Yondalla forgive me, Amyalla thought to herself, sickened by the sight she was participating in. Would that there was another way…

Using her magical hat to disguise herself as one of Pieden’s thugs, Amyalla was now riding on one of the slave-wagons Pieden and his men were using to transport their kidnap victims. The children were carefully disguised-a wig here, an overly large coat there-and cowed into silence with threats of all kinds of dire punishments should they reveal themselves or plead for help. Not that most people would have heeded them anyway-slavery was perfectly legal and commonplace in Greyhawk, as the markets were far too lucrative for it to be otherwise.

At least Greyhawkers were open about their lust for hard coin, Amyalla realized. Other people were more apt to hide their greed behind purer motives, such as her family. The Reorsas had proudly claimed that Amyalla had loved the decorated halfling noble and adventurer Kivern Goodleaf when she married him. House Reorsa was not displeased to find that one of its daughters had become the friend and eventual lover of such a famous hero, and their eventual marriage had not changed things. Indeed, being associated with a name as prestigious as Kivern’s could only better House Reorsa’s commercial prospects.

Amyalla had indeed loved Kivern when she first met him, enchanted by his devils-may-care attitude and air of bravery. But that was before she learned about his love of fine wine, and the rages he would fly into on those all too common instances when he was drunk. It was bad enough when he would shout obscenities at her, calling her a no-good whore. It was all the worse when Kivern decided to force his hapless wife to “dance” for him by shooting his loaded crossbow or throwing his daggers at Amyalla, forcing her to dodge his attacks as he laughed like the drunken sot he was. Even that was not as bad as all the times he cuckolded her with other halfling women, often after Kivern had cut her with his sword or beaten her with a mace.

Complaining to her family had done her no good. They refused to do anything about it, as they had no desire to see Kivern’s good name ruined by dragging it through the mud, which would of course have hurt House Reorsa’s own profits. So it was that House Reorsa’s daughter had had no compunctions about using her wiles and her wits to expose Kivern’s philandering and cause a hideous scandal that ruined him and nearly took House Reorsa with him. So it was that she’d fled Leukish, taking Kivern’s cherished magical hat to help her disappear.

Now, the halfling hated herself for what she was doing, hated herself for willingly letting these children suffer at the hands of Pieden’s men and the slavers who would take them. Every time she cursed herself for what she was doing, she had to remind herself that they were doing this so they would be able to track the slavers down back to their lair, and rescue not only Louella’s and Pieden’s children, but also anyone and everyone else who’d suffered at these monsters’ hands.

Pieden’s caravan was well into the Cairn Hills by the time they met the slavers, and it was nearly dusk when the children were transferred into the new caravan. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much to distinguish the slavers from Pieden’s own men. The slavers were a collection of rough-looking thugs equipped with a large set of horse-drawn wagons. The slavers’ wagons were set with the same kinds of cage’s as Pieden’s own, and the transition was made with a minimum of fuss. The children cried and wailed, their sobs tearing at Amyalla’s soul, and she cursed herself once again, forcing an image of Louella’s pleading to the front of her mind. Unfortunately, that image fought for space in her mind’s eye with memories of Kivern and all the things he’d done to her.

Once their business was done, Pieden’s caravan turned around to return to Greyhawk. They stopped briefly to refill their waterskins from a nearby stream, and Amyalla took the opportunity to give the excuse that she needed to relieve herself in private. Instead, she disappeared into the woods near the road, knowing full well that the nervous thugs had no intention of looking for her. So far, Amyalla’s plan was working well, and she only needed to wait for Airk and Revafour. Concentrating for a moment, she shifted back into her natural form, even as she heard Pieden rally his men and get the caravan going again. The superstitious thugs had no desire to be out in the Cairn Hills at night, and would be returning to Greyhawk even if they had to travel until dawn.

Dozing in the hollow of a large duskwood tree, Amyalla awakened when she heard the sounds of Airk and Revafour approaching up the road a few hours later. Emerging from the hollow and making her way back to the road, Amyalla greeted her companions as Revafour tossed Amyalla her backpack. They’d hid in the woods as Pieden’s caravan had returned to Greyhawk, letting it pass them by before they’d continued into the hills. Worn from their long walk, Airk and Revafour were led by Amyalla back into the woods so they could get some sleep before setting out at dawn.

Revafour would be able to track the slavers’ caravan further into the hills, and then, hopefully, they would find the slavers themselves.

 

Several days of travel, knowing that they were getting closer to their goal, had not calmed the worry Weimar, Luna, Seline and Ma’non’go felt. If anything, it only increased their concern, hoping against hope they wouldn’t be too late in rescuing little Teddyrun. Luna’s divination spells had given them a general idea of which way to go, but none of them knew what the omen from Pelor had meant by the “giant’s cloven beard”. They had asked at several of the villages they’d stopped in and other travelers they’d met on the way, but no one they’d asked had any idea of what they were talking about. 

Now in the Cairn Hills themselves, Weimar and the others weren’t entirely sure of what to do. They’d continued heading north by northeast, and Weimar had made sure they stayed on course, but so far they hadn’t come across any giants. They’d thought of asking at some of the mining villages in the hills themselves-maybe the dwarves and gnomes of the region would know better what the divination was talking about, but how much time could they afford to spend asking about it?

“Why don’t you cast some more spells?” Weimar asked Luna as they rode down a trail that cut through a copse of thick birch trees.

“They take too long to cast,” Luna frowned. “It’s taken us a long time to get here already, and I don’t know how much more time we can spend-“

Luna’s horse, which was leading the group, suddenly neighed in surprise and recoiled onto its hind legs as an arrow shot out from the trees and thudded into the path in front of it. The adventurers looked around warily as a group of men and women seemed to appear around them almost by magic, emerging from the trees. The new arrivals were dressed in clothes of green and brown to help them blend in with their surroundings, for all that their spears, maces and shields were of well-made steel. Most of them wore light leather armor, and none of them wore anything heavier than brigandine. They carried themselves with the practiced ease of people whose ancestors had spent countless centuries living in these hills, knowing them as intimately as any dwarf or gnome.

Most of the settled Flanaess was dominated by countries established by the Suel and Oeridian peoples who had come to these lands during the Great Migrations, in most cases driving out the indigenous Flan who gave the continent their name. Many Flan now lived among other humans as citizens of these new countries, but others continued to live in their own independent communities. Some of them were nomads, others were settled farmers, tradespeople or herders, but they all recognized no authority and belonged to no country other than their own. A group of these independent Flan now surrounded the adventurers, many of them with drawn bows, others with swords or maces in their hands.

The situation remained tense for several seconds, before one Flan, clearly the leader from the way he conducted himself, spoke to the group.

“What brings you to these lands?” he asked in the common tongue. “Why have you come here?”

Much to Weimar’s surprise, Luna answered for them.

“We come to these lands in search of an innocent who needs our help,” Luna answered in the Flan language. “We mean you and yours no harm-this I swear as a daughter of Pelor,” she continued, displaying the golden sun icon she wore as a pendant around her neck.

The Flan leader rocked back on his heels slightly, surprised at Luna’s answering him in his own language. The other Flan warriors were just as surprised, mumbling to one another and lowering their weapons somewhat.

“All we would seek from you is guidance,” Seline added, also speaking in the Flan language. “We are searching for a child, a child abducted by some evil that could threaten all the communities around it. Any help you could give us would be greatly appreciated.”

Once again, the Flan looked at the adventurers and then each other in surprise at the foreign women who spoke their language.

Weimar looked at Ma’non’go, who glanced back at him and nodded as if to assure him.

“You don’t hail from the City of Greyhawk, do you?” the Flan leader realized in the common tongue. “You, do you speak our language?” he asked, this time turning to Weimar and Ma’non’go and speaking in Flan.

Ma’non’go nodded, while Weimar just shrugged helplessly, not understanding anything the leader was saying in Flan.

“An Olman from the southern lands, two women from the east, and…a man from the west,” the Flan leader mused to himself. “Clearly you all have an interesting tale to tell, and very good reason to be in these hills. Perhaps we can help one another after all.”

“Help one another?” Weimar asked in surprise, as the group of Flan turned to continue down the trail, gesturing for the adventurers to follow them. “What do you mean?”

“Your friends have mentioned a great evil,” the Flan leader replied, as the adventurers kicked up their horses to follow. “If my suspicions are correct, we may need your help just as much as those whose child you seek to rescue.”

 

The Flan village was a collection of log cabins and lodges, typical for this part of the world. Luna, Seline and Ma’non’go had seen many Flan villages of similar, but not identical, make in the eastern Flanaess, while Weimar was reminded of the smaller elven communities he sometimes visited during his days in the armies of Keoland. It came as little surprise, particularly given the cultural exchanges the elves of the Flanaess had had with the Flan for countless centuries. The village was thronged with laughing and playing children and adults tending to domestic duties, although Ma’non’go and the rest of the visitors could detect the palpable sense of tension in the air. The village was fairly large and prosperous, but there didn’t seem to be as many people as the visitors would have expected.

Seline was surprised to see how relieved many of the people in the village seemed to be that their escorts had returned home safely, far more than she would have expected people returning from a patrol to be. They spoke rapidly to one another, and soon there were so many conversations that she couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. The leader of the Flan patrol, a man who’d called himself Dennine, broke off from the crowd of villagers, gesturing to the adventurers to follow him. They approached a larger lodge in the centre of the village, and were surprised as the lodge’s front doors opened and a group of dwarves carrying weapons and sacks emerged. Several of the villagers called out good-byes to the dwarves, who saluted back as they mounted the ponies tied up outside the lodge and rode away, seemingly satisfied with themselves.

“Who were they?” Weimar asked Dennine curiously.

“Some of our regular traders, who hail from the dwarven kingdom of Greysmere,” Dennine explained as he brought the adventurers into the lodge. “They were here to drop off some supplies we needed.”

“What do you mean?” Luna asked.

“Our chief can explain it to you,” Dennine asked, as he led them down a hallway and through an open doorway into a large room. The room was elaborately decorated with fine furniture, while the walls were festooned with hunting trophies, weapons and paintings depicting war victories. A large table took place of pride in the centre of the room, around which a group of older people were seated. At the head was a lean women with dark bronze skin, her long hair alternately gray and white, dressed in a beautiful doeskin gown and wearing a colorful sash that denoted her as the main leader of the community.

The adventurers stood before the table as Dennine explained briefly how he’d met them, before concluding by saying that they would be able to help the Flan with their own troubles.

“Indeed?” the older woman asked, looking intently at Dennine, and then back at her guests. “Very well, then-be seated and welcome at our table.”

“You are…” Luna trailed off, giving their host the opportunity to introduce herself, as was the typical Flan custom.

“I am Melonanne,” the older woman replied, “current chief of the village of Oakdale. These others are the rest of our council,” she continued, gesturing to all the other Flan sitting around her at the table. “Now then, perhaps you can give us more of an explanation as to why you pass through our lands?”

“We didn’t know these lands were yours,” Seline immediately replied, bowing her head slightly in apology. “We were originally hired by a family from the land of Greyhawk whose son was recently abducted by an unknown evil. Our task is to find the family’s son and bring him home before he can be injured...or worse,” she continued. “The trail has led us here, into the Cairn Hills, and we only passed through your lands because we believe that this is where we need to go,” Seline spoke, deep concern in her voice as she recalled the plight of poor Teddyrun.

“…This is most disturbing,” Melonanne said after a moment, as the other council members murmured to one another. “It means that the evil is far more widespread than we realized.”

“What do you mean?” Seline asked curiously.

“Many of our own children have been abducted in recent weeks by parties unknown,” Melonanne said sadly. “We’ve been stretched to the breaking point trying to find them, as we’re also currently fighting a large pack of trolls that’s come into this territory. Our dwarven allies were just here to give us a fresh supply of oil, and we’re likely to need every drop of it. Because of the gods-damned trolls, we haven’t been able to spare the resources to search for our children, Pelor forgive us. It is all we can do to survive!”

“I know for a fact that Pelor would bear you no grievance for fighting for your survival,” Luna pointed out. “Indeed, perhaps our presence here is Pelor’s means of helping you. Indeed, I suspect that the same beings, whoever they were, that abducted Teddyrun are also the same ones who abducted your children as well.” 

“You would do that for us?” Melonanne asked in surprise. The hopeful look on her face was shared by most of the other members of her council, although some of them did not seem inclined to share their chief’s optimism.

“Of course we would,” Seline assured her brightly, smiling warmly with assurance. “We could use your help, however.”

“With what?” Melonanne asked curiously.

“We were led here by a divination I cast to try and find Teddyrun,” Luna replied. “The message from Pelor was that Teddyrun could be found at the ‘giant’s cloven beard’, but I don’t know what that meant. We asked as many people as we could think of on our way here, but none of them could help us.”

“The giant’s cloven beard…” Melonanne murmured, trying to remember where she’d heard that before. “I could swear that…”

“I know what they’re speaking of,” another one of the council members spoke up. “It’s clearly the Bearded Lord’s Hollow.”

“The…what?” Seline asked curiously.

“The Bearded Lord’s Hollow gets its name because it’s at the base of a large hill that vaguely resembles a giant’s head,” the council member explained. “The forest at its base resembles the giant’s beard, although it’s sharply divided by the hollow at its base. No one lives there currently-the last we heard, it was previously an orc lair, but they were driven out several years ago.”

 

“Tell me, young lady,” Melonanne said to Luna later, after they had eaten, “how did you and your sister learn our language?”

“We used to live further east,” Luna explained, “and I often worked as an ambassador from the settled church of Pelor to the independent Flan of those lands. How long have your people lived here?” she continued, taking a sip of the delicious cider the Flan had served their guests. “Is Oakdale a new settlement? Most of the Flan settlements we visited in the east were more temporary-they didn’t have some of the facilities you do,” she continued, referring to the village’s smithy and brewery. The Flan had been kind enough to serve them some cider, and Luna found it to be exceptionally good.

“We’ve been here some two centuries,” Melonanne replied. “While we’ve had our…difficulties with other peoples,” she said, referring to the abuses and betrayals many Flan had suffered at the hands of the Oerid and the Suel who settled in their lands, “we’ve been fortunate enough to have relative peace. Some of the traders from Greyhawk make regular stops here as well.”

“Many of the Flan in the east tend to be more nomadic, or at least live further away from other humans,” Luna noted. “That’s probably been because of the greater disruptions many of the Flan in those lands had to deal with, particularly because of the Aerdi,” she frowned. “Things were never the same after the old kingdom of Ahlissa was destroyed,” she frowned.

“A pity, to be sure,” Melonanne sighed. “And yet, how did you come to know of such things? Very few would take an interest in these matters.”

“I’ve long believed that, in order to understand the present, we must also understand the past,” Luna explained. “How past events and decisions lead to the circumstances we see today, and what we may learn from it. Pelor’s light has shone on it all, and that’s one reason I joined his clergy. What other mysteries are out there? What other light can I bring to the world?”

“Suffice to say that’s not the typical answer I would have received from most adventurers,” Melonanne smiled thinly.

 

“They say you’re an Olman,” Dennine said to Ma’non’go and Seline as they sat eating with several curious villagers in the village’s main commons.

“Why are you here, so far from home? Are you a slave?” one of the other Flan asked.

“Why don’t you talk?” a third Flan asked. “You’re not allowed to?”

Seline nearly choked on her food at that, but Ma’non’go’s reaction was all the more striking. He stood up in a fury, casting an enraged glare at the man who’d asked that question, clenching his fists in anger. The Flan villagers started in surprise, as Seline place a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down. Ma’non’go signed something in his hand cant, before he sat down and opened up his backpack. Pulling out a lump of charcoal and a piece of parchment, he wrote something down on it before displaying it for their Flan hosts to see.

You impugn my honor with such a question, Ma’non’go’s message read in the common tongue. I am a slave to no man-I protect Luna and Seline because I owe their father a debt for saving my life. And as for why I do not speak with my voice, the reasons are my own and I will not speak of them.

The Flan villagers all looked at one another, somewhat shaken and not quite knowing what to make of Ma’non’go’s angry reaction. Ma’non’go took a deep breath and sat down, trying to resume eating, although everyone around him could feel his anger.

“So where are you from, then?” Dennine asked. “Are you Greyhawkers?”

“No, we’re not,” Seline answered after a moment. “We’re adventurers who’d come to Greyhawk.”

“Yes, but where before that?” Dennine asked again. “Are you from Nyrond? Sunndi? Somewhere else?”

Instead of answering the question, Seline began humming a tune, seeming as if she was thinking about how to reply. Several of the other Flan smiled at Seline’s singing, which was decidedly pleasant. Everyone felt the tension in the air relax, as even Ma’non’go seemed to calm down.

“That’s a pretty song,” a younger Flan boy replied. “Where did you learn it?”

“An elder from another nation taught it to me,” Seline explained, before she began singing the lyrics. Her audience was more than a little surprised at the fact that the song was in the Flan language, although they had never heard it before.

“An elder taught you that? From what nation?” Dennine asked curiously.

“The Rebballah people of the Menowood,” Seline grinned. “They were all really friendly, and I learned a lot of interesting stories from them, too!” she finished brightly.

“Oh, really?” the younger Flan boy who’d asked her where she’d learned the song spoke up. “Like what? Can you tell us one?”

“Sure,” Seline grinned, reverting to the Flan language as she told them the story of the king’s three sons and their quest for the eagle’s blessing. The younger children in the group gathered around, eager to listen to her tale, and it didn’t take long for the adults to join in as well.

 

It had been a long, punishing day for Revafour and his friends, following the trail of the caravan that had kidnapped the children. The sun beat down on them, causing Airk and Revafour no small amount of discomfort in their heavy armor. There was a sense of foreboding all around them, of hopelessness and worry that they might not make it in time. All they could do was press on, hoping that they would not be too late. Eventually, however, as the sun grew low in the west they were forced to stop for the night.

“There’s a dwarven village we might be able to find rest at,” Amyalla noted, pointing it out on the map Dwaven May had given her before they’d left the city. “Maybe we could-“

“No!” Airk insisted coldly, his eyes flashing. “We’re not staying there!”

“It’s not that far,” Amyalla protested.

“No,” Airk repeated, in a voice that brooked no argument. “We camp, or we press on. What’s it going to be?”

It didn’t take long for the veteran adventurers to find a suitable place to set up camp, or to get a fire going. In the shelter of a small wooded clearing, Airk and Amyalla sat next to one another at the fire, preparing a meal while Revafour went to stare out at the sunset, sitting on a large, flat rock that made a natural chair.

“You really had that many problems with the dwarves?” Amyalla asked her gnome friend softly, her words lacking their usual wry tone. “Was it really that bad?”

“I lost a lot of loved ones in the Hateful Wars,” Airk replied stonily, staring intensely into the flames. “Flinthold shed so much of its blood, and lost so many of its youth, that it’s never truly recovered. It’d have been one thing if our losses came just from the orcs and goblins, but to be betrayed by our supposed allies was another thing altogether. I imagine Revafour’s known some of the same problems, considering what the Flan have endured since the Oeridians and the Suel came to these lands,” he muttered.

“I know them too,” Amyalla sighed, before she noticed that the stew they had been preparing was ready. Spooning it into three bowls, she handed one to Airk before they walked over to Revafour. To their surprise, they saw that the larger man was painting on a piece of parchment. The image he was drawing reflected the sunset they saw before them, which shone beautifully over the Cairn Hills and brightened the mood they felt. Revafour looked up at his smaller companions as they approached, gratefully accepting the bowl of stew Amyalla offered him. The three companions ate in silence for several minutes, before Amyalla picked up the painted picture Revafour was working on.

“This is beautiful,” the halfling breathed, surprised at the skill Revafour had put into the drawing. “How long have you done this?”

“Long enough,” Revafour half-smiled his appreciation. “My father taught me how to do it. He insisted that it was important to learn to respect and appreciate the Oerth, and he said that art was one of the best ways to do it. I also learned how to do scrimshaw and wood sculpture from Quendamak-it was really popular with the southern traders who would sometimes come to Blackmoor.”

“You capture the sunlight well,” Airk remarked. “It’s…yes…” the gnome sighed, seeming to forget his anger as he basked in the setting sun.

“Are you alright?” Revafour asked in surprise.

“Certainly,” Airk replied with a smile. “The sunset just gives me memories of home. I spent a lot of evenings aboveground in my youth, enjoying scenes like these. My brothers would always mock me for being too elven for my own good.”

“And why would that be a bad thing?” Revafour asked with a thin smile.

“It wouldn’t,” Airk replied with a smirk. “Besides, we never got to enjoy the breezes underground.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Airk spoke again.

“I have to admit that there’s another reason I wanted us to camp out,” the gnome admitted. “If we were staying at the dwarven village, we’d have never been able to enjoy this sunset, or the stars of the night.”

“Always a beautiful sight,” Revafour agreed.

“To be sure, although there is one greater pleasure,” Amyalla replied.

“And what’s that?” Airk asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Being able to share the sight with two handsome men,” the halfling tittered.

Airk and Revafour only smiled at that.

 

They knew they were approaching their goal, and it would not be long before there was a reckoning. It would not be long before they found the evil they were seeking, and could only hope that they would arrive in time.

So it was all the more surprising to Airk, Revafour and Amyalla when they saw the four humans approaching them on the trail, and to Weimar, Luna, Seline and Ma’non’go when they noticed the large Flan man and the gnome and halfling who accompanied him. The seven individuals had their hands on their weapons as they approached, knowing the dangers lurking in the Cairn Hills, but they all noted caution, rather than hostility, on each other’s faces.

They stood in silence for several moments, staring at one another intently, before Seline broke the silence.

“You’re fellow travelers, I take it?” Seline ventured, briefly bowing in respect. “Be assured we mean you no harm, and seek only our own path.”

Behind her, Luna, Ma’non’go and Weimar looked at one another and back at the travelers, as Airk, Revafour and Amyalla did the same. Finally, the halfling stepped forward.

“We seek many of the same things you do,” Amyalla replied, “and you may be assured that we mean you no harm, either. In what direction are you traveling?”

“North by northeast,” Seline replied, always keeping her tone even and cautious. “And you?”

“The same,” Airk said, adjusting his dragon-headed helmet.

The seven people looked at one another once again, first at the ones they knew, and then again at the ones they did not. Suspicion played on some of their faces-did their enemies know that they were on their trail? Revafour, Airk and Ma’non’go, especially, all showed their wariness.

“I wonder,” Luna ventured, a contemplative gesture on her face.

“Wonder what?” Amyalla asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We travel in the same directions. I wonder whether we also seek the same goals,” Luna replied.

“We seek the return of children taken from their homes, children who miss their loved ones and would love nothing more than to return home,” Amyalla interjected. “What do you seek?”

“Much the same thing,” Seline quickly interjected. “We’ve been tasked with finding a missing child as well, tasked by the child’s missing parents who are worried sick about him and want nothing more than for him to be brought home. Perhaps, then…we can help one another?” she asked, alternately hopeful and tentative.

They looked at one another, each of them first to the strangers among the group, and then to the people they knew. Finally, Airk was the first to speak up.

“You’re magic, considering your clothes,” Airk realized, nodding at Seline’s robes. “And you, that pendant around your neck…you’re of Pelor, aren’t you?”

“Quite so,” Luna nodded. Things seemed to be calming, although some of the people did not seem convinced.

“Your timing is rather good, isn’t it?” Revafour asked solemnly. “Is it simply a coincidence that we meet one another at just such an opportune time, when we do not know what we might be facing?”

“We might ask the same thing of you,” Weimar replied with a half-smile. “Surely there are safety in numbers, my dear fellow? After all, we don’t know what we’re to face. And think of it-whoever is responsible for these kidnappings is clearly widespread. Surely it’s not too much to suggest that this evil, whatever it is, could have struck in more than one place?”

Weimar spoke in his most calm and collected tone, seeming perfectly at ease despite the tension in the air. Luna and Seline smiled at that, although Ma’non’go remained as calm and stone-faced as ever. Revafour also seemed suspicious, and Airk seemed to be uncertain of what to think. Amyalla, however, smiled in response to that.

“Surely we could use some assistance, particularly with magic,” she grinned. “And I suspect that your efforts would also benefit with the addition of some new blades,” she noted. “What say you?” she asked her companions.

Revafour didn’t move, and only stood there, a look of mistrust on his face. Airk seemed as if he was about to refuse, but then he looked at Amyalla, then at Weimar, and back at his halfling friend, before he finally nodded his agreement.

The seven adventurers set off, now sharing a common goal, and wondering what horrors they would have to face at the Bearded Lord’s Hollow.

Twilight was one of the weird sisters’ favorite times to practice their rituals. While the time of day did not particularly affect their magic, they’d noted how many humans and their related races found the evening skies and sunset to be particularly beautiful, and so they took particular pleasure in conducting their obscene rites at times of day the humans would consider most pleasant.

It began with Dorbella setting the rhythm of the chant with her harsh, guttural croak, before Ublodine chimed in with her high-pitched shrieks. N’arghenn then began the actual chanting of the spell, blending it with the screams and songs of her sisters into a disgusting, bloodcurdling cacophony that sounded as if it came from the bowels of the Nine Hells themselves. The weird sisters’ visions seemed to fade in and out of focus, as a thick white mist obscured everything around them. They closed their eyes briefly, and when they opened them all of the weird sisters saw the same thing through their six eyes.

They saw the seven heroes approaching and learned their motivations, as their foul master granted them a vision. His hideous, horned face and large bat-like wings loomed at the edge of their minds as the vision faded. The white mist rose before the sisters’ eyes again, and finally their individual vision returned.

Their ritual completed, the weird sisters fell silent as Dorbella gestured to Bruddelmort, who stood nearby with the rest of his kin. Bruddelmort stepped forward as the weird sisters resumed their ritual, this time with a different spell in mind. They cast the spell on their minion, preparing him for the next phase of their plan. Soon, the ritual ended as Dorbella began casting one final chant of her own, preparing herself for her role in the coming storm.