Session 28

The portal opened onto a forest glade, some miles south of a jagged mountain range that clawed at the northern horizon. Towering trees encircled the clearing, their thick trunks alive with the murmurs and rustles of the wild. Overhead stretched a clear blue sky, and the breeze carried a crisp chill – perhaps drifting down from the snow-capped peaks.

Birds wheeled gracefully across the gap above, while butterflies and bees flitted tirelessly from bloom to bloom, weaving the air with their labour. After the perpetual fog of Eberron, the oppressive gloom of Barovia, and the choking dust of Tovag, Krynn’s gentle beauty was, so far, a welcome delight.

“Give me ten minutes to link us telepathically,” Ebyn said as soon as it was clear they were in no immediate danger.

Seknafret lifted herself above the trees, her power carrying her steadily through the thick canopy until she broke into open sky. From that vantage, the forest stretched endlessly in every direction – save the north, where jagged mountains rose like a wall against the horizon.

To the northwest, her eyes caught on a singular marvel: an enormous tree, its vast canopy towering above even the tallest trunks around it. That had to be the Peylon Tree.

“I see it,” she called down to the others waiting in the clearing below. “A massive tree, far larger than anything else nearby, a few miles to the northwest. I suspect that is where we must go.”

With a final glance at the magnificent tree, she reversed her ascent, drifting back down through the branches until her feet touched back onto the forest floor.

“It’ll be hard going through this forest,” Brabara said, hefting her glaive like an axe. “Don’t suppose you spotted a road nearby?”

Seknafret shook her head. “Just trees.”

Brabara tilted her head to the left, and then to the right, stretching her neck muscles before rolling her shoulders and striding forward. “Let’s get moving then.”

The group pushed through the thick undergrowth. As Brabara had warned, progress was painfully slow, further hindered by the need to halt every hour so Ebyn could renew their telepathic bond.

They relied on Hoot to confirm their course, and after three hours of trudging they judged themselves halfway to their destination. The massive tree loomed ever larger, and now, only a mile away, its sickness was plain: several branches stood bare, and others were shedding leaves in unsettling patches.

Another half hour brought them to a startling scene. A small knot of warriors in light armour, shields emblazoned with a blue flame, fought desperately to protect a handful of children. Their attackers were dragonborn – yet different, alien versions unlike any the group had seen. Their scales gleamed in unnatural hues, some bore wings, and others towered with monstrous size beyond any known dragonborn.

The clash was fierce, but eerily silent. No sound carried from the battle – no ring of steel, no roar of pain – only the sight of claws raking, weapons striking, and mouths opening in voiceless cries.

Brabara surged forward at the sight of the children, but a winged dragonborn swooped from the treetops to block her path. She met it with her glaive, while the others spread out, loosing arrows and spells into the fray.

One warrior felled a black-scaled dragonborn, only to watch in horror as the creature stiffened, turned to stone, and then shattered sending stone flying in every direction. Shards tore into his flesh, dropping him where he stood.

Ebyn’s gaze fixed on the terrified children huddled behind their faltering defenders. With a swift incantation, he conjured a shimmering wall of force, surrounding them in a protective barrier.

Another attacker fell – a green-scaled monstrosity – and, like the others, it exploded. This time the blast drenched nearby warriors in a spray of acid. Killing these creatures carried consequences.

Seknafret hesitated only a moment before unleashing her eldritch blasts at the largest of the winged dragonborn. The force hurled it back twenty feet, giving Xalen the opening he needed. His arrows struck true, and the creature burst apart, but thanks to Seknafret’s intervention, the explosion harmed no one.

Another winged beast swooped from the treetops, aiming for the children, but Ebyn’s wall of force barred its path. It shrieked in frustration, though the silence blanketing the battlefield swallowed the sound.

The defenders fell one by one, until only the children – sheltered by the barrier – and the party remained. Seizing the moment, Ebyn hurled a fireball into the tightly packed attackers. The conflagration consumed a dozen, leaving only a few survivors. One stood out: black-scaled, edged with gold highlights, its sharp teeth bared as it smothered burning clothes.

It glanced upward, toward something unseen in the treetops, then turned back to the children. With a snarl, it vanished – only to reappear within the walls. Its breath unleashed a choking cloud. Two children collapsed lifeless, while the other three staggered, coughing violently.

“Drop the wall!” Seknafret shouted.

Ebyn released his concentration. “It’s down!”

Xalen raised his bow, but Seknafret intervened. “Xalen! Hold!” She fired three blasts; one missed, but two struck, driving the creature back and away from the children.

“Now!” she hissed.

Xalen loosed his arrows. They pierced its chest, spinning it in midair. As it fell, its body erupted into a storm of electricity that leapt from child to child. In an instant, the remaining three were dead.

Ebyn sent Hoot to scout the treetops. The familiar discovered a stone ledge hidden in the foliage, footprints pressed into the mud at its edge. Someone had stood there, watching – but they were gone. With their departure, sound returned to the battlefield.

All combatants lay dead. The human warriors, shields marked with the blue flame, bore wounds of a desperate fight. Of the strange dragonborn, no bodies remained – only the lingering scars caused by their violent deaths.

Six children lay lifeless: two humans, a boy and a girl; an elven boy; a halfling boy; and two half-elven youths. One had been slain before the party arrived, clawed down in the chaos. The others had perished by poison, acid, or lightning.

“What prompted such carnage?” Brabara said as she lifted the six small bodies clear of the battlefield to lay them down on the forest floor.

“Krynn is a world at war,” Ebyn said simply. “This type of thing could be happening in a thousand different places right now.”

Brabara shook her head. “No, this feels different. Whoever the attackers were, they seemed determined to kill the children. Did you see the way that last one started to flee, but it was almost like it was ordered to go back and finish the job. Even though it meant its death.”

Seknafret nodded. “I agree, Brabara. Whatever this fight was about, it does not strike me as strategic.”

Xalen was examining the bodies of the fallen warriors. He had two of them laid out beside each other and stripped of their armour. “Come, look at this,” he said without looking up. “Notice anything strange?”

The others gathered around.

“What am I looking at?” Brabara said after a few moments.

“Take off your vambrace and roll up your sleeve,” Xalen said.

Brabara did so, unclipping the straps on her right arm with practiced ease.

“See there,” Xalen said, pointing at a white scar on her arm. “And here, and here.” Indicating two others. “We’ve all got them.”

“Oh yes, I see,” Seknafret said, kneeling to touch the two corpses. “The only old scar on these men’s bodies is a lone bite mark – like from a bear or a wolf – one on this man’s calf, and this one in the other man’s side. Aside from that, their flesh is completely unmarked.”

“Well, apart from the wounds they received here,” Brabara said as she reattached her armour.

“Should we check the children?” Ebyn suggested.

Xalen stepped over to where Brabara had arranged their bodies, and examined them, checking the exposed arms and legs, even lifting their heads to check under their hair.

“I can’t see any bite marks on them, but they are all wearing this necklace.” Xalen held up a thin silver chain with a pendant adorned with the same blue flame symbol as worn on the warrior’s shields.

“What do we do now?” Seknafret said.

Ebyn took a deep breath. “As curious as this is, does anyone think it has anything to do with why we are here?”

Brabara’s expression darkened. “Someone will be missing these children; we should at least try and bring them home.”

“We have no information, no leads, nothing to go on,” Ebyn said, exasperated. “What is the death of six children when weighed against the loss of everything?”

“How many people are you prepared to sacrifice, Ebyn?” Brabara said. “Ten? Is ten too much? What about a hundred? A thousand?”

“If it means we defeat Vecna then yes,” Ebyn replied. “I will happily let a thousand people die if that means we save everyone else.”

“So, it’s a question of balance then,” Brabara pushed. “As long as we save one more person than we kill it’s a win for the good guys, is it?” She mimicked a victory dance. “Yay look at the heroes of the multiverse – sorry we got just under half of everyone killed but it was totally worth it right? Right?!?” The last was screamed.

Ebyn swallowed. “Well, of course not, but the mission comes first. Always. Every side quest, every life saved or lost that isn't directly helping our goal risks the multiverse itself. We can’t afford distractions or sentimentality.”

“We can’t save the world if we lose ourselves in the process,” Brabara said, trying very hard to keep her voice even, her expression calm. “There should be no number of acceptable losses if we truly want to save everyone. Everyone should include everyone, or we end up being no different from him.”

Ebyn looked down at the bodies of the six children, his gaze hardening. “You’re wrong, Brabara. In the grand scheme, the mission is the only thing that matters. Losing ourselves for the sake of the greater good is a sacrifice I’m willing to make. The multiverse depends on it.”

Brabara shook her head. “I really don’t understand you, Ebyn. Being focused on a goal is admirable but what you are describing is zealotry, and that rarely turns out how anyone likes.”

“But we still have no idea what to do with them?” Xalen said after a moment’s silence.

Brabara breathed deeply then let it out slowly. “Let’s bring them with us. If we happen to find who’s missing them along the way, well… at least we can give them closure.”

Seknafret raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, bring them with us?”

“The portable hole, of course,” Brabara said. “There’s plenty of room in there for all of them.”

Once they’d stored the six bodies, the Succulent Juices resumed their journey to the tree still a mile distant. Their progress remained slow, and it was only as the sky burned orange with the setting sun that they reached its base.

Up close, the tree’s sickness was undeniable. The massive trunk twisted upward for hundreds of feet, riddled with gaping holes. Most of the lower branches were stripped bare, while the leaves that clung stubbornly to them were spotted and blackened. Only the highest boughs retained a fragile shimmer of green.

The hill around the tree was littered with hundreds of rotting fruits, each the size of a human head. Their skins were strange, bruised blue, split to reveal lurid pink flesh. Flies swarmed in clouds above the decay, and the air reeked with a fetid stench.

At the base of the trunk yawned a cavernous opening, wide enough for a wagon and team of horses to pass through. It led into a vast chamber within the tree itself.

Xalen and Brabara stepped inside, while Ebyn and Seknafret lingered at the entrance. Within, cobwebs and tangled vines draped the walls, and more of the rotting fruit lay scattered across the floor. The ground was soft dirt, its earthy scent mingling with the overwhelming aroma of decay.

“Should I send Hoot out to scout ahead?” Ebyn offered via the telepathic link, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Brabara replied. “We can already see the other side.”

“What about that ledge above you?” Ebyn pointed out.

Brabara looked up and noted the raised ledge some sixty feet up in the dim light. “We’re here now.”

Ebyn shrugged. “Honestly it’s like working with children,” he muttered loud enough for Seknafret to hear him.

She chuckled. “And we’re here in case it turns bad. As always.”

“Someone has been here recently,” Xalen announced, his voice strangely muted despite the size of the chamber. “There are footprints here,” he knelt to examine them. “Small ones, like a child.”

“Just one set?” Brabara queried.

Xalen looked around but was unable to spot any others. “Looks that way.”

Any further discussion was cut off as a gob of sticky web shot down from the darkness above them to cover Brabara. A second web flew down at Xalen, but the young thief dove aside just in time.

“And there it is,” Ebyn muttered with a resigned sigh.

Two enormous spiders dropped from the web filled darkness, landing beside Xalen and the ensnared Brabara. Despite her great strength, the warrior struggled against the clinging strands. Two more descended near the entrance, looming over Ebyn and Seknafret.

Xalen rolled to his feet, bow already in hand. In one fluid motion, he loosed two arrows, both thudding into the nearest spider.

“You should be using me,” the magic sword whispered in his mind. “Get in close – cut them!”

Ebyn raised a hand and hurled a firebolt into the wounded beast. Flames engulfed it, and the creature collapsed in a smouldering heap.

Seknafret unleashed a volley of eldritch blasts at the spider looming over Brabara. Each strike hammered the monster back, forcing it away from the trapped warrior.

Xalen pivoted, his next arrow sinking deep into the same spider’s body. It convulsed once before collapsing lifeless. He spun toward the remaining pair – just as a massive rock plummeted from above, smashing against Brabara’s adamantine armour with a deafening crack. The stone split apart, shards scattering across the chamber floor.

“Get away from our tree!” a deep voice boomed from the shadows above. “Your corruption is not welcome here.”

Brabara tore at the sticky web and finally ripped herself free, moving to the base of the wall beneath the upper ledge.

Seknafret darted forward and sent another volley of eldritch blasts into the nearest spider, knocking it back and killing it with the final missile

“Who are you?” Ebyn called from the entrance to the cavern.

“I am the guardian who failed,” the booming voice replied, its words punctuated by another rock that slammed into Brabara at the base of the cliff. “I shall not fail this time.”

Xalen fired two more arrows at the last spider. The first buried itself in its body; the second punched deep into its cluster of eyes, killing it instantly.

“We don’t wish to hurt you,” Ebyn said. “But we will defend ourselves. We seek to help save this tree.”

Seknafret raised an eyebrow. “We do?” she asked over the telepathic bond.

“Who knows?” Ebyn shared back with a shrug. “Maybe taking the rod piece will cure whatever afflicts it.”

The figure above stepped into the wan light of the upper level – a massive treant, each hand clutching several more rocks. “You truly seek to help save the tree?” it asked.

“We do,” Ebyn confirmed. “This foul corruption must be purged.”

“You said something about failure,” Xalen added. “What did you mean?”

“The blue‑cloaked child before you,” it said. “And the renegade who came before that. All examples of my failure.”

“Blue‑cloaked child?” Brabara asked.

The treant stood motionless for a long moment. “You may pass,” it said at last, then stepped back into the tangle of leaves, vines, and branches. “She can decide your fate.”

“She? Who’s she?” Xalen called.

There was no answer.

Xalen followed the small footprints he found to a hole at the rear of the chamber, half‑covered by a massive boulder. Peering through the opening, he saw it led to another chamber below. The gap was barely large enough for him to squeeze through, and far too small for Brabara.

“We need to move this rock,” he said.

Together, Seknafret, Xalen, and Brabara strained against the boulder while Ebyn offered the occasional encouraging word. At first it seemed immovable, but after a final concerted push from Brabara, the stone shifted with a wet sucking sound and rolled clear, revealing an opening large enough for even the treant to pass through.

“That’s got it,” Brabara said, taking a few deep breaths.

“I could send…” Ebyn began, but Xalen cut him off.

“I’ll take a look.” He ducked his head into the hole.

The passage dropped five feet through packed earth before opening into the ceiling of a vast chamber, its floor some fifty feet below. Hanging there with his head poking through, Xalen spotted a small figure, bound by vines, lying in one of the many alcoves.

“It looks empty down there, except for a small bound figure,” Xalen reported as he pulled himself back up.

“Bound figure?” Seknafret said.

Xalen shrugged. “That’s what I saw. Maybe that’s the blue‑cloaked child. Either way, it’s a fifty‑foot drop. Not sure how Brabara’s getting down without flying.”

“The immovable rod and some rope should do it,” Ebyn suggested.

Brabara nodded. “Good idea.”

Seknafret levitated down the hole while Brabara climbed, and the others descended using their enchanted boots. The chamber below was smaller than the one above, but the darkness, the damp‑earth smell, and the heavy humidity pressed in on them like a weight.

“I don’t like this,” Seknafret murmured, voicing what all of them felt.

“There don’t appear to be any other exits,” Xalen said as he flew a slow circuit around the chamber.

“Meaning the rod piece must be in here somewhere,” Ebyn replied.

“So,” a feminine voice called from the darkness, “you have come to steal from me as well?”

The group froze, eyes sweeping the shadows.

Xalen spotted her first. A thin, vaguely humanoid figure stood against the far wall, her form seeming to grow out of the tree itself. Leaves framed her face like a living crown, and tiny branchlike horns jutted from her head. Her arms were crossed protectively, cradling a large fruit. It resembled the rotting ones outside, except this one remained whole, fresh, untouched by decay.

Xalen drifted closer, unable to hide his fascination with her delicate, bark‑textured features. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Gazaia,” she replied, eyes downcast. “Guardian of the Peylon Tree… or I was meant to be. I fear I have failed in my most sacred task.”

“Failed how?” Ebyn asked.

Gazaia lifted her gaze. “Can you not see? The tree is dying.”

“Tell us what happened,” Seknafret said gently. “Perhaps we can help you and this magnificent tree.”

“But first, release the child,” Brabara said, pointing to the small figure struggling in the vines near Gazaia’s feet.

The tree spirit’s face darkened. She hissed, baring sharp fangs. “That one came to steal my fruit. It must be punished.”

The bound figure wriggled helplessly.

Xalen raised his hands and stepped closer. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

Gazaia looked at him, her expression softening. “Three nights ago, they came,” she whispered. “The renegade and his undead minions. There were so many… and I was afraid. I hid. I did nothing as they took the sacred crystal that gave this tree its life.” Her voice broke into a heaving sob.

The box in Ebyn’s pouch clicked softly – another secret added to its cache. Gazaia did nothing while her tree was corrupted.

“The sacred crystal,” Ebyn said aloud. “What did it look like?”

Gazaia’s head snapped toward him, anger flashing in her eyes. “What does it matter? The shard is gone, and now my tree is dying.”

“It matters,” Ebyn said patiently. “Because we intend to find it. Describe it so we know what we’re looking for.”

She studied him for a long moment. “A green crystal,” she said at last. “As long as my forearm. Ancient magic thrums within it.”

“The rod piece”, Ebyn shared over the telepathic bond. “And who took it?” he asked aloud.

“An elf wizard,” Gazaia said. “She came with a dozen undead warriors and strange dragon‑folk.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

Gazaia shook her head. “I cannot leave my tree.”

“We’re done here”, Ebyn sent telepathically. “We need to find this wizard.”

Seknafret shot him a cool look, then turned back to Gazaia. “Is there anything I can do to help the tree now? A spell, a ritual… anything?”

Gazaia’s eyes widened. “You truly wish to help me?”

“Of course,” Seknafret said. “If we can.”

“The shard’s magic allowed this tree to grow far beyond its natural limits,” Gazaia explained. “Without it, the tree decays. I have only one fruit left. When it rots, as the others have, nothing will revive the tree. And when it dies… so do I.”

The bound figure whimpered again.

Brabara stepped toward it. “We’ll help you. But you must let the child go.”

“That is no child,” Gazaia said.

Brabara frowned. “It isn’t?”

“A kender thief,” Gazaia spat. “But no matter. You may take him.”

Brabara hurried forward and cut the struggling figure free.

Gazaia watched until the blue‑cloaked figure was loose. “Please… help us,” she said, her form melting back into the roots. “We don’t have much time.”

“Wait!” the kender cried as she vanished. “I need that fruit!”

“What’s your name?” Brabara asked, checking him for injuries. His cloak bore the same blue flame symbol as the soldiers who’d guarded the children. “Are you hurt?”

Up close, it was clear he wasn’t a child at all – small, yes, but with the jawline and musculature of an adult. Halfling‑like, but not quite.

“Riffel,” he said. “And no, I’m not hurt.” He caught Brabara’s curious look. “What? Never seen a kender before?”

“A kender?” Brabara repeated. “No. You’re my first.”

Riffel frowned up at her. “Right. And what are you… some kind of sentient balloon?”

Brabara gasped. Seknafret coughed. Xalen failed to hide a laugh. Even Ebyn smiled.

“What did you say?” Brabara demanded.

“You heard me,” Riffel said, shaking off her grip. “Thanks for freeing me, but I can’t leave without the fruit.”

“There were hundreds outside,” Brabara pointed out.

“Not good enough. It has to be ripe.”

“What do you need it for?” Seknafret asked.

“It’s for an important ritual. I can’t return to my people without one.”

“Who are your people?” Xalen asked.

“The Blue Fire Wardens,” Riffel said. “We protect the forest and keep people safe. Especially now – dragon armies, monsters, all sorts of dangers. We also help outcasts – people who might become dangerous without guidance.”

“And the fruit matters how?” Ebyn asked.

Riffel hesitated, weighing his words. “There’s a disease,” he said finally. “Some people get it after being bitten by a wild animal – wolf, bear, whatever. After that, they’re bound to the moons. At each full moon, they transform… and depending on which moon is full, they may lose control.”

He pointed upward as if the moons hung above them.

“When Solinari, the white moon, is full, the change is physical only. The mind stays intact. When Lunitari, the red moon, is full, sometimes the mind holds, sometimes it doesn’t. Unpredictable. But when Nuitari, the black moon, is full… the animal takes over completely. The afflicted must hunt. Must kill.”

He sighed heavily.

“Most are exiled. Many are killed. My people find them and use a ritual to bind their transformations to Solinari’s cycle. They keep their minds. Their lives. But without the fruit, we can’t perform the ritual.”

Seknafret looked at the others. “We have to restore this tree.”

“But I need the fruit today,” Riffel insisted. “We have new foundlings coming. The next full moon is tomorrow, and it’s a bad one.”

Brabara’s breath caught. “These foundlings… are they children?”

“Usually,” Riffel said with a shrug. “Adults rarely survive long enough for us to find them. Parents sometimes chain their children during full moons, but with three moons… the chains don’t hold for long.”

“I don’t think you’ll need the fruit this time,” Brabara said quietly.

“Why not?”

“We found a battle,” Brabara said. “Men with the blue flame symbol. Dragonborn‑like creatures. They had children with them. We were too late.”

Riffel sank to the ground, head in his hands. “They’re all dead?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Brabara said.

“There was a mage with them,” Ebyn added. “Commanding the dragonborn.”

“They’re called draconians,” Riffel said. “Abominations created by Takhisis. Dangerous even after death.”

“That’s them,” Xalen confirmed.

“The mage would be Teremini,” Riffel said. “A lieutenant of Lord Soth. Evil to the core. She’s been fighting my people for months. Our leader, Valendar, led a raid against her today.”

“Do you think Teremini is the same mage who stole the artifact from this tree?” Ebyn asked.

Riffel nodded. “Could be. Not many mages around here working with undead and draconians.”

“We should return to your people,” Ebyn said firmly. “They might be able to help us find this wizard and recover the rod piece.”

Riffel led the group through the forest toward a place he called Bittergrass Fen, a marshy lowland near a narrow forest creek. By the time they emerged from the Peylon Tree, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving them to navigate the deepening twilight beneath the forest canopy.

The kender talked the entire way – rapid‑fire questions, wild tangents, and an endless fascination with the fact that none of them had ever met a kender before. Apparently, curiosity was common among his people, and he was proving the reputation accurate with every breath.

The trees thinned as the ground sloped downward. The air grew heavier, insects droning in a rising chorus, punctuated by the hollow bonk of frogs. They stepped out of the tree line into a wide expanse of marsh.

Two rows of standing stones rose from the fen – rough‑carved pillars twenty feet tall and ten feet thick. Floating inches above each one hovered a massive boulder, perfectly still despite the breeze. To the west, a swift creek cut through muddy banks. To the north and east, rocky slopes curved into a bluff that wrapped around the stones.

And at the base of that bluff, clawing mindlessly at a crumbling stone door beneath a weathered arch, was a monster.

A dragon, or something shaped like one, slavered and scraped at the sealed entrance, its movements jerky and unnatural.

“No!” Riffel shouted. He sprinted forward, his body stretching and twisting mid‑stride into a hybrid form – part kender, part wolf.

Brabara charged after him.

“Hold on!” Seknafret called. Brabara skidded to a halt as Seknafret stepped up and touched a feather to her shoulder, murmuring arcane words.

Brabara felt her weight vanish. “What is this?”

“You can fly,” Seknafret said. “Go!”

Ebyn’s eyes narrowed. He strode forward, chanting a complex incantation. He pointed between the rows of standing stones – and a second dragon materialized, black and rippling like living shadow.

“There’s two of them now!” Brabara shouted as she launched herself skyward.

“The new one is mine!” Ebyn called, diving behind a boulder for cover.

The real dragon jerked its head up at the commotion. It abandoned the stone door and surged into the air, ignoring the shadow dragon entirely. It closed the distance to Brabara in a heartbeat, jaws yawning wide as a wave of ghostly purple fire erupted from its maw.

The flames washed over Brabara and Riffel, shrivelling flesh and stripping moisture from their skin.

Brabara screamed.

Up close, the creature’s nature became horrifyingly clear. Its body resembled a blue dragon, but its scales were cracked and peeling. Deep wounds exposed flickering purple fire beneath its flesh, and its eyes were dull, glassy, lifeless. Whatever it had been, it was now an undead mockery of a once‑majestic creature.

Seknafret stepped forward and unleashed a barrage of eldritch blasts, each strike hammering the beast backward. Ebyn’s shadow dragon rose and spewed illusory acid across the creature’s flank, while Xalen’s arrows thudded into its rotting hide.

The dragon shrieked, enraged, and exhaled another torrent of purple flame – the only targets in range were Brabara and Riffel.

This time, the kender didn’t survive.

Riffel collapsed, his small body desiccated and still.

“No!” Brabara roared. She hurled herself at the dragon, her glaive carving vicious arcs through its ruined flesh.

The creature fought back with savage desperation – claws raking, tail whipping uselessly through Ebyn’s illusion – but its strength was failing. Between Brabara’s relentless strikes, Xalen’s arrows, Seknafret’s blasts, and the shadow dragon’s assault, the undead beast finally faltered.

With a final, shuddering cry, the creature crashed to the earth. Purple fire bloomed from within its broken form, consuming it until nothing remained but drifting ash.

Brabara hit the ground beside Riffel and immediately doubled over, vomiting onto the dirt. Her breath came in ragged bursts.

Seknafret hurried to her side. “Brabara, are you alright?”

“I really hate flying,” Brabara muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She nodded toward Riffel’s still form. “Is there anything you can do, Seknafret?”

Seknafret knelt beside the kender, her expression tightening as she examined the withered body. After a long, quiet moment, she exhaled and shook her head. “No. He’s gone.”

Brabara closed her eyes, the words settling heavily. Then she bent and lifted Riffel with unexpected tenderness, gathering him into her arms as though he weighed nothing at all.

“Then we take him home,” she said softly. “Back to his people.”

The group turned toward the partially shattered stone door the dragon had been clawing at, its ancient surface cracked and crumbling.

“Hello?” Seknafret called. “The dragon is dead.”

“Who are you?” a muffled voice answered from behind the stone.

“We’re friends,” Seknafret said. “Riffel was bringing us here to help you – before the dragon took him.”

A long pause followed. Then stone scraped against stone as the massive door swung open. A tall human woman stood there. Her welcoming smile faltered when she saw Riffel’s limp form in Brabara’s arms.

“I am Argentia Skywright,” she said softly. “Thank you for dealing with the dragon.” Her gaze lingered on Riffel. “Today has been a day of great loss for our order.”

She stepped aside, allowing them into the cave. The entry chamber was small, a firepit at its centre surrounded by weary, wounded people. Several archways led deeper into the hill, though it didn’t appear the Blue Fire Wardens’ refuge extended far.

Argentia gestured to a fur‑covered stone bench near the fire. “You may lay Riffel there.”

Brabara nodded and did so gently.

“The floating boulders over the standing stones,” Ebyn said. “What are they for?”

Argentia tore her gaze from Riffel. “Druidic magic,” she said. “From before the Cataclysm. As for their purpose… whoever built this place is long gone.”

“The Cataclysm, yes,” Ebyn said. “I read about that – vast, planet‑wide destruction caused by someone called the Kingpriest.”

Argentia nodded. “Ancient history now, but yes.” Her eyes drifted unfocused for a moment. “I often wonder what kind of world we’d be living in if the Kingpriest hadn’t changed his mind in those final moments.”

Ebyn frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m no historian,” Argentia said, “but the stories claim the Kingpriest sought to ascend to godhood – an act the gods warned him against. They say he was convinced by their arguments and intended to abandon the ritual. But for reasons lost to time, he changed his mind… and went through with it anyway. The Cataclysm was the result of his hubris.”

“Any idea why he changed his mind?” Ebyn asked.

Argentia shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it’s been swallowed by the ages.”

Xalen cleared his throat. “Fascinating, but… returning to the present, what did you mean when you said today was a day of loss?”

Argentia exhaled heavily. “We attempted a raid on the Three Moons Vault – where Teremini Nightsedge conducts her ritual. We failed. Our leader, Valendar, was captured, along with several others.”

She blinked, tears welling in her eyes. “The dragon you defeated was sent after us because of the raid. We lost more on the way back. Had you not arrived when you did, we would have been wiped out.”

“Riffel said you were expecting foundlings today,” Seknafret said, her voice carefully neutral.

Argentia nodded. “Yes. But they have not arrived.”

“They will not,” Seknafret said gently. “We found a battle between your people and draconians. We were too late to save the children.”

Argentia collapsed inward, her body folding as if her bones had vanished. Brabara caught her before she hit the ground.

“By the fates…” Argentia wailed.

She hung limp for a moment, then straightened with grim resolve.

“There is one more troubling matter,” Xalen said.

Argentia sighed. “May all our failures fall today, leaving tomorrow for success. What is it?”

“The Peylon Tree fruit Riffel sought,” Xalen said. “The tree is dying. There is no more fruit until it can be cured.”

Argentia gasped. “Without the fruit, we cannot protect our kind from the moons.”

“We know,” Seknafret said. “Riffel explained. We intend to help.”

“You mentioned a ritual?” Ebyn asked.

Argentia nodded. “Tomorrow night, the three moons of Krynn will be full and aligned – the Night of the Eye. A sacred time for the Conclave of Wizards… and a terrible one for us. Teremini plans to complete a ritual that will blanket the region around the Vault in magical light. Any of my kind within that circle will lose themselves to their affliction and become slaves to Teremini and Lord Soth.”

“How wide a circle?” Ebyn asked.

“Perhaps a dozen miles,” Argentia said. “The alignment will amplify it, but it will remain local.”

“Why not simply leave?” Xalen asked.

“We have,” Argentia said. “Most of our people are far from here. We brought the children only because the tree is here. But Teremini has taken many captives in recent weeks. Today’s raid was meant to free them. Instead… we only added to their number.”

“We have to go there,” Ebyn said. “The multiverse depends on it.”

“I can lead you,” Argentia said. “But not tonight. Rest here. I’ll take you in the morning.”

“There is something else,” Brabara said. “The children we found earlier. I… have their bodies.”

Argentia recoiled. “You have what?”

“I couldn’t leave them to rot,” Brabara said. “Their guards died protecting them. Someone deserved closure.”

Argentia placed a gentle hand on Brabara’s arm. “I’m sorry. Thank you. Truly.”

Brabara set her portable hole on the ground and carefully lifted each small body out, laying them beside Riffel. Argentia watched in silence, her face hollow with grief.

“We are sorry for your loss,” Brabara said quietly.

Argentia stood motionless for several long moments. Then she wiped a tear from her cheek and turned to the group. “Follow me. I’ll show you your quarters.”

She led them down a short corridor to a small stone room with six beds. “You’ll be comfortable here.”

“Thank you,” Seknafret said as they entered.

“Get some rest,” Ebyn said. “Tomorrow, we get the next piece of the rod.”

“And stop the ritual,” Seknafret added. “And save the tree.”

Ebyn waved her words away. “We must remember our priority. If we can do those things while securing the rod, good. If not…”

“You can at least use your divination magic to help us try,” Seknafret pressed. “Please, Ebyn. This matters to me.”

Ebyn studied her for a moment. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

He sat cross‑legged, closed his eyes, and began the ritual. Arcane words whispered from his lips as he opened his mind to the connection.

The intelligence answered.

Usually, its presence threatened to shatter him – vast, overwhelming, divine. But this time it felt muted, distant, as though the gods themselves were not fully present in Krynn. Ebyn didn’t know what that meant, but it was too late to stop.

“How can we cure the Peylon Tree?” he asked.

“A source of ancient magic is needed.”

“Can we cure the tree and still take the fifth rod piece?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a cure for lycanthropy other than death?”

“No.”

“Is my simulacrum still alive?”

“Unknown.”

“Are the Blue Fire Wardens a force for good?”

“Yes.”

The presence withdrew, leaving his mind clear. Normally the spell left him drained to the edge of collapse. Not this time. Krynn was unlike any world he had touched.

“What did you learn?” Seknafret asked.

“There is a way to cure the tree without the rod,” Ebyn said. “A source of ancient magic. And the Blue Fire Wardens are what they claim – a force for good.”

Seknafret nodded. “Thank you, Ebyn. I know what that spell costs.”

Ebyn smiled faintly. “Now… let’s rest.”

That night, the nightmares crept back, undoing the fragile calm of the last few days.

Vecna stands over a scrying pool in his tower within the dread domain of Cavitius. Sickly light flickers across his withered features as he watches, a satisfied smile curling his lips. In the vision, Iuz – the demigod tyrant of Oerth – holds the two stone tablets Vecna crafted ages ago. A plan, centuries in the making, is finally reaching its crescendo.

Iuz begins to chant. The ancient words scrape from his throat in harsh, guttural syllables, each one dragging raw power into the world. The air trembles. The pool ripples. The primal magic builds to a breaking point.

When the final phrase leaves Iuz’s lips, Vecna smiles.

For a single heartbeat – just before Vecna tears the demigod’s lifeforce from his body – Iuz understands the magnitude of his error. The tablets were never a gift. They were a lure. A key. A lie designed to give the arch‑lich exactly what he needed.

A way back.

Even the Dark Powers, for all their dominion, cannot stop what follows. Empowered with the stolen essence of a god, Vecna rends the fabric of reality itself. The walls of the Domains of Dread scream as he steps through them and emerges into Sigil – the City of Doors.

Sigil, nexus of the multiverse. From here, every world is within reach.

Vecna raises a hand, and slivers of his divinity peel away like shards of shadow and flame. He sends these aspects spiralling through the countless portals of Sigil, each one carrying a fragment of his will.

Their purpose is simple.

To seed new cults.
To gather new followers.
To prepare for his next rise to power.

The group awoke as one, each of them jolting from the same nightmare. They had all felt it – the intoxicating joy Vecna experienced as his centuries‑long gambit finally bore fruit, the overwhelming ecstasy of godhood flooding through him. And then the wrenching loss as that power was torn away, leaving them once more in their fragile mortal shells. The absence felt as sharp and intimate as grief.

“Well, that wasn’t great,” Brabara muttered. “I’d gotten used to sleeping without those nightly reminders.”

Ebyn grimaced, taking the journal from his backpack. “I’m glad they’re back. Maybe they’ll help you remember what matters.”

Xalen snorted. “Listen to Ebyn – ever the optimist.”

Despite the nightmare’s intensity, none of them felt any lingering effects. They gathered their gear in weary silence and waited for Argentia to lead them toward the vault.