Moil

The city hung in space, hovering over a eye-searing nothingness. Cursed, it had been torn from its world and left here, in frigid darkness. And they had come, in pursuit of an ancient evil. The City That Waits, Vision had proclaimed, the most literal translation of the runes carved on the archway. Moil. None of them knew if it had been pronounced that way for this city was dead. If not for a blessing placed on all of them by Maynard, the very air of this place would have frozen their lungs.

There was no sun here, no moon, no stars. Only the faintest light emanated from above - a grayish twilight from which bright motes like falling stars rained down. From that, Callana could see the city or what remained of it anyway. Towers connected by flying bridges, rising from a chill fog.

Grimly they moved into the towers. All the places that had been inhabited by Acererak were deathtraps - filled with fiendish ways to main or kill any who would seek him out. These six remained of those who sought to finally put an end to the malice of Acererak and his followers. Vision. The rail thin archmage who seemed obsessed with keeping his face out of view and every bit as secretive regarding, well, everything. Callana didn't know if he could be trusted - at times she felt like an ally of convenience for him and whatever his actual agenda was. But Vision's power could not be denied and he had saved their lives many times over.

Maynard. Sun-priest. Tall, quiet, steady. He was the calm center the group rallied around. Smarter than people around him took him for, Callana wished he'd speak up more but he seemed content to let others lead. Likewise he seemed understated in his powers but his prayers were answered most potently and Callana had seem Maynard raise the dead, heal the most terrible of wounds and stand in combat with rulers of the lower worlds.

Teryon. Cursed. One of the last elves of Oerth, he scarcely resembled his fellows and indeed was an exile with a death sentance from any of his kind. Lost in the Abyss, one of the labyrinthine demon worlds, he had a made a bargain there to survive - and had been horribly transformed as a result. A centaur-like monstrosity with the upper body of an elf and the lower form of a tarantula, even the elf-like portion was pale and bloated. Worse, Callana had spotted what appeared to be vampiric canines.

Many times older than any of them, Teryon's terrible change seemed to concern him little and though he seemed odd company, if anything had become more deadly since his return - spider legs clinging to walls and ceilings, his twin longswords wove a circle of destruction around him as he fought with gleeful energy.

Standing in complete contrast with Al'Zaman. The tall Bak'lun had helped them escape the Hells and was both stalwart and surprisingly good-humored. Callana had gotten to know him during the Battle of Baragu Tovag when he came to support Zuoken's attempt to stop Xan'Yae. They had won that day - banishing Xan'Yae through the portal. And Zuoken's guise as Xan'Yae's champion had been stripped away by his rebellion against the Goddess, revealing him to be Cade, a once-mortal who agreed to serve the Mistress of Perfection. For a time. Paladin and follower of Pelor the Sun God, Al'Zaman followed anywhere Maynard would lead.

And then there was Nomad. Helm closed, Callana could barely remember his face. After decades turned into a stone masthead aboard a demon ship, the ordeal seemed to have stripped away any personality from the warrior and he rarely spoke. That said, he fought with mechanical efficiency and held a singular honor as Slayer of Iuz.

Callana herself was a High Bard, trained in the druidic lineage of the Dan'herin peoples of the north, carrier of the history of her clans and tutored by the very best in the arts and martial skills. Very little of which offered any comfort in this place, so far removed from lands of light and warmth.

***

And now they stood and watched as the black tower rose up from the fog. Originally this obvious center plaza of the city stood empty - half a dozen of the arched bridges had let to it, only to reveal a blank platform. However, the other bridges led to towers in what they now realized was the Noble Quarter. A faint sphere could now be discerned, surrounding the towers and the crumbling rock they rested upon. Whatever magic this represented maintained this last chunk of the city hovering in space - and the frigid atmosphere within that was painful, but breathable.

And though the city was dead, it was not quiet. The inhabitants had been cursed to a frigid unlife, and sought their warmth to ease their unending suffering. Whoever or whatever they had been, they weren't human, and had attacked with increasing numbers and cunning until finally they had all been destroyed. The wounds of their icy claws numbed and killed flesh and though they had been vanquished, it took a toll on the heroes as the unchanging hours stretched on.

Finally, in a water-filled tower, they had found a key - after nearly perishing to the dragonic guardian. Descending down into the salt waters of the inverted tower, it had banished their protections, leaving them in complete darkness, with no ability to breath or withstand the freezing cold water. This well should have ended them. But again they survived - Vision somehow not suffocating, managed to create a breathable bubble around their bodies and light to guide their way to the air-filled alcove of the dragon.

The bronze key from the treasure trove had led them to a previously sealed tower, formerly controlled by the Warrior Guild, obviously one of the great powers of this former city. Within, they encountered the animated if not still living, Lord Warrior. The reptilian humanoid fought with terrible vitality but fell nonetheless and from him a brass key was recovered.

Returning to that center plaza, a keyhole was found set into one of the stones and after turning the brass key within, a tower of jagged black stone rose with a terrible grating sound. Only once before had Callana seen something resembling this - in the depths of that ancient temple of Tharizdun. Maynard turned, looking at her. He recognized it too.

This was a terrifying omen. Tharizdun was only known from pre-human myths but was known as He of Eternal Darkness, a malign entity awakened by the creation of the worlds and who arose to destroy them and return all to Darkness. The gods had united to fight Tharizdun and though they appear to have won, mostly their presence had been removed from the worlds of mortals and in the aftermath of this great battle, spawn of this great darkness began to plague mortals evermore.

That any being would seek to rouse this Great Darkness was unthinkable. And to stop this, Callana and her companions had traveled from the Great Swamp to the frigid Cold Marshes and now to this tower of black ice. The only opening a black doorway with steps of black stone descending within.

Deadwood

"It's time for me to return to Oerth", the woman said, breaking the silence.

The two of them spent many afternoons like this - sitting on the covered porch, drinking coffee, the distant ripple of the Black Hills visible in the hot August sun. Truth is, Callana had never felt more content than she had in the last few months here. She would rise at dawn, help Murlynd with the horses and cattle and then sit and read in the rocking chairs, avoiding the day's heat.

After the cold of Moil and her still-fresh loss, she needed this time. That cold had seeped into her bones. And as a companion, Murlynd was perfect company. To a stranger he might appear withdrawn, taciturn but she had known him for years and his quiet nature was merely that of someone who only spoke when he had something to say.

Finally he broke his silence, "If you've decided then, we'd best see Heward." Another of Murlynd's friends and fellow exiles here in the Badlands, Hew had managed to keep himself quite busy - by day he was the principal and head teacher of the 3-room schoolhouse, taught music lessons and played nightly in Sly's Saloon. Balding, with flame-red hair, enormous sideburns and a gregacious nature, he managed to be well-liked and respected in Deadwood.

He was also a man with secrets and one of those was a hidden room full of mirrors that allowed passage to any number of places. One of those mirrors would take Callana home.

Watching Murlynd ride toward town, she remembered how she had met him all those years ago. At her former home, the desert refuge called the Solastery. Riding up, she was struck by his piercing blue eyes - and the calm way he assessed her and her companions. This was a man clearly used to being outnumbered - and comfortable with that.

And now he was Marshall of the Territories. Probably the only one to go about his duties with a broadsword strapped to his back but the locals viewed him with equal parts fear and respect after their most recent upset - the day the town graveyard erupted and the dead walked the streets. Formerly hanged criminals, heads lolling to the side, shambled alongside deceased grandmothers and gunshot victims.

Murlynd stood in the center of town, his revolvers spitting out a stream of death until he was ringed by fallen corpses. And when his ammunition had run out and both gun barrels smoked from the heat, he drew that sword and charged into the mass of walking dead, beheading them with every swing until none remained. After that, dazed townsfolk emerged from the buildings and the town sheriff walked up to Murlynd, pressed his badge into Murlynd's hand and rode out of town, never to be seen again.

***

As sunset neared, Callana finished packing her saddlebags, emptying the last of her possessions from the trunk in the guest house. The ride into Deadwood was a calm one, the horse taking the path with a steady gait. Tying it off at Sly's, she stepped inside and Murlynd spotted her immediately and waved her over to his table.

"You should have a steak since it's your last night here - and Hew has a few hours left" he said, gesturing over at the sweating figure on the piano. Truth be told, Callana didn't much care for the style of music favored by the locals - it was jarring to her melodic ear, but Heward's playing couldn't be faulted.

"So what are you going to do when you return?" he asked mildly.

"I don't know but I can't just stay and do nothing and hope that this horror won't reach us here - the graveyard proved the lie of that."

"Fair enough" he said, adding "Just know that you have a home here and we'll do our best to defend it from whatever comes."

They ate their meal in silence after that but on this, her last night here, Callana found herself brimming with questions that hadn't occurred to her before now. Despite that, she still couldn't voice them. Finally, Heward joined them, breaking the tension by smiling broadly at Callana.

"I'm sorry to see you go Callana - I'll have to tell Millie at the general store to stop bringing in so much gingham", Heward joked.

"I do find it strangely exotic" she said, cracking a faint smile.

Banter aside, the mood was heavy and the three of them fell into silence. Heward ate ravenously, drank down four beers and finally they left and headed up to Hew's largish house on the edge of town. He led them into his study and unlocked the door within. Stepping inside, they emerged into a brightly-lit domed chamber considerably larger than the house, dominated by a huge pipe organ in the center. The ampitheatre-like sides held several rows of full-length mirrors.

"Now" Heward said, "There's that little problem of you coming back here because as you might imagine, this is a somewhat out of the way place." Opening a lacquered box, the portly man lifted out a brass key and walked over to Callana.

"Welcome to the Illuminuti!" Heward said, grinning broadly. "All you have to do is press this key to any sizeable mirror, think about Deadwood and it will let you step through to here - well, my wardrobe to be precise."

"Now there's the matter of getting you home" and he sat at the organ, muttering about harmonic resonances and the octave of Oerth. Operating the pedals and keys with ease, he played several strange-sounding melodies and then with a loud "Aha!" played a series of notes that caused a ringing chime to sound from one of the mirrors. Looking that way, Callana saw the surface of the mirror begin to glow like the moon on a still lake.

Turning to Murlynd, who had been silent since dinner, Callana looked him in the eye and said "I know you have responsibilities here and if you hadn't found me on that strange metal ship I don't know if I'd ever have found my way home. I'll come back if I can."

Murlynd nodded, saying "You might find like we did, that home is no longer where it was but where we make it."

Eyes tearing up despite her willing them not to, she quickly turned away only to see Heward failing the same struggle. Callana hugged him fiercely and then picked up her saddlebags, walked to the shining mirror - and vanished into its depths.

As the glow faded, Heward turned to Murlynd, seeing he'd restored his stoic expression. "Shouldn't we have told her about Zagyg & Keogh?"

"No", Murlynd shook his head faintly "Things are bad enough without taking away more hope."