A feeling of fear and unease washed over the elf as a single inhumanly large eye stared at him. Long teeth, sharp as daggers, stood in a threatening circle around the huge eyeball that seemed to bore into him with its gaze. Tanis could sense that the creature was speaking in a thick accent but the words didn’t seem to make sense. His mind understood it as Sylvan, but there were no specific words, just a sense of the emotion. It was demanding something…

Suddenly, the scene before him shifted, again with the strange pointy-eared creature with the blank face as the focus, but this time he watched it from afar. The creature wore a hooded cloak, pulled up, and was kneeling in the middle of an opulent room. As Tanis looked around, it seemed the hooded figure was speaking to something sitting on a raised platform at the other end of the hall. The hall was filled with the blurry shapes of an aristocratic crowd, well-dressed and whispering in side conversations. The well-dressed tormentor seemed to speak and act like these other nobles and the language it used seemed well-spoken and eloquent, though for some reason he could not make out the words being said. The feeling of fear was gone, this time replaced by a sense of trepidation. He felt anxious, as if he wasn’t supposed to be here.

When the elf’s eyes opened from his meditation, Tanis recognized the visions for what they were. They were more than just dreams or nightmares, there was a detail in them that felt more like a memory, complete with all the fuzzy edges that usually came from the other flashes he had seen. Another gift from the Harper fairy? That one-eyed creature from the night before was seemingly more than some random nightmare prowling the streets. It had a purpose.

Who was it talking to? What could make a creature like that kneel?

With those questions on his mind, Tanis gathered his pack and whistled for Blitz as he headed for the door. The little dragon happily hopped up onto his shoulder to come along for the ride. The little guy was getting bigger, almost too big to carry this way for long, but Blitz didn’t seem to want to give up being little quite yet.

“Good morning” came Echo’s welcoming voice, waving Tanis over to their table. She and Boblin were deep into planning, the goblin having marked up a map of the Stone quarter with the happenings from the night before. The elf was used to being the first one up and was surprised to find any others up before him.

“Working on something?” he asked, as he sat down with the two in the quiet room of the tavern. Now that he was closer, he could tell that Boblin had made specific marks of the places they had been and had put a big X on the house with the large courtyard where they had found the old man and the creature.

“Yes, friend, making progress!” came Boblin’s excited response. He pointed at the map of the ward. “Look close, this part we haven’t searched yet. Could be more to be saving, yes?”

Tanis looked again at the goblin and realized why the elf had not been the first to rise: Boblin had not gone to sleep yet. He wondered if Echo had even rested at all. They both had the look of guardsmen who had just done back-to-back 18 hour shifts.

“How many would we lose trying to save them, though?” came Echo’s worried question. “I don’t think any of these shopkeeps or sailors are feeling up for battling those insect things you described.”

The discussion went on for a while as Tanis broke his fast, eventually being joined by some of the others as they came down from their rooms. As they all gathered up and shared their morning meal, Echo broke away from the discussion with Boblin.

“I meant to tell you when you first came down! I was tending to the old man you brought back last night, doing my best, but my healing magics were not strong enough for whatever he has. It’s more than the physical damage to his body, something broke his mind.”

She seemed to pause, as if thinking of something, but then the druid shook her head.

“Someone did recognize him, though. I don’t know him well, but he helps out around here with keeping things running. When we sent him upstairs, he asked if he could sit by the old man’s side. Might be worth talking to him?”

“That sounds like a good idea” stated Brylla, quickly swallowing a spoonful of porridge. “Where do we find him?”

“We set the old man up in one of the rooms upstairs, second on the left” the halfling explained, pointing back up the stairs from which they came. “Right next to where the big fella of yours is staying.”

The comment reminded Tanis that he had yet to see the barbarian come down. Usually, Audak wouldn’t have passed up a good hot meal, but perhaps the happenings of the night before had affected him more than expected.

“Thanks for the breakfast” Tanis stated politely, as he stood and shoved a piece of bread in Blitz’s mouth. It was time to find out more about this old man.

Durwood Orbroar

When they entered the room, the first thing that Brylla noticed was the smell. There was a tangy spice in the air, very appetizing, and the dwarf’s nose tracked down the source to a large bowl on a nearby table. Taking a whiff of the remains at the bottom of the bowl, Brylla gave an approving nod and made a mental note to check downstairs for any leftovers of the soup. Apparently, breakfast had not been quite filling enough for the cleric!

They found the old man laid out on the bed, snoring through a gaping mouth, quite asleep. Given the trauma their rescued acquaintance had gone through at the hands of that one-eyed creature, he deserved a bit of a late wake-up. At the bedside, sleeping in a chair with his chin resting on his chest, was a younger man with unkempt hair.

At the sound of their approach, the young man’s eyelids flickered open, jolting to alertness in a moment. A look of recognition seemed to cross his face as he went from surprised to calm.

“You’re the ones that done brought him in last night, aren’t ye?” he said, a bit of energy in his voice.

“That was us, yes” answered Brylla, hesitantly. “Are you two friends?”

“Well, he and I knew each other well enough” responded the young man. “My name’s Durwood, I worked up at the church with Harold. I wouldn’t say we were exactly friends, but I spent enough time up there and our work overlapped a bit. Sometimes I’d help him out. Harold was a sort of caretaker, making sure everything ran smooth up there. Sometimes, I’d help out a bit to pay back for the help that Allan and the others had given me.”

He seemed to pause, looking over at the old man snoring away.

“It’s good he’s getting some sleep now, though” Durwood continued. “I’ve been trying to feed him some of the soup through the night, making sure he wasn’t alone, but Harold wouldn’t stop jabbering on. The entire time I was trying to put the spoon in his mouth he’d be making some noise about something or other, but it didn’t make much sense to me. One-eyed monsters and crypts and keys and shadows. Harold was never like this before.”

“You said he wasn’t like this before?” Brylla asked, hope slipping in. The dwarf approached the bed, as the others watched her work. She reached out, whispering a quiet prayer to Sif as she tried to remember the words. It had been a long time since she’d been in the temple where one of the priests had taught the lessons on this type of magic. Brylla had been studying her texts overnight to try to refresh her memory, hoping it might be of use. This would be a different type of healing than she was used to.

The air between her hands and Harold’s sleeping form began to shimmer as Brylla poured some of herself into the crazed man. His eyes opened, initially startled but calming quickly. A look of peace spread across his face and his mouth crinkled into a slight smile. He looked up at the priestess warrior above him, beaming an expression of gratitude.

“Thank you! Everything is so much clearer now!” whispered the old man, so quietly Brylla wasn’t even sure if the others could hear him. “You look familiar… you were in my dream!”

“It wasn’t a dream” interjected Tanis, stepping forward into the old man’s field of view. “You were taken and we brought you back here to Valor’s Rest. You’ll be safe here. What do you know?”

“I was so sure it was a horrible nightmare, for how could it have been real?” rambled Harold, who even after Brylla’s magics didn’t seem to be the sort of person who could keep a coherent thought together. He looked about the room, taking them in. “Durwood? What are you doing here?”

“Keeping my head down, like you always said, old man” replied the young stranger. Brylla noted that the way Durwood spoke with Harold had a very different tone from the one he’d used with them. “You were rambling a lot, talking about some one-eyed creature that…”

“Oh by the gods…” interrupted the old man, a horrified look on his face. “That eye, boring into my soul. I could hear him in my head, asking questions, always wanting to know more, but I didn’t know anything. How could I?”

“What did it want to know?” asked Brylla, trying to soothe the old man and bring him back from his nightmarish memories.

“The creature kept asking about some crypt in the basement” he replied, only slightly less anxious. “But there’s nothing down there, just the morgue. You know what I mean, right, Durwood? Nothing there!”

“I wasn’t really allowed to be going down below, really, so I can’t say for sure. But I definitely never heard of any crypts down there. The rich families have some out in the cemetary, but that’s about it.”

“Well, that thing wouldn’t take no for an answer!” Harold continued, almost as if he hadn’t heard Durwood’s response. “Wanting to know how to open the crypt, where was the key, but I didn’t know anything about any mysterious basement crypt.”

“What about the crypts in the cemetary, Durwood?” came Tanis’ question. He had clearly come to the realization, as had Brylla, that the old caretaker was not going to be able to give much more help than he had. This young man, however, seemed to be a little more clear-headed.

“Like I said, the rich families have a few out there. Old ones. There are two on the north end that get the most visitors, and the other two out there don’t seem to be very busy at the moment. I’m not really from around here, so I don’t know much about these families or their history, but by the looks of the structures, they’ve been there a LONG time.”

“It seems we should probably pay our respects. How can we get to the church from here?”

“Well, finding the church is the easy part” replied Durwood, his lips parting in a smile. “It’s the getting there that needs knowing. I can show you a way!”

A Familiar Face

As much as these heroes had done for Denn and other parts of Lani, including saving Harold, Durwood wasn’t comfortable enough yet to share the whole story of what had brought him to the city several seasons ago. He hadn’t been lying, though, when he had said that the way to the church needed special knowledge. He had tried to make it back there a few times, and every time had found danger around a corner. There were very few safe paths left in the city.

The young man packed up a bag that Echo had found for him and then grabbed his walking staff as he prepared to leave. It was a simple enough wooden shaft, with a sharp metal tip so that it could act as a spear if need be. You couldn’t be too careful these days! That and a few blades were the only defenses he had to protect himself. Well, that and the other thing.

But he wasn’t ready to talk about that. At least, not quite yet.

He joined the others outside, doing his best impression of a brave and intrepid adventurer, hoping not to seem too shaken. It was one thing to offer to help and quite another to actually walk out the door into the maws of danger like a fly purposefully approaching a spider web. Something in the back of his mind kept whispering to him, urging him forward, to trust the power.

“Narrator: He did not, in fact, trust the power” Durwood thought to himself, chuckling at his own joke as the heavy rain poured down on him.

A quiet behemoth in furs led the way, seemingly oblivious to the torrential downpour of the storm. This literal giant of a man had suddenly appeared in the doorway, tattooed and armed to the teeth, apologizing for his late arrival. Within ten minutes, the barbarian had gulped down several helpings of breakfast and geared up for their trip. Durwood was close behind him and could see the lines of the tribal tattoos running along the man’s arms, snaking back and forth in a mesmerizing pattern. It felt much safer following closer to such a warrior, knowing what else was walking these streets.

The wind and the rain battered at them, creating an incessant noise that made it difficult for Durwood to clearly hear anything the others were saying as they travelled. He kept close to the front so that he could direct the goliath on the correct path, hoping that the others would know better than to try to shout above the noise of the storm. The path they were on would take at least twice as long to get to the church, but Durwood was fairly certain that the route he had mapped out could lead them there without encountering any of the hordes of the Dark. There were spots that the creatures simply didn’t seem to go, or perhaps didn’t know about, or maybe there just hadn’t been enough prey around to interest them. Whatever the reason, finding these quiet zones had been an important part of staying alive for him and he wasn’t about to deviate.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the cemetery grounds, Durwood’s robes were soaked through. His dark hair was matted across his brow and there seemed to be a constant annoying drip of water running off the end of his long nose. He no longer even felt wet, just cold. The wind seemed to cut through him like a knife, seeping into his bones. In addition, it was frightfully dark for an early morning. The gray sky had blotted out the sun and left everything in a gloomy wetness that seemed altogether too perfectly suited for a visit to a graveyard. A little light and some warmth would be nice right about now.

The palm of his hand suddenly glowed and he felt the warmth of the light brighten up his mood. Had he meant to do that? He was certain he heard a little voice chuckling.

“Quiet!” Durwood whispered to himself, trying to shush his inner monologue. The barbarian to his left raised a quizzical eyebrow at him and stopped in his tracks. Looking up at the warrior, Durwood tried to roll with it. “The entry is up ahead, might be somebody there. Yeah, that’s what I meant! We should be careful from here on out.”

None of them had seemed surprised at his summoning of light out of seemingly thin air. It was like it didn’t even occur to them that this was unnatural. Who were these people? Not only were they unphased, the elf had started chanting about something or other and suddenly seemed to disappear right in front of him as a shroud of shadows seemed to expand around all of them. In an already gloomy and dreary place on a wet and cloudy morning, the elf’s magics somehow managed to make it even creepier. That did explain, though, the lack of surprise by these adventurers. They didn’t know Durwood, they didn’t have any expectations. It was like a clean slate! These folks encountered monsters and magic on the daily. Heck, the red-headed dwarf had somehow brought Howard back from madness with a prayer and some gentle chest-rubbing. It probably would have been unusual to them for him NOT to have summoned magical forces!

No. His head was rationalizing again… he needed to focus.

The others had already started creeping forward. The tall lizard-thing that they called Al seemed to have taken a lead position along with the elf, scouting ahead for what might lay in front of them. The elf was moving his hands about in some sort of signed language which apparently everyone else understood except for him, but he thought he caught the gist of it.

They weren’t alone.

Based on how the others were slowly moving forward and taking positions up against the outer stone wall, he suspected that whatever was ahead hadn’t noticed them yet. Whatever they were probably couldn’t be too scary based on how calm the others were. The dragon-guy in the trenchcoat was pulling out an enormous knife that reminded Durwood of something Shrika had used in the Valor’s Inn kitchen when the vegetables needed dicing. Shaking his head, trying to clear the intruding memories and focus on the present, he squished forward in the muddy trail with the others. Carefully, he took up a nice and safe position near the middle of the pack, trying to keep the big brawny adventurers as close as possible and between him and whatever mysterious dangers lay in the cemetery on the other side of the open visitor’s entrance.

Once it started, the battle was fast and over quick. Durwood spotted several figures in robes who seemed to be wandering around the cemetery with lanterns, seemingly searching for something. One by one, they were cut down by these adventurers, cold steel driven deep into their backs before they had a chance to react. Durwood watched as the elf drew back his bow and shot an arrow through one of the figure’s skulls, sending him slumping to the ground.

One of the robed figures raised the alarm, shouting to the others at the back of the grounds, but he too was silenced quickly. The newly alerted shapes, barely visible in the rain, seemed to turn in surprise. Durwood’s spear began to glow a bright green, energy crackling from the tip.

“No!!!” he shouted, just as the blast flew from the tip, crossing the graveyard in an instant. Durwood saw a look of panic cross the hooded man’s face before the green blast slammed into his chest and disintegrated him on the spot.

Not again.

Durwood had little time to absorb what had just happened before the sky itself appeared to open up and bring radiant beams of light down upon the figures before them. Between the gravestones he caught glimpses of robed shapes running away, but they found no escape as one blast after another stopped them in their tracks.

The large boy, the barbarian with the strange tribal necklace, charged across the grounds, leaping over stones as if they were hurdles meant for children. As he was about to bring his giant blade down upon the last remaining figure, he stopped, confused. Durwood couldn’t quite hear the conversation, but the man in the robes was holding up his hands and seemed to be begging.

As Durwood and the others approached, he caught a part of the conversation.

“Look, I don’t want no trouble, I’m just looking around because they asked me to.”

The voice sounded familiar, a particular hitch in the man’s phrasing reminded him of somebody… who was it? The dwarf seemed to be interrogating him now, using the barbarian as leverage.

“Look, I just work down at the bar, cleaning dishes and the floors and the like, I’m just trying to stay alive here” continued the voice, trying to say whatever he could to keep that giant axe of his neck. “They told us to put on these robes so we don’t get killed. Then go look for the thing.”

Could it be? Really? Durwood was sure he couldn’t have survived that first wave.

“Simon, you owe me five dollars” Durwood stated, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Durwood? What are you doing here? You can’t be hanging around here, it’s too dangerous! They’ll cleave a man’s head right off without thinking!”

A sudden blast from Durwood’s spear into the side of a nearby crypt wall sent stone chips flying in all directions, nearly slamming into the robed Simon.

“What in the hells, Durwood!” shouted the petrified dishwasher. “Where did that come from? Look, you all seem like you can handle yourselves, sorry for trying to warn y’all. I’ll help you whatever ways I can if it means you’ll let me live. Sound like a deal?”

Yeah, that seemed like Simon.

The others seemed to go along with it and proceeded to question him for a few minutes. Durwood half paid attention, but he knew SImon wasn’t going to be able to give much of anything helpful. He didn’t even seem to really know what he was looking for, maybe a key, maybe something else. It seemed like they were just poking around and trying to see what was in the cemetery. The only helpful bit of advice seemed to be when Simon mentioned seeing an elven-eared man with a hood and fancy clothes who headed into town. Apparently Simon had thought the character had been a bit haughty and rude, saying something along the lines of “you peasants can’t even do this properly”, or something to that effect.

“What about the church? How many are in there?” demanded the elf, clearly hoping for some more tactically helpful information.

“I don’t know, maybe a dozen or so?” Simon said, without much confidence. “I mean, you did just murder a bunch of them, so probably less now?”

Seemed a little odd for Simon to be casting casual moral judgements on the morning’s outcome, given his flexible loyalties, but Durwood decided not to press the matter. Hopefully he could get Simon safely out of here and have one less life on his conscience.

“What about the ways in?”

“Well, they always bring us in by the back door to get instructions and what not, but that’s a tight spot. You won’t be able to have much room in there. Front doors will get you into the main body of the church and definitely a lot of space for y’all to do your thing.”

The elf glanced over at Durwood, looking for confirmation. He nodded back at him, confirming what Simon had said. There was a small room at the back meant for those working the church to have a quick meal or meet up for a discussion. It wasn’t intended for the public so it hadn’t really been designed for high traffic or large groups. He remembered going there and enjoying a few buns fresh out of the pan on many an early morning, back in the before-times.

The other’s seemed to be done grilling Simon for information, much to the dishwasher’s delight, and so Durwood pulled him aside.

“Look, Valor’s Rest is a safe haven. Stick to the quiet side alleys and get there quick, they can keep you safe.”

Simon clasped his hands in thanks, mumbling something about forgiveness, before he ran off into the rain, splashing down the trail. It would be a miracle if that boy made it to the Dock ward making a racket like that, but at least they had given him a chance.

When he turned back to the group, the big dragonborn was forcing his way into a slightly torn up and very wet and muddy cultist robe. The strange rune that all of the robes featured seemed to glow in the dim light, reflecting the mage light that Durwood was holding. The others seemed to have a plan but Durwood was not sure it was going to be enough.

Stained Glass

Al was moving softly, trying to avoid knocking over any of the old headstones and markers in the cemetery. He didn’t need to look back to know that most of the others were trying to follow along quietly. He could hear the crunching sound of Audak’s boots as it ground down into the path underneath his massive frame. Brylla’s steps, for all that she tried, could not betray the heavy armour she ported. Even that stranger, Durwood, who seemed to have little weight or heavy gear upon him crackled the grass with every step. As usual, it was only the elf that Al couldn’t be certain of. That ranger seemed to be able to disappear at a moment’s notice, magic or not. Thankfully, the heavy rain clouded their approach and drowned out the steps of their troupe.

For all that he had grown up on the shores of Vornstrand, always around water, he really wasn’t a big fan of the rain. It made it difficult to smell the enemy and made his coat weigh him down like a soldier’s heavy chain mail. Most annoying was the way it pelted him in the eyes, obscuring his vision. He blinked away the stream of water running down from the cowl over his head and scowled. Irritating.

The robe he had thrown on wasn’t helping. While it had been decently designed with water-resistant fabric, it was still far from perfect and was awkwardly restricting his movements. That greedy dwarf in Balderston was skilled, but had clearly been asked to do “one-size-fits-all” orders, in bulk, without regard to the wearers. Luckily for Al, that meant it hung looser than it should for a human, giving his thick draconic features the room needed to fit into the sleeves. Not much that he could do about his tail, he would just have to hope that nobody looked too closely.

The others said nothing, matching Al’s silent approach, communicating only with hand signals when needed. The human, Durwood, knew the way and had pointed out the path next to the thick hedges that could get them around to the rear entrance. While that spineless worm Simon had said it was going to be tight quarters, Al was thinking that they could use that to their advantage. It was an old trick he had used in the narrow tunnels under Vornstrand more than once when he had been young. The key to remember was that it wasn’t just you that was stuck in a small space.

An enormous mosaic of colour loomed over his left shoulder as he tried to slip along the side of the main church building. The stained glass art was impressive, depicting the numerous gods of Lani locked in their eternal struggle against each other. Al always found it amusing how many of the gods were depicted with human features in these cities, as if the most ancient of powers within this world had not come from dragon-kind. But humans had a way of twisting things to make them more relatable for themselves, historical accuracy be damned.

He hadn’t realized he had paused to admire the work until he caught the sign of movement behind the coloured glass. It was dark within the structure, but there was enough light coming in through the windows to show that there were at least a few shuffling figures just on the other side of the glass. Slowly ducking down and getting closer to the ground, he turned to face the others following him and gestured with his claw in a lowering motion, trying to make sure they ducked below the window frame. If he had been able to see in, they most definitely could have seen out. With any luck, no-one had noticed him. Even if they had, they would hopefully have mistook his disguise for one of their own passing by.

When nothing darkened the coloured glass with its shadow, Al waved them forward as they moved slowly along the wall of the massive structure.

“The back door is just to the left, about four lengths in, recessed a bit into the wall” whispered Durwood, gesturing with his hand at the corner of the building they were approaching.

With his back up against the wall, Al leaned his head around the corner and then quickly snapped back out of view. He turned to the others, huddled behind him, and signaled the “all clear” before he began creeping around the corner towards the door. Tanis began signaling to the others to take up ambush positions as the disguised dragonborn slowly crept up to the door, careful not to make a noise on the gravel walkway. Al looked back over his shoulder, as he grabbed the handle, to make sure everybody was ready before pushing through the doorway.

As soon as the door was open a terrible smell invaded his nostrils, reminding him of the rotting dead mixed with incense and the scent of his grandmother’s wooden table. He moved swiftly into the dark room, taking in the small space around him. A table, a cold fireplace, a few chairs, and silence were all that greeted him here. Ahead of him lay another door, likely into the main hall. He could hear something through the thin wood of the door as he leaned his ear against it. He pulled the dead cultist’s cloak tight around him and threw the door open.

“Quick, we’re under attack!” he shouted into the room before he turned and ran back towards the safety of the waiting ambush. The slapping sounds of boots echoed behind him, rushing after him. As soon as Al cleared the doorway, he quickly sidestepped out of view, taking position. He could hear the sounds of the things approaching, at least three of them, if they were walking on two feet.

The first face to cross the threshold was one he recognized immediately. Councilman Allan, the church leader and one of the kind older men they had met when they were last in Denn. He hesitated. There was something wrong, though. His head lolled to the side unnaturally, and though his eyes locked onto them he showed no spark of recognition. The dull and soulless look of the dead stared back at them from the walking corpse that they once knew. Tanis’ arrow flew quickly, taking the councilman to the ground.

More of the undead swarmed out of the tight doorway, scrambling to get to them. One after the other tried to reach them and tear them apart, but were met by steel or arcane blasts. They crawled, ran, leaped, but the funneled exit gave them no room to escape. As Audak’s axe decapitated one of the undead, Al noticed something moving away at the back. The barbarian had raced in, chasing the fleeing creature, but Al didn’t like this. He hadn’t seen it for very long, but it didn’t move like the others. It wasn’t the mindless creature these others were.

While the others chased after it, Al moved towards one of the nearby windows, peering through the stained glass to see more, only to find a horrible face staring back at him from the other side. The intelligence in the eyes gave away that this was no mere zombie or ghoul, it was scouting out their trap. Al , surprised, quickly fired at the window in reaction only to watch his arrow carom off the thick stained glass harmlessly. He could have sworn the thing smiled at him as it moved away from the window and back into the dark.

Looking about, finding himself alone, he wondered if they might just have walked into a trap!

Credits

• Cover image: “Searching the cemetery” generated by Jason St-Cyr using NightCafe