Entr'acte

The Mountain Palace, the Witching Court
4th Ches 1499

When Imryll returns to her room after a long day of work, Jaezred is already in there, seated on a sofa, grooming the fur on Myravalor’s head with a small, fine-toothed comb and humming quietly to the harp music being played from the angel’s trumpets flowers. Her paramour looks up at her standing by the door.

“Welcome home, dearest.” He holds Myravalor up by the underarms with one hand and cradles his feet with another. “Doesn’t he look handsome?”

“Precious, darling,” she chuckles, gliding into the room and dropping a book she was carrying onto her desk. “Perhaps you should consider a career change? Stylist to the courts pets and familiars?” She laughs and walks over to the sofa to plant a kiss on his forehead.

He puts Myravalor on his shoulder so the stoat could coil around his neck. “Oh, I wouldn’t want that to get in the way of my main duties of being your personal chef and masseuse. Speaking of, how was work? Do you need a massage?”

“I may regret it but no, darling, I’m fine for now… Though don’t stop on my account. He seems to be enjoying the attention.”

“We have been getting along,” Jaezred says, giving Myravalor scritches under his chin. “And I have been, uh…growing in my powers recently.”

“Oh? Stretching out the new wings? And how are we finding working with Nicnevin’s grace?” she asks with a smirk.

“My magical reserves run out much faster than usual and I find I have to take frequent short breaks to refuel them, which makes me reliant upon cantrips. It’s quite irritating. Though what is far more annoying is the inability to maximise the potential of most of my spells,” he complains. “That being said, it appears I have unlocked a level of magic I had never reached as a sorcerer or a wizard.”

With a wave of his hand, the tome of witchcraft is summoned in front of them in a burst of black flame, held aloft in the air by wisps of whispering shadows. The pages flutter to the latter half of the book, now filled with illustrations of various creatures — humanoids and monstrosities, beasts and aberrations, and more — accompanied with short, calligraphed texts detailing their abilities and capabilities.

“Well, I never took you for the bookish sort,” she remarks teasingly, taking a seat next to him and leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “Taking up zoology, are we?”

“No, I'm not a nerd like you. These pages filled themselves up as I slept through the night…”

He flips through this mini-bestiary. Each illustration is a depiction of a scene, and a few of them stick out: a goristro in the middle of a crowded marketplace, a white dragon with a drow rider raining icy devastation down on a city below, a metallic spider automaton carrying a paralysed, elderly firbolg on its back.

The last illustration before the pages are blank once more is of a shadowy creature with the torso of a humanoid and the lower body of a giant spider, standing to face the viewer. It wields a rapier and a hand crossbow in each hand, but their features are shrouded in darkness — only their red eyes, glowing with malice, are visible.

“Hmm. I take it these are recognisable to you, then?” she says, not without a trace of caution in her voice.

Jaezred stops at that last page. His fingers quiver slightly as they hang in the air above it. He has looked at this picture a few times prior to showing it to her, and every time, something deep inside him is unsettled and rattled. “They are all scenes from my memories,” he says quietly. “I do believe these are instructions for the true polymorph spell.”

“I see… Well, you will have to tell me about the dragon at some point, but… have you actually tried any so far? Or, I suppose… Do you want to?”

He hesitates. He can feel the goosebumps forming on his skin and his breath growing shaky. Damn this, why is he so scared?

“I…I don’t know. When she turned me, it hurt…so much.”

Imryll rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder whilst her other one reaches forward and flicks through the pages of the tome. “Yes, I imagine it was… But there is nothing quite like taking ownership of something to remove the power someone, or something in her case, has over you. Why don’t you start with something a little more…simple — like this?” She points at a picture of an almiraj on a page filled with illustrations of small critters.

“I would rather die.”

“Come now, dear, you know that can be arranged. Look, you would match your slippers!” she says, and he blushes in response. But despite the good-natured teasing, the muscles in his shoulders remain taut. She smiles, gently closes the book, and cups his chin to pull his face towards her own. “Darling you know as well as I do this is not the same as then. But I know there must be some residual fear… It may be in the book, but you are by no means beholden to her now and you need not use it if you don’t want to.”

In her touch and gazing into her eyes, Jaezred finds himself relaxing a little. But he remains deep in thought, quietly considering his options. His eyes trail towards the tome. “But what if… What if it's the only way I could remember what happened?” he wonders aloud.

“Well, I still think there are other options for that but…the real question here though is: do you want to? You, no doubt, have an idea what happened that day, but as I have told you, that was not you, not your actions… I don’t want you to feel responsible for her malicious games, my love, and neither do your friends. They do not hold you responsible.”

He takes her hand to intertwine their fingers together and looks down on the polished, black stone floor. “You asked me if I thought myself capable of doing what I did to my friends as a drider. The thing is, Imryll, I am. Under the right circumstances, if pushed enough…I could see myself doing that. How are we different then?”

“By that same logic, darling, under the right circumstances, I am capable of slitting your throat, burning that adorable pink castle to the ground, and watching your hapless friends scurry around like fools after I convince every single one of them they they did it to themselves. Dear Oziah could decide she is done with her whole agenda, retire into the woods, and whittle bird whistles for a living. Our gentle butler Margo might decide he has finally had enough subservience and lead a war band to burn Menzoberranzan into ash. Under the right circumstances, darling, anything is possible. But that is an extreme and by no means the norm, not something you should judge yourself on.”

“You don’t understand. Betraying those I consider friends, even those I consider family, used to be of little concern to me. This was how I was raised. I have stabbed backs and been stabbed in the back more times than I can count. My entire life has been lived in extremes — extreme violence, extreme prejudice, extreme caution, extreme religiosity…”

“And as I have said before, my love, the past does not define us, only what we choose to do now… You are not that person anymore.” She then fixes him with a critical stare. “There is, of course, a way to prove it…”

As he looks at her questioningly, she leans forward again, opening the book to the recorded nightmare that is the drider. “Own it,” Imryll says. “She made you a monster. But you don’t have to be one.”

The lump that suddenly forms in his throat feels almost like a rock. But, forcing his gaze onto the page, he is not surprised by the suggestion, he knows that he has been thinking the same. He takes a deep breath. “If I lose control… what if I lose control?”

“I think we both know I can handle you at your worst, dear.”

“Well, you have never proved it…” he replies, despite everything, with a small, cheeky smile.

She feigns offence. “Are you doubting me?”

“You have made a lot of bold claims without any evidence. It would only be reasonable to doubt, my love. Surely a nerd like you would agree.”

“Surely even an oaf like you should recognise grace and talent when he sees it?” The eladrin raises her chin, posing as if under a spotlight with her trademark grin still in place.

Jaezred’s smile widens into one of adoration. “Oh I would, but you are just so good at illusions…”

“Mmm, if only I could conjure some manners for you too…” She shoots a toothy grin at him and nudges him to stand. “Go on! I promise I will swiftly put you down if you lose control. With love, of course.”

He rises to his feet, holding both her hands, and there is a seriousness in his crimson eyes as he stares into her green ones. “I cannot bear the thought of hurting you, Imryll,” he says. “Promise me, if I lose control, just…do what you need to do.”

“Oh Jaezred…” She sounds very sincere as she gazes back at him. “I doubt you could if you tried. But yes, if it makes you feel better, I will.”

He lets out a chuckle and cups her cheek fondly. He could never forgive himself if harm came to her because of him.

Imryll sits back down on the sofa, fussing over Myravalor, and waits. Jaezred turns fully towards the tome, still open to the illustration of the drider, and he draws his wand of the war mage from inside his frock coat, drawing arcane patterns in the air. As he completes each invisible sigil, dark sparks burst around him, which grow into black flames that roar and expand into a sphere, enveloping Jaezred entirely within it. He shuts his eyes tight.

It feels…familiar, in a strangely phantom way, like putting on a jacket he is sure he has tried on before. Eight large, arachnid legs, growing out of a white giant spider’s body attached to him — no, is him — from the waist below, tap around uncertainly on the stone floor as he finds his balance in this new…old…form. Jaezred looks down on his hands and chest, the still drow parts of him. He now appears to be wearing the same outfit he did on that day — a snug-fitting, black suit made of hardened deep rothé leather and a spiderweb shawl wrapped around his broad shoulders. He looks up and catches a glimpse of his face on a mirror on the wall across, and that is when the horror begins. His lower lip has been stretched out to an unnatural length in order for a pair of long, black spider fangs, secreting drops of colourless venom, to protrude out and upwards from it and for rows of monstrously sharpened teeth to be constantly bared. He lets out a cry, but the noise that comes out from his throat sounds more like a series of chittering and clicking than a humanoid voice.

His vision spins. The spider legs stagger unevenly backwards, knocking a low table astray as they struggle to carry this top-heavy body. After a moment, the drider’s form turns into a black, amorphous blob, and it melts away like shadows from Jaezred’s body — his fully humanoid body — shaking and falling onto the floor on his knees in quick and heavy breaths.

He feels a gentle hand touch his shoulder and little feet scamper down his back, curling around one leg. “It’s okay, my love. You are still you,” Imryll says softly in his ear.

In pained silence, Jaezred leans down until his forehead touches the floor and his body curls up into a ball, prostrate in shame, hands pressed on either side of his head. Imryll stays there, holding him as best she can but remaining quiet, serving as a comforting presence by his side.

Eventually, his broken voice speaks up, muffled from his head’s position on the ground. “That was my punishment. That is what I deserve, for betraying her, betraying my ideals, my family, my people. Shunning my destiny.”

“No. That is her ploy to get her own way. A spoiled being who can’t understand defiance. It is not a mark on you but on her nature to punish those who worship her… It’s a sick game and you are only stronger for having survived it, Jaezred. Most do not.”

His nails dig painfully into his scalp. “She gave my worthless self a chance to thrive. I should have been grateful!”

“Do you honestly consider that thriving? Just think for a second on what she offered you here… A life, with power, granted…but also of constant fear — fear of assassination, betrayal, fear of random and unfair challenges for her own amusement, fear of being grossly abused, transformed, and tossed around like some child’s plaything, only to be forgotten when something better comes along or, heavens forbid, if you actually failed to meet her ever-increasing expectations. That is not thriving, Jaezred, far from it. To thrive is to live, to grow and expand, to experience joy as well as pain. To see and make of a life what you choose to make, rather than desperately grasping at the scraps a cruel handler throws at you.”

Her hand takes his chin once more and slowly raises his head from the floor. “To be able to stand on your own feet, instead of being supported by her wicked powers,” she concludes softly.

“Stand on my own two feet? Even now I do no such thing,” he scoffs sadly. The weight of despair has sunk deep into him and it feels so cold, so numb. “But… But it’s not too late. It’s not too late to change things.” He glances down on his hands, which close into trembling fists. “The spell, if I can maintain it for longer than an hour…”

“Now you are just being stupid… You are your own, regardless of whatever gifts Nicnevin gave to you. You came back here on your own, did you not? This was not something forced onto you, you chose this and that is the difference. Besides…I’m sorry to say this, darling, but you simply won’t be able to cook and massage me, nor style Myravalor’s hair like that. He has grown accustomed to a certain standard of living now, I’m afraid.”

When Jaezred does not reply, instead staring into middle distance, her voice takes on a serious tone. “Jaezred, I have always promoted choice for you, whether you stayed with her or left her, I only want you to be you and to be happy… Going back is not going to make you happy, and neither is changing into something you think she wants you to be. So I will, once again, return to the same question I have asked you before: what do you want, dear?”

Jaezred feels Myravalor nudging his little head against his leg, as if pushing him to consider Imryll’s words. He sighs and looks away.

“I want…to stop being afraid,” he answers weakly. “I want to stop feeling ashamed. And I want to stay with you.”

She cups his face, bringing it back to look at her. “You have the power to not be afraid anymore. You have nothing to be ashamed of. And you can, of course, stay with me.”

Her warm lips press softly, gently, against his. There is only the sound of quiet harp music in the room as Jaezred buries his face in her shoulder and pulls her into a tight embrace. No tears fall from his eyes, as he lost the ability to cry a long time ago, but the two of them stay there for a while.

---

When Imryll awakes the next morning, her left hand reaches instinctively to touch Jaezred’s shoulder but finds only a cold, empty spot of mattress. Promptly, however, there is a knock on the doors and the voice of a servant informing her that Lord Jaezred requests her presence outside the palace, by its grand entrance.

She arrives fashionably late as usual, stepping out from the tall double doors and looking around. As she stands some thirty feet from the entrance, there is the sound of wings beating, and a shadow is suddenly cast over her, growing larger and larger by the second.

A massive dragon with gleaming white scales flies down from the mountain’s peak and lands in front of Imryll with a BOOM. From between its eyes, a black widow spider crawls down to the tip of its battle-scarred snout and waves hi to Imryll with a foreleg. She waves back to Velve and takes a moment to dust off her robes.

“Someone seems to be settling into their new powers then, I see?” she says with a grin.

Arauthator’s icy blue eyes stare back at her, but there is a faint sense of familiarity to them. “A little bit,” the old dragon’s voice rumbles. “I must have spent a few hours up there, trying to get myself to do it.”

“Hours? When did you get up this morning?” He does a dragon’s best approximation of a shrug. “I see… Well? How are we feeling about this then?”

“C’est bon. It’s alright.” Jaezred nuzzles his snout gently into her belly. “You have shown me a kindness I do not deserve. For that, I thank you.”

“I’m sure you grow into your frame, whichever you pick. Besides, I’m sure I can make some use out of this too.” She smirks and winks, patting him on the snout. “But how did you find it, lovely?” she coos to Velve. The little spider sticks two forelegs out to her sides and waves them up and down, mimicking the flapping of wings.

“I still have some time before the spell runs out and I am permanently stuck in this form. Would you like to fly around with me, dearest?”

“Well, it’s about time you offered!”

Imryll scoops Velve into her hands, walks around to his shoulder, and gives his front leg a nudge, indicating for him to lower it so she could climb up. Once seated comfortably on his back, she lets Velve crawl into her robes and holds on to the ridges of scales along his neck.

“Are you good back there, my darling?” Jaezred asks, blue eyes peering back. “It would be such a shame if you fell. A weak mage such as yourself would have no defences against falling.”

“You just concentrate on not falling out the sky yourself, dear, I assure you I am more than—”

She is interrupted by the wind rushing around her as the white dragon zips off into the air at an unearthly speed. They pierce through the mist that blankets this area of the Witching Court, sailing along the eternal night sky, almost touching the moon and stars themselves. They fly east and land in a lonely mound of green hills east of Haspar Knoll just as the spell ends, with Jaezred returning to his usual drow self.

He lies down on the grass with arms spread out and Imryll’s hand in his, gazing up at the silver moon hanging above his head. A sense of tranquillity, something he so rarely feels, is washing over him.

It makes him think that, perhaps, everything will be alright after all.

(During the happenings in Fire at Dusk 2…)

The Witching Court
1st Tarsahk 1499

The hag had requested that they meet halfway between Haspar Knoll and the Mountain Palace, which Jaezred finds is, quite literally, the middle of nowhere. The chosen meeting point is a vast expanse of open, rolling fields of grass and bumps that could hardly be called hills with not much in the way of landmarks.

That said, it is not difficult for him to spot the pale and stooped figure of an elderly woman wielding a large, gnarled, staff of grey wood. She does not seem to be approaching him, rather just waiting. Somehow, even from far away, he could sense an impatience directed at him.

Jaezred sighs and hangs the basket of warm scones, covered with a floral-patterned cloth, on his arm before casting far step, his form disappearing in a swirl of shadows and reappearing in increments of 60 feet until he is standing in front of the hag. He sees his liaison from Haspar Knoll up close now: a bheur hag, hunched over and emaciated, with papery, bluish-white skin and snow-white hair, the chill of winter seemingly present in her dark-ringed, pale grey eyes — making her look frozen and haunted.

He steps up and bows to her. “Salutations, Madam, and thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I brought scones I baked myself for you and your coven.” He takes the basket in his hands and offers it to her. “My name is Jaezred.”

To the fey, names have power. By offering her his own first, he hopes to establish a relationship of mutual trust (within reason, obviously). After all, the coven of Haspar Knoll voluntarily came to Imryll with the information they had learned.

The hag looks him up and down with a critical eye, then her gaze rests on the basket of scones for a while. Eventually, she takes it. “Pearl, the Feeble. So… You’re the Queen’s new plaything?” she asks, picking up a scone and sniffing it.

“Something like that. And she’s taken me out of her toybox to speak with you regarding the incident in Osarbreach.”

She sniffs deeply, seeming to weigh his words. “Not important enough for Imryll, I see.”

“If you would allow me to blow my own trumpet for a moment, I believe I detected a blind spot in Lady Imryll’s investigation when I asked her for further details on what had occurred in Osarbreach and she had none to give,” he says with a thin smile. “After discovering another incident of a similar nature elsewhere in the court and hearing about what had been done to the water spirit in Spriteswell Depths, I thought it paramount to speak to you.” He shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect, though admittedly, her ladyship does come pretty damn close.”

She gives him another long look before letting out a huff. “…Well? What’s this blind spot then? If you’re here to ask questions, the least you could do is tell me upfront.”

“As I’ve said, it is the lack of follow-up on the Osarbreach incident, Madam Pearl. As I understand it, the people came to your coven for help and you discovered the corpse of a death slaad there. Could you tell me what exactly it was that had them distressed in the first place?”

Pearl narrows her eyes. “Aye, there was a slaad… They were seeking help with the pollution it was causing. Sickness. Dead plants. The land became black and sick. They wanted it cleansed.”

“Where was the body found?”

“Dumped in the woods not far from the town.”

Jaezred nods. “And did you see any of these things when you were there?” He casts prestidigitation and opens a hand — an illusory copy of the purplish-black gem he found in Lostbell Mine sits on his palm.

She barely looks at it before answering, “No.”

Jaezred knits his brows together for a moment and stares at Pearl. He senses that, for a reason he cannot guess, the feeling of superiority she had over him seems to have been dented. Her perception of him has shifted and she seems to have conceded that he is indeed an emissary of the Queen, here on behalf of the royal court. Thus, as much as she does not like being questioned on her own turf, this crabby old woman is not being deceptive. He closes his hand and the gem disappears. “Very well,” he says. “Do you remember how long the effects of corruption had been going on until the townsfolk realised the cause and went to you for help?”

“They came to us three weeks after first finding it. Might have been there longer than that. We don’t know how long it took to find.”

“Three weeks? Did they mention why it took them that long to seek help?”

“Because…Jaezred…they are proud and foolish or simply too scared to ask.”

“Fair enough. Final question: aside from the corruption, did you notice anything strange about the town or the people whilst you were there?”

She gives him yet another stern look. “Should I have?”

“There’s many strange folk here, Jaezred. You’d need to tell me how strange you think it should be.”

“You’ve lived here far longer than I have, Madam. Anything that seemed out of place to you, behaviour that struck you as odd? Perhaps in relation to the corruption of the land?”

She appears to think it over for a long moment. “No. Nothing that would make me think of slaad, anyway,” she answers eventually.

“Most excellent. Thank you for taking time out of your day to speak to me, Madam Pearl.” He bows again. “Enjoy the scones. Spread the clotted cream before the jam, if you please.”

“Hold on…” says Pearl. “Whoever has done this is coming into our domain and dragging our family into it. Who or what is leaving bodies and enchanted stones around? You asked if I’d seen anything strange, it’s your turn to tell me what you’ve seen, Jaezred.”

He raises a brow at her. “Dragging your family into it?”

She spreads her arms wide, and a chill wind begins to blow. “This is our home, Jaezred. Our family is all around you. The people in the streets, the bones in the ground, and the whispers on the wind. If someone is interfering here, we won’t have time to wait on help coming.”

Jaezred glances at his surroundings, then his eyes return to Pearl, considering her for a moment, and nods. He procures a quartz gem with a teardrop suspended within from his pocket and mutters an incantation. A blackness spreads through the clear gem like ink spreading across water, and He’lylbreia rises out of his shadow as a black hound, padding forward to stand at his side.

“I understand. They are my family too.”

She raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“These gems that have been found in Spriteswell Depths, I have also discovered in Lostbell Mine,” he continues. “I cannot say how long they have been there, but doubtless the culprit is the same. Who or what they are, we still do not know, but we believe that they are harvesting misery.”

“Any more slaad?”

“No. Lostbell Mine is a place of great tragedy. I think whoever is behind this simply took advantage of an existing situation, and now have moved on to creating them.”

She nods slowly. “And who in the Mountain knows of this?”

“Both Queen Nicnevin and Lady Imryll have been informed. I do not know who else they might have told.”

“Then why did they send you to Lostbell Mine? Last I was there, no one lived near there to see anything strange happening. Is the mine opening again?”

“No, I was there for an unrelated task and happened upon the gems by chance.”

“I see… And what exactly are you doing about this mess? I know the Queen didn’t send you directly, so what’s your stake in this?”

He hesitates for the tiniest of moments. He hasn’t actually thought about this himself. He is not striving to win Imryll’s heart anymore, and his agreement with Queen Nicnevin only extends as far as the Dawnlands, so why is he doing this?

“I’m merely investigating for now, helping Lady Imryll where I can,” answers the drow simply.

She narrows her eyes again but a smile begins to break across her face. She looks at the basket of scones again, grabs one, and breaks a small chunk off to taste but screws her nose up as she does. “Too sweet. But Lillian will like them… She would send her thanks to you. I do hope we can expect yourself to keep us abreast of any further developments, Jaezred?”

He has seen that sort of smile before. On Imryll, when she has figured something out. His face twitches slightly but without missing a beat, he replies, “Only if you do the same, Madam Pearl.”

“Aye…” She nods shortly and twirls the greystaff, leaving it horizontal to the ground where it floats. She takes a seat side-saddle on it and begins to rise a few feet before stopping to think and looking back at Jaezred. “Do pass on our thoughts to the Lady Imryll.”

She then looks down towards He’lylbreia and nods slowly. They, in turn, appear to nod back to her. Jaezred looks between the two of them with a curious, arched brow. “I’ll be sure to bring bland scones for you next time…”

Pearl finally lets out a laugh and smiles at that, and simply replies, “Both!” as she drifts away on her greystaff towards the cottage in the distance.

Jaezred kneels down to give He’lylbreia pets on the head and scritches behind the ear. “Now, what was that about?” he asks them.

Silence — only a vague feeling of familiarity and the ageless passage of time. They do seem quite content, though.

“Oh, giving me the quiet treatment? Don’t you want delicious, scrumptious mushrooms for dinner tonight? You like them mushrooms, don’t you, pal?” he says in that voice dog owners use to talk to their dogs as he gives them rubs on the neck. Their inky tongue lolls out in happy, soundless panting at the mention of mushrooms. “All right. Let’s go home.”

---

Jaezred found Myravalor on the way home and brought him back with him. Walking into their bedchambers with a stoat on one shoulder, a spider on the other, and a dog padding by his side, he feels a bit like Wren Lunaboult with their “crime team” menagerie. Imryll, leaning against her work desk, glances up from her book curiously at the lot of them.

“Met with Pearl. Real charmer, that one.”

“She is a delight, isn’t she?” Imryll chuckles at the news. “Still, she is much preferable to some others here.”

“Such as you, indeed.”

“Naturally!”

“Never… But being incredible still makes me preferable, dear.”

“Fine, I can’t argue with that,” Jaezred concedes with a fond smile, taking up her hand to kiss it on the knuckles. “Anyway, I think what we are dealing with here is a scientist of sorts. They really quite like to experiment…”

“Well, that does seem to be the case, it unfortunately doesn’t tell us much, though. Anyone trying to create something would go through this phase of experimentation too.”

“There is one thing we can deduce about them from this, something we missed before — if these are indeed experiments, then they are most certainly observing the site of experimentation. Perhaps from afar, perhaps even physically lingering there.” He picks up a bowl of crispy mushrooms from the work table and tosses one in the air for He’lylbreia to leap up and catch with their mouth, then feeds one to Myravalor.

“Oh? What makes you say that specifically?”

“Simple logic, really. That is what a scientist testing out a certain methodology would do, is it not?” he says as he feeds a tiny crumb to Velve, who nibbles away happily with her small fangs. “See how effective it is, suss out its limitations.”

“True… But these stones are sending energy somewhere, no? Why would they need to wait if it’s already going somewhere else? More to the point, why haven’t we seen them watching yet?”

“That is the current mystery. As for why, there are possibly many more factors to consider beyond the efficacy of the stones, such as…how quickly it would take for someone to notice and put a stop to the experiment.” He pops a mushroom crisp into his mouth. “But it’s hard to say exactly without knowing the goal of the experiment.”

“Another thing to add to your mystery thread, dear, is the fact they don’t seem to be guarded in any way. Other than the Spriteswell incident, of course.”

“How do you mean, don’t seem to be guarded?”

“Exactly that. If I were dropping these things around, I’d at least consider leaving something else behind to look after it. You picked one up and broke it immediately.”

He thinks on that for a while. “Obviously because it doesn’t matter to them, and it doesn’t matter because…something bigger is coming. Save your resources for that.” She seems to concede the point with a cock of her head. “And I'd argue the glyph of warding-esque enchantment placed on the stones was some kind of guardedness. Once the stone is disturbed, the magic disappears from it entirely, and therefore becomes impossible to determine its purpose. That was what happened in Spriteswell Depths, no?”

He puts the bowl down on the cushion of a sofa, takes out the map of the Witching Court from his back pocket and spreads it open, and points at Anuhlin Shambles, east of the Mountain Palace. “I should like to investigate this place, dearest. It’s a sizable settlement and I’ve heard it is built on a ruined castle. If I were a wily bastard who wants to scale up the size of my experiments whilst remaining undetected, this is where I would go.”

Imryll stares at the map for a moment. “Perhaps, but this is only the local area, remember? We don’t know how far they have reached out yet. And there are other ruins scattered around. The Pillar, Olurune… What makes you think Anuhlin is the next place to look?”

“I have a feeling that lingering misery like that of Lostbell Mine isn’t enough for our mysterious friend. No, they need active suffering — a water spirit in pain, blight on the land, sick people… That means they need a living populace, so I’m not interested in abandoned ruins at the moment.”

“Careful, Jaezred. If you think any more intently on this, you might find you have a nemesis,” she jokes and plants a kiss on his head before turning back to the comfortable chairs. “Well… There’s nothing stopping you looking, dear. Just do be nice with the locals if you do pay them a visit.”

“When am I ever not charming?”

“All too often, dear. I try to overlook it but well, not everyone else has my patience.”

Jaezred plops down on the sofa with a sigh. He’lylbreia climbs up next to him and rests their head on his lap, Myravalor curls around his neck, and Velve settles comfortably on his shoulder, nuzzled up against Myravalor. He spreads his arms wide at Imryll invitingly. “Come here, my love…”

She scoots over and leans backwards into the nook of his arm, brushing Myravalor’s tail out of the way as he pulls her closer and tucks her head under his chin. “You’re my family now. All of you,” he says, looking at each of them in turn. “Upon my life, I will not let any harm come to you if I can help it.”

He may not be kin to every person in the Palace or to the bones under the earth, but this rather eclectic family — consisting of a drow, an eladrin, a demon spider, a fey stoat, and a shadowy nature spirit — is enough to drive him forward, to find whoever is doing this and put a stop to them. For tonight, however, they can simply enjoy the warmth of the fire, the music coming from the flowers, and each other’s company.