Session 30

The group returned to Alustriel’s sanctuary in Sigil and, once again, slept without dreams. It seemed that each time Vecna was struck down, a brief calm followed, a lull in the visions, a momentary silence in the storm. How long this respite would last was impossible to guess, but it was welcome all the same.

The next morning, Ebyn left the sanctum and stepped into the streets of Sigil, heading straight for the rooming house where his simulacrum had been working. Nearly a week had passed since Echo Ebyn began his research into the Rod of Seven Parts, and the real Ebyn was eager to see what progress his duplicate had made.

The man behind the bar recognized him immediately and handed over the room key without a word. Ebyn climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The cramped, dimly lit room was empty.

The small cot against the back wall looked untouched, but a neat stack of papers sat on the rickety desk beside a quill and half‑empty inkpot. Ebyn lifted the pages and found several sheets of handwritten notes – his own handwriting, precise and meticulous – covering Miska the Wolf‑Spider, the Wind Dukes of Aaqa, and the Rod of Law.

Any lingering concern he’d held for his simulacrum evaporated the moment he sat on the bed and began to read.

---

Brabara left soon after Ebyn and walked the now‑familiar route to Tiny’s apartment.

Her husband greeted her warmly at the door and ushered her inside, clearly eager to repeat their usual… enthusiastic reunion. But instead of matching his energy, she placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the dining table.

“We need to talk,” she said, her tone serious.

Tiny froze halfway into a grin. “Has something happened? Should I be concerned?”

Brabara drew a deep breath, searching for the right place to begin. “Are you happy here?”

Tiny blinked. “What? Of course I am. I get to be with you.”

“But I never stay long,” she said softly. “And every time I leave, there’s a chance I won’t come back. I hate the thought of you being stuck here in this crazy place, just… waiting for me.”

Tiny covered her hand with his own, gentle despite its size. “Listen to me,” he said. “I love you. I’ll wait for you as long as I’m breathing. And as for this crazy place,” he chuckled, “it’s a damn sight better than the last place I was forced to wait for you.”

Brabara looked up and saw the smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. “You’re not just saying that, are you? I want you to be honest.”

“I am being honest,” Tiny said. “I really like it here in Sigil. And I’m not just sitting around. I’ve got a job doing security at a tavern nearby. The markets here have incredible produce, so my cooking’s getting better. And here…” He shrugged. “Here I’m probably the least freakish person around. I tried not to let the looks in Neverwinter bother me, but they did. A little. Here nobody even glances twice.”

Brabara smiled, a tear slipping free at the genuine happiness in his voice. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

Tiny tilted his head, grinning. “I reckon I might have an idea. Now… why don’t we give each other a proper welcome home.”

---

Seknafret and Alustriel worked side by side in the sanctuary’s well‑stocked library. Normally immaculate, the space was now a mess of open tomes, loose parchment, and hastily scrawled notes – evidence of hours spent hunting for a way to recreate the Veil Seknafret’s order maintained on Toril.

“I think I’ve found something,” Alustriel said, beckoning her over. “Askarran writes that the waters of the River Styx can quiet the dead – ‘for its waters make them forget their hatred of the living.’” She set the book aside and reached for another. “And here—” she lifted a time‑worn, leather‑bound tome and tapped a diagram “—Thrimbul describes a method for rendering liquids as strong as steel.”

She grabbed a third book, flipping rapidly through its pages until she found the passage she wanted. “And Mintassan devised a ritual of aura forbiddance that can be shaped to exude the properties of any substance consumed during its casting.” She looked up, eyes bright with the thrill of discovery.

Seknafret’s expression lit with understanding. “So, we use the waters of the Styx as the core ingredient, strengthen it using Thrimbul’s techniques, and infuse it with Mintassan’s ritual to create an aura that keeps the restless dead at bay.”

“In essence, yes” Alustriel said, nodding.

Seknafret beamed. “How did you put this together so quickly?”

“Make no mistake, Seknafret,” Alustriel replied, “we still have a great deal of work ahead. But the details of your order’s ritual – the ones you shared with me – gave me a framework. I knew what threads to look for.”

“How do we get water from the River Styx?” Seknafret asked.

“The river’s headwaters lie in Pandesmos,” Alustriel said. “It should be safe enough to collect a quantity there. The lower you travel, the more dangerous the waters become.”

“But won’t we need the more potent liquid?”

“Perhaps,” Alustriel conceded. “But we should begin with the upper waters – at least until we’ve perfected the process.”

“So how do I get there?”

Alustriel exhaled softly. “Once we’ve finished with… all of this, I can open a portal. We’ll collect what we need together.”

Seknafret nodded, emotion tightening her voice. “Thank you, Alustriel. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Alustriel chuckled. “Says the woman risking her life to save us all.”

---

That evening, once they had all returned to the Sanctuary, Ebyn gathered them in the library and outlined what he – and by extension, his simulacrum – had uncovered about the rod and its history.

“So, assembling the rod actually will help us?” Xalen asked. “It sounds like you’re saying it will.”

Ebyn nodded. “I believe so. But I’m concerned that if we use the rod to encase Vecna within its cocoon of law, we may risk freeing the demon Miska. The lore is maddeningly unclear on that point.”

“And there’s nothing in all these books that will tell us?” Brabara asked, one arm sweeping around the shelves.

“No,” Ebyn said simply. “Because as far as I can tell, it’s never been done before. The Rod of Law was used once, thousands of years ago, to imprison Miska. It shattered into seven parts, and now we are the first to attempt reassembly. There’s no way to know whether more than one cocoon of law can exist at a time.”

“Does that matter?” Xalen said. “Miska sounded like a real problem back in the day, sure, but he wasn’t trying to unmake reality. Even if trapping Vecna frees him… isn’t that still better than the alternative?”

Ebyn gave him a look – half fond, half incredulous – as though a loyal hound had just offered a coherent philosophical argument. “You make an excellent point, Xalen. One I’ve been trying to impress upon you all since we began this quest. Even so, I’d like to learn more about these so‑called Wind Dukes, and perhaps even visit the Soulforge where the rod was created.”

“Why?” Xalen asked with a shrug.

“Because knowing is better than not knowing,” Ebyn replied. “I would hate to save the multiverse from one calamity only to unleash another through ignorance.”

Brabara leaned forward. “Have you thought about it?”

“About what?” Ebyn said.

“Let’s say we win. Vecna is defeated. All this is behind us.” She gestured vaguely at the shelves, the Sanctuary, the impossible city beyond. “What then? I don’t expect any of you will want to go back to Neverwinter and return to the city watch. Not after everything we’ve seen.”

“Maybe get a tower somewhere,” Ebyn mused. “Maybe even here in Sigil. Take on an apprentice or two. Travel the multiverse.”

“I hope to return to my order with a solution to the weakening of the Veil,” Seknafret said.

“I’ll be doing what I can to find my sister,” Xalen added. “What about you, Brabara?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t think I can go back. After everything we’ve seen, everywhere we’ve been, the things we’ve done… looking back at Neverwinter now, it just feels like such a small life, you know?”

The others watched her quietly.

“Maybe it’d be good to have another big bad to put down once we’ve crushed ol’ Deado’s plans,” she said earnestly. “Don’t you reckon?”

Xalen raised his hands. “Hold up there, Brabara. I’m perfectly happy not having the fate of everything resting on my shoulders again, if that’s okay with you.”

Seknafret chuckled. “Me too. I’ve had quite enough excitement already, and I suspect we will have more in the coming days.”

“You’re right, I know,” Brabara said, shoulders slumped. “I guess I’m just saying I’ll miss you guys once this done.”

---

Alustriel gathered them all together the following morning.

“Malaina has uncovered Vecna‑cult activity on the continent of Cerilia, on the world of Aebrynis,” she said.

“What does that mean for us?” Brabara asked.

“For you, nothing,” Alustriel replied. “You will continue your search for the remaining rod pieces. I will travel to Aebrynis to deal with the cult. Disrupting their efforts should slow the flow of power to Vecna and buy you the time you need to find and assemble the rod.”

“Aebrynis?” Ebyn said. “I know nothing of this world.”

“I’m not surprised,” Alustriel said. “Aebrynis has long been avoided by all but the most determined travelers. Divine magic does not exist there.”

“Like on Krynn?” Seknafret asked.

Alustriel shook her head. “On Krynn, the gods turned their backs on the world after the Cataclysm, but they never truly left. On Aebrynis, the gods were destroyed – annihilated in an apocalyptic struggle for dominion.”

“And what of arcane magic?” Ebyn asked. “The Weave is not subject to the whims of capricious gods.”

The corner of Alustriel’s mouth twitched. “My mother would likely disagree with that phrasing, Ebyn. But you are correct to a point. The Weave is everywhere – but not equally.”

“I see,” Ebyn murmured. “I clearly have much to learn about the nature of magic.”

“When the gods died,” Alustriel continued, “their power did not vanish. It flowed into the mortals of that world. Those closest to a god’s death absorbed the greatest share, but everyone alive at the time received some measure. That divine essence has been passed down through bloodlines ever since. Outsiders who travel there are weakened, and those with ties to a divinity find their gifts… muted.”

“How can Vecna have any foothold in a place like that?” Seknafret asked.

Alustriel tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin. “The Weave is the fabric through which arcane magic is threaded. But it is Mok’slyk – the Serpent – who supports the loom from which the Weave is made. We who call ourselves wizards, warlocks, sorcerers… we manipulate only the faintest sliver of the Serpent’s being and call it magic. But Vecna…” She paused. “Vecna speaks to the Serpent. And the Serpent speaks back.”

“I’ve heard that name,” Seknafret said quietly. “In one of our shared dreams.”

Alustriel nodded. “Some believe the Serpent to be an ancient and inscrutable entity. Others claim it is an elder god of unfathomable power. Still others think it is the source of magic itself. Whatever the truth, Vecna’s connection to Mok’slyk grants him boons we cannot easily comprehend.”

“What about you?” Xalen asked. “What can you hope to do there?”

Alustriel allowed herself a small smile. “My arcane gifts will be diminished but not gone. And I will not be alone. Malaina’s skill with blades is unaffected by Aebrynis’s weakened Weave, and she has agents there ready to assist.”

“When do you leave?” Ebyn asked.

“Within the hour,” she said. “I expect to be gone for several days. Mordenkainen will remain here to locate the sixth rod piece. He knows how to configure the portal once its location is known.”

“Best of luck, then,” Seknafret said.

“Thank you,” Alustriel replied. “I will need it.”

---

Another dreamless night passed, and the group awoke to find Mordenkainen already in the library. An open book lay before him, though the page was clearly one he’d been staring at rather than reading.

He looked up as Ebyn entered, Seknafret and Xalen close behind. His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, as if counting them.

“Where’s Brabara?” he asked, gravelly voice edged with impatience.

“With Tiny,” Xalen said.

Mordenkainen closed the book with a decisive snap. “Fetch her. I’ve found the next piece.”

Ebyn stepped closer. “Where is it?”

“My old home,” the archmage said. “Oerth.” His expression didn’t shift. “Once you’re all here, I’ll explain. I see no value in repeating myself.”

An hour later, with Brabara present, Mordenkainen began.

“The sixth piece lies within a tomb,” Mordenkainen said, fingers drumming once on the table before stilling. “Built centuries ago, by the mad lich Acererak.”

Xalen grimaced. “That name again.”

“Yes. And this particular tomb stands on a small island in the Asperdi–Duxchan archipelago.” His tone sharpened, as if daring anyone to interrupt. “As you know, Acererak was once apprenticed to Vecna, but after Kas defeated his master, Acererak pursued his own path to lichdom. And eventually… madness.”

Seknafret folded her arms. “He built more than one tomb, didn’t he?”

“Dozens,” Mordenkainen said. “Elaborate deathtraps. Puzzles and traps protected by powerful guardians. The Tomb of Horrors is the most infamous, of course, but there are others. Less well known. No less lethal.”

He paced a step, his gaze distant. “The island itself is a nest of venomous snakes and poisonous flora. Treacherous reefs. Coastal caves. The native population was nearly wiped out when Acererak built the tomb, and many of their treasures were taken. Likely decorating the interior even now.”

Ebyn swallowed. “And the rod piece?”

“Whether he built the tomb for it or simply stole it is impossible to know.” Mordenkainen’s eyes flicked to each of them in turn. “But the piece is there. And so must you be.”

Ebyn waited until the archmage paused before speaking. “What sort of place is Oerth?”

“Not so different from Toril,” Mordenkainen said. He gave Ebyn a pointed look. “Of all the spheres you’ve visited, Oerth will feel the most familiar.”

“Anything we should be mindful of?” Ebyn asked. “Local customs? Quirks that might land us in trouble?”

Mordenkainen shook his head. “I doubt you’ll be there long enough to offend anyone. And given the tomb’s location, you’re unlikely to meet anyone besides the local tribesfolk, and I am hardly an expert on them.”

He scanned their faces – Ebyn, Seknafret, Brabara, Xalen – waiting for further questions. When none came, he nodded.

“Right then. I must prepare the portal. Be ready to depart in two hours. Ebyn, stay a moment.”

The others filed out. When the door closed, Mordenkainen folded his hands behind his back.

“I’d like to speak with you about the letter you left before departing for Krynn.”

Ebyn swallowed. His skin went cold. He forced his expression to remain neutral. “Of course.”

“You have a keen mind, my boy,” Mordenkainen said. “And a healthy curiosity – traits I value in an apprentice.”

Ebyn said nothing. He didn’t trust his voice.

“It has been many years since I’ve taken anyone on in that capacity,” the archmage continued. “And I generally prefer to begin earlier in a wizard’s development. Fewer rough edges to smooth out. But these are unusual times, and you have been forged in the hottest of fires. I am prepared to accept the odd wrinkle.”

Ebyn stared at him, mouth suddenly dry.

“What I am saying, Ebyn, is that yes – I would be pleased to accept you as my apprentice once this crisis is resolved.”

Ebyn opened his mouth, but Mordenkainen raised a hand.

“No need to say anything now. You have a mission to prepare for. We can discuss details once this unpleasantness is behind us. Simply know that the offer stands.”

He turned and strode out without another word.

Ebyn remained where he was, still standing, still staring, his mouth hanging open.