At the head of the group walked Rainer. Cradled in his arms, wrapped carefully in a traveler’s cloak, was the four-foot porcelain body of Hildy. Her delicate face was painted with care; her joints, intricately hinged and carved from polished wood. Though beautiful, she was unmistakably not human. As they approached the Carnival's edge, her glassy eyes blinked slowly, taking in the surreal wonder.

Then, with a faint buzz of static, a hidden speaker within her chest came to life.

“Is this… a dream?” Hildy's voice was small and halting, childlike and distorted by the mechanical filter.

“No, Hildy,” Raven murmured. “But maybe it’s somewhere you can feel safe. People here… they know what it’s like to be changed.”

Suddenly, a figure dropped from the air in a graceful sweep of wings. Amelia, the Carnival’s aerialist, landed in a crouch before them. Her bat-like wings folded behind her like a velvet curtain. Pale makeup still clung to her cheeks, a faint smear of stage blood at the corner of her lips. Gone was the vampiress of the ring; now she was simply Amelia—kind-eyed and vulnerable beneath the smudged eyeliner.

She smiled as she saw the party—then faltered when her gaze fell on the porcelain figure in Rainer’s arms.

“What is this?” she asked, hesitating as she stepped closer.

Hildy's porcelain head turned toward her. A faint crackle. Then:

“Amelia?”

Amelia froze. Her eyes widened. The name hit like a blow—confusion first, then fear, then the slow creep of recognition.

“…Hildy?”

She stepped back, wings twitching, voice catching in her throat.

“What… what happened to you?”

“She… she said it was a gift. A way to stay forever. She said I'd never grow old… never get sick again.” Hildy’s voice trembled. “I want to wake up. I want my skin. I want to run. I want to cry… but I don’t even breathe anymore.”

Amelia’s heart sank in her chest. She reached out, hand trembling, and gently brushed her fingers against Hildy’s porcelain hand. Knowing the horrors of the realms, she ceased her questioning.

“There are many kinds of life,” she said softly. “We can’t always go back… but we can move forward. If you’ll let us, we’ll help you find a new way to be.”

“A way that’s not alone?” Hildy asked.

“No one is alone here.”

Behind Amelia, the Carnival’s residents began to gather. They said nothing—just watched with calm, quiet presence.

Then a commanding figure approached.

She was tall, her skin gleaming like polished obsidian under the moonlight. Her long, dark hair was braided with mourning ribbons, and a black-bladed greatsword rested across her back, wrapped tightly in silencing cloth. Her cuirass shimmered with sigils older than memory.

Isolde stepped forward and knelt to meet Hildy’s glassy gaze. Her ember-bright eyes studied the girl not with pity, but with recognition.

“Flesh can die. Wood can break. Porcelain can crack. But your will endures,” she said. “You are not what was done to you. You are what you choose next.”

A faint metallic hiss came from the sword on her back—as if scenting guilt or grief. Isolde placed a hand on its hilt to silence it.

“She’s traumatized,” said Tobias. “She needs time. Not judgment.”

“Mercy is not the same as indulgence,” Isolde replied, without turning. “I will not lie to her about the cruelty of the world.”

She looked back to Hildy.

“But you are not alone anymore. If you have strength left—even the smallest flicker—we can help you find a place among us. You will not be coddled. You will be challenged. And you will not be left behind.”

Hildy looked to the other troupers.

“Like them?”

“All of us are broken,” Isolde said. “But none of us are discarded.”

She stood.

“Come. The Carnival is your home—but it is also a crucible. If you endure it… you may yet become something greater than you were.”

And with that, Isolde turned, leading them into the lantern-lit heart of the Carnival.

Tucked deep in the folds of her coat was Stewart—the brain in the jar. The glass was slick with frost, and the jar pressed firmly against her chest like a burden she had chosen to carry. Over time, she had come to trust him. Strange, maybe, but there was no one she trusted more. She called him her best friend—though "advisor" might have been more accurate. He spoke not in whispers, but in a firm, low voice that carried even through the storm.

“Take me to Lamordia,” he had said—clear, direct, and without room for argument.

How he could speak without a mouth was a mystery, but Hildy had stopped questioning the impossible long ago.

Every so often, she glanced down at the jar, more out of habit than doubt. The blizzard had arrived without warning, wild and merciless, burying the old road beneath white waves. Her fingers and toes were going numb, but she didn’t stop.

“Lamordia,” she murmured, more to herself than to Stewart. “That’s where we’re going, right?”

“Correct,” he replied at once, the sound resonating from the jar with steady authority. “Lamordia lies ahead. Stay focused.”

That was all he said. It was all she needed.

Hildy had no idea where Lamordia truly was, or what to expect. Stewart had spoken of it often—but never in the way people talk about places on maps. It was north. Far north. Beyond places even merchants spoke of with unease. A land of cold, machines, and minds sharp enough to carve open truth itself.

She didn’t know it. But she believed in it—because Stewart believed in it.

The snow seemed alive, curling and shifting like it had eyes. Sometimes, she could feel those eyes. Watching from just beyond the white.

She’d never been this far from the ragtag group of adventurers she’d come to call family. In truth, she hadn’t meant to get this far at all. But when your best friend is a brain in a jar… things get complicated.

A violent gust slammed into her, and she flinched, clutching the jar tighter.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she muttered through chattering teeth.

“You can,” Stewart replied without hesitation. “You will. Lamordia is close.”

She drew in a shaky breath, steeling herself against the wind.

“Stewart… what is Lamordia? Why is it so important to you?”

There was a pause—not uncertain, but deliberate. Then his voice came again, calm and commanding:

“Lamordia is a place of knowledge. Of precision. There, they will understand what I am. What we are. And they will know what must be done.”

His words settled on her like iron.

Another gust of wind nearly knocked her down. She blinked against the sting in her eyes, vision blurring.

The road ahead—if it could still be called a road—was vanishing beneath the snow.

“Do not stop,” Stewart said. “Keep moving. Lamordia is waiting.”

She grit her teeth and pushed forward. One step. Then another. Muscles burning. Numb feet dragging through the drifts.

“I’ll get you there,” she said. “No matter what. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

But deep down, a question lingered:
Would Lamordia even be a place they could reach? Or was it something else—buried beneath snow, secrets, and time?

Only the blizzard knew.

Brine Brothers

Based on the song by Iron Maiden: Blood Brothers

And if you're taking a walk through dominions of strife
What do you think you'd expect you would see?
Just like a mirror reflecting the moves of his life
And in the river reflections of me

Just for a second a glimpse of Stuart I see
And in a movement he beckons to me
And in a moment his memories are all that remain
And all of his wounds are reopening again

We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers

And as you look all around at the world in dismay
What do you see, do you think I’ve have gained?
Not if you're taking a look at the war-torn affray
Out in the villages where the people are slain

We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers

There are times when I feel I'm afraid for this world
There are times I'm ashamed of us all
When you're floating in brine and all that you feel
Makes you question what is good and bad
Will we ever know what the answer to life really is?
Can Stuart really tell me what life is?
Maybe all the things that you know that are precious to you
Could be swept away by fate's own hand

We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers

When I thought that I’ve run out of chances
I got a chance to make everything right
To stop making the same old mistakes
Stuart makes tipping the balance so easy
When we're living our lives on the edge
To find a cure before Hildy is dead

We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers

We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers
We're brine brothers

And if you're taking a walk through the dominions of strife

Uncle Dunkle sat on the stoop of a dilapidated gingerbread house, leaning against a railing lined with old crusted frosting. A layer of snow covered the steps, and he held a small block of wood, fit for carving. A small knife danced across the surface of the pine, and coiled flecks rolled and fell to the side with each stroke. 

There was no answer for Uncle Dunkle this solemn night, for the one he spoke to no longer existed, and had no voice in these lands. The hour was late, and the sky was dark. Not many stars were left to adorn the sky, and the ceiling of clouds loomed over the ruins of Toy Town, once a proud and bustling corner of Yeulestadt like a disgruntled man blowing the foam off his pint of ale. 

No birds chirped, no bells rang, no carols were sung. Not even his companions were here to distract him from the weight in his heart, for they were off on official Yeuletide business, and he had elected not to join them. He scoffed, and put down his block of wood, dropping his knife next to it, and stretched.

Overlooking the remainder of the gingerbread residency surrounding Toy Town, he thought of what his companions might be up to, who they might see, what they might hear. The discussion with Sahani in the bar before his departure played through his mind like an old reel of footage found in a dusty box. He was glad that his companions saw more good in him than his people. He was grateful that their bitter words did not cut as deep into their trust as it did into his soft flesh or heart. 

“Perhaps they’re right to fear me…Or hate me. After all…”

Suddenly, a large bell was rung. From the center of town, a brass bell hanging on a lonely string crashed against another, and the silent night was broken, the line of thought lost. Followed by this sound was the galloping of hooves on ginger-carved cobble.

“FIRE! FEAR! FOES! AWAAAAAKE! RETURN NOW TO THE TOWN, RETURN NOW OR FACE THOSE WHO SEEK TO BRING YOUR HARM, YOUR MISFORTUNE! FIRE! FEAR! FOES! AWAKE! AWAY NOW! AWAAAAY!” 

Uncle Dunkle quizzically looked up to see Ser Gynger riding her faithful stallion through the town square, galloping heartily, a fierce expression in her eyes. She repeated her phrase, sounding a smaller bell of her own once more, before brandishing her firm lance, and halting her steed shortly and abruptly. Her eyes met Uncle Dunkle’s visor, and there was no denying that it was him, for all the Yeule Gnomes in the land, none were famed for their creations of war such as he was. Or rather, none were as infamous. 

“Ye there, Warmonger. Dweller of the darkness. Did ye not hear the toll of the bell?? The sounding of the alarm? Surely you’ve not been far away enough from home to forget the meaning of such grim words in this winter wonderland?!”

He puts a hand up, and presses the other against his visor, releasing the magnetic clasp, and allowing him to remove it gently.

He now wears bags under his eyes, indicative of a lack of sleep, and a mind bustled by more than thought or nostalgic belly-aching. 

“Nay, fair lady Gynger. I hear your call. I respond in kind - what is it you seek of a gnome such as myself? A would be bringer of Yeuletide cheer, who has been outcast by his people. Deemed a traitor, or worse.” 

“Hmph. The prattlings of the spiteful mean nothing to those who deal in valor, Uncle. The town is under attack. As we speak your companions venture into the black licorice forest, to quell the darkness that plagues this land once and for all. To stop that vile witch…The one you know…Or knew, so fondly. Until she is slain, all of our people are in danger. There’s no doubt that her toys will be able to breach the barrier Lord Moonracer has erected. We need every able hand we can get. I pray that Chuckie knew what he was doing when he selected you lot for such an important task. But until my doubts are stifled, there will be much work to do. Will you fight for your people once more? Or have you forsaken us as you have forsaken the art of war?” 

“I will never forsake my people, no matter how ungrateful or ignorant they seem. The innocent nature of this world is as close to my heart as my nephew’s memory. Let it be the way it is…Perhaps it is better than the truth, which is far less holly, or jolly, than the costume I wear. And this costume isn’t meant for the Yeuletide galleria. I fashioned this to protect everything I hold dear…To wage war.”

Syr Gynger grins a devilish, frosty grin. She points her lance at the gnome who stands before him. 

“Good. I expected nothing less from the Iron Gnome. Hop on my steed, and we’ll be off.”

“Not yet, fair lady. Do you think I’ve been sitting on this stoop brooding all night? Since I left my companions in the bar, all that time ago? If who you’ve suggested is responsible for this is at large…And my companions face her…We will be facing her toys…And they will not know valor, nor fairness. The gnarled lord who sits on his prickled throne will rue the day he made an enemy of me, and my companions. Let it be known that the Iron Gnome stokes the forge once again!”

With that, Uncle Dunkle kicks the door of the Gingerbread home behind him wide open, revealing what can only be described as an impromptu toy trauma center. A hot forge sits in the middle of the open living room, stoked with coal and supported with wooden beams where the gingerbread was caved in. Multiple boxes of munitions were scattered about the room, filled with jerry-rigged ornament bombs, glitter cannons, and sharpened peppermint sticks. Uncle Dunkle walks into the room, picking up his trusty bag of holding, and scoops a handful of provisions, as well as a handful of munitions into the already bursting sack. Then, he takes a long peppermint lance, fitted at the end with a glistening silver tip, and hands it to Syr Gynger, who promptly drops her dulled Gingerbread lance, and exchanges it eagerly. She twirls the lance gracefully in her cookie palms, and then cries out a fierce battle cry.

“We ride now, Iron Gnome! Let this night be a night of Yeuletide Cheer, and hard battle fought! Let not a single foe be left unstirred. Not even a mouse!”

Uncle Dunkle nods solemnly, and hops onto the back of Syr Gynger’s stallion, who whinnies triumphantly in the cold winter air. It rears back in preparation, and breaks off into a loud gallop, passing through the ruins of the Gingerbread village, towards the edge of Lord Moonracer’s force field. Already in the distance, button eyed horrors can be seen slinking through the shadows. 

“Oh Melinda…What have you done…Why…Why must things be the way they are…” Uncle Dunkle thinks quietly as the cool night air passes by him. 

… 

By the time the heroes of Ravenloft would return from their quest, the scene in Toy Town was one of shock, and awe. Dunkle’s trusty companions wasted no time slaying Melinda’s Gingerbread Dragon, rescuing Gingey from the clutches of her torturers, and defeating her, perhaps once and for all. After the mere mention of taking Little Hilde from the party, Raven saw no room for diplomatic relations, let alone a discussion or explanation, and made the first move. Their prowess proved greater, and Melinda lay dead in the ruined Krampound, as poor Mr. Cuddles nuzzled the corpse of the only woman in the world he sought to protect. His heart felt swollen and his mind confused. What would become of him, or his best friend, would remain a mystery for now.

Meanwhile, in Toy Town, button-eyed dolls lay strewn about the streets. Evidence of a great battle, and a great deal of destruction was all around them. Those who were not defeated in combat fell to the ground inert as soon as Melinda’s clutch on them was lifted, and though the corruption of the button-eyed curse lay upon them, no further harm could be wrought by them. The party returned by means of Choo-Choo Charles, who proudly bore the saviors of Toy Town despite his reservations about what’s become of his form. After all, the trains in Yeulestadt were always known to run on time, and he was not about to give up hope again. Nay, a restored vigor beamed from his heart and filled his eyes, as he bellowed 

“CHOO CHOO! CHOOOOOOOOO CHOOOOOOOOO!”

The inhabitants of toy town at first were slightly alarmed to see Choo-Choo Charles, who was thought dead or worse, but eventually they cheered. Streamers burst and handfuls of glitter were tossed about in the air, and freshly lit candles of holly and allspice wafted in the air. Gladdened bells rang, as Lord Moonracer himself flew out of his tower, and landed proudly in the open town square next to Uncle Dunkle.

Uncle Dunkle himself was holding a large shield made out of hardened peppermint, lined with steel, and a curious gadget in his hand. A gadget that seemed similar to the ones used by the Duerger employed by Krampus himself. He holstered his weapon, and removed his helmet with a friendly, but solemn smile, knowing what their arrival meant for him, and his friend from another life. 

“Everyone everyone, Gather ‘round! The time has come for tidings of cheer that have not been known in these parts since before our realm was shunted into darkness by the Krampened one! Know now not fear or uncertainty, but gladness, and hope! For our good friends, these champions of the nightmarish realms surrounding our jolly village have defeated the darkness that fell upon these lands. These fair folk…And their trusty point of contact, a man you all know…Have proven their mettle, and that Yeuletide cheer is alive and well once again! Be merry!” 

An explosive cacophony of cheers and shouting filled the square, as Raven stepped off the caboose of Choo-Choo Charlie, confused by the outlandish cheeriness of the realm he unwittingly found himself in. Bex chirped in his ear, scoffing. 

“Peh. These fools…They have no idea what true darkness lies beyond the veil of this realm’s waters…The sooner we leave here, the better. Do not think for a moment that I’ve forgotten any of our agreements or arrangements. These delays are for naught.” 

Raven smiles, and shrugs his shoulders, patting the bird on the head brazenly. She shakes her wings, and flies off, doing a circle around the train, the square, and eventually landing on a lamppost not far off from Renvarin, who approaches Uncle Dunkle with a relieved expression.

“I’m glad to see you’re well. When you were off without warning, none of us assumed you were in any danger…But knowing is better than wondering. Perhaps next time, you ought to be more clear about your plans.” 

Tobias stood behind Renvarin, nodding, but understanding perhaps above all that some men are condemned to their secrets, and in order to do what is right, be it for themselves or others, they must walk their paths alone from time to time. 

Uncle Dunkle nodded at the both of them, and bowed respectfully.

“My sincerest apologies friends, but after much consideration, I felt there was no more time to waste…I had a feeling these people would need defending, and if not them, then you would need some sense of support for your mission…” 

Without further explanation, Vimak rushed Uncle Dunkle interrupting his conversation to scoop him up and hug him tightly against his hardened muscular shoulder. They both laughed, and Yoshi could be heard trying to butt in;

“Mr Vimak sir! Mr Vimak! I found Uncle Dunkle! And I see Lord Moonracer! We’re in the town square and everyone is here and-” 

“I see that, Yoshi. Very good! You’ve done well as always!” 

Lord Moonracer smiled warmly, and his tail pattered back and forth as he purred deeply, greatly pleased by the jolly, loving display before him. 

“If you all would gather please, if but for a moment, I have some important business to discuss with you…Regarding your payment, and what comes next. Please, after you’re done celebrating in the town square, join me atop my tower.” 

With that, he was off, fluttering his wings mightily, leaving behind a draft of snow in his wake.

“Perhaps we should go right away. We have important business to attend to following the completion of our duties here. Not just involving Hilde, but resuming our duties aboard the River Dancer.” Rayner suggests, patting Vimak on the shoulder before walking past him. 

“Indeed. We ought to check on the girl and make sure nothing happens. And up to this point, I’ve managed to avoid any aggressive felines…I’d like it to remain that way.” Sahani adds. 

“Mm, perhaps you all may go ahead, and I will discuss some business with Syr Gynger…” Ozzy muses. Before anyone can react to his insinuation, the noble Knight gallops past the party, and she leaps off her steed into the arms of Gingey, who is crumbly, mangled, missing a gumdrop button, but alive.

“Erm…Perhaps not tonight…But I shan’t give up hope.” He says with a smile and a wink.

…

And so the party gathers, and reconvines atop Lord Moonracer’s tower. The air is fresh with snow, and the night sky twinkles with stars for the first time in perhaps a long time, as the darkness of the realm slowly begins to fade. Not to say that all the lasting influence of the Kramp has been dissipated, but it was certainly a good start. 

“Welcome, welcome, noble heroes. I’m gladdened by your presence and the success of your mission. Though the things we’ve discussed have deeply troubled me, this is all for the best…That that woman was stopped, and the terrors of her corruptive influence have been put to a halt.” 

Uncle Dunkle looks at the ground, saddened, but understanding. 

“At any rate, heroes of your calibur deserve payment...You’ll find the provisions in this knapsack to be sufficient not just for you all on an individual basis…But for your noble mistress, the captain of the River Dancer as well. Were it not for her leniency and help, you never would’ve made it here or been allowed to carry out this task in the first place, and for that we are ever grateful. I see now why Chuckie selected you lot to undertake this task, and why he was so insistent that she was a dear friend of his. Now…In the truest tradition of not just Yeulestadt or The Saint, but of all Yeuletide itself…I offer you all this - A gift! One each, as always. You’ll all find presents tagged with your names. Open them at your leisure, I’m eager to see not just your reactions, but wonder how you’ll all put them to use!” 

The first person to open his gift is Renvarin, who is clearly offered the smallest package. His box is palm sized, and adorned with glittery gold ribbon, surrounding a red and green box of stereotypical Yeuletide fashion. He pulls the ribbon apart, allowing him to pop the top off the box, and looks inside. 

Lord Moonracer smiles eagerly, watching his expression, as Renvarin returns it in kind with a muted, monotone look on his face.

“Wow...Surely this is some form of amusement for you, or Dunkle? A lump of coal? Really?”

The others in the party chuckle at his expense, and Dunkle smiles, knowing that even a lump of coal in this land is not what it seems.

“Oh ho ho! My dear friend, be not alarmed…You were not on the naughty list this year, though some other bringers of Yeuletide cheer might have some qualms with your prior decision making…You’ve turned out to be a fine young man, and done well to amend your demeanor as a grinch towards the youth of this world...And you have steel in your heart, fire in your veins. This gift is of such a kind…Useful not as fuel, but to stoke the fire of your steel, if you understand my musings. Let it sharpen and hone your blade so that it may strike true and mighty, for now you are a champion of Yeule!” 

Renvarin nods, trying to make sense of the metaphorical way of speaking Lord Moonracer has, and steps back, inspecting his gift more closely, sensing a value beyond what it seems.

Next is Rayner, who is given a box that for a dragonborn of his size is palm sized, but is slightly larger than a box of coal. The ribbon is also gold, but the box itself is purple and black. Amused, he tears apart the ribbon, opening the box, and finds in it a beautiful, ornate snow globe. The glass is clear, and cast perfectly. Inside the snowglobe, nothing clear can be seen, and taped to the bottom of it is a turnkey which is clearly meant for a slot on the side of the globe. He shakes it up, but the image inside the snowglobe is opaque, static. 

“Is it…Broken? Of course it's not…But how does it work?” 

“Ahh…My dear friend…This is a globe of Whence and Will! It shows you something that you may not understand now…But will illuminate things for you, not just the past, but perhaps even your future. Peer into it at your leisure, and decipher its images with grace and wisdom. For no man who peers into it sees the same thing, and for you…Well…This orb was particularly crafted to answer questions you may not yet have!” 

Rayner nods, and bows respectfully, appreciating his gift tremendously, emboldened and curious now in a way that he perhaps has not been in a good long while. He thinks of the past, and what Lord Moonracer’s words mean to him, but finds himself longing to ask questions that do not have words attached to them. 

Following Rayner is Vimak, who can contain his excitement no longer, shredding the wrapping paper of a cylindrical package to find a flute. But not just any flute - an expertly crafted, homey, beautiful wooden flute. Made with love out of a tall and noble Fir. He immediately puts it to his lips to play it, but Lord Moonracer raises his paw.

“Ahh, Vimak. The Word-Painter. I know you must be excited to test your new flute now…But allow me a brief explanation of its capabilities. When you play that flute, you may use it as you would to play any merry old song…But if you channel its Yeuletide magic, it will summon toy soldiers to your aid! Ho ho! These hardy wooden soldiers will be a boon to your party and protect you as best they can, so long as they live! You’ll find its magic and scope limited, but still highly useful I hope!” 

“Wow! Thanks Lord Moonracer! This is amazing! I’ll be sure to paint lots of words as I tute this flute!” Vimak exclaims, immediately pressing the flute to his lips and testing its scope of ability. 

Lord Moonracer Chuckles, and nudges a large, heavy box towards Raven, who stands, amused, with his arms crossed next to Renvarin, a grin spreading between his lips. He eyes Renvarin, who is toying with his coal, half annoyed, half intrigued, and then he eyes the large box being pushed towards him.

He goes to lift the box, and realizes it's far heavier than he anticipated, as the box is almost two feet wide. He opts to leave the box on the ground for ease of access. The box itself is simple - a black box, monotone, with no distinguishing features besides a single thin red ribbon wrapping it up neatly. He slashes the ribbon apart with a small knife, pulling apart the lips of the box, and furls his brow. Bex on his shoulder tilts her head, and proverbially narrows her brow.

Inside the box is a large book - truly massive in size. Bigger than a dictionary, wider than a cinder block, and thicker too. The title of the book reads in Italic, stylized script:

B.I.R.D LAW 

“...Bird Law? I don’t…” 

“Oh ho ho ho ho! Dear Raven, this is not just a book on BIRD law…but a book on B.I.R.D law! I’m sure you’ll understand, your wit is sharp, your mind keen!” 

Raven picks up the book, inspecting it more closely. Underneath the italicized script, the title appears to be an acronym.

BOOK of INFERNAL RHETORIC and DEALINGS: A guide 

“I believe that book will help you settle disputes in the future…Or approach them more delicately! Oh ho ho ho!” Lord Moonracer says with an exasperated laugh. 

Raven Smiles, saying no more words, and backs away, taking his book with him. Bex is not amused.

Following Raven, Ozzy is handed a small package. The box is fancy, gilded, and gaudy by all accounts. The paper is bedazzled and shiny, and expresses an impressive luster. He tears it apart eagerly, despite feeling firmly in his heart that the true treasure, the true present he has or will ever receive is on his side - his trusty Red Rider Crossbow.

Inside the package is a curious device. It appears to be a lens attached to a metal framed box, with a bright red button on the opposite side. 

Without a word, Ozzy instinctively presses the button, and a large spotlight appears out of thin air around him, giving him a sense of bravado beyond his usual swaggered self. 

“Now this…This is an excellent gift. I’m most grateful, Lord Moonracer.” Ozzy says, smiling, moving around inside the spotlight, testing its bounds. 

“You’re most welcome dear Ozzy! I trust you’ll need no explanation regarding the value of a personal spotlight, usable at a whim, any place, any time! Morag…I think you ought to open your gift next. You’ve been awfully quiet since your return to town! Perhaps you are…Hungry?” 

“Hungry?” Morag thought. Was this a slight, or a thoughtful remark? He supposes he could always be hungry. Whether or not that was what was most pertinent to him at the time was another question.

He approaches a large box meant for him, wrapped in orange paper with green ribbon, and opens it as delicately as any of his kind might. He sees a strange contraption that appears to be a small portable oven, with a simple door, and a tray at the bottom. 

“This, my dear friend, is an E-Z Bake Oven! A gnomish contraption of popular renown that can be used to make any baked delicacy, with any sort of ingredients, so long as they fit inside the oven! You’ll find your treats in the tray when they’re baked to perfection, and I have a feeling you’ll be most pleased with the results, time and time again, ho ho!” 

Morag grins, and thinks of all the things he can put in the oven, ranging from berries to meats to toes, and will no longer have to suffer the absurd jeering or ridicule of his party who does not appreciate the value of good, honestly baked food the way he does. 

Following him, Sahani approaches a small bag clearly intended for him, Unlike all the other gifts, instead of it being a box of some kind, the gift is placed inside a decently sized gift bag, filled to the brim with tissue paper. He pulls the tissue paper aside, and pulls out an even smaller bag tied with simple, but exquisite gold ribbon. He reads the side of the bag, and almost throws it across the room, snarling irritably. 

“Oh what the fuck is this?! Catnip? Really? This is the best you have to offer, Moonracer?!” 

The entire group laughs, Raven even putting his book between one arm and pointing with the other, elbowing Renvarin with a snort. 

“Oh ho ho ho! Don’t be so quick to judge a book by its cover, a horse by its mouth, dear Sahani! I would never offer a gnome a poor gift, for your kind are dear to my heart and have always been, even if you are a little more special or different than most! If you put your mind to it, you will find that that catnip is exactly what you need…And it will be a great boon to you!” 

“Yea, sure…Thanks…Can we go home yet?” Sahani says, annoyed, immediately pocketing the catnip without a second afterthought. 

“Oh but not yet…There is one last gift I have to offer…One for Tobias!” 

This gift was in an ornate luxury gift box, made out of ebon wood. No ribbon adorned it, but rather bright brass clasps. He snaps them open, and pulls out what can only be described as a scale, wrought in silver and gold, split down the middle evenly. As he holds it, the weights immediately adjust themselves mystically, and represent something that doesn’t appear very clear at first.

“These are known as the Scales of Scale. They will weigh something beyond grams, my dear Tobias. These scales are not for weighing fruits, or metals…They’re for weighing something far different, more complex…Something closer to your heart. If you meditate on what this means, you will understand in time, and as you journey onward, you will find the scales to just appropriately, depending on your actions, and where you stand, in some way…This is all I shall say!” 

“Interesting. Thank you, Lord Moonracer. I’m eager to give them a try, and decipher what you mean.” 

“Oh ho ho! But of course! The pleasure is all mine!”

“Hey…Didn’t we all get a gift? What about Uncle Dunkle? Just because he didn’t help us take down Melinda doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a present!” Vimak objects as the party begins to wrap up their meeting and leave.

“Don’t worry about me, Vimak. I already got my gift.”

“Well? What was it?!”

“I have you all. My newfound friends and family. Traveling companions worth more than gold or trinkets. Together we’re going to spread lots of Yeuletide Cheer!” 

Lord Moonracer belly laughs greatly, and nobody in the party seems eager to challenge what Uncle Dunkle means by this, seemingly grateful that he’s back to his normal, quirky self. Whether or not he was truly given a gift or meant what he said would remain a mystery for now.

“Before I forget, take this as well, a token for the party, so that you may always return, should you find the need or the time appropriate!” Lord Moonracer says. 

He hands Renvarin a small glistening Yeuletide Bell made of silver, clearly a token for mistwalking. 

The party thanks Lord Moonracer one final time, and he thanks the party once more for their services - wishing them great fortune on their travels, and a merry Yeuletide season. He nods knowingly at Uncle Dunkle, who returns the gesture with a nod, appreciative, and they depart. 

And so thus concludes the business of the heroes of Ravenloft in ToyTown, derelict inside the  world of Krampenstadt, a confused, terrorized corner of the realms of torment.

“What in the Sixth Layer of Hell are you thinking Raven?!” Z’beksiya growled angrily. She was in his face, so close he could smell the ash on her breath and feel the increasing heat emanating off her skin. “You should have killed it!”

“Killed it?” He questioned angrily. “It has a name. Her name is Hildy. She’s just a girl and one of us, or have you forgotten.”

“You soft hearted fool. She became an it when she transformed into a demon, a dangerous demon at that. You put those savage creatures down.”

“I’m sorry. Did you miss the part where I said she was a child?”

“Call it what you will Raven. She’s a demon.”

“A child!” He raised his voice in anger for the first time in all the years she knew him. 

“You didn’t seem to have any problem blasting that kid in the Fey Realm.” She challenged him.

“He was warned and had threatened us. There is a difference. ”He explained more calmly.

“Oh and Demon Hildy isn’t a threat?” Her voice raised an octave.

“It’s not the same. She didn’t choose this.”

“How do you know? Some of the others weren’t quite convinced. What will you do if words fail and a fight ensues, if you are forced to choose between allies and an adopted stray?” 

“I will not stand idly by and let any harm befall that innocent little girl.”

“Innocent?” The imp mocked him. “My, you have forgotten your lessons. No one is innocent my dearest Xa’raven.”

“That little girl has done no harm. She’s already suffered more than most humans ten times her age and you expect me to put her down like a rabid animal because she had the misfortune of being possessed by a demon? Possessed quite likely while in our charge. I sincerely doubt it could have happened in Falkovnia. How does that sit with you my lovely Z’beksiya, knowing that a demon infiltrated our camp, right under your perky little nose?”

“Don’t you dare tiefling.” Her emphasis on his heritage was not lost on him. “I don’t care how it happened. What I do know is, it has.  Now you need to end it before it can spawn any more of its wretched ilk.”

“I won’t do it.” He said defiantly.

“Fine! I will.” She flashed her fangs before driving her shoulder into his, pushing past him toward the carnival. 

“No you won’t. I forbid it.”

Z’beksiya hovered and turned. “What did you say?” She menaced.

“I didn’t say anything. I commanded. You will do nothing to harm that child. Am I understood?”

“Why you treacherous little lemure.” She seethed. “You would dare to command me?!” Hellfire lit her eyes ablaze. “Who do you think you are?”

“Am I understood!?”

“Perfectly.” She glared at him. “But you will be made to suffer for this indignity, and I promise you this Raven, neither of us will enjoy it.”

“I’m sorry Bex.” Raven found a stump and sat, burying his face in his hands. “I won’t have her blood on my hands. Not after…”

“Is that what this is about?” She was long past irritated. “By Glasya’s scourge, don’t tell me you’re still blubbering on about that Cragmark business. That contract was valid and legal.”

“But was it right? That woman, those kids… innocent kids, did they deserve what they got?”

“We don’t get to decide that Raven.” She had calmed a bit. Her voice, more akin to the nurturing mentor she had always been. “We do as the law demands.” 

“What if the law is wrong?”

“You’re starting to sound like your father.” She said with irritation. 

“Is that a bad thing? Was he the hero they say he was?”

“Yeah, and look where it got him, Raven.” She landed on his lap, taking his cheek into her hand. “Look at me.”

His eyes joined with hers.

“I promised your mother I’d look after you. I promised our queen I’d train you. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that compromises any of those commitments. I need you to understand there is no salvation for demons. They exist solely to sow chaos, do harm and destroy everything they touch. Who knows what that poisonous Tanar'ri did to her, how it tortures and corrupts her soul. You care for her. I get it. Do her the courtesy of a merciful death.”

“I can’t. I won’t.” 

Z’beksiya sighed. “Xa’raven, It’s the law.” She emphasized forcefully.

“I don’t care.”

The imp shook her head in exasperation. “You know how I feel about you Raven, but you leave me no choice. I’ll have to inform Glasya of your treason.” She warned. 

“Is that a threat?”

“No it’s a fact. A threat would sound more like ‘Don’t fall asleep tonight or you may not wake again.’ See the difference?”

“You’re funny.”

“I assure you I am not amused, nor will the Archduchess be when she hears of this.”

“Fine. I can accept that. I promise Bex. I’ll accept the consequences for all I’ve done, all I’ve asked of you, just please help me save her.”

The imp stared at him for several long moments. “You’re pitiful. You know that right?” She looked disgusted. “Pathetic.”

“Will you help me or not?”

“Aren’t you going to command me to assist, master?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

“We both know how that ends. Besides, even if I did, you'd find some loophole that would cause her more harm than good. But I know if you agree to it then Hildy will be safe.”

“Much better Raven. It seems you’ve recovered your wits. You should be careful not to let your emotional human mind impair your logical fiendish nature.”

“Is that a yes?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“A favor for a favor Bex, do this for me and I shall repay the courtesy in kind.”

“You’re not getting off that easy.” There was a glimmer of malice in her eyes. “If I am to break the law and put aside a millennia of hatred you’ll have to do better than that.” She stared at him, silent for a long few moments. “When I am restored you will serve me as I have served you.”

“I shall. Do we have an accord?”

“One last condition, should it become clear she is beyond redemption we kill it as the law demands.”

“If it comes to that...” Raven looked away. “…as the law demands.”

“Very well, let’s see what can be done for the insufferable brat.”

“Thanks Bex.” 

He reached out to caress her cheek. She snapped at his finger drawing blood.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m still angry and you’re still an idiot.”

“Love you too Bex.”

She glared at him but hidden in her angry visage was a glimmer of a grin.

It occurs just after the return from the Butcher's catacombs 

“You could have waited, Raven.” Zybexia scowled from her perch on the desk. The comely imp sat provocatively, legs separated by the corner of the wood. Infernal was a harsh tongue and her tone only served to make her words more menacing. 

“For what purpose Bex? That misshapen blob of a creature was cutting through our ranks like baatorian greensteel through a dretch.”

The imp sighed with frustration. “To allow me a chance to bargain. Souls are in short supply and I don’t intend to stay like this forever.”

“You won’t. I promise. But this group is hands off. These are my friends. Understood?”

“Excuse me?” She hopped off the desk, landing hard into his lap.

“Ugh.” He groaned from the unexpected impact. A deep breath later he responded. “Off limits, Zybexia. Am I clear?”

“Well look who decided to finally grow up?” She sneered. Her face was a breath away from his. “Fine Xa’raven. Just you remember who matters most.” She nipped his lip drawing a trickle of blood.

“I will. How could I forget Bex? You’ve always…”

Tap..tap..tap.  

Zybexia looked at the door, rolled her eyes, and became a raven once more. She fluttered to the window sill and waited.

Raven stood and moved to the door. He slid the bolt to the side and opened it. “Hey Rainer.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

The bronze dragonborn hesitated, eying the room with some caution before entering. Once inside, his eyes set on the bird and he paused.

“Here.” he said, handing a leather bound tome to Raven. “It’s one of the books we recovered from the catacombs. You mentioned you would like to read it when I was done.”

“Thank you. But did you read it? I wouldn’t have expected you would be finished with it so quickly.”

“It’s surprisingly a quick read.” Rainer said not breaking eye contact with the bird.

“Is everything ok?” The warlock asked.

“Yeah. Fine. Just… Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Raven closed the door behind them and sat on the edge of the bed. What troubles you my friend?”

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been in league with devils?”

“For as long as I can remember. I mean… I was born in Malbolge after all?”

Rainer shifted his gaze from the bird to Raven. “So you were serious when you said you were from Malbolge?”

“I haven’t lied to you yet my friend.”

Rainer nodded his head in understanding. “I will admit I didn’t believe you. That aside, I have grown fond of our little rag-tag group. They are my friends…”

Raven cut in “Do you not consider me your friend as well Rainer?”

“I did until I saw you commanding an imp.”

“Did you happen to see what Bex did? What I asked her to do?” The black bird bristled as Raven’s face washed with disappointment. “She saved Dunkle’s life. Is that not the act of a friend? Would you rather I had let him die to continue the masquerade of her being a bird so as not to upset anyone? I had hoped by now that I had proven myself to everyone, that her secret was safe to reveal… Perhaps I was wrong to think I could find acceptance here…”  

“Yes…she saved Dunkle’s life.” Rainer said thoughtfully. “But was it out of friendship or self preservation? Devils are known to provoke a certain level of untrustworthiness. All I ask is that you continue to prove yourself worthy as we all must do.”

“Devils, my friend, live by stricter adherence to law more so than any other beings you could meet. Failure to do so is…” His eyes set on his familiar. “Met with rather extreme decidedness. As for her… I’ve known Bex all my life. We’ve been friends…”

The bird cawed before transforming into her imp form. “Friends? Did I hear you right?” She challenged.

Raven blushed. “Ok… More than friends sometimes.”

She cocked an eyebrow over her squinted glare.

“Fine. There is no one closer to me.”

“Better.” She said smugly, crossing her arms.

“She’s protected me, mentored me and cared for me my entire life. I guess that’s what allowed her to hear my call from this goddess forsaken place… how she was able to find me. And this was the cost.” He motioned to her as she resumed her perch on his desk..

“And what was that cost exactly?”

“She wasn’t always an imp you know? She’s been cursed and forced into that shape as punishment for something that wasn’t even her fault. Hell is less forgiving than the places I’m sure you're accustomed to.”

“Insinuating that Bex was something more powerful only stokes my concern. It means she has something to prove. I will leave you with this. I will not be party to damning souls. Continue to be the friend you have shone yourself to be and I will have no quarrel with you.”

“Powerful" is a rather subjective descriptive is it not? I merely stated she wasn’t always an imp.” Raven paused. “Would it surprise you to learn she was once an angel?” He shrugged his shoulders. “And for the record… Devils don’t damn souls Rainer. Mortals choose that fate all by themselves. All too often people just want someone else to blame for the consequences of their own misdeeds.”

“Was she once an angel?” Rainer said with skepticism. “You said she has been cursed and forced into this shape as punishment for something that wasn’t her fault. Did she not choose her own fate? Does she too fall into the category of blaming someone else for the consequences of her own misdeeds?”

“She was indeed an angel.” Raven assured the Dragonborn. “And in this case…”

“You don’t have to explain anything to him.” Zybexia spoke in celestial words. “If he judges you merely by what you are, where you were born… then perhaps he is not the friend you believe him to be.”

“I’d like to think otherwise, Bex.” Raven answered in the common tongue. “And no. This punishment was not her fault. She was cursed with this indignity because I was taken away by whatever fickle powers claim dominion over this place. She bears the consequence of my unexplained disappearance, her penance for losing me. Our queen understood our connection and by design placed this burden upon her to allow her to join me and bring me home. Once I return, she will be restored. I am her curse. So if there is anyone to be blamed… it’s me.”

“Overstatedly harsh but yes. You speak true Raven.” Zybexia half heartedly agreed. “But I don’t see it entirely that way. You’re no curse.” She hopped off the desk and fluttered to his shoulder draping her tail around his neck in a peculiar display of affection. “Burdensome at times, but mine nonetheless.”

“On the contrary.” Rainer retorted in the celestial tongue. “I am judgmental of the company he keeps, not the man himself. Where we are born and to whom none of us can control. But we decide who we wish to become through our thoughts and actions. Raven, so far, has proven himself to be a worthy ally. You Bex however…if I am to believe you were once an angel, you must have done something truly sinister to fall so far from grace. And it is for that reason you have earned my distrust.”

“Is that so?” She grinned. “Answer me this oh expert on piety. Are there none of your kind, or betters, the true dragons, that despite the reputation for malice or cruelty their scales infer, nevertheless conduct themselves with honor and dignity? Surely there are chromatics that perhaps are not so evil as their heritage would infer?” She rolled her eyes with some disinterest. “And believe what you will about me. My past deeds are not as sinister as you might think nor should they be of your concern. We have done no harm to any we call an ally. Can you say the same?”

Rainer looked at Bex evenly. “Dragons and baatezu have as much in common as tanar'ri and baatezu. Unlike the tanar'ri and the baatezu there are true dragons of both the light and darkness and they work together toward a common cause. And you are correct, your past deeds are not of my concern. What concerns me are your actions going forward.”

“Earned your distrust?” Raven said with offense. “Can you recall a single moment since we’ve been together where either of us engaged in behavior that warrants mistrust. If so, I'd very much like to know how we aggrieved you.” He shook his head in disappointment. “I think the mere suggestion that she must have engaged in some malevolent act is unfairly prejudicial. I would have expected better from you.”  

Rainer shifted his gaze to Raven “I’m sorry to disappoint. Now you know where I stand. How things progress from here will be up to you. Can light and darkness work together in this world for a common cause? We shall see.”

Rainer turned to exit the room when he stopped in mid step and spoke over his shoulder. “And Raven…let me know when you are finished with the book. I very much look forward to discussing our findings together.” 

“As will I. I’m curious to know what you’ve made of it.”

Rainer nodded and disappeared into the hall. 

A flick of Raven’s wrist closed the door and a swish of his finger slid the bolt back into place.

“Well what do you make of that Bex?”

The imp smirked. “He has an interesting comprehension of planar affairs, more so than you’d expect from your common dragonborn. I’d guess you’re not the only one with a secret. It intrigues me to consider what his may be.”

“Can we trust him?

“Have you learned nothing?” She glared at him.

“Right… The only person I can trust is you.”

“Good.” The imp grinned smugly. “But I don’t believe he means us harm either.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’m not sure… He may have his opinion about devils but his calm demeanor and desire to talk lends itself to the idea that maybe I’m not the first denizen of hell he’s encountered.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed….”

She scoured the city to no avail. He was nowhere to be found. She even returned to the home of Grae Cragmark, the despicable human who unrepentantly sold the souls of his wife and children for wealth and prestige. It was true he had done so inadvertently when the accord was agreed upon, but when offered the opportunity to spare his daughter from the sorrows of eternal torment by taking her place, he instead chose to see her damned. As Zybeksiya surveyed the grounds she found that fresh graves had quietly been dug and the bodies of Cragmark’s newly deceased family placed in repose in a secluded grove on the property so as not to draw unwanted attention. Frustratingly she still was unable to detect any trace of Xar’aven. Odd. It was as if he had just disappeared. She knew he lacked the power to teleport, let alone planeshift. She began to worry that some vengeful, spiteful creature, jealous of the favor he was earning, may have taken him. She dashed that from her mind. They served the court of Glasya. Who would be foolish enough to dare defy the Archduchess of the Sixth? Zybeksiya was at a loss. What could she do? She searched again, unfortunately, with no better results. She decided she should return to court and deliver the contract. Then she would hunt for him again. With a shimmer she was gone.

The audience hall of Osseia was a resplendent space. Despite the grotesque landscape of Malboge, the entirety of the palace, this room in particular, was as austentatious and decadent as its ruler was subversive and cruel. Columns of crafted granite stood tall on polished marble floors of dark stone supporting a ceiling of mosaic tiles depicting Glasya engaging in all manner of debauchery. Rich furnishings were set about crafted from the finest hardwoods with accents of platinum and gold. Sconces burned with green tinged flames of flickering hellfire, illuminating the room and casting nefarious, shifting shadows in all directions. Zybeksiya moved through the assemblage of devils with relative ease. No one seemed interested in her arrival. She approached the throne of sculpted bone, precious metal and rare cut gems, a work of craftsmanship both wondrous and wicked. The eyes of her queen flitted in acknowledgement as the strikingly beautiful devil lord cocked an eyebrow. 

“My queen.” Zybeksiya bowed in deference. “We were successful in collecting on the contract as you commanded.” She presented the scroll tube without raising her head.

Glasya stood. Well over seven feet tall, she was as imposing as she was elegant. She accepted the scroll tube in her taloned fingers and immediately passed it to her attendant, an erinyes named Baratum. 

“Tell me Zybeksiya… if ‘we’ were successful, why is it that only you bow before me now?” Her head turned toward Ariecelli who wore an equally curious expression.

“We were successful, my queen.” Zybeksiya affirmed. “In fact Xar’aven accorded himself with poise and skill.”

“So where is my little Raven then? Why does he not present himself before me to accept my adulation.”

Zybeksiya kept her eyes focused on the floor. “After we settled the contract we returned to a room I had secured for our use as a safe haven. He had some misgivings about the morality of what he had done so I thought it best if we stayed the night, affording me time to grant him perspective, ease his guilt.”  

“I’m sure that’s not all you eased.” She said with a sarcastic drawl. You still haven’t accounted for his absence.”

“Where is my son Zybeksiya!” Ariecelli demanded angrily. 

Zybeksiya shifted her eyes to meet Ariecelli’s.

“I don’t know.” She answered in a muted tone

“Explain.” Glasya growled impatiently. 

“I woke to a chill in the room and reached for him. He wasn’t there. I called out to him but he didn’t answer. I jumped from the bed and as my feet touched the wood planks I saw there was an unusual mist hovering about the floor. I checked the privy to find it empty and even screamed his name. No reply came.”

Ariecelli glared murderously at the erinyes as she told her story.

“So you lost him?” Glasya stated flatly.

It was obvious Zybeksiya was becoming anxious. She didn’t fear Ariecelli, but her queen’s calm yet cold demeanor was more than unsettling. 

“My queen, I searched the city twice over again. I returned to the manor house where we collected the contract and found nothing. I don’t understand. It’s as if he disappeared.” She began to get upset. “I just hope he’s not…”

“He isn’t. I can still feel him draw from my power, faintly but detectable.”

Zybeksiya sighed with relief.

“Do not find solace in this revelation. I trusted you with one of my most valuable assets. You were to train and safeguard him. You failed me.”

“My queen… I will find him. If you grant me leave I shall set off immediately. I will bring him back.”

“Go. And Zybeksiya… Do not disappoint me again. I will not be so generous a second time.”

Zybeksiya bowed, shimmered and was gone.

As the fire came to life, Tobias paced forward and tossed a long black feather into the hearth. Almost instantaneously it was rendered to ash.

“What did you do that for?” Callus asked cautiously, “Omens such as these should not be taken lightly.”

“Well I had discarded it at the crossroads.” the paladin explained, “only to find it in my pack. I’m curious to see if it returns again.”

“Well I did look for the feather when you tossed it and noticed it had disappeared.” Sahani added. “Maybe check and see if it’s back again.”

“I will. Just not yet.” Tobias replied with a yawn. “We should probably set a watch and get some rest.”

“Agreed.” Callus nodded. “But perhaps… Seeing as we’re going to be spending time with one another… I think maybe it would be a good idea to have proper introductions.” 

A wry smile broke from beneath the shadow of his cloak as Xar’aven prompted, “Go on then.”

“So I am called Callus… well…  for as long as I can remember,” The aasimar was seated deep into his chair, swirling his finger in the air above him, “And as I said before, I am no stranger to these mists that have brought us all together, unlike the majority of you, or at least it seems, I have been waiting for this moment for quite… a while,” He took a long pull from his flask, his eyes narrowing at the thought. 

“So you’re no stranger to these lands.” The warlock commented. “Great. How does that help us?”

The aasimar smiled to himself, before continuing.  “I have guided many guests of the mists found lost in our woods, but never of the type, or,” he points around with the hand holding his flask to the group, “in the numbers you all have arrived together. This tells me only one thing.”

Tobias looked over, waiting for an answer from the apparent woodsman, who seemed distracted by the flames of the fire. “Praytell, what would this ‘thing’ be?”

“A reckoning…” Callus answered as he looked over to the paladin with a smirk. He pulled himself off the chair and grabbed his bow. “...a reckoning is at hand. And either we are the ones that shall deal with it or we are the ones that shall be dealt with.”

Callus adjusted his rapier and hand axes before patting Tobias on the shoulder as he headed to the door.

“Welcome to Barovia, I’ll take the first watch.”

Renvarin banged his head back against the cushion of the high back chair in frustration. “We’re not in Barovia!” He called after the ranger, watching as he stepped out onto the porch and into the inclement weather. “Twit.” He shook his head in annoyance.

“Not much of an introduction if you ask me. I mean other than a name…” The cloaked man shrugged. “I take it you’re from these parts as well?” The warlock asked, nodding toward the smartly dressed rogue.

“This place? No.” The elf shook his head. “But I can tell you for certain that this isn’t Barovia. The trees, the landscape… The feeling is just wrong. I hail from Kartakass, and no, we’re not there, either. In fact, I’m not certain where we are. The mists… sometimes they move folks around. I don’t know what he meant by reckoning, but I don’t think it’s an accident that we’ve ended up here together. The angel got one thing right, though; we all appear to be from vastly different places. You may call me Renvarin. What do they call you?”

“Raven.” The warlock’s eyes took on a lurid green glow casting a sickly shadow beneath his hood. I’ve never heard of Barovia or Kartakass. Grew up in Oessia, spent some time in the Ribcage… I’d say I’m about as foriegn as it gets… except for maybe that guy.” He gestured toward Rainer “Don’t see many of his kind where I’m from, at least not with those golden bronze scales.”

“Not looking to pry but…” The elf tilted his head to the side. “Do you always hide beneath that cowl? Something wrong with your face?” 

Raven hesitated. “I’m told I have my father’s look about me. But personally, I think I favor my mother. Regardless, I’m seen as something of a curiosity. I don’t quite fit in with the aesthetics of the people of my homeland if you will. I guess I’m a bit reserved.”

“Nothing wrong with being shy. I’m just thinking it might be a good idea to know what you look like… in case you need rescuing, make sure we’re saving the right guy, you know?” He suggested with a smirk.

The comment drew an amused laugh from Xar’aven. “Where I come from there are many in need of saving…however you wouldn’t count me among them. Appreciate the sentiment though.” He drew back his hood revealing dusky skin and shoulder length, ink black hair with hints of eggplant purple in its highlights, similar to the color of a raven’s wing. His eyes were solid opaque with no sclera or pupils, just a noisome looking green color and despite his fair, almost pleasant appearance, Renvarin could sense something dark about the man, infernal even. 

“You’re a tiefling, then. I’ve read of your kind. But no horns?” He commented with mild interest. 

“Mom is a fiend who has a bit of celestial blood in her. Like I said, a curiosity.”

“Some around these lands would call you darkborn. And I wouldn’t expect them to be so welcoming.” He chuckled to himself. “They seem to hate gnomes here enough.” 

“Nothing I haven’t experienced before. I’ve been called demon spawn, devil child… and plenty of other not so flattering nomers. The cloak’s to avoid attention”

“So which one is it?” The elf pushed.

“Which one is what?”

“Demon or Devil.”

Xar’aven grinned, exposing a sharp canine. “I’m too pretty to be born from demons. How about you? Is there any more to Renvarin besides nice clothes and a sarcastic tongue?”

“Plenty,” he replied with a mock eyeroll. “But since you admitted to the heritage of your mother, I’ll admit mine; I’m shadar-kai. Mother was of a tribe dedicated to Artemis, deep in the Wolfwood of Kartakass,” he fingered the long, pointed earring in his left ear as he spoke, “but the blood of the whatever my father was runs deep.” Renvarin looked off into the fire for but a moment, considering something before turning a snide eye to Xar’aven. “Not such a bad thing, though. Blood steeped in history has its benefits.”

Xar’aven gave a cautious nod. “One could say that.”

Renvarin watched Xar’aven intently for a moment before continuing. “We’re not too different, you and I. Sure, you have some of the more… prominent attributes,” he drawled, waving his hand in a circle, “but you and I–all of us, I would imagine–we draw looks wherever we go.” He turned towards the dragonborn and Xar’aven followed his gaze. “Isn’t that right?” Renvarin appraised the one called Reiner. “How about you beastie? How’d you end up in this circus?”

Rainer had been listening, quite intently in fact, but looked up at the duo as if having been roused from a daydream. “I would tell you if I could remember,” he replied earnestly, trying hard to not let the elf’s insults get the best of him. “I woke to find myself in a strange land with no recollection of where I’m from. I feel fortunate I am able to remember my name.”

“Ah,” Renvarin nodded in resonant understanding. “So, you can’t hold your liquor. Damn shame, truly.” 

Rainer breathed aggravation through his nostrils and crossed his arms. “It’s amnesia not liquor. The one thing I recall vividly is Bahamut telling me that he would test my faith. Given my current company this will prove to be the test of tests.” he spat, locking eyes with the rogue.

“Oh, indeed. Artemis herself swept down from the heavens and declared me proctor. For just this occasion, I’m sure.” Renvarin moved to the edge of his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “‘One day,’ she said, ‘you will aid a golden lizard on his path to enlightenment, and in exchange, you will be granted leave with one of my own huntresses.’” He looked over at Xar’aven, head cocked to the side. “Gods are such generous entities.”

Rainer narrowed his eyes. “Generous enough to let one like you suck in another breath, after such vitriol. You should be careful, too many words and the wrong people are bound to hear just the right phrase.”

“Yes, yes,” Renvarin sighed, “I’m sure Artemis is listening with such disdain to our conversation at this very moment. Me, here, right now, in the middle of gods-knows-where.” A grin like a cruel scar crossed over his face. “Probably exactly why your Bahamut stuck you here–so that the planes could forget you ever even exist—”

With a speed fit to rouse even Tobias from his seat by the fire, Rainer shot up and forward, bringing the back of his scaled hand to bear across the elf’s none-too-smart face. A resounding crack silenced the room, save for the soft pops of the fire burning in the hearth. Renvarin was hit with such force he fell to his knees, one arm braced on the arm of his chair for support. The shock and pain was enough to leave him speechless, clutching the place where he’d been struck. Rainer bent over his form, then, and hissed “Never speak of my god again, elf, lest you desire to meet your huntress yourself.”

Tobias shot to his feet at the sudden movement with his hand on the hilt of his sword, then he relaxed as the exchange took place.

After a moment of stunned silence he spoke, "Don't you guys think there's enough happening in this damned house to keep us busy without fighting each other?" No one took much notice of the question as all eyes were locked on Reiner and Renvarin.

Sahani reacted to the commotion with a shake of her head. “I agree with the human. We have enough problems with creatures and cursed harps within this building.  Do we really need to fight each other? As for the gods, Mister Arrogance, I would have agreed with you until recent events altered my perspective. The creature I seek to destroy had all but taken my life were it not for the divine intervention of a god. I am proof such things occur. When have any of you known a creature such as me to stand for good and the light?  I was all but ready to end my own existence after narrowly escaping the clutches of a vampire. Just as I was about to do something foolish and throw away this rock, the very one that now hangs about my neck, he appeared before me. It was then I saw.”  Sahani’s eyes seem to shine brighter as she recalled the moment. “Lathander was magnificent, bright as the sun, yet I could look easily upon him. He grabbed my hands in his and offered me a better way. A chance to better our world and stand for the light. So yes elf, watch your words carefully when you speak of the greater powers. The reason the gods chose our group of misfits, myself included, to be drawn together has yet to reveal itself, but until then let’s at least treat each other with civility.

Sahani looked at Rainer and began speaking in a scolding draconic mom voice “ Nice hit Rainer, but do try to appear upset so dumbass doesn’t guess at my approval.” 

Rainer made no indication of having heard the gnome, and stalked across the room to the door Callus had exited from. He braced himself against the frame and looked out into the swirling mists. 

Renvarin stood, rubbing his jaw, and fell back into his seat without another word. 

"Let's change the subject from this bullshit, shall we?" Tobias continued as he settled back into his chair again and stared into the fire. "I'm from the continent of Wildemount, in Exandria. Doesn't seem like many of you know that place. I lived my first few years on a farm in Felderwin until I took up with Sir Arthur. With him I roamed the Wildemount countryside assisting in his noble pursuit to cleanse the world of injustice and evil. Then, one day, we were working to route a vampire clan from their cave when a mist arose from nowhere and brought me here." Tobias paused in thought before continuing.

"I suspected that the head of the clan created the mist but now I'm starting to think that perhaps it was just bad luck. Either way I need to get back to Sir Arthur…" Tobias trailed off before saying half under his breath, "God's, I hope he made it out of that cave."

All was silent for a minute before Tobias realized that everyone had turned their attention to him. He straightened himself in the chair, eyes darting from person to person as he searched for a way to escape their attention.

"Morag… you said you were from my land, but you spent time on the sea. I've never been to the coast or seen the ocean. What's it like?"

Ahh yes I’m originally from Port Damali on the Menagerie Coast but for some time I’ve sailed out of Darktow on the Turtle’s Hubris. As for who I am, my name is Morag Thraka but you may call me Skartissue. I was sent along with my crew to kill a Sea Hag much like the creature in the other room when these mysterious mists took me. I have been a slave, gladiator, cabin boy and finally a full member of the crew but now I find myself with no crew, no ship and no captain.

As for the ocean, the open waves mean freedom. Sailing from harbor to harbor with each bringing new food, new drink, new bars and new people. 

Xar’aven listened as the human and orc spoke but was clearly more interested in the diminutive female gnome. “A vampire you say little one? Was it the fel embrace of said creature that made you so? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to know more about you. You’ve expressed your opinions well enough but still haven’t really introduced yourself. Do you have a name or would you prefer to be called gnome or ankle biter?

Sahani had been staring deeply into the hearth after her exchange with Reiner and Renvarin. She lifted her head for a moment, making eye contact with the tiefling. “My name is Sahani Strongcraft and the angel said there shall be a reckoning indeed. I do not know why I am here but now that I am, I believe that the creature that came out of the mists, slaughtered my parents, and gave me these,” she pointed to her fangs, “must have originated from here. I shall personally destroy and send the foul thing back to the hell from where it came. Until then I will happily fight alongside anyone who would kill such creatures.”

“I can assure you little lady, your monster did not come from any hell I’ve seen. “ Xar’aven said with a smirk. “And I’ve been to several of the nine. Even that frozen foppish priss who proclaims himself Lord of the Fifth would not suffer such a creature. But if what you seek is retribution for the crimes committed against you and your family, I know the perfect prison for it.”

Sahani nodded toward Xar’aven before returning her gaze to the flames.

Uncle Dunkle looked toward Vimak who simply shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. With no one else apparently interested in talking about themselves the group set a watch and tried to regather their strength through the rest of a fitful sleep.