Dénouement

Zenithral wipes his eyes and looks to each of his companions, and his mother, with relief and joy.

He steps over to Halla and embraces her and heaves a shuddering sigh. "I'm sorry to have nearly died on you so many times..." He grabs her shoulders, leans back, and grins. "Radiant wings began this journey for us, and now radiant wings shall end it. After we get this cleaned up, I think it's time for a well-deserved honeymoon." His grin fades as he ponders over what they still have left to do, then inhales deeply and peacefully, embracing the frigid air.

He'd asks Ras for help with the Heartstone Gem locating Harmony and Lance. He wasn't confident that would work, but it was worth a try. They were smart and strong children. They would find their way through life, whether that was back with him and Halla for a time, or in service of some other purpose right away.

Then he would ask Dok for help to find Malavon's sister...whose name escaped him...at any rate, a sending would be sufficient to know if she was trapped once again in the demiplane. If she was, Dok could probably help get her out. Somehow he managed to shift into the White Halls. Surely he'd have a way to get into the demiplane of a dead wizard. Drow or not, she saved his life, and he would do the same.

Then he and Halla would have some respite together. After the funerals and burials...and tending to the Great Oak...and probably a few more things he couldn't remember at the moment.

Zenithral didn't want to admit it, but he had come to love this "frozen hellscape", as he once called it. He chuckles, realizing how accurate that description came to be. Still, it was time for someplace...warmer. He and Halla needed to get their hands on Orrick's helm of teleportation...

Ras's little body is in shock. It's over. It's really over. He suddenly feels old. Older even than Uncle Oswald always appeared to him.

The tears that come to his eyes have nothing, and everything, to do with Uncle Oswald. Maybe now he can mourn. Maybe now he can rest. Maybe now he can find a way to come to peace with the decisions he has had to make.

Thinking of Oswald suddenly makes his heart stop, just for a moment. He can't rest yet. He can't mourn yet. It is the end of this fight, but he has one more mission to fulfill before he can start his search for peace.

There is one name that rings through his head, wrapped in an booming laugh. Someone he must talk to before he can consider this finished. There are more tears now, but he will save them for someone that he knows will understand.

Nancy.

A bell rings as the door to the barrelwright's store opens. In strides Vincent carrying a very battered barrel.

Catching the eyes of the very average looking half-dwarf woman covered in wood shavings, Vincent struggles to contain his aggressive aura. "Hello beautiful, I find myself with an excessive amount of free time on my hands. I was hoping you would teach me how to fix this barrel with my own hands. I have grown fond of it. In exchange I'll happily help out around the store as needed."

To prove himself, Vincent waves his hand and prestidigitates the lady clean. Smiling wolfishly, she agrees. "I'm sure we can work something out."

As days go by, refugees and travelers are able to frequent The Nancy, a makeshift tavern built up by a handful of rugged battle worn but likable ruffians. Inside it’s doors musicians singing songs in tribute to the fallen, a harry bartender who growls occasionally, and an owner who gives discounts to anyone who is lost or missing family members. Memorabilia aligns the walls including a tattered loincloth and a family heirloom pendant that no longer has family to pass it on. One could also hear animated stories from a rambunctious youth . . .

"And this one time I tricked this giant into attacking another one and he fell for it and so I did it again and that gave Ug time to run and speaking of Ug he also helped me when I was dying, Actually Dying! The old priest man that smelled weird was trying to help Ug but Ug shouted at him to help me instead, and he said this spell and was able to move again but still hurt a lot. That’s Ugs loincloth up there see, he’s had lots of those, and be grateful for it because the first time I saw him . . . "

As Jermsy takes a hold of the loincloth a small corked bottle falls out and rolls at his feet. Picking it up he can see a small label on its side with the words "hunters bane" scrawled awkwardly on it. Jermsy smiles "well this could be interesting" and raises a toast to Ug and all those who sacrificed for good of others.

Alalla sheaths her sword with hesitation. "It's done? No devils, no demons, no Scourge?" And she lives. She looks at Erevain and grips his hand tightly. He lives. Two things she didn't believe would be true by the end of this.

She lets out a howl, a whoop of joy that carries over the wind and announces their victory to those that remain. Other orcs take up the cry, and a sound that usually spreads fear instead spreads the news that the danger is past.

Teeth bared in a rare open grin, Alalla smiles at her companions and friends, sharing relief and joy at seeing the end of their quest. Her grin fades as her eyes fall on the sealed portal. She releases Erevain and walks to it.

"Look at that, Ug," she murmurs softly. "You finally got to be a hero." She nods with respect, then retreats. Celebrating done, Alalla sets her glaive into the snow firmly. There are wounded to hunt down and care for, dead to bury, much to rebuild. There is still work to be done to make Ug's sacrifice worthwhile.

...


"You want me to teach masonry to who? An orc tribe you say?" Mardin scratches his beard and puts his stonemason's tools down on his long table, using them to keep the plans for the large building behind him secure. "In the North?"

"Yes," the cloaked woman confirms. "We are seeking teachers of a number of trades. They will be raiders no more."

Mardin grunts. "Sounds like you're asking me to come freeze to death and join their larder. If they can wait that long to dig into me!" He jiggles his bulbous stomach at the two strangers.

So odd. The tall, dark, probably human woman contrasted the short elvish man starkly, adding to the strangeness of their request. Well. Mardin supposes he must be tall for an elf. Still. Why did the two of them care for orcs?

"I am Lady Alalla Cagebreaker, Paladin of Torm and Chieftess of the Cagebreaker tribe. I swear by Torm that we mean you no harm, and that should anything happen, I will defend you with my life."

Marduk blinks at that. So incongruous. A human paladin of Torm, Chieftess of orcs? He heard her right over the clamour of building behind him, right? She seems dead serious.

The golden-haired elf puts a hand on the woman's arm and steps forward, his warm smile dampening the woman's seriousness. "You will be well compensated, of course." He produces a heavy bag with a flourish and opens it for Mardin to see.

All gold coins, and gems of every kind Mardin can name, as well as a few more besides. He licks his lips. "Where did you...?"

"An evil dragon's hoard," the elf replies with a wink. "We had to hunt it down twice. Quite the story, if you care to hear it."

Well, he does like stories. And money. Mardin licks his lips again. "Perhaps we can discuss the details over some drinks, if you promise to tell that story. And buy."

The elf smiles reassuringly at the woman, though why, he isn't sure. She looks as concerned as a brick. "Of course. Should we return come finishing time?"

"No, no," Mardin says hastily as the heavy purse disappears beneath the elf's cloak. "It's nearly time already, and these lads don't need me every minute." Mardin turns and hollers at one of his men, who scrambles down from the scaffolding above.

"Yes, sir?"

"You're in charge for the rest of the day. I'm off to talk business with these fine folks." Mardin picks up his coat and puts it over his arm. "Come," he says to the pair. "I know a good tavern this way.

Say..." He looks up at the dark woman. "You're a paladin, is that right? Sworn to Torm? I heard paladins always wear plate armour as shiny as anything and are always armed. Especially paladins of gods like Torm. Always."

The woman grunts. "Well the weapon is one thing." She looks to the elf, her beaded dreadlocks clacking gently. A golden glaive appears instantly in his hand, then disappears and reappears in the woman's hand just as quickly. "It's shiny, if that helps." Her tone is dry. A joke? "But I'm afraid my plate doesn't fit at the moment." She parts her cloak.

Dry-mouthed and gaping as he is at the sudden appearance of such a large and spectacular-and deadly- weapon, Mardin almost misses the large swell of the woman's belly before she lets her cloak fall back into place as they walk. The elf smiles proudly.

Huh. Well. More drink for him. And maybe an awful lot of gold. Even if there are orcs involved.

.

Halla slips a hand around Zenithral’s waist. "‘Tis strange to think… not only are the gods real, but they care. About us." She leans her head on his shoulder as her hand reaches for the oak leaf pendant around her neck. "They care so much. I am… grateful to them. Silvanus. Ilmater. Torm. Even Lathander!"

She releases Zenithral and picks through Easthaven’s rubble until she finds the shrine that Father Tulfgyr built so many months ago. With careful, reverent motions she puts stones back in place, topped by a piece of driftwood bleached by sun and charred by fire. A murmured spell restores the faded wood and painted symbol of a rising sun. "We’re still learning from you, old dwarf."

She rubs her eyes and returns to Zenithral. "So about that honeymoon…"

Maverick speaks to no one at the end. When Jhonen stops to speak with him the gnome turns with a cold, mirthless grin, and Jhonen falls back with a pale grimace. Horned crown on his head, Maverick merely withdraws the dozen zombies that remain and leads them out into the tundra, towards the Spine of the World.

Even Maverick’s strange demeanor cannot dampen Jhonen’s mood for long. He embraces each of the companions in turn, a happy grin splitting his face. "And look at me now! A hero! I would never have done it without all of you. And Father Tulfgyr and Ug and Mav…" He looks over his shoulder to where the gnomish necromancer departed, but then something else catches his attention. A lone elvish woman with sea-green skin and hair stands on the shore of Lac Dinneshere, humming a yearning song. Jhonen blinks, and then his grin gets even wider. "Well. I’m sure I’ll see you all around! It seems there’s a beautiful woman who’d like to speak with me…"

The fisherman-turned-paladin clears his throat and walks down to the shore to join Elisia-of-the-Sky’s-Mirror, who takes his arm. They walk down the lakeshore, both smiling.

Keggruk drops his axe wearily. "Thur’kafaz! I think I have had my fill of battle and blood. For a year at least." His tusked grin makes it hard to say if his words are meant as a joke or not. He raises his large head and looks out at the destroyed fishing village, then bellows out a call. "Cagebreakers! Our work is not over yet! There are wounded who need attention and homes that need rebuilding. Show the Towners what you can do!" And with that the orog wraps his arms around a fallen beam. Another pair of hands lifts the other end, and Keggruk looks up to see Morrugh. The two share a nod, then heave the beam to one side, beginning the arduous task of cleaning up the town.

Of the hundreds of orcs who marched into Easthaven, more than half of them lie as corpses. But those who live… every single one of them follows Keggruk's and Morrugh’s examples and gets to work.

Aeri limps through the crowds of people milling through the ruins of Easthaven. The silver-haired gnome isn’t avoiding anyone she knows. Of course not! But… Well, she’s certainly done her part helping the people here. And Rastix… that dear, handsome gnome. He has that scale still. And if not, there are the half-dozen she slipped into his bags. That should be sign enough for him. Enough to… Aeri shakes her head and continues on her way, slipping out of the throng and heading into the tundra. "You’ll be fine now, Rastix. There are just some things I need to go check on. A girl has responsibilities! And once I see they’re fine, I’ll be back. Probably."

Chaide gestures for the pair of orc warriors to lay their burden down within the medicine tent. "Gently now. Gently!" The human female gasps in pain as she is placed on a blanket, her swollen abdomen wet with sweat and blood. "She’s a tough one! Surviving in this condition with the heat of battle all around... Even Luthic should honor her, orc or not." The orc woman washes and dries her wrinkled hands, noticing the layers of crisscrossing scars covering her green skin, then puts them on the human’s stomach. "Cave Mother, I invoke your ble-" A backlash of pain in her mind forces her to abandon the prayer.

"It would seem that Luthic does not care for the life of either mother or child…" The human woman moans in pain. Chaide looks down helplessly at her powerless hands. "I had hoped that perhaps Luthic would continue to work through me, even after abandoning Gruumsh. But if our old gods will not answer my call, who will? I do not think aiding childbirth is one of Torm’s gifts…" The two orc warriors can only spread their hands, not any more familiar with other gods than she.

"Have you ever tried Ilmater?" Saki kneels beside Chaide, fluent Orcish effortlessly leaving her human tongue. She puts her own hand to the pregnant woman’s stomach. "He is the god of martyrdom, and who is more self-sacrificing than a mother?" She glances at Chaide’s scarred arms. "I think you two would have a lot in common."

--------

Saki straightens with a slight groan as she leaves the medicine tent, the weight of years and busy days catching up to her. "I’m getting too old for this," she says to Arannis, who waits outside. She leans on her husband’s strong arm. "My own gifts notwithstanding, it’s not fair for you to lack even a single wrinkle…"

Arannis shrugs, one of his rare smiles passing his lips as he looks down at his human wife. "You only grow more beautiful by the day, my dear." He gestures to the medicine tent. "You can’t help it, can you? Another one?"

Saki pats his arm. "It’s not me. You know that. The child will live, and I bet that the orcs will take her in. An Ilmatari aasimar raised by orcs! This is the sort of connection that the races need here in the North. Besides, now we know that any aasimar born will have their angelic guide to accompany them. She’ll be fine. More than fine!"

Arannis sighs and walks in step with Saki. His hand taps a certain enchanted arrow in the quiver at his side, the one never fired in the battl. "I don’t think we’re needed anymore, Saki. Zenithral and Ilmadia are safe and will go back to their lives. Perhaps we should just…"

"And miss the great-grandchildren? I think not!"

Natalie sits up, then immediately groans and clutches her side. "How do those heroes do it? Getting arrows and swords and stingers and who knows what else stuck in them all the time? Maybe I’m actually not cut out for the adventuring life…" The battered room is empty of other people, but she carries on the conversation anyway. "Yeah, I know I wanted to be out here with them, but that was really just to keep Jermsy safe. And to help Halla. She does need help, even if she doesn’t like to admit it."

The young woman pokes at her clothes. "And of course I’m happy to have you. I wouldn’t go back on that! It’s nice to have a friend." A green tendril slips out of the neck of her shirt, a small leaf sprouting to stroke Natalie’s face. "Maybe I could have done the whole druid thing properly, but who has that kind of time when the world is ending? Still, maybe Halla will teach me some druidic magic, since obviously I have a knack for plants… thanks to you."