Meeting in Tannis#

The Raven’s Perch Tavern smelled like pinewood polish, stale ale, and secrets no one wanted to say out loud. The hearth crackled with half-burned oak logs, sending shadows flickering across a clientele that looked like they’d all seen better days – or at least better choices.

Shadicar lounged near the bar, silver-stringed lute in hand, half-elf ears peeking through a tousle of hair that probably took him an hour to make look artfully unkempt. His nimble fingers danced across the strings as he plucked out a slow, haunting tune that snared the room’s attention one cautious note at a time. He smiled faintly to himself, tasting the silence that followed each note like a sommelier tasting a fine wine.

Skreek perched awkwardly on a stool beside him, talons tapping against the worn wood floor. The Aarakocra paladin tried to keep his wings tucked in close, but they still ruffled the nearest patron’s hair whenever he shifted. He sipped carefully at a clay mug of hot cider, politely ignoring the suspicious glances from the table of farmers who had likely never seen a birdman in full shining breastplate before. He hummed along to Shad’s melody, just a note or two off-key, but with sincerity that made up for it.

Slumpet occupied the darkest corner of the room, legs pulled up onto the seat beneath him, eyes flicking from face to face like a forest cat scenting new prey. The gnome rogue said nothing, as usual. He simply watched, calculating angles, shadows, and lines of retreat should the room sour on them. He drank from a chipped cup of something strong and bitter, cradled it with nimble fingers, and never let his guard drop.

And then there was Toby. She leaned against the bar, arms crossed, muscles taut beneath the half-elf’s travel-worn leathers. Her eyes scanned the room with the detached pragmatism of a blood hunter who’d seen too many people try too many stupid things. She nursed a mug of thick stout, though by the way her jaw clenched, it tasted no better than the copper tang of her own magic.

The village of Tannis itself felt like it clung to the edge of the world: an old windmill sagging on a hill to the north, a temple to the Dusk Lord that seemed far too grand for such a humble settlement, and a great oak tree in the center square, its branches sprawling like a giant’s hand grasping for the sky.

Tonight, the tavern’s hearth hosted not just travelers but curiosity. There was Lerissa, a red-skinned tiefling woman with the posture of someone who’d spent her youth swinging swords and her middle years learning she didn’t have to. Beside her lay Duchess, her pet wolf – all grey fur, pale eyes, and silent judgment. There was Serenity, a beautiful singer with hair like a moonless midnight sky, filling the room with a song so haunting that Shad nearly missed his next chord just listening to her. Hurmur Deeprest, a dwarven archaeologist, hunched over his drink like it might whisper forgotten truths. And Jax, from the Night Talons thieves’ guild, gave Slumpet a nod that spoke in silent thieves’ cant: “Work available. Ask me later.”

Lerissa let Shad earn some coin with his music before Serenity took the stage. When Serenity finished, she drifted over to Shad with eyes that sparkled with shared artistic understanding and a smile that promised at least one story worth remembering tomorrow.

But the pleasant haze of ale, music, and mild flirtation shattered when the tavern door slammed open so hard it rattled every mug on its shelf.

Sig Rockwell stood there, framed in torchlight and half-melted snow, breathing like he’d sprinted the entire way from his forge. The blacksmith’s beard bristled with frost and panic.

“They took her!” he roared, voice breaking with grief. “They took my Winry!”

The room fell silent, save for the distant howl of wind rattling against the shuttered windows.

Sig’s eyes swept across the room and landed on the four strangers – on the half-elf bard with nimble fingers, the birdman in gleaming steel, the shadow-bound gnome rogue, and the broad-shouldered blood hunter. Desperation flickered across his face, mingled with fragile hope.

“Please. If you find her… I’ll give you anything I have. My forge is yours. Just… bring my daughter home.”

And just like that, the night’s easy warmth died, replaced by the cold certainty of purpose.

Rescue the Blacksmith’s Daughter#

Tracking Winry and her captors wasn’t easy. The party moved north through the thick forest, their path lit by slivers of moonlight piercing the canopy. They crossed the Shimmerwood and forded the Misty Run River, stepping into Elven territory within the Enchanted Forest.

Their journey led them to a clearing, dominated by an ancient tomb on a central hill. Outside the tomb, a peculiar obsidian standing stone caught their attention. The stone had a hole near the top, resembling the eye of a needle. When Slumpet peered through it, he saw a towering silver maple tree to the northwest and a prominent mountain range to the southeast.

The tomb itself was a mix of vine, floral, and raven motifs, with the crest of the Knights—a blazing sun overlaid with a silhouette of a flying bird—emblazoned above the entrance. Inside, a mural depicted men and elves locked in battle against undead and shadows. An oath inscribed on the mural read: “We of the Order of Seasons, vow to fight darkness wherever it is found.”

Venturing deeper, the party reached the tomb’s innermost chamber, where they found Winry at the center of a dark ritual. Their sudden entrance—led by Shadicar, “lute first”—threw the goblins into confusion. They made short work of the creatures, sparing only their bugbear chief for interrogation. The bugbear revealed that they were part of the Cult of the Eclipse, led by “the Lady of the Eclipse,” who harbored a vendetta against the Order of Seasons.

Taking an Eclipse medallion from the bugbear chief, Shad used his magic to decipher its inscription: “Darkness will descend once again.”

Their search of the tomb uncovered a secret chamber with five ornate sarcophagi. Each belonged to a knight of the four seasons, but the fifth, more elaborate than the others, seemed to house the leader of the Order. Near this sarcophagus, they discovered several magical items, including broken pieces of a longsword with a blazing sun and a bird in flight on the hilt.

Reuniting with Sig, the blacksmith’s gratitude was palpable. He rewarded Slumpet with a masterwork short sword, Shadicar with studded leather armor, and promised to craft a wrist blade for Toby. Skreek received a breastplate, with his holy symbol mounted on it. Sig also pledged to call in a favor from Skreek to retrieve crafting materials from a dangerous location. The party’s successful rescue had not only earned them valuable gear but also strengthened their resolve for the battles yet to come.

Tannis Cursed with Darkness#

With the eclipse medallion and broken sword in hand, the party sought Lerissa’s counsel. The retired adventurer, her eyes gleaming with old memories, told them of folk tales about the Knight of Ravens, the legendary leader of the Order of Seasons who fought valiantly against the forces of darkness. She suggested they seek out Vidrir, the local sage who lived in a secluded grove in the Shimmerwood, mentioning that a cask of her ale, his favorite, would be a sign of goodwill.

Lerissa also posed a strange question: had the party noticed stars disappearing? Though uncertain, they realized they hadn’t observed anything unusual. She then offered them a night’s rest in the old windmill she used as a storehouse and occasional guest house. As night fell, the party noticed that the usually clear sky held only half the stars they were accustomed to seeing.

The following day, the village of Tannis was in chaos. A complete darkness had enveloped the entire village, impenetrable even by light or darkvision. Screams echoed through the darkness as the party cautiously made their way to Lerissa’s tavern, hoping to find allies. Along the way, shadowy hands emerged from the gloom, trying to drag them into the abyss. The party fought them off, encouraging survivors to seek refuge in the tavern.

They soon discovered a magical barrier encircling the village, preventing any escape. At the tavern, Lerissa was rallying the villagers. The party, seeking answers, decided to visit the church of the Dusk Lord, the only place emitting light, though it was under siege by shadowy hands. The church’s magical wards held off the creatures, their attacks rebounding off an invisible shield.

Inside, they met Father Samael, who had recently warded the church. He spoke of a beautiful black-haired woman who had shown great interest in his holy relics. His memory after showing her his holy symbol was fuzzy, and he couldn’t find the relic, expressing his deep concern.

He guided the party to the catacombs, where they encountered a deadly shadow being that had slain several priests. Avoiding conflict, the party gathered holy symbols from the fallen and descended to a hidden level below the catacombs.

In the depths, they encountered the Arbiter, an Angel of Justice serving the Dusk Lord. The party persuaded her to delay her cleansing ritual, vowing to investigate the corruption plaguing the town. The Arbiter revealed she had erected the barrier to contain the corruption and prepare for her ritual. She marked the party with a holy symbol, granting them passage through the barrier and the ability to commune with her. As a gesture of goodwill, she destroyed the remaining shadow monsters but kept the barrier in place until the corruption was eradicated.

Before leaving the crypt, Skreek took a Shield of the Dusk Lord from the crypt, a +1 shield, preparing for the challenges ahead. The party, now marked by divine favor, set out to uncover the source of the darkness threatening Tannis.

Meeting the sage, Vidrir#

With directions from Lerissa, the party ventured beyond the Arbiter’s barrier, the divine marks granting them passage. Emerging into the daylight, they made their way through the Shimmerwood in search of the sage, Vidrir.

Vidrir welcomed them warmly upon learning they were friends of Lerissa. He shared tales of their adventures together, praising her skills with a bow as highly as her talent for brewing ale. The party learned that the large purple-winged ravens they had noticed watching them in the forest were Vidrir’s allies.

Examining the broken sword, Vidrir identified it as Summer’s Edge, once wielded by the champion of the Summer Court of the Fey. The sword was a symbol of hope and courage for the Summer Court, believed to protect the realm from the undead and other dark forces as long as it remained in the hands of a true Guardian. Vidrir confirmed the sword was broken in the last great battle against the undead, an age ago, and only the master smiths of the Elves could reforge it.

Vidrir then inspected the Eclipse medallion taken from the bugbear chief. He discovered a tracking spell on it, originating deeper within the Enchanted Forest to the northwest.

The party enjoyed a restful break in Vidrir’s grove, sharing tea and folk tales. Skreek inquired about his quest to find a stolen holy relic, and Vidrir mentioned rumors of djinn in the southern desert searching for elemental artifacts.

Before they departed, Vidrir asked to hold the broken sword. As he grasped it, the sword emitted a faint glow, his hair standing slightly on end as a warm smile spread across his face. He thanked the party, hinting that sometimes weapons have “souls” that respond to living beings.

Refreshed and with new information, the party set out once more, determined to uncover the secrets of the Enchanted Forest and restore the balance threatened by the Cult of the Eclipse.

Find What’s Been Tracking the Party and Aid the Pixies#

The party set out through the forest, following the arcane tether tied to the Eclipse medallion like a bloodhound on a scent. Vidrir’s warning about the source being somewhere northwest rang in their ears, and as luck would have it, that was also the direction of the silver maple tree Slumpet had spotted earlier through the standing stone. Coincidence? Yeah, right.

They were a good few hours into the trek when Slumpet’s ears twitched—his finely honed rogue instincts firing off like a crossbow trap. Something was watching them. A flicker of movement in the trees. A rustle where there shouldn’t be. And then, a giggle. A high-pitched, undeniably mischievous giggle. Before anyone could react, a bright, sparkly illusion wrapped itself around Toby, making her look like she was wearing a clown wig and an oversized, jingling jester’s hat. Shad burst into laughter. “Oh, that’s good work. I respect this prank on a professional level.”

Toby sighed. “I hate everything.” That’s when they saw her—a pixie, no bigger than a teacup, perched on a tree branch and grinning ear to ear. Her wings fluttered like a hummingbird’s, and she looked immensely pleased with herself. “Hah! Gotcha! You shoulda seen your face!”

Slumpet, never one to turn down an opportunity for chaos, grinned right back. “I like your style, little lady. What’s your name?”

“Fannie,” the pixie said, striking a proud pose. And just like that, Slumpet had a new best friend. Between more prank attempts (which Slumpet encouraged), Fannie let slip some actual information—namely, that things had been getting weird in the woods lately.

“Weird how?” Skreek asked, already on edge. Fannie’s expression darkened. “You ever seen a part of the forest just… stop being a forest?”

That’s when Skreek took off, flapping his wings to get a bird’s-eye view. He rose above the treetops and scanned ahead—then froze mid-air. Because there it was. A whole section of the forest—just wrong. The colors were washed out, like someone had drained all the life from the place. The trees looked brittle, sickly, and the shadows stretched just a little too long, like they were trying to crawl toward something.

And dead in the center of it? A clearing, the trees forming a perfect unnatural ring around whatever lay inside. The hairs on the back of Skreek’s neck stood on end. This was not normal.

Hunting the Hunters#

Before they could investigate the dead zone, Fannie hit them with another bombshell. “Uh, hey, so I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but… my friends got kidnapped.” The pixie’s usual playful demeanor vanished, and for the first time, the party saw real fear in her big, shining eyes.

“Some grey-skinned creeps grabbed them. My people don’t get caught easily, but these guys had magic, nets, the whole deal. They’re gonna steal their dust and use it for some kind of ritual. I don’t know what, but it reeks of bad news.”

Now, that got the party’s attention. Slumpet cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like they need a rescue.”

“Oh, hells yeah they do!” Fannie’s wings fluttered fast enough to buzz. “I was about to go in alone, but since I just adopted you guys as my new dumb big siblings, I guess you can help.”

Shad smirked. “Thanks, I think?”

But before they could set off, Fannie grinned. “Oh, and one more thing.” She snapped her fingers. Toby suddenly wasn’t Toby anymore. Instead, standing where she had been was a nine-foot-tall, scaly, sharp-toothed, very confused dinosaur.

The big, toothy lizard blinked. Then blinked again. Then let out a very indignant rawr.

Fannie cackled. “That should even the odds!” The rest of the party just stared. Shad turned to Slumpet. “You sure she’s on our side?” Slumpet, grinning ear to ear: “Oh, yeah. She’s perfect.”

Assault on the Cultist Camp#

The Darklings—short, grey-skinned fae with a nasty habit of exploding into shadow on death—were not expecting to be attacked by a full-sized dinosaur leading the charge. Their mistake. Toby-in-Dinosaur-Form crashed through the camp, sending cultists flying like bowling pins. Skreek dove in from above, nets ready, scooping up their leader before he could blink. Slumpet darted through the chaos, slicing tendons and stealing pouches in equal measure.

And Shad? Shad just played a jaunty tune, making sure Toby’s prehistoric rampage was as inspired as possible. By the time the dust settled, the pixies were free, the camp was wrecked, and the Darklings? Well, there weren’t many left.

The few they spared weren’t worth much, but they did find a few things of note:

• Two enchanted daggers, radiating dark energy. (Dagger of Darkness)
• A religious text detailing something called “The Great Shadow”, gathering power against the “allies of the light.” Prophecy? History? Fiction? Hard to say.
• A note from someone named ‘L’—an order to elevate one of their ranks to greater power, taking advantage of the growing fear in the region.

The cult was planning something, and whatever it was, it was getting closer. With the pixies safely freed, the party took one last look at the dying part of the forest ahead. This was just the beginning. And something was waiting for them in that clearing.

Cabin in the Greyscale Woods#

With the pixies rescued, the party pressed deeper into the desaturated woods. Eventually, they stumbled upon a cabin guarded by a Flameskull. After a grueling battle, Slumpet pocketed the crushed skull as a trophy, and the party forced their way into the cabin.

Inside, they found a desk covered with notes and several spell scrolls. A chest nearby contained bedding and clothing, some of which closely resembled what Serenity, the singer they had met in Tannis, had been wearing.

As they investigated, a Rug of Smothering attacked, guarding a trap door. They defeated the rug, affectionately naming it “Sassy Tassels” in memoriam, and descended below.

In the basement, they discovered an altar dedicated to a shadow dragon with a magical crystal orb atop it. Gazing into the orb revealed a swirling mist and a strange castle. When Shad touched the orb, he felt a mental pressure but resisted its effects.

The room also contained a diorama of Tannis. Near the model of the great oak tree, they found a holy symbol of the Dusk Lord, cursed and defiled with blood. Using their holy marks, they summoned the Arbiter, who confirmed this as the source of the curse angering the Dusk Lord. She cleansed the symbol and vowed to lift her barrier from Tannis. After thanking the party, she opened a portal and returned to the village to begin her work.

The next morning, after a long rest, the party was startled by a knock on the cabin door. A Hag spoke to them familiarly, then revealed herself as Serenity, the beautiful singer from the Raven’s Perch Tavern. Sensing they had taken her crystal sphere, she demanded its return. Slumpet threw the sphere out the window in defiance. As they tried to leave, Serenity magically slammed the doors shut and attacked.

Desperate, Shad attempted to use a gate spell scroll to summon the Arbiter, but the spell fizzled. Physical attacks proved ineffective against Serenity, while her claws were formidable. In a desperate move, Shad cast charm person on Serenity, and to their surprise, it succeeded. Serenity’s demeanor shifted, and she began treating the party as friends, even making tea and breakfast.

During the exchange, the party acquired a journal Serenity had dropped. Piecing together information from the journal and their charmed conversation, they learned she was working with a spellcaster named the Weaver, a master of fear and illusion magic. Serenity had used a curse developed by the Weaver to plunge Tannis into darkness, hoping to gain favor with the shadow dragon Nidhogg by punishing the Dusk Lord and his followers. The dragon harbored a deep hatred for the Dusk Lord.

They also discovered that the Weaver was behind the tragedy in Shad’s village, having conjured an illusion of a shadow dragon so fearsome that the villagers died of fright. The Weaver and the shadow dragon Serenity communed with were aligned.

The party slipped away, hoping to be miles gone before the charm spell wore off. Slumpet led the way with the dark crystal in tow, heading towards the safety of Vidrir’s grove. Along the way, they discovered the Flameskull, now revived and calling itself Francis. The party struck a deal with Francis: in exchange for adventures and opportunities to use his laser-eye beams, he would share his arcane knowledge. With a new, albeit unusual, ally, they continued their journey, determined to uncover the dark secrets threatening their world.

Learning of the Great Shadow, Nidhogg#

The party regrouped at Vidrir’s grove, seeking rest, information, and guidance for their next steps. As they approached, Francis, their new skeletal ally, was blocked by a magical barrier. Vidrir later explained the wards were designed to protect his home from the undead.

Inside, Vidrir examined Serenity’s dark crystal. He identified it as a “seeing stone,” a powerful tool for communication across great distances and a potent focus for divination magic. This explained how Serenity might have tracked them. The contents of Serenity’s journal made Vidrir visibly uneasy. He spoke of Nidhogg, a formidable shadow dragon the Order of Seasons had failed to defeat during the last great war against the undead. They had only managed to seal him away in the Shadowfell. If Nidhogg were to gain allies and escape, it would spell disaster.

Throughout the conversation, Vidrir let slip details suggesting he had personal experience in the war against the undead, hinting at a much greater age than he admitted. It seemed likely he had been directly involved in sealing Nidhogg away.

Vidrir advised the party to seek the elves of the Winter Court to the north. They might have deeper insights into the orb, Nidhogg, and the reforging of Summer’s Edge. To aid them, he gave them his medallion from his time in the Order of Seasons, ensuring it would gain them favor or at least an audience with the Lady of Winter, who ruled the Winter Court.

The Winter Court’s embassy, Vidrir explained, was near the great silver maple tree that Slumpet had seen earlier. With renewed purpose and Vidrir’s medallion in hand, the party set out once more, the stakes higher than ever, as the threat of Nidhogg loomed larger with every step.

The Elves of the Winter Court#

The next morning, the party departed from the safety of Vidrir’s grove, making their way toward the great silver maple tree and, hopefully, the Elven Winter Court beyond.

On their journey, they were ambushed by a Redcap, a bloodthirsty fae mercenary with a giant sickle and iron boots. The party quickly dispatched the creature and discovered he had been hired to eliminate them before they could reach the fae crossing Serenity had mentioned.

As they continued, they saw a large cat-like creature with black claws and tree-like spines sprouting from its back, tearing a hole through reality and stepping through. The party hid, watching as the creature stalked away into the forest.

A day later, they arrived at the great silver maple, towering 100 feet tall with a gleaming silver trunk and large crystalline leaves. Slumpet climbed the tree to get a better view and spotted an equally impressive green and yellow tree to the northeast. On his way down, he removed one of the large crystal leaves without harming the tree. Nearby, they found another standing stone like the one at the Order of Seasons temple. Looking through the hole, Slumpet saw the green and yellow tree to the northeast and a small lake to the southwest. A group of elven rangers stationed at a nearby guard tower softened their demeanor upon seeing Vidrir’s medallion from the Order of Seasons and directed the party to the Winter Court’s embassy to the northwest.

After another half-day’s travel, the party reached the embassy, nestled within a small town with a cozy inn and well-kept shops, including a blacksmith, general store, and apothecary.

Before resting, the party did some shopping. Slumpet bought a set of studded leather armor, and Skreek purchased two nets.

The inn, called the Restful Buck, was a welcome sight. The bartender, Jared, was a well-informed and gracious host. Shad earned free drinks and some coin by putting on a show for the patrons and later won a poker game against the blacksmith by catching his tell. While at the inn, they learned that Alora, the current Lady of Winter, led the court. Alora’s daughter, Olivia, had recently been poisoned. The inn’s magical sound system, powered by blue crystals, also impressed the party.

Around noon the next day, the party sought an audience with Alora. Initially guarded, she softened upon seeing Vidrir’s medallion. Distracted by her daughter’s illness, she focused on little else until Skreek used his lay on hands ability to cleanse the poison from Olivia’s body. Overjoyed, Alora promised to discuss their concerns. They learned the creature was a Bandersnatch from the Feywild, which shouldn’t have been able to cross over.

Still concerned about the Bandersnatch, Alora offered a reward if the party could slay the beast. The party agreed, gathering supplies to make traps: meat scraps, hunting traps, and catnip. They tracked the creature to where Olivia had been hunting and set their traps with the bait. The Bandersnatch was lured in, and after a fierce battle, they killed it, though they struggled against its poison claws and gas. They took its head as proof and returned to the Winter Embassy.

Alora was true to her word, rewarding each party member with a magical item. Slumpet received a magic short bow named the Relentless Hunter, capable of casting Hunter’s Mark. Shad was given an enchanted instrument of the bards, the Fochlucan Bandore, to enhance his magical abilities. Toby received the Blinkback Belt, making any thrown weapon return to it. Skreek was awarded a Frostbrand Scimitar, which inflicted additional cold damage on enemies.

Alora explained that the elves’ powerful magical barrier held back elemental energies from other planes, allowing the elves some control. The original Elven Matriarch had organized the ritual to create the barrier, lending much of her power to its formation. No one had been born with the Matriarch’s gift for barriers in two generations, and the barrier was weakening. This weakening barrier might be why creatures from the Feywild were breaking through. Alora asked the party to investigate the nearby temple that supported the barrier’s magic.

With new purpose and powerful items in hand, the party set out to secure the temple and protect the realm from the encroaching darkness.

Investigate the Winter Leyline Temple#

With some convincing from Alora, the party had their weapons silvered by the local blacksmith and took a well-earned rest at the Restful Buck. Slumpet’s sleep was marred by nightmares of Serenity stealing back her dark crystal orb.

The next day, as they prepared to leave, they encountered Trius once more. After promising her more excitement than her diplomatic mission could offer, Trius agreed to accompany them to the temple. The party rented horses to speed their journey and were awestruck to find Trius mounted on a majestic unicorn.

Their journey east, guided by Trius, was pleasant. They soon reached the Leyline Temple, its entrance a large, triangular doorway made of intricately designed metal and stone embedded into a rocky hillside, with vegetation growing around it. The architecture was advanced and alien, unlike anything the party had encountered before. As they approached, a voice in an old Elvish dialect rang out: “To gain entry, present something proving you are worthy.”

Each member made their offering, and a sheet of blue light scanned them in turn. Shadicar offered a song of an Elven folk hero, Skreek presented a scroll demonstrating his pedigree, Slumpet offered the bow gifted by Alora after his first attempt with Serenity’s orb was rejected, Toby offered her own blood, and Trius presented her heirloom sword, the Moonblade. Satisfied with their offerings, the temple doors slid open smoothly.

Inside, the first room mirrored the entrance’s alien architecture, with intricate metal and stonework. The square chamber had smooth, polished floors reflecting the ethereal blue glow from the crystals embedded in the walls. A hologram of a knight materialized in the center, clad in unfamiliar armor that glowed with inner light. It wielded a massive greatsword with ease and requested that one of the party members best it in single combat to proceed. Skreek volunteered and, after a skillful duel, emerged victorious. The door to the next chamber opened.

The second room was a long, dimly lit chamber stretching 300 feet, filled with an air of ancient power and danger. A 15-foot wide bridge of meticulously carved tiles, some blank and others adorned with symbols representing the four seasons, spanned a bottomless chasm. The walls on either side were lined with rows of triangular blue crystals emitting a soft, pulsing light. The party deduced they needed to step on the tiles in the correct sequence. Missteps triggered painful laser blasts from the walls. Using acrobatics and Skreek’s ability to fly, they eventually crossed the bridge. Another door slid open.

The third chamber was breathtaking, a culmination of alien architecture and arcane mysteries. A colossal purple leyline crystal dominated the center, pulsing with otherworldly energy that illuminated the dark stone walls. Encircling it was an intricate arcane circle, carved with glyphs and symbols that shifted subtly, reflecting the continuous flow of magical energy.

Around the arcane circle, six identical crystals hovered in perfect alignment, each covered in dense runes. One crystal stood out, cracked and glowing faintly, its light flickering weakly. Slumpet borrowed paper from Trius and made a rubbing of the runes, capturing the crack for further investigation. Skreek reached out to the Arbiter, who explained that leylines are paths through which the plane’s raw magical energy flows, used for communication, travel, or power.

Satisfied they could do no more at the moment, the party exited the temple to report back to Alora about its state.

Ambush on the Road#

On their way back to the Winter Court, the party noticed the forest’s colors fading, everything turning to shades of gray. Despite being certain they were retracing their steps, they found themselves at Serenity’s cabin, which should have been an empty stretch of road. Serenity stood outside, smiling menacingly.

“I think you have something of mine… I want it back, and I’m done fucking around! It seems I’ll have to do this myself.” With that, she shed the disguise of the beautiful singer, revealing her monstrous night hag form.

Trius, eager to rid her realm of this evil, jumped into the fray immediately. As she drew her sword, an up-tempo battle hymn echoed in everyone’s heads, epic and inspiring. Sensing Trius would be crucial in this fight, Shadicar cast several spells to enhance her abilities.

True to her word, Serenity made things more interesting by animating each party member’s shadow. Over the course of the battle, Serenity’s cloak was revealed to be a manta ray-like creature, capable of flying, absorbing damage for her, and creating illusory copies of itself.

The battle was fierce, with each party member, including Francis and Trius, contributing significantly. Trius dealt the most damage, reveling in every moment of the glorious combat. Eventually, Serenity and the animated shadows were slain. Serenity’s “cloak” escaped into the forest when it was the only foe remaining, not wishing to throw its life away.

After the battle, Shad unfurled a scroll he had purchased in the Winter Court and cast Speak with Dead on Serenity’s corpse. To their surprise, the night hag was more communicative than expected.

Through gritted teeth and venomous words, Serenity revealed a few unsettling truths: she was over 300 years old, the Weaver had massacred Shad’s village purely for his own twisted amusement, and she was not responsible for the weakening of the Elven barrier. Despite Shad’s probing, Serenity refused to share her breakfast recipe or divulge the location of the Weaver, leaving them with more questions than answers. After beheading Serenity for good measure, the party searched the cabin. Slumpet found a book about flora local to the Feywild and the shrunken head of a dwarf. Not wanting to take any chances, they decided to burn Serenity’s body and her cabin, ensuring the night hag wouldn’t return.

With the threat neutralized, the party resumed their journey, wary but determined to reach the Winter Court and continue their quest.

Winter Court rewards and a new lead#

The party returned to the Winter Court, seeking an immediate audience with Alora. She expressed her gratitude for their success in vanquishing Serenity and investigating the Leyline Temple. When they informed her about the cracked crystal, she was visibly disturbed but admitted she didn’t know how to fix it.

Recognizing their trustworthiness, Alora rewarded them with a large silver ring. This ring could transport them between the obsidian standing stones they had encountered. They only needed to attune the ring to a stone to teleport from that stone to any other they had previously attuned it to.

The next morning, the party met with Alora and her court wizard, Arch Magus Levi. Alora had spent the previous evening poring over her mother’s journal, looking for clues. She discovered that the barrier was anchored at four points, each inside a Leyline Temple like the one they had visited, one in each season’s domain within the Elven forest.

As Alora explained the workings of the ring, Slumpet, with his quick fingers, managed to steal a parchment map of the main Dwarven city from Alora’s desk without anyone noticing. It was a curious item to find among the Winter Lady’s possessions.

Alora also found several references to “The Chained Library.” She speculated that her mother might have learned the rituals necessary to construct the barrier there. Levi had heard only vague rumors about the library. It was said to be ancient, predating any known civilization, and housing sources of forbidden knowledge and powerful artifacts too dangerous for mortal hands. Unfortunately, almost no one knew its location. Agents of the Library were rumored to seek out forbidden knowledge, books, and artifacts. They might contact the party if they learned of their possession of such items.

With this new information, the party realized their journey was far from over. They needed to find the remaining Leyline Temples, fix the cracked crystal, and perhaps even seek out the elusive Chained Library. Their quest had become more perilous and complex, but they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Journey to the Autumn Court#

The party, still in possession of the pieces of Summer’s Edge and knowing they would likely need the help of the Summer Court to reforge the blade, decided to make their way east toward Summer’s territory. Along the way, they hoped to pick up some additional clues at the Autumn Court.

While on the road, the party encountered a group of fey thieves who deftly lifted Toby’s coin purse. The thieves led them into an ambush of Quicklings and Aridni. The battle was tricky due to the Quicklings’ speed and the Aridni’s elemental bow attacks, but it was nothing the party couldn’t handle. After a fierce skirmish, they recovered Toby’s coin and continued on their way.

The entrance to the Autumn Court was marked by a serene river crossing. The river flowed gently under the vibrant shades of changing leaves, creating a tranquil scene. At the river’s edge stood a grand Torii gate, its elegant design and beautifully crafted architecture symbolizing the transition from the mortal world to the sacred realm of the Autumn Court. The sight of the Torii gate against the backdrop of Autumn hues was breathtaking, capturing the essence of the season in its full glory.

As they approached the gate, the party noticed another standing stone on a small outcropping to the north. Slumpet, ever curious, took a moment to inspect it and attune the silver ring Alora had given them. With another stone added to their network, they felt a bit more connected in this vast, magical forest.

The party crossed the river and stepped through the Torii gate, entering the Autumn Court. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of fallen leaves. The path ahead promised both danger and discovery, but the party was ready to face whatever challenges lay in wait. They had a blade to reforge, a mystery to unravel, and a world to protect from the encroaching darkness.

Darkness Descends on the Autumn Court Festival#

The party arrived in the Autumn Court amidst a welcoming festival, full of enticing soups, stews, and brews. They immersed themselves in the festivities, eventually finding their way to the largest bar, a beautiful beer garden nestled among Japanese maple trees named the Aki Matsuri (Fall Festival in Japanese). The owner, a calm and physically impressive earth Genasi named Hencelle, was a former adventuring monk known to the locals as the “Master of Feasts” because he oversaw the festivals, of which there were many in Autumn.

While enjoying their beers and some of Hencelle’s award-winning chicken dumpling soup, they watched as Hencelle had to scold a couple of patrons who looked ready to brawl. His stern warning and imposing physique quickly diffused the situation. After things calmed down, the party made acquaintances with the two patrons causing the commotion: a human bounty hunter named Ali and his current captive, Arden, an elven mage.

After some persuasion, Ali told Shadicar that he was fulfilling a bounty on behalf of the Massa’Ista, an information guild headquartered in Hunter’s Hollow. Ali explained that the guild could obtain just about any information for the right price but was very secretive. The party would need to seek out the bartender of the Iron Eagle tavern in Hunter’s Hollow to arrange an audience with the guild’s leader, known only as “The Fountain.” Arden, Ali’s captive, claimed not to know why he had a bounty. He said he was primarily a historian and archaeologist with a focus on ancient languages. The party decided this guild might be a good source of information about the Chained Library.

As they left the beer garden, the festivities were interrupted by a menacing black dragonborn sorcerer who began intimidating the festivalgoers. “Festival revelers! Gather! A message not of merriment but of fate! I am Xolthos Omenspeaker. For too long, you elves have basked in the illusion of safety. But the shadows lengthen. The darkness that consumed Tannis… the fey monsters roaming your lands… a mere taste of the totality to come! The ancient hunger stirs. The shadow dragon Nidhogg will return, and with it, unending night! Only those who submit to the Eclipse will find refuge in the coming darkness! Heed my words!”

The crowd fell silent, tension thick in the air as Xolthos’s words sank in. The party exchanged glances, knowing that their mission had just become more urgent and perilous. Naturally, Shadicar couldn’t resist. He strode forward, hands on his hips, a crooked smile on his face. “What is it with you villain types and the gloomy monologues? Gotta say, you really hit all the clichés there. You sure you’re not just looking for a dramatic audition?”

Xolthos’s gaze narrowed into dangerous slits, his scaly lip curling. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for repartee. “Jester,” he sneered, “you misunderstand. I don’t converse with gnats.” And just like that, he vanished into shadow and reappeared right behind Shadicar. Before Shad could react, Xolthos raised a hand and spoke a word. In a flick of his wrist, Shadicar disappeared with a flash—banished to a demi-plane, just so Xolthos didn’t have to hear another snarky comeback.

Slumpet didn’t miss a beat. Spotting the way Xolthos melted in and out of the shadows, he snatched a handful of stardust from his pouch, flinging it toward the dragonborn. The dust glowed bright, clinging to Xolthos and thwarting his attempts to slink back into the darkness. Now he was sparkling in front of everyone, his shadow tricks shut down. Xolthos snarled in frustration, raising his staff to strike, but the rest of the party had already jumped into action. They quickly noticed a hulking, dire wolf made of pure shadow standing at his original spot, a looming mass of darkness with piercing, glinting eyes.

What followed was a pitched battle. Xolthos and his shadowy beast fought ferociously, but the party pressed on, driving him back with every hit, spell, and well-placed shot. With Slumpet’s stardust revealing him, Xolthos found himself on the defensive, his conjured shadows unraveling under the relentless assault. After a fierce and bruising fight, the dragonborn sorcerer finally fell, the shadow wolf fading into mist beside him.

As Xolthos’s body slumped to the ground, the festivalgoers crawled out of hiding, their eyes wide with gratitude and disbelief. One by one, they came forward to thank the party.

The group rifled through Xolthos’s belongings, finding a small onyx figurine of a dragon, a magic staff, and a ring that gleamed with a faint, almost hypnotic shimmer. Toby also found a letter tucked into Xolthos’s robes—a message from none other than the Weaver:

“Xolthos, Our progress is swift, but vigilance is essential. The Shadow Dragon’s freedom hinges on the weakening of the barrier. We must secure the leyline temples where the barrier is anchored. The Winter Court’s crystal has already been damaged. The next target lies within the territory of the Summer Court, where the master smiths reside. Disrupt their leyline crystal, and our victory draws closer. Ensure the elimination of any who might interfere, particularly those who bear the marks of the Dusk Lord. Their resolve must be shattered. Proceed with haste and discretion. For the glory of the Eclipse! —The Weaver”

The implications of the note were chilling—the Shadow Dragon was on the move, and the leyline crystals were all that held the darkness at bay. Xolthos had just been one pawn in a much bigger, nastier game. Toby is particularly concerned that the party gets to the Summer Court right away and fears the rest of the troupe isn’t taking this seriously enough.

After some haggling with the bounty hunter Ali, the party convinced his captive, Arden, to identify the magic items. Arden reluctantly obliged, revealing the onyx figurine could transform into a tiny dragon at a command word. The ring, meanwhile, could make the wearer invisible. As they gathered their spoils and exchanged wary glances, the party knew one thing: this was just the beginning. The Weaver had a plan, Nidhogg was stirring, and the stakes had never been higher.

Investigate the Autumn Leyline Temple#

After their clash with Xolthos, the party gained an audience with the Lord of Autumn himself, Farkris, a legendary diplomat and philosopher. Farkris, an elf with a wise, somber presence, listened to their tale of the Cult of the Eclipse with a troubled expression. He admitted to still carrying the regret of failing to broker peace with Nidhogg centuries ago. The news of the cult’s plans weighed heavily on him, like a long-dormant nightmare returned to haunt him.

Farkris frowned. “And Alora didn’t warn me about the weakening barrier? I’ll be having a word with her. In the meantime, you’re welcome to investigate the Autumn leyline temple.” He gave a small, tired smile. “But be prepared. You’ll be tested before you can gain entry.” Shad just sighed, muttering something about wishing they’d find a secret back entrance one of these days.

The party set out in search of the leyline temple. Eventually, they reached a grove with a broken torii gate, framed by ancient trees and vibrant flora. It felt almost sacred, the air thick with age-old peace. But as they took in the scene, a massive tree at the back of the grove stirred. Slowly, the towering figure of a Treant emerged, its eyes glowing with wisdom that seemed to stretch back to the dawn of time.

The Treant’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the grove. “This place is a sanctuary, a home for many. I value those who show kindness and compassion. To prove yourselves worthy, you must help a wounded creature within the grove.”

At the Treant’s words, the party spotted a young unicorn, tangled in vines as thick as rope, writhing in pain as the thorned plants tightened around it. Skreek and Toby stepped forward, trying to hack through the vines, but they were tougher than they looked, and it was clear this would take time.

Shadicar, rolling his eyes at the situation, pulled out a scroll and cast Speak with Plants. “Hey there, tough guys,” he said to the vines. “Let go of the kid, yeah? No need to get all grabby. I’ll give you some rations from my pack instead, OK?”

It worked. The vines began to slowly unwind from the unicorn. But before they could fully free it, the underbrush rustled, and four shadowy, snarling dire wolves emerged, their eyes locked onto the party.

With a nod, the team sprang into action. The wolves were fierce, but the party was fiercer, holding their ground until the last one fell. Finally, the unicorn broke free from the vines, darting behind the Treant for shelter. The Treant nodded approvingly, its gaze softer.

“Your kindness has been proven,” it rumbled. Then, with a slow, deliberate pace, it moved to a nearby hill and began an incantation, its voice echoing like rolling thunder. The earth trembled, and with a deep rumble, the hill peeled open, revealing a large triangular stone door—just like the one they’d seen at the Winter leyline temple. The path lay open, and the party steeled themselves. Whatever awaited them inside, they were ready.

Inside, the party found themselves face-to-face with a massive, intricate wheel embedded in the wall, built from six concentric circles, each lined with six panels. Every panel bore the same six symbols representing different aspects of autumn: a withering leaf, a bonfire, a rotting pumpkin, a harvest moon, a feast, and creeping decay. The walls around them were painted with murals depicting scenes of autumn—a bountiful harvest, golden feasts, trees shedding their leaves, and fields giving way to frost.

After studying the symbols, Slumpet tilted his head. “Looks like we need to arrange these wheels to match the order of the season.”

The party got to work, slowly turning each ring of the wheel, arranging the panels in the same natural progression they saw on the walls. As the final click echoed through the chamber, the wall before them rumbled, then slid down into the floor, revealing a cavern beyond.

They stepped into the vast natural chamber, and there it was—the leyline crystal, massive and pulsing with a soft, ethereal glow. Just like in the Winter temple, an arcane circle surrounded the crystal, carved with glyphs and symbols woven into patterns almost too intricate to follow. Around this circle floated six identical crystals, each about two feet long, etched with dense runes.

The whole setup looked pristine, untouched. The arcane circle was whole, the runes gleaming, and the leyline crystal thrummed with steady energy. No sign of tampering, no shadowy residue, no telltale signs of the Cult of the Eclipse. Toby grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like they haven’t made it this far yet.”

On their way to the Summer Court, the party stumbled upon ancient ruins, scattered across the clearing with faint but massive arcane symbols burned deep into the ground. Shad narrowed his eyes, recalling what the Lord of Autumn had told them: they might pass by the ancient battlefield where Nidhogg was sealed centuries ago. This looked like exactly that place—the ground practically humming with old magic and the faded echoes of spells long since cast.

Moving in closer, they spotted a group of cultists prowling around the arcane markings, including a mage clutching a heavy, sinister-looking grimoire, an ogre looming behind him, and a couple of human fighters milling about with the swagger of people who’d been promised power. Skreek and Slumpet exchanged a nod, and with a muttered word, they vanished, slipping into invisibility to take up advantageous positions while Shad and Toby edged closer for a better look.

From their vantage, they watched as the mage approached the circle, opened his grimoire, and began chanting in a language that made the air feel colder with every syllable. Shad frowned. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t anything good. They’d seen enough cultist rituals to know that much.

“Not today, buddy,” Shad muttered under his breath.

He gestured to Toby, and they moved forward, the element of surprise still theirs. The party struck before the mage could finish his ritual, cutting off his chant mid-sentence. Chaos erupted as the cultists turned, but they weren’t ready for the onslaught.

Shad wove a spell, sending a blast of mind-altering magic straight into the cultist ranks, turning several fighters’ minds to mush. Meanwhile, Slumpet and Skreek, still invisible, caught the ogre off guard, delivering brutal attacks that left the beast staggering. And then, from the shadows, came Francis—gleeful and crackling with energy as he unleashed his laser eye beams, sweeping the battlefield with a mix of destructive joy and impeccable aim.

The battle was intense, but between Shad’s magic, the surprise attacks from the invisible duo, and Francis’s relentless lasereye beam assault, they made short work of the cultists. The mage fell last, clutching his grimoire even as he hit the ground, his ritual unfinished.

Two of the human fighters dropped their weapons, hands up in surrender. “Look, this isn’t worth what we’re being paid,” one of them said, eyeing the ogre’s crumpled form and the smoldering remains of the mage.

The party exchanged glances, and after a quick, silent agreement, Shadicar stepped forward. “All right,” he said, his voice smooth as he held their attention. “You spill every last detail you know about the cult’s plans, and we’ll let you walk. How’s that sound?”

The mercenaries didn’t need much convincing. They started talking, laying out everything they knew about the cult’s activities and what little they knew of the Weaver’s plan. As they spoke, Shad saw his opportunity to try out one of his new abilities.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he cast Mantle of Whispers, reaching out as Kharvax’s shadow began to dissipate. The shadow mage’s form shifted into a faint, eerie essence in Shad’s hands before slipping inside of him. For a moment, Shad’s skin prickled as he felt Kharvax’s memories flood his mind. His skin took on the mage’s likeness, and for an instant, it felt as though he was Kharvax, his recent memories mingling with Shad’s own thoughts.

He got what he needed. Kharvax had been part of a test, a dark experiment to see if the residual energy from Nidhogg’s sealing could be harnessed, empowered, and twisted into a potent summoning spell. Yesterday, Kharvax had summoned a basilisk by standard ritual. It hadn’t gone well—several cultists had met their end under its gaze. But the experiment was just the beginning, an attempt to crack the magical nut of Nidhogg’s sealing. The Weaver wanted to know if that ancient spell could be exploited to bring something much darker into the world.

As the mercenaries finished talking, Shad let Kharvax’s likeness fade. He shook off the last shivers of the mage’s memories, feeling a residual chill down his spine that he couldn’t quite shake. The experience of channeling a dead man’s thoughts was jarring, even for him.

With the information they’d gathered, they turned their attention to the mage’s body. In addition to his grimoire—The Grimoire of the Eclipse, which contained spells for summon shadowspawn, shadow blade, and contact other plane—they found a +1 vampiric scythe, a vicious-looking weapon that seemed to thirst for blood.

The Weaver’s stronghold was in the Feywild, that much was clear now, and they knew he was looking to use the remnants of Nidhogg’s sealing ritual to power something big. With new weapons in hand and a few dark secrets unearthed, the party turned their sights back to the path, ready for whatever twisted challenge waited for them next.

The Summer Court#

Fresh from their battle with the Cult of the Eclipse at the ancient battlefield, the party continued their journey to the Summer Court. For once, luck was on their side—the rest of the trip was peaceful, giving them time to process everything they’d seen.

And they had a lot to process.

The Summer Court was everything they’d heard—vibrant, loud, and competitive to the core. Even the street food vendors turned their meals into challenges, serving dishes spiced like they were meant to test courage rather than taste buds. The city itself was dominated by two massive structures: the Summer Lady’s palace, a beacon of golden splendor, and a massive coliseum, where the sounds of roaring crowds and clashing steel called to warriors and spectators alike.

Naturally, the party gravitated toward the coliseum. It was impossible not to. The energy coming from the circular stone building was electric, drawing them in like moths to a bonfire. Near the entrance, Slumpet spotted another standing stone, and with Skreek’s help, attuned the Leyline Gate Ring to it. One more location added to their growing network of instant travel spots.

They scoped out the upcoming coliseum events—including a battle of the bands and several combat tournaments. Across from the arena loomed a massive forge, its heat rolling out onto the streets in shimmering waves. The rhythmic clang of hammers against steel rang through the air, a constant reminder that this was a city where power was earned.

Weary from the road, the party stopped a street food vendor and asked for a solid place to stay the night. The vendor, grinning through a mouthful of something steaming and delicious, pointed them toward Ember’s Embrace, an inn owned by Serra Flamekissed, a fire genasi with a reputation for hospitality and lethal drinking games. True to form, she welcomed them with open arms—right before shoving a set of flaming shots in front of them.

They drank. It burned. The night got a little fuzzy.

The Summer Leyline Temple#

The next morning, after a breakfast that desperately tried to fix whatever damage the flaming shots had done, the party secured an audience with Summer Lady Sylvia. Like the other elven rulers, she took news of the Cult of the Eclipse seriously, deeply troubled by their efforts to free Nidhogg.

Sylvia gave the party directions to the Summer Court’s Leyline Temple, requesting they investigate and report back. Given what they had found in the Winter and Autumn temples, they were all too aware that time was running out.

The journey was straightforward—until they arrived.

The temple door had been forced open.

Inside, the party found two massive humanoid constructs lying broken and still outside the leyline crystal chamber. The guardians had been cut down, their bodies slashed by both fire and ice magic. Someone had come through, and whoever they were, they weren’t subtle.

Slumpet crouched next to one of the fallen constructs, examining the wreckage. He pried open their chests and carefully removed their dynamos, the magical power sources that had once fueled them. Maybe they would be useful. Maybe they’d fetch a good price. Either way, he wasn’t leaving them behind.

Then, they stepped into the leyline chamber itself.

The layout was familiar—a massive, natural crystal rising from the ground, surrounded by a ring of eight smaller, rune-covered crystals, humming with energy.

Or rather, seven of them were. One crystal was completely missing.

The realization hit like a gut punch. The barrier was already weakening, and now, with one of its supports outright stolen, things were looking worse than ever.

Enter Manus, the Chaos Factor#

As they left the temple, still reeling from what they’d found, they ran into someone unexpected—Trius. Or, at least, someone wearing Trius’ face.

Something was off. Too smug. Too casual. Too… wrong. And then the illusion dropped. The man standing before them was someone else entirely. His ashen-pale skin was stark against the wild mess of platinum-blond curls on his head. His sharp features twisted into a wicked grin, eyes alight with manic energy beneath dark, arched brows. He wore a crimson longcoat with black leather accents, and every movement he made crackled with barely contained chaos.

“Manus,” he introduced himself, casually tossing the missing leyline crystal in the air and catching it like it was nothing more than a coin.

“The Weaver asked me to steal this,” he said, voice smooth and amused. “And, well, I did. But here’s the fun part—I’ll give it to you.” His grin widened. “If you can hit me.”

The party hesitated. They weren’t used to enemies just handing over what they stole.

“Why betray the Weaver?” Toby asked, skeptical.

Manus laughed. A sharp, wild sound. “Oh, I don’t care about the cult,” he admitted. “But the Weaver won’t fight me yet. Not until he’s done with his little mission.” He twirled the crystal in his fingers. “I just want to fight strong foes. Maybe you’ll do the trick.” His grin sharpened. “But I doubt it.”

He spread his arms. “Go on then. Take your best shot. I meant what I said about the crystal.”

The fight started instantly, but it was less of a fight and more of a lesson in frustration.

Manus was fast. Faster than should have been possible. He stepped in and out of shadows, evading every attack with infuriating ease. Taunting them. Laughing. Dodging.

Then he split into multiple copies, each moving independently, making it impossible to tell which was real. The party threw everything at him, but not a single hit connected.

Until Slumpet got creative… He slipped behind Manus, staying low, moving carefully. Then, when he was close enough, he hurled a fistful of ball bearings at his back. A couple of them hit. It wasn’t much. Just tiny metal spheres bouncing off his coat. But it was something.

Manus stopped. Looked over his shoulder. Then let out a short, begrudging laugh. “Clever.” He flipped the crystal once, then tossed it to Slumpet. As soon as the rogue caught it, Manus vanished, stepping into a shadow and disappearing completely.

All that remained was the leyline crystal in their hands and the distant echo of his laughter.

Breaking the Curse of the Leyline Crystal & the Merchant of Shadows#

After dealing with the absolute madness that was Manus, the party tried to slot the stolen leyline crystal back into its rightful place. Seemed simple enough, right? Wrong. The moment they tried, nothing happened. The crystal just sat there, as if to say, No thanks, I liked it better with the guy who punches for fun.

Frustrated, Skreek decided to call in some divine backup, using the Mark of the Dusk Lord the Arbiter had left on his shoulder. Within moments, the Arbiter’s presence settled over them like a cold wind, her voice carrying the weight of judgment. She didn’t have a direct answer, but she had a theory. The crystal had been tainted by evil magic and likely needed to be purified before it would function again. She also suspected a ritual was required to bind it back into the leyline’s structure.

With that advice in mind, Shad took the first step, casting Dispel Magic to cleanse whatever lingering darkness was clinging to the crystal. The air crackled as the spell took hold, but even after the bad juju was stripped away, the crystal still refused to slot into place.

Which meant they needed more answers. And when in doubt? Contact the dead.

Shad decided to pull out his newest trick, a little something called Contact Other Plane—a spell designed to seek knowledge from something far beyond mortal comprehension. His target? Maria, the former Lady of Winter, and the architect of the leyline barrier itself. If anyone knew how to fix this mess, it was her. The problem? The spell didn’t exactly allow for long, friendly conversations. He had to be real careful with his questions.

With the crystal in hand, he focused, let the magic take hold, and reached out. A voice, distant and heavy with the weight of the ages, answered.

• “Are we equipped to fix the crystal?” — NO.
• “Is the Summer Court equipped to fix the crystal or the runes?” — NO.
• “Does the Chained Library have the answers to help us?” — YES.
• “Does Winter have knowledge of the Chained Library?” — NO.
• “Does the center of Elven territory hold answers for us?” — YES.

And just like that, the voice vanished, leaving Shad with more questions than answers—but at least a direction to follow.

A Basilisk and a Broken Loop#

With no way to fix the crystal yet, Shad stashed it in the sausage closet—the pocket dimension inside Serenity’s ring—and the party began their trek back to the Summer Court.

They didn’t get far.

Slumpet noticed the wildlife had gone completely silent—never a good sign. He crouched down, scanning the ground, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw it. A petrified squirrel. Frozen solid, mid-scamper.

His memory jolted. That cultist they fought back at the ancient battlefield? The one experimenting with summoning magic? He’d summoned a basilisk. And that thing? Still out here. Super. Not. Good.

As the party trudged deeper into the forest, something gnawed at the edges of their awareness. It started as a flicker of unease, the kind of feeling you get when you think you’ve seen a place before but can’t quite put your finger on why.

They passed a massive oak tree, its gnarled roots curling over the path like tendrils. Slumpet slowed, frowning. Had they passed this tree before? No—impossible. But the feeling wouldn’t shake.

Then, the sun shifted. One moment, the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the canopy, stretching long shadows across the path. The next, the sky brightened—the sun seemed to rise again, morning light casting the world in a different hue. Toby’s steps faltered. “That’s not right,” she muttered.

A silver-tipped fox darted across the trail ahead, slipping into the underbrush. A few minutes later, another fox—same silver-tipped tail, same hurried pace—rushed across the exact same spot. Shad stopped dead in his tracks. “Okay, tell me someone else saw that.”

They pressed forward, retracing what they thought was a new path. But the sun shifted again. The morning glow returned, long dawn shadows stretching in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

And that’s when it hit them. They weren’t moving forward. They were trapped in a loop. And somewhere in these repeating woods, a basilisk was hunting.

A Deal with Blackbird#

Just when things were getting desperate, the party spotted a figure standing near a massive tree. He didn’t look like a lost traveler. No, he looked like something else entirely. His sleek, raven-like form was draped in flowing black robes, embroidered with arcane sigils that shimmered when they caught the light. Crimson accents trimmed his garments, mirroring the gleam of sharp, knowing eyes. Golden jewelry and charms jingled softly as he moved, and delicate clawed fingers toyed with an intricate pendant, his smile full of riddles and unspoken deals. And from his twisted, horned head, charms dangled—tokens of who knows what.

He introduced himself with a smile that was almost too friendly. “Blackbird,” he said, his voice a melodic whisper. “I believe we have an opportunity.” Shad instantly disliked this bird. Too slick, too convenient; must be a trap…

Because, of course, he knew they were trapped. Skreek sensed a fait demonic energy from the strange creature. Blackbird didn’t deal in coin. He traded in whispers, secrets, and contracts—the binding kind. He offered to retrieve an item that would help them escape the loop, for a price.

Toby stepped forward, the first to bite. “Fine,” she said. “What’s the deal?”

Blackbird’s smile widened. “Simple. For three nights, you will pay for everyone’s drinks at every tavern you visit. Fail, and my Geas will… ensure you regret it.”

A small price to pay for getting out of this mess. Toby signed the contract, the magic sealing the deal with a faint hum of energy. Blackbird stepped into a shadow, vanishing. A few moments later, he returned, holding a small amulet.

Toby took it, and the moment she put it on, she heard something unexpected—not a whisper, not an incantation. But music. Loud. Thrashing. Heavy Metal. And through it, a chorus rang out: “TAKE CONTROL!”

And suddenly, Toby knew. She could see the pattern of the loop, the places where reality bent and twisted, where the paths led nowhere. She could see the way out. Following the rhythm of the song, she led the party through the maze, carefully stepping in the exact spots she needed to. After an hour, they broke through—stumbling back into the mundane elven forest, where time flowed as it should.

Blackbird was nowhere to be seen. But as the party pressed on toward the Summer Court, Toby knew one thing for sure. The next few tavern visits? …were going to hurt.

Forging the Path to Reforging the Blade#

After escaping the looping path of the cursed forest, the rest of the journey back to the Summer Court was refreshingly normal—which, after the week they’d had, was almost suspicious in its own right. By the time they reached Ember’s Embrace, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting long golden light across the coliseum and the forge.

They had business to attend to, but first? Drinks. And, of course, Blackbird’s contract.

The bargain Toby had struck meant they had to cover every single drink ordered at the bar for the next three nights. Shad wasn’t about to let this turn into an all-out drink-a-thon on their coin. He volunteered to perform at the tavern, with the devious goal of playing so poorly that customers would start clearing out. Unfortunately for him, his natural talent refused to betray him, and the best he could manage was an aggressively average performance. The crowd neither loved nor hated it, which meant the drinks kept flowing.

Fortunately, the damage was limited—98 drinks in total, which only set them back 19 gold. Could’ve been worse. It could’ve been way worse. Toby, grumbling, slid over the gold to cover the tab. One night down.

A Favor from the Summer Lady#

The next morning heads slightly pounding but spirits intact, the party made their way to the Summer Palace for an audience with Sylvia, Lady of Summer.

They laid everything out—the invasion of the leyline temple, the missing crystal, the fact that the Cult of the Eclipse was already moving on their next target. Sylvia took the news poorly—not in anger, but in deep concern, realizing just how much ground the enemy had already gained. She vowed to speak with the other elven courts and try to rally a coordinated defense.

Then came the big question—one the party had been bracing for. Would she be furious that they had the pieces of Summer’s Edge?

They expected skepticism. Maybe some accusations. Instead, Sylvia just studied the fragments for a long moment before nodding to herself.

“Artifacts like this have a will of their own,” she said, running her fingers over the broken hilt. “It would not have fallen into your hands if you were unworthy of it.”

That was that. With Sylvia’s blessing, they asked for a smith—someone capable of restoring the blade to its former glory. She pointed them to Elara Sunforge, the finest smith in the Summer Court, whose forge sat right next to the coliseum.

The Smith & The Challenge#

Elara Sunforge was every bit the master smith the party expected—but she carried it with a radiant confidence that made her impossible to ignore. She stood proud and poised, her golden hair a windswept blaze, kept in check only by the well-worn goggles perched atop her head. Her emerald-green eyes gleamed like polished gems, filled with a spark of curiosity and unshakable determination. She dressed in a sleeveless smith’s vest, woven with intricate golden embroidery, blending function and artistry—just like the weapons she forged.

Her arms were wrapped in ornately engraved brass bracers, each piece of armor telling its own story of craftsmanship and legacy. The forge behind her roared with molten energy, the fires casting her in a warm, flickering glow. Elara wasn’t just a smith. She was an artist, a legend, a force of nature, and the moment she laid eyes on Summer’s Edge, the party could see it. This was a woman born to bring legends back to life.

“You brought me a legend,” she said, turning the broken blade over in her hands. “And you want me to wake it up. It would be my greatest honor to make this whole again to protect the realm once more.”

She was thrilled at the challenge. But reforging Summer’s Edge wouldn’t be easy.

Two things were needed:

1. Celestial Ore – a rare, divine metal capable of holding the blade’s legendary enchantments.
2. The First Kiss of the Midday Sun from the Feywild – an essence of pure solar magic.

Elara knew where to find the ore—a crater to the north, where a meteor had fallen long ago. As for the First Kiss of the Midday Sun, she had a device capable of capturing it, but needed time to locate a Feywild crossing stable enough for them to use.

First things first—the ore.

The Starfall Crater#

The journey north to the meteor crater was blessedly uneventful—which, given their luck so far, was either a good sign or a cosmic joke waiting to land its punchline. And then they saw it.

It wasn’t hard to tell when they’d arrived. The land itself had been wounded—a gaping, ancient scar burned into the world. The crater’s edges were jagged, blackened like they’d been seared by something that refused to be forgotten.

Silver mist curled from the depths, twisting in restless spirals, vanishing just before reaching the sky. The ground hummed beneath their feet—not just energy, but something alive, something watching. The air smelled charged, like a storm was still trapped here, waiting to break.

And the stars embedded in the crater walls? Not reflections. The crystals lining the impact site actually shimmered, catching the light like they were holding pieces of the cosmos hostage.

Slumpet let out a low whistle. “Hate to say it, but Elara might’ve undersold this place.”

At the center of it all, a pedestal of fractured stone and crystal stood untouched, waiting. It didn’t feel like a place where _things happened. It felt like a place where things were still happening. Then the ground shifted. The hum turned into a resonating, melodic vibration, low and pulsing—less of a sound, more of a warning. And then they rose.

The Starfall Sentinels assembled themselves out of thin air, forming from the shards of floating crystal that had been resting, dormant, around the pedestal. Their jagged bodies hovered, humming with unearthly energy, their limbs constantly shifting and reforming into weapons of raw force.

Then they attacked. Toby barely had time to dodge before a crystalline arm slashed through the air where she had been standing. Shad threw up his hands. “Of course the space rocks are trying to kill us.”

The sentinels were fast—unnervingly fast, for things that looked like haunted rock piles. Worse, every time they managed to land a hit, the damn things exploded, sending out shockwaves of radiant energy that scorched everything nearby.

Slumpet swore as he barely tumbled out of the way of a blast. “Okay, ow! That’s a terrible security system!” Skreek, his wings already singed, gritted his teeth. “Could be worse.”

Then one of the sentinels formed a spike-covered flail the size of a warhorse and swung it at his head.

Skreek narrowly avoided getting knocked into next week. Shad threw up a shielding spell, taking cover behind a very small rock and muttering to himself. “I’m just saying, why don’t we ever find the friendly ancient magic?”

But slowly, the tide turned. Toby’s cursed blade carved through their defenses. Skreek, mid-air, dove through their attacks, slicing apart their glowing cores. Slumpet used their own shockwaves against them, maneuvering into just the right spot to take advantage of their unpredictability.

And Shad? Shad sang. Because if they were fighting living music, the best way to win was better music. One by one, the sentinels fell, shattered into harmless fragments, their energy fading into the mist. And then the real guardian woke up.

The Celestial Guardian#

The Celestial Guardian assembled itself like a living constellation—a towering construct of starlight and crystal, eight feet of pure radiance, shifting between solid and ethereal like it couldn’t decide which state of being suited it best.

Its greatsword, a blade of condensed cosmic fire, burned like a fallen comet.

Its voice, when it spoke, resonated through the entire crater.

“LEAVE THIS SACRED PLACE… OR PROVE YOUR WORTH.”

Shad groaned. “You ever get tired of proving your worth?”

The Guardian did not wait for an answer. It moved faster than something its size should, its blade crashing down with an impact that sent tremors through the crater floor.

The first wave of energy hit before they could react—pure radiant force, knocking them back as if a god had exhaled in their direction. And then it charged. Toby went in first, parrying a strike that sent sparks flying into the air. Skreek met it mid-air, his sword clashing against the cosmic blade, each hit ringing like a bell forged from the heavens. Slumpet did what Slumpet does best—disappear, reappear, and stab the weak points before the enemy knew he was there. Shad, sweating, tried his best to keep everyone from dying, all while bolstering their strikes with bardic magic.

The Guardian was relentless. Every strike released waves of radiant fire. Every movement forced them to adjust, dodge, react. But they had fought worse. Blow by blow, they chipped away at its power. And then, finally, Toby drove her blade straight through its core. It exploded in a burst of pure starlight, knocking everyone prone and almost blinding.

The crystal pedestal at the center of the crater cracked, revealing something that hadn’t seen daylight in a long, long time: Celestial Ore. It gleamed with an unnatural shimmer, pulsing softly, as if it still remembered the journey it had taken from the stars. They had what they came for. They had the first of two components Elara Sunforge needed to begin reforging Summer’s Edge.

Now, all they needed… Was a piece of the sun.

Threshold of the Feywild#

The Celestial Ore hummed softly, even tucked away in Slumpet’s pack, like it knew what it was and dared the world to forget. It had weight, sure—enough to make even Toby wince when she offered to carry it—but more than that, it had presence. Like a secret whispered by the stars.

Back in the Summer Court, the forges rang louder than ever. Elara Sunforge met the party with a look that hovered somewhere between reverence and giddy anticipation. Her eyes lit up as Slumpet dropped the ore onto her anvil with an unceremonious thud. The glow that leapt from the metal and licked up the walls of the forge was answer enough.

“This is it,” Elara breathed. “Summer’s Edge can be whole again.”

Not yet, of course. That would be too easy. There was still the matter of harnessing the First Kiss of the Midday Sun from the Feywild. And you didn’t just stroll into the Feywild—at least not if you liked your memories in one piece. But Elara, in her wisdom and soot-streaked apron, had already located a promising crossing: a place to the north called the Shimmering Glade.

It wasn’t all grim omens and destiny, though. The party, champions of momentum and questionable fiscal responsibility, made a pit stop at the Glittering Cavern. Irena, the Gensai shopkeep with eyes like molten gold, didn’t even blink when Toby slid a shopping list across the counter that looked like a collaboration between a wizard, a kindergarten art teacher, and a paranoid fey scholar.

Seven corked vials. Three moonstones. Crystals, salt, yellow ribbons, silver thread, iron rings, and bells—so many bells. And, of course, milk, honey, and one conspicuously empty vial. The kind of list that screamed “I intend to survive a fairy contract with style.”

They spent gold like it was a hot coal no one wanted to hold, then retreated back to Ember’s Embrace for the second night of Blackbird’s drink contract. Ninety-eight drinks the first night. Slightly less this time—but still enough that Toby’s coin pouch let out a quiet sigh of resignation. Shad tried again to bomb a performance and scare away the regulars. Instead, he accidentally wrote a mid-tempo tavern ballad about fire-breathing squirrels and became a local sensation.

Morning broke with the smell of spilled beer and regret. The road to the Shimmering Glade wound through increasingly quiet woods until the trees seemed to hold their breath. Then the forest opened.

The glade was alive. Sunlight slipped through the canopy in golden shafts, catching motes of dust that shimmered and danced without a breeze. The circle of standing stones—moss-covered, crystal-tipped, humming with expectant power—sat like a wound in the world, or a promise. The boundary between the planes was thin here. You could taste it in the air, like ozone and wildflower petals. The Feywild was close.

So, of course, there was a problem.

In the center of the circle lay something massive, sleek, and very much asleep: a jet-black catlike beast, six legs curled beneath it, tentacles twitching like a dreaming squid’s. Its cubs—gods, there were cubs—tumbled around the perimeter, dangerously close to the standing stones.

Nobody wanted a fight. Not here. Not with babies in the blast zone.

Toby, master of chaos and distraction, slipped into the underbrush. A vial of milk was uncorked with the care of a surgeon prepping for heart surgery. One sniff and the cubs were hers. They padded after her, docile and curious, and disappeared into the treeline.

That left the big one.

As the sun climbed, the glade shifted. Light began reflecting from crystal to crystal, forming a ring of brilliance around the slumbering mother. But something was off—one crystal didn’t align. Slumpet spotted it; Shad and Skreek made the climb.

Of course, they made noise.

The mother stirred. Muscles bunched beneath her shadowy coat. Tentacles unfurled.

Skreek acted fast, fumbling in his pack until his fingers closed around a crumpled sachet of catnip. It wasn’t a plan. It was a hope with leaves.

He yeeted the bundle into the creature’s face.

A second passed. Then another.

The beast’s eyes crossed, pupils dilating, and it flopped sideways with a throaty murrrrp of confusion. Shad finished aligning the crystal in a flash, and the ring of light snapped into clarity.

By then, the cat was coming around—and had realized its cubs were gone. A warning growl turned into a panicked cry, and it sprinted toward the woods, locating its kits and vanishing with maternal speed and fury.

The party stood in the suddenly empty glade, hearts pounding.

A minute later, the sun struck the crystals just right. The ring of light on the forest floor shimmered, thickened, and turned into a pool of mirror-like liquid, rippling with impossible reflections.

Without hesitation, Toby cannonballed through the portal. A beat. A thump. Toby landed in a crouch, rolled through it, and came up grinning like she’d just robbed a god. Behind her, the portal rippled as the rest of the party spilled out in a tangle of limbs, gear, and collective disbelief.

“Welcome to the Feywild, kids,” she said, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

Medusa’s Wake#

The Feywild didn’t glow—that word was too tame. It burned. Color, scent, and sound bled into each other with unrepentant vividness, and everything hummed like it was in on some joke the Material Plane had never quite gotten.

They’d barely taken a breath before Skreek peeled off his armor with practiced speed, talons raking through the buckles, feathers fluffing in relief. With a powerful beat of his wings, he shot into the air, leaving the others to squint into the daylight that somehow felt too alive.

From above the canopy, he called down, “There’s a mountain northwest—tall one. Sharp peak.”

Slumpet nodded from the underbrush. “That’s our best chance. If we want the First Kiss of the Midday Sun, we’re gonna need height.”

They set off, weaving through trees that curved impossibly skyward, their trunks spiraling with bioluminescent moss and petals that blinked like eyes. The forest itself watched. The air was thick with sweet ozone and too-vivid birdsong. Every footstep felt like an agreement signed in a language you didn’t understand.

By the time the forest light began to dim—because even the sun here moved to its own rhythm—they stumbled into what was left of a civilization.

Turquoise water snaked inland to form a glittering lagoon, cradled by crumbling ruins. Mossy stone foundations mapped out the skeleton of a grand settlement, and to the north, something massive cast a jagged shadow over the broken terrain.

At first, they thought it was a statue. Then they saw the face.

The remains—petrified or sculpted, who could tell in the Feywild—belonged to a giant humanoid. Its features were twisted in agony or surprise, and where its eyes should have been, only hollows stared into nothing.

They didn’t have long to ponder. Music rose from the lagoon’s edge—pipes and drums and the kind of laughter that promised mischief or madness. Satyrs. Dozens of them. Dancing, drinking, draping garlands across their horns and tossing back goblets like they owed time an apology.

Shad’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea,” he said, which had become a party code for this will almost definitely go off the rails.

He left his gear with Slumpet, adopted the form of a Satyr with a flick of bardic magic, and stepped into the edge of the clearing.

Skreek, invisible and delighted, helped with the theatrics. With a carefully timed gust of wind and a dramatic lute flourish, he floated Shad down into the middle of the celebration like some kind of fae-sent messiah of revelry.

It worked.

The Satyrs erupted in cheers and claps, stomping the rhythm of welcome into the ground itself. Shad played his heart out, and the Satyrs responded in kind. One stepped forward, golden-horned and wild-eyed, his voice rich with mirth.

“I’m Revel Pipesong,” he said, “and you, strangers, are just in time.”

Wine flowed like prophecy. The rest of the party filtered in, save for Slumpet, who stayed hidden in the ruins’ shadows, sharp eyes watching for the catch in all this too-good-to-be-real joy.

The satyrs called the place Medusa’s Wake, though none seemed quite sure why. Revel gestured toward the petrified figure and spun a tale of storm giants and a medusa’s fury—a battle fought long ago, frozen in myth and stone. Maybe true. Maybe not. The Feywild didn’t deal in facts so much as stories with teeth.

When the conversation turned practical, Revel grew surprisingly helpful. “Six-hour hike,” he said, gesturing toward the path winding up the mountain. “You’ll get all the sunlight you could want up there—assuming the sun feels like cooperating tomorrow.”

Then came the drinking game. It started innocently enough: a circle, a bottle, and rules nobody really explained. By the end, the Feywild had claimed its little mischiefs.

Skreek found he could only speak in rhymes and riddles—infuriating even himself with his newfound poetic constraint. Toby’s laugh became a loaded weapon, detonating at the worst possible moments, each giggle a live wire. And Shad… Shad’s hair had transformed into cascading vines, blooming flowers with every lie he told or promise he broke. He tried to play it off like a fashion choice. Nobody bought it.

As night deepened and the last notes of the pipes faded into the trees, Revel leaned close. “One night,” he said softly. “Pure joy. In exchange for a favor, sometime later. Nothing nasty. Just a little fun.”

Toby blinked, smile fading. “No deal.”

Shad glanced at her, then at the expectant faces around him, and nodded. “We’ll take our chances with earned joy.”

Revel didn’t press. He simply raised his goblet in a silent toast and vanished into the ruins like mist retreating from dawn.

That night, the party made camp at the edge of the ruins. The lagoon shimmered beneath the stars, and the petrified titan kept silent vigil as dreams crept in on velvet paws.

Tomorrow, they would climb. Tonight, they rested—gods help them.

The Kiss and the Shadow#

The sun in the Feywild didn’t rise so much as reveal itself, golden and omnipresent, like it had never left in the first place. It didn’t climb. It hovered. And as the party stirred from their camp near the ruins of Medusa’s Wake, that light soaked everything in a honeyed glow that never quite grew harsh. Eternal noon. Eternal possibility. Eternal danger.

With Elara’s sun-catching device secured in Slumpet’s pack, they began the climb.

Toby took point, boots crunching over wildflowers that hadn’t been there a moment before, confident as ever. The trail wound up through mountain switchbacks that played by Feywild rules—sometimes longer than they should’ve been, sometimes suspiciously short, always beautiful and vaguely unsettling.

Halfway up, as the trail narrowed to a precarious pass between two sheer cliffs, the moss started breathing.

A massive fey troll unfurled from the rock wall like a bad idea made flesh, its skin a carpet of moss and lichen, its eyes gleaming with dull hunger. It didn’t roar. It smiled.

Toby tried diplomacy. She got about halfway through a sentence before the thing lunged with a gurgling growl and a mouth full of reasons not to be friendly.

Steel sang, spells flew, and the troll came apart—but it didn’t stay apart. Every chunk of mossy meat that hit the ground twitched, pulsed, and crawled to life, birthing snarling, malformed copies that clawed and slashed with feral glee. It was like fighting a hydra made of discarded leftovers.

Eventually, the party triumphed, but not without sweat, blood, and at least two serious re-evaluations of lunch plans.

The final stretch to the summit was mercifully uneventful, but not quiet. The Feywild never shut up. Even the wind sounded like it was whispering secrets it wanted you to overhear.

Then they crested the ridge.

The golden sun stretched out above them, suspended in a cloudless sky like the world’s last perfect moment. Below, the Feywild unfolded in a living tapestry—shimmering forests, crystalline rivers, impossible colors, and—

They saw it. Nestled in the distant valley, veiled in mist and silence, loomed a castle.

It was wrong. It was too black, too tall. Its spires clawed at the sky like accusations. Its windows twisted when you weren’t looking. And even from this distance, it radiated… awareness. The kind that didn’t see you so much as acknowledge your existence like a butcher might acknowledge a pig.

It hadn’t been there a second ago. Or maybe it had. The longer they stared, the more real it became. Until, just for a heartbeat, the wind changed. The sun flickered. The castle moved. Only it didn’t. But it did. Then the wind blew on, and the moment passed. he castle remained. Watching. Waiting.

Shaken but resolute, the party turned their focus to the task at hand. At the end of a long, jagged outcropping stood a stone altar—plain, weathered, uncomfortably deliberate. Slumpet approached first, placing Elara’s device on the altar with all the reverence a gnome rogue who mostly believed in luck could muster.

The sunlight there was different. It wasn’t just bright—it was alive. It wrapped around them like a blessing, weightless but firm, humming with warmth and memory. The altar seemed to drink it in.

Then Skreek stumbled. Not physically—something deeper. The broken shards of Summer’s Edge in his pack called to him. No, sang to him. He pulled the hilt from his bag, and the world… stopped.

Time folded. Air thickened. Skreek was no longer on the mountain.

He stood in a golden field under the same eternal sun, watching as a tall elven knight knelt before a radiant queen of the Summer Court. The sword—whole—gleamed like captured sunlight as she placed it in his hands. “So long as you carry this light,” she said, her voice wind and fire, “our court shall not fall to shadow.”

The scene cracked. Darkness invaded. Screams. War. The knight fought, and fell, and then— Shards. Silence.

Skreek blinked. The mountain returned. And so did Manus. He slid from a shadow like an oil spill wearing a grin, pale eyes glittering with cruelty.

“Drawing broken swords now, bird?” he purred. “I do hope you brought sharper company.”

Manus didn’t recognize the blade. But it recognized him. Skreek’s grip tightened. Summer’s Edge pulsed once, warm against his skin. Waking.

Then darkness.

“You know it just isn’t in me to let you have your way so easily…”, Manus said as he raised a hand, and a dome of midnight snapped into existence, swallowing the altar and the device. The air dropped ten degrees. Moments, two copies of Manus flickered into being atop the cliff edges above, mocking sentinels.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Manus said.

Fighting in the dark is bad enough. Fighting an illusionist assassin in the dark? Worse. Much worse… Only Skreek, with his blindsight, could see the original Manus weaving in and out of the shadows inside the sphere. Everyone else fought chaos and guesses.

Then Shad—Shad, bless his reckless soul—raised his hands, muttered a sharp syllable, and cut through the darkness with a pulse of light that burned it away.

Manus paused, then laughed. “Ah, you’ve grown so much. Maybe you’re starting to become a bit more worthy of my attention.”

The battle raged. Spells, steel, laughter that wasn’t Toby’s fault this time. The Manus copies attacked, taunted, dodged.

And then, just as suddenly, it ended. Manus raised a hand. “Enough fun for today, but don’t worry… I promise I’ll see you again soon, when I’m bored again or you’re finally ready.”

He stepped into a shadow and vanished like a bad dream. The duplicates popped like soap bubbles made of ash.

Silence returned.

Elara’s device, undisturbed despite the chaos, gave a soft click. The whirling inside slowed. A warm light pulsed from within its heart.

They had it. The First Kiss of the Midday Sun. The final piece. The blade could be reforged.

“Now what?” Toby asked.

They looked at each other, all realizing they weren’t entirely sure how to get home. Back through the woods? Maybe. But they all turned their gaze—inevitably—toward the distant castle below.

No path called louder. And gods help them, they wanted to answer.

The Forgotten Castle#

The castle rose from the Feywild mist like a memory that refused to die.

Its garden flickered with illusions, half here, half somewhere else. Flowers shimmered in and out of existence, petals dissolving into glimmering motes before reassembling in colors too vivid for mortal lands. Slumpet crouched low, tossing a ball bearing at a flickering violet blossom. The steel sphere bounced off with a faint clink.

“Real enough,” he muttered, adjusting his hood. Real enough to hide worse things.

They moved under a ceremonial archway choked in ivy illusions, stepping onto a broken stone path leading to the castle’s grand door. Outside the courtyard, grass stood green and defiant. Within it, Slumpet’s footprints left blackened trails across dead blades.

“Not creepy at all,” Shad said, flicking his lute strap over his shoulder.

As they circled the perimeter, a vine snapped out from a cracked stone wall, aiming for Slumpet’s ankle. He leapt back with gnomish speed. Toby scowled, drew a pinch of salt from her pouch, and flicked it at the vine. The stalk hissed, dissolved into a drifting plume of smoke, and was gone.

Near the castle entrance, they found a fountain—intact, elegant, carved with flowing floral motifs. Slumpet leaned over to inspect the masonry. Mist rose from its basin, curling around his nose and eyes. His gaze unfocused, his mind drifting before he shook himself back to the present.

“Don’t drink that,” he said to no one in particular.

The Knight of Threads#

They approached the castle’s grand doors, each fitted with a knocker the size of Toby’s head. Shad lifted a hand and with a flourish cast Mage Hand. The knock echoed through the courtyard like thunder. Torches flared to life in ghostly blue flame.

From the flagstones before the door, fabric unraveled upward, weaving itself into a humanoid form—knight-shaped, faceless, stitched together from scraps of tapestry and funeral shroud. Its voice, overlapping male and female tones, drifted across the courtyard:

“What binds a house beyond blood?”

“Love,” Toby said, simple and true.

“Love is an acceptable bond.”

“What weapon wounds deeper than any blade?”

“The tongue,” Toby answered again, grim certainty in her voice.

“Acceptable.”

“What must be abandoned to grasp true power?”

Toby hesitated. “Humanity.”

The knight twitched, threads rippling like disturbed water. “Less certain… but accepted.”

The woven figure bowed its patchwork head. “Threads mended. Pass into the halls where memory still walks.”

The doors swung open with a thunderous sigh.

The Mirror Hall#

They entered a hallway cloaked in ancient dust, their footprints leaving a trail across the marble floor. Slumpet rolled another ball bearing down the hall. It rattled away into shadow without obstruction.

Shad lit the wall torches one by one, golden light spilling over tarnished mirrors lining each wall. At the far end stood a single pristine mirror, untouched by time or dust.

As Shad stepped closer, the mirror rippled like disturbed water. Slumpet flicked a ball bearing at its surface. It struck, sending waves of silver mist scattering. Shad saw his reflection — only for it to warp into an endless stage. Thousands watched him perform. Their faces were blank, unimpressed. His music turned brittle, echoing off unseen walls until it sounded like bones breaking in water.

He clenched his jaw and touched the glass. Magic hummed under his fingertips, but Serenity’s necklace shielded his mind from the mirror’s psychic claws. He wrenched his hand away, scowling.

“Not today.”

Skreek stepped forward. The mirror rippled again. He saw himself atop a crumbling battlement, wind tearing at his feathers. Below, friends lay strewn and broken. A long scar marred his reflection’s face, but his mirrored eyes were calm, resigned. Skreek exhaled, accepting what he saw. Luck curled around his heart, warm and fleeting.

Slumpet approached, gaze wary. The mirror showed him fractured reflections: a thief caught in a snare; a soldier abandoned in a silent field; shadows dissolving into nothing. In one shard, friends he trusted raised blades against his back. Slumpet snarled and turned away. Pain lashed out from the mirror, raking his mind before he staggered back, teeth bared in silent defiance.

Then Toby stepped forward. Her reflection stood in a black mirror, veins pulsing with oily shadows, hands twisted into monstrous claws. Her eyes were vacant. Around her, the world burned to embers. She smiled, oblivious to her own corruption. Toby clenched her fists and nodded. Acceptance coiled around her like a serpent, leaving a spark of luck coiled deep in her chest.

As they turned to leave, Toby cast one last glance over her shoulder. For an instant, the mirror flickered, and she saw beyond her reflection: a massive loom, its threads snapping in a wind she couldn’t feel, the world itself unravelling strand by strand.

The feeling of fracture lingered as they moved on.

The Loom Chamber#

The next room pulsed with an unnatural heartbeat.

Tapestries lined the walls, depicting elven nobles with empty, staring eyes. Threadwork patterns wove along the stone, leading to the room’s centerpiece: a massive broken loom, slumped and rotting, strands drooping like torn veins.

Slumpet stepped forward, dagger in hand, and tapped a thread. The world tilted beneath him. For an instant, he fell through endless darkness. His chest seized before he stumbled back, panting.

Shad approached the loom, fingers brushing against a warped beam. A sour chill prickled up his arm. His eyes moved across the tapestries, the engraved thread patterns, the decadent decay woven into every inch of this place.

“This… this was his,” he whispered, voice rough with dawning certainty. “This was the Weaver’s home.”

The realization settled on his shoulders like a funeral shroud. Every illusion, every ripple of magic, every decaying flourish — all remnants of the one who slaughtered his village for nothing but amusement. Rage sparked under his ribs, pulsing hot enough to override fear.

Beside him, the loom’s strands shivered with that malignant heartbeat, pulsing faster, resonating with something in the floor below. Shad scowled, gripping his lute tight enough to make the wood creak.

“Francis,” he said, voice low and shaking. “Burn it.”

Francis, bobbing nearby in silent contemplation, tilted his flaming skull and let out a peal of manic laughter. The sound echoed sharp and hungry off the chamber walls.

“Destroy it? Oh… oh yes, little bard. Yes indeed.” Flames danced in his eye sockets, reflections of a chaos only he could taste. “Let’s unmake this false weave together.”

Slumpet cut a strip of unfinished tapestry from the loom’s side, rolling it into a neat bundle. “Gnome towel,” he muttered, stuffing it away with reverence.

Toby gasped, clutching her chest. A vision seized her: a sky drained of blue, color leached to memory. Names, faces, places — gone. Forgotten. Her throat tightened. She blinked hard and forced herself back to the loom room’s dim reality.

Shad strummed a discordant chord, casting Thunderwave into the loom. Threads quivered under the force, the malignant pulse faltering and stuttering out.

Francis cackled louder, spinning in the air, before unleashing a plume of scorching fire. Threads blackened, curled, and burned, until the loom collapsed in on itself, reduced to ash and ember. Smoke curled through the chamber, acrid and final.

The echo of the loom’s last heartbeat faded, leaving only silence — and the bitter certainty that the Weaver’s home would never weave again.

The Throne Room#

A hidden door revealed itself behind a tapestry at the far end. The party stepped through into a grand throne room lined with stained glass windows whose colors flickered in and out of existence, like dying embers.

On the throne sat a semi-transparent elven man. His eyes were pale voids. His voice was a whisper of unraveling cloth:

“You come among broken threads, seeking a tapestry already torn beyond mending.

This house —” (his hand stirred faintly) “— once wove oaths and dreams alike… a loom strong enough to bind seasons to stone, stars to memory.

I tended it once. I who was called…” (he paused) “…Weaver.”

His name fell like ash. Around them, glass trembled with a keening too high to hear. Tapestries twitched, the castle seeming to draw a single, shallow breath — not of life, but of memory.

“I wove light and shadow into a single thread, believing I might master both. But light frays. Shadow hungers.

And now, only hollow threads remain…
And you, little sparks, dance in the ruins of memory.”

His gaze locked on Shadicar.

“It was you, wasn’t it? The note that struck first. The hand that called fire to the weave. The melody behind the final unraveling.”

He rose from the throne. Not with fury, but with sorrow so deep it had forgotten how to weep.

“That act cannot be overlooked. Willingly or not, your soul is now entwined in the pattern — the price required to rebuild what you destroyed.”

His eyes shifted to the rest of the party.

“Tell me: will you mend what you cannot even see? Or will you cut the weave, and call the unmaking mercy?”

The Battle with the Echo#

Shad sat down at a banquet table and began to play a solemn tune. Shadows stirred. Two wolves, woven from inky threads, slinked out from behind the throne, eyes smoldering.

The Echo raised a hand, threads lashing toward Shad with malicious speed. Magic struck, but Serenity’s amulet glowed, shielding his mind from psychic ruin. The Echo paused, tilting his head in cold curiosity before pivoting tactics.

The wolves lunged at Toby and Skreek as the Echo teleported beside Shad, reaching out with an icy hand. Shad ducked once, twice, impossibly lucky, until cold fingers grazed his shoulder. Pain surged through his chest. One more strike like that and he’d be gone.

Slumpet emerged from the shadows, dagger flashing in practiced silence. The Echo staggered under his strike, dark threads unravelling with each wound. The wolves faltered. The Echo raised a final trembling hand before he dissolved into unraveling shadow, leaving only silence behind. The wolves vanished, unable to hold their form without his will.

Secrets in the Study#

Breathing heavy, weapons still drawn, the party scanned the room. Slumpet’s keen eyes caught the edge of a hidden door behind the throne. Inside, they found a simple study lit by flickering candles that had no source of flame.

Books and scrolls lined neat shelves. A leather-bound journal lay open on the desk, its pages covered in precise, elegant handwriting — the Weaver’s own words. Among the entries, they found:

• First Sparks – illusions that birthed true fear.
• The Dance of Triggers – programmed illusions tied to events.
• Living Echoes – illusions so deep they became memory.
• Beyond the Curtain – mastery of Mirage Arcane, reshaping reality.
• The Last Thread – the truth of the leyline anchors, fragile woven constructs and a desire to free Nidhogg
• Fate-touched Paper – a spell binding the journal to his true name, written in ink only moonlight could reveal. If the page burned, the smoke would guide him home.

Slumpet pocketed the journal and rifled through scattered scrolls until he found a map depicting the leyline network across the Elven forest. Tiny markings labeled “hollow thresholds.” He frowned, memorizing each mark before rolling the map into his pack.

“Could be worth something to the dwarves,” he whispered to himself, careful that the others didn’t notice him stow the map.

Behind them, the castle seemed to sigh — the echo of a forgotten loom, waiting for its weaver to return.

Here is the next chapter of the Tempus Campaign Dramatization, written in third-person and styled like Jim Butcher as requested:

Stone and Seed#

The castle sighed.

It wasn’t a literal sound, but the kind of hush that settles over a place when its purpose has changed. The party had braved illusions, battled memories, and struck down shadows—and in doing so, something fundamental had shifted. The haunted hush that had clung to the place like cobwebs was gone. The vine-choked gloom that had crept along the floorboards had receded. When dawn broke over the Feywild sky, it revealed not a cursed ruin—but a place on the cusp of healing.

Slumpet was the first to rise, not that anyone had expected otherwise. The gnome was already padding down one of the upper corridors by the time the others stirred. Sunlight poured in through stained glass windows once dulled by decay, now radiant with golds and greens. The flickering illusions were gone, the colors no longer distorted by fear. The castle was still strange, still old—but no longer hostile.

Shad emerged next, tousled and blinking, running a hand through his now-mostly-hair hair and humming a chord that hadn’t existed the day before. “Huh,” he said to no one in particular. “This place feels… less murdery.”

“You’re welcome,” Skreek muttered, trudging past in full armor and no patience. He was still getting used to not having to rhyme. “Or maybe it’s thanking us.”

They regrouped after a breakfast of ration crumbs and silence, exploring wings they’d missed during their battle-torn entry. A crumbling corridor behind a frayed tapestry revealed a narrow spiral stair that twisted downward into the bones of the earth. The walls shed illusion as they descended—shimmering marble giving way to raw stone, chiseled elegance surrendering to primordial bedrock.

The air grew colder. Still. Sacred.

At the bottom of the stairs, the chamber opened like a secret held too long. Veins of quartz glimmered faintly in the natural stone dome, untouched by tool or time. And at the center stood a tall obsidian monolith—black and smooth, marked near its apex with a hollow ring: the eye of a needle. A teleportation circle lay at its feet, faded but whole, drawn in lines of silver dust and dried leyline resin.

Skreek stepped forward, reverent. “This is… familiar,” he said, voice catching. “We had one in the capital. But I never—never knew how to make it sing.”

“Yet,” Shad said, with a little smile.

The stone pulsed faintly. The air felt charged, ready. Older than the castle. Older than the forest. As if the land itself had whispered to someone once, build above me.

Then, from the shadows at the chamber’s edge, came a rustle. A patchwork figure stepped into the light—cloth and armor stitched together, faceless beneath a helm of thread and metal. The guardian.

“You have severed the echo,” it said, voice neither loud nor soft. “You are now the castle’s rightful stewards.”

Shad blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ownership,” the guardian clarified. “By blade and by burden. This place answers to you now.”

“Well,” Toby said, crossing her arms, “that’s ominous.”

“What’s your name?” Slumpet asked, narrowing one eye.

“I have none.”

“Alright then,” Shad said, clapping his hands once. “Welcome to the party, Jeeves.”

The guardian tilted its head as if consulting an internal ledger. “Accepted.”

Jeeves explained—if such a word could be applied to his polite riddling—that he would restore the castle, reshape it to their needs given materials, time, and guidance. He required no reward, no command. Only a favor: “Bring me something worthy of planting,” he said. “The royal garden awaits beauty.”

Toby smiled, touching a hand to her chest: “We can do that.”

Slumpet stepped forward. The obsidian stone loomed above, humming like a struck bell only he could hear. He pressed his Leyline Gate Ring to the stone’s surface. It warmed in his hand… Attuned.

The circle lit with a sudden flare of blue-white light. The obsidian shimmered, the chamber thrummed, and in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

Back to the Summer Court. Back to the forge. Back to the fire.

The Blade That Remembers#

Elara didn’t say a word when she opened the door. She didn’t have to.

Her expression alone told the story—half relief, half disbelief, and just a glimmer of that proud steel beneath. The party stumbled back into the Summer Court in various states of exhaustion, their boots crusted with Feywild dust, their nerves still raw from the castle’s unraveling.

“You were gone nearly three weeks,” she said, folding her arms and looking them over. “I was beginning to worry you’d been eaten by sentient vines or married off to illusion spirits.”

Shad tried to respond with a joke, but paused. His hair was no longer creeping with green tendrils—it was just hair again, swept over one eye like a bard with feelings. Toby laughed normally for the first time in days, and Skreek didn’t rhyme once, even when he tried to.

The magic of the Feywild had loosened its grip.

Elara’s eyes found the vial tucked into Skreek’s satchel—the liquid sunlight sealed within. She nodded once. “You found it,” she said. “The First Kiss of the Midday Sun.”

“That means it’s time!”, Elara said, already moving. She led them to the forge.

Not the one above ground, where weapons were shaped for coin and court. No—she led them behind the hearth, through a narrow door that hadn’t been there a moment before. Down stone stairs that thrummed with warm magic. The walls glowed faintly, crystalline veins of leyline energy pulsing with slow, golden rhythm.

At the bottom, the air opened up into something older.

A subterranean chamber stretched wide before them, where moss-covered ledges trickled water into a crystal-clear basin, and golden motes floated lazily in the stillness like fireflies trapped in amber. In the center stood an anvil—ancient, reverent, inscribed with elven runes that flickered like stars beneath the surface.

Elara stepped forward like a priestess entering a holy sanctum. Her forge hammer pulsed with silent urgency at her hip.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice trembling with something fierce and beautiful. “This place was old before the first Summer Lady donned her crown. Its heart beats with the sun’s song. Today, it shall wake a Guardian once more.”

She laid the broken shards of Summer’s Edge on the anvil with care—a blade shattered in defiance, now laid to rest like a fallen comrade. Then, from a cloth-wrapped bundle, she withdrew the Celestial Ore, its mirrored surface shifting with impossible light. The vial of sunlight followed, glowing softly.

“Your light will burn again,” she whispered to the broken blade. “The realms still need you.”

She lifted her hammer. And the forge held its breath.

The first strike rang out like a bell calling the world to attention. Light raced through the leyline veins underfoot. The Celestial Ore wept molten silver, flowing into the cracks of the blade. The captured sunlight flared—then burst into the forge in a torrent of radiant gold.

Each strike sang with purpose. Sparks spun like fire spirits, weaving themselves into steel. The shattered sword drank in the light, growing brighter, purer, stronger. Runes along the blade flickered back to life.

And then, with one final, ringing blow—silence. But not stillness.

Light exploded outward in a silent wave, washing over the cavern in brilliance. The leyline pulse echoed in time with the blade’s heartbeat. Water in the basin shimmered. The air itself felt alive.

Elara stepped back, chest heaving, eyes wide with quiet joy.

She turned, lifting the reforged sword into the air. The golden runes blazed along the steel. Light clung to its edge. Power—earned, not granted—throbbed within the hilt.

“It is done,” she breathed. “Summer’s Edge lives again. May it burn away all shadows.”

She crossed the stone floor and held it out.

Skreek hesitated. For all his honor, all his conviction, all his prayers—this was something else entirely. This was a moment that didn’t fit into rhyme or verse. This was history, not hope.

He took the hilt.

The moment his talons closed around it, the blade responded. Not in words. Not yet. But in feeling.

A promise. Gratitude. Purpose. Unity. Together, they would stand against the dark. Together, they would bring dawn.

The light around him dimmed to a gentle glow, curling around his shoulders like a cloak of morning sun. The others watched, silent.

Elara handed him a simple scabbard, then laughed softly. “It deserves more,” she said. “We’ll work on something fitting.”

Later that evening, the party found their way to Ember’s Embrace, the Court’s favored tavern. Serra Flamekissed had drinks waiting—glasses that glowed, fizzed, and (in Toby’s case) bit back. The group eased into chairs and warmth and something like peace.

They spoke of next steps.

Tannis came up—of course it did. The last time they’d seen it, the village had still been wrapped in shadow, with the Arbiter preparing to lift her holy barrier. They remembered the standing stone near the Order’s tomb. They remembered promises.

Before bed, Shad wandered out into the marketplace and returned with a scroll of Legend Lore, the coin pouch at his belt notably lighter. He didn’t say what he planned to learn—just that he’d know it when he saw it.

And in the center of the room, resting against the wall beside Skreek, Summer’s Edge gleamed quietly. Watching. Waiting.

The blade remembered.

And soon, the world would too.