The elf led the way as they travelled through the dense marsh north of Denn. Even though Tanis had only passed through here a few times, he already had an excellent sense of the route that would get them there most efficiently. He could hear the others trudging along behind, avoiding the sinkholes that he was pointing out. This swamp might not be the fastest way to travel, but now that they knew the way it was definitely the safest. They didn’t encounter a single member of the Dark as they spent the day in the wet and humid terrain. There were a vast number of strangely curved trees and underbrush growing out of the moist ground, making it both a difficult path but also one with plenty of places to keep away from spying eyes.

Near the end of the first day of their journey, they had caught up with Jordan, Skaeli, and their band of refugees. Delivering them the good news of Denn’s freedom was a much nicer way to reward a day of hard travel and the crew of mostly children had quickly begun packing their belongings in preparation to return home. As much as Tanis had appreciated giving the refugees some hope, this had not been the goal of their journey. Which is why, come morning, they had parted ways and kept travelling further into the swamp.

As Tanis’ eyes scanned the sky for the sun, he realized it was now late afternoon on their second day of travel. The land about them started was now starting to shift. The forest was thinning and the ground was giving way to snow-covered solid earth. A crisp and chilly wind struck the elf’s face, carrying a nauseating smell upon it. He raised a hand, signalling the others to halt, and then proceeded to sneak forward to the edge of the treeline. The unpleasant smell of burning flesh struck him in full force as he neared the edge of the forest, a giant plume of smoke rising above the tree line from the distance, roughly in the direction of the temple.

As Tanis peered from a raised lookout point, the elf spotted the source of the awful smell.

Piles of corpses were layered upon each other in makeshift pyres, their brilliant flames licking at the sky and sending heavy dark plumes of smoke into the air. Occasionally, a figure would come and throw another one onto a pile, before returning to their work at the temple.

At least, what was left of the temple.

The beautiful Temple of Sif, previously a monument of thanks to the goddess of knowledge, life, and nature, stood in ruins. Its domed towers were now scarred and beaten, its glass windows shattered. The northern wall, where the great library once stood, had almost completely collapsed. Several figures in black robes were hurrying about, digging through the debris, pulling bodies out of the rubble. Whatever awful battle had happened here was still being cleaned up even several days later.

Tanis had seen enough. The elf returned to his companions to bring them up to speed.

“The temple has been heavily damaged” the warrior stated, relaying what he had seen. “I’m sorry, Brylla, but I’m not sure that we will find what you were hoping for here. The library is gone.”

“What? The entire library?” Brylla was shocked. “It can’t be… thousands of years of knowledge… gone?”

Despite what she hoped, Tanis knew the likelihood of anything surviving that damage was low. When they followed the elf back to the edge of the forest and saw for themselves, Brylla nearly weeped for her adopted home.

“Why are they wearing those black robes?” asked Audak, confused as to the strange uniform, almost cultlike.

“Do you see the golden embroidered symbols upon those cloaks?” answered Brylla, pointing out some of the figures who were carrying a still form into the temple. “That is the mark of Sif, but the dark robes are only worn as a sign of great mourning amongst those of us who follow the Lady. Either someone of great importance has passed or there has been a horrible tragedy within the temple.”

“I can guess which of those happened, based on what we are seeing here” came the sarcastic reply from Tanis.

“We should help if we can, let us follow them inside and see what aid we can lend.”

The dwarf’s words were heartfelt, coloured with a tinge of sadness and grief. Tanis knew that Brylla was right, of course, but this would delay them in finding the information they needed about the crystal. Still, he allowed the priestess to lead the way as they approached the remains of the once-great temple. Patting Blitz on his long neck, he whispered a few words in draconic.

“Can you keep an eye for us up high? Best not to draw too much attention in the temple.”

The drake had grown so much over the last few tendays, standing nearly to Tanis’ shoulder now. Shifting his weight onto his rear legs, Blitz nodded his scaled head in agreement and launched himself up into the sky, his wings beating in great sweeps to get him up higher over the trees. Soon, he looked like nothing more than the soaring shadow of a raptor bird circling overhead, save for the long tail hanging out behind him.

Trauma Ward

Brylla nodded sadly to the other members of her order as she passed them on the stairs. The clerics of Sif that remained here were exhausted, clearly having been working for days after a hard-fought battle. She received slight nods or a small wave, but few of them had time or energy for making any small talk.

“We’d like to help. Who can we talk to?” she asked one of the priests who was sitting against the wall, eyes closed and head leaning back.

“Triage desk… just inside” came the tired response. The man didn’t even open his eyes to see who was asking or thank her for the offer of aid.

Sure enough, just inside the door, there was no mistaking who was in charge. A large avian creature in strange robes, with a head that had an uncanny resemblance to an owl, was standing just inside the entrance and directing traffic. She shouted instructions as the injured were brought in, taking only a brief moment with every person to examine and determine their fate. The owlin were extremely rare in Lani, mostly heard of in myths. It had been said that the elves sometimes would have dealings with their kind, but Brylla had never seen one before.

“Minor injuries ward, over there!” she shouted, after placing her hand on the chest of a young woman who had a cut on her head and seemed unconscious.

The priests carrying the young woman hustled off dutifully, headed towards what Brylla knew were the common rooms where visitors would often stay during their travel. Only the residents of the temple, followers of Sif, had private chambers to themselves. All those who visited to gain wisdom, medical treatment, or to explore the once-great library would often stay the night, or two, before returning back to whence they came. Apparently, this common rest area had been appropriated for any of those with non-life-threatening injuries.

“Hello, we are here to help. Where can we be of assistance?” Brylla asked, placing her hand over her chest where her amulet still hung, in a formal gesture.

The creature before them took one look at the dwarf, sized her up, and swung a large wing towards her left.

“Priestess, good that you are here. We need more healers in major trauma. Over there.”

“Where can I help?” offered Tanis. The elf was no priest, but he had studied enough of the ways of the forest that he could definitely help someone.

“Ah, Eladrin… you are trained in the old ways then?” answered the avian with its large eyes boring into Tanis. It was difficult to read it, but Brylla could swear there was a bit of a raised eyebrow. “If you can heal, follow those two to minor injuries. Many there could use an extra hand.”

The elf disappeared off to the common rooms, sliding away in that smooth fashion that elves seemed to have. Even here in the temple, in the midst of a tragedy, the ranger managed to look like he was gliding across a forest floor with barely a touch against the ground. Brylla made a small grunt as she turned to stomp down towards major surgeries, her heavy armor clanging along as her stout legs powered their way down the short hall towards what she knew was the main prayer chamber of the temple.

As she entered the main sanctum of the Temple of Sif, Brylla’s heart sank. The once beautiful and spacious room for prayer was completely changed. There was no tranquility here, no peace. Benches and tables had been converted into beds, sometimes with magic, and several clerics in dark robes were moving quickly between patients, trying to stave off death. Stained sheets, covered in blood, were in piles on the floor or draped over the victims of the assault. Against one wall, Brylla noted that a few priests were lying down, trying to rest and get some sleep. Everyone in the room seemed exhausted and Brylla could only assume that most of them had been trying to heal in shifts for days on end. The healers who were still standing still seemed to be able to draw some divine power from their Lady, but it seemed weak and ineffective.

Wait. Were they rationing?

As Brylla moved deeper into the room, her suspicions were confirmed. She passed a young goblin boy who was severely hurt, but the injuries were those that a moderate amount of prayer healing could have removed in an instant. The next patient over was the same: severe injuries, but stabilized.

“Where can I help?” she called out, desperate to get to work. A hand shot up further back from another cleric who was bent over a dark-skinned figure. Brylla rushed her dwarven legs as fast as they could go to join the priestess at the patient’s size.

“What are we looking at?”

“Multiple injuries to the chest, amputated leg, internal bleeding, punctured lung, and something is wrong with the right side of the rib cage” reported the other priestess, who was applying a fresh bandage to the chest and placing a glowing hand to the patient’s temple, trying to do what she could to help.

Brylla looked down upon the dwarven body before her. The figure was dressed in simple clothing and, unusually, some basic leather armour. It was a traveller of some sort, likely just someone looking for answers in the library when the attack broke out. However, there were a lot of marks of battle upon the dwarf’s armour. So much pain for the innocent. And so many innocents all through the room. The Dark had brought horror upon the people of Lani, a constant flow of death and destruction. Was this what Dru and the others had tried to stop? Is this what Tanis had meant back in Pua about choosing the lesser of two evils?

The dwarf joined her prayers to the other priestesses, sending the soft divine light of Sif out from herself and into the dwarf’s chest. She could feel the ribs stitching themselves back together, the body healing itself with the infused power of the goddess channelling through her. Together, they brought the injured dwarf back from the brink upon which the patient had been living these past few days. The leg didn’t regenerate, but the wounds were stabilized and he would live to see another day.

The dark-skinned dwarf’s eyes snapped open as he suddenly drew in a deep breath, looking around himself quickly, as if taking in his options for escape. For a moment, Brylla had a feeling of recognition as she looked into the man’s eyes, but she had seen so many people these past few tendays and couldn’t quite place this one.

“Thank you”, came the dwarf’s hoarse voice, his low baritone rolling like rocks down a cavern. He grasped her arm, pulling himself upright. “Please, help me to a seat.”

Brylla and the priestess started guiding the dwarf along as he hopped between them towards the edge of the room. There was still so much work to do, but at least she had been able to save one life today.

Beneath the Rubble

Al watched as Brylla was sent off in one direction, and Tanis the other, leaving himself and Audak with the strange owl creature who was now eyeing them up and down with the stern look of somebody who was definitely in charge and not impressed.

“You two look strong enough, go lift something. And try to stay out of the way.”

Her attention was quickly shifted to the next person being carted in for assessment, ignoring the goliath and himself in favour of more urgent matters. With a shrug to his barbarian companion, Al led the way back out to the steps of the temple to look for a way to help. Robed figures were picking through the ruins, lifting rubble and searching for any victims that might still be trapped. Al couldn’t believe how many victims there must have been that now, days later, these folks were still sifting through the remains of the temple to find people.

As he and his enormous companion moved through the field, Al got a better look at the collapsed side of the temple. Based on what Brylla had said, this was where the library had been. On their last visit, he had not had a chance to visit the library so wasn’t certain of what it looked like before on the inside, but it’s current appearance left something to be desired. Parts of a tower lay on the ground, obstructing the way, and a large mound of collapsed brick, mortar, and stone were strewn apart in a massive pile.

“Guess we start digging, right, big guy?”

Audak simply grunted a reply and began hauling stones out of the way. Al, however, had a particular plan in mind. He wasn’t looking for the injured, he was hoping to find something from the old library. He sketched out a rough outline of the library in his mind, imagining where the original structure must have stood. Picking meticulously through the stones in a very particular pattern, he began to dig his way through the rubble, sure that he could uncover an old tome or scroll that could help him in their quest.

Hours later, the dragonborn had created an impressive tunnel through the rubble, zig-zagging in a complex search pattern, having found absolutely nothing. The odds of not finding anything were absolutely astounding. Even an old shoe or a bookmark would have been something, but none of what he had hoped to find was in this pile of rubble. What had happened to it? In frustration, he kicked hard at a fallen chunk of plaster which gave way with a satisfying crunch as it split in multiple pieces. His moment of satisfaction quickly shifted to surprise and then worry as he had to catch himself to keep from falling.

He teetered on the edge of a deep hole, waving his tail and arms for balance as he did his best not to fall in. He could see part of the floor of the old library ahead of him, but right at his feet the tiled floors were broken open, revealing a darkness that was several stories in depth. Once he had caught himself firmly, he leaned down to peer over the edge, his draconic pupils shifting to see better in the darkness below.

It was a store room, an old one at that. He could just make out the shapes of some boxes and a bit of the floor, but it was hard to see. Lighting a nearby stone, he dropped it down through the hole, waiting for it to hit the bottom. The light splayed out as it fell, spreading colour within its small sphere of radiance to whatever it passed by, before striking the bottom with a faint thud. Judging by the distance to the light, Al figured it would be too far to jump, but it seemed that the floor was solid down there.

Walking back out of his tunnel, he waved Audak over and filled him in.

“Something is down there, but it seems quiet enough” he told the large man after bringing him to the edge of the hole. “Grab some rope and let’s see what we can bring up. I’ll go down and you stay here to pull me up.”

Closing his eyes, Al focused his mind on the ancestral memories that were passed down in his kind from generation to generation. A few simple words in draconic and a cleared mind allowed him the focus he needed as brilliant wings grew from his back, crackling with the dangerous storm energy that lived within him.

He flew down, closing the distance to the ground quickly, his senses adjusting to the near-complete darkness of the storage room. What was this place? It seemed old, even older than the ancient temple, with no signs of anyone having stepped here in centuries, if not millennia. Everything was still, even the air felt wrong. The lone door was set in the wall high above, with the only staircase leading to it having rotted away and fallen into pieces long ago. The dust held no footprints and there were no sounds of anything nearby. Around the room were simple crates, boxes, and other storage containers, but none of them marked with any special runes or arcane glyphs that would mark their importance. They seemed to have a numerical marking on them, as if this was an old storage area for the library above it, nothing more.

Hovering a few inches off the ground so as not to disturb anything, Al carefully popped open various storage containers, trying to find anything of use. Most of the containers were filled with the crumbled remains of scrolls and books that had long since fallen apart from age. Even when they appeared solid, when Al’s claw would try to pull out a tome it would turn to dust in his talons. It was disheartening and frustrating, but also sad to see so much history lost to time.

One storage chest, which looked much like the others, finally yielded some success. Several books, all bound in the same style, had somehow managed to survive. They seemed to be the extensive tales of the Forgebound Wardens, telling the adventures of the group as well as individual stories of each adventurer. Most of the books, though, as they reached the time of the Lighting, seemed to suddenly end. The pages remained, not torn out or redacted, but completely blank as if the words had simply been removed.

The stories that did remain seemed to be enthusiastically told, as if by someone who had a deep understanding and involvement in the happenings of this, presumably famed, group of adventurers. More details were included than should have been absolutely necessary to convey the information, often with a deep analysis of seemingly unimportant trivia. Like the colour of the leaves or the smell of a meal. Who wrote this? Al turned the first book on the pile to the side, looking for the author on the binding. He had to check the others to confirm what he had just seen wasn’t a mistake.

The letters across the binding were printed carefully, in a script that looked a lot like elven writing he had seen before. The name on the binding was one he knew: Ilandriel.

Grey

The major trauma ward continued to fill as the day wore on. Brylla did what she could, helping the others to save as many as possible, but soon learned why so many of the other clerics had resorted to more basic medic work and simple prayers. It was exhausting to continuously send a part of herself into each patient, and the room never seemed to get less full. As Brylla was easing the blood flow on the arm of yet another patient, she heard a shout coming from down the hall.

“You can’t bring that in here!” came the shrill sound, echoing down the hall. “Get that outside on the pyres!”

Curiosity got the better of her and Brylla excused herself from the trauma room clerics to go see what was happening at the triage point. As she arrived, she saw two men, perhaps farmers, carrying another victim out the main doors. The victim was wearing common traveler’s leathers, likely just passing through, but was now wildly gnashing its teeth and its eyes were glazed over with a milky-white haze. The owl figure was bristling her feathers, staring down the undead with a stern look.

“Is that some sort of infection?” Brylla asked, her voice tinged with concern. “Can we not heal it?”

“Less an infection and more of a corruption, I’m afraid” came her reply. “Priestess, you’ll find no way to cure that short of destroying it like the evil it is.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Brylla, a follower of Sif. I studied here often at the temple and knew many of those here.”

“Nice to meet you, Brylla, follower of Sif” replied the figure. “My condolensces on the loss of life of your friends. I am called Grey in this place.”

“So you have seen this before?”

“Yes, I have. This corruption is the work of foul creatures used by the Dark” Grey began, an obvious disgust in her voice. “I am here now because I was sent to help with this scourge, what with my extensive experience in the medical field. These spawn leave much destruction and pain in their path. So much destruc…”

The owlin trailed off, distracted by yet another victim being brought in.

“Minor injuries, down the hall…” came the sharp tone that Brylla had already gotten accustomed to as background shouting in the temple over the last few hours. Grey had returned her attention to more immediate concerns and seemed uninterested in continuing whatever she might have been about to share. The dwarf stepped back, watching for a moment to see the mythical creature in action, its strange movements foreign but graceful, but Brylla eventually slipped away to return to helping the injured.

There was more this owl might know, but it seemed like it might take something else to get her to speak.

A Certain Sparkle in the Eye

When Tanis arrived in the room set aside for minor wounds and injuries, he found the room was quite full of moaning individuals and those patiently waiting for treatment. The large common room must have previously been used as some sort of hostel or shared visitors quarters as most were in bunk beds that were arranged in regimented rows throughout the room. It looked different now, having been converted to a makeshift medical facility, but he recalled what it looked like when they had stayed at the temple a few tendays back.

The faces of folks of all ages, from all species and all walks of life filled the room. Many here were visitors who must have been told to stay back from the battle and never saw first-hand combat, likely injured by falling debris or scrapes from tripping. His magics could save a life and here he was, assigned to dealing with scrapes and bruises? Broken bones and hurt feelings?

The elf made a quick exit, sliding his way towards the direction he had seen Brylla disappear into. When he arrived at the major trauma room, the shouts of pain and obvious distress of the patients here was a marked contrast to the calmness of the common quarters he had just left. He saw Brylla, to his right, helping a dark-skinned dwarf that looked familiar over to the side of the room. Tanis felt he would have remembered meeting a one-legged dwarf, though, so he must have been wrong.

Near the center of the room there was a priest laying hands on someone who was covered in blood and screaming. His divine power glowed brightly as the priest tried to save the man’s life. Tanis wasted no time rushing over to see how he could help. When he reached there, he realized the man on the table was an elf in robes, torn in several places. The healing power of the other priests had kept him alive, but his injuries were such that they were getting worse as fast as he was being healed.

“I can help” Tanis stated, lowering his pack and searching for some of the roots that he used in his healing rituals.

The others made room around the screaming elf for the ranger as he stepped in to add his power to theirs. The flow of thousands of years of natural power from somewhere deep within Lani coursed through him and poured into the man, soothing his pain. The deep wounds inside the man began to close up, mending themselves as the priests worked their magics to close up some of his other injuries. By the time Tanis had finished his ritual, the elf on the table below him had passed out, his screaming finally silenced, and his life saved. Tanis wasted no time and moved on to look for somebody else to help.

The elf found his next patient near the side of the room, holding onto his arm which was dangling loosely. The man seemed calm, especially for somebody in a trauma ward for serious injuries. His brown hair hung loosely around his face, framing his features in a way that seemed almost too perfect. As Tanis approached, he noticed that the injured arm had a massive gash and was barely hanging on, a sight that was highly in contrast to the look of calm and serenity on the traveller’s face.

“Are you okay, friend? Can I look at that?”

“No need to worry on my account” came the man’s voice, with a hint of an accent that Tanis could almost recognize. “I’m sure there are others in more need.”

Unwilling to let it go, Tanis held his hand over the wound and whispered a few words to try to bind the flesh together again. Now that he was closer, he could see clearly into the man’s face and that sense of recognition hit him again. There was something about the man’s eyes… a bit of a sparkle, almost metallic! He had seen that before, from that jerk in Vornstrand. He leaned into the older man, whispering quietly in a dialect that few would have understood.

“There aren’t many of us up these ways” he said, his words flowing out in the musical tones of the draconic language. “Martifyr“.

The old man before him smiled, obviously disarmed by the elf’s words but also happy to hear his native tongue.

“I did not know that one of ours was up this way!” he replied in the melodious way that only a true native speaker of the language can achieve. The older man had an excitement about him now and didn’t even seem to notice that Tanis had all but healed up his injury. “You may call me Doren. “

“Tanis” the ranger replied with a slight bow of his head. “I have known Blaze many years, perhaps you have heard of him?”

“Really? I haven’t seen Blaze in a decade or so, but he always brought good conversations” the old man replied, staring off as if in thought. “He must be to the east these days, though. What brings you here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. My companions and I have been searching for something…”

Tanis began to share a summarized version of the events since the invasion of the Dark, including the freeing of Denn and some details about the crystal they had found. The elf was careful not to reveal everything he knew, for he could see that the dragon before him was extremely interested in all the news that he was sharing.

“Ge’off will be sure to want to hear of this, we must tell him!” he said excitedly, hopping off his chair and making way towards the back of the temple. “Come this way, let us reach out to him and see what he knows.”

Tanis followed along, trying not to raise too much attention as they moved towards the private quarters at the back of the temple. He could sense somebody following him, but when his keen ears picked up the telltale sound of chainmail and the very familiar booted step of his dwarven companion he decided to let it be and allow Brylla to keep an eye on things, just in case. He didn’t trust this Doren fellow completely, but he didn’t seem to be any harm.

Not like that Ge’off. That one always had a game being played, something behind every word, and you never could get a straight answer. This time would be different, he promised himself. It was time for real answers.

The Four Crystals

Reaching into an inner pocket of his pack, Doren pulled out the half of a beautiful ruby-red gem he had been digging around for. It hummed slightly with power as he activated its mechanism and reached out to the other half. Ge’off had hundreds of these distributed through the network, but he maintained a few that would be direct contacts back to him. It had been a little while since he had reached out to the ancient dragon, but Doren was intrigued by the story that this elf had told.

After the briefest of pleasantries with Ge’off, Doren passed the gem over to Tanis to allow the elf to explain the details of the situation. It was strange, hearing only one side of the conversation, but he could tell by the questions that the ranger was asking that the elf had been kept in the dark long enough and was frustrated. Doren knew the feeling from having been left out of Ge’off’s plans in the past, but the advantage of living a dragon’s lifetime was that you learned patience. This elf was still young, which could prove useful.

Tanis spoke quickly when explaining the origin of the shard they had found which was followed by a very long silence as he listened to something being shared by Ge’off. Doren’s eyebrows raised when the elf said the words “Forgebound Wardens”, which confirmed something he had suspected. Ge’off had kept him in the dark about a lot of things over the years, such was the way of a dragon who hoarded information, but Doren had pieced together a few things over the centuries. History had been erased of this legendary band of heroes, but there were dragons older than he that had been willing to share a tale or two of the time before the Lighting. What was happening now was somehow linked back to those days before.

When Tanis was done, the elf handed back the stone and thanked him.

“You are very welcome, warrior” Doren said, using fluent elven in place of the rough trade tongue of the common folk. “Based on what you told me earlier, this was the least I could do to help with this invasion. We need to work together in these times.”

These adventurers would be travelling soon and Doren knew he had to make sure he could be a part of this trip. The elf, Tanis, had mentioned something about four crystals or shards during his conversation with his companions and he definitely needed to know more about that. Doren knew he could be of help, of course, but there was more to it than that. Doren was curious. It drew at him like a powerful whirlpool, an insistent feeling of needing to know.

Tormund, however, had been a wrinkle in the mix. When the elf’s other companions had gathered together it seemed they had recognized a dwarf that had been treated in the trauma ward. Doren hadn’t noticed him in all the commotion, but now that they stood together discussing plans for the following day, he recognized the dark-skinned smithy despite the rough look he had earned during the battle. He was one of Ge’off’s spies, based out of Denn, and a very good one at that. Tormund seemed to be in the dark about the shards as much as he was, though, which was another interesting piece to add to the puzzle. Ge’off had obviously been extremely tight on this one, if even his most senior operative in the very city of one of the shards was not in the loop.

With luck, however, Tormund seemed to be apologizing for not being able to join on such a trip. One could hardly blame him, having just lost a leg and still needing additional recovery, but it seemed the dwarf was determined to return to Denn and resume his watch for his master. Curiouser and curiouser…

As the others started getting into specifics of travelling the roads, Doren excused himself, knowing he needed rest for what would come. Tomorrow, they would ride.

Credits

• Cover image: “The Destroyed Temple of Sif” image generated by Jason St-Cyr using NightCafe.