Chapter 4: Requiem for a Cult…Chapter

  Follow the Leader... Or Not

  The streets of Havenford buzzed with activity as the cultists began packing up their cart and moving down the road. The sounds of merchants hawking their wares blended with the occasional clang of a distant forge, creating a backdrop of lively chaos. Sylvi glanced at the rest of the party and spoke decisively, her voice sharp. “We need to follow that cultist. And bury his ass.”

  Kaeric raised his hand, a rare gesture of hesitancy. “Yes, Kaeric?” Sylvi prompted.

  Despite the bustling scene, an undercurrent of unease lingered in the air. There was something intangible but deeply unsettling—a shadow hanging over the city. The adventurers all felt it, an unspoken tension that urged them forward. Whispers from the city’s darker corners hinted at sinister movements, and the cultists—preying on the city’s poorest with promises of power and belonging—had captured their attention.

  The group didn’t need words to confirm their plan. Their goal was clear: track the cultists, uncover their intentions, and stop them before they caused more harm.

  Magnus adjusted his hat, his thoughts racing as he muttered to Ashen, “I’ll follow from the rear.” Ashen nodded, his eyes flickering with resolve. Kaeric already had a strategy forming, and Sylvi was no stranger to silent pursuit.

  “It’s a simple plan,” Kaeric said. “I’ll get ahead of them, predict their movements, and signal back. Sylvi, stay close behind and keep an eye on them. Your familiar—where’s your cat?”

  Ember, Sylvi’s familiar, peeked out from behind her leg, her amber eyes gleaming.

  “She’ll take to the rooftops, keeping close and out of sight,” Sylvi said. “If we get separated, Ember can find me and bring us back together.”

  With practiced ease, Kaeric and Sylvi moved first, slipping through the crowded streets like shadows. Kaeric’s natural stealth allowed him to blend seamlessly into the crowd, passing the cultists unnoticed and positioning himself ahead. Sylvi followed like a whisper, her footsteps nearly silent. Overhead, Ember prowled the rooftops, her feline movements precise and graceful.

  Ashen and Magnus kept a careful distance, trailing the cultists from about thirty feet behind. The air grew heavier with the smell of street vendors’ offerings and the distant cry of gulls near the harbor. The cultists turned sharply at the city gates, disappearing into a narrow alley.

  The adventurers followed.

  The shift in the atmosphere was immediate as they moved deeper into the city’s slums. The narrow alleyways were damp and reeked of rot. Neglected buildings loomed overhead, their broken windows sealed shut as if to keep out the encroaching darkness. Few dared to remain outside after dark in this part of Havenford.

  Kaeric’s dark clothing helped him vanish into the shadows, his movements impeccable. Sylvi, equally skilled, followed with an innate grace that kept her steps inaudible. Magnus, seeking to flank the cultists, darted into a parallel alley, hoping to cut them off. Ashen remained thirty feet behind, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of danger.

  As the adventurers regrouped, they noticed the alley narrowing, the buildings closing in like silent sentinels. Ahead, the cultists stopped at a ramp leading beneath a building. The hum of arcane energy vibrated faintly in the air, and the shadows thickened unnaturally.

  The group halted, observing from a safe distance. Ember crept closer, slipping into the loading dock as Sylvi’s connection with her familiar allowed her to see through the cat’s eyes. Inside, nine cultists moved methodically. Three were on the second floor, seemingly asleep, while the others unloaded a casket from their cart. Something inside the casket moved.

  “They’re distracted,” Sylvi murmured. “Most of them are heading to the third floor, but there’s something in that casket.”

  Magnus adjusted his hat and smirked to himself. “What the hell, let’s give it a go,” he muttered, stepping toward the loading dock door.

  Fire, Blood, and Fun

  Magnus's heart sank as he realized the door was locked. "Perfect," he muttered. Kaeric, ever resourceful, stepped up to the door. His fingers worked with swift precision, the sound of his lockpicks clicking softly in the night. Within moments, the door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the loading dock.

  As the group moved inside, Kaeric and Magnus barely heard the shuffle of boots behind them—one of the cultists had stayed behind, tying up a mule. Ashen, eager but careless, tripped on a loose cobblestone, sending a sharp clanking echoing through the room as his half-plate armor hit the ground. Thinking quickly, Magnus called out, “Hey hey, friend, we were in the neighborhood and seeing your door open, would you be interested in some high-quality paper?” He tried to distract the cultist.

  Ashen froze, waiting for the worst, but Kaeric was already in motion.

  In one swift move, Kaeric leapt from the shadows, catching the cultist by surprise. A punch to the back of the head, and the man crumpled to the ground. “Oh, what the f—” The cultist’s words were cut short as Sylvi wasted no time—her blade was swift, slitting his throat before he could finish his sentence. Ashen quickly hid the body in a nearby haystack, covering the blood with the surrounding hay.

  Kaeric didn’t say a word as he dashed up the stairs. Magnus tilted his head and followed.

  A cry rang out from above—one of the cultists had seen Kaeric through a hole in the third-floor railing. Without thinking, Kaeric and Magnus acted, casting Tasha's Hideous Laughter on the two cultists at the banister. Clutching his chest, one of the men barreled into laughter and doubled over. The railing cracked as his fits continued, sending him careening over the edge and to the floor. His body crumpled below with a sickening thud, the laughter still echoing in the air.

  “What the hell’s going on?” the cultists below called out, rushing to grab weapons. The slumbering ones awoke in a panic.

  “Get up there!” came the command.

  The battle was upon them. Kaeric was the first to charge up the stairs. Magnus ran behind him, shouting, “Be bold and be brave! The battle is yet begun!” He cast Inspire Courage to boost the group’s morale. Ashen moved quickly, casting Expeditious Retreat to increase his speed. He dashed forward and up the stairs, and with a flash of his hand, an Eldritch Blast struck the leader, whose robes conveniently had the embroidered name “Morgan” on them. The leader grunted but stood tall.

  Morgan began to chant, his voice reverberating with power. He called upon Zarathrax’s dark power to embolden the cultists, sending them into a frenzy. The two cultists standing guard around Morgan began to grunt and gnash their teeth, froth foaming from the corners of their mouths. Ashen felt the weight of their madness as their eyes seemed to bulge from their heads.

  Another cultist, a blur of motion, threw a dagger at Ashen, but it clattered off his plate mail without even scratching him. Sylvi, still holding back, stepped forward, casting Mage Armor on herself and moving closer. Her feline familiar Ember darted toward Morgan, claws outstretched and ready to strike. Ember landed on Morgan’s face but was quickly thrown across the room.

  The chaos continued to unfold as Kaeric sent a Witch Bolt arcing toward one of the cultists guarding the leader, causing them to stumble back. But even in their frenzy, the cultists were relentless. The fifth cultist threw another dagger at Magnus, landing a solid hit.

  “Oh, you flying fuck-fuck,” Magnus shouted in surprise, then pointed at Morgan. “He stained my shirt! You’re paying for this to be cleaned.” He cast Daze, hitting Morgan hard and causing him to reel back, disoriented.

  As the battle escalated, Ashen cast Hexblade’s Curse and attacked one of the cultists guarding the leader. His Eldritch Blast struck true, and the cultist, “Martin,” fell to the ground, dead. Magnus couldn’t help but note, Poor guy, probably wasn’t even his name. They probably give out used robes to all the new recruits.

  The battle raged on. Kaeric took a blow from one of the other cultists as Magnus faced off with another. Sylvi, always calculating, sent another Eldritch Blast at Morgan, causing him to stagger back.

  Footsteps clambered up the opposite stairs, and a woman cultist hurled a bright red bottle at Kaeric, which shattered on his shoulder. In moments, the bright liquid ignited, flames engulfing Kaeric’s body. He cried out in pain, but the fire only seemed to fuel his resolve.

  Kaeric’s body burned brightly, an inferno that illuminated the dark, cramped room. Unfazed, he swung his hatchet with force, cleaving through the air toward one of the cultists. The axe connected with the cultist’s arm, sending him sprawling backward with a blood-curdling scream.

  Kaeric, undeterred, continued to fight with sheer willpower, but his comrades weren’t as stoic. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Magnus reached out a trembling hand, casting Prestidigitation to extinguish the fire. A slight drizzle of water dripped from his fingertips, hardly enough to put out the blaze.

  “Fucking Kaeric,” Magnus muttered under his breath. “Put out the damn fire!”

  There was no time for more words. Ashen lashed out with his poison spray, targeting the cultist closest to him. The magical fumes enveloped “Marc,” whose face twisted in agony as blood poured from his eyes, ears, and nose. With a gurgled scream, Marc fell lifeless to the ground, his body twitching briefly before going still.

  Before anyone could take a breath, Eric, one of the remaining cultists, swung a vicious strike at Ashen. His scimitar clanged off the warlock’s plate armor with a loud clang, leaving no mark but an unsettling sense of urgency in the air.

  Morgan, the leader of this deranged group, stood at the back, eyes alight with fervor. His hands began to weave an incantation, casting a dark bolt toward Ashen. The necrotic bolt crackled through the air like a lightning strike, connecting with Ashen’s chest. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his body, but he stood firm.

  Sylvi, ever the pragmatic member of the group, noticed Kaeric’s flame wasn’t dying down, rolled her eyes at Kaeric’s stubbornness. She darted toward the fire, her hands glowing faintly as she padded down the flames. “For god’s sakes, you're just enabling him Sylvi”, Morgan shouted. “How’s he ever going to learn?” But Kaeric was already charging forward, his hatchet swinging at Sam, another fanatic cultist. His strike found its mark, leaving Sam sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the force of Kaeric’s attack a testament to his undying rage.

  Ashen sprayed more poison at Morgan, seeming to have little effect on the tar robed man. “You have little faith!!” Morgan spat, blood now trickling from his eyes as he grinned manically. With renewed fury, he raised an ornate Kris dagger and brought it down and into his stomach. The blood flood out and over his hands. “Sacrificial blood,” he whispered, his voice like a prayer to the shadows.

  The room darkened as shadow flames crackled from the wound and out to lick those close to him. The dark energy surged through the room, sending out waves of necrotic power. Kaeric, Ashen, and Sylvi recoiled as the pain seared through their bodies, the dark energy seeping into their flesh. Kaeric and Ashen gritted their teeth, trying to withstand the onslaught.

  Sylvi, anger flashing in her eyes, had no intention of letting Morgan’s dark magic win. She surged forward, her blade flashing through the air. With a swift movement, she drove her dagger deep into Morgan’s side. He let out a strangled scream, stumbling back to the wall and crumpling to the floor.

  The battle raged on as the cultist in front of Ashen stabbed up and into him, sending him to his knees

  Headley, the cultist who had been hiding in the shadows looked at his leader and back to the door. The blood glistening from his body served a reminder of the cold breath of the shadow tongues that he’s sent out towards them all. He bolted toward the exit, pushing past one of the cultists at the door only to be met with an angry grimace from the cultist behind. “George” it read on his robe. George raised his mace high and he swung with unbridled force, catching Headley in the back and sending him crashing to the floor, unconscious.

  Rachel, the fanatic who had lit Kaeric on fire, spun on Ashen and sent a bolt of Eldritch Energy from her hands missing him wildly. The third from the stairwell was a large reptilian man. His broad shoulders were cobralike, muscled and rounded leading up to the head of a snake. Draped in the same simple robes, he was simply embroidered “Ray”. Ray, still fanatical in his devotion to Morgan, swung his scimitar at Kaeric, the flames of battle dancing in his eyes. He landed a blow that cut deep into Kaeric’s side, and Kaeric staggered, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “Thisssss issss for Morgan!” Ray hissed, a primal scream echoing through the room.

  Kaeric went down, his body crashing to the floor, and fell unconscious. Sylvi’s face became worried and she whispered a prayer to her Gods as she took cover behind the coffin. Ten bright red Good Berries formed in her hands as she knelt. As the battle raged on, memories began to flash before Kaeric’s eyes.

  The orc’s hands clung to the rock face of the mountain before him, his bicep pulling him up Mt Kealimjore. Kaeric stood up and looked out over the valley before him as the cold wind came over his shoulders. He had never been this high. He had never felt this sort of cold, so brisk, but dry before. The sun bright on his shoulders, yet feeling no warmth. He had just one more cliffside to scale before he met with the DragonBorn to broker the deal for his tribe.

  As Sylvi watched his body, Kaeric’s breathing seamed to grow more stable.

  Magnus ran to Ashen’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder “Stand, and fight my friend”, casting a healing spell. As he did, Ashen stood to both feet and sent an Edritch blast to Rachel’s chest knocking her to the floor. Ray swung upon Magnus as he stepped aside. Taking another dagger from his belt, one of the cultists, “Derrick” took aim at Ashen and let loose, missing wildly. The blade landed squarely in Ray’s shoulder spurring on a groan of agony as Ray gritted his teeth.

  As he did, the cultist in front of Sylvi, “George”, raised a scimitar and swung it down on her. Magnus marked him with a glare. Sylvi spun with her blade, whirling it around on George. Her body arced in the air as each arm spread out wide. The blade seemed to gleam in hunger as it came down on the cultist in front of her. Splinters cracked from the shield he held as it glanced off. As her body seemed to fly in the air, her other hand curved around throwing four berries to the chest of Kaeric.

  The waters were clear and blue beneath the gleaming sunlight as Kaeric splashed. The two river trolls that he was playing with pushed him under the water and he came up for air spurting and laughing. From the nearby banks, his mother reached out a hand and the three young boys floated out of the water and their feet began to dance on the ripples as if they were solid. Kaeric wrestled the larger one to the ground as the smaller grabbed a hold of his ankle biting it. “You’ll never defeat me that way troll!!” and he laughed.

  Magnus’ eyes landed on Kaeric and a smile came across his face. Kaeric was breathing steadier now.

  As Ray swung down on me, my smile turned to a scowl and I pulled my body out of the way. Arching back with dagger in hand my hand followed through as the blade sailed through the air burying itself deep into George’s abdomen. I nodded to the cultist with the daggers, “You’re not the only one who has daggers you know. You really should get outta here.”

  Rachel got up from where she had fallen and fired back at Ashen, missing again. This time, the magic went wild blasting her back. Ashen sent a poison blast through the air at Ray’s snakelike body. “Missssseeeeed”, he slithered and laughed pulling his blade back as he approached Sylvi’s overcommitted form. As he brought the blade down he missed.

  Kaeric stood in the royal bedchambers with his dragonboard bride just hours after the ceremony. Her eyes looked over his Orcish form and frowned. “I know this was arranged, but I was not expecting an … how do I say this.. Is it rude to call you an Orc? What do you call yourselves? It just sounds so… racist”. Magnus saw Kaeric’s chest stop moving. Grabbing Ray’s face in my hand I spat at him, “If it weren’t for this damn orc, we’d be having a word”. Magnus stomped to Kaeric shrugging off the minor slash that came across his back as he stubbornly walked to Kaeric. He took the berries from his chest and fed them to Kaeric as he began to come out of unconsciousness, “Next time, you fucking put out your fire”. Ray made to follow me, but his foot was caught on a loose floorboard and he fell face first into the ground. “Well that ssssssucked”.

  Kaeric, recovering from his brief unconsciousness, pulled his long bow out… while prone and pulled it back. Arching his back as much as he could, he forced his longbow back with discomfort before loosing the arrow. It flew, striking George square in the back and driving through his sternum all the way to the fletching. The force of the shot punctured George’s lungs, and with a strangled gasp, he crumpled to the ground, unable to continue.

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  But there was no time for celebration.

  Derric, enraged by the loss of his ally, hurled himself toward Kaeric once more, swinging wildly with his scimitar. The strike knocked Kaeric out once more. missed, but the fury in his eyes burned brighter than ever. Seeing an opening, Magnus stood tall and swung his staff with purpose. He grinned, his eyes flashing with determination. "Some days are bad days, and you caught me on a bad day," he muttered, eyes narrowing as the staff curved through the air. The blow missed its mark entirely, but it seemed like a good thing to say at the moment.As he felt the heat of battle closing in around him, Magnus knew one thing for sure: The cultists would not stop until they had their victory or each of them had died.

  The orc walked into the camp with a set of ropes tied from neck to wrist to ankles. He was poked from behind as he held his held high and continued to move forward. A brutal scream came from over his left shoulder as someone could be heard writhing in torture. The smell of blood and ash didn’t cover up the putrid smell of shit as it clung in the air and caked in spots on the ground. “You… you one of us now”.

  Kaeric did not look good. Magnus spun in place as he loosed a dagger across the room and into “George” facing off with Sylvi and he slumped to the ground. A scimitar went whooshing past Magnus as the nearest attack seemed to barely miss.

  From across the room, Ashen was still gripped in battle with the cultist in front of him but diverted his attention to the slithering cultist by me. He sent another blast of poison at him as the humongous snake man hissed and laughed in his direction. The cultist in front of him slashed at Ashen’s legs, “Oh god damnit, just go home”. Hearing him from across the room, Sylvi swung on Ashen and the cultist and released an Eldritch Blast from her blade. Like an explosion, the light fired from her and into the cultist, bursting his chest cavity open wide, leaving him with nothing but a croak from his mouth, lungs unable to function. He dropped to his knees and flopped to the floor lifeless.

  Sylvi made her way across the room to my side as Ray and Derick eyed to me aggressively. Magnus grinned pre-empting their attacks. Like a matador, he turned his body as Ray’s blade disappeared into his cloak where he had been. He flourished sidestepping as Derick’s blade went wide. In a flimsy attempt at what someone had told him was CPR Magnus slammed his palm down into Kaeric’s chest. “Get up, man!”, he shouted. As he did, Kaeric sputtered a cough and seemed to stabilize his breathing. Sylvi knelt down to Kaeric and pulled the health potion from his side, forcing it down his throat. Most of the container spilled out of his mouth, but he seemed to come out of his fog. She dropped the rest of the berries on his chest, managing to duck a blast from the cultist Rachel just as she stood back up.

  Ashen raised his left hand casting a hex on the Rachel. As he did, he fired a blast of Eldritch energy at her, knocking her from her feet to the ground, dead. His eyes seemed to come alive and strength filled his body as he looked down in judgement at her corrupted form.

  Kaeric looked up at Magnus in a daze and got himself to his feet, eating the berries. “There you are buddy. Not today,” Magnus said. “Not today.” Ray stared at him as Magnus circled, placing him between Kaeric and himself. Sylvi saw how they were positioned and fired a bolt at Derick seeming to melt his face. As Magnus backed up, Ray swung at him, finding only empty air. Magnus nodded as he threw another dagger at him. It wasn’t deadly, but he roiled in anger. He screamed finally noting that none of his fellow cultists were standing. With a roar, he brought his arms up to strike. As he did, Kaeric brought his short sword up and into his back. It slid beneath his rib cage and up into his torso. Blood began to gurgle from his throat. Magnus stepped to Ray and took him by the back of the head bringing my lips to what his species used as ears. “It didn’t have to be this way…”. He slumped as Magnus released him onto the ground and Kaeric withdrew his blade.

  Magnus looked at Kaeric as the snake fell. Six of the cultists were just initiates, having just joined the group that evening. The leader had cast a spell pushing them into a blood rage. Donning robes with names from prior members or taking on new names. They were looking for brotherhood or community. Something to belong to. They didn’t know about the evil that their leadership was involved in. They didn’t know what had been unleashed in Greymoor, or in the swamp. They were just street urchins. Poor people. Looking for food, shelter, community. They were living their lives and their lives just hadn’t turned out right. They could have been any one of the adventurers in the right circumstances. But they were here. Lying on the floor, lifeless. Because Kaeric had charged into battle without thought. Two floors below us, a teenager was buried in hay because they walked in to the situation without enough information. Tonight, the blood was on their own hands as much as Morgan’s.

  The Coffin Conundrum

  They looked around the room as they caught their breath and assessed their situation. They were in one of the cultists hideout. It had not escaped them that the sarcophogas was stil groaning in chains as they collected what they could.

  Magnus took the sacrificial dagger Morgan had used from his body. The blade carried a story and it was worth something to someone. It shone with five crimson rubies and Morgan's blood still dripped from it. His cloak was an inky black and seemed to move like a pool of liquid as Magnus pulled it up and into the light. He held onto it for a moment and held it up to Kaeric. If anyone was going to move in the shadows, he thought it would be him. Kaeric took it without a word as Ashen called out. “Hey guys, “ he said. “He’s got some official letter on him”. He opened up the seal and began reading it to us.

  To the Chosen of the Shadowflame, Prophet Kaelthar Brunssen,

  The sarcophagus in Havenford is ready. The bindings have been weakened, and when the chaos is unleashed, you will rise as the savior to blind the masses with your radiance. Let the people flock to you, their so-called redeemer, while we work in the shadows to prepare for the true awakening of our master.

  The artifacts remain scattered, but progress is being made. The Heart of Shadows’s location is within reach. Our scouts have narrowed its resting place to the forgotten crypts beneath the ruins of Shadowspire Keep. The Embered Crown is said to lie in the volcanic ruins of the Ashen City, though the path is treacherous, and guardians still linger.

  The Black Mirror remains elusive, but our agents in the Gloomwood report signs of its corruption spreading through the forest. It will reveal itself when the time is right.

  When the three artifacts are gathered, and the final ritual is performed, Zarathrax shall walk the mortal realm once more. All shall burn, and the world shall kneel before the Shadowflame.

  Do not fail us, Prophet. Your time is at hand.

  By the will of the Flame King,

  Archservant Dreknar

  Sylvi spoke up, “The lady told us about the prophet. She said there was a new religious group that had begun to grow, and it’s right when these cultists started pulling people from the streets. It’s obviously connected. We need to do something about the coffin. We can’t just leave it here.”

  She approached it and read the text on the chains.

  "Chains of night, forged in flame,

  Hold this creature, cursed in name.

  Should the seal be broken wide,

  Darkness falls, no light can hide."

  "The coffin itself had another inscription.

  "By the decree of the Shadowflame,

  let this vessel remain sealed.

  Within lies the servant of darkness,

  a harbinger of Zarathrax’s return.

  Let none disturb this prison,

  lest the flames of shadow consume all."

  They used a series of pullies and loading cranks to lower the sarcophagus back down and onto the cart. Ashen collected a set of robes and amulets from storage for possible future reconnaissance. He handed out some extra potions that were found in one of the adjacent rooms. Apparently one of the cultists was an alchemist. Likely the one who had thrown the Alchemists Fire earlier at Kaeric. The group packed the cart and covered it with hay. Sylvi used a minor spell to make flowers cover it. “We’re going back to Miss Velmora. She might know what to do with this,” Sylie called out as Ashen pulled on the horses reins. The grunts continued from the box as they made their way down the city streets so Magnus brought out his mandolin and began to sing a song. The late night air took the song out and over the streets covering up the grunts with his voice.

  When you’re going

  To Havenford

  Be sure to wear,

  Some flowers in your hair…

  If you’re going

  to Havenford

  You’re going to meet

  Some gentle people there…

  As Magnus hopped off the cart in front of the Verdant Couldron, he could hear Kaeric’s heavy weight landing as well. Kaeric was digging at the ground, picking up pieces of gravel and pebbles. Clink, Clink-clink. Magnus watched as Kaeric threw pebbles at one of her windows. As Magnus began to knock on the door, Sylvi shoved him out of the way, pulling at the door. “It’s locked?” he asked. She groaned. Magnus knocked again on the door. A moment passed and they could hear her moving about inside.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered to herself as she shuffled to the door. “I’m sure it’s no one my little darlings, go back to sleep.” The vines around the shop seemed to tense up in anxiety as the party waited. She opened the door, her hair mussed from bed and looked at them agape, “You did it already?”

  Magnus screwed up his face in response, “Not - exactly, Miss Velmora, you see-”.

  Sylvi cut in “We followed some people through some dark alleys and killed them all and now we have a big casket and- “.

  “We followed Cultists and caught them trying to do a ritual,” Magnus said to Miss Velmora, trying to explain.

  Sylvi took a deep breath and explained from the beginning. She explained to her how we’d come across the cultists taking advantage of the people on the street.. She told her how we had shadowed them back to their hideout where they had carried the sarcophagus up and into the top floor of the building. Her words echoed as she recounted the words Morgan had begun to speak as he stood next to the summoning circle. Magnus made a note to himself that he should see whether there was information about this ritual in the grimoire.

  “I have a loading area in the alley. I think it’s best if you bring the cart around there and I’ll take a look,” she said, locking the door behind her as she moved to the back.

  Sylvi raised an illusory spell to make the alley seem empty as the adventurers spoke with her. As she raised the cover, the plants at the back door almost seemed to make a screeching noise as they pulled back. “You can’t bring this in here. I’ll look at it, but this feels like blight. This is what my children were worried about. You can’t let this out in the city and you can’t bring this into nature.”

  “Will its seals hold?” Sylvi asked.

  “These spells were made to hold. The etchings are almost perfect. It’s not coming out unless someone releases it. It’s trapped there for now.”

  “So we can’t just leave it outside in the woods?” Ashen asked. Sylvi shot a glance at him then back at Miss Velmora.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t let this out. We’ll find a way,” she said.

  “Thank you. Anything you can do to protect - us… I will be most grateful,” she said. Ashen pulled the tarp back across the sarcophagus and the store itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, “don’t bring that back.” We headed back to the stables to find Berf.

  Sylvi wasn’t sure to look for at this point. Someone who might take this ever growing problem off of their hands? It was a big giant sarcophagus with an undead unholy creature sent from a prince of hell to unleash burning flame and shadow across the land. What exactly were they expecting?

  Berf’s Big Day or “A Roll in the Hay”

  The party returned back to the merchant district and its luxurious stables to find Berf had made himself at home. They heard rustling in the hay “Oy! Yer back! I haven’t heard from yous in day’s ‘n I din’a know where’s yous was off to’s” Berf popped out from a pile of hay, shirt off. “I was right on my way to find you.” A disheveled and buxom young lady popped out from the hay from behind him wrapped around his back.

  “Oh he was right on his way, alright! He definitely wasn’t about to spend another hour here in the hay,” she said. Another young woman popped up from the other side, similarly dishevelled and undressed. “Oh, yaaah, he was right on his way,” she said. Berf’s face went red as he began speaking excitedly.

  “The city is so amazing! Lordy lordy lordy! The food and the stables. And the … ahem… the ladies. I had so much good food. I had a wonderful plate of the most delicious sausages and it was only five gold pieces!” he exclaimed. Sylvi’s expression turned from shock to puzzled. Berf hadn’t seen a gold piece before left Greymoor. He had received a full share of the gold that the party had looted from the cultists. Magnus had given him his entire share in appreciation for the bravery he had shown. That fifteen gold was probably more than what he would have made over the course of two years back in Greymoor. Maybe, more.

  “You know Berf, as long as you stick to adventuring, you’ll see so much gold and so much food!” Magnus said seeing an opportunity for another friend to tagalong more permanently. He reached back into he pocket for his coin to flip and shrugged, remembering that it was back with Miss Velmora. A promise made.

  “I brought you sausage, Berf,” Sylvi said, pulling out the sausage that had been in her sack for the last four hours. “And here’s 4 gold to cover for all of the stabling.”

  “Oh thank you’s miss Sylvi. It’s nothin’ a’all!” Berf said happily, beaming at the gold in his hand.

  “Now, Berf, we have had a long day. Can you make sure nobody disturbs this cart while we try to get some sleep?” Magnus asked.

  “Oh, what’s so important?” he asked as he jumped on the cart.

  “It’s just… “ Magnus replied tiredly. “We’ll explain later.”

  “What? You don’t trust old Berf?” He pronounced personally affronted.

  Exhausted, he turned to him. “It’s nothing Berf, it’s just an undead, unholy abomination sent from the prince of the seventh circle of hell to bring fire and shadow upon the city as a harbinger of his inevitable return to Aelanthar. That’s all. We just don’t want someone to take it after we stole it from 9 Cultists and left their bodies in a warehouse on the other side of the city.”

  Everyone looked at Magnus.

  “You should go to sleep Magnus,” Ashen said. Sylvi started packing some hay on one side of the coffin in the cart and Magnus followed suit on the other side. He pulled his hat down over his eyes, and went to sleep.

  Dagger Deals

  The adventurers woke in the morning and began to discuss all they knew. The mirror and a potential way to acquire the ashes of a fallen eldar tree were both located in the nearby Grimwood Forest. They couldn’t leave the cart behind, so they decided to bring it with them to the forest to retrieve the artifact and the necessary ashes to protect the amulet.

  Before departing, Magnus suggested stopping by the shop the others had visited the previous day. "The shopkeeper is interested in stories," Magnus remarked. "I have… a story to trade."

  The bell dinged as they entered the shop. Berf stayed with the cart outside. The gnome shopkeeper hopped off his stool and onto the counter. "Now, what can I do for you, return customer? And you, with those big ol’ horns—I bet I can get you into a new hat!" he chimed cheerily, eyeing Ashen.

  “Perhaps,” Magnus replied. “But I’m here to offer you a story. My companions told me you appreciate items with a history, something with a tale behind it. Let me tell you about this." He produced a ruby-inlaid sacrificial kris and continued, "You know about the cultists running around town, don’t you? I happened upon a group of them performing a blood ritual—flames of shadow and fire licking at the air. Their leader used this very dagger in the ritual. He chanted strange words, raised it high, and plunged it into his own stomach. Shadow tendrils reached out, sucking the life from his followers, leaving them all dead. This blood here," he said, gesturing to the dried remnants on the blade, "is from the leader himself."

  The shopkeeper’s eyes widened as Magnus spoke.

  “Now, I know I might not get full value in gold for this,” Magnus continued, “but consider the five perfect rubies set into this dagger. Their value alone, even without the story, is undeniable. You and I—we’re alike. You love stories, and I live to collect and share them. I’d like to trade this for something that enhances my storytelling, something that makes me more captivating.”

  The gnome carefully examined the blade, visibly intrigued. After a moment, he grinned. "Ah, I’ve got just the thing for you." He twisted the back of Jeffrey the crab, his mechanical assistant, who skittered to the back and returned with a box. Inside was a long, hornlike instrument. "This is the Echostaff. It amplifies your voice or instrument, making it resonate beautifully with any audience."

  Magnus inspected it skeptically. "It’s limited in use. I can’t exactly carry this around in every conversation. Do you have something more practical—perhaps a cravat that enhances all my interactions?"

  The gnome considered this and sent Jeffrey to fetch another item. The crab returned with a polka-dot bow tie, whimsical but with a certain charm.

  Magnus frowned. "This hardly matches the value of the rubies alone. Any jeweler could melt this down and pay me more just for the gems." At the mention of melting the dagger, the gnome grew visibly nervous.

  “I need armor,” Kaeric said, stepping forward.

  The gnome nodded eagerly. "What about these Shadow Bracers? They’re not only protective but also allow the wearer to blend into shadows when focused."

  The group deliberated, and Ashen chimed in. “We’ll also need some healing potions thrown in.”

  The gnome hesitated but eventually agreed. “I can add three minor healing potions, but that’s as much as I can offer for this piece of history.”

  The trade was made. Magnus donned the bow tie, packed the Echostaff, and Kaeric secured the Shadow Bracers. Sylvi, Ashen, and Kaeric each took a potion. The gnome handled the dagger carefully, scraping its dried blood into a jar, his actions causing unease among the group as they exchanged wary glances.

  Breaking the silence, Sylvi remarked, "I really need armor." The gnome, noting her lack of metal gear, sent Jeffrey to retrieve something special. The crab returned with a lightweight mantle shimmering with threads of silver and green, woven with the essence of moonlight and fae leaves.

  “This is the Sylvanwoven Mantle," the gnome explained. "It’s enchanted and fastens with a clasp shaped like a blooming flower. Perfect for someone like you."

  Sylvi admired the mantle, and Ashen stepped up with a ruby. “This,” he said, "and I’ll want change."

  The gnome inspected the ruby with his monocle and nodded. "I’ll give you 200 gold pieces in change." The transaction was made, and Sylvi clasped the mantle around her shoulders.

  The bell above the door dinged as Berf burst in. "Oy, I want to buy something!" he announced loudly.

  "You don’t have any money," Ashen said flatly.

  "I do! Sylvi gave me four gold pieces last night," Berf retorted.

  "Who’s with the cart, Berf?" Magnus asked, exasperated. "Get back to the cart!"

  "You’re not my boss!" Berf puffed out his chest defiantly.

  Magnus rolled his eyes and headed outside to check on the cart. When they regrouped, they began planning their next steps.

  A Simple Plan

  The Mirror was located in the Gloomwood Forest, near Havenford. The other artifacts were much farther away, but they had not yet been found by the cult. The group still had a chance. The cult needed all three artifacts, and even retrieving and hiding one would significantly hinder their plans. However, the matter of the Prophet’s involvement complicated things.

  “I don’t know that we can trust anyone with this information,” Sylvi argued.

  “But we have to trust someone!” Magnus replied. “Clearly, the cultists aren’t in league with every organization. The Golden Hand is a competing religious group, and the Prophet was supposed to stop whatever is in this coffin. He’s trying to position himself as the town’s savior, which would bolster his importance over the Golden Hand.”

  “That, and they killed that member of the Golden Hand in the swamp,” Ashen added. “Now we have undeniable proof of who was behind it. It wasn’t random cultists. We’ve got evidence that ties this directly to the religious group the Prophet is involved with. Even if it’s not public, he’s clearly pulling the strings.”

  Sylvi considered this and said, “Well, I think we should try to get information out of him somehow. We can just show up and deliver the letter.”

  “You’re going to get yourself killed that way,” Magnus cautioned. “You can’t just show up in black robes publicly when he’s trying to avoid any connection to the cultists.”

  “We’ll just say we were recruited, turned up at the warehouse, and found Morgan dead. We read the letter, so we decided to deliver it,” Sylvi suggested.

  “If you’re posing as new recruits and you’ve read the letter, you haven’t proven any loyalty to the organization. You know too much. Walking in on a group of cultists tied to the politically rising Prophet, carrying a letter about Zarathrax and his return? He’ll see you as a threat and want you dead. The letter is far more valuable as evidence to give to the Golden Hand,” Magnus countered.

  Kaeric raised his hand. “Kaeric, you have something to say?” Sylvi asked.

  “We should alter the information in the letter, reseal it, and deliver it,” Kaeric suggested.

  “That actually makes sense,” Ashen agreed. “But the Prophet doesn’t know Morgan is dead, so we should keep it that way. You can say a response is expected.”

  “Alright, then that’s the plan,” Sylvi decided. “We’ll split up. Ashen and Magnus, you’ll take the evidence to the Golden Hand. Kaeric and I will deliver the letter to the Prophet.”

  “We’ll meet up with you later,” Magnus added. “Getting Lady Valencia to introduce us to Lord Veylon will help us get our foot in the door.”

  “What about ol’ Berf?” Berf interjected loudly.

  “We need you, Berf, because you’re the strongest among us,” Ashen said. “You’ll guard us and protect the cart with the coffin.”

  “That’s right! Good ol’ Berf is strong. I’ve got your backs,” Berf replied confidently.