weeping statue, however, remained a mystery to them.   With the interrogation wrapped up, we handed the cultists over to the city guards. The Abbot, surprisingly gracious considering the whole ordeal, expressed his gratitude (and maybe a hint of relief). I took a shot at accessing the forbidden library again, but unsurprisingly, the answer was still a firm no. However, the Abbot did concede and allow me access to the regular library – a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.   Diary, the weight of the day finally settled on us as we left the monastery. Alistan declared his stomach was a war zone, and Liliana seconded that, yearning for some home-cooked goodness. So, we said our goodbyes, splitting up like an adventuring party returning to their respective taverns.   Liliana, Alistan, and Ileas headed back to the De La Roost manor, Liliana muttering something about their mother's wrath if they missed dinner (considering her late-night escapades, I can't blame her fear of their mother's reaction). Archfey worshippers or not, their home life sounded stressful. Hayley, Gael, and I, on the other hand, were bound for the familiar comfort (or lack thereof) of our inn.   While our inn luckily lacked the… eccentricities of the De La Roost manor, it also meant no chance of running into Elsa, my ever-elusive crush, who was still staying there. The food was standard fare – a roasted rooster singed slightly black over an open fire. It wasn't a King’s feast, but it filled the void in our stomachs.   As we ate, the inn slowly came alive. Patrons trickled in, drawn by the promise of ale, gambling, and rowdy songs. A couple of bards strummed their lutes, weaving tales of daring heroes and mythical beasts for the enthralled common folk. Outside, a storm brewed, wind battering the window shutters and rain drumming a relentless rhythm on the roof. It only added to the cozy atmosphere of the dimly lit inn.   Suddenly, my ever-curious sister, perhaps fueled by boredom or a mischievous glint in her eye (or both), decided to take a chance. She sauntered over to the shadowy corner and plopped herself down at the table… with the lone, dark-clad figure. The entire inn held its breath as Hayley made her move. Even Mathilda, the innkeeper, stopped wiping down a mug and shot Hayley a knowing smirk. My curiosity was piqued – what was she planning?   Turns out, the "figure" was nothing more than a strategically positioned doll. Laughter erupted through the room as Mathilda grabbed a large wooden sign – apparently, they kept track of the number of "victims" this prank pulled. But Hayley, ever the one-up artist, wasn't going down without a fight. She pulled out her raven, Fiachna, and started having a whispered conversation with… the doll.   A few patrons, still unsure of the situation, approached Hayley cautiously, trying to see how the doll was "talking." She, with a straight face and a touch of theatrical flair, explained that a spirit had possessed the doll. The ruse wasn't perfect, but it was entertaining enough. Mathilda, chuckling, rewarded Hayley's audacity with a free dessert – a small victory for my mischievous sister.   The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. We retired to our rooms, the storm still raging outside. With full bellies and a head full of secrets from the hidden chamber, sleep came easily.   The next day, the morning sun peeked through the grimy windowpanes of the inn, rousing us from sleep. Our bellies grumbled in unison, reminding us that a day of tense fights and revelations requires a proper breakfast. Bacon and greasy eggs fueled our discussion as Liliana, Alistan, and Ileas burst through the inn door.   News travels fast in Hillfield, especially when it involves a De La Roost offering a tour. Apparently, Liliana had volunteered a whirlwind tour of the city's hotspots for Elsa and Edward. We settled in for a wait, knowing Elsa's reputation for late rising.   Just as boredom started to gnaw at us, the inn door creaked open again. This time, it was Onvyr, our grizzled elf caravan leader. His face, etched with worry lines deeper than usual, foreshadowed the news he carried. It wasn't good. Most of the merchants, spooked by the recent events on our trip here (a mix of greedy bandits, scary ghosts, and fearsome giant wolves), had decided to play it safe and stay put. Our once bustling caravan had dwindled to a skeleton crew – just us, the Collines, and Robert the bard.   However, there was a silver lining. Onvyr informed us that with a smaller group, we could choose our departure date. Needless to say, excitement crackled through the air. Hillfield had been nothing but a whirlwind of trouble, and frankly, I was itching to get out of here.   Onvyr laid out the plan for the initial leg of the journey – a seven-day trek to a woodcutter's camp where we could restock supplies. Leaving an hour after sunrise the next day was the agreed-upon departure time. A slight pang of worry flickered in my stomach about Elsa's notorious sleep schedule, but she, much to my surprise, assured us she could manage an early rise for once.   And so, Liliana and Alistan whisked Elsa and Edward off on their grand tour of Hillfield. We tagged along for a bit, listening to Liliana weave tales of the city's history with a flair that would put any bard to shame. We marveled at the grand City Hall and peeked into the stately manors of other noble families. It was like stepping into a living history book, all thanks to Liliana's dramatic storytelling.   After a few hours of sightseeing, hunger pangs started gnawing at us. We stopped by a local stall and devoured some steaming meat pies, the flaky pastry and savory filling a welcome break. But our snack took a turn for the bizarre. As we savored our pies, a sense of unease settled in. We couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.   Hayley, ever the perceptive one, zeroed in on the culprit. She spun around, her gaze laser-focused on a shadowy figure lurking at the edge of the crowd. The figure, seeing itself caught, made a clumsy attempt to disappear into a narrow alley. Hayley, with a glint of steely determination in her eyes, marched right after the stranger.   Now, we weren't about to let Hayley wander into a dark alley alone, especially with a suspicious stranger. The rest of us followed, hearts pounding in our chests. As we rounded the corner, a flash of cloven hooves caught my eye – a satyr, just like the ones who'd been terrorizing the city! But this one was different. Underneath the dark hood was a woman, her voice surprisingly melodic as she revealed herself.   Her request was simple: a private conversation with our satyr friend, Ileas. A flicker of hope sparked in my hopelessly romantic soul. Was this a forbidden love story unfolding before our very eyes? A rebellious satyr fighter meeting a kind-hearted soul in the midst of a brewing conflict? It had all the makings of a tragic ballad, complete with a dark alley rendezvous. But these tales rarely had happy endings.   I wasn't privy to their whispered conversation, but when Ileas emerged from the shadows, a light blush may have dusted his cheeks (or my overactive imagination). He introduced the satyr as Griselda, a childhood friend who'd grown considerably since they last met. More importantly, she carried a message – the satyrs were seeking a truce with the city guard. As a token of peace, she offered a small package for Sergeant Berris. Additionally, she had given Ileas instructions on where to find her – an old guard tower west of the city – in case he had questions or wanted to meet again.   However none of us trusted that neatly wrapped bundle. My gut churned, and to settle it (and maybe impress Elsa a little – a boy can dream, right?), I cast a detection spell. Bingo. The package buzzed with magic, a potent evocation aura that screamed "trouble." In simpler terms, it could very well be a bomb.   The mood in the group darkened faster than a dungeon on a moonless night. We needed to be certain. Taking a deep breath, I focused my magic on the pearl I'd recently acquired and initiated an identification ritual. The result confirmed our worst fears – the package housed an explosion spell, rigged to detonate the moment the knot securing it was untied.   So much for the star-crossed lovers narrative. This was a straight-up terrorist plot, cloaked in a peace offering. Disappointment gnawed at me, but it was quickly overshadowed by a surge of anger. Griselda seemed to be more than willing to blow him to smithereens!   A heated debate erupted. Gael, ever the pragmatist, advocated for turning Griselda in. The satyrs were upping their ante, and this bomb plot proved they were becoming a serious threat. Ileas, unsurprisingly, felt conflicted. I tried to voice the possibility that she might have been manipulated, kept in the dark about the bomb's true purpose. But my sister, ever the realist, quickly shut that down.   My own opinion? Honestly, diary, I was torn. Part of me, the hopeless romantic that gets swept away by a good story, wanted to believe Griselda was innocent. Maybe she was just a pawn, and did actually care for Ileas. A typical tale of misunderstandings and forbidden loves (that I admit I might be fully imagining due to my own bad luck with Elsa lately).   And so we headed towards the guardhouse, the weight of the hidden bomb and Ileas' conflicted emotions hanging heavy in the air. Alistan, with a subtle shove, nudged Ileas forward to break the news to Sergeant Berris.   Ileas, visibly shaken, explained everything. He revealed the bomb, claiming a former clan-mate named Griselda had entrusted him with it as a "peace offering." My stomach churned. I took over, explaining the spell woven into the package and the potential for catastrophe with the knot untied. Sergeant Berris, a burly man with a perpetually worried frown, listened intently. When the truth sunk in, his face paled.   He carefully took the bomb, his hands trembling slightly, and passed it onto one of his subordinates. The poor guy turned as white as a sheet when he realized what he was holding. He scurried out of the room, treating the package like a ticking time bomb (which, technically, it was).   With the bomb temporarily dealt with, Ileas continued his narrative. He spoke of Griselda's message and the planned meeting point west of the city. It was a full-blown betrayal, his heart torn between loyalty and self-preservation. My enigmatic sister added a cryptic comment – the guards should also check the "Sylvan Pastries" bakery.   As we prepared to leave, Alistan offered another apology for the dwarf debacle the previous day, which made Sergeant Berris uncomfortable yet again. Ileas, however, remained shrouded in a cloak of gloom. He doubted his decision, questioning if he'd betrayed his own kind. But my pragmatic sister cut through the self-pity. "Loyalty works both ways," she stated firmly. "Those who treat you poorly deserve none in return."   Ileas, his eyes hardening with a newfound resolve, revealed a cryptic detail. He had an uncle within the clan, someone resourceful who always got what he wanted. Leaving the clan, he confessed, was the best decision he'd ever made. Then, in a surprising move, he pulled Liliana into a tight hug.   Outside, we regrouped with Elsa and Edward, eager for a distraction from the heaviness within the guardhouse. We continued our tour, now tinged with a new awareness. As we passed the "Sylvan Pastries" bakery, an unsettling sight greeted us. The area was cordoned off with guards, their faces grim. We saw a group of satyrs and bugbears being escorted out, some sporting bandages and frustrated expressions. The ground bore faint signs of struggle, a silent story of a thwarted plan. It seemed Hayley's hunch had been right – the bakery, with its seemingly innocuous name, was the rebels' secret hideout. Alistan muttered that the name "Sylvan Pastries" was a bit too on the nose, all things considered, a wry smile playing on his lips.   The afternoon after the tour of Hillfield found me wandering the dusty shelves of the monastery library, seeking solace in the wisdom of ancient tomes. My goal – anything related to advanced magic, a way to sharpen my skills in preparation for Keralon. My fingers trailed across weathered spines, titles blurring as I scanned for the right book.   Then, a glimmer of something unexpected caught my eye. A seemingly ordinary book on myths and legends pulsed with a strange energy. Intrigued, I cracked it open. It wasn't just stories within – hidden amongst the fantastical tales were arcane symbols, runes woven into the margins with masterful skill. A thrill shot through me – spells, cleverly concealed within the pages! Alarm, Charm Person, Unseen Servant, and Longstrider – a treasure trove of practical magic.   I approached the monks with a hopeful inquiry about the book and the spells contained within. With a grateful nod for our previous assistance (those pesky cultists still paying dividends!), they even agreed to lend me some magic ink – an expensive commodity rarely shared with outsiders.   Now, here's the thing, diary. I already have Unseen Servant in my arsenal. So, after much deliberation, I settled on Charm Person. The thought of making someone more amiable held a certain appeal, especially with regards to a certain someone named Elsa. But a niggling doubt held me back. The charm would be artificial, temporary. Faking friendliness wouldn't cut it, not with someone I truly cared about. Besides, wouldn't the magic fade eventually, leaving things even more awkward? So, I shelved the idea of using it on Elsa (and frankly, anyone in our group). This magic was meant for manipulation, not genuine interaction.   With my decision made, I started painstakingly copying the spell into my own spellbook. The intricate symbols flowed from my pen, a promise of new possibilities.   Later that day, filled with a renewed sense of purpose, we headed to the De La Roost manor. The menhir in the garden, a source of potent magical energy, beckoned. However, our hopes were dashed upon arrival. Sofia, the cautious archfey worshiper, had stationed a guard by the ancient stone, strict instructions etched on his face: "Keep them away." Brainstorming tactics, we considered elaborate distraction schemes, all quickly dismissed. Causing trouble for the poor guard, who was just doing his duty, didn't sit right with any of us. Defeated, we retreated from the manor, the secrets of the menhir tantalizingly out of reach.   The evening at the inn was a quiet affair. We huddled around a flickering candle, the anticipation of leaving Hillfield the next day hanging heavy in the air. Then, Onvyr shuffled in, his weathered face etched with a new business transaction glint in his eyes. Apparently, he'd secured an additional passenger – a dwarf who'd been unceremoniously booted out of the city (sound familiar?). An extra coin or two wouldn't hurt, he explained, his voice a gravelly rasp.   The next morning, unable to contain my excitement (and a dash of lingering hope for a pre-departure chat with Elsa), I woke up before the rooster had even considered its morning crow. With a flimsy excuse of "last-minute preparations" with Alistan, I raced back to the De La Roost manor.   The same guard stood by the menhir, face set in a stoic expression. But today, a little magic was on my side. With a silent murmur and a well-placed Charm Person spell (courtesy of yesterday's library discovery), his demeanor did a complete 180. From stone-faced sentry to overly friendly neighbor, the transformation was comical.   "Just a peek, good sir," I wheedled, my voice dripping with false sincerity. "Before we bid farewell to Hillfield, we just wanted a last look at this monument. Promise we won't damage it and that no one will even know we were here."   The guard, practically beaming, ushered us closer. We had about an hour, tops, before the charm wore off. Every second counted. Quickly, I focused my magic, casting Identify on the menhir. The information flowed into my mind like a torrent – a conduit of magic, a bridge to other planes, an amplifier for divination spells aimed at a specific archfey. And for those with access to powerful magic, a portal to the Feywild itself.   Intriguing, but our time was limited. The stones we had found in the Brambles back in Tarn seemed to react oddly to the menhir, pulsing with a strange energy as Liliana, ever the curious one, poked it tentatively. Knowing we were pushing our luck, we decided to cut our visit short.   As we scurried back from the manor, a sense of relief and exhilaration washed over me. Just then, Sofia materialized, her gaze locking onto Liliana and Alistan. Seeing them deep in conversation, I made a tactical retreat, waving a hasty goodbye over my shoulder. Hoping that she wouldn't spot me or question my presence. Before long, I burst back into the inn, adrenaline still pumping from the covert menhir mission. Gathering my belongings, I was met with a scene straight out of a poorly written play. Chaos reigned outside.   Onvyr, our usually stoic caravan leader, was in a full-blown rant, his beard practically bristling with fury. The target of his ire? Edward, who stood nonchalantly by the carriage door. Elsa, bless her meekness, sat huddled inside, seemingly oblivious to the drama.   Apparently, Edward had taken it upon himself to dismiss the guards they had brought from Tarn. "Babysitters," he'd scoffed, claiming we were perfectly capable of defending ourselves. Onvyr, however, wasn't amused. He launched into a tirade about the dangers of the Lorewood, a treacherous forest that lay ahead, and how those "four extra swords" would have been invaluable. It all ended with a frustrated bellow of "What's done is done!" before he stormed off to sulk.   With a sigh, I shouldered my pack and joined the others in the final preparations. A familiar whinny drew my attention – Thorin, our trusty horse, pawed the ground impatiently, eager for the journey to begin. We climbed into our assigned cart, a sense of bittersweetness settling over me. We were finally leaving Hillfield, its mysteries and secrets fading into the distance.   The caravan shuffled into motion, our cart leading the way. Behind us followed the Collines' carriage, Robert the bard bringing up the rear with his own cart. A quick glance showed Edward perched on the front cart, a cocky grin plastered on his face. I, on the other hand, volunteered for a different, more strategic position – guarding the middle cart, the one carrying Elsa. Let's just say Edward's eagerness to be out front wasn't entirely unwelcome.   As we rolled out of the city gates, a familiar figure approached our caravan. It was the dwarf, the one we'd tangled with just a couple days ago, the one whose friend we… well, let's just say hadn't survived the encounter. Apparently, this particular dreugar, Dorr by name, was the "extra passenger" Onvyr had mentioned. Thankfully, Liliana, ever the diplomat, managed to smooth things over. Dorr grumbled a bit, but eventually settled into the back of Robert's cart, the tension thick enough to slice with a butter knife.   Bidding farewell to the rolling hills of Hillfield, we delved deeper into the forest. The sky mirrored our mood, a dull gray canopy promising an imminent downpour. The forest itself was a brooding giant, towering trees with gnarled limbs forming a near-impenetrable green roof overhead. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. We pressed on for a few hours, the silence broken only by the creaking of wheels and the occasional chirp of an unseen bird.   Then, the path abruptly forked, presenting us with a choice. Three horses stood at the junction, abandoned and forlorn. Liliana and Gael volunteered to investigate. A quick inspection revealed disturbed earth where the horses had been tethered, and more worryingly, tracks – the horses' only. No sign of the riders. As they ventured closer, the horses, skittish and clearly injured, reared back, whinnying in fear. But a glint of something caught Alistan's sharp eye – the crest of Hillfield emblazoned on the horses' saddles.   Recognition dawned. This was close, perhaps too close, to the location Griselda had mentioned. Leaving Onvyr, Edward, and the newly-acquired Dorr to guard the carts, the rest of us set off towards a nearby guard tower. As if on cue, the heavens opened, unleashing a torrent of rain that hammered on the leaves above. Thunder rumbled like a disgruntled giant, echoing through the dense foliage.   As we neared the tower, a grim sight greeted us. A sickly mix of rainwater and blood pooled around the small cabin (calling it a tower would be a major stretch – two stories at best). Drag marks, a twisted narrative etched into the mud, snaked towards the building. The unmistakable prints of horses, satyrs, and a large, feline predator clawed their way through the scene. The air thrummed with a chilling tension, a premonition of something terrible. And terrible it was.   The door creaked open, revealing a figure bathed in the dim light filtering through the storm. Griselda. But her demeanor had shifted from hesitant rebel to hardened warrior. Her eyes, once pleading, now glinted with a cold defiance. Before we could even react, she launched into a tirade, her words laced with a venomous anger.   Ileas, his face etched with a mixture of betrayal and sorrow, became the target of her fury. It turned out our decision to turn in the bomb had exposed her hideout and led to the capture of many of her companions. She told us that the guards would have never opened the package in front of us, and that she never meant any harm to Ileas. Her claim of innocence was flimsy at best, and her justifications were lost in the downpour of accusations.   "I used to like you, Ileas," she spat, a flicker of something resembling affection momentarily breaking through her mask. "And maybe… maybe a part of me still does, which is why I will just let you leave." It was a confession laced with regret, a desperate attempt to salvage a connection already severed. But it was too little, too late.   Ileas, his voice tight with a righteous anger, demanded the release of any captives. Her response? A chilling laugh that echoed through the rain-soaked clearing. "Captives? There are none left. The guards from Hillfield that came… they're dead." The weight of her words settled like a lead weight in my stomach. Murder. Hillfield guards. This ragtag group of rebels, Griselda included, were more dangerous than I'd ever imagined.   "This is all for my uncle, isn't it?" Ileas spat, his voice laced with bitterness. A sly smile played on Griselda's lips. "He remains the clan leader," she confirmed, her words cryptic but dripping with veiled threat. With a final, "Take your friends and go," she gestured for us to leave.   But Ileas stood firm. We weren't puppets on her strings. Alistan, never one to mince words, spoke up. "We don't exactly appreciate your 'explosive hospitality.'" His voice dripped with sarcasm, a stark contrast to the grim tension in the air.   Griselda's response was swift and deadly. A single word, uttered in a language that sounded like rustling leaves, hung in the air. Then, with a flash of claws and fangs, a monstrous creature materialized, leaping down from the cabin roof. A displacer beast, its fur shimmering with an unnatural distortion, snarled, ready to pounce.   The fight erupted in a flurry of spells and desperate strikes. Gael, ever the quick thinker, entangled both Griselda and the displacer beast in magical vines. Ileas, in a surprising display of… well, something, showered them with pixie dust, illuminating them in the gloom. Griselda, with a primal snarl, ripped free from the vines and bolted for the cover of the forest. Hayley, her instincts sharp, gave chase, determined to stop the rogue satyr.   The rest of us focused on the displacer beast. It was a whirlwind of claws and teeth, its movements unpredictable. Magical attacks seemed to pass through its shifting form, leaving us frustrated and vulnerable. But we fought on, a desperate ballet of spells and sword blows.   Liliana lunged at the beast, her shield raised, only to miss as its form flickered away. It swiped at Ileas, its claws raking harmlessly across his armor thanks to Liliana's desperate block. The battle raged on, a brutal dance under the relentless rain. Alistan landed a solid blow on the displacer beast, momentarily staggering it. Liliana, her holy magic thrumming, unleashed a smite that struck true. My own frost magic found its mark, slowing the creature's movements.   It thrashed and snarled, blinded and trapped, but the vines held firm. A pang of sympathy, fleeting but real, pierced through the haze of battle. This creature, manipulated and weaponized, might have been as much a victim as we were. But sympathy had to take a backseat to survival. Hayley, ever the pragmatist, emerged from the forest, and with a grim determination, used Terrin's dagger to cause a large gash in its side. Seeing the opening, Liliana and Alistan rammed their swords into the creature, drawing out its screams. The displacer beast shuddered and fell still, the storm seeming to wail in mournful protest.   Griselda, though battered and bruised, managed to escape into the forest. We stood there, panting, rain dripping from our clothes, the silence heavy with the weight of what had transpired. Victory, yes, but a bittersweet one.   We cautiously ventured inside the hunting shack, a morbid curiosity propelling us forward. The interior was a grim tableau – the remains of three Hillfield guards lay strewn across the floor, gruesome evidence of the displacer beast's savagery. A wave of nausea washed over me, but I forced it down. We couldn't afford to dwell on morbid details. We quickly agreed that my resourceful sister would send her raven back to Hillfield with a message – coordinates pinpointing the location of the fallen guards. These men deserved a proper burial.   With heavy hearts, we turned our attention to the displacer beast's remains. Liliana, ever the pragmatist (or perhaps a touch morbid?), managed to wrestle a tooth from its still-twitching form. The sight, I have to admit, wasn't exactly pleasant. But Liliana, being Liliana, saw potential in the gruesome trophy.   Back at the fork in the road, we found the injured horses, whinnying softly. Alistan started administering first aid to their wounds, his demeanor momentarily softened by their plight.   This, however, sparked a debate. Dorr suggested we keep the horses for ourselves. "No one will miss them," he rumbled, his voice thick with a dwarven accent.   Alistan, however, wasn't buying it. "This is exactly why you're not welcome anymore in Hillfield, Dorr," he retorted, his voice laced with a hint of disapproval. Dorr, never one to back down from a verbal spar, snorted. "Ignorant human children," he muttered under his breath.   Suddenly, Ileas stepped forward, a curious glint in his eye. "Actually, I'm not human," he declared, his voice laced with a quiet pride. Dorr chuckled. "Pet goat, then?" he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Liliana, the voice of reason, jumped in. "He's not a pet!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with a faint pink.   Dorr's booming laughter filled the air. "Alright, alright," he conceded, wiping a tear from his eye. "Still a goat, then!" he added, leaning in conspiratorially towards Liliana, "You, I like though," he spoke with a wink.   We didn't have time for bickering. Keralon beckoned, and the dangers of the Lorewood still loomed large. The path stretched before us, a winding ribbon through the dense green labyrinth, and with each step, we ventured deeper into the heart of the forest.

The most useful kind of magic
6th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Okay, diary, sunrise rolled in like a grumpy knight, and Hayley and I were already up and at 'em. Our pouches needed refilling with healing potions – gotta be prepared for anything after last night's bombshell, right?   Speaking of bombshells, the conversation over breakfast was basically a replay of yesterday's drama, except with the added bonus of Gael dropping some serious knowledge. He explained that powerful people are, like, the biggest scaredy-cats when it comes to losing their power – no surprise there. We all felt bad for Liliana, stuck in this situation and totally blind to how messed up it is, even though she's usually pretty strong-willed.   Gael, ever the optimist, offered a glimmer of hope. He said there might be ways to break the deal: beat down the hobgoblin king in a fight (talk about epic!), offer him something he wants even more than Liliana's service (like, a million cookies?), or find some loophole in the original agreement – like maybe it was written in invisible ink or something.   So, new mission: gather intel on this hobgoblin king in Keralon and rewrite Liliana's destiny! Sounds like a plan, right?   The morning was dedicated to shopping, and I splurged on a pearl worth a hundred gold pieces. Why? Because, my friend, with a pearl like this, I can finally cast the "identify" spell – perfect for uncovering any hidden secrets magical trinkets might hold. Alistan, on the other hand, went for a more artistic approach and snagged himself a violin. Sweet tunes, man!   Speaking of gifts, I wanted to get Elsa something, but guess what? My bank account is officially singing the lonely wallet blues. (Truth be told, I already had to borrow some gold from Liliana just to get that pearl.) Guess I need to find a quick side gig while we're still in Hillfield. Can't show up in Keralon with empty pockets, right?   At noon, the whole gang – yes, even Liliana, Alistan, and Ileas – reunited at our trusty inn, just in time for lunch. The usual shady character was still lurking in the corner, looking like he hadn't moved in days. Honestly, diary, this place is practically a walking stereotype of an adventurer's inn.   Speaking of stereotypes, the innkeeper, a half-orc named Mathilda with some pretty gnarly burn marks on her face, seemed to be in cahoots with Gael and Hayley. Maybe they were part of some secret "tough guy" club I wasn't cool enough to join yet.   Anyway, we all sat down for a group meeting, and let me tell you, things got heated fast. Alistan and Liliana, fueled by some kind of misplaced hero complex, wanted to jump right into the thick of the rebellion, single-handedly taking down the whole thing. We, the voices of reason (or at least, the least impulsive ones), had to talk them down from that ledge.   Liliana, especially, seemed super eager for adventure. Alistan, being the ever-so-helpful brother, offered to give her a rundown on how the city worked. Apparently, there's this council of nobles that his dad is part of, and then there's a mayor who handles the day-to-day stuff.   So we agreed that the first thing should be intel-gathering at the city guardhouse. We marched in, a ragtag group of teenagers and a satyr, and requested an audience with Sergeant Berris. After some navigating through the barracks, we found ourselves in his cramped office, the stern gaze of the sergeant upon us.   Alistan inquired about the city's policy on satyrs, as we were unsure what their current status was in the city. Turns out, there's a "blacklist" of banned satyrs, but most are allowed entry, albeit with a side of suspicious stares from the guards. Alistan, digging deeper, pressed for more information concerning the recent attacks.   Sergeant Berris, with a sigh, revealed that this wasn't a one-off incident, confirming what we had been told before. These attacks have been plaguing the city for weeks, happening every few days. He recounted the recent events, from the market vandalism to the deadly attack on the guardhouse. It was definitely grim listening.   Liliana, the eternal volunteer, chimed in, asking if there was anything we could do to help. The sergeant, a bit wary at first, hesitated. However, he eventually divulged a crucial piece of information: they believe the satyrs have a base within the city walls, which explained why the attacks originated inside rather than outside the heavily guarded perimeter.   Seeing an opportunity to contribute, we offered our assistance in finding this hidden base. Surprisingly, Sergeant Berris readily accepted our help, a hint of relief in his eyes. Alistan thanked him for his time, and Berris' response was...interesting. He mumbled something about not wanting any trouble with the De la Roosts, hinting that they have some kind of reputation in the city. After what we witnessed the day before with their worship of Ulther, I don’t blame him.   Leaving the guardhouse, the keen Gael hatched a plan to track the satyrs. His idea centered around Ileas, bless his naive heart, infiltrating the mercenary companies. Apparently, the plan involved freeing satyr prisoners, fabricating a sob story about rebelling against leadership, and then getting close enough to learn their base location. Let's just say, Ileas looked like a rabbit trapped in a dragon's lair at the mere suggestion. Thankfully, the rest of us, with a healthy dose of common sense, shot down that ridiculously dangerous and illegal plan faster than you can say "jail time."   Walking back towards the De la Roost manor, we stumbled upon a commotion at the central monastery. A disgruntled crowd was chanting and rumbling outside the closed doors, demanding access to the chapel. Alistan, ever the curious one, stepped forward and inquired about the situation. Turns out, the doors remained shut even though it was past noon, effectively barring them from their prayers.   The monastery, dedicated to Irminsul and the saints with an additional annex devoted to Belanus, seemed to be at the center of some kind of conflict. We approached the guards, a mix of armed monks and regular guards, who explained, with a touch of frustration, that they were following the abbot's orders. Apparently, the doors were to remain closed, and the duration of this closure was anyone's guess.   So there we were, outside the closed monastery, trying to figure out what was going on. I decided to try a magic trick, drawing sigils in the dirt to perform a "detect magic" ritual. Hayley and Dadroz, ever the practical duo, went on their own recon mission. Dadroz, with his stealthy ways, vanished like a puff of smoke (seriously, that guy creeps me out sometimes), while Hayley sent her trusty raven familiar on a scouting trip.   Hayley's raven didn't pick up any suspicious activity inside the monastery – everything seemed normal with monks going about their business and open doors. However, it did spot two shady-looking dwarves outside the square. Hayley the detective followed them with the raven until they disappeared into a tavern.   Meanwhile, Alistan, channeling his inner diplomat, approached the guards. Recognizing the De la Roost name, they surprisingly requested his help in calming down the crowd. Alistan put on his best charming act and tried to weasel his way into seeing the Abbot, but the guards insisted he was too busy. Alistan, not one to give up easily, persisted, and the guards finally relented, going to check with the Abbot.   While they were gone, Alistan, showing off his leadership skills, stepped into the guards' shoes and started calming the crowd. Surprisingly, it worked somewhat, with the crowd thinning from a disgruntled mob of fifty to a still-annoyed group of thirty.   By the time I finished my ritual (turns out it takes longer than expected to draw those fancy sigils in the dirt!), I was bummed to discover no magical aura around the place. It wasn't the news I was hoping for, but at least it meant everyone gathered there was who they appeared to be. No hidden magical baddies, just a bunch of frustrated citizens.   After a thirty-minute wait, a guard finally appeared, informing us the Abbot could spare a single minute. However, he suggested a discreet entrance to avoid further antagonizing the disgruntled crowd outside. We followed the guard through a maze of narrow, winding corridors, eventually emerging into a grand temple adorned with a colossal golden statue of Belenus.   A dedicated prayer area stood before it, the serenity disrupted by two clearly damaged statues flanking a seemingly unharmed central figure. Beside them stood Father Eton, the Abbot himself. He acknowledged Liliana and Alistan as "noble De la Roosts," so their names clearly carry a lot of weight here. He inquired about their church attendance, which received a hesitant response – apparently, their visits had dwindled since leaving Hillfield as children.   Alistan cut to the chase, asking about the locked shrine. Father Eton revealed that the Belenus faith required prayers before noon, under the high sun. However, recent vandalism had plagued the monastery, resulting in the destruction of the two flanking statues. But that wasn't all.   Upon closer inspection, the remaining statue – thankfully intact – displayed a haunting sight: tiny specks of blood staining the corners of its eyes, as if it were weeping. Father Eton confirmed the blood's presence, though he assured us no magic was involved (a fact I confirmed with my own magic). This inexplicable "miracle" was the reason for the closed chapel – the Abbot feared it would incite panic among the congregation.   Liliana, her hand instinctively touching her holy symbol, sensed a desecration around the statue. Father Eton acknowledged the desecration but reiterated it wasn't an explanation for the bleeding. My sarcastic sister couldn't resist a quip about Belenus being "affronted," which didn't exactly amuse the Abbot.   We all scoured the chapel for clues, mostly finding our own footprints (not exactly the divine heroes Ace and Spade, eh?). But then, Liliana and Ileas spotted something peculiar: the dust only went up to the second row of benches, no dirty footprints beyond. This meant the vandals skillfully avoided leaving any tracks further in.   Meanwhile, Hayley, with her trusty raven acting as a scout, discovered that the two mysterious dwarfs had gone underground, into the sewers of the city, just outside of the monastery. Now, I know what you're thinking, diary – not exactly the glamorous adventure we were hoping for, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. We figured the satyrs could be involved, and maybe even their secret base was hidden down there.   Leaving the monastery, we saw that the crowd had dwindled to a mere ten people. Finding a small park, we located the ancient sewer cover. Liliana jumped right in, her thirst for exploration overcoming any sense of smell.   Entering the sewer, we were immediately hit by a wall of stench. It didn't take long for Hayley, bless her heart, to become visibly nauseated. She attempted to mask the smell with cloth, but with limited success. We also noticed warnings against using open flames, a reminder to keep my pyromaniac tendencies in check.   Alistan, sharp as ever, picked up the sound of labor in the distance. Leading the way, we found Gael and Dadroz returning with news. They discovered a light emanating from a side entrance and a cage containing a horrifying purple monstrosity – Dadroz identified it as an "Ettercap," a kind of nightmarish spider-human hybrid.   They also spotted a group of dwarves digging, seemingly expanding a hidden room. Trying to be stealthy (emphasis on "trying"), we inched closer. Alistan, however, tripped and let out a yelp, earning a less-than-subtle shush from Hayley. Luckily, we went unnoticed.   Dadroz, always the bold one, took point and approached the locked Ettercap cage. He even pocketed the key, just in case. His confidence, however, got the better of him. As he entered the room, the dwarves spotted him and demanded his identity.   One dwarf, distinguished by his white beard and hair, emerged, his initial suspicion fading as Dadroz (smooth talker extraordinaire) fabricated a story about showing "a secret passage" to his friends (namely, us). The dwarf, mistaking us for a thief guild, muttered something about leaving each other alone.   However, just as Dadroz turned to leave, Liliana and Alistan, never ones to back down, confronted the dwarves. A tense discussion ensued, filled with talk of permits, historical rights, and veiled threats of involving the guards. The situation was getting out of hand, and Hayley and Liliana suspected the dwarves might lash out if anyone else showed up.   Alistan attempted to get answers, but the dwarves remained tight-lipped. As tensions ran high, Alistan instinctively reached for his weapon, causing the dwarves to tense up and grab theirs. I prepared a spell, waiting for the situation to escalate.   Unfortunately, Alistan, in his eagerness, moved closer, which the dwarfs misinterpreted as an attack. Gael immediately reacted with a blunted arrow, knocking out one of the dwarves in a single hit. The fight was on! Liliana landed a solid blow on the leader, while Dadroz, reappearing from the shadows like a phantom, impaled another dwarf with a critical arrow.   I, caught off guard by the sudden chaos, released my spell on the leader, but it proved ineffective. As I fumbled with my magic, a horrifying screech pierced the air. I spun around to see the monstrous Ettercap, freed from its cage, lumbering towards me, ready to pounce.   In that split second, the fight shifted. Alistan and Liliana, heroes in their own right, rushed to my defense, while Dadroz reappeared from the shadows, delivering a swift but ineffective stab at the beast. Pushed back by the stench and fear, I stumbled back, falling into the sewer water, a strategic retreat albeit an undignified one. Most importantly, I am still alive to tell the tale.   Hayley luckily cast a curse on the monster, causing the Ettercap to miss Dadroz. Finally, with a combined effort, Liliana and Alistan managed to hack the beast down, sending it to whatever afterlife awaited spider-human hybrids.   So we managed to subdue the dwarves, though unfortunately, one didn't make it (an arrow through the head from Dadroz is usually not a survivable condition). It hadn’t been our intention to kill any, but with the fight breaking out so abruptly, we had found ourselves in a life-and-death situation. The whole scene was a mess, and we found few clues to explain their presence.   Hayley, Gael, and I decided to fetch the guards, leaving Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas to keep an eye on things. Since it was pitch black down there and I was the only one who could see, I played my part by providing light. Plus, a little magical de-skunking couldn't hurt after that ordeal.   While we were gone, a mysterious cloaked figure appeared, drawn by the commotion. He sported the symbol of Irminsul and had blonde hair. Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas described him as tight-lipped, refusing to even disclose his name.   Luckily, Ileas, with his artistic talent, had quickly sketched the man in his notebook (seriously, the guy draws like a pro!). The drawing didn't ring any bells, but upon questioning one of the surviving dwarfs (we woke him up with a bit of healing magic), they revealed this shady dude as their employer, "Brother Marik," who apparently hired them to dig for some kind of treasure – a book, to be precise. We didn’t know at the time if that was his real name or not, but that's what the dwarf called him.   Gael, our elegant diplomat, explained the situation to the guards and requested their assistance in arresting the dwarves. They sent five guards with us, and it took about half an hour to navigate back to the smelly scene. Hayley, meanwhile, stayed topside and searched the monastery for Brother Marik, but came up empty-handed.   The aftermath of the sewer brawl felt surreal. The awoken dwarf launched into an accusatory tirade when he saw the guards approach. Apparently, in his version of events, we were the aggressors, instigating the fight and causing the death of his comrade. He also emphasized Alistan and Liliana’s noble status, hinting that there was going to be some kind of special privilege.   We were all escorted back to the guardhouse, the dwarves placed in a holding cell while we waited in a separate room. Liliana wore a smirk, seemingly exhilarated by the adventure, while Alistan stood subdued, clearly shaken by the dwarf's death.   Looking at my companions, it got me thinking, diary, about the path I've chosen. Is this the life I want – living on the edge, bending the rules? Or should I follow a more traditional path of oaths and knighthoods? Despite my less-than-stellar performance against the Ettercap, a nervous thrill bubbled under the surface. While we waited, I used my magic to cleanse the rest of my friends of the lingering sewer stench. More of a favor for myself than for them, to be honest. I never would have thought that the first trick I ever learned would be the magical spell that I would receive the most gratitude for.   Suddenly, Sergeant Berris entered the room, accompanied by none other than Sophia De la Roost. They were in the midst of a heated discussion about the incident. Berris argued that the dwarf's death necessitated further action, but Sophia countered, insisting it was an accident and shouldn't be reported to the council. This whole "noble treatment" thing is definitely starting to get under my skin.   Berris, reluctantly acquiesced, and we were released. Alistan, however, insisted on taking full responsibility for our actions. However, Sophia, clearly displeased, shut him and Liliana down, demanding they remain silent and let her handle the situation. She launched into a scathing lecture, calling us "troublemakers" and comparing us to normal kids who would be "drinking and horse riding" instead of "sneaking around sewers." She reminded us, with a hint of disapproval, of our "young" age and our place within the walls of the city. It wasn't every day you heard a mother complain about her children not engaging in enough partying, even though, in this case, I had to admit, it seemed significantly safer than sewer exploration.   With her tirade finished, Sophia marched off, leaving us bewildered. We eventually found Hayley a few steps away, casually indulging in pastries at the Sylvan bakery, her face dusted with powdered sugar and a mischievous grin on her lips. Considering the crazy day we just had, I couldn't help but admire her casualness. As she greeted us, it was clear she was overly pleased to have avoided the whole arrest situation.   We set out to our next objective: Mission Found-out-everything-about-Marik. This time with Liliana leading the charge. She threw some shade at the guards, asking about Brother Marik, hoping for some juicy gossip. Apparently, the guard knew the name, but claimed Maric had left the order a month ago – conveniently just before things started getting weird in the city.   We get another audience with the Abbot, who looks like he just finished speed-reading through a particularly dry scripture. Liliana immediately launched into a story about dwarves, tunnels, and a mysterious book. The Abbot, ever the picture of composure, raises an eyebrow, surprised to hear Marik's name swirling in this muddy plot.   He described Marik as a "troubled individual," which is one way to put it. Apparently, he wasn't much older than us, causing me to internally groan – great, another potential role model gone rogue. Turns out, Marik wasn't exactly "asked" to leave; it was more of a gentle nudge towards the exit door, complete with an ultimatum involving behavior modification or early retirement.   The plot thickened, as the Abbot revealed the existence of a forbidden library – a treasure trove of ancient and probably slightly dangerous magical texts. Marik, ever the rebel teenager (in a slightly older, robed package), couldn't resist a good forbidden fruit, and snuck into the library after dark. Needless to say, this little transgression didn't exactly endear him to the Abbot, hence the "gentle nudge."   Now, you'd think with all this excitement, I'd be granted access to this forbidden library, right? Wrong. The Abbot, bless his heart, was as enthusiastic about the idea as a slug at a salt convention. Apparently, the books are remnants of the monastery's "Belenus only" days, and not open to anyone.   Feeling slightly deflated, we decided to do some good old-fashioned detective work. The observant Dadroz noticed the statue was still weeping its little red tears. I, using my vast alchemical knowledge, confirmed it was indeed blood (and I didn’t even need to set fire to anything to check it).   Liliana then inquired about what lurked beneath the chapel, hoping for a secret lair or something equally thrilling. The Abbot, however, burst her bubble by informing us the chapel itself was just the old living and storage quarters, with nothing underneath - not exactly the topic of an adventure story.   I decided to try my hand at solving the mystery of the weeping statue. Armed with a handful of incense sticks (borrowed from a rather confused monk), Alistan and I meticulously scoured the chapel, searching for any hidden doors or latches. After what felt like an eternity (and a minor incense-induced coughing fit), I finally noticed a draft pulling the smoke towards the wall relief.   Eureka! I called upon Dadroz, our resident rogue (and master of all things vaguely illegal), to investigate. After a bit of poking and prodding (and probably muttering some curses under his breath), the relief sculpture swung open, revealing a hidden chamber.   Just as we were congratulating ourselves on our detective skills, we heard movement from within. The chamber, illuminated by a faint glow, revealed several cloaked figures, all looking like they just stepped out of a bad novel. The robed figures immediately drew their weapons, clearly not thrilled about unexpected guests.   Gael, Liliana, and Dadroz, ever the action heroes, charged into battle. Alistan, unfortunately, found himself on the receiving end of a curved blade, but luckily, Liliana used her trusty shield to deflect the blow (seriously, that girl is a walking tank!).   Me? Well, I was stuck in a bit of a conundrum. While I wanted to help, I also didn't want to accidentally vaporize anyone. Unfortunately, my spell repertoire seems to be lacking in the "non-lethal takedown" department. I attempted a weak spell, but it just bounced off the robed figure like a feather against a brick wall. Hayley, my better half, stepped in and unleashed some sleep-inducing magic, effectively putting the remaining robed figures out like a candle. Clearly, I need to expand my magical skillset beyond “burn stuff to a crisp” and "smell slightly nicer."   We secured the robed men with some good old-fashioned rope. The Abbot, who conveniently decided to join us after hearing the commotion, recognized them as brothers of the order.   Things got even weirder when we explored the hidden chamber. Turns out, it wasn't just a dusty storage room – it was a makeshift altar dedicated to none other than Morhim, the freakin' lich! The Abbot, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon, confirmed our suspicions. Apparently, this Morhim dude started a war against Keralon a hundred years ago, founding a whole kingdom based on… well, being really, really dead. Not exactly the most cheerful neighborhood association president.   Ileas and Alistan, our local history buffs, filled us in on more juicy details. Morhim, it turns out, had been a local Hillfield boy with a talent for magic. He went off to Keralon, aiming to become a big-shot advisor to the king. But things took a dark turn when he started having visions of an undead army attacking the kingdom. Dude went completely bonkers trying to stop it, ended up becoming a lich himself, and voila – the very threat he was trying to prevent. Talk about a major fail, right?   So, diary, we're officially in over our heads. We've got rogue monks worshiping a lich, a noble family in service of a probably-evil Archfey, a brewing rebellion and a whole lot of unanswered questions. One thing's for sure, this adventure just took a turn for the undead…

What to do when your hostess has a Secret Society Membership
5th of Lugh, 121 Year of the Tree

Diary, buckle up because today was a whirlwind! We're finally rolling into Hillsfield, but let me tell you, the journey there was anything but smooth. Remember that epic snow wolf fight? Yeah, we're all still feeling the aches and pains, but hey, at least the weather's finally warming up.   While everyone else was nursing their wounds (both physical and emotional - looking at you, Alistan and Elsa), I was busy doing what I do best: studying magic. After hours of poring over dusty tomes and muttering incantations until my tongue felt like a knot, I actually cracked the code on a super cool spell! It lets me see glimpses of fate, like the future prewritten in a dusty library book. But the coolest part? I can actually tweak the loose threads, changing my own destiny and even the people around me. No more boring pre-ordained life for me, thank you very much! I'm taking charge, rewriting my story, and finding adventure, purpose, and maybe even... (sigh, Elsa) love. I am inspired by the legend of Zebulor, God of Time, an orphan who defied everything to protect his loved ones, even becoming a god. That's the kind of path I want to walk, minus the godhood thing (although that part seems a bit much, even for me). Just a little adventure, a touch of destiny-bending, and maybe a chance to rewrite my love story too.   Speaking of grand destinies, Ileas, our resident Satyr guide, dropped a bomb today. He's actually from around here! Apparently, there's a whole community of Satyrs living in the hills near Hillsfield. I thought it was pretty cool when I first heard about it, but thinks really took a turn for the dark later.   Things were already strange as we descended the hill towards Hillfield. We stumbled upon a group of guards, hunters, and lumberjacks just tearing down these ancient-looking stone things, covered in weird symbols. Even Ileas, the local expert, had no clue what they were. He said even his elders couldn't remember what these "menhirs" meant. Talk about a mystery!   So, we finally rolled into Hillsfield, and wouldn't you know it, Alistan suggests we stay at his family's manor. Not big enough for the whole caravan, of course, just our little "group." Gael, ever the cautious one, wasn't too keen on leaving the others. And guess what? Alistan even invited Edward and Elsa to stay! They said they were planning on an inn anyway, but hey, free mansion, right?   Now, diary, I'm not buying it for a second. Alistan's practically glued to Elsa ever since that whole "kiss-in-the-snowstorm-while-fighting-a-giant-wolf" thing. Is he just being friendly, or is this some elaborate plan to win her over? It's suspicious, that's for sure.   Adding insult to injury, Elsa and Edward couldn't even ride with us commoners in our humble cart. Apparently, there's some whole "protocol" thing for entering Hillfield, and it wouldn't be "proper" for high-born nobles like them to be seen with us. Double betrayal, diary, double betrayal!   Onvyr mentioned the caravan staying in Hillfield for a while – anywhere from three days to a whole week! Guess we'll see how many people are willing to brave the journey to Keralon with us after that.   Hillfield took our breath away for how huge it was. Walls, tons of people, farmers, lumberjacks, the whole shebang. Even the guards at the gate were like, a dozen strong! And it is supposed to be a “small” city! We cruised through no problem, but Elsa and Edward's carriage got held up. We stopped to see what the fuss was about, but Hayley, our passionate foodie, took the opportunity to check out the local street food near the gate, and stuffing her face with who-knows-what.   So we were just chilling in Hillfield, waiting for Elsa and Edward to clear customs, when suddenly, BAM! Satyrs, goat-legged troublemakers, burst out of the alleys with their vicious blink dogs, causing total mayhem!   Carts were toppled, people were shoved, and the blink dogs were growling like they hadn't eaten in days. The guards were still outside the gate, taking their sweet time, so it was up to us to step in.   Ileas, surprisingly, was the first to react. He played a rousing tune, urging Alistan to fight. Alistan, launched himself at one of the satyrs and knocked him out cold. Liliana, the divine warrior princess, joined in, blasting a blink dog with her holy powers. Quick-witted Gael sent an arrow flying, hitting another satyr.   Me? I was frozen in shock, watching the chaos unfold like a horrifying play. Our past fights had been out in the middle of nowhere, away from civilization. They had seemed almost surreal, like a dream. But this felt more vivid somehow as I witnessed the carnage around me. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But as an innocent bystander fell victim to a satyr's blade, their blood scattered over the cobbled street stones, I snapped out of it. I am going to be a god-damn hero, and heroes protect the innocent. Rage filled me, and I blasted one of the satyrs with my fire staff, sending him running with a singed tail.   My sister Hayley wasn't far behind. She used her magic to put a satyr to sleep, whispering out a sweet lullaby. But then another one ended the life of a poor horse with a vicious swipe, these satyrs were not messing around! Before I could react, an arrow struck Hayley right next to me! Ileas jumped in to defend Hayley, stabbing the attacker with his rapier. But the satyr cursed him, calling him a traitor. Things just got even more complicated!   The fight raged on. Alistan, with a soft spot for dogs, knocked out one of the blink dogs instead of killing it. Liliana, channeling her inner paladin, burned another one to a crisp. Gael took down another satyr with a precise arrow. I blasted another one with fire, forcing him to retreat.   But Hayley, fueled by the attack, unleashed a vicious curse at the fleeing satyr. As the words hit him, he crumpled to the ground, defeated. Around us, Liliana tended to the injured bystanders, her divine magic offering some comfort amidst the chaos.   The guards finally showed up, and let me tell you, it was pure panic mode! Alistan, ever the leader, tried to calm the crowd while the guards yelled at everyone to drop their weapons. We obeyed, feeling like scolded children, and waited as they inspected the scene like detectives in a bad crime play.   The guards started poking around the satyr bodies and tying them up like oversized goats. Then, their captain, a guy named Berris, approached us, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon. He asked for our leader, and we referred him to Onvyr. After introductions, Berris' eyes widened when he heard Liliana and Alistan's last names – apparently, "de la Roost" is a big deal around here.   He questioned why we were in Hillfield (just passing through, on our way to Keralon, nothing shady!), where we were staying (a mix of inn and fancy manor, thanks Alistan), and then surprised us by thanking us for stopping the satyr attack. Seemed like even the guards were impressed!   Then things got even crazier. Berris grilled Ileas, questioning if he was one of those "satyrs from the north." Ileas played it cool, claiming some past connection (whatever that means), but Liliana and Alistan vouched for him, saying he was basically their adopted family. Berris seemed to accept it, but warned that someone needed to keep an eye on Ileas while he was in the city – apparently, there's some tension between the satyrs and the humans here.   Here's the kicker, diary: there's a rebellion brewing! Some big-shot merchant from the south is claiming he's a noble, buying loyalty with gold, and building an army of mercenaries. Those satyrs and fox-people we met earlier? Turns out they're part of his little rebellion crew. Crazy, right?   But that's not all. The destruction of those weird stone things (menhirs, I think they called them?) wasn't related to the rebellion – apparently, the De la Roost family ordered that. So, diary, here we are, smack dab in the middle of a political mess. A creepy merchant, a brewing rebellion, and a mystery surrounding the De la Roost family and those strange stones. What are we getting ourselves into?   The full caravan finally got the green light to enter Hillfield proper! After all that drama, everyone was a little shaken, but Hayley, ever the resourceful witch, whipped out a concoction that looked like spilled cherry syrup and chugged it down. Apparently, it perked her right up.   Hillfield itself was incredible! Towering buildings, a massive monastery that looked like it could house a whole army of monks, and bustling streets filled with people. We passed by the De la Roost manor, a walled estate right across from the Iron Shield Inn where most of the caravan was staying.   Gael and Hayley opted for the inn life, while the rest of us – me, Elsa, Edward Ileas,, Alistan, and Liliana – headed to the manor. Two guards stood watch, their armor sporting cool emblems: one for Hillfield (two hills with a sunrise) and another for the De la Roost family (a mountain with a dragon).   Here's the weird part: they didn't recognize Alistan or Liliana! They must have been new or something. They did still let them in, but it turns out the manor gates, usually open wide, were now under strict orders from Lord De la Roost to remain closed. Apparently, it's all due to this whole rebellion thing – gotta keep the riffraff out, right?   The guards also made some snide remarks about Ileas, suggesting they keep an eye on him. Ileas, unsurprisingly, wasn't thrilled, calling them out for being prejudiced. Alistan tried to back him up, but things weren't escalating further, so we just let it slide.   We finally entered the De la Roost manor grounds, following a flowery path towards the main house. Ileas, bless his naive heart, headed for the servants' entrance, but Liliana stopped him and redirected him towards the grand front door. Apparently, the "ward" thing was a bit more literal than I thought – Ileas used to be a servant for the De la Roasts!   They announced their arrival, and guess who opened the door? Their mom, Sofia. Picture a regal-looking woman with a golden dagger at her belt and an even sharper tongue. She welcomed back Liliana and Alistan, but barely acknowledged me, which was fine by me. It's not like I was exactly thrilled with the whole "servants and nobility" vibes she was throwing around.   Sofia ushered us into a fancy living room. Turns out, she wasn't expecting us – "somewhat surprised," were her exact words. Then came the explanations. Apparently, there had been several recent satyr raids (the guards weren't exaggerating!), one even getting so far as to attack the manor itself. The cherry on top? Her husband, Alistan and Liliana's father, was off fighting the rebellion – or at least trying to hold them off until reinforcements arrived.   My curious sister Hayley then asked about the destroyed menhirs. Sofia, with a nonchalance that would make a villain blush, revealed she ordered their destruction. Apparently, she was researching some ancient fey magic, stumbled upon some "dangerous weapon" stuff, and decided to play judge, jury, and executioner with these ancient stones. Talk about taking control!   Hayley, naturally, wanted to see the research materials, and Sofia agreed but then quickly changed the topic by summoning Ileas (who appeared with tea like a magic trick). She swiftly ordered him to prepare rooms as all the normal servants were already sleeping. Now, diary, I'm not the confrontational type, but even I could tell how wrong this situation felt. Ileas was practically waiting on them hand and foot, and Alistan tried to defend him, calling him a friend, not a servant.   Sofia's response? "Everyone has their place in the world, and the world works when everyone knows their place." Talk about a masterclass in arrogance, right? I just kept quiet, hoping Elsa would arrive and rescue us from this awkward family reunion. But guess what? Sofia dropped another bombshell. Ileas' tribe is apparently part of the rebellion, but she assured him (and maybe the rest of us?) that he wasn't involved. Ileas, bless his unfazed soul, didn't even bat an eyelid at the news.   An hour crawled by like a snail on sleeping pills before Elsa and Edward finally showed up. Seeing them was like a breath of fresh air after the suffocating atmosphere of the De la Roost manor. The tension in that room was thicker than pea soup, and my sister, ever the bookworm, was too engrossed in deciphering the ancient fey book to offer much conversation.   Speaking of the book, she did manage to uncover some interesting details. Apparently, those destroyed menhirs? They were just territorial markers from the lost kingdom of Immerglade (remember that call-back?), according to the book, no mention of any ancient curses. So, either Sofia was embellishing the truth, or maybe the menhirs carry some additional secrets.   Meanwhile, conversation flowed between Alistan, Elsa, and Edward. They were comparing notes on their "errands," which sounded more like endless tea parties and polite chatter. Alistan the charmer, asked Elsa to join him for an evening stroll in the garden. She accepted, but luckily extended the invitation out to the rest of us too. I, not trusting them alone, immediately volunteered to tag along. Then Liliana and Ileas also decided to join too. Sorry (not sorry) to crash your date, Alistan!   The moonlit garden was beautiful, Elsa's hair catching the ethereal glow like spun moonlight. I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her, the world around us fading away. Suddenly, the mood was set with romantic tunes courtesy of Ileas on his instrument. Just then, Liliana spotted something strange – footprints through the carefully tended plants!   Intrigued, we followed the tracks, leading us to a hidden corner where we stumbled upon a sight that sent shivers down my spine – a single menhir, its surface etched with glowing runes. Alistan and Liliana, both supposedly from this family, had never seen it before.   This discovery set off a chain reaction. Liliana tried to push the massive stone, but it wouldn't budge. Sensing something dangerous, I intervened and started analyzing the runes. My magical senses tingled, detecting a mix of protective, illusionary, and summoning magic.   With the tension rising and the mystery deepening, we decided to contact Hayley through our magical stones. We were still puzzling over the mysterious menhir when Hayley and Gael arrived, and like a moth to a flame, she spotted it and immediately got sucked into research mode. I filled her in on my magical findings – the runes are different to the ones destroyed outside of Hillfield, but similar enough to suggest a connection. The magical script suggests illusions hiding or protecting something and other runes acting as a conduit for power from the Feywild.   Hayley then suggested we immediately report our discovery to Sofia, as the menhirs outside were labeled as dangerous and might be related to the satyrs somehow. Alistan, tasked with the job, headed back to the house. But things took a turn for the dramatic when he knocked on his mother's door and got no answer. Worried, he broke the door down, only to find the room empty.   Except, it wasn't completely empty. A secret passage stood open, leading who-knows-where. Alistan's worried shouts summoned us, and we all came running, expecting the worst. Just as Alistan was about to charge through the passage like a knight on a quest, a confused-looking servant appeared.   This guy seemed genuinely baffled by the whole situation. He tried to calm Alistan down, insisting his mother probably had "her reasons" for disappearing and suggesting they wait until morning. Alistan, understandably suspicious, wasn't buying it. The servant, clearly flustered (and maybe a little annoyed about the broken door), pleaded for Alistan to respect Lady de la Roost's privacy.   Seeing things escalate, Edward whisked Elsa away to their room for safety. The rest of us, however, were glued to the scene. Alistan was determined to find his mother, and the servant, well, wasn't exactly being helpful. So we decided to delve into the unknown. We descended into the dark depths of the passage, following the chilly air and flickering torches.   The passage felt ancient, like it had been carved alongside the house itself. After what felt like an eternity (but was probably just a few minutes), we emerged into a large, circular room. And what we saw next…well, diary, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it.   There, in the center of the room, stood an altar adorned with runes eerily similar to the ones on the mysterious menhir. But that wasn't the most shocking part. Kneeling before the altar, clad in a strange robe and a mask with unsettling brown eyes and sharp teeth, looking like the god of Death himself, was none other than Sofia. She was chanting in a language that sounded like whispers through leaves, praying (of all things) to Ulther. The whole scene felt like something out of a creepy novel, not real life.   Sofia, clearly startled by our unexpected arrival, jumped to her feet and demanded an explanation. Alistan filled her in on our frantic search and the discovery of the new menhir. Sofia seemed more annoyed than worried, shooing us away like pesky flies.   I tried to confront Alistan, but he brushed me off, leaving me feeling like a confused outsider in his own family drama. Hayley deduced that the hidden room was likely beneath the new menhir in the garden. Back in Sofia's room, we regrouped, the air thick with tension and unanswered questions. Elsa and Edward rejoined us, their faces etched with concern after witnessing our hurried departure.   Sofia returned to her room about ten minutes later and wasn't happy, to say the least. Apparently, barging into your mother's secret room while she's performing some kind of masked ritual isn't exactly considered polite behavior in the De la Roost household. She called it a "family secret" and demanded we keep it quiet.   Then came the bombshell. Turns out, the De la Roost family has been playing a dangerous game for generations. They made a deal with the fey hobgoblin king Ulther, pledging their service to his Neverhold kingdom.   Hayley, ever the sharp one, connected the dots. This explained why they destroyed those Immerglade border stones – following orders from their hobgoblin overlord. Sofia confirmed this, admitting she received the orders but remained clueless about the reason behind the destruction.   And the new menhir in the garden? Sofia revealed they had intentionally placed it there, moving it from the hidden chamber beneath the house after Alistan and Liliana left.   She tried to ease our worries, claiming it was all just "lip service," a few rituals here and there. Ulther, according to her, had "helped" them in the past, quelling a civil war in Keralon and ultimately boosting the De la Roost family to their current noble status.   But diary, I wasn't buying it for a second. "A few simple prayers" in exchange for a hobgoblin king's "help"? It sounded like a recipe for disaster. To make matters worse, we learned that Liliana, as the second-born, was promised to serve Ulther in the Feywild. This "deal" made generations ago was apparently dictating their lives.   Hayley and I were furious. Duty and honor were their excuses, but we saw it for what it truly was: a sacrifice of Liliana's freedom for their comfortable lives. We argued that she had a choice, that she could fight against this forced servitude.   But Liliana, to our utter disbelief, seemed nonchalant about it all. She even called it an "adventure," completely missing the severity of the situation. We argued that this was essentially selling her off for a fancy house, but our words seemed to fall on deaf ears.   Ileas, unsurprisingly, sided with his adoptive family, declaring it wasn't our place to interfere. Sofia, seemingly accustomed to such reactions, defended the deal, comparing it to any other service or religion. It was clear why she kept it hidden, fearing judgment. She even blamed Alistan for not being more careful.   As for Elsa and Edward, they had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal. They seemed to understand Sofia and Liliana's perspective, which left me a little confused, to be honest. While I can understand the whole "duty" thing that so many swear to, I can't condone this deal. Liliana being shipped off like a prize? Absolutely not!   Seeing this going nowhere, we left the confrontation. With a heavy heart, I couldn't stomach staying the night in their house any longer. But then Alistan, of all people, surprised me. He followed us and admitted he also disagreed with the deal, harboring a desire to break it, even if it took generations. He then privately pleaded with Hayley and me to research Ulther further, a request we readily agreed to.   So, diary, I'm now at the inn with Hayley and Gael, sharing a spare bed in their room. My head is spinning, filled with a cocktail of anger, confusion, and a burning desire to help Liliana, even if she doesn't want it. Alistan's secret dissent gives me a sliver of hope, but the weight of generations-old deals and deeply ingrained beliefs hangs heavy in the air.

Rosebloom's Bookworm
4th of Lugh, Year 121 of the Tree

Dear diary,   The first evening of the caravan was chill, no big drama, just some good old R&R. Remember that fancy dude we saved during the day, Robert Talespinner? Turns out, he's a bard, a storyteller extraordinaire! He was bummed he missed Tarn's festival, but hey, at least he's on his way back to Hillfield. Apparently, the Reinards tried to shake him down before Gael showed up, demanding a "road toll" (aka, highway robbery). Luckily for him, Gael saved the day (and his wallet).   That evening, Robert regaled us with some tales by the fire. But then the caravan folks wanted music, but Robert says singing isn't his forte. Enter Alistan and Liliana, our resident rockstars! Alistan stumbled a bit on his violin during their song, but Liliana's voice swooped in and saved the day.   Best part of the evening? No guard duty for us! Onvyr said we had earned a break after our earlier heroics. Even Elsa and Edward are giving my friends some serious props (and hanging around our fire, which is, uh, cool). We also discovered that first night that apparently their fancy carriage seats fold out into comfy beds – talk about jealousy! Meanwhile we were stuck with our lumpy bedrolls, while they got to sleep in luxury. I learned later that Robert offered Gael a spot in his carriage, but guess what? The goofball refused! Guess he prefers the hard ground over some comfy sleep. Whatever floats his boat, I guess.   We awoke early the next day (with fingers crossed with less near-death experiences this time!). We packed up and got ready to roll towards Hillfield. Speaking of early risers, when I woke up, I noticed that Robert the bard was already buzzing around, and Gael, who seems to strangely only need like four hours of shut-eye, was puzzling over who knows what.   Alistan then went to check on Elsa and Edward, see if they wanted to join our cart again. Edward was all in, but Elsa was still catching some Z's. Turns out, Elsa's internal clock runs on "sleep till 10 or 11" mode. Hayley, my ever-helpful sister, volunteered to keep her company while she slumbered in the carriage. Honestly, I almost offered myself, but, you know, chivalry and all that, wouldn't be proper being alone with a sleeping noble girl and all.   Anyway, Hayley didn’t escape her guard duty while in the carriage, using her awesome raven to scout ahead. Speaking of scouting, the weather that second day was a total bummer. Thick fog, everything's damp, and we were basically getting soaked just by walking around. Thankfully, there was no wind, but still, not exactly a picnic.   To combat the chill, I whipped out some magic – prestidigitation to stay dry and some heated stones in the cart for extra comfort. Still, missing the company of both Hayley and Elsa, who were probably snug and warm in their fancy carriage behind us.   The forest felt ...off. Like, seriously off. Every time I looked at those dense trees, I got a creepy vibe, almost like dread. It was different from the first day, and it reminded me of all the scary stories about the Lorewood. Spooky monsters lurking in the shadows waiting to steal away unsuspecting children. Maybe it's just the fog messing with my head, but I can't shake this feeling of unease.   I heard later from Hayley that when Elsa finally woke up, she was startled to find Hayley chilling in the carriage with her. Turns out, the girl loves her sleep, like, 12 hours every night, ever since she was a kid. Wild, right? Instead of bringing her out towards the rest of us; Hayley apparently doubled down that there's not much else to do in the caravan while we're traveling in the forest anyway. So, Elsa decided to ditch our cart in the morning of the second day because of the weather (boo!) and opted for a board game marathon with Hayley. Sounds like a pretty chill alternative, not gonna lie.   Lunchtime came later than usual, and we pulled our cart and our loyal steed Thorin back to the main caravan. They had a huge bonfire going, trying to ward off the mist and keep everyone warm. The carriage was close by, door open, and we could see Elsa and Hayley totally engrossed in their game. I offered to dry Alistan and Liliana with a bit of magic (gotta love being knowing magic!), and before I knew it, the whole caravan was lining up for a quick dry-off session. Talk about being popular!   The mood, though, was kinda gloomy during lunch on the second day. The weather really had everyone down. Everyone scarfed down their food like it was going out of style, and before I could even blink, we were back on the road again.   Alright, diary, hold onto your hat because the next part is where things got magical! That afternoon, I finally got to join Elsa again in her luxurious carriage. Talk about an upgrade! She had wine and a whole stack of books lined up for the journey, all about fairies and mystical creatures of the Lorewood.   Reading while spending time with Elsa? As a self-proclaimed book-loving wizard, this is basically hitting the jackpot! Apparently, the books belonged to her mom and were a parting gift – two dozen of them filled with fantastical stories! Elsa's mom must have been seriously into this stuff. Even though they're all set in the Lorewood, everything feels fictional – no real people or places. Makes you wonder what inspired them, right?   As evening approached, the temperature shifted dramatically. Within half an hour, the chilly air gave way to comfortable warmth, even though the sun had set. We were entering a valley filled with blooming flowers – bizarre, but beautiful! The warmth was welcome, but the humidity remained high. Elsa shed her cloak and opened a window, but the air inside soon felt stuffy. Even the guards were ditching their heavy winter cloaks, their mood visibly improving.   Then, as we climbed a hill, the sight that greeted us was straight out of a fairytale. We entered a tiny hamlet nestled amidst blooming trees and houses adorned with rose bushes. There, atop another hill, stood a magnificent white castle with lead-lined windows, colorful roofs, and spindly towers. My jaw practically hit the floor! I have heard about this place, Rosebloom. It is built around warm water vents, and the valley has its own microclimate, with plants blooming year-round and making it famous for its beauty. I always imagined it sounded like a perfect spot for a romantic date.   As we reached Rosebloom, Onvyr announced we'd be spending the night. Turns out, he had already made a deal with Hector, a local merchant. Talk about efficiency! My friends were tasked with heading into the village, and Elsa and I, tired of the stuffy carriage and curious about the fairy-tale castle, decided to join them.   The village was buzzing with life! People hung clothes, kids played tag, barbers trimmed hair – everything happened right on the streets. It was like stepping into a living storybook. The first house, the biggest one, had a sign that read "Hector's Wares." Realizing that this was our destination, we parked our cart and ventured inside.   The place was a treasure trove! Shelves overflowing with supplies, tools, and knick-knacks lined the walls. A young girl (Anna as we learned later), startled by our arrival, scurried to the back, yelling for her grandfather. A moment later, a warm smile greeted us. It was Hector and he instantly recognized us as the travelers from Tarn.   After some greetings and explanations about Onvyr's arrangements (hay and supplies for the horses, a spot on the village outskirts for our caravan), we settled in for a chat. Hector seems like a friendly sort, and the village exuded a sense of peace and warmth that melts away the Lorewood's earlier creepiness. But hold on to your hat, diary, because all is definitely not as it seems in Rosebloom!   Hector led us across the street, to a communal barn packed full of supplies for our caravan. We loaded the cart with the ale and veggies Onvyr ordered for our caravan – poor Thorin, he'll be feeling that burden for a while! The villagers were curious, their eyes clinging to us like we were exotic birds. It seems strangers are rare in this secluded haven.   Suddenly, the air crackled with excitement. The villagers started making preparations to throw together a party to welcome our caravan! While the guards stuck to their duties and Onvyr whipped up dinner, Hector mingled with everyone, his smile as warm as the village itself. His granddaughter, Anna, sat apart from the others, a bookish air about her. The party coming together nicely, and I soon realised that this another chance to try to get a dance from Elsa, after I missed the opportunity during the Lightwatch Festival   Suddenly, I felt a tug on my sleeve. It was Anna, standing shyly before me. "You're weird," she blurted out, her voice barely a whisper. Startled, I looked up to see Liliana explaining. "She means because you like books too," she chuckled. Liliana had hoped to introduce her to Hayley; but my darling sister had decided to go off exploring on her own (I learned later that she had gone with Dadroz and Gael to the nearby castle), so Liliana had brought Anna to the second-best bookworm option - me. I blinked, then smiled warmly. "Well, I do enjoy a good read, but I wouldn't call that weird, would you?"   I turned around in an attempt to draw Elsa into the conversation with Anna, but that proved futile – the damn bard Robert had whisked her away for a dance (too slow as always, Luke!), leaving me alone with the shy girl and Liliana. Sighing internally, I sat down with Anna, attempting some small talk.   Asking about her favorite book, I braced myself for some fairy tale or children's adventure. Instead, she brought out a massive tome on theoretical arcane runes – a hefty subject even for seasoned scholars, let alone a twelve-year-old. The book belonged to her grandfather and she had taken a keen interest. To my further surprise, she pointed out a mistake in the book, one that I had to look over twice before confirming that she was indeed correct. Then, she had optimized several magical runes, showcasing a depth of understanding that left me impressed.   We talked for hours, delving into complex concepts and theoretical applications. While she might lack natural magical talent, her intellect and analytical mind were undeniable. She could probably excel as a wizard, with proper training and practice. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked about her future. Did she dream of studying magic in Keralon? To my surprise, she expressed no desire to leave the village. Her family, she explained, consisted only of her grandfather. Her parents had passed away years ago, leaving only vague memories.   We spent the rest of the evening talking, our conversation flowing through books, magic, and her life in the secluded village. The longer we spoke, the more I saw a lonely intellect yearning for connection in the small girl. Maybe I saw a reflection of myself – a bookworm who, despite his friends, sometimes felt like an outsider.   While I spent most of the party engrossed in deep, arcane discussions with the brilliant Anna until her grandfather took her home for her bedtime (my chance with Elsa seemingly blown), the rest of the evening unfolded in interesting ways. Alistan indulged in the festivities, his laughter echoing through the night. He played music, drank, and even arm-wrestled the village guards, showcasing his impressive strength. But things took a turn when a grim-faced man named Anton, the Rosebloom's "best fighter," challenged Alistan to a competition. Alistan, confident in his abilities, easily won. However, suspicion arose, and accusations of cheating flew. Anton, playing both sides, manipulated the situation, and the villagers ultimately awarded him the victory. Alistan, frustrated but unwilling to escalate the situation, kept his anger simmering beneath the surface. Whispers revealed that Anton and his gang were known bullies, tolerated for their hunting prowess.   Adding another layer to the night, Hayley sent a late-evening message, informing me that they'd be spending the night at the castle. The news sparked a mix of curiosity and a pang of loneliness, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the present moment.   As the party dwindled and the night deepened, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease beneath the surface of Rosebloom's idyllic facade. The incident with Anton, the strange fairy tale castle that had captured my sister’s attention, and the far-too-intelligent-for-her-own-good Anna all hinted at something more complex than just an ordinary village.   Things got even weirder after we went to bed though. I dreamt about a boiling pool (perhaps the legendary Bloompool) and the smoke demons circling it. It felt so real. The warmth of the pool and the humidity seemed to invade my very being. Then, this icy chill crept up my back, and a mysterious woman's voice sang in Sylvan, leaving me totally clueless.   Waking up feeling like I'd just fallen into a magical washing machine, I discovered everyone else had the same dream. Talk about freaky! Dreams can be messages, right? So, naturally, I was freaking out, trying to decipher what this boiling pool business meant.   Before we could obsess over our collective nightmare, it was time to pack up and hit the road. Gael, Dadroz, and Hayley returned, and guess what? Gael had the same dream, but he understood the woman's song! He translated it for us: "“In shadows cast by twilight’s mourn, a town lies still, its fate forlorn. Whispers haunt its one dead street, where sorrow and despair entreat. Hollow windows, shattered panes, reflect the echoes of past refrains. Once bustling with life’s vibrant hum. Now silence reigns, a dirge begun." Creepy, right? Not exactly part of Rosebloom’s tourist brochure.   Suspicious, but with no time to investigate (gotta love deadlines!), I did a quick magic scan. Nothing suspicious, except for three magical auras emanating from some stuff Hector was carrying. Hmm, interesting.   Before we left, I saw Anna standing in the doorway, waving at Liliana and me. I waved back, feeling a pang of guilt. Maybe I could buy her some magic books in Keralon and ship them to Rosebloom? A small token for our bookworm bond.   And remember the comfortable warmth in the valley? Yeah, that vanished faster than my chances of scoring a date with Elsa (who had slept in again all morning...) the moment we left Rosebloom. Before long we were freezing again. It wasn’t until the afternoon that Elsa finally joined us again, warming my heart at least.   Speaking of marshmallows, tonight's gonna be a snoozefest! Onvyr decided it's our turn for guard duty, but guess who doesn't have to pull an all-nighter? Yours truly! Gael, the ever-so-chivalrous elf, volunteered for double duty, giving me the perfect excuse to recharge my magic (and get some much-needed shut-eye).   But guess what happened while I was dreaming of dragons and spells? Gael and Liliana, on their watch duty, saw a FREAKING GLOWING LIGHT in the woods! Turns out, it was an elf ghost lady (talk about creepy cool!), speaking Sylvan and calling them heroes. Apparently, she had something to show them, deeper in the forest, of course. Liliana, ever the thrill-seeker, was ready to follow like a lovesick puppy, but Gael, bless his cautious heart, held her back.   Things got tense. Ghost lady wouldn't reveal her name, just kept rambling about ruins and stuff. Liliana woke everyone up, practically bouncing with excitement. Hayley, the voice of reason , reminded us about guard duty and the dangers of night-time forest walks. Alistan argued for "adventure," while I, being me, was torn between the pretty ghost lady and the suspicious vibes.   Liliana, still obsessed with the ghost, almost went solo, but Alistan finally caved (probably picturing being lost with her in the woods). Gael and I, knowing this was probably a trap, tagged along to babysit and maybe, just maybe, see some cool ruins (gotta have my priorities straight, right?). Hayley stayed on watch, but sent her trusty raven to spy on us.   So we follow ghost lady number one into the creepy forest, and wouldn't you know it, there's a creepy abandoned house by a pond. Spooky vibes, anyone? Ghost lady starts zooming around a grave, and then BAM! Ghost lady number two emerges from the pond, looking all evil and ethereal. Turns out, she's got a major grudge against us and the other ghost. She started singing some creepy Sylvan song about jealous sisters and drowning, and poor Liliana suddenly felt like she was underwater, gasping for air! I tried to help with my magic, but this ghost was tough, like a magical brick wall.   Gael, the hero he is, fired his fancy new bow and arrow, hitting the target dead on. Liliana snapped out of it, but was still too shaken to fight back properly. The water spirit then tried to drown me too, but hey, magic ain't my only talent. I dodged her curse and blasted her with a spell, sending her ectoplasm bits flying back into the lake. Take that, you watery bully!   Liliana and Alistan, finally getting their bravery back, head to the first ghost lady. Turns out, she just wants to be buried with her hubby who's chilling in the grave. Kinda sad, actually. Liliana and Alistan, being the good guys they are, bury her bones, and poof! Ghost lady number one disappears, thanking them like a polite ghost should. Bonus points for them finding some gold coins in a nearby shack – score! We stumbled back to the caravan, exhausted but alive, and went to bed.   The fourth day started with a surprise snowball fight – Alistan, Liliana, and Edward turned into giggling kids pelting each other with snow. Elsa and I, being the mature ones, opted for some adorable mini-snow creature building. Imagine our tiny snowmen chilling in the cart, living their best frozen lives.   But then things got...weird. A haunting melody floated on the wind, carrying the same creepy vibes from that dream we all had. Elsa clung to me like a scared kitten, and even I felt a shiver down my spine. I tried to tap into my magic mojo, figure out what was coming. But before I could even complete the ritual, Hayley, ever the badass, jumped out of the cart and basically told any lurking spirits to get lost. Yup, that’s my sister.   Suddenly, a giant white wolf materialized from the snowstorm. Seriously, this thing was HUGE, with fur that looked like sculpted ice. The air crackled with hostility – it was clear we were unwelcome guests, and this wolf was the forest's bouncer, ready to throw us out. Panic mode activated! Dadroz and Gael tried to shoot arrows, but the cold had their hands shaking worse than a chihuahua in a blizzard - miss! Then, in a move that would make even the bravest knight wince, Edward charged forward, trying to shield us from the massive wolf. Seriously, dude, that was insane!   Hayley, ever the fearless one, launched a barrage of witchy curses, but the wolf just shrugged them off like they were snowflakes. Then, it roared and unleashed a blast of icy breath, zapping Dadroz, Alistan, and Gael with painful frostbite. Brrr! But this wasn't enough to stop our crew. Edward, in a burst of bravery, slashed the wolf, drawing red across its white fur. Even Elsa got in on the action, jumping off the cart and planting a kiss on Alistan's cheek, giving him a surge of courage (I’m not jealous - you are).   Liliana joined the fray, her sword finding purchase in the beast's flesh. Dadroz switched weapons, rapier flashing as he pierced the wolf's side. Meanwhile, Hayley unleashed a verbal assault the likes of which would make a dragon blush, calling the wolf a "failed walking bag of furs." Surprisingly, it worked! The wolf faltered, fear flickering in its eyes, and began to retreat. But we weren't letting it get away easily.   I sent tracking spells after the disappearing form, and a satisfying yelp echoed through the snow. We followed the sound and found the wolf lying dead, its reign of terror finally over. Turns out, it wasn't just any wolf, but a "winter wolf," infused with powerful cold magic. No wonder it was such a frosty foe!   As we examined the fallen beast, a sense of accomplishment mixed with relief washed over us. We weren't just scared travelers anymore; we were warriors who had faced a mythical creature and emerged victorious. Liliana and Gael even snagged some wolf teeth and claws as trophies (a little macabre, maybe, but hey, gotta remember the victory!).   Okay, diary, let's unpack that icy encounter and its aftermath! Alistan, all flustered and grateful, thanked Elsa for her "kiss of courage," claiming it "awakened something" in him (cue major eye-rolling from yours truly). Elsa, blushing hotter than a fireplace in winter, quickly clarified that it was just a magic trick she learned at a monastery last summer (yeah, right, girl!). Ugh, looks like my competition for Elsa's affections is back in full force.   Thankfully, the rest of the day was uneventful. We had our usual dinner, shared some stories around the campfire, and called it a night. But let's be real, the wolf fight was still buzzing in my head. Between that and my recent discovery of a twelve-year old girl that knew more about magic than I do, I realized I'd been slacking on my studies! Big time.   So, on the fifth day, while everyone else was off doing whatever, I decided to channel my inner bookworm and hit the magical textbooks. Turns out, all that studying paid off! I managed to work out two new spells – talk about a satisfying reward! Now, I just need to find some unsuspecting practice targets...   Speaking of targets, guess what? We're almost in Hillfield! I'm dying to see what this legendary city is all about. Maybe it'll have a library filled with spellbooks I haven't even dreamed of! Stay tuned, diary, because Hillfield is calling, and I'm ready to answer (with a magical flourish, of course).

Adventure Ahead!
1st of Lug, Year 121 of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The festival lingered on, and I found myself waiting for Terrin, despite his earlier disinterest. Guess hope is like a stubborn weed, huh? The Colline family retired for the night, taking Elsa's dazzling smile with them. Sigh. Another missed opportunity, or so my heart moans.   As the party continued, I noticed that Hayley sequestered herself, engrossed in identifying her magical dagger. She's always been content in her own company, lost in the magical mysteries that swirl around her. Someday I'll need to pry her away from her studies and make sure that she actually has some fun.   As midnight crept closer, guess who finally showed up? Yep, Terrin, the old hobgoblin hermit. The grown-ups barely acknowledged him, but we were signaled over like we were about to witness some secret society initiation.   Terrin, with his gnarled fingers and even gnarlier nails, started carving weird symbols on the table. The festival's noise faded away, replaced by this strange hush. It hit me then – maybe that's why no one ever hears what he says at midnight! Turns out, the old hobgoblin wasn't just rambling about the weather. He asked about the festival, if we were excited (I mean, duh, adventure!), and dropped a bomb: he wants us to go into the Bramble – some creepy tradition that's apparently equal parts awesome and dangerous. Cool, right?. He made us understand it was not an obligation, but a choice. But who would pass up a chance for an awesome first quest like that?   Then he gets all history buff on us, revealing that our village used to sit on top of this magical kingdom called the Immerglade, ruled by a queen no one remembers anymore. Sounds like the plot of a forgotten fantasy novel. Turns out, the Immerglade got totally crushed by its rival kingdom, the Neverhold – major bummer, right? But here's the twist: the Immerglade ain't completely gone. Magical echoes, whispers of forgotten spells, and ancient ruins still linger in the Bramble. Spooky, but also kinda awesome!   Terrin spills more tea about the Bramble, calling it a cursed zone (yikes!) left over from the ancient fairy kingdom war. Apparently, there's a tower in the heart of it all, hiding some super cool test inside. Solve it, and you get a prize – who doesn't love prizes? He even throws us a riddle on a piece of paper, all cryptic and stuff: 'Forward, Backward, upside down. Given time, same is the sound.' My brain went into overdrive trying to decode that mess. Riddle me this, riddle me that, gotta love cryptic old hobgoblins! Apparently, the whole tradition started with some elf sorceress who rolled through town when Terrin was a kid. She spouted a prophecy about whoever conquers the tower becoming the new ruler of the Immerglade.   So, our path leads straight through this cursed Bramble. Terrin warned us about the dangers, of course – weird stuff happening, people disappearing (yikes!), the last one vanishing like a bad memory twenty years ago. Not exactly the most reassuring pep talk, but hey, who needs boring safety briefings when you've got a shot at becoming the new ruler of a forgotten kingdom? This whole Bramble thing is starting to sound less like a festival tradition and more like a recipe for disaster. But hey, where's the adventure without a little risk?   It also turns out this whole Bramble quest needs to be under wraps. Otherwise it might attract all kinds of unsavory folk to our humble village. Plus, we only have until the caravan leaves tomorrow morning to make this happen – pressure's on!   Speaking of pressure, Terrin threw in two healer kits for Ileas and Gael, those poor guys who got roughed up by the Reynards. Luckily, Hayley and I are first-aid pros, so kit duty falls to us. Terrin scratched out the runes on the table, ending the weird silence thing. As he shuffled off, he threw me a weird look and muttered something about the staff (seriously, what's the deal with that thing? I wish I had had the time to have a proper look at it). He wished us luck on our travels and mentioned we might not see him again for ages, if ever. Kinda heavy, right? Felt like a proper goodbye.   With Terrin gone, we faced the Bramble looming in the Lorewood, just a short walk away. Man, was it ever overgrown! I could barely see a stone building peeking through the tangled mess.   We squeezed through a five-foot tall entrance, the brambles clawing at our clothes like hungry beasts. To light our way, I whipped up some dancing lights – four magical globes that flitted around us like fireflies on a sugar rush. Feeling like a total mage-knight, I also slapped on some mage armor, turning myself into a shimmering, mystical warrior.   The path snaked through the thick brambles, twisting and turning like a giant's forgotten shoelace. As we got closer, the brambles seemed to twitch, adding a creepy vibe to our already spooky adventure. Hayley, ever the clever one, sent her raven familiar soaring high above, scouting for danger like a feathered spy.   Finally, the brambles thinned out, revealing a ruined structure – the next stop on our mysterious quest. But just as we started to relax, the Bramble itself came alive! The twisted branches morphed into monstrous humanoid shapes, shadows come to life – Blights, Hayley called them. Talk about nightmare fuel!   Battle erupted faster than you can say "magic missile." The Blights attacked with a fury that sent shivers down my spine. Gael unleashed an arrow, followed by Dadroz, their shots echoing through the clearing. Hayley tried to confuse them with some fancy words, but the Blights were having none of it. Liliana, though, went full warrior princess, charging at one with her sword and cleaving it in two with a mighty swing. Like a boss!   I tried to hit one of the Blights in the back with a spell, but it just shrugged it off. Panic started to gnaw at me as one of the Blights snagged Liliana with its vine-like arms, squeezing her like a grape in a giant's hand. Alistan, her brother, tried to shield her, but the Blight had her firmly in its grip. Things were getting serious, fast. Ileas threw a dagger, and Gael landed another perfect shot, taking down another Blight. But Liliana was still struggling, her face contorted in pain. This was no time for heroics, we needed a plan… and fast!   Suddenly, like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart, a surge of determination ripped through us. I unleashed a blast of frostbite at the Blight squeezing Liliana, and Alistan followed up with a sword swing, shattering its hold. But the biggest Blight, enraged by our resistance, lashed out with its viney arms, wrapping all them in a tangled prison!   Just when I thought we were toast, Gael pulled a total hero move. He spotted a weak point on the monster and unleashed an arrow that struck true, taking it down instantly. Talk about clutch! In the chaos, Alistan and Liliana tumbled free from the plant clutches, shaken but (mostly) unharmed.   Hayley, remembering her earlier taunts, aimed a final verbal salvo at the remaining Blight, and to our surprise, it crumbled into dust like an insulted sandcastle. Turns out, sometimes words hurt more than arrows! We teamed up and the last one didn’t stand a chance, as we turned it into firewood.   The Bramble, once a creepy obstacle, had morphed into a full-blown battleground. We emerged victorious, but the fight left its mark, a chilling reminder of the hidden dangers lurking in this twisted forest.   And if that wasn't enough, a strange sight awaited us beyond the carnage. In the distance, a majestic deer with shimmering golden antlers observed us with unwavering eyes. Hayley identified it as a Cernunnon, a mythical fey creature. Even more surprising, Gael addressed the deer in Sylvan, the language of the fey! Turns out, the guy has hidden talents. The deer, with an air of ancient wisdom, replied that it was just watching.   We pushed deeper into the ruins, the looming tower drawing us closer. At its heart stood a giant menhir, like a giant grey finger pointing towards the sky. Four stones, each etched with a sun symbol, circled it, humming with magic. Elven runes glowed faintly on the ground, and the golden-carved stones pulsed with an otherworldly energy.   This was it, the test Terrin spoke of. Eager to prove myself, I reached for his staff, only to realize with a pang of regret that I hadn't bothered to learn its secrets. Rookie mistake, Luke!   Then, my clever sister Hayley caught the answer from the riddle: a palindrome, likely the "noon" symbol. We poked, prodded, and even whacked the symbol with the staff, but nothing happened. Epic fail.   Then a second shot of insight. Using my dancing lights, we cast a shadow of the menhir over the noon symbol. BAM! A flash of light, and suddenly a chest materialized out of thin air like a magic trick gone right.   Dadroz, ever the cautious one, searched for traps like a paranoid squirrel, but found nothing. No lock either, so he popped it open, revealing a treasure trove of smooth, round stones covered in runes. My magic senses tingled like crazy – these things were definitely enchanted, evoking magic like nobody's business.   Turns out, these stones weren't just pretty pebbles. They were magical communicators, letting us talk over long distances like some kind of high-tech messenger system. Pretty cool, right? But the best part? They're full of potential, waiting to be unlocked. Just another mystery to add to the pile.   Gael, the quiet guy with the mystical connection, decided to consult our mysterious deer friend, Sylvesse. In a language that sounded like elven opera (seriously, that deer can SING!), Sylvesse told us we could grab a stone each, but taking more would be, like, totally greedy. We each snagged a stone, and poof! The chest disappeared faster than a rabbit down a hole.   The stones in hand, we walked towards Sylvesse, the white deer, who spoke in Sylvan, a language I couldn't comprehend. Thankfully, Gael translated, introducing Sylvesse as his mentor, the one who imparted the wisdom of the forest.   Stones in hand, we approached Sylvesse, who launched into another round of Sylvan. Thankfully, Gael, the forest whisperer, translated. Turns out, Sylvesse was his mentor, the one who taught him all the cool forest stuff. In another melodic speech, Sylvesse congratulated us on beating the test and offered to tag along with the caravan, just in case things got dicey. Hayley, ever the thoughtful one, tied a stone to Sylvesse's golden antlers – like a magical thank-you note.   Sylvesse, with a magical moonbeam blast (seriously, this deer is cooler than I ever thought possible!), opened a temporary path through the Bramble, like a glowing escape tunnel. We sprinted through, the vines snapping at our heels like hungry crocodiles. Man, was I glad to be out of there!   With one last look back, I saw Sylvesse disappear into the forest depths. This Bramble adventure was definitely more than just fighting plant monsters. We even made a magical deer friend! Who knows what other crazy stuff awaits on our journey?   Back in the village, the festival vibes still lingered, although most folks had already packed it in and hit the road. Our friend’s parents, like guardian owls, were waiting for us, relief washing over their faces when we staggered out of the Bramble.   The adults swarmed us, eyes filled with questions about the mysterious test. Their congratulations felt different – heavier, like we'd officially graduated to "grown-up" status. Even the priest, bless his sarcastic soul, congratulated us and quipped that we should get some rest and avoid doing anything he wouldn't do (which, knowing him, was probably anything remotely fun).   Exhaustion tugged at me, but excitement buzzed louder. Tomorrow, we join the caravan and roll out towards Hillfield, then onto Keralon. A whole new chapter is about to unfold!   The morning sun found me already awake, bonding with Terrin's staff. Turns out, it wasn't just a fancy walking stick – it was a staff of everburning flame! Not only did it look cool, but it amplified my fire magic and could light up the darkest corners. Sweet! It was also then when I realized how foolish I had been the day before. The light from the staff could have been used to solve the puzzle in the tower. Terrin had practically given us the answer to the trial! Also I further cringed to myself when I remembered I had neglected to learn any fire spells whatsoever, limiting my use of the staff greatly for now. Do better, Luke!   Hayley, ever the practical witch, soon appeared, needing my help restocking our healing supplies. Together, we made a pretty awesome team: she foraging for herbs, me whipping up potent poultices. Gotta be prepared for anything on the road, right?   Prepping done, Hayley and I head to the caravan. Three massive wagons groan under their cargo, flanked by a ragtag crew of mercenaries – our protectors on this journey. Familiar faces from past travels grin at us, but a new one sticks out: an ancient elf, barking orders and directing the chaos.   We hopped onto our cart, Thorin our trusty horse at the lead, and stashed our stuff. But before we took off, curiosity about this stranger needed to be satisfied.   Approaching the elf, dude was laser-focused on his job, didn't even see us coming. Startled, he whipped around, eyes like daggers, and demanded to know who we were. Turns out, the grumpy elf was actually Onvyr, the head honcho of the caravan.   He quickly figured out we were the newbie travelers, and Liliana, ever the brave soul, offered our help. Onvyr, still gruff, checked us out, seeing our sword skills and magic potential. Turns out, he had a special mission for us – defending the caravan! We could either scout ahead or guard the rear.   Liliana and Gael, their adventurous spirits on fire, volunteered for scouting. They couldn't wait to be the first to see new cities and stuff. Our cart, now positioned at the front of the caravan, got handed a map by Onvyr. Ileas and Gael huddled over it, strategizing our route like mini-generals.   Just as we were about to roll out, Sheriff Edna came charging over, looking like she'd run a marathon. Turns out, she wanted to make sure we'd met Onvyr, the grumpy elf leading the caravan. (Seriously, that guy needs a smile lesson.)   Edna, mindful of her prior oversight, presented us with a cool reward for the task we completed before – a bow she'd gotten from a merchant. She was also super curious about the Bramble test, especially what we found in the chest. Dadroz mentioned the weird communication stones, but guess what? Edna got a whole quiver during her test years ago! Apparently, the Bramble likes to keep things fresh.   To be honest, Edna seemed kinda nostalgic as she told us about Hillfield, the big city we're heading to. All fancy buildings and markets, but apparently, it wasn't her cup of tea. Made her miss good old Tarn, that's for sure.   Since Gael's the archery pro, we decided the bow went to him. Then, with goodbyes echoing around us and Onvyr's grumpy yell signaling departure, we hopped onto our cart, leaving the familiar village behind. It's finally happening, diary!   Our excitement about leaving Tarn quickly sputtered out when reality set in: none of us had a clue how to drive a cart. Alistan, bless his soul, hopped off and became our makeshift horse whisperer, guiding Thorin by walking alongside him. Not exactly the glorious chariot ride I pictured, but hey, gotta start somewhere, right?   Speaking of starting somewhere, guess who wasn't with us? Elsa, the girl with the smile that could launch a thousand ships (or at least a thousand butterflies in my stomach), was chilling in her fancy private carriage, way behind us. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.   Disappointment stung, but I pushed it aside. Adventure awaited! Our five-day journey to Hillfield began with a blast of chilly air. Luckily, the sun decided to pity us and peeked through the clouds, offering a weak attempt at warmth.   Despite the weather, a sense of freedom buzzed through our little group. No parents, no chores, just the open road and endless possibilities. Hayley, ever the strategist, sent her trusted raven Fiachna on recon duty, soaring high above the caravan. And keeping her promise, Sylvesse, the magical deer, trotted along in the far distance deep in the forest, a reassuring guardian spirit against the vast landscape.   Around noon, a burly mercenary dude signaled lunch break. We were about to dig into our supplies when Edward, the noble boy who probably got tired of his fancy carriage, sauntered over. Gael extended a warm invitation, and together, we made our way towards lunch.   Turns out, Edward didn't seem too worried about leaving his sister behind and her sleeping in half the day. He casually mentioned Elsa needed a wake-up call. Sensing a chance to chat with my crush (thanks for the subtle push, sis!), I grabbed some food and hot tea before heading towards her fancy carriage.   My heart did a little flip when I saw her curled up under a blanket, looking all peaceful and stuff. One gentle "Elsa, wake up!" later, she was stirring, lured by the promise of lunch. Feeling adventurous (and maybe a little cold), she asked if we could take a walk before eating. I was more than happy to oblige, secretly enjoying the warmth of her arm brushing against mine.   Lost in the glow of her company, we talked about anything and everything, just basking in each other's presence. Time flew by – Alistan's signal to get back to the cart went completely ignored. We shared laughs, stories, and maybe even a stolen glance or two. Back at the lunch break, we joined everyone else, filling them in on our walk.   Meanwhile, the others were hanging out with Edward, having their own conversations. As lunch started to wrap up, Edward announced he was ditching the boring carriage and joining the front cart. But before he could leave, I had a question: "What about Elsa?"   Turns out, she was just as over the carriage as Edward was. So, with a bright smile, Elsa declared she was joining our group too! She grabbed a thick coat and joined me in the back of our cart.   Just as we settled back into our rhythm, drama struck. The mercenaries, grumpy about their assigned duties, complained to Edward. They argued they couldn't protect both nobles if Edward insisted on riding ahead. Edward, being the noble he is, pulled rank and ordered them to stand down. To help calm the tension, I made a vow to protect Elsa with my life right then and there: she was safe with me.   The afternoon rolled on, and guess what? Edward and Alistan became best buds, bonding over their love for swords and fighting. They were practically BFFs, leaving me to watch Alistan completely ignore Elsa. Frustration gnawed at me – here's this amazing girl, and he couldn't care less? Even though we both liked her, I couldn't help but feel annoyed by his rude dismissal of the girl.   But then, just as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the land, Gael's sharp eyes caught a plume of smoke in the distance. A camp. Dadroz and Liliana, ever the responsible ones, went to report the sighting, while Gael, ever the fearless one, volunteered to scout ahead.   Gael, bless his adventurous spirit, stumbled upon a creepy camp of Reinards arguing with a lone human in a very fancy hat. Turns out, the Reinards weren't exactly offering tea and cookies – they were trying to rob the dude blind. Gael, being the hero he is, intervened, and let's just say the Reinards weren't happy about it.   Hayley's awesome raven spotted the whole thing and sent us a quick heads-up. Without missing a beat, Edward, Hayley, Ileas, and Alistan raced off to help Gael, leaving me with Elsa. Not ideal, but someone had to keep her safe, right?   Worried about the Reinards and Elsa's well-being, I asked her permission to cast a protection spell. She totally understood, and with that, I gave her a magical shield against any danger lurking nearby.   Later, my sister and Edward filled me in on the epic fight. Apparently, it was a close call, filled with danger and bravery (mostly on their part, since I was busy guarding Elsa). They described how the Reinards, obsessed with gold, attacked the defenseless human, and how Gael got seriously hurt by an arrow. Things were looking bleak, but then Sylvesse, the ethereal white deer and Gael's mentor, emerged from the forest, charging at the Reinards with righteous fury. In a united front, Ileas, Edward, Hayley, and Alistan battled against the remaining Reynards, their collective strength prevailing over the menace. As the final blows were struck, the threat was extinguished, and they emerged victorious. By the time we arrived at the scene, Sylvesse had slipped back into the shadows of the forest.   Robert Talespinner, a bard with a voice like honey, emerged from his cart, showering Gael with thanks for rescuing him from the Reinards. Turns out, the fancy hatted dude was a traveling musician, heading to Hillfield to share his musical magic.   Liliana, ever the healer, moved through the group, her divine light soothing wounds and bruises, leaving a trail of relief in her wake. Even the gruff Onvyr, our caravan leader, stopped by, inquiring about the fight. He wasn't known for compliments, but a grudging "good job" from him was practically a medal of honor.   Night settled in, and Onvyr decided to set up camp right there, a safe haven after the day's excitement. The weary travelers, glad to be alive, settled into their familiar routines.   Alistan and Edward, always up for a good show (and maybe a little competition), started bragging about their fighting skills. Despite their rivalry, they agreed to a friendly spar later that evening – a chance to test their mettle without any angry Reinards around.   As the campfires crackled to life, casting a warm glow on our faces, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of something beyond relief. We'd faced danger together, emerged stronger, and the shared experience seemed to lighten the air between us. My gaze drifted towards Elsa, bathed in the firelight, a faint smile playing on her lips. Perhaps, amidst the chaos of the encounter, an opportunity had arisen. The embers of the day's tension had faded, replaced by a spark of connection. Even though adventure continued to beckon on the horizon, my heart held a glimmer of hope that this journey might bring me closer to her, too. Stay tuned, diary, for whispers of romance amidst the roar of adventure!

Elsa

Beneath the moonlit sky, a tale of heart unfolds, Where courage blooms and love's sweet banner bold, Unfurls for thee, fair Elsa, noble grace, A wizard's heart, enchanted by your face.   Though spells I weave and magic I command, No sorcery can match your gentle hand, That soothes the wounded, lifts the weary soul, More precious far than any magic scroll.   Your laughter rings, a melody divine, That sets my spirit free, its light entwines With every star that paints the velvet night, Guiding my steps towards your radiant light.   Like knights of old, who pledged their valiant vow, To damsels fair, with hearts that bravely bow, I offer thee my loyalty and truth, To shield you from all harm, in tender youth.   Though miles may stretch, and dangers may arise, My love, a constant flame, within me lies. For you, dear Elsa, I would face the unknown, And conquer every fear, to claim your heart as my own.   So let us dance beneath the moon's soft gaze, And weave a tapestry of love's sweet daze. For in your eyes, my destiny I see, A love eternal, meant for you and me.

A Festival of Foxes and Frolics
30th of Dagda, Year 121, Era of the tree

Lightwatch Festival!   The air crackles with the promise of adventure, romance, and of course, a smidge of intrigue. Tomorrow, Tarn will fade into a distant memory, replaced by the vast, untamed world beyond. But before we embark on our epic quest, tradition dictates a grand send-off in the bustling main square. But first we have to help out through the town. Chores and errands, bleh – hardly the thrilling start I envisioned. Still, any excuse to ditch the stifling house and mingle is better than none.   The Coldperch Inn buzzed with pre-dawn activity. Talk about eager beavers! Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas seemed practically bursting with sunrise enthusiasm. Too early for this wizard, I say. As the wise texts proclaim, a true mage arrives precisely when needed, neither a second early nor a minute late. Thankfully, Hayley, Dadroz, Gael, and I strolled in at the appropriate hour, just as the scent of fresh pastries wafted from the kitchen. I was kinda hoping to see Elsa Collins, the noble girl. But, as expected, she doesn't do peasant stuff. Nobles, right?   Edna Fare, the new-ish sheriff, then graced us with her presence. Talk about badass! Defended against a whole centaur raid, she did, and landed herself the job. Apparently, the last sheriff wasn't so lucky in that same raid, Dad mentioned. Edna's cool and all, but I gotta say, she kinda spooks the old man. She's got this laser focus, like her brain's permanently locked onto some critical mission. Maybe it's the whole sheriff thing, but sometimes I swear she could stare through walls.   I guess the day started okay, but I can't shake off this weird feeling. Maybe it's just the nerves about leaving with the caravan tomorrow. Or maybe it's just Dad. We hardly talk, and when we do, it's not great. At least I've got Hayley, my sister extraordinaire. Quips sharper than a goblin's knife and always got my back. Seriously, where would I be without her? Probably lost in a forest of social blunders, that's where.   So, after Edna gave us the talk about what the plan was today, we need to go from house to house and ask for any chores that need to be done. And she also gave us our first task – go to the old watermill and get rid of those pesky rabbit snares set by those illegal trappers. I thought it was a bit odd but figured we should help out. Before we left, Jeb Tofree called us over. He's a chicken farmer, and he asked if we could swing by his place last since he'd be gone all day. Seemed fair, so we agreed.   When we finally got to the old mill, we found those snares like Edna said. One of them caught a poor rabbit. It looked scared and hurt. Dadroz and Gael, the resident animal whisperers, calmed the rabbit down while Hayley, with her healer hands, tried to mend its wounds. Sadly, it wasn't looking good. We set the little guy free, hoping it wouldn't become another forest statistic. Nature, man, it's brutal sometimes.   Rabbit rescue complete, we shuffled back to the Coldperch Inn. Patt, the innkeeper, asked us for a favor. We had to carry out chairs and tables for the big festival tonight. He's expecting around 400 people. An hour of sweat and grunts later, we were rewarded with... a weird urn full of corks? Dadroz, ever the curious one, popped a cork and poured water out. The whole thing felt off, like this urn held more secrets than a grandma's recipe box.   Next stop: New Light's church, where Father Ellis Brightspin, a gnome who looked like he could sweep you off your feet with a whisk, was busy, well, sweeping. He needed our help crafting a new Worldtree display for the church. Apparently, we were tree-fetching champions now. Gael, the ox whisperer, took the reins (literally), while Ellis hopped along for the ride.   So, picture this: we're cruising down the road, sun glinting off Gael's ox-charming skills, when BAM! A rogue fox ninja flips across the path, nearly giving the poor beasts a heart attack. Gael, ever the animal whisperer, soothes their moo-ses like a lullaby, and we snag our fallen tree trophy. Back at the church, Father Ellis (think Mary Poppins with a dusting wand) promises a master woodcarver will turn it into something epic. As a reward, he whips out three potions – what kind of adventure is complete without mystery elixirs?   The village was buzzing with activity as it neared noon. We took on small tasks from the villagers, like moving furniture or babysitting. Then, we headed towards the market house, a permanent market where farmers sell their goods. It was super busy, but there were no artisans today, no blacksmiths or carpenters.   When we entered, there was a small applause. The farmers had a special task for us. Cue the warehouse of doom – a symphony of putrid smells that could knock out a dragon. Ileas, bless his nose, turns green faster than a chameleon on a lime tree. But hey, that's where my magic comes in handy! A quick scent-removing spell later, and Ileas is breathing (and thanking) again. Magic, gotta love it, especially when it tackles fruit-gone-bad.   Enter Hayley, our resident foodie, armed with enough bread and fruit to feed a small army. Girl knows priorities – gotta be fuelled for the epic festival feast tonight! As we escape the warehouse, the farmers shower us with the ultimate prize: a cart and a horse! We christen him Thorin, after some legendary hero – gotta give our new steed a name worthy of its future adventures.   Suddenly, we're transported to the Tarnfolk Windmill, where Varr, the half-elf Adonis with abs that could shame a washboard, is loading flour shirtless (because why wear one, right?). Naturally, the girls around are having a collective heart attack, and let's be honest, a part of me wouldn't mind trading places. But hey, gotta channel that jealousy into something productive, right?   Turns out, this charming (yet slightly exhibitionist) dude has a task for us – a doozy so tough, no one's cracked it yet. Apparently, there's a secret passage in the mill's basement connecting it to the Old Keep and the Inn, lost to time like a misplaced sock. We tried using Detect Magic, but it didn't work. We even used smoke from some grass, but still couldn't find anything. Varr was impressed with our efforts, though, and he gave us trail rations as a reward for about 10 days. Not bad!   We headed to Terrin's Cabin, the old hobgoblin's place. He was sitting outside, skinning a deer. It was a bit grim, but that's how things are around here. Terrin gave Hayley a parchment with a task for the day – picking herbs in the forest. Hayley said the forest near the village is safe, as long as we don't wander too deep.   We finished up the task and brought the herbs back to Terrin. As a reward, Hayley got a dagger – wooden hilt wrapped in leather, with a stone blade engraved with some runes. I got a knotted branch, roots at the top with a polished rock and a single rune. Very cool! However Terrin's about as grumpy as a troll with a toothache, muttering about skipping the festival. Talk about a buzzkill! The highlight of the night was supposed to be his secret tradition with the youngsters, and now it's hanging in the balance? Ugh, the drama!   Just as the day's chores start to feel like a never-ending to-do list, we find ourselves at Ashlyne's Honey Farm. The place is eerily quiet, with empty patches of wildflowers mocking the winter's barren grip. Ashlyne, the dwarven farmer new to Tarn, seems genuinely surprised to see us, task-hungry on the eve of our departure. But even surprise doesn't stop her from throwing a curveball – feeding the slumbering bees in the winter warehouse with sugary beet water. Bees, you say? In this weather? The air crackles with anticipation, and Alistan's valiant attempt to channel his inner beekeeper with a mismatched suit only adds to the comedic relief. Thankfully, Gael's calm demeanor (and lack of allergic reactions) saves the day.   Leaving the warehouse with buzzing ears, we head towards the chicken farm, expecting Jeb Tofree's usual chores. But instead of clucking chickens and Jeb's booming laughter, we're met with a cacophony of panicked squawks and frantic flapping. Foxes, several of them, are causing absolute chaos, ripping through the coop like feathered fiends possessed. This shouldn't be happening – shouldn't Corkscrew, the trusty pseudodragon, be guarding the place?   The fight scene unfolds like a chaotic ballet. Dadroz's arrows fly, Gael joins the fray, Ileas's attempt at fox-charming backfires spectacularly, Alistan becomes a valiant chicken defender, and Hayley unleashes her magical curses. Even I get in on the action, raining down magic missiles like a miniature mage-god. Thankfully, Gael delivers the final blow, knocking out the last fox.   But the relief is short-lived. Hayley's confirmation of rabies sends shivers down our spines. Liliane's healing touch might save the fox, but it can't erase the fear. Then, the discovery: a broken door, a ransacked kitchen, and Jeb, our friendly chicken farmer, lying unconscious on the floor. He mumbles about his missing pseudodragon, Corkscrew. The pieces start falling into place, painting a picture of a sinister attack and a missing protector.   Jeb told us that he came home and found intruders, or Reynards as he called them (a type of gnoll that looks like foxes), trying to kidnap Corkscrew. Gael and Ileas found tracks for 3-4 Reynards heading into the woods.   We plunge into the foreboding Lorewood, shadows dancing and tension thicker than winter stew. Thirty minutes later, bam! Our quarry - a crackling campfire illuminating four Reynard fiends and a bound Corkscrew. But Ileas, bless his stealthy heart, forgets the ninja handbook Rule #1: don't be seen! Cue the fight!   Hayley unleashes her verbal fury, cursing two of the beasts, while I unleash my magic, setting the Reynards on edge. Chaos breaks loose like a piñata filled with rabid squirrels. Ileas takes a nasty hit, teetering on the edge of oblivion, but Liliane's potion yanks him back from the brink. It's a dance of steel and spells, arrows whizzing past like angry bees.   Dadroz, the silent assassin, flanks the Reynards, freeing Corkscrew, who promptly joins the brawl with the fury of a miniature dragon with a chip on its shoulder. Alistan takes a nasty swipe, Hayley taunts with her razor-sharp wit (turns out Reynards have mommy issues too!), and Gael gets tagged by an arrow. The fight's a whirlwind of missed swings, lucky dodges, and the satisfying clang of steel meeting fur.   Finally, with a well-placed Frostbite, I send the last Reynard packing to join its furry ancestors. We ransack their camp, finding nothing but scraps and a measly 20 silver. But the bad feeling in my gut grows heavier than a troll's toenail clippings. Something's rotten in the Lorewood, and it stinks worse than a swamp troll's armpit after a week-long fast. This attack wasn't about treasure, diary. It was about something bigger, something sinister lurking in the shadows. Buckle up, because tomorrow's festival might be less about feasting and more about facing whatever darkness awaits in the heart of the forest...   The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues as we stumbled back into the village. Jeb, the frazzled farmer, and Sheriff Edna, all stern brows and crossed arms, were waiting. Edna's lecture about reckless heroics stung, but her begrudging congratulations warmed the cockles of our hearts. Reuniting Corkscrew with Jeb was pure joy, punctuated by the clink of 200 gold coins – way more than we expected, leaving us feeling both grateful and vaguely guilty.   Gael needed patching up, so we whisked him to the church for a healing touch. Alistan, ever the charmer, vanished towards the river, no doubt prepping his best festival face. The lively tunes of Hillfield musicians filled the air as we entered the bustling square, setting the mood for revelry. My eyes instinctively scanned the crowd, and there she was – Elsa, bathed in the warm glow of twilight, as dazzling as the stars I longed to reach. A goofy grin stretched across my face, momentarily erasing the shadows of the Reynard encounter.   Suddenly, worried parents swarmed us. For Hayley and me, it was our aunt, Dad opting out of the festivities like a grumpy hermit. The aroma of free food tantalized our senses, and Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas bravely took the stage for an impromptu performance. It was okay I suppose, and the cheering crowd proved their enthusiasm.   The festival roared to life around me, a symphony of music, laughter, and the irresistible aroma of grilled boar. Tonight, under the twinkling canopy of stars, I planned to conquer my own Everest: getting closer to Elsa. Just the thought sent a nervous flutter through my stomach, as exhilarating as it was terrifying.   But before I could embark on my heart's quest, there he was – Alistan, with the same starry-eyed look fixated on Elsa as my own. Now, normally, I wouldn't be one to back down from a friendly competition, but the thought of a night filled with awkward silences and Elsa caught between two bumbling suitors wasn't exactly appealing.   A mischievous glint sparked in my eye. What if… instead of battling, we combined forces? A unified front, two charming heroes instead of one. Alistan, bless his valiant heart, bought it hook, line, and sinker. Together, we marched towards the noble table, our recent pseudodragon-saving exploits our not-so-subtle icebreaker.   While Lord Collin boomed his praise for our Reynard escapade, the normally rather reserved Alistan, stunned me as he turned to ask Elsa to dance. A quick glance from Lord Collin confirmed a silent approval - after all, Alistan's minor nobility held some sway, something I still lack.   I considered a discreet retreat, but Lady Collin, Elsa’s mother, a woman with eyes as sharp as a hawk, swooped in before I could vanish. "Care for a dance, young sir?" she proposed, her voice laced with amusement. While I wouldn't claim complete composure, I tried rising to the challenge. The dance with Lady Collin, unexpected as it was, proved surprisingly delightful. A welcome distraction, perhaps, from the image of Elsa twirling in Alistan's arms.   Yet, amidst the twirls and smiles, a steely resolve solidified within me. This may have been Alistan's dance for now, but the war for Elsa's heart had just begun. This wasn't a mere waltz, but a game of cunning and passion, and I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve. The battlefield of love awaited, and I, armed with wit and charm, am more than ready to claim victory. Let the games truly begin.

A test of magic
24th of Aran, Y126 Year of the Tree

Dear Diary,   The next thing I knew, I awoke in my room at Wolf’s Rest with my head pounding with the worst headache. The events of the past few days swam just out of reach – the Feywild, the monstrous creatures, the perilous journey. I vaguely remembered the tower, a majestic structure that loomed over the landscape. I also remembered a fey queen, a deal with Lady Vivienne, perhaps even two. And Gael… Gael had somehow stumbled himself into a live-in girlfriend.   The comfort of my own bed was a welcome relief. The treacherous journey through the Lorewood, the encounters with the undead Cornu, the constant fear of the unknown – it all seemed like a distant memory. I was home, safe within the walls of Wolf's Rest. I took a few deep breaths and then joined my companions in the kitchen downstairs.   As we enjoyed a hearty breakfast, we noticed a message left by the guards on the kitchen table. A summons from the Academy! The headmaster had finally responded to my request for a trial. I was to report to the Hall of Conjuration immediately. I was allowed to bring hirelings to aid me in my upcoming tasks.   So I "hired" my friends, of course, offering them a round of ale in exchange for their assistance. We arrived at the Academy, the familiar halls filling me with a mixture of dread and anticipation. A note on the door of the Hall of Conjuration indicated that classes had been moved for the day, likely to free up the use of the room for whatever strange test the Academy had come up with for me.   After we entered, an assistant with a bored expression led us to the table. Eight items lay before us: a sword, a shield, a skull, a crystal ball, an iron pentagram, a mirror, a strange looking scale, and a flute. The task, he explained, was to identify the item that was different from the others. My friends and I debated the matter. Each item, we realized, represented a school of magic: Evocation (sword), Abjuration (shield), Necromancy (skull), Divination (crystal ball), Conjuration (pentagram), Illusion (mirror), Transmutation (scale), and Enchantment (flute). Yet, each item belonged to its respective school.   Hayley, her mind sharper than ever, pointed towards the table itself. "The table," she declared. "It doesn't belong to a school of magic."   The assistant, visibly surprised, confirmed that we were correct. I shook my head, muttering under my breath, "This is exactly the kind of nonsense I expected from the academy."   The assistant led us to the next phase of the trial. A small room, dominated by a shimmering teleportation circle, awaited us. The assistant activated the circle, and in an instant, we were transported to a new location. We found ourselves in a circular chamber, the air thick with the scent of ozone. The assistant stated that we were simply to escape from the room. With a curt nod, he then stepped back through the portal, the portal closing behind him.   A narrow corridor led deeper into the chamber. Dadroz volunteered to scout ahead, his senses alert for any hidden traps. He returned, his expression grave. The ground, he reported, vibrated with an unsettling energy. We cautiously entered the next chamber, a large room dominated by four statues, each representing an element: fire, water, air, and earth. As we approached, an earth elemental, a grotesque amalgamation of rock and muscle, emerged from the ground. Its eyes filled with rage as it turned towards us. The trial had begun.   The earth elemental charged towards us. Gael, unleashed a volley of arrows, but they bounced harmlessly off the creature's rocky hide. I, caught off guard, was engulfed in a torrent of flames. A fire elemental, a creature of pure energy, had joined the fray. I struggled to absorb the flames, my magic disrupted by the sudden onslaught. Alistan, with a swift movement, pulled me away from the inferno, shielding me from the worst of the heat. An air elemental then snatched me up, hurling me across the room.I struck the ground with a sickening thud, the world fading to black.   It seemed like the elementals had a particular focus on me, likely at the direction of the instructors of the academy. I wouldn’t be surprised if this entire test was a way to get rid of me as I have been a blemish on their record from the day I first came here. None of the teachers had ever taken a liking to me, and my fellow students had always seen me more as an outsider at best, or a target for vicious mockery at worst. It was only thanks to Emily that I probably made it through the first few weeks, and of course that didn’t end well either once the tournament rolled around.   I had been worried to return here, to confront what had transpired here. I didn’t want to relive the memories, the torments and dismissals. Even the moments of escape with Emily have now been twisted in my mind, and I can only think back at them with sadness. And as I lay there, bleeding out in the middle of a room being battered on all sides by the forces of elements that I aimed to claim as my own, I wondered if they hadn’t all been right. Perhaps I wasn’t worthy of calling myself as a mage. Maybe I was just a kid from Tarn with illusions of grandeur. For all my hubris, this test seemed to be proving too much for me. The elementals easily overwhelmed my defences, every inch of magic and fate manipulation hadn’t been enough to stop them.   But of course, unlikely the first time I had come to the Academy, this time I wasn’t alone.   I awoke with a start and Fiachna, my sister's faithful raven, pecking at my face. My sister, her face etched with concern, had directed the raven to heal my wounds. I scrambled to my feet as my senses were reeling. The battle had raged on while I had been unconscious. The water and fire elementals, weakened by my friends’ attacks, lay defeated. I attempted to use my limited necromantic magic on the air and earth elementals, but my spells had little effect. They had some kind of built-in resistance that could only be overcome with the right kind of elemental magic. Another little surprise by the instructors, given that they knew full well that other than fire magic, my elemental repertoire was very limited.   Hayley, her voice urgent, shouted, "Go! Investigate! See if you can find something to use against them!" Then she teleported me into a side chamber. Amidst the debris, I discovered a cluster of strange flowers, their petals dripping with a viscous, acidic fluid. I quickly collected some of the acid in a small vial.   Returning to the main chamber, I found myself face-to-face with the air elemental. It unleashed a torrent of wind, its attacks swift and unpredictable. I dodged the onslaught, my magic a shield against the elemental's fury. Remembering the acidic fluid, I hurled it at the air elemental. The acid, eating away at its magical protection, weakened the creature significantly. Gael, seizing the opportunity, unleashed a barrage of arrows, finally bringing the creature down.   Meanwhile, Liliana had transformed the earth elemental into a small, helpless turtle. We found a small chamber, its walls vibrating with a constant hum. Placing the turtle within the chamber, we watched as the thundering magic crashed into the small creature, tearing away the magical protection that had remained even in this form. But that was also the end of the transformation spell as it returned to its massive earth elemental form. The creature with its magical protection finally succumbed to our combined assault and its form dissolved into dust.   As we surveyed the fallen elementals, a peculiar detail caught our eye. A gem, shimmering with an otherworldly light, had materialized from each fallen creature. We surmised that these gems, imbued with the essence of the elementals, held the key to unlocking the secrets of the chamber.   We returned to the first chamber, placing the gems in their respective positions: fire in the brazier, water in the fountain, air in the sail, and earth in the planter. The chamber, once dormant, now hummed with energy. The gate, previously inactive, shimmered to life.   We passed through the gate. The assistant was there waiting for us and took us straight to the headmaster. His expression, a mixture of surprise and annoyance, revealed his initial skepticism. "You passed," he acknowledged, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. He pointedly remarked on the assistance I had received from my friends.   As a reward, he presented me with a small box. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay my degree, a testament to my newfound status as a Mage of Keralon. However, the headmaster quickly dampened my enthusiasm. "A common occurrence," he muttered, dismissing my achievement with a wave of his hand. "Many graduate each year." He granted me access to the library, a privilege I had long awaited.   With a dismissive wave, the headmaster urged us to leave. Alistan and Liliana, ever the pranksters, picked me up and carried me out of the office, their laughter echoing through the halls. Despite the headmaster's less than enthusiastic endorsement, I was elated. My journey had just begun.   Later that day, I found myself immersed in the vast expanse of the library, eager to explore the hidden knowledge that awaited. The future, once uncertain, now held the promise of endless possibilities.
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Irminsul
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Chevaliersf
Publication Date
24 Jan, 2024
Creation Date
24 Jan, 2024
Last Update Date
30 Jan, 2024
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