Daring Heights: An Ambitious Tale

The sound of the crunching dirt and twigs beneath their feet was a now comfortable background to their silence as they walked. Not a hostile silence - not today, they hadn’t argued since the incident with the goblin children - but the pleasant quiet of them both being lost in their own thoughts in the majesty of the Gray Forest. They had been walking for days now and hadn’t seen the end of it, not that they’d been walking in straight lines.

That was what Willum loved most about his journeys with Aurelia - the old saying that the journey was more important than the destination wasn’t just advice for them, it was their whole travel plan. The world was full of wonder and even in this relatively well known forest near the north-eastern shores of the Sea of Fallen Stars, there were small discoveries - minor wonders of nature or (more excitingly and profitably) ancient ruins and tombs to explore.

Currently though, his thoughts had turned, as they often did, back to questions of business - lumber was a business that was never short of customers, and these trees were ancient and mighty. He scratched stubble thoughtfully. Getting rights from the local elves and dryads would be tricky, perhaps a small area? He muttered some numbers under his breath as he tried to work out volume - what could 1 tree build? One house, two? What was the profit from that? Who would he need to hire to turn this tree into lumber and deliver it to a market - the nearest town was at least 2 days away.

Willum sighed. It wasn’t really feasible - after all, if it were, someone else would be doing it.

“Another failed business idea?” Aurelia asked, breaking the quiet. The question wasn’t asked unkindly, but there was the slight note behind it ‘Even here, in this incredible forest, you look for profit.’

He smiled a little wanly. “Qui audet adipiscitur, Aurelia. I’m going to have to try something to get the business flowing again.”

“Do you?” she asked suddenly. “Need to get the business running again, I mean?”

Passing around a large tree, hand running along the rough, slightly damp bark he looked over at his friend as she walked serenely over the dirty forest floor - she always walked serenely - and nodded briefly. “Of course. What else am I going to do with my life if I don’t? The land is gone, the rest of the family is in disarray or disgrace. Someone has to do something to get our family’s name back to its rightful place.”

It was Aurelia’s turn to sigh. They’d had this discussion before, and she didn’t really care to repeat it. “I suppose you’ll be heading back to the Sword Coast soon then?” she ventured to at least point the conversation away from the chip on his shoulder.

There was a moment of silence. “No,” he replied. “I said we’d adventure until Highharvesttide, and I don’t plan on ruining a perfectly good time by cutting it short. But I will have to head back then. I’ve put this off for too long.”

She nodded in agreement. “Highharvesttide it is then. I know a few of the main runic sequences for Waterdeep and Baldur’s Gate now, so I should be able to get us back the day after.”

Willum laughed in astonishment. “What? You mean you’ve mastered that transport circle you’d been working on? How have you not mentioned this? Why have we been walking this whole time! You could have us anywhere in a blink!” He swung back over closer to her as they walked and swung a congratulatory arm around her shoulders. “That’s really incredible, Aurelia!”

She also laughed, but out of embarrassment, instinctively grabbing her long golden braid. “It’s a crutch, really. It only goes to very specific other circles - I only know 4, so it’s hardly anywhere. That’s what I’m working on now - to get beyond that so that I don’t need to rely on all that arcane handholding just to go to one place - but to go anywhere you want with just a thought.” Her golden eyes glowed with a flicker of energy as her other hand flexed. “That’s the real goal.”

“Archmage Archselon,” Willum said with a grin. “It has a nice ring to it. Figures you’d even find a title that was alliterative, my aasimar friend.”

‘Archmage’ Aurelia Archselon, the aasimar arcanist, was laughing properly now. “I don’t know that I’d call myself an archmage yet, not by a long stretch, but I won’t deny I spent a good week popping to Waterdeep for every little thing - before the circle guardians there threatened to revoke my privileges if I didn’t calm down.”

“Well at least now we have a chance of escaping next time we get into a scrape,” Willum continued. “How useful would this have been when those cultists caught us? Who did they serve again? Kyrascu-”

“-Kyraxith the Enshrouded,” Aurelia corrected, nodding. “Yes, it takes a minute, but if we’re ever stuck in a cell again we should be out pretty quick - as long as we’re in the same cell that is, so… that’s certainly something to keep that in mind.”

“I’ll add it to our long list of tactics,” the younger man replied, drolly. “I believe that takes the list to ‘Hide, Run Away, Surrender, Be Put in the Same Cell.’”

“Oh come now, you handled yourself well against that orc last month.”

“Sure, while you put the entire rest of the battlefield to sleep in a wave of your hand!” he retorted. The two ‘adventurers’ continued reminiscing and chatting for most of the rest of the day, wandering through the woods in a long, meandering path that was gradually taking them north.

==

“Burn the witch!”

The small, barking cry was coming from too close for the old hag’s liking. She leapt deftly over a set of barrels into a recess against the wall of the alleyway with an agility that anyone looking at her would not have imagined possible. Her favourite robes - green with black and gold trim, were stained with browns and reds from the dirt and dust and blood caked onto them. It was ruined, along with the safety she had enjoyed in this city. This had not been her best day here in the draconic metropolis of Kundar, and one way or another, it seemed destined to be her last.

Lose them and lie low, that was the key. Let it go quiet and then she could recuperate, gather her things, and leave. It was time to move on anyway - she’d been here too long. A decade? How had she wasted that much time in this furnace-like scale-ridden dungheap? She’d gotten complacent and lazy. It was her curse.

The wrinkled green face peered through a gap between the barrels in front of her, peering out into the street to watch her pursuers. Dragonborn, pressed forward by their kobold betters, were scouring the streets looking for her, each smaller figure sticking firmly next to a larger dragonborn for protection. She smiled in satisfaction - they may be hunting her down, but by the gods she’d put some fear into them. That was power, and she knew all about using power.

Breathing slowly to calm her heart, which had actually begun beating from the stress, she waited for her moment. As she regained her composure and her heart settled down into its usual dormant state, the witch drew her bone wand from a sleeve and cast a silent incantation.

A shrieking laugh erupted from an alleyway behind the closest search party, making the kobold and dragonborn alike jump in alarm and turn around. They rushed down the alley to investigate and started tearing part boxes and crates hunting. The other group who were also a little further down the road had heard this commotion, but a second shrieking laugh near to them caused a green-scaled dragonborn to turn and run in terror, but the rest began wading through the detritus of the surroundings to try and find her hiding place.

Settling in for a proper show, she flicked her wand again. “I found her,” came a cry in draconic, from about the halfway point between both search groups, so that each heard it coming from the direction of the other. All rushed to the middle of the side street, and proceeded to demand answers from each other.

She felt down behind the boxes she was using for cover and found a patch of moss growing improbably in this hot environment. Delighted, she stuffed some in her mouth greedily, while watching the argument brew. A few “muttered” insults in draconic - not clear who had said it, and the two kobolds were now screaming at each other, their bodyguards unsure of what to do, but weapons half drawn. Finally, to top it off, she picked out the dragonborn who looked the most gullible - a blue who had nearly run as well with the copper when the laughter had started - and sent a telepathic message to her, in her best spooky voice.

“Foolish dragonkin, don’t you know a witch can look like anyone? How long will it take you to figure out which one is me?”

The blue’s eyes widened, her breath caught and she started looking around frantically at the other members of the group, and drew her sword fully.

About a minute later, only one still lived, one of the kobolds who had dove for cover as soon as the blades all came out, injured and bleeding. The witch oozed out of her hiding spot and sidled up to him, crablike. The kobold - clearly some sort of lesser noble with a tiny rapier at his side - froze against the wall of the street as she approached from the shadows.

She crept right up to him, and placed a long, gnarled finger with a pointed nail on his small, scaled chest. “And what have we learned about chasing witches, drakeling?” she asked, as if he were a child.

“D….don’t?” he responded, terrified.

She grinned and nodded. “Good.” Then she leant in closer, her face falling into her most terrifying glare. “Tell your friends.” And with that she turned and began stalking down the street, using a little magic to tidy up her dress as she went. She needed to get home, and fast. She had no doubt that it would already be surrounded by people, and she’d need all her magic to get past them.

Still, she could afford a small disguise, and she waved her wand one more time before stuffing it back into her robes, the hunched form of Granny Longtooth shifting into an elderly tabaxi before she turned the corner into the main road again.

==

Aurelia had an eye for detail. She regarded it as one of her greatest strengths - the ability to pick out the small, but important elements in a spell had served her very well in her magical studies, preventing any number of arcane mishaps along the way. Now, Aurelia looked around the musty, stone chamber she was in calmly, searching for those same critical details, her braid falling up over her head as she hang upside-down, wrapped in chains. She especially regarded the complex mosaic of tiles on the floor above her, working to discern its pattern. She tried not to examine the grinding set of blades spinning in the ceiling, which the chains were slowly dragging her towards.

Willum, near the centre of that mosaic, was less calm. He was dodging crossbow bolts, and trying to predict where the next would come from while trying not to step from beyond the single tile he was standing on. The consequences of stepping on the wrong tile seemed to include, so far, being wrapped in chains and dragged slowly towards death by spinning blades.

“Any time you’re ready to solve this one Aurelia would be great!” he yelled. “I think the blue levers connect to the tiles with vowels on.”

“Just a moment,” she said placidly, turning her head to see more of the room. “Something does not quite add up.”

“Oh, take your time,” Willum called up sarcastically, deflecting another bolt with his small rounded shield.

The chains clanked gradually upwards as Aurelia slowly rotated her viewpoint, using all of her meditative techniques to keep a clear and focused mind. Finally, it came to her and she spoke out, clearly but only raising her voice slightly over the din.

“Willum, pull the yellow lever by the other door, but only step on tiles that say ‘K, A, V, T, O or S.’ There looks to be a path that will get you there in that order.”

“That’s not a word!” he shouted, but he obeyed without question, dancing over to the K immediately. Something clicked, and the chains holding Aurelia started moving upwards much faster.

“Quickly now, Viscount,” she said quietly.

Willum grimaced. She only called him by his title when she was upset. He tensed and then leapt forward across the tiles, deflecting as many crossbow bolts as he could and taking the rest as he dove for the lever as soon as he’d hit the S. He dragged it down just as he felt another bolt pierce the armour in his back.

The room began to calm, chains and gears winding down their movement just as they began to nip at the edge of the leather soles of Aurelia’s boots. The crossbows stopped firing, and Willum collapsed to the ground, groaning, stuck with several bolts.

The chains loosening, Aurelia started wriggling herself free, only just catching a heavy link in one hand as she fell out of them so that she could swing and right herself before hitting the ground with a thud. Standing up and brushing herself off, she walked over and helped her friend to the edge of the room and through the door that now stood open and led, thankfully, to a quieter room.

“Perhaps we should take a break?” she suggested. Willum only nodded in pain and rolled over onto his side to start looking at his wounds.

Aurelia crouched over him to help pull the bolts out. It wasn’t pleasant, but they’d done it before. “There are times I regret not joining the priesthood,” she said, both of them gritting their teeth as a metal point was pulled from his side.

Willum coughed weakly. “The moonmaiden was never the right choice for you, Rei, you love being in the sun too much.”

She smiled. “You were right by the way. The blue lever was tied to the vowels. It’s just we were reading it in the wrong language.”

“Oh right - ‘kavtos’ is… what ‘safety’ in Draconic isn’t it?” He wheezed as another bolt came loose.

“Very good, Mister Daffles,” she said in her most scholarly voice. “For that,” she pulled the last crossbow bolt loose. “You may have our last potion.” She handed him a red, syrupy liquid in a vial from her pouch.

He accepted it gratefully, and moments later was able to sit up and stretch again, the worst of the bleeding stopped with the magically imbued drink. He sighed leaning against the cold stone wall, trying to ignore the cobwebs around his head. “Probably not our best plan, coming in here, was it?”

“It’s proven more of a challenge than I anticipated,” Aurelia agreed. “But I think we’re past the worst of it now.”

The tomb had been a detour, a stone-covered entrance in the woods that had been too interesting to pass up for either of them. The carvings on the outside had spoken of a figure buried here with a storied past and a great fortune. The number of corpses of other adventurers slash graverobbers they had passed along the way through these last several trap rooms had suggested that perhaps the writing outside was more bait than history.

An hour later, the pair stood up again, Willum feeling much better, though with a few bandaged wounds that would need a few days to heal. The hallways they had been resting in continued slowly downwards for another hundred feet, the carefully laid stone giving way to dirt and packed earthen walls, before it slowly opened out into a large natural chamber. Aurelia put a hand on Willum’s shoulder to stop him.

“What’s up, Rei?” he whispered.

“This isn’t right,” she said softly. “This whole place has been stone and machinery, Will. Why is it suddenly natural and earthen?”

He looked around and nodded, running his hand along the wall next to him and rubbing some of the soil there between his fingers. “Well it doesn’t seem to be an illusion, and this is the most important room, so this should be the place of truth not trickery.”

There was a sarcophagus in the centre of the room. Or at least, it gave the impression of one - it was made of curving wood adorned with green gems, looking like a glittering log with no real sense of a lid or that it might be hollow. Its placement in the centre of the room though, raised on a slight mound of earth over the rest of the chamber was a clear echo of a classic burial chamber though.

An idea struck him and he laughed. “I think I know what was buried here, Rei,” he said, stepping forward into the chamber. Aurelia tried to catch his shoulder but missed, hissing after him to come back. Instead, he approached the coffin in the centre of the room and placed his hand on the bark exterior.

“I greet you, ancient Fey, and tell you that your connivances and obfuscation were most delightful. Do you wish to converse?” His High Elven was a little rusty, but he hoped it would do, as the gems all along the wooden sarcophagus began to glow, their light arising from each stone and coalescing into a floating figure.

Aurelia stepped forward in amazement as the green, glowing woman before them smoothed out her ethereal burial gown as she floated to the ground. She was a little taller than Willum, about Aurelia’s height, and had ears that extended into long points that draped past the back of her head, small earrings all along these elongated cartilages. She was, without question, from the Feywild - an eladrin or perhaps something else.

The ghost leaned forward towards Willum’s casually smiling face curiously. “‘Delightful’?” she asked, with a voice that didn’t sound like anything so much as it felt like dragging fingernails, not down a chalkboard but down the back - grating, but somehow pleasant to experience.

If the young viscount was phased by this experiential voice, he didn’t show it, and instead bowed deeply. “Of course! To discover that the harrowing near-death experiences and elaborate stonemasonry and engineering displayed here are all in the aid of a sophisticated illusion to ensure that none ever suspect the true occupant of this tomb? How could one fail to be delighted by such a brilliant ploy?”

The Fey lady placed a hand on her chest and gave a small curtsey to acknowledge the compliment. “I did rather like the forge puzzle,” she admitted.

“Implying that the occupant must be some kind of master smith? Stupendous,” he oozed back. Aurelia had to school her own face. She’d seen Willum in his charming mode too often - he was making a fool of himself.

But it was working. The two spoke further about the different traps and devices and how they had been built to conjure an image of who really had been buried here. More than one person had turned away from this chamber in disgust, not believing this could possibly be the place they had worked so hard to reach.

“Of course they would - they didn’t know the wondrous presence they were in,” Willum said. He stretched his arms. “Well my lady, it has been an honour, but we should depart and let you continue your rest.”

“Your conversation has been welcome and your manners do you credit, young Willum Daffles,” she said, green glowing face smiling. “Be at peace and leave freely.”

“You are too gracious,” Willum said, bowing low, Aurelia copying the gesture to be safe, grateful to be avoiding a fight with an ancient wraith. “I wonder,” he continued, and Aurelia winced, dreading what was to come. “If it would not inconvenience you, this has been a memorable moment and I would hope it will stay with me forever. Might there be some token of yours I can carry from this place to remember this time?” His eyes glanced over the large green gems hanging from the coffin, but he made no specific mention of them.

The lady had turned with a hand on the coffin, but now that ghostly face snapped back to him, eyes suddenly intense and focused. Then the expression softened. “Of course you would desire some token on our meeting,” she said, her voice suddenly employing the same honeyed tones that Willum had been using. “However I, as you might imagine, I have only limited trinkets to give, so I must be careful how I let them leave me.”

She reached over and delicately picked three of the emerald gems off of the coffin - each perhaps the size of a grape. She seemed to have no problem grasping each one in her ethereal fingers and when she turned back around, all three lay resting in the palm of her hand.

“I will give you these, as tokens of our meeting and friendly terms,” she said, voice now soft, a faint raspiness creeping in to it. “In exchange, you promise that you will never forget me and that this shall not be the last time we meet. Once a year, you will come back to me here, and we shall meet once again.”

“Come on Willum, we don’t - ,” Aurelia started to say but stopped when he held up a hand. The ghost, for her part, seemed to pay no attention to the aasimar at all.

“A token and a commitment to return seem fitting,” he agreed. “I would suggest two amendments however. I am only a human mortal, and with no great means of transport. Coming here each year would be a very difficult accomplishment indeed. May I humbly suggest once a decade? After all what is time to an eternal being as yourself?”

“5 years,” the Fey spirit countered immediately. “And what was your second amendment?”

“5 years is very fair,” he agreed, to Aurelia’s astonishment. “The second is a small thing really - a trifle. I would love to remember you as the gemstones - many-faceted, flawless, and truly enchanting. So, I would much rather we bargain for the three gemstones you placed in your pocket, rather than the three pieces of glass you hold in your hand.”

The tomb went very quiet. The ghost of a deceased Fey noble, unknowably old and powerful, stared down at the small mortal man standing before her with an innocent looking expression on his face. Then she smiled a grin Aurelia could only describe as wicked. “Well, Willum, for a conversation with you every 5 years, real gems are a worthy exchange.” She pulled another set of three gems from a pocket in her clothes and presented them to Willum, who accepted them with a flourishing bow.

“Done,” they both said in unison, and the ghost vanished immediately, leaving the room empty save for the two friends.

Willum and Aurelia left the tomb quietly and began to make their way back out through the rooms they had come in through - traps now disabled.

“Highharvesttide, and then you need to go back, Willum,” Aurelia said softly, but with conviction. “You were brilliant in there - you need to get back to what you do best.”

Willum only beamed back at her, taking the compliment, playing with the three emeralds in his hand as they made their way back up to the surface and the rest of their adventure. He had seen their value the moment they’d walked into that room. These three gems would help him rebuild.

==

The house was making good time. With each leathery footfall the whole building lurched from one side to the other, and jars kept falling off of shelves, despite Granny’s best efforts. She had not had time to tie everything down this time, and she was prioritising quickly. It was no matter though - you can’t escape a draconic city without breaking some eggs.

A proper mob had assembled outside of Granny’s home by the time she had arrived, torches already lit despite the heat and the bright sunlight. Her house was a very cube-like sandstone structure in keeping with the local architecture, but it was still unmistakeable. Dark veins of black and copper ran through the stone walls, and the small wooden porch that extended all around the outside of the building was covered in hanging charms and wards made of twigs and semi-precious gemstones. They generally served more as intimidation to would-be trespassers, and they were certainly doing that job when she got there.

The mob were holding back, talking to a group of dragonborn who looked terrified. As Granny had crept forward, an invisibility spell shrouding her, she overheard the tale - these dragonborn had been pushed forward as scouts/canaries to investigate the house and the moment they had crossed the threshold of the porch their torches had gone out and they heard a terrible grinding noise from beneath them. Unseen, Granny hadn’t even tried to suppress her grin. Those had been some of the only wards hanging around the house that were actually magical and they worked exactly as she had hoped.

A tense crowd, fear in the air, a rising sense of panic and all on the edge of her seat of power. She couldn’t have asked for a better farewell present from the city she had tormented from the shadows for so long. Digging into the font of magic within her, she unleashed her will in a torrent, flooding over everyone in the crowd before her, accentuating their fear and overwhelming their senses with it. Some of them had screamed even before her shroud dissipated, revealing the crooked, bent form of Granny Longtooth, long, tangled hair falling in thick strands around her head, full of small bits of jewellery that glittered dully like a muted constellation along with a few wicker wards like the house.

She had lunged forward and the panic spread, many kobolds and dragonborn alike turning and running down the street. About a third had stood their ground though, perhaps made of stronger stuff than their dragonkin, and several drew weapons pointed towards her. That had made her laugh - her deep, gurgling cackle resonating through the street here at the edge of the city - and she stood up.

Granny didn’t stand up very often, a good hunchback didn’t form without work, but she did like to save it for special occasions and these foolishly brave souls had created just such a moment. Bones crackled as her shadow had stretched over them; her full height was a little over seven feet tall - not especially great - but silhouetted by the setting sun she had loomed very large in the eyes of those remaining as she laughed and shrieked.

They hadn’t stayed long after that, fleeing after their less valourous mob-mates. One dragonborn woman had been foolish enough to actually raise her weapon and step towards Granny. She’d only made it the one step though. The last her companions saw of her was a body slumped on the floor, the towering, cackling witch scooping the heart out of her blown apart chest, green energy still burning around the wounds.

In her rocking house, Granny laughed again at the memory as she reached out and caught a heavy jar and replaced it on its shelf, gazing for a moment at the heart floating inside along with the others, a new member for her still-beating collection. That had been a suitably dramatic exit from the city that had sustained her and grown her power for so many years.

The last objects secured, she strode out to the front porch, holding on to a splintering beam for support as she looked out over the landscape. Where to next?

K’ul Goran lay to the east, she hadn’t been that way for a while, though getting her house over the water between them was a problem, though not insurmountable. The Feywild was always but a step away, but this wasn’t the time for that move - not yet. Her eyes turned slowly southward.

Last time she’d been south of the great woods guarded by the accursed Seraph and their dryad companion was many, many years ago. Perhaps those Bullywugs had gotten their act together - she’d introduced an aspiring young tadpole to the world of spider-ranching in her last visit and it would be very interesting to see where that had gotten to. His soul was still rattling around in a gemstone somewhere in here.

Yes, perhaps a quiet moment was needed. Time to take stock of her accomplishments, literally, and see what her powers could muster, and maybe manipulate the hell out of some Bullywugs while she was down there. Decision made, she threw her weight to the side, dragging the house around by its porch like it was a bull with a nose ring. South it was, to whatever awaited in colder, clammier climes.

==

The Sea of Fallen Stars roared against the rocky coastline, sending sheets of thick spray over the two travellers. Daffles had his thickest cloak wrapped around him, the fur trim protecting his face absolutely soaked, as he leapt carefully between rocky platforms surrounded by the tide. He didn’t know if it was rising or falling, but either way right now the water was altogether too close.

Aurelia was oblivious to this, her hood thrown back and striding purposefully over the rocks and across the surface of the sea itself with equal ease. Her head, usually so poised and still with only her eyes flicking from place to place, now jerked fully from side to side, turning her head to focus fully on different points in the sunset-lit shoreline. For Willum, it was frightening to behold such a transformation in his friend, though he understood it. He had seen this drive and manner in her before, when she was utterly focused on searching.

As they had been getting towards the edge of the Sea of Fallen Stars, leaving the Gray Forest behind, she had become increasingly agitated. One of her magical instruments - a chunk of crystal floating inside a glass sphere - had begun to glow and spin and as they approached the coast the motion had become more and more violent, and Aurelia’s sense of urgency had accelerated with it, checking other instruments as well constantly and consulting small books from her pack.

“There’s something out here!” she had called back over the roaring sea, the only words he’d gotten her to speak since the crystal had begun to spin. “Something special!” Whatever Willum’s concerns, that was enough for him to follow his long-time friend wherever she may lead. Unnerving though the situation may be, it was exciting to see her so gripped by a mystery.

Suddenly she stopped, blonde braid whipping back in the wind, and held out the crystal orb again. Even several dozen feet away, Willum could see it glowing a bright violet in her hand. Pivoting on the spot, she turned out to face the open sea, waves crashing in against the rock she was resting on. Aurelia stepped forward as if to stride out into the middle of the turbulent water when she stopped and turned back to face him, gesturing Willum towards her.

It took him a minute to scramble over the remaining rocks to reach her, at one point falling into the sea and having to drag himself shivering from the water, gripping on to the slimy surface for all he was worth. The moment he flopped onto the rock she stood on, he felt his whole body warm as she dried him and his clothes with a quick spell. Grateful, he looked up at her as he stood up.

“What’s happening, Rey?” he shouted over the noise of the sea.

She pointed out across the water, another piece of land just visible popping up over the waterline some distance away. “The signs point that way!” she shouted back excitedly, which took him by surprise. Aurelia excited was a rare experience. “I’m going to open a door to there now.”

Before he could reply she had cast a hand through the air and a glowing doorway became visible in the air, outlined in glowing golden energy that so often accompanied her magics. Grabbing his hand in hers, she pulled him through the rift before it snapped shut behind them.

“So what’s here, do you think, Rey? What was powerful enough to drag you through the wind and -” Willum’s voice trailed off as he stepped out of the doorway with her.

There was no question what had brought her here, as they both stood bathed in the glowing, crackling light of a rift in the air, a tear in the very makeup of the world. They both stared for a long moment, not speaking. Then Willum knelt and swung his pack off his shoulder. They were going to need to set up camp.

==

Wendy awoke. She wasn’t quite sure where she was, but she knew where she needed to be, and that was enough.

Taking quick stock of her surroundings, she slipped between the bars of the small cell unconcerned and started skipping down one of the several corridors that led from the grimy stone room. Some figures called out to her, clutching at their own bars that held them far more securely, but she paid them no mind. She knew where she had to be, and that was enough.

Navigating a set of turns without hesitation, a papery noise like shuffling feet gave her cause to look around more actively, though she did not slow her pace. The next corner brought her face to face with a zombie - a halfling that had been clumsily re-animated and carried a small club (a femur, naturally). A grey-skinned face, with the faintest touch of brown pigment still clinging on, turned clunkily to regard her with milky eyes, and the club came up as it gurgled in alarm.

“Ugh,” was all Wendy said, and she continued on, the club clattering to the ground as the undead halfling slowly dissolved behind her. Nothing further barred her egress from whatever mad necromancer’s lair this presumably was. A few barred doors and walls of moving spikes, but nothing that was actually a problem. She knew where she had to be, and that was enough.

As she emerged into the bright moonlight, Wendy smiled in satisfaction and allowed herself a small moment to brush the dirt and dust off of her black tunic and light shoes, and then set off again, skipping merrily down the hillside. First, to Neverwinter for collection and then on, to a destination that didn’t have a name yet, but it would soon, and for Wendy, that was enough.

==

People wondered too often and with too much concern about the nature and existence of Fate, destiny or whatever, in Aurelias’ opinion. Things happened or they didn’t. You did your best with what you have; and if it was part of someone else’s plan, well good for them. It didn’t matter. Whatever her public opinion though, her private conviction had been shaken the moment she’d arrived on this tiny islet just on the coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars, and encountered the Portal. She was connected to it, without question or hesitation. A mage who specialised in conjuration (transportation) magic so specifically to discover such a remarkable crack in the multiverse was… beyond chance.

“This is incredible,” she breathed, for the hundredth time since their arrival. Willlum had forced a bowl of something spicy into her hands at some point, and she presumed she had eaten it, as the bowl was now gone. Her sight was not fixed on this plane, but on the layer of reality on which the Weave wove Mystara’s ever warping will.

They were fortunately far enough from the edge and the sea spray that she could write without it getting immediately ruined, and her writing had been almost uninterrupted since she arrived. The structure of this phenomenon was fascinating. Her dimensional door spell was quite complex - it had taken years of study to perfect - and yet it still lasted only a few moments. This rift also led somewhere, clearly, but remained open and entirely stable. In fact it may have been here for a long time. Certainly, the solid magical structure gave no immediate indication of time, but the ground showed some evidence burn marks from occasional discharge of energy, and it seemed like some had been there for some time.

She was tracing the structure of the portal in the Weave in the air with her hands, only making progress around its diameter in inches given the incredible complexity before her. She would unlock the secrets of this phenomenon, and perhaps it would lend knowledge fo her own creation of portals and transportation magic. The simple fact that a portal could last this long naturally was a revelation in itself.

Aurelia shivered, and clutched at her stomach, her body finally intruding itself on her thoughts enough to distract her. She looked down at her hands and realised they were shaking, fingernails all shades of blue and purple. Looking over to the horizon, she winced. The sun was rising.

Willum was asleep in a tent, exhausted himself from the pace of the day. The fire had just about burned itself out, and a pot of Vandrin Sauce hung slowly cooling over it. She found a few sticks of meat and boiled potatoes on a small camping plate under a cover and smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d become so fixated on something, but how could she not? This portal would be her magnum opus - the greatest discovery of magic she would likely make in her lifetime - a perfectly stable portal connecting two points on what she hoped would be the Material Plane. All her night’s research aside though, there was only one way to find out where it led.

As she sat down and flared the fire back to life with a word, plate now covered in sauce, she stared ack and the large glowing rough oval in the air.

“Tomorrow, we go in,” she said, with finality.

==

Well the Bullywugs were a waste of her time. Granny should have expected really. The giant spider cavalry had been entertaining to see, but they weren’t really using them. The tribe simply had no major enemies or threats in the area, which made them complacent or peaceful, and certainly not that level of desperation or paranoia that Granny preyed on.

In disgust, she shooed a raven out her cottage window, flying east with a message to the Grung tribes over the sea, letting them know of a land ripe for the taking if they’d care to sail across. She’d encountered them some time ago in the jungles south of K’ul Goran and they’d seemed pretty bellicose. Plant the idea in their heads and they’d at least send some forces across. That should create a swamp more to her liking - air full of humidity and tension.

Until then though, she’d have to wait - perhaps wander elsewhere for a few months and see what she could stir up. The Bullywug/Grung conflict would take some time to germinate.

Granny turned back from the window to look at her collection - that was some comfort at least. She was nearly there. 964 souls - it had taken decades of work to achieve - years of planning and dedication to a single purpose. She had done things so foul and depraved it would put a smile on the face of the most taciturn devil. She had posed as witch and warrior, dragon, demon and damsel, even angel on one day she’d been feeling particularly vicious. She was so close - a few dozen more and she would have enough - but her hunting grounds were becoming scarce. Kundar was closed to her now, and though it had been some time there would be some in K’ul Goran whose memory (and unfortunately, lifespan) was long indeed.

A flash on a distant hill caught her attention in an instant, green eyes supernaturally sharp focusing in on the ring of energy that had just flared with power for a moment, and the two figures present on that hilltop, several miles away. She’d seen the strange faint circlular outline in the air when she’d arrived but as it didn’t seem to be going anywhere Granny had planned to investigate the next day, presuming it to be some more fairy nonsense. It seemed that investigation was going to be moved up, and her tea was just going to have to wait.

Granny grabbed her gnarled staff, stuffed a couple of bottles and pouches here and there into the deep folds of her ragged clothes and stepped out of the cottage. And a cottage it now was - the flat sandstone appearance having been shed on arrival. Her house had stood, knees buckling under the strain, as the walls shifted to rougher moss-covered stones and the roof grew rotting wooden shingles as Granny had stood and watched, barking out words of power to control and fine tune it’s re-shaping. The Longtooth abode had settled now, and lay on the edge of the forest to the south of the hill she was now walking towards, looking perfectly at home there as a small ramshackle home for a forest witch.

“A human?” she muttered in confusion as her eyes picked out the details of the figures. “And a half-celestial? What are they doing here?”

She let out a small prayer of relief to Beshaba as the man started coming down the hill, almost straight towards her, though she was hidden behind some bushes. Granny adjusted her features quickly, green skin turning paler and throwing on her best ‘old human woman’ impression. She had about 5 minutes to mentally brush up on her Common before the man was sufficiently far from his companion that she could safely approach him without fear of being interrupted by his disgustingly angelic companion

Hobbling out from behind the bush, she called out in a croaky voice, dripping in mystery. “And from where do you hail, young man? Hmmm? What brings your feet onto these hills?”

The man jumped in alarm, but relaxed on seeing her bent form. “Greetings!” was his excited response, and he gave a low bow. “My name is Viscount Willum Daffles of Cormyr, and I must admit I don’t quite know where I am. You wouldn’t be able to help orient me would you?”

She stared at him, mouthing the word Cormyr to herself as it rang a faint bell in her head. She looked at him curiously. “Are you… from Faerûn, child?”

He also paused, staring back at her. “Yes! Is this...not Faerûn? Maztica perhaps?”

Granny’s brain was working fast now, but several key points presented themselves to her. Viscount - low ranking noble but he still uses the title, it means something to him. Lost - he doesn’t know where he is and arrived here with just him and a friend. Otherwise he’s all alone. Calculating - you can see it in his eyes, assessing everything for its value, it’s obvious. He hungers.

So show him that you are the only one who can get him what he wants.

“You are in the Kantas Expanse, my dear,” she said, adding some unnatural warmth to her voice. “I generally just call it Kantas. You won’t find much of interest to a fine noble sir like yourself out here, I’m afraid. Just miles of open hillsides, rivers, forests, no city for days.”

She let him process that information for a moment. A city you’ll take weeks to find without me. Viscount Daffles looked around the hillside and then back to her, that calculating look more prominent now. “So, no nation or group has claim to this land?”

That took her by surprise, though she tried to not let it rattle her. “Why, no mister Viscount. No one owns this area. There are a few peoples here and thereabouts but mainly no. What thought creeps across your mind?”

He didn’t answer her directly, but kept looking out over the area. “You live nearby surely, you know the area?”

“Yes.”

Daffles smiled warmly, “Then would you care to be my guide for a day, and show me around? I could use the company and the expertise, and my friend is going to be busy studying this strange portal at the top of the hill for some time.” He slapped his forehead. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t even asked your name, dear lady.”

The witch grinned very widely, the Bullywugs quite forgotten, and took him by the arm. “Oh, you and I are going to get along just fine I think. Now why don’t I show you around, and you tell me all about these hopes and dreams I can see you percolating in that brain of yours. You can call me Granny.”

==

Wendy looked at the sea and frowned. She was, for one of the very few times in her existence, uncertain of the way to go, and there was a tension on this coastline that was palpable. There was a path that way, but it was...difficult. Her destination didn’t quite seem to know where it was. And a second path called to her, back the other way, which seemed also odd and jumpy, and in entirely the wrong direction. Some kind of portal?

She hefted the bag on her shoulder. Neverwinter had been pleasantly warm, despite the temperatures outside the city, such was its magic and wonder. Wendy had skipped through the streets without issue and picked up the bag from a corner where two small streets intersected and carried on without stopping. Her feet had led her here and now she stood and thought.

She looked at the freezing sea, opening into the wide ocean beyond, looked at her bag, and then looked in the other direction, back inland towards the other weird way. Perhaps if she went faster, she could come and try the sea if the portal didn’t work out. She set off towards the odd call near the centre of the continent, leaving the coast behind.

If anyone had been watching, they might have been confused to see the unmistakable yet unparseable sight of the sea relaxing as Wendy departed.

==

The door to the tavern flung open, letting the wind and rain blow in as a figure hooded in a dark green cloak stood in the frame. A couple of folks in one of the booths looked over in annoyance as they held their various papers down - the table was covered in them. Paying them no heed, the door swung shut behind the new arrival as they took their hood off and approached the bar, where a pair of men looked on with idle interest.

She was a tiefling, perhaps in her late twenties, and a glance suggested a comfortable ease with the scabbard poking out from behind the hem of her cloak. The tiefling sat at the bar, pushing the cloak back further so the others in the tavern could take note of the thin, flexible brown armour she wore - some kind of horse or deer leather - and the ornate pommel poking out of the scabbard.

“So,” the sandy haired barkeep closest to the lady said lightly. “How did it go?”

“Pathetic,” she snarled. “Gonara and Cosin are going to be laid out for a week, the lightweights that they are. Couldn’t even fend off a couple of goblins.”

“I thought it was hobgoblins?” queried the second bartender. “The bigger, tougher, armoured ones?”

“Whatever, probably. As always, I did all the work,” she said with a roll of the eyes.

“Of course, I imagine you were able to lay out plenty of damage from the backline.”

“What? Don't be stupid, Cobb, that wasn’t the mission. We needed to get the idol, so I did that under an invisibility spell. Got back to find them running for their lives. From goblins! Can you imagine a more pathetic lot?”

The barkeeps glanced at each other, but said nothing except, “Drink?”

As Cobb poured an ale for the bitter warlock, the younger of the two wandered over to the couple in the booth to check in. They were an odd pair, and seemed to be here for the long haul. Sheets of parchment had been spread across the table - lists, numbers, calculations, drawings, some which were covered in strange symbols.

"Can I get you anything, friends?" he asked jovially.

"Ah, thank you Coll, another plate of cheese would be wonderful," said the man who had introduced himself as Willum yesterday.

The radiant-faced woman with him smiled up politely. "I'll have another wine please."

"Say Coll," Willum chimed in again. "Perhaps you could settle a debate we are having? If you wanted to defend a group of townsfolk in a small village, would you hire a standing army, or rely on mercenaries as and when you need them? I feel like it might be the more cost-effective solution.”

“But much more dangerous, Willum! These are people’s lives - our lives - you’d be gambling with!” Aurelia hissed at him - this was clearly not the first time she’d said this.

Coll scratched his head, and looked down at all the documents spread over the table. “This isn’t just an idle question is it?” he asked curiously. “You’re designing a whole… a whole place?”

Willum beamed. Aurelia shrugged. “A brand new settlement in a frontier none from our lands have ever encountered!” the man explained eagerly. “New peoples to establish trade with, miles and miles of valleys to grow crops in - maybe new crops, who knows? We’ll bring merchants, guilds, nobles, farmers! In a land so shrouded with mystery no one has ever even heard of it before!”

“Huh,” Coll was a little taken aback. Willum didn’t strike him as the kind of person who was delusional, but this didn’t seem very likely. “Well,” he said, deciding to humour the customer who’d already spent so much here. “If you have a land no one has been to before, it’s going to be dangerous, so you need people there all the time.”

“Exactly!” Aurelia exclaimed.

“But if you were thinking mercenaries,” Coll continued, looking back at the tiefling by the bar. “Why not go for ones who stick around? Adventurers, I mean. Revali over there, she’s been coming back here on and off for the last month, picking up work from the local community and solving a lot of quite stick problems. A mercenary company won’t always have the different areas of expertise you might need, but get a bunch of adventurers in the same place and there’s few problems they can’t solve. Or start,” he added. The idea had sort of built in his head as he’d said it.

Willum stared at him. Aurelia laughed. “Well we should have thought of that,” she said.

Her friend nodded. “I wonder if it would work? We’d need a lot of adventurers, but you’re right - they would be hired by the merchants, not by us. We wouldn’t need to pay them at all, our clients - um, populace? - would do that for us and be glad of the opportunity.” He slid over in the booth, freeing up space on the bench. “Why don’t you join us, Coll? I’ve got a few more questions you might help with.”

--

As the fire dwindled that night, there were five of them round the table now - Cecil had come out from the kitchen, and Cobb had joined from the bar as well. There were more drawings now, designs of a large building. Not a guild hall - that would imply many things that adventurers may not wish to be a part of - just a tavern, but a big one. The three boys had been looking for an opportunity to own their own place (the owner of the Ettinsgrave Tavern were a cantankerous couple), and this strange pair with their tales of a distant land of opportunity seemed too good to be true. The idea of the town had taken shape, and this crazy plan of the Viscount’s seemed actually, somehow, achievable.

“So now we name it,” Willum said, finishing his drink and slamming the mug on the table.

“Willums...ville?” Cecil suggested.

“No, it needs to draw people in,” he replied. “It needs to… brand the whole idea of what we’re trying to achieve.”

“Wealth City!”

“To be honest, closer. Aspirational”

“Dreamland,” Aurelia chimed in, amused.

“That’s the idea.”

“So it’s a land of opportunity, of adventure, of deeds and daring and trade…”

Willum sat up. “Daring is good. Both adventurers and merchants like to think that they are. Daring Town is too mundane though.”

“The Land of Daring.”

“Daring Hill.”

“Daring… Heights?” It was Aurelia who said it.

There was a pause, as everyone turned it over in their heads. Willum smiled broadly.

“Perfect.”

==

“Ah, don’t you worry dearie. Granny understands. You’ve been better than your sister your whole life, of course you have. You just need a little… support to make sure people see it!”

“Yes - yes! That’s right!” the sweating man said, still nervous but relieved. “I’ve got lots of gold, I can give you whatever you want. I - “

“- I said don’t worry, Jorvane. Granny does not deal in gold and coin. You know my rule: You can always afford Granny’s prices!”

“Then wh-what?” the merchant dabbed a face with a bit of plain cloth from his pocket. Granny held back a sniff. Not even a silk handkerchief. This man was clearly nothing special. Well, rinse ‘em for what they’re worth.

“Never anything you can’t afford to part with. You want to be successful? More successful than your sister? You want to make sure that everyone knows that you are doing better than she?”

“Yes!”

“Then in exchange I will take your 10 saddest memories,” she said simply, and brought out a carved wand of bone. And everything else was just haggling, which he really wasn’t good at.

Jorvane left happier, that much was certain. Who wouldn’t give away the tragedies of their lives, as if that would somehow remove the event itself? He left happier, though a little confused about certain key elements of his life, and confident that everyone would soon know that his sister would be but a pale spectre in his towering shadow.

Granny scoffed as she closed the door. It never got old. She waved a hand over the pot simmering on the fire, and spoke a name of darkness and shadow. The water boiled harder, and then smoothed out into a red-hued scene. A small, pointed face looked up at her own angular features. “Ah, Granny Longtooth, how may Prexin serve you today?”

“Easy one, Prexin, and there’s a tragedy in it for you.”

The imp cackled, making the watery image bubble. “Speak on.”

Granny conjured another image in the water, an image of a woman. “This is the sister of a client of mine. She has no protections to speak of and can be found in a small town called Daggerford. Eliminate her.”

Business concluded, she waved her hand and the cauldron resumed its simmering, Prexin on the job.

She put the wand on a shelf, now full of the mediocre tragedies of a mediocre man, and grabbed her cloak. It was time to meet the Mayor Himself.

She strode up the hill from her cottage, trees slowly withering around it. She had to marvel at that daffy Daffles. His ambition - his favourite trait of hers - was surprisingly matched by an ability to actually get things done. The little town of Daring Heights was coming along very nicely.

People had flocked through the portal, and Granny had watched with interest and delight as builders, architects, prospectors, explorers, hunters, farmers, merchants, nobles all arrived in convoys, greeted by that thrice-cursed angelspawn. This was good, as it kept her busy and her attention focused elsewhere than the odd old cottage down by the forest’s edge. A few tiers of illusions around the place kept people from generally thinking too closely about the slowly rotting vegetation or how she had come to be there in the first place.

And so many people had come, so many people of greed and ambition, each a potential client for her Bargains. She had been happy to encourage the notion of the town to Daffles once he had explained it to her, on that fateful walking tour of the area almost a year ago. This was the pool she needed, and she would do everything she could do (cheaply), to ensure Daring Heights thrived. 35 more souls, well, 31 now.

Granny kept her cloak wrapped tightly around her and kept to the side streets as she entered the city proper, giving the plaza with the portal a wide berth. New buildings were going up every day, and she could see that a couple of wealthier settlers had just summoned a mansion to their designated plot of land.

Without too much difficulty, she reached the central square of town. The Temple to Waukeen was nearly finished, though it was certainly not the grandest affair she had ever witnessed. The sign of the Three-Headed Ettin was swinging in the breeze, a huge construction that Granny was growing to love more and more as she got the hang of these ‘adventurers.’ They were a rare breed of powerful, ambitious and a little stupid. She was heading to the other side of the square today though, the much simpler building of the Town Hall.

No one noticed her as she walked right past several attendants and administrators, and ran her fingernails down the thick oak door of the Mayor’s office. The door swung open suddenly, Mayor Willum Daffles’ face puzzled.

“Granny? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you anytime soon. What brings you to my doorstep?”

She swept in past him, and he moved aside, closing the door behind her. “We’ve done a lot of work, Willum, to make this town a success. Have you come to understand how much more I can do if you are willing?”

He laughed and flopped into a large chair behind his desk. “This is a sales call? You know I don’t plan on selling any more of myself to you. What are you really after?”

Granny looked sharply at him. He had come a long way in the last year - every deal they had made he had haggled and connived his way into deals that were, if not favourable, at least not as damning as she’d expected. Oh, she still owned him, no question there, but now here he was, a year on, still smiling confidently instead of cowering as he should. She didn’t hate him for it either.

“You’ll be pleased, and no doubt surprised to hear that I come to request a boon of you,” she said, somewhat icily.

“Of me? And what can I, the humble mayor of this little town, provide for the great witch of the woods?”

“Land,” she said simply, and stomped over to the map on the wall. “I want my own patch of the forest. Your people are cutting down trees for this place, and I want a piece that you will call my own and make sure that no one wanders in there save on business with me.”

Daffles leaned forward and rested his hand in his chin. “How much land are you talking about? I hardly own the forest, but announcing that an area is off-limits is certainly viable.”

She waved a hand and a section of the map lit up in phosphorus green. It was a few square miles - sizable, but barely a smudge on the vast forest that seemed to stretch to the south, and she said so.

“I see. Well, our whole relationship is built on bargains my dear Granny. Let’s not stop now. What would you offer me in exchange for this land?”

“I’ve done plenty for the town, Willum. People won’t randomly stumble across the town before you’re ready. All those papers you sent back to draw people to Faerun are even more effective than your words alone. Perhaps it is time I offered you something?”

“For me?,” he laughed. “That would be appropriate. Ok then. For a safe haven for you - a place you can call home and have it be guaranteed that no one will fell a tree or hunt in those lands you have designated, under pain of banishment from these lands? I want to be invincible.”

It was Granny’s turn to laugh, and raise a crusty eyebrow. “Thinking of wading into battle soon, are we?”

“Hardly. As Daring becomes more important, I’m likely to attract my share of assassins. Having them stab me to no effect at all would be a much better result than the alternative. And not some pox-ridden ‘technically invulnerable.’ I want to be impervious to harm - both internal and external - to poison and disease, within your best intentions.”

“Indeed?” she regarded him for some time, assessing this wish. “Subject to the same conditions as everything else, of course.”

“‘For as long as I rule Daring Heights,’” Willum recited. “Of course.”

She weighed it up, then nodded. For her goals, it was worth it. “I won’t haggle to that. We can make that happen. Agreed.” She spit in her hand and extended it towards him.

He grinned, spit in his own hand and the deal was sealed.

There was a knock on the door, and Granny hissed in irritation, charms jingling in her hair as she turned to face the door, arms out and claws outstretched. “We’ll finish this later,” she muttered and melted into the shadows.

Willum waited a moment to make sure she was gone, and then straightened his outfit, wiped his hand on a silk handkerchief from his pocket, and went to open the door. Waiting for him outside was a small woman, very simply dressed in a plain black dress that looked like it had travelled some distance. Her hair was long and black, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the comically large burlap sack over her shoulder that looked far heavier than she should comfortably be able to carry, especially when she set it on the ground with a resounding thud.

“Viscount Willum Aloysius Sebastian Daffles, oathbound of Myriasil Doneggath?” she asked.

His face paled, and he ushered her into the room quickly and shut the door behind her. “Two unexpected guests in a row, what a day this is!” he muttered, and then said in a more normal tone, “And who might you be, that you know something no one else on this continent knows?”

“Oh, I’m nobody,” she replied smiling. “My name’s Wendy. I have a delivery for you.”

“From Myriasil?” he was stunned. Since he’d returned to her tomb without Aurelia and sealed the pact, he’d not heard from her at all.

“I picked it up in Neverwinter,” she said, not quite answering the question, and reached into her heavy bag, pulling out a small case. “Here it is.”

He took it, and was about to ask more questions but she had already turned and begun skipping out of the room, bag merrily in tow. “Wait!” he called after her, but she swung the door open and left without another word, leaving him alone in the room.