White Halls

Myllandra folds her gauntleted hands in front of her. "You tried bravely, heroes. But -"

Her companion cuts in. This angel is far taller, and his golden armor gleams imperiously. "The Pretender succeeded in destroying Jerrod's Stone, and Arakon's rift to the Abyss is open once more. Even now it spews forth a horde of demons into the Prime Material Plane." He clenches a plated fist at the party. "This is a disaster! How could you let this happen?"

Alalla grits her teeth and wills calm upon herself, so that when she opens her mouth she doesn't simply cuss out the presumed angel. She has had little interaction with celestial beings, and while she doesn't believe Belhifet has an accurate view on the world, she's beginning to see where he's coming from a little more.

She puts a hand on her hip and looks at him flatly. "Well we certainly can't do much to close it from... wherever this is. Why are we here? If I'm not dead I'd like to get back to work."

"This could be a trick," Zenithral remarks to the group, trying to ignore Myllandra and Thaistius. "An illusion in our minds by Belfiet or Creshenebon."

(Zenithral casts Calm Emotions on the party, in case this is a charm effect.)

111 / 111 HP
AC 17

Myllandra does not flinch at the interruption. "Peace, Thaistius. There are more pieces yet in play."

"Peace? This is already a phase three abyssal incursion." Thaistius' armor begins to glow as if heated, warping the air around him. "It will take years just to clean its taint from the plane. When Juiblex or another demon prince walks through that rift, the damage may be irreversible!"

His helmeted head focuses on Alalla. "I would just as soon not have you walk these sacred halls, tiefling."

Thaistius' tirade is brought to a halt when a stream of light enters through the nearest window and coalesces into a third angel. This one's hooded gaze locks with Thaistius, and the two stand in silence, most likely sharing some private telepathic communication.

Myllandra takes advantage of the gap to address Zenithral. "This is no trick, child. Until now I have been able to offer you only the most circumstantial aid. With the portal open, however, the stakes have changed. I pulled you and your companions here to safety."

Her cowl turns to Alalla. "Daughter of Torm." The title is given with far more respect than Thaistius' scathing comment moments earlier. "You will have your chance to enter the conflict once more, but with conditions as they are you need to be able to make informed decisions."

The angel gestures to a window, and suddenly the sounds of distant battle are heard emanating from it, along with the familiar howl of Icewind Dale's wind. There is enough room at the sill for each of the companions to stand side by side and look out on the battle below as if from a view several hundred feet high.

Easthaven is unrecognizable. Charred wood and fires mark where wooden buildings used to stand. The Temple of Tempus is now entirely destroyed and in its place is a crater, at the center of which is a bubbling black pool. Even as the party watches, scores of misshapen creatures surge out of the pool, an unending deluge of demons.

Fashioned, spawned, twisted, warped, each demon shows signs of abyssal corruption. Some are blobs of flesh with hungry, gaping mouths. Others are small, ugly fiends dripping with cankers and sores. Some take flight on bloated insect or vulture wings. There are larger forms that scramble among the masses as well, brutes with canine faces and enormous pincers. For all their physical differences, there are two traits shared by every single one of the demons below: bloodlust and rage.

Easthaven's defenders - orcs, men, and zombies - stand in ranks to bottle and contain the monstrous tide, but the fight is savage and bloody. There are points of light in the darkness, however. Lord Ulbrec directs reserves to shore up weak points in the army's wall, while Isherwood leads militia archers in tactical volleys against flying enemies. Tansia, Saki, Natalie, and the Tempus priests organize aid for the wounded, pulling back orcs and men who fall to demonic claws and teeth.

The undead stand with unflagging strength, caring not for their own wounds or the horror of battle against otherworldly foes. Maverick stands on the shoulders of one particularly large zombie, a cold glare on his face. His horned crown glows with unholy light as he strengthens his own monstrous horde, animating more corpses on the battlefield to join the fight.

Jhonen stands on the front line, his ancestor's sword alight with radiant flame. Demons fall with every stroke, and when they muster too much strength in any one place he blasts them with magic.

As the party watches, a large fiend emerges from the black pool begins to gather lesser demons to its side, leading them wide around the edges of the defenders' line -

- and is cut off by a trio that steps out of the ruins nearby. A huge orog in plate armor cuts down the lead demon with a shining slash of his great axe. At his side, an elf with sword and shield moves with blurred speed to head off several other demons. A second elf's bow hums in rapid succession as it picks off stragglers. And then a second army of orcs joins the fight, strengthening the defenders' line. The rest of the Cagebreakers have arrived, with Erevain, Keggruk, and Arannis leading them.

As valiant as the defenders are, however, the companions know that it will not be enough. With an endless torrent of demons bubbling up through the rift... And more powerful demons are beginning to arrive.

The third angel departs in a flash of light, and Thaistius steps forward with a clack of metal boots, wings rippling behind him. "Your armies will lose, and this will turn into a full-scale invasion. We need to Scourge the region."

Alalla's eyes burn- literally, with Zariel's fire- as she takes in the scene. Myllandra's efforts cooled her somewhat, but she is angrier than she has been since Gruumsh's taint was replaced with another. So close. They came so close with only circumstantial aid and now they have been taken from the fight to be spat upon.

"Taint? What do you know of taint? I have it in my blood, because you allowed it." She jabs a finger at the angel. "I don't buy Belhifet's tirades, and I choose to believe there are reasons beyond cowardice that you just sit up here and peer down at us, but I will not have the blood of all those who fight mocked by an observer! We have died and will continue to die in this conflict. Do you know what that feels like? Because I do."

Zenithral bites his lip, trying to not let his mind wander too far. "Scourge...Do you mean to destroy everything and everyone there? Might there be a way to seal the portal again as Jerrod did?"

Alalla reins herself in, quenching the flame in her eyes. "I believe it only required one body to seal the rift. Let me be done with it. Or would you like to stuff it with your self-righteousness, Thaistius?"

"Sacrilege." Thaistius' voice reverberates through his helmet. "You know not to whom you speak, mortal. It is not your place to know my righteous accomplishments, but if it were, you would have no doubts as to my -"

"Enough." This time it is Myllandra who interrupts, with a quiet but firm interjection. "You demean yourself in this argument, Thaistius. We have much to do, and little time to do it."

Thaistius stands silent for a long moment, helmet motionless. Then he speaks in a slightly calmer voice. "Jerrod sealed the portal with his body - a temporary solution, and one that is now exploited. The only way to ensure that the rift is closed permanently is to Scourge it from the plane." The finality of his statement leaves no doubt as to the fate of anyone caught in the vicinity of this 'Scourge'.

"But we have little choice." His armor superheats again, raising curls of steam from his shoulders. "Not only could a demon prince be drawn through the portal, but its mere existence is shaping events elsewhere. According to reports, the infernal legions of Avernus have just struck out on a major offensive against the Abyss." He gestures to the window and battle outside. "With the attention of so many demons drawn here, the Fallen One's forces are cutting a wide swathe through select layers of the Abyss with hardly the resistance they would expect otherwise. She must have known Belhifet's plan all along to have mobilized so quickly."

"This power play of Belhifet's is already effecting drastic consequences for the Blood War." Myllandra shakes her hooded head. "How many schemes within schemes does the Pretender have spinning at once?"

"That fiend will receive his due!" Thaistius' armor pulses once more as if in agreement. "But surely you see that mortal efforts can only amount weakness and folly. The clergy of Tempus even created an order to guard the tomb, and they failed. This proves that the portal's security can no longer be guaranteed by mortals - and should never have been in the first place..."

While Thaistius goes on to wax poetic on the subject of mortals and their flaws, Myllandra stands quietly. But the party hears a small nudge in their thoughts. 'They failed... this proves.' Should any of the Order of the Broken Blade seal the portal closed, it would negate my companion's argument. The North need not feel the Scourge if it can prove capable of fixing this situation.

Alalla takes Myllandra's scolding as though it had been addressed to her. She clamps her jaw shut. She is being childish. There is much to be done. She is strong enough to put aside the abuse.

She turns her back on the windows so she can put Erevain and the others from her mind. She taps her glaive gently on the ground as she works through the possibilities.

"How much land will be affected by this Scourge?"

Myllandra's voice is calm. "All of Icewind Dale, including the Ten Towns. A portion of the Spine of the World may also be affected, as well as the Reghed Glacier."

Alalla nods. She ruffles her dreadlocks and sighs. So many bad options.

"Perhaps a compromise? Let us seal the portal as Jerrod did, and set a date for a Scourge in the future. Our armies will handle the demons that have already come, and after that we will evacuate Icewind Dale in preparation for the Scourge to destroy the portal for good."

Though healed, Ug is still exhausted. Exhausted of the fighting, exhausted of the dying, and exhausted of this Angel after only a few minutes. After viewing the window he turns on these Angels
"so while friends of Ug have died, Angels have watched? And done nothing?!" Ug rises to his full height, not caring for the repercussions. "and now angels wish to kill friends? Friends who have done more than you? Friends who have lost their souls today?!"

"Cowards" he hisses disgustedly.

Myllandra draws herself up to her own considerable height. She locks stares with Ug, though he can see nothing beneath her hood. "We did not do 'nothing'. We sent Zenithral. And through him aided all of you." Her tone is patient but firm. "It is not our way to interfere directly, not until things are proven to be out of hand. Not until there is no other recourse."

She turns to Thaistius. "And we might still not be needed. These have proven their worth a dozen times over in their journeys together. Let them try again."

Thaistius crosses his arms as he considers. "We cannot give you much time. Should Demogorgon or Baphomet cross through..." He looks at Myllandra again, then finally nods. He points a metal finger at the group. "You have half an hour, by Prime Reckoning. If the portal is not closed by then, I will have no choice but to begin the Scourge. You had best not be there when it begins. For your sakes."

The thought of being in the Scourge when it begins sends a shiver down the old dwarf's neck. "Surely we will succeed, we have much to live for, but if it is possible, are you able to restore our magical abilities before we return? We would certainly be grateful."

"Thank you, Thaistius."

Myllandra's shoulders move in the slightest of sighs and she turns to the party. "A half hour is enough time, so long as you plan well what you must do."

After hearing Reòthadh's request, she claps her gauntlets together, sending a strange ripple through the air and floor. "Time flows differently here, and so you will find some measure of rest.""You have some time to discuss your plans. When you are ready, I will -"

"By the Hebdomad! How did that get here?" Thaistius holds out his hand and an ornate greatsword forms from sunlight.

Steam and smoke rises from the tiny goblins clothes, his cloth armor smoldering slightly. Excited at seeing his friends, he addresses the angel’s inquiry as eloquently as a goblin can manage.

"Fear not, me Dok, me am most humble of weenoogies. Me come for friends, me stay for fun."

Ug abandons his anger for a moment and rushes his old friend. Picking the goblin up, Ug lifts him to sit on his shoulders and turns beaming to the group.

"Most powerful wizard Dok friend is back!!!" at the confused look on the angels faces he gestures up with his thum at his little friend. Dok is powerful Weenog! Ug is his friend peeweenog!" Ug then sniffs the goblin apparently looking for something.

"does Dok friend have any magic books for Ug to eat?"

Everard reaches out a trembling hand to touch one of the white walls. "I... am not sure what happened. The magic of my prison cell failed when the walls rumbled, and then I made it to one of the mirrors. I passed through and came to another crystal room... but I don't think it was in the same tower, given the view outside."

He looks up at the goblin on Ug's shoulder. "I was quite thoroughly lost, until this I found this odd goblin with his hand in a jar. Before I knew what was happening, he wiped whatever was in the jar all over me, and then sneezed. And... here we are... But where is 'here'?"

The old priest limps over to the window. "By Tempus... The fiend succeeded in opening the portal! Then the legends were true all along..."

"Watch your language, Thaistius," Zenithral says with a straight face, trying to hide a smirk. "Our friend has brought us a member of the Order of the Broken Blade."

Zenithral listens to Everard's ramblings. "Ah, so the two Crystal Towers were linked..." he muses. He turns to address Dok and Everard. "Glad you could join us, Dok. Everard. Meet Thaistius and Myllandra."

Dok’s grin grows in size as he sees Ug, spanning the majority of his face. The weenog happily takes his seat on Ug’s shoulders pulling out his spellbook and thumbing through the pages, ripping one from the book and shredding it into eight roughly proportionate pieces.

"Me has plenty book for everyone!"

Handing Ug the first piece, he directs him to everyone else in the party, insisting until they also consume the paper, once all the pieces are gone the mischievous goblin smiles contently to himself. Quietly at first, and then increasing in volume, those that consumed the magic parchment find their thoughts are not their own. "Mehold! Power of Nooginspeak!"

Dok casts telepathic bond.

"What is to happen to the wilderness and wildlife should it all be purged? Would you wreak the same destruction you seek to prevent?"

As the strange goblin forces the elderly dwarf to consume the chewed up paper, he sputters and coughs at the taste. How could parchment taste so foul?

Thaistius scoffs. "You cannot be seri- Wait. Stop! Why would you put that in your..." The angel turns to Myllandra. "You trust these people?"

Myllandra nods. "They killed a marilith with scarcely any training, and have faced the Pretender on several occasions. That one," she gestures to Alalla, "visited Avernus once in the middle of the most recent clash between Demogorgon and the Fallen One. As you can see, she is still in one piece, and now is a paladin of Torm."

The angel inclines her head toward each of the companions in turn. "Rastix currently holds the status of archdruid and wields the Hearstone Gem, though it is his own heart that is his greatest strength. Ug, who champions the sacred duty of motherhood, has felled many giants. He also bore Crenshinibon himself for some time, though he likely does not remember much of that part.

"Vincent," she eyes the eldritch warrior carefully, "is a servant of neither devil nor angel nor god. He is one of the few given direction by the Lady of Pain." Thaistius flinches at that particular revelation.

"In Reòthadh's blood runs sorcerous power, granting him arcane might comparable to the giant lords of ages past. He once wrestled an ancient dragon and won."

"Zenithral..." Myllandra's voice softens as she looks on the white-haired archer. "He is an aasimar of Ilmater and my ward. He has risen to every challenge in spite of doubts and fears. He will not let the Pretender succeed."

"Halla, Dok, and... Ilmadia... are each powerful in their own right, and are just a few of the mighty allies who support these heroes." Myllandra nods definitively. "This group can handle the task before them."

Halla steps forward, hands holding her skirts in a white-knuckled grip. "'Tis no time for flowery speech! Answer the dwarf's question plainly. What exactly will this cataclysmic Scourge do to the North?" She shows no fear or awe in the presence of these powerful celestial beings. "Ras is not the only archdruid present. Ruin my home, and I may ruin yours."

Ilmadia, who has kept to herself for most of this, steps forward. She straightens shoulders that have become hunched, and lifts a head that has become downturned. She faces Myllandra and gives a slight bow.

"Thank you for taking care of my son all these years," she says, straightening regally. At least, that's what Zenithral hears her say, in the language he has known all his life but only recently come to understand how he knew.

"I know you care for him a great deal," Ilmadia continues, abandoning the Celestial for Common. "It must bother you to only be able to offer 'coincidental aid.' You said I am powerful, but I am not. Not anymore. So we are similar. I am weak and your hands are tied. There's nothing we can do. It's incredibly frustrating. But things don't have to be that way. Make me your agent and give me a portion of your power, and I will take care of Zenithral and his friends."

She adjusts her shield casually. "You know I am very good at what I do."

Alalla tucks the paper into a belt pouch when Dok isn't looking. Dok is helpful and best and harmless at worst, but ingesting whatever weirdness is handed to you by strange creatures is typically unwise. The blood hunters are proof enough of that, and her own heart a bitter reminder as well.

"Please, Halla," Alalla pleads. "Is Kuldahar the tree more important than Kuldahar the people? It is definitely not more important than this whole plane. Thaistius is not wrong about the demon lords. Demagorgon is... he's..." She puts a hand to her head with a grimace and nearly sways as recalling the abomination brings her close to her prior madness.

"Trust me," Al insists instead of trying to describe her experience. She attempts to impress her seriousness upon Reothadh and Halla as she looks between them. "Turning Icewind Dale and the Kuldahar tree and the Spine to ash is worth preventing him from touching the plane. It's a heavy price, but worth paying if we can save the rest of Faerun's land, and this land's people."

Ras's joy at seeing his old friends dwindles quickly as Dok hands him the torn parchment. Ras crumples the smelly paper into a ball and pretends to put it in his mouth, his jaw making exagerrated chewing motions. He smiles at Dok and nods.

Then he returns to hiding behind Ug. He knows very little of what these people are speaking about. He is just a gnome. Why do they expect so much from him?

"She is an...aasimar as well, I believe," Zenithral says to Myllandra. "She has...broken wings," he explains. "Is there a way to heal her while in these halls?"

Ilmadia stiffens, eyes glinting. Others might think it simply anger, but it looks more conflicted than that to Zenithral.

"Don't trouble her about that, my dear. I am sure she is already well aware. Besides, Ilmater rarely heals. He prefers to pass ailments around. Will you trade your wings for mine?" Ilmadia pauses, seeming to regret the question as she realizes who she has posed it to.

"I don't need wings," she continues, too quickly for Zenithral to answer. "I am accustomed to being seen as broken." She shakes the bitterness from her voice and looks at Myllandra once more. "What I need is power and authority. And you need an agent. Or will you let your ward enter this conflict once more without your aid?"

Vincent silently watches the conversation flow back and forth. A silent glowering observer off to the side. Holding the scrap of dripping parchment in his fingers Why was it wet? Vincent waits to see if the others eat it or not. Seeing both responses, Vincent just sort of freezes. Wanting to be included, but obviously wary, Vincent remains undecided and awkwardly holds the paper out in front of him.

Upon seeing the hesitation of some, the little goblin approaches Vincent.

"No be ‘fraid, Ug me-tell you has Nooginspeak already, you eat and make more powerful for hour."

Cringing, Vincent slowly and reluctantly eats the scrap of parchment.

Mentally talking with Dok, Vincent says, "More powerful how? I don't feel any different."

Halla turns sharply to Alalla. "Yes. Yes, it is! People come and go, but the Great Oak was planted and nurtured by Silvanus himself. It is more than a big tree. It is a living thing with its own soul. It..." She struggles to form the right words. "'Tis a wise being who shelters those under its boughs. We cannot simply abandon it - I cannot abandon it."

Her eyes flash a dangerous yellow. "I will not."

Myllandra meets Ilmadia's gaze levelly. "Your life has been an unfortunate one, Ilmadia. But you are not the one to blame for your predicament." She gestures around the group to the white halls and shining windows. "This is a place of purity and justice and goodness... but the simple truth is that sometimes mistakes are made. Just as I am assigned to Zenithral to be his guide, there was an angel assigned to you. She was to help you find your purpose and give you counsel. She..." The angel glances at Thaistius before returning to Ilmadia. "She fell. Her name was struck from our records - and because she was assigned to you, yours was as well."

The angel shakes her head sorrowfully. "We are not supposed to disobey. We are better than that. Or so we like to think... So when an angel shirks their duty, the heavens shake. Your guide took your name and your assignment with her, and we have been unable to take it back or restore it. As a result, you have grown up in this world with a part of you missing, and with us unable to reach out to you. The purpose for which Ilmater sent you to this world was lost and broken, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone, with no way of knowing what you were searching for.

Because of the nature of the bond between guide and aasimar, Ilmater was unable to reach out to you himself to relieve your suffering." She rests a hand on Zenithral's shoulder. "And so he made arrangements for your son to be the one to help you. From birth Zenithral was set on the path to make up for the wrongs that were dealt to you, and to bring you back into the light. He freed you from your incurred debts and turned you away from dark paths." She looks fondly at the archer. "Perhaps together you may find a way to restore the rest of what you are meant to be, Ilmadia. Though that will not happen here or now."

Myllandra raises her gauntleted hands to her face. "But what I can do for you, I will. However unorthodox the method may be."

She pulls back her cowl.

Her features are indescribable, but radiate truth, might, and wisdom. Her hands are bare and white, but marked by angry red burns that coil around her palms like a cord. Even Thaistius bows his head reverently at the sight. "Zenithral knows me as Myllandra, but my true title is Al-Dimeneira. Long ago I was present when seven liches bound their souls together to create the artifact now known as Crenshinibon. I seized the crystal shard to destroy it, and it burnt my hands. Unable to harm it, and with evil forces closing in, I was forced to hurl it across the planes, where it has caused trouble for millennia.

Swear to help me destroy Crenshinibon, and the Pretender who wields it, and I will be your patron and grant you the power you seek."

Even Halla pauses in her tirade to watch the celestials in awe.

Ilmadia listens to Myllandra with an unreadable expression. Only when the angel directs her to her son does her face soften to love. Love, mixed with pain and sorrow.

When Myllandra removes her cowl and offers her help, Ilmadia stares, her face completely blank in her surprise.

Then she laughs in disbelief. "Zariel. My... guide... was meant to be Zariel, wasn't it? And her devils 'guided' me instead. Incredible."

The shock of the revelations pass, and Ilmadia regains her composure. She bows her head. "I swear."

Ug chews aggressively at the wad of paper in his mouth, while definitely not Mother’s cooking it wasn’t that bad. Ug might have to get some of the lint together dom dok’s pockets and figure out the ingredients for future recipes. Ug then tries to clear his mind from the ramblings of those around him and focusses his accrue senses.

alright, he thinks, what is mighty doks plan to save friends!? How can weeweenug help?

Zenithral casts prestidigitation on his and Halla's parchments, cleaning and flavoring them before popping his into his mouth.

With Myllandra's explanation, everything suddenly made sense. He now felt even more love and compassion for his mother, now better understanding the breadth of her memories that he experienced.

Zenithral steps closer to Halla and pulls an arm around her. "Thank you for never giving up on me," he whispers.

Vincent quickly learns that he can hear the thoughts of his companions without initiating the conversation as Ug interrupts his question to Dok.

"Nooginspeak work any distance, me want us prepare fight like weenoogies. Me alway has plan Ug. Plan be not lose fight. We smarter than Pokeyfiend. And me has plenty magic for everyone snack on."

Dok raises up his ragged spellbook: pages torn out, corners and edges chewed to a pulp, and cover powdered with the contents of various spell components in the shape of small handprints.

"Mock gonna be angry me no bring him here."

"Then what do you propose we do? What's your long-term plan, Halla? Belhifet and his like have literally forever to plot and come for this portal again. The tree will only be in danger again, along with everyone else. Even if the guardians of Kuldahar and the portal are valiant and successful, there will be a price in blood. There is always a price in blood. You know that."

Alalla thumps her glaive in irritation. "I'm not abandoning the tree. I'm choosing to potentially -we're not even sure how wide the Scourge is- spend its life to save others now and hundreds of years from now. I think that the wise being might understand what's at stake here. I think that the being that shelters might understand that we're trying to protect many, many others by doing this. Kuldahar can't be Sylvanus' only wonder. Would you risk them all for one?"

She shakes her head. "But by all means," she says wearily. "I am not a tactician. If you do have a better plan than mine and than threatening a being who could punt you back to the material plane, then..." She gestures towards Thaistius and then drops her hand and gapes as Myllandra begins to remove her cowl.

Myllandra lays a white finger on Ilmadia's forehead, marking her with an angelic symbol. "I believe that the warlock pact usually manifests in something unique."

The angel whistles a note, clear and pure, and the sound of hooves echoes down the endless hall. A white horse comes into view galloping toward the group. No, not a horse - a unicorn. The majestic creature approaches, but oddly does not appear larger as it draws near. By the time it arrives next to Ilmadia, it seems to only be the size of a cat, though it is no less awe-inspiring. Its hooves shine as it takes to the air, prances in circles about Ilmadia's head and shoulders.

"This is Aluvar. He will serve as the symbol of our pact, as well as our liaison. I trust that he will be better to you than your last familiar, and that you will treat him the respect he deserves."

Myllandra raises her cowl once more. "Time moves differently here, but there is still much to be about. How do you all plan to close the portal?"

Halla's lip curls in a feral snarl and she steps forward and cranes her neck to look Alalla in the eye. Zenithral's gentle arm brings her back, however. She sighs and touches his face, then takes a deep breath. "We can worry about the Scourge later. Speaking of sacrifice, we have a priest here. Well, Everard? Are you ready to live up to your Order's duty?" Her eyes show no apology for the blunt question.

Zenithral winces at Halla's directness, but what else were they supposed to do? If he held the power to save so many, it only made sense.

But tactics...Zenithral narrows his eyes, deep in thought as he tries to assess and think through the situation. What did they know of the demons there? How could they fend them off long enough to seal the portal?

Everard seems to ignore Halla's question. He stands at the windowsill, eyes wet as he looks on Easthaven's sad remains. Broken houses, boats. The Temple of Tempus simply gone. For how many decades had he kept his vigil there, guarding the tomb of a man centuries gone? "I thought that Jerrod was weak, that he threw his life away. I thought he broke and killed himself out of fear..."

The priest shifts his weight slightly and nearly falls, but his aged hands hold him firm on the sill. A bitter, wondering smile lightly crosses his face. "The old dwarf was right. He was right all along."

Everard releases the windowsill and carefully stands straight, his old military habits fighting through his pain. He turns to the party. "I will do it. With Tempus' blessing, I will do it. Get me to the portal."

Ilmadia's stern expression as the deal is completed is broken by Aluvar's arrival. She claps her hands with delight and reaches out to scratch the tiny unicorn's ears.

"Oh you handsome, you!"

Alalla reacts to Halla's hackles with a dead stare. She doesn't have the time or energy for her posturing, even if it's only a natural part of her communication that Al doesn't mind usually. She is grateful when Zenithral cools her.

Al nods solemnly as she replies to Everard. "If that's what you want, then we'll help you see it done. I'm sorry I left you in the tower," she adds softly. "In case you didn't know, Belhifet got the door open another way. You aren't to blame for him reaching the portal."

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Al gets back to business. "Can't you drop us where you took us from?" she asks Myllandra. "Closing the portal from then should be easy."

She turns to Thaistius. "After the portal is closed we will need time to tell everyone about the Scourge, and for them to gather provisions and travel. We'll need at least one year."

Myllandra shakes her head. "Returning you to the same place that I took you would risk tearing open a larger rift, or perhaps opening a new one to some other plane. But I can place you near your allies currently on the field of battle."

Thaistius folds his armored arms over his broad chest. "We will discuss the timing after you have dealt with this threat. There is little use wasting time or energy on this point at the moment."

There is if you're worried someone is going to wiggle out of it, Alalla thinks, but she nods. "Alright then. Do your best, Myllandra and we'll do ours. Back to work, everybody."

Before they can be transported away, Ilmadia takes Zenithral's hand. She gives Halla at his side a hesitant, almost embarrassed look before speaking. "Do me a favour, dear, and don't tell your grandparents about this... aasimar business."

Seeing all his friends eat the paper, even if unwillingly, makes Ras sigh. He puts the paper in his mouth and tries to think about happy things as he chews: flowering plants, Oswald's prattering, the clean smell of the mountains, spending time with Aeri...

"Understood," Zenithral replies to Ilmadia with a slow nod. "Though think Saki would be overjoyed to know you, too, were chosen of Ilmater. From your own lips would be best, of course, however."

For anyone who hasn't eaten the paper, Zenithral cleans and flavors theirs, explaining it's nature as a spell component.

Ilmadia gives a small, bitter laugh. "Yes. I am sure Mother would love to hear that I am, in fact, broken, and would be quite eager to hear she can finally fix me. Let's not give her the false hope."

Zenithral opens his mouth to retort, but shuts it and purses his lips. Best not to push the point; it was irrelevant at best.

He had definitely become a different man, Zenithral thought. His former self would have made a sardonic remark.

"Near our allies you say," Zenithral says, switching topics. "Excellent. With demons swarming the place we'll need to clear the way. Do any of you have spells that could get back to the temple and spells to help clear the hoards?"