“Good morning, Mistress,” Ruth greeted Dahlia when she floated into the air. The fresh light of morning filled the guest room. Warm rays caught and illuminated specks of dirt and fairy dust alike.

“Hi Ruth. We’ve got a bit of preparations to still do before we begin our investigations,” Dahlia said. She didn’t elaborate on what investigations they would be doing. Instead, the fairy flexed her fingers and chanted a few quick words in sylvan.

A spirit ally warrior appeared before Dahlia. The tired fairy yawned a few times, unimpressed.

“What’s your name?” Dahlia demanded of the spiritual figure of a satyr.

The satyr seemed a little surprised to be there.

“Drynthor is my name, Mistress,” the satyr said with a bow. Then he poked at the sword, shield, and spectral armor that encased his mostly solid body, shocked at the denseness.

“Am I alive again?” Drynthor asked disbelievingly.

“Not entirely,” Dahlia answered vaguely. “Welcome to the Ebon Chorus, Drynthor. You shall be my shield.”

“I’m a great shield, Mistress. Not much of an attacker, me, but I’m really good at blocking,” the satyr bragged, banging a hand on his spectral shield.

“Good,” Dahlia smiled and flew into the mass of energy that was her newest ally. She shoved her tiny fairy hand right into one of Drynthor’s eyes, grabbed hold of his essence, and channeled magic inside him.

In Dahlia’s minds eye, Drynthor’s soul was shaped more like a circle than a person. She reshaped his essence into a shield, pushed the spirit’s cowardice and meekness into his sword arm, and brought resolute endurance to the forefront. The name Drynthor reminded her of ancient woods, roses, and thorns. She shaped some of the magic she poured into him into soul vines laden with thorns to lash out at those who dared harm him.

Dahlia spent two first-level spell slots, a second-level spell slot, and 10 Glimmer points to elevate Drynthor to level 2 with the desired traits.

Drynthor (Spirit Ally Warrior) has reached level 2.

Drynthor has gained the trait: Vinebound Shield.

Vinebound Shield: Drynthor’s shield sprouts spiritual vines. These spiritual vines will automatically retaliate against any physical attackers and will attempt to ensnare those who get caught in them.

Drynthor has gained the trait: Spiritbound Shield

Spiritbound Shield: Drynthor may summon a spectral shield. The shield provides a bonus to defense and can be wielded as a weapon, in addition to a normal shield.

When Dahlia pulled her hand out of Drynthor’s eye and flew back to land on the table, the rest of her minions all stood, staring intently at the newcomer. The magical essence of the satyr had increased dramatically, and his spiritual form contained no transparency any longer.

“Bravo, Mistress!” Lorien cheered and clapped.

Xeras nodded his approval. Dahlia figured the moody Gloamknight might be pleased that the warrior was dedicated to defense, while Xeras himself wielded a two handed great sword and focused on offense. Still, wouldn’t it be nice if her darling Gloamknight ever talked? He was as powerful as she, the most alive of all of her minions but Mr. Disapoofers, and yet—he was also the aloof. She would pluck that thorn someday.

Dahlia cast Call Spirit Hornet Swarm (2nd), Call Shadow (1st), and with that there were now seven members of the Ebon Chorus. Xeras, Mr. Disapoofers, Ruth, Lorien, Drynthor, Shade v2, and the Hornets did make for a rather cramped guest room.

“Into my shadow or the Between, if you please. Keep your senses open and be ready to fight or give chase if we find that stalker again,” Dahlia reminded her team with a friendly smile. A smile that slowly turned sinister as the fairy contemplated what she would do with the stalker when she caught them.

“” Yes, Mistress!”” answered the Ebon Chorus.

“Ruff!” You’re down to 1 2nd level spell slot! Should we lay low until you’re at full strength? Mr. Disapoofers questioned.

Dahlia frowned. She’d forgotten how wise the Warp Wolf was.

“No. Even if I had more spell slots, I know entirely too few spells to make much use of them. You are my strength, and you are all strong. We’ll be fine, now, let’s go!” Dahlia flew to the door, and waited… and waited.

All of Dahlia’s minions had already stepped into either her shadow or back into the Between. The tiny 8” tall fairy wasn’t strong enough to open the door to her guest room on her own. Dahlia coughed.

Lorien stepped out of the Between and opened the door.

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“Sorry, Mistress. I’ll handle doors for you for today,” Lorien volunteered himself helpfully.

“Good,” Dahlia answered shortly.

It took Dahlia another ten minutes to make it out of Graystone manor. First she snuck through the kitchen and helped herself to a few (dozen) handfuls of maple sugar, then she gossiped with Adeline about where people frequently disappeared around Riverwatch, and then Amelia caught sight of her and complained about how her father had mentioned marrying one of the twins off to Bennet.

Time, as ephemeral and strange as it was to the fairy, seemed to slip by far quicker than she realized. The sun had already reached a quarter of the way to its zenith by the time Dahlia landed atop one of the wooden buildings of Riverwatch that overlooked the gates. Children played not far away from the gate in the overgrown yard of a dilapidated house.

Dahlia learned nothing of interest by watching the children. The rules for their ball game seemed to be constantly changing, but if one of the kids changed the rules to egregiously the others bullied them, so there were unwritten rules to their game Dahlia didn’t quite understand. She hated rules she didn’t understand.

When the kids all gathered together to refill their waterskins from a well, Dahlia alighted atop the well.

“It’s the fairy!”

“Grant me a wish!”

“Can I touch your wings?”

“You’re so pretty!”

“I thought she was bigger.”

The children all talked at once. Dahlia let her eyes roam the gaggle of children until one in particular caught her attention. He was missing a front tooth, covered in dirt and scratches, but he had a quality to him that declared he was the leader of this pack.

“There are rumors about lights outside town that lure the innocent to their demise. Have any of you seen them?” Dahlia asked, cutting to the chase.

“I seen ‘em,” the child Dahlia had identified as the leader said.

“Me too! You aren’t special, Lykus,” a little girl chimed, and then the dam broke and all the kids said they’d seen these lights.

“They’re big! About as big as me!” another kid said.

“It’s a singular light?” Dahlia asked.

“One big one, yeah,” Lykus said with a nod. “Anyone ever seen more than one?”

The other children all shook their heads no.

“Where do the lights start, and where do they end?” Dahlia demanded.

“At the ruins of the old Witch’s house. That’s where they start. They always end up in the Bramblewood though.” Lykus nodded.

“And has anyone investigated the ruins?” Dahlia asked.

“During the day, aye. The guard likes to go poke the ruins every few weeks to make a big show of it, but always in the daylight. Even if there ain’t a ghost in that house, there’s still hundreds of Hyena-men and other nasty buggers in the Bramblewood!” Lykus grumbled unhappily. “Unless yer gonna go out an kill all them ones that escaped, too?”

Dahlia grinned. She liked this kid.

“Do the lights look like this?” Dahlia snapped her fingers, and in a poof of magic she created an illusion of a glowing sphere.

“Yeah!” the kids agreed.

“No, it’s a different color.” Lykus disagreed with the crowd after a delay.

“That’s the right size and brightness?” Dahlia inquired.

“Yeah, just the colors wrong.” Lykus declared with certainty. “You seen it before?”

“I’ve seen it many times,” Dahlia declared with a mysterious smirk. Unknown to the children, she’d created an illusion facsimile of the light cantrip. Used by spellcasters across all the many worlds and planes to find their way in the dark.

Not that it eliminated monsters and things that go bump in the night entirely. Many creatures also had spell-like powers.

“Good job, kids. Here.” Dahlia dropped a few silver coins from her Feywoven Satchel onto the ground, and flew up into the air.

“Stay safe, fairy!” Lykus shouted after her, while other kids complained about not getting to touch the fairy, or what they should spend the money on.

Dahlia didn’t linger, and instead flew to the over-run ruins of the old healer outside of town, bordering the Bramblewood. Past the outskirts of Riverwatch, past earth charred by Bennet’s fireballs and trampled by hundreds of Hyena-men, lay a pile of rubble in the vague shape of a house.

On the edge of the Bramblewood twisted roots had crept and grown. Much of the stone foundation of the once humble cottage remained, yet it was in a sorry state. The twisted roots had not won the battle against stone yet, but their victory in the greater war was all but assured. The walls had toppled here and there, yet mostly remained standing. Built from uneven stones chiseled smooth by long-departed hands, the walls wore a patchwork of green moss and lichen. The mortar held strong in most places, but in others, cracks ran through the masonry. Holes larger than Dahlia let the breeze inside.

The corpse of the roof hung precariously over the ruined building. The framework of rotted beams served no purpose now but to hold up the mass of moldering leaves and the nest of a squirrel. A lone timber juts into the air at a precarious angle, vainly striving to support the long-gone weight of thatch that had blown away decades ago. The stones that lead to the doorway had been worn unevenly by years of foot-traffic, a testament to the power of the cottage’s last owner. How many people had trod the path to the door in search of healing, charms, or simple guidance?

No dried herbs hung from the rafters, no garlands of garlic or other fragrant bundles remained. There was only silence, and the smell of decay made when the earth reclaimed land from civilization. A broken stool rots in a corner, its three remaining legs sunk unevenly into a mound of rotting leaves. Shards of earthenware containers dot the ground—discolored by the residual vestiges of ointments and tinctures they once held, and years of exposure to the dappled sunlight that made it through the remnants of the roof. A chipped mortar and pestle lay half in shadow, entangled with a nettled vine that threads through the debris.

Dahlia smiled. Nature had made great effort to reclaim each scrap of these ruins from the blight of human endeavor. This was what awaited Riverwatch itself, someday.

The Bramblewood, just beyond the ruin’s edge, stretched for miles. The winds whispered strange, ancient secrets as they flowed through the dense, prickly brambles of crooked trees. From the forest, Dahlia sensed potent magic, but within the ruins of the cottage she sensed not a single flicker of active magic.

Yet these battered stones and decayed timbers radiated memories, pain, and were filled to the brim with unanswered wishes. An ancient magic in and of itself, if one knew the proper way to use it.

A large shadow fell over Dahlia when Xeras stepped from the Between and joined her next to the shattered hearth.

“Can you use this place?” Xeras asked.

“Not yet, but I will. Do you know how?” Dahlia asked with curiosity.

“Like calls to like,” Xeras answered with a shrug. His shadow vanished when he stepped back into the Between.

Dahlia mused on what sort of nature the old healer must have had before she hid in a pile of leaves.