Easthaven

Once Zenithral gets over his initial confusion at the sudden appearance of these two flumphs, a long-lost memory begins to return to him...

Only on very brief occasions has Zenithral met his mother, due to her fanciful nature and spirit of wanderlust. But he remembers one calm afternoon when she came by his grandparents' home, sharing stories of the places she had been and the things she had seen. With excitement in her eyes she had described meeting a creature just like these and how she'd befriended it. Something about... goodness, or positive thinking? Yes, it had definitely been something about thoughts, connecting mentally with the creature, much like letting a dog smell your hand.

As Zenithral considers the strange floating beings, one of them pops out of existence again, sent back to whatever plane it came from. Surely the other one, the one that had used Zenithral's face to flip itself over, does not have much time left for this world either.

The crippled war priest turns away and limps across the hall, disappearing from view. Accalia follows, but not before shooting a glance to the door Father Tulfgyr had left through.

As Father Tulfgyr leaves the Temple of Tempus he feels like a young dwarf again, in spite of his most recent injuries. Though Everard is as bitter and hard-hearted as they come, Tulfgyr feel sure in his heart that the one day Everard will know the truth of Jerrod's Stone.

The flumph manages to fly only a few short feet away from Zenithral before careening dangerously again, and nearly ends up flipped once more. Attempting to gain better control of its flight, it slows down and stabilizes. Then, strangely, it begins glowing with a faint green light. The small, tentacled being pivots in the air and floats back to the half-elf. It hovers a few inches from Zenithral's face and makes a sort of burbling sigh, warbling from high to low and then back up again repeatedly.

In his mind, Zenithral's mental image of his mother starts to blur - at first gently and then more insistently. Suddenly the memory vanishes entirely from his mind and leaves him feeling shockingly empty. Had the thing stolen and devoured a precious, half-remembered memory of his mother?

Zenithral has only a moment for this thought to cross his mind, and then the memory returns fully - clearer than ever before, as though he had actually experienced it moments earlier. How had he ever forgotten that day, the way the afternoon sun had shone on her hair, the smell of her perfume?

The flumph - its meal finished and its curiosity satisfied - bobs around Zenithral's head contentedly. It shows no sign of popping out of existence any time soon.

Ug
When Ug eventually leaves the Winter's Cradle, with a full belly and a full mug (for the road), he notices that nearly the entire town is dark and sleeping, but there is still lamplight shining through the window of Pomab's Emporium.

Maverick
Maverick is preparing for bed when he notices a familiar patch of darkness clinging to one corner of the room's ceiling. As he watches, the shadows grow tendrils that reach out into the light, consuming it and darkening the room further. A whisper breaks the silence, and then another, and another. An increasing cacophony of layered whispers, groans, and screams makes the air shiver, until finally the maddening sound stops, and all that is left is one voice.

"Maverick." The voice is dry and parched as old bone, rasping and brittle. "Maverick. The Vale of Shadows awaits. Why have you not gone there? I promised great power for you, should you seek it out."

Father Tulfgyr
Father Tulfgyr's evening prayers and scripture study are interrupted when an enormous man fully encased in spiked plate armor walks into his room.

"Father Tulfgyr, just the man I wanted to see." Though he speaks calmly, the man's voice rings powerfully in Tulfgyr's ears. "That was quite the performance you put on today in Everard's Temple. It was a riveting battle, up until you walked away." The man, each step causing the wooden floor to shake and rumble, walks over to Tulfgyr's belongings and begins rummaging through them. "Why did you walk away, son?"

Zenithral
Zenithral's dreams are troubled tonight. He sees a dark field full of stars swirling before him, and one by one they draw nearer to him. Each one blurs and shimmers, then coalesces into a distinct image before fading away to once again become a speck of light in the darkness.

The images seem to have nothing in common beyond a fragmented sense of urgency. An ancient oak tree. A black wolf that sits and waits. A robed, headless statue. A dragon skull with an eye socket of terrible depth. A disembodied, spectral hand that claws towards the sky. A pool of frozen water, something dark and indescribable beneath its surface. A furnace glowing red and orange with molten slags of metal. A single shard of crystal that pulsates with white light.

As the last image fades away, Zenithral notices that the field of stars wavers with a ripple, almost like water... suddenly the perspective changes as he realizes he is looking down at the stars from above - no, a *reflection* of stars. He is looking at the surface of a body of water. A lake. Lac Dinneshere?

With this realization comes a flash of motion as he feels himself rushing down and forward to a place just beyond the lake. There is a warm light there... a town - Easthaven! And beyond it, just outside the life essence that is Easthaven, there is... blood on the snow. A lone figure, battered and torn. A message, a warning, a call for help. A raw, trembling sense of need.

Zenithral swoons from the disorienting ordeal until he hears a kind, motherly voice say, "Find her. Help her. This you must do, child." The confusing visions depart, and Zenithral feels himself waking up. Find her!

The darkness seems to ripple as it considers the gnome's words. "Souls?" the voice hisses. "I have tasted hundreds of thousands of souls. One or two more would mean little to me, especially now." After this bitter statement there is a pause, in which Maverick can hear a sigh much like the sound of a death rattle. "Your excuses mean little to me. If you cannot retrieve what I seek, then I shall call on another. But trust me," the voice takes on a slightly softer quality, like black silk drawn across a tombstone, "the reward will be well worth it."

Tempus accepts the jerky and pulls up the visor of his helm, revealing a battle-scarred face with eyes of flame, and takes a bite. He chews the stringy meat thoughtfully for a moment, then turns that fiery gaze on Tulfgyr, who feels as though his soul is laid bare to this aspect of a deity. "And the fact that you were losing that brawl had nothing to do with your decision to shirk the field of battle?"