Somewhere uncomfortably warm...

For the second time in likely as many days, Zenithral wakes to find himself in a luxurious bed.

There are other similarities to the last time as well, such as other fine furnishings, bookshelves, desks. But the dimensions of the room are different than Malavon's demiplane. It has windows, for one, though little light passes through. For another, while the bedsheets are cool, the air in the place is awfully warm.

Then he notices the tall, vertical lamps in the corners, each glowing a molten red. No... not lamps. Those are streams of lava running down the sides of the room, lighting the place dimly.

The figure in the room is so still that for a time Zenithral does not notice it. It leans against one black wall over by a hallway, a cowl pulled far over its face, so far that he wonders if the person - whoever, or whatever it is - can even see him. Its focus seems to be on him, however.

It says nothing, but just waits with arms folded before it.

The figure rolls its shoulders to move away from the wall and stand upright, unfolds its arms, and then walks down the hallway. There is a grinding of stone, and then a curtain of lava falls over the entrance to the hallway, closing it off.

Zenithral is left alone.

The cascading wall of lava certainly gives off terrible heat. It is difficult to say how thick it might be.

Fluphy proves difficult to summon. Most likely the flumph was killed or banished by an angry Malavon. But there is a small table nearby with incense and a brazier, and soon Fluphy is tooting about the room of black metal and molten rock.

The incense causes an itch in Zenithral's mind... For a moment he fears it to have released some kind of poison into the air, but when nothing else happens he dismisses that notion. No, this is something else. The scent of the incense is familiar to him, somehow..

"Ooh, Zenithral, come here!" Ilmadia, Zenithral's mother, said as she conjured a psudodragon before his eyes. "Hurrah!"

Young Zenithral set down the arrow shaft and carving knife and stepped over the brass brazier his mother had set out. The powerful incense filled his nostrils and he began coughing.

It was a beautiful creature. Stark black streaks trailed through its vibrant, red scales. It hovered unrealistically in the air, flapping occasionally to hold itself aloft.

"Is that...?" Zenithral began, eyes curious. He glanced back to see if his grandfather Arannis was around, worried he might start scolding the two of them.

"A familiar! Yes. Like the one your grandfather has, though much more...obedient." Ilmadia smiled, staring at it. She pointed upwards and with a large flap, the pseudodragon soared upwards, then spiraled down in neat circles, following the trail of her gaze. It nearly slammed into the ground, but pulled up just in time...then back into the air to repeat the process.

Zenithral gasped. "Stop it! You'll hurt it!"

"Oh, nonsense! It'll be fine..."

Zenithral closed his eyes and looked away as it spiraled back to the ground.

*THUD* A whimper.

"Oh, you useless thing!" Ilmadia scolded. "Perhaps I should try an imp next..."

Zenithral ran over to his arrow shaft and knife and scooped up his things.

"Zenithral dear! Where are you off to?" she asked.

"I...I just remembered that Saki wanted me to get from fruit from the marketplace for her. I...I'll be back!"

"Oh...alright. I'll be here!" she said cheerfully.

While waiting in the room, Zenithral finds a number of interesting books on the shelves. They seem to be written in a variety of languages: Giant, Elvish, Sylvan, Undercommon, Infernal, Primordial... One shelf is entirely covered in Dwarvish tomes, with the exception of one slim book written in Elvish. As he examines the small journal, Zenithral recognizes the handwriting of Evayne, Larrel's daughter. The other Dwarvish books are are full of sketches and diagrams, but beyond that he cannot understand the language.