Session 33

The camp at the edge of the beach had transformed in their absence. Where they’d left chaos – half‑collapsed tents, scattered crates, the sour smell of defeat – they returned to find a place humming with purpose. Sheets of canvas stretched taut between the trees like sails catching a steady wind. Driftwood and wreckage that once cluttered the sand had been sorted into tidy stacks or reshaped into stools, tables, and firewood. Even the air felt different: less desperate, more determined.

For all her easy smile and sun‑warmed manner, it was obvious Laysa ran a disciplined ship.

The captain spotted them and raised a hand, striding across the sand with the confidence of someone who’d already solved three problems before breakfast.

“You’re back already?” she called. “I hope that means success.”

Ebyn stepped forward, his grin bright enough to rival the surf. “It does. And we were fortunate enough to locate every item on your list.”

“That’s wonderful news.” Laysa’s relief softened into a radiant smile. “Istus has blessed us. This calls for celebration.”

“I trust my magical estate pleased you?” Ebyn asked, a hint of pride slipping through.

“It did,” Laysa admitted. “Though none of us are used to such opulence. Still, it sheltered us while we salvaged what we could.” She swept an arm toward the camp, inviting them to take in the transformation. “As you can see, we’ve been busy.”

“You certainly have,” Brabara said, impressed.

“Come to my shelter,” Laysa said. “Your payment is waiting.”

“I can handle this,” Ebyn said quickly. “No need for everyone to be involved in the mundane collection of payment.”

Brabara snorted, handing him the scimitar. “Fine by me. I think I see some sailors wrestling with something heavy. I’ll go keep them from dropping it on their feet. Seknafret, come on, someone’s bound to pull a muscle.”

She shot Xalen a sly wink. “And Xalen, I’m sure your sister will want to know you’re still breathing.”

“Uh… yeah. Right,” Xalen said.

“Cool,” Ebyn said, though he neither felt nor sounded cool. “I’ll catch up with you all later.”

He followed Laysa to a canvas enclosure built around several tall palms. A makeshift table of scavenged planks stood in the centre, and a pile of palm leaves in the corner served as a mattress. Laysa rummaged through a heap of clothing and gear and retrieved a small pouch.

“Place the items on the table,” she said. “Not that I don’t trust you, I just like to confirm what I’m paying for.”

“Of course,” Ebyn said. “A wise policy.”

Laysa smiled. “You don’t have much experience with people, do you?”

“Well, I… um…  that is to say…”

She laughed. “I’m sorry, Ebyn. I didn’t mean to fluster you. I meant no offence. In fact, I find your naivete rather charming.”

“You do?” Ebyn said before he could stop himself.

“Let’s see what you’ve brought me,” she said, gesturing to the table.

Ebyn set down the scimitar, then retrieved the remaining five items from the portable hole and arranged them neatly. “I believe these are the artifacts you sought.”

Laysa’s eyes widened. She picked up each item, examining it with reverent care.

“This is wonderful,” she said. “I hoped you might find one or two… but all of them? This is beyond anything I imagined. Thank you.” She stepped forward and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “You have no idea what this means to me, and to my people.”

She held him for a few seconds longer before releasing him and opening the pouch. She drew out six blue gems and placed them on the table.

“Six items, six gems, as agreed.” She hesitated, then pulled out a seventh. “But since you returned them all, a bonus is in order.” She set it beside the others. “And I insist you and your companions join us for a revel tonight. A few barrels of rum washed ashore, and this is the perfect reason to crack them open.”

Ebyn gathered the gems. Small though they were, they glittered beautifully in the dappled sunlight.

“We would be honoured to join you,” he said. “But I fear your alcohol would be wasted on me. My amulet prevents me from suffering the effects of poisons.”

Laysa grinned. “Then take it off, my dear. A beach party is no fun if you can’t let your hair down.”

Ebyn considered this. “Why not?” he said, unclasping the amulet. “I suppose one night of indulgence won’t hurt.”

Laysa laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. And you’re in for a treat. Gregan and Trask brought down two wild boars this morning. We’ll feast well tonight.”

---

“I’m not staying,” Brabara insisted. “I feel naked out here without a weapon, and I really just want to be with Tiny.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you agreed to stay, Ebyn,” Seknafret said. “You’ve avoided gatherings like this every chance you’ve had.”

“And normally I would,” Ebyn replied. “But this one is important.”

“Important how?” Brabara scoffed. “You really think you stand a chance with Laysa?”

“Not that, you oaf,” Ebyn said – a little too quickly, a little too defensively. “It’s important for Xalen. Whether Marian is truly his sister or not, this might be his last chance to spend time with her. Once we step through that portal, it’s all business. The final rod piece, then Vecna. But right now? He gets to be with her without all of that hanging over him. And I, for one, want him to have that.”

Seknafret watched him for a moment, something knowing in her eyes, but she let it pass. “You’re right, Ebyn. I’ll stay too.”

Brabara looked between them. “Fine. But I’m still going.”

Ebyn removed the sixth rod piece and placed it in her hands. “Take this to Mordenkainen. He can start working out where the final piece is.”

“Sure. And Ebyn?” Brabara said, tucking the rod fragment into her pack. “You know all that stuff about you and the captain is just jokes, right?”

Ebyn laughed – a little too loudly, a little too forced. “Of course. Water off a duck’s back.”

Brabara grinned. “Good. Because honestly? You stand absolutely zero chance.”

She strode off toward the portal.

Ebyn watched her go, jaw tight, then exhaled and tried to smooth his expression back into something neutral.

---

By sundown, the party was in full swing.

Two cookfires blazed on the sand, each with a boar turning slowly on a spit. The smell of roasting meat and dripping fat made everyone’s mouth water. Sailors took turns at the handle, a job no one shirked, since spit‑turners were kept well supplied with rum and their cups never stayed empty for long.

Xalen sat with Marian, an island of calm amid the boisterous revelry. They nursed drinks and traded stories from their youth, their quiet conversation a counterpoint to the laughter around them.

Several sailors tried to convince Seknafret to join their makeshift band – perhaps inspired by the story of her performance with the lyre – but she politely declined despite their hopeful pleas. One squeezed an accordion, another slapped a drum with his hands, and a third played a wooden flute with surprising skill.

The music began a little stiff, the sailors unused to playing on solid ground, but loosened quickly as the rum flowed. Soon they were capering and dancing to rousing jigs, laughing as the night deepened.

Seknafret listened, clapping along between sips of water, choosing to keep her wits about her.

The same could not be said for Ebyn.

The young wizard hovered near Laysa all evening, and the captain didn’t seem to mind her shadar‑kai shadow. They clinked tankards, shared food, and even danced once or twice to the band’s uneven rhythm. Ebyn had never been so relaxed – nor, it must be said, so drunk.

Karereca emerged from the jungle sometime after nightfall.

His arrival was announced by several piercing screams. Laysa dropped her tankard and sprinted toward the sound, with Ebyn stumbling after her.

The disillusioned lich stood at the edge of the sand; robes stained with dirt from his trek. “You forgot about me,” he said, looking at Ebyn. “I waited by the entrance, but you left.”

“Yes,” Ebyn said, his speech only slightly slurred. “Sorry about that. We were so pleased to be out of there we weren’t thinking clearly.”

Karereca nodded. “A feeling I understand well.”

“You know this fiend?” Laysa asked, eyes wide.

Ebyn nodded. “This was, until yesterday, the guardian of the tomb.”

“I am Karereca,” the lich said, bowing deeply, his pleasant phrasing betrayed by a voice dry as grave dust. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Laysa blinked. “So… you just walked here?”

“I followed the swath you cut through the jungle,” Karereca said. “It was not difficult.”

Seknafret, Xalen, and Marian arrived, forming a loose semicircle around Laysa and the unsteady wizard.

Marian gasped. “Is that…? No. It can’t be.”

“My creator was Acererak,” Karereca said. “I am not he.”

Marian stepped forward despite herself. “Your creator? So, you’ve met him? Acererak?”

The lich nodded. “I have. And more. I share his memories and experiences up to the moment of my creation.”

She turned to Xalen. “Is he serious?”

Xalen shrugged. “I believe so.”

Laysa stepped forward, gently guiding Marian behind her, one hand on the dagger at her belt. “Do you pose a danger to me or my crew?”

“I seek only to make amends for what my creator did to the people of this island,” Karereca said. “I have had centuries to contemplate those horrors. I wish to offer restitution.”

“I have so many questions,” Marian said. “I’ve devoted years to studying your creator. I would very much like to speak with you – if you’ll allow it.”

Karereca inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Seeing the guests of honour and their scholar speaking calmly with the lich did much to restore the festive mood. The music resumed, the rum flowed, and the party found its rhythm again.

Marian, with a bemused Xalen in tow, led Karereca back to her table, peppering him with questions.

Laysa remained on the beach with Ebyn as the others drifted back to the revel.

“Come with me,” she said, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

---

Brabara stepped through the portal and emerged, as always, in the sanctuary in Sigil.

“Hello?” she called. “Anyone here?”

Mordenkainen appeared through one of the side doors and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw her standing alone.

“Do you have the piece?” he asked, hand already outstretched.

Brabara retrieved the sixth rod fragment and placed it in his palm. “And it’s great to see you too, Mordenkainen.”

“What?” The wizard tucked the piece into the folds of his cloak. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Are you hurt? Where are the others? Are they safe?”

Brabara sighed. “I’m fine, and they’re fine, thanks for asking. They stayed behind on Oerth to clutch at straws.”

“Clutch at…?” Mordenkainen paused, then waved it off. “No matter. I don’t want to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Actually, before you go. My weapon was destroyed in that hellhole you sent us to. I was wondering if you had a magical polearm lying around to replace it?”

Mordenkainen chuckled. “Beyond these doors lies perhaps the most cosmopolitan city in the multiverse. I have no doubt you can find any item you require.”

“Sure, but given the importance of our quest – you know, the multiverse and all that – I was hoping you might have something on hand. Or failing that, some gold so I can buy a replacement.”

“Gold?” Mordenkainen’s eyebrow arched. “I would imagine you’ve come across copious quantities of treasure during your travels. Perhaps spend some of that.”

“Well, yes, we have,” Brabara pressed, “but given what we’re doing for you, I thought you might be willing to contribute.”

The archmage fixed her with a flat stare. “You do realise that if we fail, we all die. I had hoped you’d figured out by now that you are not doing anything ‘for me.’”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Brabara said. “It’s just…”

Mordenkainen raised a hand sharply. “Wait.”

He crossed to a well‑stocked cupboard in the corner – the sort used for linens and cleaning supplies – and rummaged through it for several moments. At last, he returned holding a long wooden pole. Its end was slightly tapered, with a faint groove circling the tip.

“Here. Take this, with my gratitude for your sacrifice.” He angled the wooden pole toward her. “Now I truly must get to work.”

He turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving Brabara standing there with the staff in her hands.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she called after him.

He did not reply.

Brabara looked down at the eight‑foot length of hardwood, noticing how light it was, light in a way no weapon ever should be. “I suppose I could sell it,” she muttered, and headed toward the front door.

---

Ebyn sat up on the beach, naked, with an equally undressed Laysa sleeping soundly beside him.

Their clothes still lay where they’d tossed them after slipping away to this secluded cove beyond the rocky outcrop near the sailors’ camp. It was still dark; Oerth’s two moons, Celene and Luna, glowed faintly behind drifting clouds.

His head throbbed. His mouth felt full of sand. He blinked several times, trying to force his eyes to focus, but the combination of too much rum and too little sleep made the world swim.

“Why did I agree to take my amulet off?” he groaned, cradling his head in his hands.

He glanced down at Laysa’s sleeping form.

Right. That’s why.

A sudden wave of nausea surged through him. Ebyn scrambled to the water’s edge just in time for most of the evening’s rum to come back up – tasting far worse on the return journey. He stayed there, hunched over the surf, until he was certain he was done, then splashed seawater on his face. The salt only made the taste worse.

He fumbled a gesture and slurred a cantrip through lips still tinged with bile. A simple spell – one he’d used countless times to clean clothes, boots, even spilled ink – but never his own tongue.

Would that even work?

The magic flared. A cool tingle swept across his mouth, and the rancid taste vanished. The sensation of sudden cleanliness was almost better than what Laysa had shown him earlier… almost.

Grinning despite himself, he crawled back toward his clothes just as Laysa stirred.

“Where are you off to?” she murmured, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“We should… get back to the others,” Ebyn said, trying to sound composed and failing.

Laysa reached out, hooked a finger around his wrist, and pulled him gently back toward her. “The others can wait,” she purred. “I still have an itch that needs scratching.”

---

Brabara entered the apartment building where Tiny had been staying. As she passed the concierge’s desk, the weaselly-looking man behind it waved her over.

“You’re Tiny’s girl, right?” he said in a nasally voice that grated instantly on her nerves.

“What’s it to you?” Brabara snapped, more sharply than she intended, but she was already in a foul mood, and he’d volunteered to take the brunt of it.

“Could you tell him his rent is due?” the man asked.

Brabara surged forward, looming over the counter. “Can I tell him what?”

The little man swallowed. “He… he hasn’t paid for this week. I’ll need it by tomorrow, or we start selling his things.”

Brabara grabbed him by the collar and lifted him slightly off his feet. “I think you must be mistaken.”

“No mistake,” he whimpered.

Her grip tightened. “Are you sure?”

“I… I could check again.”

“Do that,” Brabara said, releasing him.

The concierge fumbled through his ledger with exaggerated care. “Ah… here it is. My mistake. Clearly.”

Brabara stared him down. “I assume that means he’s not in?”

“Tiny?” the man squeaked.

“Of course, Tiny! Who else would I be talking about?” she roared.

He flinched back until he hit the wall. “No, I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

Brabara turned and walked out, leaving the unfortunate man trembling behind the desk.

She covered the distance to Tiny’s workplace in under half an hour. Sigil’s version of night was never truly dark, and the streets were never truly empty. A growing sense of wrongness twisted in her gut, and no amount of rationalising could shake it. She carried the quarterstaff in one hand, and its unfamiliar weight only added to her unease. By the time she reached the tavern, she was close to throwing the damned thing into the gutter.

The bouncer stepped aside as she approached, and she pushed through the door in a fluster. She scanned the room – no Tiny. She strode to the bar, where a lone barman tended to a dozen scattered patrons.

“What’ll it be?” he asked as she approached. “Oh, you’re Tiny’s girl. Barbie, is it? Or Barbara?”

“It’s Brabara,” she snapped.

The barman raised both hands. “Whoa there, didn’t mean nothing by it. Where’s your boy, anyway? He missed his shift today.”

A cold knot formed in her stomach. “He’s not here?”

The barman shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since he left with you yesterday.”

Brabara froze. “Left with me?”

“Sure,” the barman said. “You came in about an hour before his shift ended. Had a couple of drinks, then the two of you left together.”

Her heart hammered. She forced the words out. “I had drinks? Here? Yesterday?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, thinking. “Come to think of it, you were real keen to talk about the coins you used to pay. Hold on.”

He ducked beneath the bar and came up with two silver pieces.

“Here they are,” he said, dropping them onto the counter.

Brabara picked one up. Turned it over.

A moon eclipsing a dying sun.

A stylised man’s face.

A face she knew.

Vecna.

Brabara gasped. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” the barman asked, genuine concern in his eyes. “You don’t look so good.”

Brabara caught her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, colour drained, eyes wide and haunted.

She sat frozen for a heartbeat, breath coming fast, mind racing.

Then she bolted for the door.

“Ebyn!”

---

Brabara emerged from the portal and stepped back onto the beach. The sounds of merriment drifted from around the rocky bluff.

How could anyone celebrate with Tiny missing?

She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to remember that these people had nothing to do with Tiny’s disappearance. None of them even knew him. None of them cared.

How could they not care?

The thought made her angry again, and she had to fight the urge to storm over and demand they stop their celebration. She knew she was spiralling; she recognised the feeling. It was horribly familiar – like when Tiny had been taken away before – but this time it was different. This time it wasn’t his fault. Someone had done this.

And they were going to regret it.

Her knuckles whitened around the quarterstaff.

Why am I still carrying this useless thing?

She almost threw it into the sand but stopped herself. She would need a weapon – any weapon – to smash whoever had taken Tiny.

“Ebyn!” she shouted and ran around the rocky bluff toward the revelry.

Two bonfires lit the night sky. Sailors danced to the uneven rhythm of a trio of barely competent musicians.

Brabara scanned the crowd and spotted Seknafret and Xalen by one of the fires. Xalen was talking with his sister and with what looked like a lich.

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Vecna!” Brabara screamed and charged.

Xalen looked up just in time to see her barrelling through the sailors, quarterstaff raised, murder in her eyes.

“Where is he?” she roared. “Where is Tiny, you bastard!”

Xalen leapt to his feet and stepped between Brabara and his sister. “Brabara, calm down. What are you talking about?”

“Vecna took Tiny!” she screamed, gripping a long wooden pole like she meant to skewer someone with it.

Xalen stared at it for half a heartbeat. Was that… a broom handle?

“Vecna? Tiny?” he said, dragging his attention back to her. “Brabara, you’re not making sense. Vecna isn’t here. That’s Karereca. The undead from the tomb.”

Brabara’s eyes darted wildly. “Where’s Ebyn?”

Xalen winced. “I think he and the captain may be… indisposed.”

Brabara’s eyes widened. “What? Where?”

Seknafret pointed down the beach. “That way. But let me go first. I don’t think he’d appreciate you blundering in like this.”

Brabara snorted. “Fine. Go. Hurry.”

Seknafret set off along the beach, with Brabara stalking close behind. She stopped where she’d last seen Ebyn and Laysa and called his name.

No answer.

She called again.

Still nothing.

“Ebyn!” Brabara bellowed, voice cracking. “Ebyn, you scrawny bastard, I need you!”

---

Ebyn stretched and blinked a few times.

“Do you hear that?” Laysa murmured. “Someone’s calling for you.”

The shouting continued.

“Brabara?” Ebyn realised. “But she went back through the – oh no. The rod piece!”

“Is that important?” Laysa asked. “Can it wait until morning?”

Ebyn shook his head and sighed, dressing as quickly as his foggy mind allowed. “As much as I’d like that, I’m afraid it can’t.”

Laysa’s expression shifted into a mock pout before softening into a warm smile. “Go,” she said, reaching for her clothes. “Your crewmate needs you. Nothing’s more important than that.”

Ebyn leaned down to kiss her one last time, then turned to run, only to stop after a single step.

“Um,” he said, suddenly awkward. “Do you… have a trinket? Something I can use to find you again?”

Laysa laughed gently and untied one of the beads from her hair. “Take this, my sweet, sweet boy.” She tossed it to him.

Ebyn caught the bead and sprinted around the sandy promontory toward the shouting.

He found Brabara and Seknafret standing on the beach.

“What happened to the rod piece?” he asked, breathless.

“Rod piece?” Brabara barked. “Screw the fucking rod piece! Mordy’s got that. Tiny is missing.”

Ebyn’s eyes widened. Relief and dread tangled in his chest. “What do you mean Tiny is missing?”

“Vecna has him!” Brabara insisted. “He left work with me and there were these coins…”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ebyn held up a hand, wincing as her words stabbed through his hangover. “Start at the beginning. Slowly. What happened after you went through the portal?”

Brabara explained everything: giving the rod piece to Mordenkainen, visiting Tiny’s apartment, the concierge, the tavern, the coins, the barman’s story.

“And do you have one of these coins?” Ebyn asked.

“No,” Brabara admitted. “I left them there and ran straight here.”

“Right,” Ebyn said. “Then that’s where we go first. Let’s gather our things.”

---

They returned to the main camp to prepare for the journey back to Sigil. Xalen strapped on his weapons and approached Marian.

“Something has come up. We need to leave now. Are you ready to come with us?”

Marian lowered her eyes. “I’ve decided to stay.”

Xalen opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a finger.

“Let me finish. I know we’ve only just been reunited, and I know what you’re doing is dangerous. But it sounds like we won’t have much time together anyway – not until you’ve saved us all.

“My life is here, with these people. And now, with Karereca, I have the chance to unravel the secrets of the wizard I’ve spent my life studying. It’s like speaking with Acererak himself. I can’t walk away from that.

“But I want you to know I expect you to come back to me,” she said, eyes steady. “You know where to find me. When you’re done saving the multiverse, you can return, and we can be together for as long as we want.”

Xalen stood silent for a long moment.

“Say something,” Marian whispered.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” he said at last. “But I understand. If we fail, it won’t matter whether you’re beside me or not. And you may be safer here with an ancient lich than with me.”

Marian stepped forward and embraced him tightly. “I knew you’d understand. Just promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” Xalen said, tears slipping free. He reached into his cloak. “Here. Take this.” He handed her his raven feather. “You take mine, and I’ll take yours. That way we’ll always be able to find each other.”

Marian untied her feather and gave it to him. “I’m so glad I found you, brother,” she said, placing his feather in her hair. “I know we’ll meet again.”

---

With their preparations complete, the group stepped through the portal and returned to Sigil. No one greeted them this time. They left the sanctuary and headed straight for the tavern Brabara had fled earlier.

They arrived without incident. The barman looked up, frowned at Brabara’s return, and his expression shifted to mild alarm when he realised, she hadn’t come alone.

“I don’t want no trouble,” he said as they approached. “I already told you everything.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Ebyn assured him. “We just want to see the coins you showed her earlier, and a private place to talk.”

The barman looked them over, then nodded. “There’s a private room at the back. You can use that.” He bent to the strongbox, retrieved the coins, and led them past several empty booths into a small room dominated by a long rectangular table. He tossed the coins onto it. “Use the room as long as you need. If Tiny’s in trouble, I’d hate for him to think I didn’t help.”

“Thank you,” Ebyn said. “I know you already told Brabara what happened, but we’d appreciate hearing it again.”

The man shrugged and repeated the story.

“What was this other Brabara wearing?” Xalen asked.

“Pretty much what she’s wearing now,” he said, eyeing Brabara. “Maybe a bit more put together. No offence.”

“None taken,” Ebyn said. “Was she armed?”

“Not that I saw.”

“I didn’t have my glaive?” Brabara said, incredulous. “I never go anywhere without that.”

The barman raised his hands. “Hey, last night was the first time I’d ever seen you. You not carrying a broom handle wouldn’t exactly stand out to me.”

Brabara looked down at the quarterstaff in her hand as though it had personally betrayed her. “This isn’t a glaive,” she muttered, giving it a shake. “It’s a stupid quarterstaff.”

“If you say so.” The barman shrugged.

Xalen frowned at the pole. “Brabara… why are you carrying a broomstick?”

Brabara’s grip tightened, knuckles whitening. “It’s a quarterstaff. Mordenkainen gave it to me.”

“It’s a broomstick,” Ebyn said. “Get rid of it.”

The barman glanced between them. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got customers.”

“Can we keep these coins?” Seknafret asked.

“Sure. And for what it’s worth,” he added, looking at Brabara, “I hope you find Tiny. He’s a good man.”

The four of them were left alone.

Ebyn picked up one of the coins, turning it over in his fingers. The symbol of a moon eclipsing a dying sun. The stylised face of a man he knew too well. A coin from Vecna’s ancient human empire – here, now. The last warmth from the night’s celebration drained from him, replaced by cold resolve.

“I need to cast some rituals,” Ebyn said. “Consult the auguries. We need to understand what we’re facing.”

“I’ll contact the thieves’ guild,” Xalen said. “See if these coins have shown up anywhere else. Might take a while.”

“Meet us at Tiny’s apartment,” Ebyn said. “You know where it is?”

Xalen nodded and left, taking one of the coins.

“Why the apartment?” Brabara demanded. “He’s not there. And you can cast your rituals here.”

“I know,” Ebyn said. “But there might be another clue there. And most importantly, there are beds.”

“Beds?” Brabara snapped. “Tiny’s missing and you’re talking about beds?”

Seknafret touched her arm gently. “We’re exhausted, Brabara. We’re no good to Tiny like this. And unless we find another clue, we don’t have much to go on. Plus, we need to get you a proper weapon.”

“This was well planned,” Ebyn said. “Taking Tiny quietly. Leaving these coins so we’d know who took him. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this bodes well for him.”

Brabara scoffed. “How do you figure that?”

“They want us to find him,” Ebyn said. “They need him alive, long enough to lure us in. They’ll kill us first. Then him.”

Brabara stared at him. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Hold on,” Ebyn said. He pulled a short length of copper wire from his pouch and whispered arcane words over it. “Tiny, I’m Ebyn. Brabara is with me. Can you tell us where you are and if you’re okay? Be brief. You have twenty‑five words.”

A moment later, the reply sounded in his mind:

“I’m fine. Beaten, but I’ll live. They knocked me out and I woke up here. I don’t know where I am. Sorry.”

“He’s alive,” Ebyn said. “Injured, but alive. He doesn’t know where he is.”

“You spoke with him?” Brabara grabbed Ebyn’s shoulders. “Call him again. Tell him I… tell him I love him.”

“I can’t,” Ebyn said gently. “I need to conserve spells for more complex divinations.”

“And,” Seknafret added softly, “I’m sure he knows you love him.”

Brabara sobbed. “Yes, he knows that, but he doesn’t know I’m…” She stopped, mouth open, unable to finish.

“Think your way through this,” Seknafret said. “Use your Neverwinter Watch training. Like you told us months ago. Take the emotion out so you can focus on the facts.”

Brabara stared at her, then let out a long, shuddering sigh. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just… hard.”

“We’ll find him,” Ebyn said, gathering the remaining coin. “I promise.”

---

They left the tavern and made their way to Tiny’s apartment. Brabara retrieved the spare key from the still terrified concierge and unlocked the door.

The place was neat and tidy – exactly how Tiny kept it. No sign of struggle. All his possessions still there, including the remarkably lifelike doll Brabara had bought him from Nikola Kringle.

Ebyn set up his ritual space and cast several divinations. His magic confirmed Tiny was still in Sigil, but little else.

Xalen returned an hour later, having arranged for the thieves’ guild to watch for the coins.

Exhausted, the four of them collapsed into sleep.

The nightmare took them soon after.

 

Vecna stands in the Shadowfell, the air around him still and cold, the sky a bruised smear of grey. In the distance, the Raven Queen’s palace looms like a shard of obsidian stabbed into the world. Souls stream toward it in an endless river – a tide of memory, grief, and finality. Vecna watches with envy, his gaze hollow and unblinking.

Each soul, each death, feeds her hunger for memories. Each life surrendered becomes another thread in her tapestry of memory. But as he studies the flow, he notices gaps – absences in her harvest. When a new sentient undead is born, its soul does not join the river. It does not go to the Raven Queen. It slips away, lost to the multiverse.

Lost… until now.

Vecna extends a skeletal hand, and the shadows coil around his fingers like eager serpents. He has bound his essence to these once-wasted souls. They are few – a trickle compared to the torrent that feeds the Raven Queen – but they are his. And in time, they will be enough.

For the Raven Queen does not consume the souls she gathers. She plucks out the memories she desires and discards the rest.

Not so Vecna.

He devours everything.

---

They awoke the next morning feeling worse for wear – and not just because of the dream. Seknafret, despite avoiding alcohol at the revel, looked the most drained. The nightmare had hit her hard, and she needed to draw on her magic just to steady herself.

Once he’d finished transcribing the dream into his journal, Ebyn lit charcoal in a brass brazier and knelt inside a circle of incense. He sprinkled herbs from his component pouch onto the glowing coals, filling Tiny’s apartment with the sharp scent of burning sage.

“What’s he doing?” Brabara asked as she waited for Seknafret to finish her recovery. “Cleansing the room of evil spirits?”

“You’re in a surprisingly good mood,” Xalen said. “I thought you’d be climbing the walls by now.”

“I know we can’t run at this half‑cocked,” she said. “I need a weapon, and until we hear back from the guild, we’ve got zero leads. Seknafret was right – I need to think my way through this, or I’ll get Tiny killed.”

Xalen nodded toward Ebyn. “He’s recalling Hoot.”

“What?”

“Ebyn,” Xalen said. “He’s summoning his familiar back.”

Seknafret stretched, looking steadier. “You ready?”

“If you are,” Brabara replied.

Seknafret smiled. “Then let’s go shopping.”

Seknafret and Brabara took a generous handful of gems and set out in search of a high‑end weapons merchant – someone who might have something worthy of what lay ahead. Sigil was vast, but that only meant more options. After a couple of hours, some spirited haggling, and the trade‑in of the so-called quarterstaff “awarded personally by the famed archmage Mordenkainen himself,” they finally secured a suitable replacement for the glaive Brabara had destroyed on Oerth.

They returned to Tiny’s apartment just as a small frog‑like humanoid shuffled past them in the hallway.

Xalen stood in the doorway to greet them.

“Who was that?” Seknafret asked as they entered.

“Guild contact,” Xalen said. “The Vecna coins have been circulating around the Clerk’s Market. Started showing up a few days ago.”

Brabara hefted her new weapon. “Let’s go.”

“You didn’t get another glaive?” Ebyn asked.

“No.” Brabara held up the weapon proudly. “It’s a lucerne hammer. I’m feeling in more of a bashing mood.”

“Right then,” Xalen said. “Anyone know where the Clerk’s Market is?”

---

The Clerk’s Market was a cacophony of sound, smell, and colour. People of every imaginable shape and size moved between the stalls while vendors shouted over one another to hawk their wares.

Ebyn, who had grown up in libraries and quiet scholarly halls, had never seen so many people in one place. Even Neverwinter at the height of trade season had never been this busy, and certainly not with such a wildly varied crowd.

Giants stepped carefully through the press while halflings, gnomes, kobolds, and goblins wove around their feet. More exotic creatures slithered, fluttered, or stalked through the crowd, each stranger than the last.

A person could spend an entire day here cataloguing species and still be only halfway done by nightfall.

“What a fascinating place,” Ebyn said, ducking to avoid someone’s hastily spun ear‑trunks.

“It’s a lot bigger than I imagined,” Xalen said. “How do we find which vendor got those coins in all this mess.”

“I have a spell for that,” Ebyn said. “I can locate the nearest example of the coins we carry.”

“Won’t that just find the ones in our hands?” Seknafret asked.

Ebyn paused. “Not if we put them in the bag of holding. The spell can’t detect into extradimensional spaces.”

“Perfect,” Brabara said. “Do it.”

Ebyn drew a forked twig from his pouch and murmured eldritch words, tracing a complex pattern in the air. When he released the magic, the twig spun several times before fixing itself toward a single direction like a compass needle.

“This way,” he said.

He led them through the throng. Despite the crowds, people generally stepped aside, though more than a few eyebrows rose at the sight of the determined adventurers following a spinning twig.

They approached a stall manned by a dark‑skinned tiefling draped in silks woven between his impressive horns.

“Welcome, discerning customers,” he said, voice deep and soothing. “I am Kaddish, the finest purveyor of cured meats this side of Avernus. What delights may I tempt you with on this most typical of days?”

“We want information,” Brabara said, pushing forward and looming. “And you’re going to tell us what we want to know, little man.”

Kaddish sighed and snapped his fingers in a complex rhythm that somehow cut through the din.

“Such behaviour is not welcome here,” he said calmly. “Lose that attitude before it causes you embarrassment.”

The crowd parted. A massive, neckless man appeared behind Brabara, bald head perched directly on his shoulders.

“Everything alright, Kaddish?” he asked in an incongruously high‑pitched voice.

Brabara swallowed. Anyone who sounded like that as an adult had probably spent a lifetime in brawls.

Kaddish’s red eyes slid to her. “Well, my dear? Is everything alright?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Xalen hissed. “What happened to thinking your way through this?”

Brabara wilted. “Yes. Fine. No problem.”

Kaddish’s smile returned instantly. “Now, how may Kaddish help you? A side of smoked nuns’hrak, perhaps?”

Xalen stepped forward, slipping five gold coins into Kaddish’s hand. “We’re looking for information.”

Kaddish pocketed the coins with a graceful flick. “What information do you seek?”

Xalen produced the silver coin stamped with Vecna’s human face. “We’re looking for people who’ve been spending coins like this.”

Kaddish nodded. “I remember them. Hard to forget.”

“How so?” Ebyn asked. “Did they threaten you?”

Kaddish laughed. “Oh no. Threats like your friend’s are common. I forget them as quickly as I forget my last itch. No. These were memorable the way a man remembers his most recent fuck.”

Ebyn swallowed, suddenly warm. “I… see.”

“Can you describe them?” Xalen asked.

Kaddish extended his hand. Xalen dropped more coins into it.

“Two women and a man,” Kaddish said. “Human, I think, though who can tell these days. All pleasing to the eye despite their lack of hair. Their clothing accentuated their physiques, and they displayed enough well‑inked flesh to satisfy even the most vulgar tastes.”

“Well‑inked?” Ebyn asked.

“Tattoos,” Kaddish said. “Intricate designs all over their bodies.”

Brabara thrust out her arm, pointing at one of her runes. “Like these?”

Kaddish examined it and shook his head. “Theirs were far more elaborate. And no two matched.”

“What did they buy?” Ebyn asked.

“Some clubbasai and a wedge of sharkut. I can package the same for you if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ebyn said. “Thank you.”

“Of course. May the Lady watch over you and bless your houses.”

They moved away from the stall and found a spot by a small fountain.

“They’re baiting us,” Xalen said. “The coins, the tattoos – it’s all for our benefit.”

“Tattoos…” Ebyn murmured. “They sounded familiar.”

“In Barovia,” Seknafret said. “The cult in the Death House. Where we got the third rod piece.”

“Yes,” Ebyn said. “What did they call themselves?”

“Priests of Osybus,” Seknafret said.

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Xalen said.

“How does this help us find Tiny?” Brabara demanded.

“I think we should speak to more vendors,” Ebyn said. “They want to be noticed. Let’s see what else we can learn.”

---

By mid‑afternoon, after wheedling, bribery, and charm, they pieced together a clearer picture. The tattooed trio had been entering and leaving the market via Tinsmith’s Way. They’d first appeared three days ago and had come every day since. Except today.

One enamoured vendor had even drawn a likeness of one of them, which Xalen quietly liberated.

The group left the market and followed Tinsmith’s Way, a long thoroughfare leading toward the Grove of Erik, a small copse of trees surrounded by buildings.

“He could be anywhere,” Brabara said, despair creeping into her voice.

“We need more information,” Xalen said.

“I’ll try contacting him again,” Ebyn said. “Maybe he can tell us something about his surroundings.”

He cast the spell. “Tiny, it’s Ebyn again. We need a clue about your location. Can you hear or smell anything?” He glanced at Brabara. “And Brabara loves you.”

Tiny’s reply came moments later: “It’s dark. Pretty sure I’m underground. I hear dripping water – loud. Maybe a sewer?”

The connection ended.

“What did he say?” Brabara asked. “And… Ebyn, thank you for that last part.”

“He’s underground somewhere,” Ebyn said. “Maybe near a sewer. He couldn’t give us much else.”

“And?” Brabara pressed, eyes hopeful. “Did he say he loves me back?”

Ebyn looked at her flatly. “He only had twenty‑five words. He had to focus on what mattered.”

He watched the strength drain from her posture. “But he said it anyway,” Ebyn added. “The idiot.”

Brabara let out a choked sound and wrapped him in a crushing hug. “Oh, Ebyn… you have no idea how good it is to hear that.”

Ebyn struggled free, stepping back quickly. “Please don’t do that again.”

“How does knowing he’s in or near a sewer help us?” Xalen said. “There must be a hundred sewer access points in this district alone, and thousands in the city.”

“But not all of them will be suitable,” Seknafret said. “They’d need somewhere secluded to come and go. They wouldn’t climb out in the middle of a busy street.”

“Right,” Xalen said, following her logic. “We know they came to the market along this street. If they’re using a sewer entrance, it has to be somewhere quiet. We need to scour this part of town for access points that fit.”

“It could take days,” Brabara said.

“Not for Hoot,” Ebyn replied.

He sent his newly reborn familiar soaring over the streets of Sigil. Anti‑peak had fallen, the city’s version of night, and the crowds had thinned. Hoot swept across a wide area, searching for secluded sewer entrances. After two hours, they had narrowed the possibilities to four.

Two were in ill‑used laneways, one in the wooded glade at the end of Tinsmith’s Way, and the fourth behind the walls of a dilapidated estate on Junkman’s Lane.

They began checking each one when Seknafret had another idea.

“If anyone keeps a regular vigil on the streets,” she said, “it’s those with no other choice.”

She moved through the district, dropping coins into cups and kind words into ears, asking gentle questions of the city’s poorest. A few hours later, they had their answer.

A sewer entrance in an alley behind a lawyer’s office.

Brabara stared down at the solid metal cover as if it had personally insulted her. “Tiny’s down there?” she growled, striking the lid with the butt of her weapon.

“The beggars remembered the three tattooed people coming and going from here over the last few days,” Seknafret said. “That’s all we know for certain.”

“Right then,” Brabara said, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck. “Let’s get to it.”