Chapter 6: Sonata of the Djinn

  An Exhausted Liaison

  Lord Veylon began directing the knights as they gathered around the cart. They edged closer to the cart uneasily as the sarcophagus groaned and shook. “Men, we need to get this inside”, Veylon shouted to them. They looked back and forth between the powerful and grizzled warrior and the obsidian black box that layed in the cart and mustered their courage.

  “Yeh, uhm, Lord Veylon. So the thing is, even now you’re having to have 10 men to wrangle this thing and we stopped it. We stopped it from being unleashed across the city” Ashen called to Veylon. Veylon turned and stared daggers at him before returning his concentration to the men guiding them down and around to a descending ramp.

  “Lord Veylon, we’re talking about thousands of people and -”, with that Veylon’s head snapped around. For a moment it looked like he could’ve bit him. He steeled his face and breathed out. He took a long deep breath as the annoyance seem to fall from his face.

  “Can you take care of this Claire?” he called to a younger looking elf. Her face made her look like she was twenty, but she was probably 130 years old. “Package C sir?” –”Yes, package C,” Veylon replied.

  With that he turned his attention back to the cart, “Don’t ! Don’t Drop it!” he shouted as the men trying to get it down stumbled for a moment, “We have a winch for a reason. Use it for damned sakes.” He brought the palm of his hand to his face and shrugged to himself as Claire led Ashen and Magnus back into the building and into an office.

  The office was cluttered. The stacks of parchment that had been on Lord Veylon’s desk were small in comparison. As Claire entered the room, she took a seat and directed the two adventurers to take the two chairs sitting on the other side of the desk. Looking at her closely they could see just how tired and overwhelmed she looked. Her eyes met Ashens as a look of annoyance now came over her. “Now,” she began in a memorized and unfeeling voice.,” You have done a tremendous service to the city by which Lord Veylon wishes to express his personal thanks and gratitude. Never before have we seen such bravery as that you have shown in this incident which is of personal importance to Lord Veylon and the Golden Hand at large. Your activities are grand and should be rewards as such.”

  “You know, we haven’t been introduced yet. I am Magnus and this is one of my partners Ashen. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you-” The woman shuffled through papers seeming annoyed at this unplanned interruption to her day not to pay attention, “Yes.. you have done wonderful things. How may I help you Magis?”

  “Actually, my name is Magnus,” Magnus began, “and-” Ashen broke in.

  “Claire, can I call you Claire? What do you do here exactly?”

  She breathed out in exasperation. “I am the interim acting Chief of Staff after the cultists attacked the carriage leaving Sir Lauress and Lord Americ dead. His passing left a lot of… things to work on..” She said, looking around at the stack of papers that were still on her desk.

  “Oh, you’re very important, I see. They wouldn’t let you take over for him unless you had earned this position, ” he said. At the sound of the words, she began to reflect and her tensed shoulders seemed to relax. “You probably worked very hard to get to this position and “ he paused. “ Your parents must be proud of you, especially for an elf, you’re probably in your 120s? And already at this very senior position.” Her annoyance seemed to fade with the direct appeal to her ego.

  “You see Claire, we are going to need to arrange for travel from here to - where are we going?“ -Ashen looked over at Magnus as he pulled out the scrap that had been on Morgan’s body. Looking closely at the location of the Spire and of Caldrath, Magnus said, “Well.. I suppose the closest port would be Port Valor miss. Though we’ll probably need to be there for at least a week or two… Oh my, the scale of this map is all wrong. Maybe a month before we travel back? Ashen, we’re going to be in Elkenquay for more than a month. Anyway, yes. Swallowhorn”,

  A knock came at the door as the young woman who had taken their information reappeared, “Excuse me miss, but do you have a moment?” she said, anxiously.

  Claire’s face turned back to that of being overwhelmed. “Flinwing, we have a standing meeting in a couple of minutes, can it wait?” Flinwing looked anxious and stepped back out the door.”Proceed, you need transportation”

  Ashen spoke up again. “Yeh, a chartered boat for four. No five of us. And a cart and horses. And access to your armory, Lord Veylon said we should have access to your armory. And expenses while we’re travelling. 200 gold each.” Magnus’s eyes went wide at tail that Ashen was spinning - he appreciated exaggeration, but this seemed to not have any basis in the reality of the interaction with Lord Veylon that he had just seen. Indeed that Claire had just seen. Claire’s face returned flatly back at Ashen.

  “So you’re asking for a chartered sloop for you and your group to go and wait for you for… a month, plus travel time, with room for horses and a cart. Let me check my records, but no, you aren’t getting a chartered ship”, she said as she began to consult her notes and talk to herself “16th of Eryndas, no. That won’t work. The Fetchweather? … no… it’s- 5 people? No. “-she continued mumbling out dates and names of ships. “Ah… okay, We have space on the Fading Tide on the 22nd of Eryndas. There was a shortage of some of the grain coming in from Greymoor. Apparently some crop failings and by the time they arrived here, we had to destroy 4 tons of grain. So there should be enough space on there but -” she was cut off again by Flinwing.

  “Miss Claire, it really is important that I speak to you, ” she said coming back in the door.

  “I hear you Flinwing. These gentlemen will be out of my office in less than five minutes,” she glared at Ashen and Magnus as if to dare them to waste more of her time. “We can talk then, does that work?” she asked.

  “Yes director,” Flinwing stepped into the door and waited.

  “And about the gold, she turned in her chair and reached for a prepared letter and scratched some information onto it, folded it and applied her wax seal to it.”Give this to the captain. He will have expense money that is used for trading back and forth that he will use to uhm… get you caught up. So if you have nothing else?” she didn’t wait for their response as she turned to Flinwing at the door. “Flinwing, I’m ready for you.”

  “Thank you director”, she approached the desk and looked expectantly for Ashen and Magnus to get up.

  Ashen and Magnus took the sealed letter and made their way back to the Merchant’s district to meet back up with Kaeric and Sylvi.

  The Prophet’s Directive

  The guard wasn’t sure what to make from what he’d just seen. He’d never seen something like this before. A random black cloaked man dashing past them at the door and kneeling before the prophet to give him a letter? It didn’t make sense to him. What possible business did he have with the Prophet? And who was this Morgan. The further order to be looking out for anything suspicious in the temple - for anyone suspicious - that was stranger still. He looked out at the people as they kneeled in the pews praying and the couple of people standing talking to the clerics and one figure stood out. She was a young woman with dark hair and angled but feminine features. She was quite beautiful, but she was just sitting in the pew staring intently at the prophet. She didn’t look out of place, so much, but perhaps she needed to talk to the prophet directly. Some people found it hard to talk to the priest for the first time, especially if they’d never been in the temple before. And this young woman had certainly never been here before. He began to walk over to her.

  “Excuse me, but..” he stumbled over his words, “what are you doing? Er …do you have any…?” Richard didn’t really know how to speak to attractive women. “Did you need anything? Do you need to speak to the prophet?” The young woman stood up saying nothing and walked out. Stupid Richard, you scared her off. The doors to the temple closed behind her and he thought about it for a second. Something was very strange about what had happened. Shouldn’t she have said something? Richard approached the Prophet Brunnsen. “Your highest most holy prophet. There was a young woman here. When I asked her if she wanted to talk to you, she just stood up and left. Something was off about her.”

  “My lost sheep needs guidance. Follow her, find out where she is staying that I may seek her out myself,” the prophet said.

  “Oh the poor girl. I’ll go to find her.” With a sense of renewed hope, Richard stepped out into the road behind the girl and began to follow her.

  A Mysterious Guide

  Kaeric walked through the crowded streets of Havenford trying to find a circuitous path back to the Merchant District. Cutting down an alley, he saw a mysterious cloaked figure. A great black beak stood prominently out from the hood and he saw mirrored eyes in the darkness. It’s skin looked like fashioned leather. “You look lost, orc”, it’s voice muffled as its beak didn’t seem to move. Like it was being projected from behind it. Kaeric looked back at the hooded figure. He’d never seen a race like this. It was clearly bird like, but there were no feathers and he saw no claws. No wings, but it was wearing a cloak. That must be uncomfortable to have to cover up wings with a cloak. He wondered whether it was due to fashion or some other reason. Was it ashamed of its wings? Maybe they didn’t grow in as well as the other birds. Poor bird.

  “I’m going to the merchant district. Could you help me?” Kaeric asked. He’d seen so many new creatures in the last few days, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get a better look at this new creature.

  “I can guide you,” the bird faced creature said. It struck Kaeric that the bird had a rather high voice. Perhaps this was a female bird. Going into the alley further, it turned in between buildings going pitch black. His keen dark vision was able to still see in the shadows. “What’s your name?” Kaeric asked.

  “Don’t worry about that” she said from beneath her cloak. Ember nudged Kaeric’s calf as they continued to walk. The sound of the city seemed to be cut off by the turns of the alley and the massive buildings as the walked through. Still water pooled in corners as their footsteps echoed around them. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this bird. Something did not fit. Ember meowed up at him. As Kaeric moved his hand to be at the ready, they made a final turn and found an opening from the alley back out into the street. “This was probably a lot shorter way than travelling through the crowd,” she said. The merchant district is about three blocks up that direction,” she said, pointing him up the street. Kaeric continued back to the Merchant Guild Hall and waited for the rest of the party to return.

  When they had all returned, the group recounted what had happened and prepared for the next morning. They needed to get find the ashes of a naturally fallen Eldar Tree and they needed to find the Fane of Shadows. That meant they would have to leave for the Gloomwood. After eating a hearty meal at the chef’s table in the guild hall, the group prepared for sleep in the stables. As their lids began to close, the smell of Incense and Myrrh slowly flowed into their noses and they drifted to sleep. But for Magnus and Sylvi, sleep did not bring peace. A strange, oppressive weight pressed down on them, as if the very air conspired to hold them captive. Their dreams were fragmented, filled with fleeting images of shadowy figures, spiders, a putrid smell and distant laughter, leaving them restless and uneasy.

  Dreadful Awakening

  Sylvi’s eyes fluttered open, and she was immediately struck by the heavy, stagnant air that clung to her like a wet shroud. She tried to sit up, but a wave of disorientation crashed over her, forcing her to steady herself against the wall. She was no longer in the stable. The room around her was dimly lit by a single flickering candle resting on a small wooden table. The light barely reached the edges of the room, where shadows pooled like ink. Two three-tiered bunk beds were built into the walls, their surfaces worn and splintered with age. The architecture was unfamiliar, ancient, and foreboding, as if the room itself had not seen the light of day for centuries.

  She still had her equipment, but it felt heavier than usual, as though it resisted her touch. A faint smell of rot and mildew permeated the air, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Sylvi’s heart raced as she scanned the room. Magnus layed passed out on one of the bunks and a young girl was in the corner squatting and pulling her knees into her. Her mind racing with questions. Where was she? How had she gotten here?

  Back at the stables, Ashen was the first to stir. As he awoke the smell of incense still hung in the air with a distinct smell of rot. He stood and walked around to check on wake up the others. Magnus and Sylvi’s sleeping spaces were empty. He kicked Berf to wake him up. “Hey Berf,” he said. Berf didn’t respond. ” Berf!”

  “Uggh.. uh what?” Berf turned over and looked up at him.

  “Have you seen Magnus and Sylvi?” Ashen asked.

  “Argh,” Berf groaned.”I just got back uh.. What time is it?.. Uhm, maybe two hours ago? I didn’t see Magnus and Sylvi. Are they still not back?” Ashen raised an eyebrow and crossed hurriedly back to where Magnus had been sleeping to investigate further.

  “Berf, Kaeric,” he shouted. “Sylvi and Magnus are missing.” He looked at the wood of the cart where Magnus had been and a black ichor was streaked where he had been dragged. A small pool of the tar like substance collected at the foot of the cart and fall onto the ground.

  “Sylvi’s missing?” Berf exlaimed as he jumped to his feet. Kaeric’s eyes flashed to alertness immediately as his senses kicked in. He started to move immediately, the scent of the rot in the air seeming to come directionally. “I can track this”. They began to move.

  The Child

  The small girl sat huddled in the corner. It was a child, no older than ten, her head trembling as she clutched her knees and cried. The girl’s hair fell in tangled curtains, obscuring her face. "I’m scared," she whimpered, her voice barely audible over the oppressive silence. "Are we going to go home?"

  "It’s going to be okay," she said softly, crouching to the child’s level. "Who are you? How did you get here?"

  “I don’t know, I want to go home.” she sniffled.”Do you want to play a game?” Sylvi’s eyes narrowed.

  “Who are you?”, she repeated.

  “Do you want to play a game… Sylvi?” The girl raised her head, and Sylvi’s blood ran cold. Where there should have been eyes were two gaping black maws, dark and infinite. The child’s mouth twisted into a grotesque grin before she let out an ear-piercing scream. The sound wasn’t just loud—it was visceral, digging into Sylvi’s mind and filling her with a primal fear. She stumbled back, her hands instinctively going to her ears, but the scream echoed in her head, relentless. Magnus awoke startled from sleep to the sound of the screaming girl and looked around the room to see Sylvi stepping back. The girl’s haunted features decaying in front of them. He raised his dagger and threw it at the girl.

  As quickly as it began, the apparition vanished, leaving Sylvi gasping for breath.”What was that?” Magnus asked.

  “I don’t know, I just woke up here.”

  Sylvi looked around the room and saw a door. Locked. “Well maybe if we just try to break it down?” A deep voice rumbled in her head.

  Your companions cannot save you; they don’t even care.

  “Did you hear that?” Sylvie asked. Magnus looked at her unsure. “Yeh? You want to break the door down.”

  See how they look at you, suspicious and wary.

  The two attempted to kick the door, and it didn’t budge. It stood like stone, unmoving and not making a sound.

  “We have to get out of here.” Looking around the room, her eyes were drawn back to the candle and the journal lying open to a single page. “Magnus, that book wasn’t here before”. Sylvi approached the journal and against her better judgment, a flood of emotions overwhelmed her. As her fingers brushed the leather cover, flashes of memories came into her head. A small boy - he was angry and frustrated - anger - so much anger. His sister - her eyes removed - removed by the king’s punishment - a warning. Shame - not able to do anything. Anger again - At having to serve the king. Sadness - tears - crying to sleep in this bed. A vow of vengeance - and descent into shadow. The memories weren’t hers, but they burned as if they were.

  With a soft click, the door to the room unlocked.

  The Hunt Begins

  Kaeric and Ashen led Berf through the town, trading off on tracking as the smell of rot and sewage seemed to fill their noses. The trail was faint and elusive, forcing them to backtrack multiple times as the scent dissipated in the bustling streets. Adding to their frustration, the mouthwatering aroma of baked goods and sausages wafting through the air made it difficult to separate the normal city smells from the foul stench they pursued.

  As they left the Merchant District, the trail turned south, leading them into a poorer neighborhood where the buildings were crumbling, and the streets were cluttered with debris. A town crier’s booming voice broke through the din of the streets. “Paaaper! Get Yer Paper!” he bellowed, standing by a dilapidated storefront. “Kidnappings! Cultists! Shadowy Figures! Get yer paper!!”

  Ashen stopped abruptly, tugging on Kaeric’s arm. "Excuse me, kidnappings?" he called out to the crier.

  The man, a wiry figure with a patchy beard and tattered clothes, turned toward Ashen with a mix of surprise and irritation. "Oh yeh, read all about the kidnappings in yer paper," he said, waving a copy of the paper in Ashen’s direction. He immediately turned back to the crowd, resuming his chant. "Paaaaper! Get yer Paaaper!"

  “Look, buddy," Ashen interrupted, his voice sharp. "How much does it cost?"

  The crier recoiled slightly at Ashen’s tone but managed to stammer, "It’s 2cp. No need to be ryude." He held out a grubby hand expectantly.

  Ashen shoved two copper pieces into the man’s hand and snatched the paper. He flipped it open, scanning the pages quickly. The tabloid piece was frustratingly light on details, confirming only that six kidnappings had occurred in the last few weeks. It mentioned vague sightings of shadowy figures near the areas where the victims disappeared but offered little else of substance.

  "Who wrote this? They must have more information," Ashen demanded, his voice rising in frustration.

  The crier, now visibly annoyed, gestured toward the storefront behind him. "Well, you can go raight in then. That’s where the writer’s at." Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the street, calling out once more, "Paaaaper! Get yer Paaaper!"

  Ashen exchanged a glance with Kaeric and Berf. "Let’s see what they know," he said, motioning toward the building. The three made their way toward the entrance, the sound of the town crier’s voice fading into the background as they stepped inside the dimly lit shop.

  Kaeric and Ashen walked into the dingy office space. It had six tables and a spectacled elf with patches on his jacket sitting at one of them with a quill and paper. A pitcher of water was in the corner and two spotted glasses. The elf’s desk had notes scribbled and pinned together against the desk. He didn’t seem to notice as the two walked in. Ashen poured himself a glass of water and Kaeric took the pitcher from him and began pouring it into his mouth. At this, the man looked up and looked surprised.

  “Uhm, excuse me, who are you?” he asked.

  “We just bought a paper outside. Can you tell us more about the kidnappings?”, Ashen asked. Looking around the room, most of it was dusty. It was made for far more writers and it clearly had seen better days.

  “Uhm.. well.. Sure.. “ he said, looking at the orc pouring water directly into his mouth with annoyance. “But uhm.. Do you need a – a glass?” Kaeric looked at him then gestured at the pitcher and resumed drinking. “Right. Well… there have been a string of kidnappings over the last 3 weeks. Mostly in the slums next to the city walls.”

  “So nothing in the Merchant District?” Ashen asked.

  “Oh no, there are far too many guards for that there. No, I was talking to the guards by the city gates though and they’ve had complaints of some of the teenagers being kidnapped by the gates.” The elf explained.

  “Do you have anything more than that?” Ashen asked.

  “I’m afraid not, I don’t have a lot of time to fact check with a lack of staff…” he looked around sadly. “You could check with the guards. Francis would be good to talk to.”

  “And where do they hang out?” - “You can find them at Peities Pub after hours. but..it’s a rough place. You should just get them when they’re at the gates or walking. Peities is… not safe.”

  “Alright, well thank you,” Ashen said.

  “We’re looking for our friends.” Kaeric chimed in. “If you know any more information, you need to tell us.” The desk shuddered as the orc slammed the pitcher down in front of the elf.

  “I have nothing else. Truly. I have nothing else. No staff. About all I have left is 1000 sheets of paper. Got a good deal on it from a magic shop in the Magic District. Couldn’t pass it up. I don’t think he knows what he’s got on his hands. Or maybe he does. Funny little guy. Good luck with your friends.“

  As Ashen and Kaeric went back into the street to meet up with Berf, Ember came running down the block and pounced at Ashen’s leg. Meooooooow. She pushed off of his leg and came turned around started in a bounce back where she’d come from.

  Kaeric set off in a sprint to chase her, Ashen and Berf jogging behind. She raced through the streets finally taking them into an alley where she paused at what looked like a an opening. Grating had been pulled aside and she let out a loud Meeeooooow. Kerric and Ashen crawled into the space as it opened into the sewer.

  “Augh. You want ol’ Berf to come into the sewer?” he said begrudgingly.” For Sylvi”

  They stood in the rancid sewer and gagged.

  Past, Present, and Future

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Sylvi and Magnus stepped through the newly unlocked door and found themselves in an unsettlingly symmetrical chamber that resembled a changing room. The room was hexagonal, with three walls adorned by full-length mirrors that reflected distorted versions of herself. Each mirror glowed faintly, their surfaces rippling as if made of liquid silver. The air here was colder, almost biting, and the silence pressed in on her ears like a physical weight. A single door stood opposite her entry point, locked and unyielding.

  Her eyes were drawn to the mirrors. The faces looked like they were smudged, wiped out and unclear as they moved with them. They were featureless, but she could recognize herself. The one on her left depicted them as children. The mirror on her right showed her current self, holding a flint and wood in her hands, her reflection’s eyes seeming sharper and more alert than they should have been. The central mirror was the most unnerving of all, showing an aged, withered version of herself. This figure was gaunt and weary, holding a key in one trembling hand, the other gesturing toward the locked door. Magnus eyed the mirrors for a moment, then his face turned to glee as he began to wave his arms and dance. “It’s like a funhouse mirror Sylvi, but they’re magic! They’re amazing”.

  “Magnus, we have to get out of here” she chided him. “Fine,” he said, frowning, taking a last moment to wiggle his fingers at the reflection. Sylvi looked at a large engraving in the floor that seemed to be in elven: “Past, Present,Future”

  "What is this?" Sylvi murmured, taking a cautious step forward. As she did, the child in the leftmost mirror moved. It wasn’t a simple reflection mimicking her actions. The young Sylvi knelt to the floor staring at a brick that was out of place.. Sylvi blinked and looked down at her own feet. The same brick jutted slightly upward, a deliberate imperfection in the otherwise smooth stone floor. “Magnus, what do we do?”

  Turning to the right mirror, she examined her current reflection. The figure held a flint and wood, her hands moving as if striking them together. Above her head, three glowing glyphs appeared on the mirror’s surface: a tree, a flame, and a pile of ash arranged in a triangular pattern. Magnus reached out to the glyphs and as his hands hovered over each, they seemed to glow. He smiled feeling warmth coming from the glyph of the flame and pressed it. As he did his body buckled over in pain. Clutching his head he screamed, “That! That is not what we do! Don’t press that”.

  Sylvi frowned.”We’ll we can’t go back, the last room had no other exits” Kneeling, Sylvi pressed the brick back into place. It slid down with a soft click, and the mirror fogged over, obscuring the image of her younger self. A faint hum resonated through the room. Looking closely at the glyphs she whispered the words to herself, “Tree, Flame, Ash”. Looking back down at the engraving in the floor and the images in the mirror. “Past, Present, Future”. Hovering her hand over the glyphs, Sylvi felt a subtle warmth radiating from them. Her hand hovered over the tree and she pressed it. As it did it glowed, leaves growing where there were only branches, then falling. She pressed the fire and it glowed as the still glyph began to move like a living flame. Her hand hovered over the ash and she pressed it. The ash seemed to glow like the ember of a flame and slowly dimmed into grey. As it did, the mirror clouded over and the glyphs disappeared, leaving her reflection obscured.

  “So I guess don’t press the fire –first?” Magnus asked. Sylvi rolled her eyes.

  Finally, she approached the central mirror. The aged version of herself stood motionless, its eyes locking onto hers. It did not move as she moved. Sylvi hesitated, her hand trembling as she reached toward the glass.

  This is your future, a never-ending abyss of despair. - the voice came again

  The elderly figure now began to mirror her movements, but as her fingers brushed the cool surface, the key pressed through the glass.

  For a moment, Sylvi hesitated. Taking the key felt like acknowledging the inevitability of what she had seen. But there was no other way forward. She closed her hand around the key, and the mirror clouded over, leaving them alone once again.

  The hum in the room grew louder as she turned the key in the lock and it creaked open. Sylvi exhaled deeply, gripping the key tightly as she stepped through the threshold into the next challenge.

  Through the Sewers

  Ashen, Kaeric, and Berf explored the sewers together, staying along the raised section on one side of it and avoiding the putrid water that ran sluggishly in the center. The smell of rot and damp stone clung to the air as they moved through the labyrinth of tunnels, the sound of small creatures living amongst the filth echoing faintly. Tiny lizards scurried along the walls, and rats darted between piles of refuse, making their nests in the dark corners.

  “Uhm, why is it so silent?” Berf asked, his voice cutting through the uneasy quiet. Indeed, the sound of creatures had disappeared, leaving only the distant drip of water echoing in the tunnels. The group exchanged uneasy glances, each instinctively gripping their weapons tighter as they scanned their surroundings. The silence pressed in on them, unnatural and suffocating.

  “I guess it was no-” Berf began, but his words were cut off. Before them, the pale form of a child appeared, her white sleeping clothes stained with grime, her hollow eyes like dark voids staring back at them. She opened her mouth, and a piercing scream tore through the sewer. The sound was visceral, digging into their minds. Without hesitation, Berf raised his axe and slashed through her form. The figure dissipated into nothingness, as if it had never been there. Ember, Kaeric’s sleek feline companion, let out a low growl and rubbed against Berf’s leg, meowing softly.

  As they delved deeper into the tunnels, the oppressive atmosphere grew heavier. They came across a wet, curled sketchbook abandoned in the muck. Its pages were warped, but the drawings within were clear—a family of three, etched with haunting precision: a father, a mother, and a child. Nearby, the skeletal remains of someone long decayed lay crumpled against the wall. The tattered remnants of a blouse and skirt clung to the bones, and a tarnished locket hung around the neck. Inside the locket were portraits matching the faces in the sketchbook.

  “Come on, we have to move,” Ashen said grimly, his voice cutting through the tension. He turned away from the tragic scene, his steps quickening as though to escape the weight of what they’d found.

  As they pressed on, the feeling of being watched settled over them like a heavy shroud. Glowing pairs of eyes reflected their torchlight from the shadows, only to vanish when approached. Each step felt heavier, the unseen eyes a constant reminder of their vulnerability. Turning a corner, the stench became overwhelming, a pungent mix of rot and decay that stung their nostrils. Then they heard it—the faint clicking of claws on stone. A massive chitinous spider emerged from the darkness, its segmented legs moving with predatory intent as it circled the group. Its many eyes gleamed with malice, and its armored body reflected the dim light in eerie patterns.

  Meanwhile, Sylvi and Magnus emerged into a long, dimly lit hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions. The air was thick and heavy, pressing down on them like an invisible weight. The unnatural stillness was broken only by the faint sound of a child’s laughter echoing from somewhere ahead. They began walking, their footsteps muted against the stone floor, but no matter how far they went, the hallway seemed to stretch on infinitely.

  The voice began to creep into Sylvi’s mind, insistent and cold.

  Can you not feel the shadows beginning to take root? I am inside of you.

  And where are you now… ahh. Havenford. From Greymoor to Havenford even now you are my servant, Sylvi.

  Sylvi clenched her jaw, trying to block out the voice as they walked. After what felt like an eternity, she noticed something peculiar: glyphs etched into the walls. Each glyph depicted a series of images, like a story told in shadows. One showed a creature kneeling and presenting a plate of food to a king. Another depicted the creature stealing the shadow from the throne. The third showed the same creature stabbing the king with a blade forged of shadow and flame. The final glyph depicted the creature seated on the throne of shadow, surrounded by flames.

  Sylvi stopped to examine the glyphs, her fingers tracing their outlines as her breath quickened. As she did, the laughter grew louder, echoing unnervingly around her. Her chest tightened as she realized they had been walking in circles; the glyphs were the same ones she had passed before. The laughter grew louder still, a cacophony that made it hard to think.

  Amid the chaos, she spotted a small candle and a piece of flint on the ground. Without hesitation, she struck the flint, lighting the candle. The flame flickered and burned brightly, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. For a brief moment, the laughter ceased. But then the shadows began to move, writhing unnaturally along the walls.

  Is this the best you can do? Pathetic - the voice boomed.

  The flame roared to life, transforming into a raging bonfire. From behind them, they heard the sound of flames surging. It rushed toward them with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path. Sylvi’s heart pounded as they turned and ran, the fire’s heat licking at her back. Magnus ran just ahead, his movements quick and sure. Three times she stumbled, the flames scorching her lightly, but her determination drove her forward. Finally, they reached a door. Sylvi shoved it open, and they burst through, bracing themselves on either side as the inferno exploded into the room behind them. Then, just as quickly, the fire was sucked back into the hallway, and the door slammed shut. When Sylvi looked back, the door was gone, leaving only smooth stone where it had been.

  Breathing heavily, she turned to Magnus. "What was that?" she asked, her voice trembling.

  Magnus shook his head, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. "I don’t know... I don’t know"

  The Spider’s Nest

  A low, skittering sound echoed, sending shivers down their spines. From the shadows, the massive, chitinous spider emerged—its legs clicking with a sinister rhythm. Twelve feet of armored menace towered above them, its many eyes gleaming with malice.

  The spider struck first, lunging toward Ashen with unnerving speed. Its massive fangs sliced the air where he had stood moments before, the sheer force of the attack chipping the stone wall behind him. Ashen dodged to the side, heart pounding, his dark cloak billowing.

  "Now!" Ashen shouted, raising his hand. Eldritch energy crackled in his palm, swirling with violet hues before bursting forth in a blinding streak. The eldritch blast struck the spider’s carapace, leaving a scorched mark but failing to pierce its thick armor. The spider hissed, legs shifting as it recoiled slightly.

  Kaeric took aim, his bow drawn taut. He steadied his breath, tracking the creature’s movements. With a sharp twang, his arrow flew true, embedding itself into one of the spider’s many glistening eyes. A shriek of pain echoed through the tunnels as black ichor oozed from the wound.

  Berf let out a battle cry, his broad form charging forward. Swinging his mighty axe in a sweeping arc, he slammed it into the spider’s side. The force of the blow sent a tremor through the sewer floor as the axe bit deep, cracking the creature’s armor and drawing a gush of foul-smelling ichor. The spider writhed in agony, its movements becoming erratic.

  Recovering from the assault, the spider turned its fury toward Ashen. Its razor-sharp legs slashed the air in a deadly flurry, narrowly missing him as he ducked and rolled away.

  Kaeric took aim again and the arrow fired through the air penetrating his poison sack as it shrieked in pain.The creature reared back, spinning thick strands of webbing from its abdomen. With a sickening thwip, the webs shot across the tunnel, entangling Kaeric. He struggled as the sticky threads bound him to the wall, his bow clattering to the ground.

  “I’m stuck!” Kaeric shouted, thrashing against the unyielding webbing.

  Ashen’s eyes narrowed, a fiery determination lighting them. With a swift motion, he drew his longsword, its edge gleaming faintly in the lantern’s glow. He charged the spider, feinting to its injured side before slashing upward. The blade carved a gash through its armored leg, severing it at the joint. The spider stumbled, its balance compromised, another shriek tearing through the air.

  Berf seized the moment, roaring with primal fury. He raised his axe high and brought it crashing down onto the spider’s abdomen, splitting through its outer shell with a sickening crunch. The creature’s legs flailed, striking the walls and floor in a desperate attempt to escape.

  But Ashen was relentless. He darted forward, dodging the spider’s wild thrashes. With precise focus, he sliced at an angle through his head. As he did, the spider twitched and its split head slid apart revealing it’s arachnid brain. leapt onto its back, plunging his blade into the base of its head. The spider convulsed violently, ichor spraying in all directions as Ashen twisted the blade and sliced through its neck. The head fell to the ground with a wet thud, its fangs twitching in finality.

  As the creature’s body slumped forward, Berf let out a guttural roar, swinging his axe once more. The blade cleaved into the spider’s abdomen, splitting it open and spilling its noxious insides across the tunnel floor.

  Berf sloshed through the sewage over to Kaeric who was still stuck to the wall and pulled him down. “Well, you could’ve warned me it was so gross”

  “Nice work,” Kaeric said, retrieving his bow. “But let’s get out of here before anything worse shows up.”

  Berf chuckled, resting his axe on his shoulder. “Worse than this big bastard? Doubt it.”

  Font of Memories

  Sylvi and Magnus found themselves in a cavernous room, its boundaries swallowed by shadows that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. The only source of light came from a fountain at its center, its water glowing faintly with an ethereal luminescence that bathed the room in a surreal glow. The fountain was crafted from smooth, dark stone, its surface etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly as if alive. The water within was divided into two distinct sections: one side dark as the void, the other shining with a light that seemed to dance with warmth and familiarity.

  As Sylvi stepped closer, the swirling images within the water began to resolve, their patterns shifting and coalescing into recognizable forms. Her breath caught as she heard her mother’s laughter, soft and warm, echoing faintly. Her own voice joined it, filled with childlike joy. The sound was distant yet intimate, pulling her closer. Within the light section of the fountain, she saw a different image, of Vesper’s face, smiling at her with that same unshakable warmth. The image stirred something deep within her—a longing for safety and a time now lost.

  A figure sat on the fountain’s edge, his silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the water. He was tall and gaunt, his posture oddly casual despite the room’s oppressive atmosphere. In his hand, he held a ladle carved from blackened wood, its handle wrapped in thin strips of cloth that had long since frayed. The man’s face was obscured by the shadows, but his voice was calm, almost disarmingly so.

  “Who are you?” Sylvi asked, her voice steady despite the knot tightening in her chest.

  “I don’t… have a name,” he replied, his tone thoughtful as if the realization were a recent one. “I had a name. I don’t remember it anymore…” there was a sadness there. “I can’t leave here. I can help you leave though. I can take you there, but I’ll need something from you.”

  “What do you need?” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

  “Something… important to you,” he said, lifting the ladle and dipping it into the water. Ripples spread across the surface, distorting the images. For a moment, Sylvi saw her mother’s face vanish, replaced by a swirling mass of shadowy figures. Her heart clenched.

  The voice in her head returned, sharp and intrusive. You know what I want, Sylvi.

  Her hands tightened into fists. “I’m not giving anything to you,” she snapped. “I’m not playing any more of your games.”

  But you’re already playing my game. You’ve brought the Eye to me.- It returned.

  Sylvi’s breath caught as she felt a presence bearing down on her, invisible yet suffocating. Magnus stood beside her, flipping his coin into the air, catching it with practiced ease. The sound of the coin flipping broke through the tension momentarily. He began to speak, his words light and almost cheerful, attempting to negotiate with the man. Yet, as he spoke, the voice pressed into her mind once more, each word heavier than the last.

  You’re already my servant, Sylvi. And now I want your memories.

  The pressure in her head grew unbearable. Her vision blurred, and her focus drifted to Magnus’s coin. It spun in the air, catching the faint glow of the fountain’s light as it turned. It flipped again, that ringing sound as it seemed to chime for those brief moments hanging before it came back to his hand. Flipping again as Magnus continued to try to negotiate with the man. Her heart raced as realization struck her. Magnus’s coin. He had given it away. She remembered the moment clearly—he had handed it to Velmora, his face marked with resignation. This wasn’t Magnus.

  Her voice trembled as she turned to face him, her fingers brushing the hilt of her weapon. “You’re not him,” she whispered, the words carrying a mixture of defiance and dread. The figure posing as Magnus froze mid-motion, the coin hovering unnaturally in the air before it clattered to the ground. The echo of the sound reverberated through the room like a tolling bell, and the shadows around the fountain began to shift, growing darker and more oppressive.

  The man on the fountain’s edge let out a low, guttural laugh, his form beginning to blur and distort before fading.

  Very good. But knowing doesn’t mean you can escape.

  The oppressive atmosphere thickened, and the light of the fountain flickered as the room descended further into shadow. Sylvi gripped her weapon tightly, her mind racing as Magnus drew his dagger and released it at her.

  The Djinn’s Lair

  Ashen, Berf, and Kaeric looked around to the deadend that the spider had used as it’s nest. Six dead bodies lay in decay, their liquids sucked from within them, dried and dehydrated, skin tight against their bodies. This is where they’d gone. The six teenagers. Dragged to the sewers and sucked lifeless by a large spider. The nest was sticky, but they noticed a heavy steel door. Kaeric opened the door and the two others followed. It opened into what looked like an old storage space, perhaps use for smuggling years before. Now there was a table in the corner and a bed. The bodies of Magnus and Sylvi laid on two raised platforms at the back of the large room, their belongings in a corner and two glowing fields raising from runes in the floor. A large tattooed man sat cross-legged behind them, fully tattooed using negative space to form swirling patterns with piercings up and down his body. Standing, he opened his arms as two smaller spiders crawled from the shadowed corners. With a deep booming voice he said to them, “Zarathrax said you would come”.

  Ashen knew this to be a Djinn, but Djinn were not malevolent. They rarely concerned themselves with mortals, but when they did, they were figures of good. Eccentric, but good.

  “Is he making you do this? How is he controlling you?”, Ashen asked. The Djinn struggled for a moment, something happening as he tried to open his mouth. Ashen knew there must be a way to free the Djinn. He looked throughout the room and could sense nothing that would be controlling him. It must be on his person, but he couldn’t see it. It could be anything. And the djinn had so much body jewelry he couldn’t waste time getting a closer look.

  The Djinn stood tall and imposing, his tattooed body glowing faintly as he brandished a wicked scimitar. Ashen's gaze darted to the raised platforms where the bodies of Sylvi and Magnus lay ensnared in glowing runes. He sprinted toward them, his heart pounding as he swung his weapon at the stones etched with the spell runes. Sparks flew, but the runes remained unbroken, the stone unyielding beneath his blade.

  The Djinn moved with unsettling grace, closing the distance to Ashen in an instant. A scowl was imprinted on his face as he fought something internally. His scimitar flashed in the faint light, slashing across Ashen’s side. The pain was sharp, but Ashen gritted his teeth and stood his ground. Across the room, Kaeric took aim, his bow drawn taut. With a sharp twang, an arrow sailed through the air, embedding itself in the Djinn’s back. The Djinn let out a low growl, not in pain but in growing irritation.

  Berf, consumed by rage, roared as his torso transformed into that of a battle unicorn, muscles rippling and ethereal energy radiating from his form. With a bellowing cry, he swung his axe with all his might, the blade biting deep into the Djinn’s back. The blow would have felled a lesser foe, but the Djinn barely staggered, his annoyance mounting as he turned his gaze to the enraged warrior.

  From the shadows, the first spider skittered forward, its legs clicking against the stone. With a sickening thwip, it shot a web toward Kaeric, the sticky strands ensnaring him and pinning him against the wall. Kaeric struggled, his arms straining as he tried to break free. The second spider lunged at Berf, its mandibles snapping at his torso. The sharp fangs scraped against Berf’s skin but failed to penetrate. With a grunt, Berf flexed, the sheer force of his muscles bending the spider’s mandibles and sending it skittering backward.

  In the dream space, Sylvi found herself face-to-face with Magnus—or rather, some creature wearing Magnus’s form. His dagger flew through the air, slicing into Sylvi’s side, the pain searing and real despite the surreal surroundings. She staggered but steadied herself, her hands weaving an incantation. Vines erupted from the ground, twisting and writhing as they wrapped around the creature. He struggled against the enchanted foliage, his movements slowing as the spell took hold.

  Back in the real world, Ashen channeled eldritch energy into his palm, the dark power crackling as he unleashed it at the Djinn. The blast struck his shoulder, forcing him to take a step back. For the first time, the Djinn’s composure faltered slightly, his expression darkening with annoyance. He had taken an arrow to the back, a devastating cleave from Berf’s axe, and now the stinging impact of Ashen’s magic. These were wounds he brushed off, but they were beginning to wear on him.

  The Djinn raised a hand, uttering a guttural command as he cast a veil of darkness over the room. The shadows swirled and grew, plunging the chamber into an oppressive blackness. Kaeric thrashed against the webbing, his fingers clawing at the sticky strands, but his efforts were in vain. He remained pinned, frustration etched on his face.

  Berf swung his axe wildly in the dark, the blade whistling through empty air as the Djinn stepped deftly aside. The first spider turned its attention to Ashen, launching a web in his direction. The sticky mass sailed past him and collided with a cluster of prepared vials on a nearby table. The glass shattered, chemicals hissing and releasing acrid smoke as they mixed, adding another layer of chaos to the already frantic battle.

  The second spider lunged at Berf, its sharp mandibles finding purchase this time. They sank into his side, drawing blood and a guttural growl of pain from the dwarven warrior. Berf snarled, his battle rage flaring brighter. Ignoring the sting of the wound, he reached into his pouch with one hand, uncorked a potion with his teeth, and downed it in a single swig. The magic coursed through his veins, dulling the pain and giving him renewed strength. With a roar, he swung his axe in a mighty arc, the blade smashing into the spider and sending it reeling back on its spindly legs. The arachnid chittered in pain, skittering a few steps away to regain its footing.

  Ashen, blind in the magical darkness, reached out desperately, his hands brushing the cold, static hum of an energy field surrounding Magnus. His heart sank as he realized he couldn’t reach his friend. Frustration boiling over, he gathered eldritch energy in his palm and unleashed it toward where he remembered the Djinn standing. The blast lit up the darkness for a split second as it struck something solid. A grunt of surprise echoed through the chamber, the Djinn momentarily thrown off balance.

  The Djinn recovered quickly, his scimitar slicing through the air with deadly precision. The blade cut into Ashen, a searing pain spreading through his side. Ashen gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. Across the room, Kaeric thrashed against the sticky webs binding him. His muscles strained as he fought to free himself, but the webbing held firm, leaving him cursing under his breath.

  The creature writhed in front of Sylvi in the magical vines that bound it. Its face twisted and contorted, shifting into the familiar visage of Vesper, Sylvi’s adolescent friend. The sight sent a jolt through Sylvi’s heart, the pain from the dagger wound now throbbing in unison with the emotional anguish. But she reminded herself: none of this was real. Summoning her eldritch energy, she sent a crackling blast at the creature. The energy struck true, causing the form of Vesper to flicker and snarl in defiance, the vines tightening around it.

  Ashen staggered and quaffed a healing potion, the warmth of its magic dulling the sharp edge of his pain. He aimed another attack at the Djinn, but his strike missed, the eldritch blast dissipating harmlessly against the wall. The Djinn’s body shimmered with ethereal energy, and in an instant, the darkness lifted as he teleported across the room. He reappeared beside Kaeric, his scimitar slashing down in a blur. Kaeric cried out as the blade bit into his shoulder. But despite the pain, the orc managed a counterstrike, his sword cutting a shallow gash into the Djinn’s side. The Djinn growled, his patience wearing thin.

  Berf swung his axe again, his blow cleaving deep into the first spider’s body. The creature screeched, ichor spilling from its wound. It retaliated, its mandibles digging deep into Berf’s side, drawing a fresh surge of blood. The second spider shot a web at Berf, the sticky strands wrapping around his arms and torso, binding him tightly. Berf roared in defiance, his muscles straining as he tore through the webbing with raw strength. Another web shot past him, missing and splattering against the wall. The second spider lunged but miscalculated, skittering across the floor as Berf shifted out of its path. Despite his resilience, the strain was starting to show; Berf looked like he was about to bleed out.

  The creature in front of Sylvi shifted once more, its twisted body morphing into that of the hollow girl. Her voice was soft and pleading, “Please, don’t hurt me.” Sylvi’s mind raced. She couldn’t stop thinking about the coin. None of this was real. If it was all in her mind, then she could fight back with her will alone. Summoning every ounce of her determination, she focused her thoughts and attacked the creature with her mind. The creature shrieked, its form fracturing under the assault.

  The Djinn stumbled, clutching his head as he screamed in pain. Ashen watched the reaction, his eyes narrowing as he tried to look for something controlling the Djinn. But there was nothing obvious—no amulet, no chain, no visible mark of Zarathrax’s control. Frustrated, he aimed another eldritch blast. This time, the attack missed, hitting a nearby bookcase. The ancient tomes, their bindings worn from centuries of use, disintegrated under the force. Ashen winced. “Sorry about that,” he muttered.

  Kaeric seized the moment, firing another arrow. The projectile struck the Djinn in the back, the force staggering him further. Blood now poured from multiple wounds, and his movements became sluggish. Berf roared, “For Sylvi!” as he swung his axe at the first spider. The blade split its body apart, the creature collapsing lifelessly. Turning to the second spider, Berf raised his axe, ready to continue the fight.

  Ashen looked at the Djinn, his mind racing. “I wish I could free you,” he said softly. The Djinn’s eyes flicked to the desk in the corner. His gaze lingered on the worn bench, the chemistry set, the books he had read and reread over centuries. Memories flashed through his mind: a time before Zarathrax’s control, before the dark orders, before the countless lives corrupted or destroyed by his unwilling hand. His shoulders slumped under the weight of 697 years of servitude.

  Ashen sent another bolt of energy through the air, but it missed, slamming into the remnants of the bookcase. “Sorry about that,” he said again, sheepishly. The Djinn forced himself to his feet, picking up his scimitar as his gaze returned to the books—symbols of mortal creativity and resilience. Titles from distant lands and forgotten ages blurred in his mind: A Tale of Two Villages, Moby Drake, To Slay a Manticore. Whimsical stories and somber epics. He wished he had spent his life differently.

  Berf, bloodied but unyielding, cleaved into the second spider, his axe carving through its exoskeleton. The creature collapsed, joining its companion in death.

  The hollow girl’s body stilled in front of Sylvi, her expression serene. “Thank you,” she said, her voice fading into the ether. Sylvi released a final attack, her will striking true. The creature dissolved into shadow, and in the material plane, the Djinn collapsed to the ground. His voice, trembling but resolute, whispered his final words: “Thank you.”

  A TIME OF DARKNESS LOOMS OVER THE MATERIAL PLANE...

  The blight of Greymoor, a deadly corruption spreading through the land, has been vanquished by an unlikely band of adventurers drawn together by fate. In their victory, they uncovered a sinister plot—the Cult of Shadow, worshippers of the fiend Zarathrax, Lord of the Seventh Circle of Hell, seeks to tear the veil between realms and unleash his infernal power upon the world.

  Shattering the protection ward on the Eye of Zarathrax, they are charged by the elven spellcaster Elara, to seek a way to restore the protective magic before Zarathrax’s influence spreads unchecked.

  Journeying to the bustling city of Havenford, the adventurers uncovered a grim truth: the cult's reach is far greater than imagined. With ties to the city’s council and a growing following among the downtrodden, the Cult of Shadow thrives in the shadows of desperation and secrecy. Within the depths of their search, the party learned of three artifacts of shadow, keys to the cult's ultimate power.

  Still the stakes climb higher. Captured by a djinn and forced into a nightmarish dreamscape, the adventurers found themselves face-to-face with the voice of Zarathrax. The fiend is no longer a distant threat—he knows their names, their faces, and their mission.

  Now hunted, the party races against time. With the cult closing in and Zarathrax’s gaze ever-watchful, they must secure the artifacts, defend the Eye of Zarathrax, and find a way to destroy the cult’s grip before their infernal plans come to fruition.

  The road ahead is fraught with peril, and the cost of failure is unimaginable. The fight for the Material Plane has only just begun...