“I much preferred the illusion,” Dahlia commented.

The beautiful building glimpsed in illusions of days long gone fell away to reveal walls covered in a black lichen through which powerful, warped energies of the Gossamer Heart pulsed. The corruption which flowed from the Heart had the undeniable taint of the Discordant. Dahlia’s stomach felt agitated as if she’d eaten Xeras’s weight in sugar and might throw up at any moment.

“This is bad,” Dahlia hissed.

Xeras merely nodded his agreement, his wooden lips compressed into a thin line. The green flames of his eyes, however, intensified. The intense green energy around Xeras danced in quick, erratic movements. Xeras's visible agitation disquieted the rest of the Ebon Chorus.

“What’s wrong, Mistress?” Lorien asked. The ranger’s eyebrows had drawn together, bunching at the center of his forehead in a tight knot. A faint line etched itself between them, deepening by the moment. His eyes darted from side to side between Dahlia, Xeras, and the hallway around them. Whatever the two noble Fey perceived escaped the notice of the heightened senses of the ranger.

“There is dangerous corruption here, and it’s taken over the illusions. Be wary,” Dahlia answered. The fairy’s usually musical voice emerged clipped and flat.

“Who was the last Guild Master here, Ruth? What was their magic specialty?” Xeras inquired.

“Elyssandra served as the Guild Master of the Enchanter’s Guild,” Ruth answered hesitantly. “She was an illusionist.”

“That makes sense,” Dahlia murmured.

None of the group had progressed beyond the head of the stairs. The lichen-filled hallways stretched around them like a confusing labyrinth of bleakness. Strange prismatic bursts of light fired at random. Motes of a sickly purple lightly danced up and down the hallways as if they were wisps or had a mind of their own. Shadows cast by the lights took on the forms of hideous monsters but constantly faded due to the disappearance and reappearance of the light from which they were cast.

“Is that her?” Lorien asked Ruth when a beautiful white-haired elven woman appeared at the end of a hallway.

“Y-yes, that’s Elyssand—come back!” Ruth shouted when the insubstantial ghost vanished, leaving dark purple wisps behind.

Bolts of discordant magic flew from one wisp after another towards the group. Mr. Disapoofer, as ever a loyal mount, teleported Dahlia out of the reach of one of the magical bolts at the last moment. Xeras batted the rest away with the flat of his blade with an annoyed grunt before he lifted his free hand, and a cone of green flames filled the hallway.

None of the wisps survived the blast.

“Not Discordant Wisps, then,” Xeras mumbled.

“Nope. Only illusions, it seems.” Dahlia agreed. The fairy caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment but let it go when she realized she was biting her lower lip. She focused on unclenching her hands from the white-knuckled fists they had become. She gave Xeras a jerky nod, but her eyes remained on where the wisps had been, not on Xeras.

“We find that specter. Hopefully, it is a specter and not another illusion. Perhaps it can educate us on what happened here,” Dahlia ordered. She lifted her chin, her purple eyes large and hyper-aware of their surroundings. The sparkle of fairy glitter around her had turned bright pink, a stark contrast to the black walls of the tainted building.

“But first… a quick ritual to hold off the taint of the Discordant,” Dahlia said.

“Drynthor, scrape some of the lichen off the floor and make a pile of it near me,” Dahlia asked while she pulled out her lute. She strummed a few chords to ensure the tune, then hummed a little to warm her throat.

Drynthor jumped to action to scrape at the black lichen covering everything on the second floor. No adverse reaction occurred when he scraped at it with a knife, but no matter how much he gouged at the floor with the blade, he made no progress at revealing the floor underneath. When Dahlia had finished her preparations, Drynthor had made two piles of disgusting black matter taller than Dahlia.

♪ “Whispers on the wind, cradle of twilight

Embers of memory bright in the night

Footsteps of sorrow drown in the hush

As stardust fades from the moon’s silver blush.

Oh, once the city soared high on its wings

Fey-lights adrift where the summer choir sings

But the Song turned Discordant, our dreams undone

And midnight devoured the light of our sun.

Lanterns gutter low, eyes dim with sorrow

Shadows coil deeper, foretelling the morrow

Yet one pure note pierces gloom-laden skies

Awakening truth with a Fey lullaby.

Oh, Thornhearts’ burden weighs heavy and grim

Discordant might thrives where the daylight grows dim

But I lift my voice strong and clear

To sunder the nightmare that fosters our fear.

Under roses of silver

And willows that cry

We raise up our voices

Where lost spirits lie

A weaving of magic

A promise to keep

To unbind the sorrow

That haunts us so deep.

Crystals awakened, your light overflows

Cleansing each wound from the curses we chose

Threads of rejoining swirl in the air

Mending our hearts in an honest repair.” ♪

Dahlia’s clear words thrummed with honest-to-goodness fairy magic. Dahlia fed a 2nd level spell slot and 5 Glimmer points into the Spellsong to make it manifest. Ruth stared in wonder as notes of silver and gold manifested themselves in the air as Dahlia sang. The lichen around them wasn’t as big a fan of the growing fey magic as the spirit mage. The vile black plague that coated everything seemed to pulse in counterpoint to Dahlia’s notes until more of the purple lights appeared; this time, they were not illusions.

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Drynthor raised his new reflective shield, and the satyr transformed into a wall through which nothing would pass to reach Dahlia while she sang. Behind Drynthor, Ruth unleashed fire bolts at the orbs of Discordant light. The Spectral Hornet Swarm buzzed angrily but did not shoot down the hallway or venture away from Dahlia. They hung back, awaiting orders from Dahlia or an enemy to come closer.

Fey magic coalesced into floating crystals made of fairy dust. The crystals shone with a bright pink light that matched the shade of the copious amounts of glitter that spilled from Dahlia with each pluck of a chord and note that escaped her lips. The dim yet vibrant light that radiated out from the crystals provided an internal warmth for each of the members of the Ebon Chorus and for Dahlia herself. The warmth of the spell turned into a faint pink glow around each member of the party, a shield against the tainted energies of the Discordant.

When the spell was completed, the purple wisps seemed to rage, and the shield appeared around the group. Their rage proved impotent, however, when Xeras, Ruth, and Lorien struck them down one after another.

You have gained 50 experience.

“My spell should last for an hour or so. Let’s find that specter!” Dahlia exhorted.

The halls were largely empty. No furniture remained in them. No tapestries filled the walls of the second floor. All had been claimed by the black lichen, all surfaces had transformed into a mass of not-quite-writhing blackness.

“There!” Ruth called, pointing at two very solid-looking doors. They stood out since neither had been thoroughly covered in the lichen. The sylvan runes engraved in the door, a simple blessing of the Queen of Summer, had prevented total coverage.

When Xeras threw the doors open, they were met with the startled shriek of a specter.

“The humans are here!” it cried.

“We’re no—” Ruth tried to interrupt, but a wand floated off the table, and the fire flickered at its tip in the shape of flaming petals.

“Don’t let it cast that!” Dahlia ordered. She recognized the spell stored in the wand.

Xeras vanished, reappeared behind the ghost, and quickly swung Gloombough at Elyssandra. The wand tumbled to the desk's surface, and the ghost of the Guild Master reappeared near the bulky windows that let tiny rays of light bathe the room.

“Elyssandra! We’re all Fey! LOOK!” Ruth yelled futilely from the doorway while the rest of the Ebon Chorus ran into the room to engage the specter. When the specter launched, purple vapor clouds seeped and churned around Xeras. The spell repeatedly tried to find purchase against the sacred wooden body of Xeras, but the Gloamknight resisted the potent magic.

“Nightbloom’s Harrowing? She’s not screwing around,” Dahlia hissed. She blew a Shadow Kiss to Xeras, and Dahlia’s lips imprinted on his wooden cheeks as if painted in purple lipstick. Out of all the Ebon Chorus, only Xeras seemed to recognize the name of the spell Dahlia said and understand the danger they faced.

“Mom! Stop it!” Ruth screamed into the room. Elyssandra's spectral shape was the only figure who didn’t turn to look at Ruth. In the moments of distraction, the ghost once again vanished and rematerialized near a bookshelf.

“Nope!” Drynthor shouted and slammed his spiritual shield into Elyssandra's face. Or he tried, too. He went right through the ghost.

“Elyssandra, it’s me, Ruthialle! Mom?” Ruth cried out again.

Not understanding why things were going the way they were or how Gloombough and Drynthor’s spectral shield failed to touch a ghost, Dahlia activated the Magic Detection powers of her witch hat. The world wobbled as her vision shifted spectrums, and she beheld the arcane tapestry of the world. Dahlia groaned out loud immediately.

“She’s an illusion,” Dahlia said. The moment the words left her lips, to Dahlia at least, the spectral woman faded away, leaving behind a luxurious office only slightly consumed by the spread of the dark lichen.

One by one, the members of the Ebon Chorus looked around the room, confused at the sudden lack of enemies, but Ruth still pleaded with her mother.

“Ruth, it is not Elyssandra. She must have been a figure known to the Gossamer Heart. It latched onto the tiniest of threads and recreated her, perhaps in the desperate hope that your mother might free it from the vile clutches that now hold it.” Dahlia spoke slowly to Ruth, and the spirit ally mage struggled to look between Dahlia and the illusion.

“Ruth, look at me,” Dahlia ordered. Unable to resist the command, the fire mage slowly turned her insubstantial spirit eyes to Dahlia.

“That’s not your mother, not even a piece of her soul. It is magic being wielded by the Gossamer Heart. Do you understand?” Dahlia demanded an answer.

“Yes…. I understand,” Ruth practically sobbed. The flaming eyes of the mage no longer turned to the room.

“You could have told us you were the daughter of the Guild Master,” Dahlia said.

“I’m sorry, Lady Dahlia,” Ruth said. The mage’s shoulders slumped inward; if she had a physical body, Dahlia supposed it would be wracked with sobs.

“Let’s look through your mother’s office. Maybe she left notes or clues about what happened to Aelwyth Morghaine and how we can stop it,” Dahlia said. The fairy spoke gently, her voice an invitation to step out of the darkness and into at least the twilight where Dahlia and the Ebon Chorus awaited her.

“I’m not surprised her desk fought off the lichen. It was carved from a holy tree that was felled by lightning. I’m surprised her Wand of Starbloom Eruption is here. Surely she would have taken it into combat against the humans when they came for Aelwyth Morghaine?” Ruth mused as she studied the wand atop the desk.

“Take the wand, Ruth,” Dahlia encouraged the fire mage.

“Are you sure it wouldn’t serve you better, Lady Dahlia?” Ruth asked. A slight hitch caught in Ruth’s nonexistent throat.

“I’m sure,” Dahlia nodded.

When Dahlia focused on the wand, information from the Voice of Nantes flooded her mind.

Wand of Starbloom Eruption

Wand, extremely rare.

This wand has 7 charges. While holding the wand you may expend up to 3 charges to cast Starbloom Eruption from it. For one charge you cast the level 3 version of the spell. You may increase the spell’s level by 1 with each additional charge you expend, maximum 3 charges.

This wand regains 2-7 expended charges daily at dawn. If reduced to 0 charges, it may crumble to dust.

Dahlia, once again, wondered about Nantes.

Starbloom Eruption was a potent 3rd level Evocation spell. It was favored among certain Fey for its radiant beauty. A bloom of shimmering petals and bioluminescent spores gathered around a pulsing orb of celestial beauty. The orb, of course, was hurled at enemies and exploded in showers of lilac sparks and incendiary pixie dust, much like the standard spell fireball.

Once one mastered the spell, it was no more difficult to cast than any other 3rd level Evocation spell. Yet learning it was a challenge. It had a deliberately obtuse framework that took those unfamiliar with the overly complicated style of magic used in the Courts ages to decipher.

No notes or journal turned up, but when Dahlia was about to give up, Ruth showed her how to activate a hidden latch.

“Oh, Mom’s treasury is untouched,” Ruth said.

The word treasury sounded like music to Dahlia’s ears.