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"Alfie",
"Almuth",
"Alustriel",
"bedeviler",
"beholderkin",
"Brog",
"Brugrock",
"Burgest",
"Burgest's",
"Candlehead",
"Carmal",
"Cheshira",
@ -17,16 +21,21 @@
"Chondalwood",
"Chondath",
"Cisconian",
"cloudward",
"Cogyth",
"Cyric",
"darkvision",
"Datalog",
"Deathrun",
"demi",
"dichrome",
"dwarven",
"Eldath",
"equilatitudinal",
"extraplanar",
"extraplanars",
"eyedrake",
"eyedrakes",
"Faerûn",
"Faerûnian",
"ferrofluid",
@ -38,6 +47,7 @@
"Fourthpeak",
"geas",
"Gottlob",
"Gracklstugh",
"Grinbriar",
"guardly",
"Gwyntowynt",
@ -83,6 +93,7 @@
"northlands",
"planeswalker",
"Playwrite",
"polymorphed",
"polymorphs",
"pranking",
"Pteey",
@ -114,6 +125,7 @@
"Torilians",
"Underdark",
"undescribed",
"unexpecting",
"unglimpsed",
"unicodes",
"unstopper",
@ -125,6 +137,7 @@
"Waterdhavians",
"Whitlock",
"Wintershield",
"Wyrmsmith",
"Xanathar",
"ytheleus"
]

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# Umbral Gaze 4: Candle-head
Portal network to Neverwinter.
Do some shopping and get some rest. Clementine buys a gilded acorns; Gottlob buys a diamond worth 300 gp.
The next morning, at Tasha's behest, the Wintershield Watchmen[^ww] brief our heroes about the Cake Pile. The dwarves who explain call it Brog Burgest, "cake pile", because to call the travesty a mountain would be an insult to mountains.
*what do they say?*
{.thematic}
***
A warm, sweet breeze like the scent from a bakers oven tousles the party's hair and delights their nostrils. Their boots squelch in inches of buttercream frosting as, rocking back on their heels, they crane their necks upward to regard the point at which cliffs and gulleys of cake meet azure sky. Our heroes have reached the base of the cake pile, Brog Burgest, and consider now the optimal path to the top, where it can only be assumed their quarry lurks.
There is something like a path, and Almuth does detect traps on it. He finds some, but (Clementine casts "pass without trace", so most of the party is quite sneaky, and we walk up anyway and are not struck. Louisa flies all the way up to the top, stumbling upon an otherworldly scenes that seems to bleed into reality from somewhere else. a keep is surrounded by farms of blue grain and redcap slave masters grave dead-eyed humans in the fields. Louisa sees her form among them. It looks like "______". She spits on a redcap, the one with her body, and is thrown from the mountaintop by an apparition of her curser. Alm. and Got. dance with 4 frosting thralls after she lands, totally unharmed, and gottlob is very graceful, for some reason. Almuth too eventually gets free. The rest of the party snuck past.
Carrying on, we get the the top level. Torches burn in purple and orange atop statues of snarling dragons. There's a beholder there, but it doesn't notice us immediately. Checking it's alignment, (LN) Alm. walks forward and talks to it. It gives its name in the course of insisting that we leave immediately unless we wish to be devoured. He doesn't want us to be eaten, because humans give his friend indigestion. Shit. A fat red dragon, Themberchaud, appears with the full intention of eating everyone along with the cake on which they stand. Almuth prays to Eldath, divine intervention[^divine] and boom, dragon no longer eats humans. on a diet. The dragon asks Cogyth to leave us alone, says he no longer eats humans so there's no sense in killing us. We fly up into the air to escape the cake surface, which the dragon still wants to eat. Clementine is a pterosaur and louisa doing her usual fly thing. The two have a happy reunion. "Themberchaud has finally respected my wishes about... his health?".
{% What happened in part 2? %}
At end of 1, cheshira, freed from her contract to the beholder, raced down the mountain to claim the victims she had trapped in cogyth's name for her own pleasures. As she does so, we intercept and louisa asks her what her problem is. She climbs on a roof and causes a plane shift (or something). The hag summons two eye drakes (did she smoosh them together from a dragon and a beholder? maybe? ask.)
{% be sure to mention that tasha said in sending that she's not going to help us much for a little bit. she's busy. She also mentioned an air elemental sent by the cyclone with warm regards; laeral has thereby discovered our ruse and holds the elemental captive--- she wants to talk %}
[^ww]: The [Wintershield Watchmen](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Wintershield_watchmen) is a local volunteer militia that polices the city of Neverwinter and sees to its interests in the surrounds.
[^divine]: A natural 20 at the most opportune time
{% ---------------------------------- %}
Fresh on the heels of their victory over ____, the party take a portal to Neverwinter and the City of Skilled Hands, where the next beholder waits and which offers plenty a nook and corner store from which our heroes may obtain much-needed supplies. Come dawn, members of the Wintershield Watchmen[^ww]--- at Tasha's behest--- brief our heroes on their quarry, and the burly dwarves who explain leave the party with an impression of otherworldly absurdity.
The beholder's lair is known to the denizens of Neverwinter as Brog Burgest, "cake pile", for to call the dulcet travesty a "mountain" would be an insult to mountains, but "pile" fails to capture the scale of the topography. Brog Burgest's peak vanishes upward among clouds.
{.thematic}
The party departs with haste, though the journey to the mountain is not long, and soon a warm, sweet breeze like the scent from a bakers oven tousles the party's hair and delights their nostrils. Their boots squelch in inches of buttercream frosting as, rocking back on their heels, they crane their necks upward to regard the meeting of caky cliffs and gulleys with azure sky. At the base of Brog Burgest, out heroes consider aloud what is their optimal path to the top, where it can only be assumed that a postprandially-obsessed beholder lurks by some gargantuan oven.

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# Umbral Gaze 4: Candle-head
[^divine]: A natural 20 at the most opportune time
{% ---------------------------------- %}
On the heels of their seafaring victory over [the Cyclone](/writings/umbral3/), the party takes a portal to Neverwinter[^neverwinter], "the City of Skilled Hands", lying not far from the next beholder. The settlement offers plenty a nook and corner store from which our heroes can obtain much-needed supplies, and they stock up with vigor. Clementine is lucky enough to find some gilded acorns; Gottlob replenishes his stash of components for "revivify". Come dawn, members of the Wintershield Watchmen[^ww]--- at Tasha's behest--- brief our heroes on their quarry, and the burly dwarves who explain leave the party with an impression of otherworldly absurdity.
The beholder's lair is known to the denizens of Neverwinter as Brog Burgest, "cake pile", for to call the dulcet travesty a "mountain" would be an insult to mountains, but "pile" fails to capture the scale of the topography. Brog Burgest's peak vanishes upward among clouds. A beholder is known by the locals to have taken up residence at the pile, and since it arrived, townspeople and passers-through have vanished at a terrible pace. A correspondence must be assumed.
{.thematic}
***
The party departs with haste, though the journey to the mountain is not long, and soon a warm, sweet wind--- as from a baker's oven--- tousles the party's hair and delights their nostrils. Boots squelching in buttercream frosting, they rock back on their heels to regard the meeting of caky cliffs and gulleys with azure sky. Now at the mountain's base, our heroes discuss what path they should take to the peak, at which they can only assume a dessert-obsessed beholder tends a gargantuan oven. Dutifully, flight-capable Louisa goes ahead by air to scout the narrow path that meanders its way upward along the mountainside--- clearly not laid for easy passage--- but as she ascends through quickly gathering clouds and roiling mists, the solidity of her surroundings wavers; temperate farmland replaces slopes of sponge, and the wizard senses powerful dimensional magic permeating an otherworldly scene before her.
Humanoids--- humans, mostly--- labor in fields of blue-topped grain. Gnomes in bright red hats[^redcap] keep the workers in line, their sickles and whips employed eagerly to _encourage_ any slaves who seem to fall behind. Chained manacles at the ankles of the fitter of their charges seem aimed to prevent escape, though where a runaway could escape _to_, Louisa cannot tell; all is only fields and cliffs as far as she can see.
Rendering herself invisible with a spell, the llama swoops closer to investigate, but cold fingers of dread grip her heart at what she discovers. The wizard's own body, her _human_ body, threshes indigo grass at the edge of the nearest plot; the gaze of a scythe-wielding slave master fixes... her? it..? in cruel contempt from a flanking position. The intensity of labour demanded by the redcaps shows itself in her body's condition. Thin, trembling arms beat the grain at increasing intervals, just today's hours of hard labor taking their toll of strength. Her dark hair sports bits of straw and chaff among its tangles; her olive skin is caked with dust and sweat. Whether the glassy, unblinking eyes are a product of exhaustion or of whatever magic moves her presumedly uninhabited form, Louisa only wishes she could tell.
The wizard pauses here, for a moment, to consider her options. She knows that all the desperate longing in the world cannot overcome the tactical reality of the situation on the farmland below--- there is no way she can rescue her human form alone--- but she is determined to get some sort of consolation all the same. Making a diving pass, the llama spits mightily upon the redcap slave master that pokes mirthfully at her vacated flesh, but as she does, a twisted old woman appears, black cloth obscuring all but her hands and her spiral-horned head.
[^neverwinter]: [Neverwinter](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Neverwinter) is a northern city of craftsmen and artisans regarded as among the most cosmopolitan metropoleis in Faerûn.
[^ww]: The [Wintershield Watchmen](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Wintershield_watchmen) is a local volunteer militia that polices the city of Neverwinter and sees to its interests in the surrounds.
[^redcap]: [Redcaps](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Redcap) are evil, bloodthirsty fey--- gnome-like in appearance--- known for their brutality and need to kill for self-sustainment.

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# Ké Suaqsuese po ké\
# Jiao Abarahamchuaq
# Ké Suaqsuese po ké Jiao Abarahamchuaq
Here's the Lord's Prayer, translated into the constructed language [Toaq](https://toaq.net).

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In the scant lanes of Venron, a _llama_ breathes the cool light of dawn; an ornate pendant hangs from its neck. No villager suspects the creature of its true identity: she is a powerful wizard, Louisa Whitlock[^louisa], cursed by an unseen adversary to wander Faerûn on four legs.
Further on, Karmel[^karmel], a brightly-dressed human, snoozes under a tree, indulging in an early morning nap. His tightly-drawn ponytail lies splayed about him as it gathers subtle moisture from the dewy grass. A noise wakes him, and he plods off in search of breakfast.
Further on, Carmal[^karmel], a brightly-dressed human, snoozes under a tree, indulging in an early morning nap. His tightly-drawn ponytail lies splayed about him as it gathers subtle moisture from the dewy grass. A noise wakes him, and he plods off in search of breakfast.
Across the road from where Warren will soon man the stove, hunkered in Venron's cheapest and poorest inn, Almuth Cheerio[^almuth] sits down to "pancakes". A half-elf woman and a human man fill the seats beside him. In his usual way, the gray-haired, white-robed cleric of Eldath strikes up a conversation that somehow turns toward the subject of his deity. His captive companions are surprisingly receptive.
@ -18,9 +18,9 @@ As the morning continues and the breakfast hour draws to a close, villagers and
Almuth, having finished his breakfast across the street, comes outside and makes his way over to the curiously poised anuran. He tests the bounds of its docility, inching close and pushing it gently, trying to physically coax it off the well, but wisely backs away when it shows signs of aggression. A better idea occurs to him, and he heads back to his room to prepare for another attempt. Gottlob starts to follow, eager to talk to this interesting fellow, but the cleric doesn't even notice.
Most townsfolk have now taken heed of the commotion. The innkeeper offers Karmel, who chose the establishment for his breakfast, a profligate sum to remove the frog from its perch--- the villagers need water and the innkeeper needs one less shiny green gargoyle at the entrance scaring away his customers--- so the bard makes his way outside. The rest of the party shows up apace, finished with their respective morning activities and finally getting keyed in to the issue at hand.
Most townsfolk have now taken heed of the commotion. The innkeeper offers Carmal, who chose the establishment for his breakfast, a profligate sum to remove the frog from its perch--- the villagers need water and the innkeeper needs one less shiny green gargoyle at the entrance scaring away his customers--- so the bard makes his way outside. The rest of the party shows up apace, finished with their respective morning activities and finally getting keyed in to the issue at hand.
Almuth has returned. He invokes the magic of his goddess to "calm" bumpy green "emotions", which he hopes will make the beast more receptive to his coaxing, but alas, with no success. Peering sidelong down into the well, he determines the reason for the frog's obstinacy: it's guarding a milky, speckled mass of eggs with its life. As he makes this known to spectators, the innkeeper repeats to Karmel--- and to any who will listen--- the earlier offer of payment for the relocation of the frog and its clutch. Almuth and Karmel hatch a plan: they'll retrieve the eggs from the well with the winch bucket then hightail it to the nearest large body of water, wherein they can deposit the eggs and the no-doubt fiercely pursuing frog. They find a wagon, but fail to find a horse; the centaur Clementine is the only unoccupied equine around, who, though she finds it somewhat demeaning, volunteers to pull the load.
Almuth has returned. He invokes the magic of his goddess to "calm" bumpy green "emotions", which he hopes will make the beast more receptive to his coaxing, but alas, with no success. Peering sidelong down into the well, he determines the reason for the frog's obstinacy: it's guarding a milky, speckled mass of eggs with its life. As he makes this known to spectators, the innkeeper repeats to Carmal--- and to any who will listen--- the earlier offer of payment for the relocation of the frog and its clutch. Almuth and Carmal hatch a plan: they'll retrieve the eggs from the well with the winch bucket then hightail it to the nearest large body of water, wherein they can deposit the eggs and the no-doubt fiercely pursuing frog. They find a wagon, but fail to find a horse; the centaur Clementine is the only unoccupied equine around, who, though she finds it somewhat demeaning, volunteers to pull the load.
As they put their plan to voice, a halfling threads his way through the crowd. He steps forward and introduces himself as "Alfie". The newcomer offers information about the area, where the frog may have come from, and what it might take to put it back. Our adventurers learn that the nearest suitable body of water is nearly three-hours' swift ride from Venron! Only something truly dire could have driven the amphibian this far from home, no mere fancy or wanderlust. The plan is revised--- the frog will be taken to this distant lake and whatever expelled it will be brought under control or vanquished! Almuth calms the frog magically, with success this time, and Clementine carefully maneuvers the eggs into the bucket and up, out of the well. Seeing their success, and having nothing better to do at the moment--- or perhaps just catching wind of money to be earned--- Gottlob interjects. He can provide another horse (and says as much, to Clementine's chagrin), which should speed the journey considerably. He casts "find steed", and hitches the ensuing beast to the growing party's rented wagon. Warren and Louisa decide that this is getting interesting, and each likewise decides to attend the mission. Before the party sets off, Almuth probes Alfie for further helpfulness and tries to convince the man to accompany them, but the only help Alfie will be convinced to give is a map of the area and directions to the lake.
@ -30,7 +30,7 @@ As they near the lake, a swarm of birds can be heard above; Clementine uses magi
As the lake comes into view, terrain grows low and a thick miasma fills the party's sinuses. They abandon their charges for the moment, at a safe distance from whatever produced the matted skein of carrion they see slicked over the water before them and from which, no-doubt, emanates this odor clogs their every orifice. As they disembark, Clementine asks the frog to describe what drove it from its home. "Big thing, many heads!", it answers. Forging onward toward the shore, the party spots what appear to be five crocodiles, just their eyes and nostrils breaching the surface. Clementine queries them--- do they know what's going on here? Why do they seem so unbothered? They divulge no helpful information, but the centaur gets her answer as the five heads are jerked out of the water on five reptilian necks, joined at a single base. A hydra! No wonder the place reeks...
As the party is thrown into combat, Gottlob takes the first action, guiding his steed sideways as he casts "moonbeam" on the monster's position. In the heat of melee, Warren does substantial damage with "guiding bolt", and the other party members make good use of the advantage it grants them. Karmel wraps the hydra's many teeth in [sheathes of water](https://www.worldanvil.com/block/1548815) that dull its bite, reducing the danger to his companions. Louisa casts "fireball", a foresighted choice against their many-headed foe, but the hydra attacks Warren viciously in response, nearly downing him. He fights on bravely, and the party manages to avoid most damage, striking reliably at their enemy's vitality, until Clementine is similarly attacked after rushing in close to strike. As the Hydra bites her, Louisa seen an opening. She reaches out to the weave and summons a trio of magic missiles. Sure that they will find their targets, she sends them hurtling upward, piercing through the hydra's multitude of necks in a triple sextuple collateral. The monster jerks wildly, then crumples, half floating on the lake, half lying on the shore.
As the party is thrown into combat, Gottlob takes the first action, guiding his steed sideways as he casts "moonbeam" on the monster's position. In the heat of melee, Warren does substantial damage with "guiding bolt", and the other party members make good use of the advantage it grants them. Carmal wraps the hydra's many teeth in [sheathes of water](https://www.worldanvil.com/block/1548815) that dull its bite, reducing the danger to his companions. Louisa casts "fireball", a foresighted choice against their many-headed foe, but the hydra attacks Warren viciously in response, nearly downing him. He fights on bravely, and the party manages to avoid most damage, striking reliably at their enemy's vitality, until Clementine is similarly attacked after rushing in close to strike. As the Hydra bites her, Louisa seen an opening. She reaches out to the weave and summons a trio of magic missiles. Sure that they will find their targets, she sends them hurtling upward, piercing through the hydra's multitude of necks in a triple sextuple collateral. The monster jerks wildly, then crumples, half floating on the lake, half lying on the shore.
{.thematic}
***

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# Umbral Gaze 4: Candle-head
On the heels of their seafaring victory over [the Cyclone](/writings/umbral3/), the party takes a portal to Neverwinter[^neverwinter], "the City of Skilled Hands", lying not far from where the next beholder is reported to dwell. The settlement offers plenty a nook and corner from which our heroes are able to obtain much-needed supplies, and they stock up with vigor--- Clementine is lucky enough to find some gilded acorns; Gottlob replenishes his stash of components for "revivify". Come dawn, members of the Wintershield Watchmen[^ww]--- at Tasha's behest--- brief our heroes on their quarry, and the burly dwarves who explain leave the party with an impression of otherworldly absurdity.
The beholder's lair is known to the denizens of Neverwinter as Brog Burgest, "cake pile", for to call that dulcet preponderence a "mountain" would be a travesty, but "pile" fails to capture the scale of its topography; Brog Burgest's peak vanishes upward among clouds. The beholder is known by the locals to have taken up residence at the pile, and since it arrived, townspeople and passers-through have been vannishing at terrible clips. The causality must surely be assumed.
{.thematic}
***
With only these vaguest of hints about what they'll face when they arrive, our heroes depart. The journey to the mountain is not long, and soon a warm, sweet wind--- as from a baker's oven--- tousles the party's hair and delights their nostrils. Boots squelching in what moves and smells like buttercream frosting, they rock back on their heels to regard the meeting of caky cliffs and gulleys with azure sky. Having acheived the mountain's base, our heroes discuss how to atain the peak at which they can only assume an apron-clad beholder waits by a gargantuan oven. Dutifully, flight-capable Louisa goes ahead by air to scout the narrow path that meanders its way up along the mountainside--- clearly not laid for easy passage--- but as she ascends through quickly gathering clouds and roiling mists, the solidity of her surroundings wavers; temperate farmland replaces slopes of sponge, and the wizard's arcane senses tell her that powerful dimensional magic permeates the otherworldly scene before her.
Humanoids--- dead-eyed humans, mostly--- labor on gentle hills in fields of blue-topped grain. Gnomes in stark red hats[^redcap] keep the workers in line, their sickles and whips employed with smirks and jeers, _encouragment_ for any slaves who seem to fall behind. Manacles at the ankles of the fitter of the masters' charges seem aimed to prevent escape, though to where a runaway _could_ escape, Louisa cannot tell; all is fields and cliffs and mist as far as she can see.
Rendering herself invisible with a spell, the llama swoops closer to investigate, but cold fingers of dread arrest her progress and grip her heart at what she discovers. The wizard's own body, her _human_ body, threshes indigo grass at the edge of the nearest plot; the gaze of a scythe-wielding slave master fixes... her? it..? in cruel contempt from a flanking position. The intensity of labour demanded by the redcaps shows itself in her body's condition. Thin, trembling arms beat the grain at an ever slower pace, just today's hours of hard labor taking their toll of strength. Her dark brown hair sports bits of straw and chaff among its tangles; her olive skin is caked with dust and sweat. Whether her glassy, unblinking eyes are a product of exhaustion or of whatever magic moves the wizard's presumedly uninhabited form, Louisa only wishes she could tell.
She pauses here, for a moment, to consider her options. Louisa knows that all the desperate longing in the world won't overcome the tactical reality of the situation on the farmland below--- there is no way she can rescue her human form unaided--- but her nature won't allow her to leave without some sort of consolation. Taking a diving pass, the llama spits upon the redcap slave master that pokes mirthfully at her vacated flesh, but, as she does, a twisted and ancient three-armed woman appears, black cloth obscuring all but her hands and the dome of her spiral-horned head[^hag]. Locking eyes with Louisa, the creature wields a hammer of arcane force that sends the llama hurtling, insensate, back down the mountainside--- but as she plummets, a single thought batters its way through shock and pain to the forefront of her mind: she's seen that twisted hag before, on the night she was trapped in her present form, cursed, to wander Faerûn a llama.
{.thematic}
***
Back on the ground, the rest of the party are alarmed to see their friend come punching through the cloud layer, falling more quickly than gravity or flight would normally allow. Unable to stop her fall, they're subsequently relieved to see her plow into a meters-high bank of frosting, from which she emerges apparently completely unharmed. Shaken, but steady of foot and voice, Louisa explains to her party the unnatural vista lying above the clouds. The thrills at the prospect of recovering Louisa's human form, and though Almuth detects some traps on the path ahead, they forge boldly onward, upward, headed to the peak of Brog Burgest and--- with luck--- to the rescue of their companion's quite literal other half.
Despite their cleric's apprehension--- the traps he detected having been neither identified nor disarmed--- the party makes steady progress and encounters few obstacles, but as they come some way up the slopes, perhaps half by Gottlob's reckoning, the path underfoot widens to an overlook. There on the mountainside, a troupe of dancers carve a half-dozen interlocking circles in rhythmic starts and stumbles. The grooves are deep--- it's plain the performers have been at it for an inhumanly long time. Frosting coats their every inch of skin, and the heroes have to wonder whether the path is blocked by monsters or by men.
The party has no wish to engage, and Clementine's "pass without trace" should be more than a match for the figurants' perceptive abilities, but Gottlob and Almuth pass far too loudly, boots squelching in dulcet slop, and a thrall pulls each into the group's fiendish waltz. Gottlob shows uncommon agility and grace, practically flitting between partners as he leaps his way free, but Almuth too escapes with just a bit more effort. The party carries on, followed by a sense of having avoided great danger with undeserved ease.
Coming finally to the oddly-flat top of Brog Burgest, party members note expanses of smooth, solid cloud that extend in layers both above and below as though to sandwich the peak between a massive pair of sheet cakes. The path gives on to an open-air enclosure in which torches of purple and orange wax burn atop plinth-raised statues of dragons in various states of noble contortion. In the corner opposite the party's ingress, a beholder--- a conventional beholder, it seems--- erects yet another torch and statue, its back to the middle of the room.
Party members are wary to attack, and anyway hope to carry out Tasha's assignment, so after Almuth checks the abberattion's alignment--- Lawful _Neutral_; now there's a boon--- he announces his presence to their host. At once, the beholder is all anger and anxiousness. If the interlopers don't leave _right now_, so he says, they will surely die! He wishes them no particular harm, but no particular safety either, and if they fail to heed his warning, he shan't feel the slightest remorse except that their presence should interfere with his plans, and so, in any case, so as not to spoil to fruits of his meticulous labors for the pleasure of his good friend Themberchaud[^dragon], as not to cause his chum some wicked indigestion, but just as much so as not to die writhing in fits of flame-quieted shrieks, they _must_ leave _at this very instant!_
Alas, the heroes are too slow to escape what follows. Before the blustering beholder can be convinced to make his motivations clear, a rush and clatter approaches from above. The hole its maker punches in the cloud layer puts that of Louisa's fall to shame; an adult red dragon alights at the far end of the summit-plateau in a solitary column of Sun, engendering instant panic. There is nowhere to run on the peak of a mountain from a fully-grown dragon--- but little do they know, the adventurers need not fear! As Almuth reaches out to his Goddess in a deperate, hail-mary effort to save his party, his Goddess reaches back. Hearing the cleric's words[^divine], she plies her power to a subtle adjustment deep within Themberchaud's psyche, a faint push in a new direction, a slight reshaping of how he weighs investment risks, and a sigh of divine peace washes over the monstrous creature.
As Themberchaud and Cogyth--- so the dragon addresses the party's quarry--- get to talking (rather than killing?), all becomes clear. The "cake pile" is just a cake, baked by Cogyth for the occasion of his close friend's birthday. The purple and orange torches that paint the peak in lurid dichrome flickers, candles. The strange fact of the party's continued survival before a plainly very hungry red dragon, down to Eldath having put him on a strict no-people diet _per_ Almuth's request! In all his newfound compassion, the dragon asks his friend to let the party leave in peace, at which Cogyth exclaims in wonderment:
> Themberchaud has finally respected my wishes about... his _health!?_
Assured for the moment of their security, but acutely aware of the need to depart before the dragon gets to devouring the cake beneath their feet, the party question their orbic interlocutor. As Carmal explains the chaos Cogyth's _festivities_ have brought about in the surrounding country, conversation turns to the vanished villagers and to the farmland Louisa saw, now nowhere to be found. In answer, the beholder calls out a name, "Cheshira", and the three-armed hag of before winds into existence at his side. Party members glean details of their relationship, and of the situation there concerning, in snippets of heated conversation between the fiend and the aberration.
Cogyth employed Cheshira as security, to prevent interference by townsfolk with his celebratory preparations, but, in attracting an adventuring party to his abode, the hag has gone too far. Were their business not concluded, she would surely be fired, but since it is, she should take her things and get out of his sight. The beholder's anger hints he was unaware of the rise in missing persons, and his conduct tells the party they needn't worry about him repeating the mistake; to willfully sow chaos in the northern lands runs counter to Codyth's lawful nature.
Though questions still burn on party member's tongues, the dragon's desire to eat cake soon overcomes his contentedness in companionable conversation, and he bounds forth to shovel untold quantities of sponge down his smoking gullet. Not even Themberchaud could possibly consume the whole of Brog Burgest, but our heroes aren't ones to stick around a ravening full-grown dragon--- party members split as best they can. Louisa takes to the air with Gottlob in tow. Clementine, polymorphed into an ancient winged beast by Carmal, carries the rest of the party cloudward. Cheshira, for her part, makes haste down the mountainside, hoping to escape before her absence is noticed.
The hag has no such luck. Adventurers so reputed, so accomplished as these, would never let a fiend escape unmolested; certainly not a night hag that cursed one of their number and holds a score of people enthralled in servitude. Dropping from the air in amongst a cluster of cottages that lie just beyond an outlet of the path to earthen ground at the mountain's base, party members cut off Cheshira's escape on all sides. Almuth encases her in a resilient sphere before she so much as objects. With flight denied to her, she turns to a hag's most trusted and potent weapon: talk, deception, her corrupting tongue. Addressing Louisa directly, Cheshira spins a tale in which the curse she laid was a boon, an impetus to struggle and improve that pushed the wizard to far greater heights than ever she could have achieved on her own, in that school of small-minded hacks she used to attend, but the llama is unconvinced; a wizard knows better than to fall for a hag's tricks, and Louisa reads disdain in Cheshira's eyes. Cornered, as Almuth's spell expires, Cheshira turns to her last resort: battle.
Leaping atop a snug hovel, the bedeviler shutters reality beyond a crimson sky. Wavering bands of tinted cosmic force--- products of Cheshira's casting--- surround the cluster of cabins to cut them free of their worldly tethers, to let them and their surrounds slip unhindered into the falsity of the Hag's domain. Far above, misty, distorted images of Themberchaud and Cogyth ripple like reflections in a pond under high winds, anguished spectres that dance nearer and nearer the field's delimitations--- the hag grasps at the wispy forms as they come into focus. Three craggy arms weave two images into one[^make_eyedrakes], mixing, from the red-yellow mists, an eyedrake the hag cleaves down the middle as it threatens to become flesh. So rended in the womb, _two_ eyedrakes are born.
Surprised by the beholderkin and vanishing of Faerûn's firmament, the party are too slow to forestall Cheshira's next move. Minions unleashed upon her enemy, she seals herself again in an impenetrable sphere, now of her own device. Though unable to approach their true enemy, the party's contention is admirable. Handling two eyedrakes' combined might would be a tall order on any day, but Louisa is incensed; she sees no world in which the party's victory is not assured, in which her human body is not returned to her. The first beholder catches Almuth about his face with a wave of anti-magic breath, wounding him badly, before it falls to the the wizard's evocations--- the second exhales its retaliation across the battlefield, but in haste to recover from the loss of its twin, makes made a fatal mistake: the fresh cone of anti-magic shatters Cheshira's barrier.
As off a spring, Louisa acts. She knows exactly what spell the situation demands, a spell only she can cast in this moment. The hag's glance of dismay as her barrier falls catches Louisa's glare of determination; sounds of the party clashing with the remaining eyedrake fall away, and for a moment, for the second time, the two lock eyes in their own yet-smaller pocket of reality, before, at a word from the llama's mouth, the hag is gone! A _crack_ sounds over the battlefield as air rushes to fill the vacuum where she stood. As though in grief at the loss of its creator, the vague crimson field that encloses huddled huts with the party therein shudders and keens like a bundle of girders about to snap.
Having handled the main threat for now[^banish], Louisa turns her attention to the final eyedrake--- already nearly fallen to her party member's efforts--- on the heels of another anti-magic blast that targets Clementine and Almuth; for his part, a second time. The monster's breath weapon whips the feeling from their limbs; eddies of featureless force tug their bodies to and fro and toss them bodily, writhing, into the dirt. Clementine falls unconscious immediately, but Almuth is awake to feel the catastrophe the creature wreaked upon him. His limbs are shattered, his torso crushed, his flesh made so much pulp. The world shrinks away like a falling star, and with a final, gasping prayer to his Goddess, Almuth Cheerio, Peace Cleric of Eldath, grows Still. [^still]
Guided by a llama's deep-borne instinct, Louisa spits her retaliation: a fireball that sends the eyedrake crashing dryly to the ground, body singed and wasted like a black-burnt piece of toast[^toast]. The dissolution of the dimensional magic that holds the party apart from material reality, which began as Cheshira disappeared, is completed with the death of her last creation, and Brog Burgest quakes back into view. Gottlob quickly revives his fallen comrades, Almuth included--- thank Eldath the paladin had diamonds--- and Carmal is sure to grab an eyestalk or two off the blackened eyedrake to keep as proof for Laeral that the party indeed _killed_ a beholder today.
Adventurers note from afar that Themberchaud seems to have devoured what of the cake pile he wants and, with the Hag's captives in mind, start back up the mountain, hoping to encounter the scene from which Louisa was hurled so violently before, but empty-eyed bodies found motionless on low, caky slopes, are a sure indication that the unnatural place went with its maker. Scattered across the remains of Brog Burgest, the party find all the people of the cyan fields, Louisa's body included. Search and rescue is an arduous affair, and what remain of the pile bathes villages below in russet sunbeams, reflected in iced gradients, as the party make their return to Neverwinter. Passing the gentle bend of a quasi-foothill drumlin at which they first beheld Cogyth's postprandial behemoth, party-members turn to regard the pile once more. They cannot help but find it... beautiful.[^toaq]
Back in Waterdeep by the Neverwinter Portal, adventurers receive news that dulls the excitement of victory more even than the temporary death of their compatriot makes uneasy conversation. Words placed in Carmal's mind by Tasha's "sending" tell him the party's greatest fear of course has come to pass--- Open Lord Laeral Silverhand knows of the party's deceptions. Rwntincer sent an emissary of goodwill, an elemental, that found Laeral and an unexpecting and un_welcom_ing host--- this is Tasha's warning to her pawns and protégés. Stern words will be had with Rwntincer if he ever shows his face again...
[^neverwinter]: [Neverwinter](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Neverwinter) is a northern city of craftsmen and artisans regarded as among the most cosmopolitan metropoleis in Faerûn.
[^ww]: The [Wintershield Watchmen](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Wintershield_watchmen) is a local volunteer militia that polices the city of Neverwinter and sees to its interests in the surrounds.
[^redcap]: [Redcaps](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Redcap) are evil, bloodthirsty fey--- gnome-like in appearance--- known for their brutality and need to kill for self-sustainment.
[^hag]: A [night hag](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Night_hag), a hag from the Hells.
[^dragon]: [Themberchaud](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Themberchaud), the Wyrmsmith of Gracklstugh, the Father of Flame, the Everburning! What a pickle...
[^divine]: Almuth's player rolled 20 on "Divine Intervention" (in his birthday session, no less)
[^make_eyedrakes]: Extrasessional information: "Through the nature of a beholder's dreams, the lingering sentiment Cogyth felt while wishing to reunite with Themberchaud crossed into the feywild, and Cheshira gives it the shape of an eyedrake[^eyedrake]. Just before making it flesh, she splits it in two."
[^eyedrake]: An [eyedrake](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Eyedrake) is a lesser beholderkin that comes about when beholders dream of a dragon.
[^banish]: Louisa casts banishment, sending the night hag directly to hell.
[^toast]: Faithful to the scene as it happened.
[^toaq]: She jıe sono de ké poqme hú meı keıke da.
[^still]: As in the Stillness. Mhm.

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Clementine, Carmal, Gottlob, Louisa, and Almuth find themselves again in the sheltered forecourt of the Open Lord's official mansion as evening dews gather on waxy leaves of the garden from which afternoon's tepid luminance has fled. The mistress of the house stands framed in the way of a flung-open door, her figure a silhouette as eyes try to adjust to the spill of light that issues from bracketed lamps in the foyer. She rests one hand on her hip and thrusts the other outward in accusation; she grips a fine chain at the end of which a thurible[^thurible] bounces with her gesture. Swirls of stormy reproach and half-mitigated aggression color the Open Lord's expression, and our brave heroes feel a tickle of apprehension creep up the backs of their necks as Laeral delivers a beating, smooth and measured as always.
Lord Silverhand accuses the party members of willful defiance, but more than that, she charges them with reckless endangerment of her people and of all the Sword Coast's inhabitants beyond. Their _failure_ to satisfactorily subdue the extraplanar threats, as she has been specifically paying them to do, is unacceptable. Rankled by their patron's indictments, Almuth takes up his party's defense--- perhaps the beholders aren't _dead_ as tacitly expected, but they are no longer threats to the people of the Sword Coast, and the adventurers' obligations are fulfilled to the letter, if perhaps not in spirit. Tasha and the Goddess Eldath herself recommend the specific course of action that party has followed thus far, and with that justification, it _must_ be said that they have made the right decisions where it matters. The Open Lord is not convinced, but agrees nonetheless to overlook past transgressions in return for reaffirmation of the party's loyalty and a renewed commitment to more conformant behavior in the future. So that she may be sure of their attitudes, Lord Silverhand also demands proof of death for the next beholder vanquished, the Deathrun--- she wants its corpse in a basket.
Lord Silverhand accuses the party members of willful defiance, but more than that, she charges them with reckless endangerment of her people and of all the Sword Coast's inhabitants beyond. Their _failure_ to satisfactorily subdue the extraplanar threats, as she has been specifically paying them to do, is unacceptable. Rankled by their patron's indictments, Almuth takes up his party's defense--- perhaps the beholders aren't _dead_ as tacitly expected, but they are no longer threats to the people of the Sword Coast, and the adventurers' obligations are fulfilled to the letter, if perhaps not in spirit. Tasha and the Goddess Eldath herself recommend the specific course of action the party has followed thus far, and with that justification, it _must_ be said that they have made the right decisions where it matters. The Open Lord is not convinced, but agrees nonetheless to overlook past transgressions in return for reaffirmation of the party's loyalty and a renewed commitment to more conformant behavior in the future. So that she may be sure of their attitudes, Lord Silverhand also demands proof of death for the next beholder vanquished, the Deathrun--- she wants its corpse in a basket.
As she sends the party away, Laeral offers the censer that confines the air elemental, Cogyth's emissary and bearer of well-wishes. Gottlob takes it from her, and party members try to make out words in the whooshes and whispers they hear within, but communication is impossible--- they don't know the language. Still, they are grateful to have possession of the censer and for Laeral's clemency in allowing the elemental--- who committed no transgression, really--- to go free.