Chapter X Commercial: BATTLE & FLIGHT

Chapter IX: The Dungeons of Stonehold

shiver of dread passed amongst them, perhaps from the frightened child, or perhaps from the sense of danger they descended down into the darkness of the dungeons. For some, like Aeroth, it was a mixture of uncertainty and a welcome to enclosed spaces once more. For others, such as Wyveryn, it was a descent into claustrophobia. The connection between everyone was keen, stronger than ever, as the sick baby’s heart pumps faster and faster. Protect me, she seemed to plead. Some of them would do so willingly. Others fight the paternal sensation.

The Trickster took them to a bottom of a set of stairs, turned and faced them, his torch lighting the features of his face. He was a handsome man. Still ageless. Still mischievous. The stubble on his pronounced chin never seemed to grow or shorten. It is always the same length. His ears, they noticed, are slightly pointed. That of half-elven descent. Perhaps they'd never noticed that before.

“Well, this is where I disappear into some shadows of my own. You may find this hard to believe, but you are not the only people that need saving tonight. As you go forth, you will not lose your way so long as you keep to the right. Always keep to the right. If you forget, or if you take a wrong turn, I am sure you will have some great stories to tell when all is said and done. Make no mistake, weary travelers, the way beneath the city of Stonehold is a treacherous one. But I guarantee you there is one way in, and one way out.

The tunnels below you lead to an ancient city, that was once said to belong to a beautiful Queen. She and her children perished there, their bones dug up on an archeological dig many years ago. But this Queen was distrustful, and set her hallways full of traps… and treasures. I’ll leave it to you to determine which is what. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, isn’t that what they say?

“So farewell and good luck. As always, I doubt this is the last we shall see of each other. I would say to try to stay out of trouble, but some things fall upon deaf ears.”

He’d left them with torches, but their weapons and belongings were still back somewhere in the Stormhold Fortress. Aeroth grumbled something to himself about his axe. Tic felt naked without his short swords. Banger, who carried the baby upon her back, seemed weary. But down they descended the winding staircase… the deeper they went the more they felt a chill. And an odd wind seemed to pick up, but where it came from, they did not know. There were no windows about. This hardly seemed the likely place for a draft.

When at last they reached the bottom, they came to a small foyer and a pair of hallways, one to the right, and one to the left.

“We go to the right!” Aeroth said stubbornly.

“Why are you so quick to trust a man who’s name is the Trickster?” Asked Wyveryn.

“Because surely if he wanted us dead, we would be dead.” Marco stated matter-of-factly. “He obviously wants or needs something from us, and until he gets it, I don’t believe he means us harm.”

“Depends what you mean by harm,” Wyveryn scoffed. “Dropping us off in a dungeon maze beneath the city of Stonehold with nothing but our rags and some torches. He’s probably having a good laugh upstairs.”

“Much as I enjoy this banter, I don’t plan on standing here all day.” Tic said hastily. “There’s someone right behind us. Do you hear that?”

The group hushed, and indeed, many of them could hear the click, click, click of a heel against the cold stone steps. They were slow and steady, but definitely descending down towards them.

“Maybe it’s the Trickster?” Wolfric wondered.

“Doubt it.” Said Tic.

“What’s that?” Asked Marco, pointing to a piece of parchment paper plastered loosely up against the left wall. It was just far enough out of their eye sight to see clearly, but Marco wondered what it could be. As he moved, Aeroth grabbed his shoulder.

“That, my friend, is to the left. We do not go to the left. I say we leave it.”

“Fine. I’ll go to the right. You all can follow me if you want to.” Wyveryn began to walk towards the right hallway. But Marco pulled out his own mirror and took Wolfric’s goblet to create a sort of magnifying glass. Indeed the parchment had some writing and the drawing of a man on it.

As Wyveryn stepped into the hallway on the right, a rippling sensation was experienced by all, as if the walls, floor, and ceiling had suddenly become water. And then, just like that, the parchment paper was plastered to the wall on the right. Wyveryn blinked his eyes, visibly confused by what had just happened.

There, before him, was an old parchment paper, with the picture of an ageless, handsome man upon it. In big, bold letters at the top was written: WANTED. Then “DEAD OR ALIVE”. And the name… “PETER SKYFE”.



“Peter Skyfe…” Marco whispered curiously under his breath.

“I’ve heard that name before.” Said Aeroth.

“Indeed.” Wolfric muttered in agreement. “But what is he doing down here? What a strange place to put a Wanted Ad.”

“But the even bigger question now is, did the dungeon just shift? Is right now left?” Tic asked.

“We go right.” Said Aeroth. “It’s our best choice. We follow what the Trickster told us.”

Click… click… click… Marco heard the soft footsteps coming from up above. The moved slowly… almost lazily. But they were coming down the winding stairs.

“Someone is coming…” Marco’s words broke through the discussion. “May I suggest we move forward? Hastily?”

It was the first time the party agreed. Under Aeroth’s direction, they went to the tunnel on the right. But Marco stayed behind to see who was following them. In the shadows he would wait, just as Allondra had once taught him. He wondered where she was at this very moment… did she ever think of him anymore? Or was she completely consumed with Okra by now…?

****************************************************

The first door they came to was (thankfully) on the right. No need for discussion there. As always, Aeroth wanted to discuss how to open the door, whereas Wyveryn simply opened it and walked inside, heedless of a dangers before him.

The room was circular, and domed. Large totems of giant faces protruded from the walls. Each appeared to represent a different emotion. And all were about ten feet high, the mouths large enough to be a doorway, the eyes meant to be windows. From left to right they read the inscriptions of the sculptures:

Fear. Happiness. Sadness. Wisdom. Anger.

Instinctually, Aeroth cast a “detect evil”, and sensed four evils in the room. Four evils. Five heads. Only one would be safe to pass through. He muttered a curse under his breath.

“Perhaps we should try Anger? Since it is, after all, the one on the right?” Wolfric put in.

“And if we’re wrong?” Tic asked.
“There’s only one way to find out!” And with that, Wyveryn stepped through the mouth of “Anger”.

“Seems good to me!” He shouted back at them.

Aeroth muttered another curse under his breath, this time even nastier than the first.

************************



Marco, who had been waiting at the bottom of the steps, listened intently as the footsteps grew louder and came closer. His hand gripped his sword, preparing for battle. But then in the next moment, when the person should have come into full sight, the footsteps vanished into nothingness. There was no one there. He felt nothing but a small gust of wind. And where that came from, he had no idea.

Marco was shaken. He didn’t like this place, not one bit. Turning on his heel, he went to join the others.

***********************************

The company was in a hidden tunnel that curved around behind the totem heads. It looked like a thieves room. For whatever went on in the hall could be viewed through the eye windows, or the mouths. Yet something smelled of death in here. It was dark and foreboding, and still that strange gust of wind kept raising the hairs on the back of Wyveryn’s neck.

As they poked and prodded their way about, Wyveryn noticed the first body as he turned the corner. By now, he must be behind happiness totem. Beyond the first body was a second, and then a third, all fully armed with usable weapons. He reached for one.

Aeroth grabbed his arm. “Don’t touch them! I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“It’s just a sword.” Scoffed Wyveryn.

“I don’t know. He may be right.” Tic said cautiously. “He said he detected evil in this place. How do we know..?”

“We don’t know until we act.” Said Wyveryn. The baby let out a small cry as he grabbed the hilt of a short sword.

Instantly he realized his mistake. His hand became icy cold to the touch, the coloring became white. His veins became blue, and the shocking cold started to creep up his wrist, into his forearm, elbow and then up towards his shoulder. In a panic, he tried to loosen his grip, but he sword would not let him.

“Somebody do something!” He cried, hearing his voice rise.

Wolfric instantly laid hands on him and went to work. The color seemed to creep back down his arm, but it took so much out of Wolfric that by the time he’d finished and Wyveryn’s arm was healed, he’d been drained of much of his healing powers.

“Wyveryn--!” Aeroth began.

“It turned out fine, Aeroth. Just leave me alone.” Not interested in a scolding, he kept moving through the array of dead bodies. Of course, he could not shake the feeling of terror that had just overcome him. So he would, instead, try to divert his attention.

Marco sensed things here. Things of a magical nature. Perhaps it was the wind that guided him, but he felt that same shimmering feeling against the wall, as if something secret were written upon it. He ran his hands over it, trying to see the words, but could not. And then, an idea came to him. Pulling out his little pocket mirror, held it up and look at the wall through it.

He was right! Sure enough there were moonlit words written right there. And through the mirror he could clearly make them out:

“Ekarmordi’s disciple lurks in the darkness below. Beware, traveler, for all who enter here become the hunted.”

Ekarmordi! The Drow King! Marco’s heart skipped a beat. He called the rest of them to his side, and recited the words of warning to them. Their faces went white. None were pleased to learn this bit of information.

“Who is Ekarmordi?” Asked Wolfric.

“The Drow King.” Answered Aeroth. “And he’s no friend of mine.”

It was at this point that Wyveryn noticed the battle axe on the far end of the tunnel. By now, they must be standing behind the sadness totem. The weapon was propped up against the wall, as if placed there with great care. It peaked his curiosity.

Meanwhile, Marco had dropped a potion on one of the short swords the caused it to gleam gold. Once he figured it was safe, he grabbed the hilt and no harm came to him. Smiling at his own cleverness, he sheathed his new weapon.

Aeroth noticed the axe as well. Now both he and Wyveryn were staring at it.

Banger held the baby close to her, lulling it back to sleep. She stood close to Tic, and he could feel her breath on his face. Even in this dark place, she smelled sweet to him.

“I don’t know how to explain this, Tic,” she whispered, “but it’s as though the more time I spend with the baby, the more she gives me the ability to “sense” things. And I sense that this dungeon… these walls… are somehow alive. And breathing.” She ran her hand along the wall, touching it as though she were touching a pregnant belly.

He frowned. “I believe you. What do you make of it?”

“That there is something down there that waits for us. And there is something down there that needs us. They are not one and the same. And the only way out is to go down. Does that make any sense?”

Tic nodded. “It makes sense to me.”

His words seemed to reassure her. For she was not a woman of prophecy. She was a realist. A woman of the sword. Sensing things and feeling things that were not there… it made her uneasy. What would her father say? A Mach Ronan who hated all things magic. She’d grown up Liberist. How strange now to be filtering magic through the vessel of a baby.

Aeroth and Wyveryn noticed the initials on the axe at about the same time. Y.L. Yvander Lux. With the insignia of two scales: Tyr. His heart pounding, Aeroth crossed over to it and made to grab the hilt.

“Wait!” Said Marco, who scurried over to drop another potion upon it. “All right, try it now.”



Aeroth grabbed the mighty axe by the handle and immediately it glistened gold. And it felt like home. Whether or not he imagined it, he could practically smell General Lux there beside him. Without a doubt, this had been his war axe. He rarely was seen without it. But what was it doing here? A hundred questions popped into his head as Wyveryn, growing impatient with the group again, decided it was time to leave.

He took a step through one of the mouths before Marco and the others could stop him. Once again, his foot turned to ice and painfully he watched the whiteness creepy up his calf to his knee. Wyveryn cursed as Wolfric hurried to him to performed what little spells he had left. By the time they were done, the foot had healed, but Wolfric was left with practically no abilities. And where they were going it was likely they would need a cleric.

“Dammit, Wyveryn, why can’t you just wait a moment before you prod ahead like a madman?” Aeroth spat. Wyveryn said nothing. For he knew he’d been foolish.

They went out the same way they went in—through the mouth of anger. And when they left the room, they turned right down the hallway.

There came a door on the left. And the hallway veered to the right. Aeroth, Marco, & Wolfric moved on. “Always keep to the right” were the Trickster’s words. Aeroth planned to heed them.



But Wyveryn, of course, had other ideas.

“What do you suppose is in there?” Wyveryn asked Tic, pointing to the door.

“Dunno,” shrugged Tic. “But it’s on the left. I doubt you’ll find any volunteers to go inside and see.”

“I’ll do it.” And when Wyveryn opened the door, the shimmering that had appeared before appeared again. This time, a solid wall appeared behind them, blocking their way back. And a solid wall appeared in front of them, blocking them off from Aeroth, Wolfric, and Marco. The only way to go now was inside. They would have to see whatever was on the other side of that door.

“You had to go and do it, didn’t you?!” Tic threw his arms up in the air. Banger glanced worriedly behind her at the baby she carried on her back, who thankfully seemed to be sleeping.

“How was I supposed to know it would do that?”

“Because it was on the left. The door was on the left. Right is good. Left is bad. That’s what we figured out. And you keep ignoring that. And look what happens to you? You almost lose an arm and a foot. Now we’re stuck here because you’re an idiot!”

“Well, let’s just see what’s inside.” And when Wyveryn pushed the door open, all their torchlight went out.

From the darkness, Tic’s voice rang out.

“Great. Just great.”

They would have been in sheer and utter darkness had it not been for Wyveryn's sword, which cast of a faint glow. But even that was not enough to penetrate this large and seemingly endless room. The wind here was greater than anywhere else in the dungeon. So much so that it seemed to draw them inside.

They hugged the walls, creeping to the right. Aware that something must be there, lurking, waiting for them. Not knowing what it was practically sent Wyveryn into a panic. The only thing he was grateful for was not being able to see the expression on Tic's face. For in that moment, if their lives weren't already being threatened, he was sure Tic would try to kill him.

Something swished past him. He felt a coldness. And the wind picked up even more, pulling him away from the wall and towards the center of the room. He fought it, always trying to keep one hand against something solid.

And then came the first attack.

It seemed to take a bite out of his shoulder, whatever it was. And when he spliced through the air, they heard a pitiful wail. When he pulled his sword back there was clear colored ooze upon it that, after a moment, seemed to vanish into thin air.

"What the--?"

Tic and Banger started waving their swords about. Tic felt himself make contact with at least two foes, but whatever it was they were fighting they could not see. The wind was practically a maelstrom, drawing them all to the center of the room. And his instincts told him that whatever was in the center of the room was not good. He tried with all his might to keep to the wall. Though he didn't know how long he could manage that.

Something whizzed by him in the darkness and let out a bloodcurdling wail. He flailed with his sword but struck nothing. And at long last, Banger seemed to make contact with whatever the last foe was. Her sword was covered in goo, which eventually disappeared. With it, the wind slowed down and died away. The lights from their torches were re-lit. And they found themselves standing in a barren, circular room. There were no bodies. Nothing. It was as if it had never happened.

Tic wondered if the walls were still up outside, but he got his answer when he saw Aeroth's face at the door.

"What happened?? Are you all right? We tried to reach you but we couldn't."

"We're fine now." Banger answered, drawing herself up with the baby upon her back. Walking over to Wyveryn, she shoved him in the chest. Hard.

"If you ever do anything like that again, I will personally kill you myself. Slowly and painfully." And with that, she stormed towards the open door.

Tic smirked.

And then Banger felt to her knees. She was dripping blood.

"Aurora!" He ran to her side, and got there faster than any of them. What he found was a crimson stain on the side of her blouse, and it was getting bigger. He tore that side off to reveal a gaping wound, so deep they could see ripped muscles and a bit of bone. Banger gritted her teeth through the pain. She hadn't felt it before now, and overcame her completely.

"What happened to you?" Aeroth said, dumbfounded.

"There's no time to explain. Hand me a garment. I need to stop the bleeding."

"I can do better than that." Wolfric stepped forward. Tic grudgingly gave him permission to hold her. The cleric laid hands on her and saw the tears in her muscle start to repair. A bit of color returned to her face. And then, just as suddenly, the wound reopened.

"I don't understand..." Wolfric muttered.

"It's the baby." Banger said through gritted teeth. "She's taking my strength. Whoever is the closest to her she takes the most from. It killed Jewelynna. And now she's taking it from me."

Quickly, Aeroth tried to pull Brillowyn off her back.

"Leave her!" Instructed Aurora.

"But she is hurting you!" Cried Wolfric, aghast.

"Just patch me up, Cleric. Wrap me, tight, so I don't lose anymore blood. It's a nasty wound, but not a mortal one. No sense wasting your spells on me. Let my body heal on its own. I'm used to that. And I'll be fine."

"But--"

"Just wrap it!" She sounded annoyed. Obediently he took a long piece of material and began to bind her open wound. Aeroth nodded, knowing he would have done the same. He admired her strength. But he still looked worried.

Tic's mouth was slightly ajar. He'd never known any woman as brave as this. And when the binding was finished, she stood up as if she were none worse for the wear and strode out the room. He could not hide his admiration.

*********************************************

On they went, jumping at every sound, ghostly whispers in their ears. And every now and then, a set of footsteps could be heard in the distance. Wyveryn was oddly quiet, frustrated that every move he'd made had caused trouble, and that he'd needed someone to get him out of his own messes. It was embarrassing. Banger refused to make eye contact with him. Her pride only made him feel more guilty. It reminded him of his mother. When she was upset with him, she got quiet. That was much worse than yelling or screaming. Wyveryn decided he'd done enough damage tonight. So when they came to the next hallway split and came to another door, he made no move to go near it.

This time, it was Marco who approached it. Picking up his hand held mirror, he raised it to look at the moonlit words written on the door.

"DO NOT ENTER HERE--PETER SKYFE"

But Marco, who was normally the cautious one, found himself intrigued. It was as if the dungeons of Stonehold were presenting him with an exceptionally challenging puzzle. And the magician could not refuse the bait. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Inside was a small room with nothing but a chest against the far wall.

Before Tic or Aeroth could do anything, Marco had tied a rope around his waist and handed it to them.

"Hold this. Pull me out if I tug it. Immediately."

"Marco, I don't think this is--"

"Just do it, please."

And in he went, hugging the right side of the room. The rope dragged behind him, Tic grasping it from the doorway. the party gathered around, peering inside but careful to stay in the hallway. They watched the magician gingerly make his way toward the chest. When he got there, he examined the lock and found it to be open--seemingly without any traps. And so, with his heart pounding, Marco lifted the lid.

The result was anti-climactic. Inside was nothing more than a blank parchment paper. Furrowing his brow, he pulled the mirror out of his pocket again and read the moonlit letters.

"I told you!"- PETER

And the door slammed shut.

Water began pouring into the room from the walls and the ceiling. Frantically, Marco tugged at the string tied around his waist only to discover that it had broken in two. Sticking the parchment in his vest, the water moved up from his knees to his thighs. And then to his chest... his shoulders. He searched and searched for an exit... a way out. And somewhere, he wondered who his Peter fellow was and why he was playing tricks on them. Undoubtedly, he was the one who wrote the moonlit messages on the doors and the walls and the parchment. What was the purpose of setting traps such as these? To keep people out? But they were such pointless traps-almost set for amusement. Like they were created from the mind of a child.

And as that last thought came to him, the water lever rose to his chin. He would have slapped his forehead if he could, because somehow in all the thinking, he'd forgotten his power to teleport. So in the blink of an eye, he vanished from the water-filled room and landed in the hallway behind Wyveryn. Still catching his breath, he saw that none of them noticed his sopping wet form sprawled on the dungeon floor.

"Marco! For the love of Tyr, someone do something!" Aeroth cried.

"The door is locked!" Said Tic.

"Well, bash it open!"

"All right. One... two..."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Marco interjected, "but I no longer need you to bash in the door. In fact, right now, I would very much appreciate the use of a towel."

Everyone turned and let out a collective gasp.

"You're sopping wet, Marco!" Banger raced to his side.

"What happened in there?" Asked Aeroth.

"Trap." Marco stated matter-of-factly, spitting out some water from his mouth. "Nothing in there but trouble. We should move on."

Wyveryn smirked. "At least it wasn't me this time."

Everyone ignored him.

The magician did, however, show them the letter.

"Peter again. Peter Skyfe." Said Aeroth. "The one we saw in the Wanted Ad. Who is he and what does he have to do with this place?"

"He's obviously the one who's setting the traps." Said Tic.

"Whoever this Peter is, we will likely find messages from him as we move along. Keep your eyes and ears open. And help me up." Banger and Tic pulled the wet magician to his feet.

"Anything hurt?" Asked Tic.

"Only my pride." Came the answer.

***********************************************


As they continued on their way, wearily watching the walls and listening to whispers through the air, gusts of wind whistled silently past them. It heightened their senses as they once again wondered where it was coming from.

And then Aeroth took a step and the floor beneath him gave way. he felt himself falling... falling into the darkness. He reached out but only grasped the air.

Marco caught the giant paladin by his collar. But quickly felt his grip slipping.

"Help!" Marco screamed. And then Tic was beside the magician and together they pulled the paladin up to floor level.

They all sat there in a heap, just breathing.

"I really, really, don't like this place." Tic muttered.

"All the more reason to press forward." Said the winded paladin.

*********************************************

One more door they checked on this level, just a few feet past that hole in the floor. And though nothing special appeared inside, Aeroth felt his mind leave his body. It was as if he was floating above himself, and then everything changed. Suddenly he was no longer in the dungeon, but outside. At night. There was a pristine waterfall, speckled with fireflies. The moon cast a purplish glow about this place. He smelled the water and the fresh grass. It was such a soothing relief from the terror of the dungeons.

And then he saw her... a woman shimmering and silver, gliding to him from the opposite riverbank. Indeed she did not appear to touch the ground, but float slightly above it. Her hair was dark, her skin was pale with an unearthly shimmer to it. Her ears were pointed, but she was not elven. Nor Elladrin like Marco. What she was he could not quite determine. Regardless, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

"I am Queen Bemminnen of the Fey. I believe you have my daughter in your keeping. I pray that you bring her here safely. For our land grows ill and dies in her absence. Brillowyn must be brought home. And to help you in your quest, noble paladin, I offer you a gift. The Cage, a seemingly insignificant object, has a power offered to you. But it may only be given to one who is worthy of receiving. Solve my riddle, and you may unlock the secret of the cage."

"There are four brothers in this world that were all born together.
The first runs and never wearies.
The second eats and is never full. The third drinks and is always thirsty.
The fourth sings a song that is never good."

Aeroth thought and thought, wracking his brain. Four brothers... born together...

"I know the answer." He said. "The first runs and never wearies. He is water. The second eats and never is full. He is fire. The third drinks and is always thirsty. He is earth. And the fourth sings a song that is never good. He is wind."

"Well done, Paladin. But to answer a simple riddle is not enough to unlock my gift. You must do that which you know is necessary now. You must welcome the one into your heart with love and forgiveness. And when you do this for me, you may know the power of the Cage. Farewell, noble paladin. Hasten to me."

In a shimmer Bemminnen was gone along with the waterfall and the riverbank of fireflies. He was back in the dungeons, staring dumbly at a wall.

"Aeroth, are you all right?" Asked Banger.

"I... ah... did anyone see anything strange around here?"

"Define strange." Muttered Wyveryn.

"You would have known it if you'd seen it. Nevermind." And with that, they pressed on and came to another set of stairs which brought them downward. Banger couldn't explain it. She felt as through they were going in the right direction but also blanketed with a sense of doom.

**********************************************

Wyveryn and Wolfric both experienced the same senation, though none were aware of the other. Wolfric's vision came to him shortly after Aeroth's. His riddle was "Feed me and I live, drink me and I die". Instantly he replied, "Fire." and the ethereal Queen granted him Fire Breath to use in battle.

Not all gifts were as simple as that. Aeroth still struggled to puzzle out what piece of the puzzle he was missing. And once down on the third floor of the dungeon, Wyveryn had his own experience. It occured in a room of mirrors. From the moment they stepped inside, an odd feeling came over him... as if all this was meant to happen and had been foreshadowed long ago. The company stood in a bedroom of what must have been a wealthy noblewoman. Perhaps once this place was exquisite, but now it was dark and withered--a gloom hanging over it like a ghostly whisper. The bed, the empty drawers, the colorless rug... all of it seemed... odd. but strangest of all were the mirrors.

They covered the walls and the ceiling. There were even some placed upon dressers and nightstands. Wyveryn caught a glance of himself in one that had been been broken, and shivered. What was it about this place....?

"Who lived here?" Aeroth wondered aloud.

"An ancient Queen," Marco answered, running his finger along a dusty table. "It's said that they do not know what happened to her husband, but that she had two daughters. Her name is also unknown, but her body is mummified in the Stonehold museum. Strange that this place has not been touched for years. One would think they would have turned this into some kind of tourist attraction. But it appears as hollow as a dead tree."

"A Queen who lived in the Age of Magic?" Asked Banger.

"Yes. Over two thousand years ago."

"What was her name? I don't believe I've heard of her."

"I cannot remember. In fact, I do not believe her name is known. However...." He said, walking to the nightstand beside the bed.... "there were some who nicknamed her the Queen of Despair." And with his eyes wide, he picked up a dusty tarot card, brushed off the spiderwebs, and held it up for Wyveryn to see.

The ranger's face went white.



"When were you planning on telling me this, Marco?" He asked.

"I only just remembered it now by putting two and two together. Your card that you received from the old gypsy woman in Legend's Hollow... can it see it?"

Wyveryn pulled it out of his pocket. They compared the two.

"Exactly the same. Interesting."

"But what does it mean?" Banger asked insitantly.

"That we just got one more piece of an impossible puzzle." Answered Marco.

"Seems like every time we get the answer to one question, five more questions pop up."

But Wyveryn stopped hearing them, because he smelled the grass and heard the waterfall. Suddenly he was swept away into the vision. Queen Bemminnen glided towards him and gave him his riddle to solve.



"The one who triggers this
The Mirror of Despair
Must first Seek
The Ancient Queen’s Lair
Unleash this on the one who
Is, of this, long overdue:
"The poor alone possess me; yet the mean
And grudging rich oft give me to the poor,
Who yet are not made richer than before."

Wyveryn thought a moment.

"Compassion?"

She rewarded him with a wry smile. "It is not enough for you to answer the question and to speak the word. You must find it also within yourself in order to activate my special gift to you. Good luck, half elf. May you find your way to me soon...."

And just as quickly as it came, the vision faded.

*****************************************************************************************

Wyveryn had thought the Queen of Despair card might have meant death or something possibly even worse for him. Now that he had seen these chambers and realized that this woman was a real person, he suddenly knew what he had to do. On the other end of the bedroom was another door, which he opened and stepped into the hallway.

"Wyveryn!" Shouted Aeroth. "What are you doing?"

"Walking. What does it look like?"

"We move together. As a group. That was what we agreed on."

But Wyveryn wasn't listening to him. "There is crying coming from that room ahead.

The party rushed to the doorway and saw the half-elf standing before an exquisitely carved door. Indeed, faint sobbing sounds seemed to be coming from inside. Aeroth shook his head.

"You're not going in there."

Marco touched the paladin's shoulder. "Perhaps you should let him make his own decision, Aeroth. We will be here to help him if he needs it."

The paladin grumpily folded up his arms and said nothing. And just like that, Wyveryn clicked the door open and stepped inside the room.

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His heart was pounding for many reasons and not just out of fear. The room was dimly lit, and seemed to belong to that of a young child. There were toy boxes and a rocking horse. Several mirrors laid about but none as many as in the Queen's bedchambers. The sobbing was louder now, and some instinct inside of him told him to hold of his mirror.

When he looked through the piece of glass, he saw what the chamber once had been--golden, brightly colored and full of joy. He saw a young girl with dark hair and braids dancing and playing with her dolls. But when he pulled the mirror away, he was struck with the reality of the chill in this place. The aura of sadness, much like in the Queen's bedroom.

And then his heart pounded faster as he saw there was someone on the bed.

It was a small bundle under the covers, but undoubtedly that was the source of the sobs. Unsure of what to do next, he looked at the bundle on the bed and asked, "Child, why are you crying?"

There came no reply.

Meekly he took a step forward. "Child, are you sad? Is there something I can do for you?"

Still nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to the edge of the bed and even put his hand on the bedpost.

"I need you to help me. I need you to tell me what I can do help you. I'm not the one that normally does this kind of thing. I'm usually the one who creates all the messes. But for some reason, it was foretold that I would come here, and I would be standing here before you now. It's just that now that I'm here... I don't know what to do.

I have grown into a broken man, little girl. A broken man with no compassion. Even the friends that I travel with, I do not treat them as friends. But the truth is... the truth is that I would not be standing here before you if it were not for them. And where there was no compassion in my heart at the beginning of this journey, I owe it to them that I can stand here and say this to you now with my head held high. I've been changed, little girl, whether I meant for it to happen or not. And so this new Wyveryn wants to help you. I want to stop being broken like the mirrors in your mother's room. Teach me how to fix myself. Tell me what you need from me and I shall do it."

Reaching towards her, he touched the covered and drew them away, revealing an empty bed.

"What...? I pour my heart out to you and you're not even...?" As he spun around, he saw her. A small child, with long dark braids in a white chemise. Her skin was pale, her eyes red from crying. She stood in the middle of the room and stared at him intently. At first, he panicked, thinking that she would attack, but then she reached up her arms to him and he welcomed her into a warm embrace.



"There, there..." he said, tenderly stroking her hair. It was only then that he realized her sobbing at stopped, and she'd vanished from the room.

When Wyveryn came to his feet, he found himself once again at the waterfall. Queen Bemminnen was there, but this time, the little girl was beside her.

"I see you have found compassion in your heart, young ranger. And you have saved this little girl from a very long and sorrowful ritual. For that I thank you. There is but one more task to unlock my gift. I hope to see you shortly."

Then he was back in the room, his mind reeling from all he had seen and felt.

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When Wyveryn emerged from the room, he seemed a different man. They poked and prodded him for answers, but only Tic got the full story. For some reason, Tic was the only one Wyveryn fully trusted at the moment.

"I've only one card left."

"One Queen of Despair card? What happened to the other one?" Asked Tic.

"It disappeared when she did."

"Well, then you should know there is one more door a few more paces down the hall. There is music coming from inside. And this time, it should be me that goes. You look rustled."

Wyveryn did not put up an argument. Aeroth was angry that no one was consulting him as Tic disappeared into the next doorway down. Once again, he folded his arms across his chest. There were many virtues to Aeroth Ravenswing. Patience was not one of them.

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It was the same sort of room Tic stepped into, only this one belonged to a girl a bit older. There were dolls and toys, but in the center of the room was a piano. And playing at the ivory keys was a raven haired girl with her hair pinned up. She seemed to take no notice of Tic.

He came inside and carefully sat beside her on the chair. When he finished the piece, she looked up at him expectantly.



"That was beautiful." He said.

Unexpectedly, the girl stood from her stool and strode towards him. Like Wyveryn, Tic's instinct was to draw his sword. But he stayed in his seat and waited to see what would happen. Delicately, she bent down and whispered into his ear these words:

"No brother is perfect
Near or apart.
Brother must forgive brother
Let him back in his heart."

And with that, she vanished on the spot.

Tic slowly rose to his feet, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stared at the spot where the girl had once stood. He felt changed. So much had happened to him since the fall of Cöthrom. He had seen and endured many things. But he knew this would affect him. To know that the power of love was so great that these two little girls must have endured several lifetimes of sorrow just to be released now... it was an overwhelming responsibility such as he had never known.

As quietly as he'd entered, he left the room.



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Wyevyern told no one-not even Tic- that he'd seen the Queen Bemminnen one last time. There were two girls at her side, the daughters of the ancient Queen. They thanked him for what he'd released them from. And Bemminnnen bestowed upon him the gift of the Mirror of Opposition. Up to four times in a day he could cast this mirror to reflect whatever beast or person opposed them. The mirror would then create a duplicate of that opponent and the two would battle each other. It was a gift only spoke of in legends. Wyveryn could not fully grasp the honor that had been handed to him.

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They came to another set of stairs which led them down deeper and deeper into the dungeon. When at last they reached a landing, Banger took Tic's hand.

"Something's down here. The baby tells me she can feel it."

"Was this what you felt upstairs?"

"Yes, but stronger now. Stay close. It is too dark for me to see."

Indeed the only light in this place came from Wyveryn's sword and Aeroth-who'd produced a little light of his own. They were obviously in a cavernous room, but the ground here was earth and not stone. It unnerved all of them that they could not see what was ahead.

"Stay close" Instructed the paladin. And then his foot touched the first arm.

It was severed from the body it had once belonged to.

Aeroth grimaced and stepped around it, only to find a torso, ripped in half. What creature could to this?

Another arm... a leg... a human skull... this place was littered with death. And after wading through the sea of body parts, they came at last to the other end of the room and discovered something hiding there.

It was a woman, bound, bloodied and tied with her hands and feet behind her. Wild were her eyes, but she seemed blinded by the light as if she had not seen light for weeks. Her skin was pale and her hair was dark. Her clothing was tattered and torn, and there were bruises and claw marks on her skin. And from the point of her ears there was no doubt this was a full-blooded elf. She seemed terrified when they came closer to her, but Aeroth put his hand up.

"We're not here to hurt you." He insisted. Then, taking a step closer... "I'm going to unbind your mouth."

He did so.

"You have to get out of here." She said desperately. "He is coming back. Already it may be too late-"

And then from behind them they heard a door close and a set of footsteps at the stairwell they had just come from. The party turned to see a dark figure lined in the doorway. Black was his armor. White was his hair. Red were his eyes, with a sneer on his lips. He looked like a rabid beast unleashed from his cage and hungry for food. There came a wicked smile over his face.

"And what have we here?" Asked the man in the black armor.

"It's the Blackguard!" Hissed the bound woman. "Now it's too late. He's come for me, and now for you as well."

But Aeroth stepped forward, proudly facing his foe.

"I am Aeorth Ravenswing. And you are not to harm this woman."

"Aeroth Ravenswing?" The deep voice hissed with amusement. "So many are looking for you. My lord, Ekarmordi, will be so pleased when I tell him that I've killed you... but not before I've toyed with you first." And with a flick of his gloved hand, there came a bloodcurdling scream from above them.

The party gasped and looked up, seeing two creatures descending upon them. One was a horned devil, a wide grin spread across his evil face. And the other?... A Wyveryn. A cousin to the dragon, with a serpant-like body, a claws sharp enough to rip through steel and flesh.

"Kill the lights!" Cried Marco. And so they did. For this would be their mightiest battle yet... and it would happen in the dark.