19 - Motherhorn
| Session 1 | Session 18 | Session 19 | ||
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite | Ashira |
Are we really going to do a tragedy?
The skulls didn’t want us to pass.
They hovered over the bridge, and then — fire. From their eyes. Of course. I hate floating skulls. I answered with arrows, quick and steady. Others fought too — Dhanell, Maeve, Frostbite. I kept my distance. Better to see than to be seen. But then something changed: once someone crossed the bridge, the skulls stopped attacking them, focussing on the ones left, until all the others crossed it, and they vanished below the bridge.
I didn’t want to be left behind, so I cast Jump — the magic surged through me. I ran, fast as I could. The skulls emerged again. I didn’t stop. Thirty feet left — I jumped. Flew through the air, cloak snapping behind me, and landed on the other side. The skulls vanished beneath the bridge.
Molliver said we passed a test. I hate tests. Especially ones with fire.
On the other side: a grotto, and a pony with a tiny house on its back. No, really. Dhanell knocked on the door. A Brigganock named Obud poked his head out. He offered a path to Endelyn, but wanted payment. I gave the pony a berry. She seemed happy. He didn’t. Then Dhanell gave him a Loomlurch candy — from Zephyr’s stash. Obud’s eyes widened, his head literally doubled in size as he chewed. Gross. But effective.
Inside his cozy little home, I saw three gems laid on the carpet. He told us they were made from wishing stones. They also had a wishing stone from me. I don’t even remember what I wished for. Maybe to smile again. Maybe something worse. Dhanell said the gems could be worth hundreds of gold. So we left the wishing stones behind to be transformed. Eight hours. I wonder if we’ll return.
Then Obud showed us a cave wall. It looked solid, but wasn’t. Magic shimmered through it, and we stepped into the tunnel beyond — a hidden path winding toward Endelyn. Upward. Hours of walking. Single file, like shadows.
The tunnel ended behind a brick wall with red light leaking through. Frostbite turned into a spider and slipped through a crack to scout. When he returned, his report was scattered — goblins, a woman directing them, a chained figure drawing furiously, and an open-air theatre. But the room behind the wall was empty.
He carefully removed bricks — surprisingly quiet. Inside, a voice whispered: Breakaleg, a marionette, undead and unmoving. Her strings were tangled.
I apologized. Tying and untying things has been... difficult. Maeve helped. We closed the wall behind us while she worked. Breakaleg was one of Endelyn’s first experiments. She told us Endelyn fears an eclipse. Old news. Then that lightning powers everything — “orrery,” I interrupted. Already know. But then she added something new: Endelyn keeps a secret about Skabbatha, hidden in the Occular Library, written on invisible paper. Might be important. Might be nothing. Dhanell let her go into the tunnel anyway.
I crept forward to the next room. A woman rehearsed a play. Goblins buzzed around her — sewing, dressing, adjusting. One tiny figure caught my eye: a Brigganock, sketching on paper. That had to be Golmo, the architect. Saving him will be a good excuse to convince the others to go back to Obud’s. By then, the gems should be done.
While the others distracted the actress, Charmay, I walked silently toward Golmo. Lockpicks in hand. First try — click. Chains fell. He slipped into my pocket and whispered, “Throw it in the fire.” I assumed he meant the papers. Picked them all up. Walked to the fireplace. Tossed them in, casual. Charmay looked over. I said the fire was dying. She bought it. I quickly walked toward Dhanell and the others who were already going upstairs.
We climbed the stairs to a grand theatre. Actors practiced on stage. We sat in the audience. My eyes rose to the balcony. A shadow: Endelyn?
Then a goblin with a scepter appeared — Stagefright. Said we’d have to perform a play, or we’d be kicked out. We didn’t want to. But the audience — all Darklings — looked eager to “escort” us out. So we agreed.
The play: "An Island of Death in an Ocean of Tears". A tragedy. I was cast as the “failed magician.” Fitting. We were given 30 minutes. Stagefright led us to a room packed with dusty props and costumes. Twenty minutes to prepare.
No turning back now.
I don’t know what this play is, or what tragedy we’re about to fake — or live through. But one thing’s clear: this whole castle is a theatre, and Endelyn’s the playwright. Every scene is a trap. Every act is a lie.
And I’m tired of being a puppet.
| Session 1 | Session 18 | Session 19 | ||
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite | Ashira |
Updated on: 21:47
