Some time during the events within the foyer, my eyesight finished recovering. For all the good it does me in the gloom of Rayileklia, under its permanently darkened skies, with nary a luma tulipa nearby. The occasional sunlight plant dots the swamp. Just enough that the vegetation is able to thrive I suppose. Just enough to keep conditions warm enough for the algae to bloom and spread. This is a fairly pointless line of thought, all things considered.

I flex my jaw and rattle my skull as I gaze around at the assembled. Elders from cities I don’t know, all across Aasimovia are speaking to one another. There’s discussion, a fear that the creation of a canal barring the southwestern corner of Aasimovia, as The Brookians retreated, wasn’t enough, that the Felgre hordes might be hot on the tails of the furthest edge of the refugees. There’s arguments that the horde would have turned around at the edge of the ocean, and followed the lake back around until they were able to catch up anyway, whether or not the canal was deterrence enough.

I can’t fault their logic, both concerns are valid, for sure. I don’t know the forces of the Felgres well enough. I don’t know what pushes them to attack, what drives them, why they were sweeping southwest of all directions in the first place. Do they have any sense of direction? Any knowledge of the landscape? I know that we took down many of their portalspawn, the enormous ones that could call more forces seemingly from nowhere. I could imagine that if portals opened up, or stayed open, on their backs, while they were submerged, that the Fel forces on the other side wouldn’t be happy. Perhaps water will keep them at bay. Perhaps the Jaggedfen Bog will also keep them at bay for a similar reason. Their forces are heavy, massive, they could sink deeply into the swamp, and be left dealing with nearly as much water as a lake. The creatures that did attempt to chase us into and across the lake didn’t fare very well. Perhaps the others would have learned from those deaths.

As far as circling back around the lake to the east, to be able to head northwest around the lake from its far side, well, I’m hoping that the Celestial dickweasel has mobilized his forces into the gap by this point, especially since Olashax and Astridus seemed to have been driven off. Wait, something—. There’s something, a thought, a dream, a vision? Terrorzin is going to die soon, much like me, but he wants something, and he’s holding back—. Because of the Celestial dickweasel? Do they have an alliance? What about the forces of the Felgres? My blood runs cold when I realize just why the Sisters might not have mentioned a fourth apocalypse event. They’re all allied, or will be allied soon enough. My pulse quickens as my mind races, grasping at straws. Something about vampires, dragons, and Celestial Imperium each pose separate threats to all of Rayileklia. Even if Terrorzin is for some reason cooperating with the Celestial dickweasel, the dragons still pose a separate threat, beyond the scope of the Celestial Imperium’s attempt to take over the world and harvest all souls. I still have no idea where the hell vampires come into play in all this.

Will I become a vampire? What was the warning that the one Sister gave me? I’ve paid one, but must pay sixteen more, and I won’t know what I’ll become after I’ve paid the price? Something like that, right? Will I become a vampiric dragonoid? Is that why the vampire version of me looked so feral? Is that why they could bleed endlessly? Is that why their—. I huff and then a moment later, I heave a long, weighty sigh. Flexing my jaw, and stretching my neck, I attempt to untense the muscles that had been slowly clenching as my mind raced down scarier and scarier trails.

Realizing someone has been standing near my side, offering me a drink, I accept, and whet my whistle. I prestidigitatively cleanse the drinking vessel before and after using it, making sure that I don’t risk anyone getting sick from me. I know they’re not being as cautious, they can’t afford to be. Supplies are limited, evacuation was rushed, and they have to make do without comforts, without some basic near-necessities, or limited access to necessities. The algae is of a variety that actually reduces acidity, so the swampwater will be at least potable if filtered, strained, or boiled to separate it from the algae. I’m sure children are catching frogs, and what would normally be a pasttime, is instead becoming essential provision gathering. Aasimovia didn’t have a lot of hunting if I recall, so there’s a lack of hunters, and a lack of survival skills in general amongst the refugees. Santiago has his hands full, cooperating with other alchemists, medicine-men, doctors, and the like, to provide aid for the near-endless stream of sick or wounded. Worse is the seeming lack of progress for many of the wounded.

Keeley is only alive because she’s rationing dragon’s blood, and if she stops, her lifespan is limited. The Plains Colossi have tried to cut back, or cut out dragon’s blood, the ones that could, and the act had a high mortality rate. I don’t like Keeley’s odds for survival. The drone of the elders conversation, or rather debate, is a faint presence as I cast my other senses about, focusing on other details, pursuing other trains of thought. I left the bully frogfolk’s spears almost like a fence, jammed into the muck at the sides of the trail that passes through Jaggedfen Bog. Is that doing enough to keep them from attacking and harassing people further down, at the middle or rear of the caravan? Are there even any other bully frogfolk nearby? Were those a solitary roving pack? Were they a scouting, hunting party of a larger pack? Did I do the right thing, fighting and slaying them?

Bud’s presence would be tremendously helpful here, helping to smoothen out this path, keep it dry, free of tangles and divots, so that the refugees could make progress just that little bit more swiftly. I breathe deeply and exhale slowly, trying to calm my racing heart, trying to dismiss the thoughts of the Felgres joining forces with the Celestial dickweasel. I hope that that assumption was wrong. I hope that the Sisters hadn’t pointed out the Felgre horde for a different reason. Or maybe the Felgre horde is the apocalypse from the dragons? I’m almost positive they were freed by Astridus, now that I’ve got more pieces of the puzzle, and had met the woman. Woman, dragon, whatever. If so, then that would still leave us with the Felgre horde to eventually deal with, possibly letting them harass harangue and harry the Celestial forces, before we dealt with them. That’d be two apocalypses down, with just the looming vampire threat.

Or maybe the Felgre hordes aren’t even a threat, now that Aasimovia is evacuated. What if they can’t live long outside of whatever location they’re from, or were trapped in? The Sisters might not bother to consider them at all in the grand scheme of things if that is the case. Supposing they can only survive two years, a year, two months, two weeks, or something, outside of a portal, I could see them not stressing about them as a situation in general. How had the Aasimovians dealt with them in the past? Oh. I know the pieces fit. Dragons. It was dragons that drove them away in the past, and that’s why Astridus knew where the Felgre horde was able to be located, and freed from.

Hold the phone. Astridus and Olashax report to Terrorzin, who almost undoubtedly lives at the Spine of the World somewhere. Terrorzin is in league with the Celestial Dickweasel, for the time being. The Felgre horde was a play b—. This whole thing is a trap. I begin to pant in a panic, wondering where the trap will spring. Who’s at risk? Which way? Wait, no. His reach doesn’t extend into the swamp for some reason. He expected them to take The Gap when they fled, to go north, and be herded into his forces. He’s not omniscient. He might not even know the geography of this area at all. Okay, okay, phew, calm down, think things through, stop the panic and focus. Put the pieces together.

Dragons can drive back the Felgre horde, it’s been done once before. Not all dragons would side with Terrorzin, whatever his plot is, or whatever his deal with the Celestial dickweasel is. Lil is up there along the Spine of the World somewhere, and I’m vaguely fairly certain approximately where that is. Lil has been there for quite some time, with Luni and Lucky, and I don’t get any sense of them being locked in combat with all-comers from all sides by an endless horde of hostile dragons. No. I don’t get a sense of that at all. My intuition, genre senses, retrocognition, whatever it is, is telling me that Lil has allies, has made friends on Rayileklia. I didn’t ask Jarrah Bettergrove enough about Lil, because Jarrah made a promise to Lil to not divulge information to me. Lil has an almost two month headstart on making it to, and setting up in the Spine of the World.

Hell’s bells, I haven’t seen my best friend since June, um, June sixth I believe, and it’s almost September. We spent months apart at the end of our lives on Can’Z’aas, and I’m—. I can’t focus on that, get back to the project Reggie, the plan, fill in the details, the blanks, the absence of information. I sigh as my eyes mist with tears. The crying seems to help the recovery of my eyesight, while also blurring my vision. Lil, My Heart. I love you, my dearest, oldest friend. I’ll try. I’ll try my best to make it to you before I die. I have to hope I’ll live til near the solstice, but I’ll try.

Koff, glp. Right, right, the plan. Before you can fully commit to the plan, you need to know that the Aasimovian’s are safe. There’s a tribal kingdom along the mountains in the northwest, what’s its name? Hm, I don’t know. The Celestial Imperium hasn’t expanded that direction nearly as much as it has expanded east. Oh, I see. It’s close to the dragons, and Celestial dickweasel has some kind of a truce. He’s setting them up though, he’s wrapping around the east side of the globe. I can picture it now, the whole of Rayileklia. The island kingdoms are safe for the time being, because the dragons don’t dare try to cross open waters while having to fly so low to the ground, and can’t risk flying through the acid cloud banks. I’m surprised there aren’t more ships that can—. Why am I surprised? Metal is still fairly precious, wood ships that aren’t enchanted will melt under the strain of the constant acid rain. No wonder there are only a few ferries and a few locations where someone can make the passage.

Getting off track Reggie. Right, right. It means there is a path, a direction that I can follow to head to the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, along the Spine of the World. I get a sense that the truce between Terrorzin and the Celestial dickweasel is an uneasy one, so there won’t be troops in the lands anywhere near the dragons. That gives me an angle of attack to make it through unmolested. Why do my ears hurt?

I was so caught up in my distractable nature, I barely registered the shouting in the distance. The chain of shouts and shrieks reaches me, a ceaseless series of cries, each only able to convey a single word, a single idea, “Attack!”