53. Answers

* Just after high sun on the day of Harvestide 28, Aerendyl, Clwyd, Pyt, and Wilfred stood at the summit of Angor's mountain, where the three wretched-looking creatures known as the Siblings of Agnor had been waiting for them, ready to answer six of their questions - what they'd earned by sailing to the Pirate Republic and killing June the Maiden, the Night Mother, and Old Mackerel, the coven of Sawtooth Basin.
* The three fey bid the party come closer and they ask their first question. As they did, Aerendyl and Clwyd both felt like the party were being watched from both their flanks, but turning to look, there was nothing there.

The Siblings of Agnor:

   Aerendyl was the first to speak. He asked, '**what happens to an Eladrin once they die?**' The Siblings chuckled and began to speak in turn, seamlessly taking over where one or the other left off, the words flowing out of raspy voices that made the skin-crawl.

> A great many things may come to pass, to those elves that have not made their last change.
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> In death, as with all mortals, the soul is weighed, in the Deadlands just beyond these realms. The weighing reveals two paths: the river and the mountain.
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> To the river those weighed wicked will go.
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> And if their soul holds even a glint of remorse, even a scrap of shame, even an ounce of hope that they might one day do good, even with their wretched wickedness, so long as they do hope to be better, then to the Hells they’ll likely go. And there the pain and the suffering and repentance, until they have earned the right to suffer yet as devils. Then the endless war that is the Hells.
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> But if they only revel in their sin, if they are consumed by it, those truly base will likely be seized by the Abyss in its endless hunger. Their soul will shatter under weight of avarice, vainglory, lust, and wrath, and each splinter from the shattering will become a seed, and each seed will be wrapped in the Abyss and grow to embody such pure sin. Each soul claimed by the Abyss does a great many demons becometh, and it is that one soul never more. And then the feeding and the fighting: to feed or regress, to fight or die. This the endless war that is the Abyss.
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> To the mountain those weighed elsewise go.
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> After a climb longer than time, shorter than a dream, they will find their afterlife. The island of Avalon awaits the undecided elves that ascend the mountain. Once aground, they’ll remember the many lives they’ve each lived, and they’ll recount tales from them all. Songs will ring from shore to shore, and a forest of untold beauty will grow among the melodies.
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> And then, once it is their time – in this place without much time – they will descend the mountain tall and leave the Deadlands in the escort of the pallbearers that once resembled them; these servants having made their last change in time long passed.
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> These changing elves shall descend and then leave the Deadlands, and their souls will live again.
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> If they believe.
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> But ‘to know’ is at odds with ‘to believe.’ And though you may wish it so, hope or not, prayer and faith begot, for your question asked, now you know, and so you yourself might never get to go.
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Aerendyl found it in himself to thank them for their answer and step back, though inside he was reeling from what they'd said. The Siblings chuckled cruelly to themselves, delighted in his discomfort.

The next forward was Pyt, who asked, '**how do I stop working for Nix?**' The Siblings berated him for shielding his mind, saying they couldn't puzzle out the true intentions in his question so long as he did, nor use his own memories and long-forgotten scraps of thought to give him their best answer. With a start, he removed the Gambler's Ring he'd recently received, and was then accutely aware of the Siblings sifting through his mind, even if he did not feel it.

> Many paths with many ways. But the simplest answers you might find hardest to pursue.
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> Of course, to merely stop working for him requires you only to choose to do not. At least in this life. But that is not what you seek. Nor then is his death your solution, for your bondage is within a cascade of chains, a hierarchy of servitude, and his demise would not free you from it.
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> To go over the cambion’s head would likely be as displeasing an answer to you. To work for his mother over him; or Mephistopheles over her; of the lower lords over he, Fierna of Six, Belphegor of Seven, Lucifer of Eight; or even to beseech the Lord of all the Nine over them. If that the solution you might seek, you need only be strong, or cunning, and willing to give up much, once you've gain their eye or ear.
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> Or again, seek to serve elsewhere. The masters of Faerie might well be able to bind your essence to them over the Hells. You would surely need their favour. But many might be able to summon up such power for you, if not the motive.
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> And if not them, then the Dead Kings perhaps. They might cast a net and catch your soul while in the Deadlands, before it careens down the river to the cambion's home.
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> No it seems, to all the above. You appear to wish to rule yourself once more. No debts incurred. The price paid in full up front. Three paths are before you then, and a fourth that is hidden.
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> You might seek out a genie of Quintessence. One of great strength. Your kind’s tales of them are not all fancy. Some few can grant your mortal wishes spoken, even such a wish as to spirit your soul back to your possession, that which was once freely given away by you. But you should speak with care, for such a genie will twist each and every word you wish.
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> You might scour the Hells for the location of the contract. It will be filed and sealed by Mephistopheles’ own decree. But you might still try – try to steal from the Lord of the Fifth. Without the contract, writ on parchment with blood and ink, the household and he have no claim to your promised soul. Such is the nature of devilry.
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> Or you might ask the cambion his own terms to break the deal. Easiest of paths, but hardest for you, perhaps. For he holds all the currency with which you'd barter. But if terms are set and terms fulfilled, your soul will again be your own.
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> The fourth path shall not be explained. For it is to go beyond the binds of the mortal, and the how of such a task would need another question asked. But it is a way.
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Pyt stepped back and pondered what they'd said, suddenly very keen to meet a genie in the future. The Siblings wore satisfied, knowing grins.

Clwyd was the next forward. She spoke respectfully to the Siblings, meeting their gross faces and naming them in turn: 'Brother,' 'Elder Sister,' 'Little Sister.' Then she asked, '**what are the major dealings and activities of the Infernal House Alekto on this the Prime Material plane.**' And so the Siblings answered:

> Major dealings indeed. Alekto’s hooks are deep, and their dealings cast a long shadow that falls close to you few four.
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> Where mortals have carved this world up in empire and in creed, Alekto has set their hooks, with patience, with whispers, and with sweet smiles. Rumidia claimed their north some centuries gone, and there reigned House MacTavish for a while. But the House Macleod sought power, and devils of Alekto were the answer they found.
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> Alekto garnered the work of Red Rona, known for her goodly maledictions. A blood curse on the clan MacTavish then – thin the blood, still the births, let their halls ring empty – and with each year the MacTavish line did wane, let the line of MacLeod grow strong as oaken boughs. The last MacTavish is recently dead, and so it is time for MacLeod to pay in full.
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> *The Siblings of Agnor wore foul smiles as they spoke of Cormorant's death, those not currently speaking jittering in low chuckles.*
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> They are to form rituals and ready comely folk, right now as we speak – and from the moment the last MacTavish fell. They seek to summon Alekto himself to this mundane realm, and a cadre of his favoured succubi. Then a night of Hells’ revels, and after the birth of many cambion linked between House Alekto and this mortal plane – some then sired by the erinys’ own seed.
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> But Alekto’s hooks are deep in that land, and there is more he seeks to gain yet. His house have long been stirring up the Highlander’s desire to be Rumidian no more. And if Alekto succeeds in pushing them towards a war of separation, the seas will roil with blood, and all of it will serve Alekto.
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> Their hooks are deep. The MacLeod House is a cult to them in truth. MacLeod’s bannermen are near as much the same. And with war and death, souls and bargains, pacts and debts, all will be to Alekto’s gain.
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> Their hooks are deep. The shadows they cast are long. For they have planned and schemed in the quiet, and now their plans come to fruition. A whole nation for the Lord of the Fifth, and likely as many souls again that will fight and die for the other side, all claimed by House Alekto.
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Clwyd nodded and then asked her second question. '**Alekto's hooks are deep, and the shadows they cast are long. How then could I best go about disrupting their plans if I were so inclined?**' The Siblings were suddenly full of scorn, their faces twisted in disgust. When they spoke, their words were bitten off and filled with bile, and when they weren't speaking, they spat and shook their heads.

> Many paths and many ways to fail. As many ways to see the seasons change. There is no best. There is no pattern. There is only chance.
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> To disrupt Alekto, one must stop the birth of their cambion babes, and prevent them gaining from a war for an independent Highlands.
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> Alekto’s debt to Red Rona might still be owed, or else the Hell Hag might have woven trickery within her bloodline rot. Or again, her maledictions you might seek to serve as the means to stop those cambion childs from making their first wails of life.
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> The ritual happens now. Should Alekto and his succubi be summoned, should scores of cambion be born to them, their power and influence here would grow immensely. Stop the ritual and you hinder them.
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> Or use the ritual. For Alekto to be here, his household will be quieter. Strike in Hell and kill those sworn to Alekto’s halls in the only real death a devil can know.
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> There may be gain in exposing MacLeod as the consorts of devils. But the pattern of it is unclear. From the word of outsiders, it might become no more than a trifle, or an insult, or a reason for war, or a reason to depose MacLeod.
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> How to stop a war? As well ask how to hold back tides with your fingertips. Rumidians have long feasted on war. And Alekto have played their game undisturbed a long time. The hooks are deep. Instability will breed war, and war in the Highlands will favour Alekto. To kill MacLeod might insight war as easily as it prevents it. A replacement must be found then. A candidate better than MacLeod, who would unite Highland and Rumidia again. But you would need to understand the Highlanders at the very least. Understand how they value strength and take pride in their ice heritage. And to have the Highlands separate without war seems near impossible, but who is to say, when there is no clear path in the pattern of it all.
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> And if the war you cannot stop, then prevent Alekto from earning the profit. That would as surely disrupt their plans. With strength of arm, root out every agent, every cultist, every warlock, every fiend of Alekto that skulks in the Highlands, and every means Alekto has of making deals when blood begins to spill there. Or with strength of cunning, make the deals your own.
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> A fool question has been asked, and an answer given all the same.
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Clwyd thanked the Siblings and stepped back.

Last up was Wilfred, ready to hear answers about the great mystery of his life, the reason he'd left the empire and the thing he'd been searching for all this time. '**What happened all those years ago, in the events leading up to and during the disappearance of my parents?**'

Soft grumbles came from the throats of the older Siblings. The disgusting form of Little Sister stepped forward, extending hands out towards Wilfred. He recoiled instinctively, and she cooed and bid he not resist, explaining that they needed to peer deep into his mind to find these answers, to look through all the thoughts he'd long forgotten, add them to what they knew, and extrapolate what else they could through the pattern of it all.

Reluctantly, Wilfred stilled himself and Little Sister came close, close enough for him to smell her foul breath, to see her rotten teeth, with her only a little taller than he was he could meet her searching gaze. Her wet hands clasped the sides of his face firmly, long, dirt-caked claws clicking together behind his head.

This time, the Siblings' search of his mind was invasive rather than subtle. Wilfred could feel as they sifted through years of memories and thoughts, dredged up moments from his infancy, and how they scrutinised it all.

Then at last came their answer:

> First, the why.
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> Many a folk in the great Circle of Magi in the Great Empire of Rumidia thought something was incorrect. They wanted to leave, to be rid of shackles many had accepted their whole lives, accepted for generations. War had changed some of them. But peace changed just as many. Yet, to speak of such a thing was hard at first, for the wrong word in the wrong ear and the Trust of the empire, their nasty inquisition, would have questions for all.
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> Years it took, and a hundred whispers with old friends only. But eventually they knew, these magi, how many of them wished to flee. And it was a great many. Too many by far. And not all were strong and powerful like the Great Jebeddo Seabottom, known also as Twinstaff and as the Last of the Hill, or like Lyra au Leones, known also as the Lioness of Al-Basan.
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> If so many so weak were to flee, they would surely be found. So many targets for prying eyes and scrying eyes. And the Circle is ever persistent when a mage does flee – they’ll scry each day for a month, and then each week for a year, then each month for a decade, and then at last each year for a century. The runaway magi, so many so weak, they would surely be found.
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> Next, the how.
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> For they still planned to get away. Never more did they whisper and secret letters to each other. No. They were magi after all. They cast spells that laid their plans bare in the minds of their allies – ready to be removed at but a moment’s notice should the Trust come knocking.
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> *Suddenly, images were forced into Wilfred's mind. He saw many Rumidian mages, including his parents and his old mentor Lyra, conspiring together. They never spoke of their plans aloud. Instead they used the* Modify Memory *spell to alter chunks of each other's thoughts with an explanation of the next step of their plan in those ten minute chunks. And if ever they were close to being put to the question by the Trust, armed with worrying spells like* Zone of Truth *as the inquisition were, the mages would use castings of* Remove Curse *to empty their minds of the plan.*
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> And then a friend. Old White Eyes, she gave as her name. She had a solution, it seemed. Her master wanted the mages free and wanted something more from them besides. A few plans were considered but the most extreme was the only one that could work. And so Old White Eyes left, to return months later with a bag full of scales. Each scale a piece of hope, but also the promise of a debt that she needed them to pay. The scales would take them away.
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> And finally, the wrong of it.
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> Because on the night of departure, things did go wrong. The Trust came for Jebeddo on that crucial night, kept him alone a great many hours. Of course, there was no worry of him betraying the plan, even against his wishes – he’d removed all knowledge of it from his mind.
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> But now dear Amber was left with a choice – to take her boy along into the viper’s den or to entrust him to another. Why did Amber have to go herself? Jebeddo needed to be told anew the plan, and he was to be sharing a dragon scale with one of those that drew less attention than a war hero like he; but the Trust had just then come also for the Lioness in her home. The timing of it was much too perfect. Amber was the only one left to help Jebeddo.
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> She chose a third option: to give her own dragon scale to the boy Wilfred, to tell him to hold onto it and trust the child to do as she said. She and Jebeddo would have to find and share one of their other conspirator’s scales. Then Amber went to her husband’s aid. Wilfred was a clever boy indeed, but he was surely much too young for this. Besides, there was foul play at work this night.
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> When it came time for the spell and the jump, Wilfred’s scale did not work as it should. And he was left alone.
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> Save for the Lioness. Questioned late into the night, but her mind as empty of the plan as if she had never been a part of making it, her scale too had failed.
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> The mages were betrayed by one of their own. The Trust knew to come for the two most accomplished, the two most powerful of the conspirators – and the only two scales that had not worked were the ones those two might use. Isn’t the further proof in Wilfred still searching now for his answers? For Amber and Jebeddo to not have found or contacted him, after such long years, strong in magics as they were.
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> They were betrayed, and their betrayer had their way with them once the scales went off and jump occurred.
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Little Sister released Wilfred's head and returned to stand beside her siblings. Her smile at his sorrow was a wicked gash across her face, matched again by those of her brother and sister.

'Who did it?' came Wilfred's next question. But the Siblings shook their heads and told him that they'd answered his question in good faith. Much was a mystery about that night and that plan, with so many *Private Sanctums* and secreting spells. They had told him all they could of the events.

When Wilfred asked them who could tell him then, they suggested Old White Eyes and asked if that was his question. And so Wilfred asked, '**How do I find Old White Eyes?**'

Brother bid Wilfred join him at the edge of the putrid lake, where amidst the scum-foam and muck, images began to appear on the water's surface. He saw flashes of lives from a great many people: a cut throat, a mage, a swordsman, a tavern keeper, a seithr, an archer, a blacksmith, a noble, a sellsword, a tinker, a guardian; men and women, dwarves, gnomes, humans, half-elves, goliaths, and more. And finally the image of an old human woman, her eyes just pupils in a sea of white, as all the others had been: an ice pirate by the name of Ursula, Little Bear.

Brother told Wilfred that many have worn the name of Old White Eyes, and all of them seem to be connected to the ice. Ursula wore the name now, and she commanded pirates up beyond the Frostflows. Seeking her out should be no hard thing there; she is known.

* And with that, the Siblings had answered the party's six questions and were ready to take their leave.
	+ Before they did so, they told the party that if any were thinking of challenging them, they should know that the Siblings have grown in their ability to thwart the party for each spell they had cast in the Siblings' domain.
	+ Further, the Siblings told the party that they would grow in strength now, thanks in part to what the party had done for them.
	+ And with that, their images faded in the way illusion magics do.
* The four of them were keen to get off Agnor as soon as possible.
	+ Clwyd used the extra spell slot she could claim from her blasting rod to cast *Fly* on herself, Pyt, and Wilfred, and Aerendyl again wildshaped into an eagle. They flew off the mountain and partway through the surrounding forest before the spell ran out.
	+ Pyt *Polymorphed* himself into a flying snake to join Aerendyl in the air, and Wilfred used three successive castings of *Dimension Door* to take him and Clwyd one quarter of the distance to the shoreline, towards where they'd left Taylor in charge of *the Drunken Dragon* in the open ocean of Eight-Finger's Folly.
	+ But then the gnome and goblin were forced to walk the rest of the way, through Agnor's many fields ripe for harvesting at this time of year. Their two allies circled overhead.
	+ With a few thousand feet left until the shore, one of the farmers working the fields spotted them walking from some distance and called over to them. Clwyd replied to him but was pretty brisk, and they never stopped walking. Eventually, they made it to shore without incident and swam out to the open water where Taylor was occasionally working an oar to keep *the Drunken Dragon* in roughly the same spot. The Rumidian helped the two of them up into the boat, gave a bit of a nod, and then left them the main deck for themselves.
	+ They immediately set sail.
* With five days of sailing, deciding not to go near Bisquay, the group arrived at Barge End in the late morning of Harvestide 33. Nix was sat on the edge of the sleepy docks waiting for them, Clwyd having sent him some messages saying she had info on Alekto and asking him to meet them there.
	+ The locals were pretty wary of this small group that had sailed up flying a Jolly Roger, now accompanied by the strange, red-skinned man. But Barge End being at the edge of the Merchant Strait, and far less economically important than some of the other islands of the Strait, it was lacking in the presence of the goliath mercenaries that policed the waters, the Scars of Mir. As such, the locals of Barge End mostly just dispersed before the party and Nix walked by, most simply hoping for no trouble.
	+ Nix found a little place that would serve them food and paid a wary woman way too much gold so she'd leave them alone in the room for a while.
	+ Clwyd told Nix everything she'd learned of Alekto from the Siblings, holding nothing back that she'd learned from her own questions. She concluded by saying that she would defer to the designs of the household in the matter.
	+ Nix told her that he was his mother's only real representative in this mundane world and that he had a number of things he was working on. As such, he felt he would be disappointed if she took such a passive role in dealing with Alekto, especially when his mother had made the contract with Clwyd herself and requested the goblin aide in dealing with their rival household. He also sweetened the talk a little by saying dealing with it in full could earn her the attention of Lord Mephistopheles himself.
	+ The words 'would be disappointed' lit a bit of a fire in Clwyd and she said she'd do what she could.
	+ A fat insight roll also let her puzzle out that Nix had some apprehensions about her potential success in this endeavour.
		- Aside from the tasks he was busy with, not least of which included stopping the Fourth Hell from gaining a foothold in the Pirate Republic following the party freeing imps there, he was wary of the fact that his mother had promised his services to Clwyd when the time came to fight Madog, should she succeed vs Alekto.
		- First then, was the matter of pride. Clwyd was Nix's ward, but were this to come to pass, for a time, nominally at least, he'd effectively be under her command.
		- Second, Nix would be wary of his own personal safety. His mother's side of the deal would mean he couldn't beat a hasty retreat should things turn sour for him in dealing with Madog, and a cambion was not a devil in full - if Nix died, he would die for real.
		- As such, he was happy just letting Clwyd deal with it. The worst case scenario from her failure was that he had some more rivals to deal with in Terca Mahres, and that was something he was quite familiar and comfortable with.
	+ Not to miss an opportunity to do some work, Nix again talked to Aerendyl about whether he thought he was a good person. The elf was lamenting that he might not get a good afterlife following his question to the Siblings, and Nix suggested he might start politicking about the Hells then. Nix also extended a bit of this argument towards Wilfred as well, and also mentioned that a drop of hellfire might do wonders for the gnome's flame-based evocations.
* Aerendyl picked up some supplies and the party set sail that same day, Nix waving them off from the docks. They were aiming to head up the Merchant Strait and beyond it, following one of the log pins they'd got from Driscoll's cache - the one pointing to Newwe Rumidia, the island home to the seat of the Northern Margrave, cultists of Alekto.
	+ Before they left, Aerendyl tried to convince Wilfred to go and see Ezekiel, saying the gnome looked like he could use a friend right now. But Wilfred was just wary of dealing with extra-planar creatures at that moment, in the wake of the Siblings and then Nix and the cambion's barrage of trying to get Wilfred to sign away his soul. He decided not to go see the angel.
	+ As a farewell gift, Nix upgraded Clwyd's blasting rod.
	+ The group went back and forth on a crucial decision: whether or not they kept flying the Jolly Roger. Some were reluctant to keep changing a symbol of the ship's identity, some were saying it was causing them trouble, and others were saying that it suited them and maybe they should go all in on being pirates in truth. They eventually agreed to bring the black flag down, with Wilfred keen to get Poop the brownie to make them something new, something that represented them.
	+ Aerendyl took to wearing his hood up and staying relatively out of sight for the majority of their journey up the Strait.
	+ The elf also took to casting *Control Winds* three times per day, doubling the ship's speed for one hour a piece.
* The day after they'd left Barge End, Harvestide 34, first night of the phasing moon, Wilfred went to Pyt for a little chat. Wilfred told Pyt that he thought there was a good chance the Iron Flask they'd taken from Mackerel's hut could have a genie in it. The pair convinced the others of their party to agree to opening the flask that night.
* And so, in the open waters of the Merchant Strait, somewhat close to the island of Tribute, night descended and the four of them busied themselves getting ready to open the Iron Flask.
	+ Aerendyl cast *Water Walk* on them all and then froze a 10ft x 10ft section of the sea's surface for them to open the flask on, in case the thing inside couldn't swim or fly.
	+ Wilfred cast *Knock*, the click booming out into the night, and the padlock sealing the metal-laced leather wrap around the Iron Flask opened.
	+ Pyt took hold of the flask.
	+ The others formed a triangle with Pyt at their centre, 100 feet or so away from *the Drunken Dragon*.
	+ Pyt pulled out the brass stopper and a smoke-like substance immediately began billowing out the flask. It grew and coalesced into a massive creature of pure darkness, at least 20 feet tall, humanoid in shape and with the curves of a womanly form, but with claws as long as its forearms and two massive horns that extended back from the forehead.
	+ It was reminiscent of the Night Mother almost, but so much worse in so many ways. It bayed loud into the night, a deep, mournful sound.
	+ Immediately, those closest to the huge creature felt their very life essence being drained away by its presence. But the thing wasn't doing anything. It was just stood there - actually floating there, just a little off the surface of the ice and water.
	+ They scrambled away in a panic.
	+ The creature remained stock still.
	+ The group panicked some more.
	+ Pyt tried putting the creature back in the Iron Flask and it resisted the magic.
	+ The party panicked a lot. They knew now that it would do what Pyt said for one hour, and after that it would be free.
	+ Pyt tried telling it to 'go back to where you belong,' or to 'get back in the flask,' but instructions to that effect weren't doing anything.
	+ Aerendyl risked getting hurt again, getting close enough to use *Detect Thoughts* on the strange creature. First he felt his life being drained away in its proximity, and then his mind was blasted by a barrage of horrible thoughts, almost all at once: the thing was Mackerel's daughter, or had been. Mackerel had experimented on her with Weird Magic, eventually turning her into this thing. The thoughts were disjointed, mostly unintelligent, but filled with sorrow and horrible pain.
	+ Aerendyl beat a retreat and told the others what he'd learned.
	+ Clwyd could see a resemblance between the creature and the Night Mother's weird magics, but the difference in scale was truly extreme. Thinking of what just a couple tiny pieces of that darkness magic had done to her personality, she shuddered to think of so much of it in one person.
	+ Pyt used his new *Encode Thoughts* cantrip to make a solidified version of a happy memory. He then ordered a very reluctant Jolene to fly up and drop the strand of memory over the top of the creature. Jolene was annihilated instantly when she got close, giving a final look of scorn to Pyt before she returned to the Hells.
	+ Pyt had the shadow creature grab the thought strand out the air and experience the memory. The thing bayed loudly again, perhaps more so than before. Pyt concluded he'd just made it worse then.
	+ Next he tried making a thought strand of the final moments of Mackerel's life, when they'd killed her. Clwyd flew up to drop it this time, but made a wider arc than Jolene had. This strand didn't seem to have much effect on the creature at all.
	+ Pyt tried playing his sad song and there was a reaction from the thing. It lifted an arm up and out slightly. He told it to come closer and the group were again racked as their life was drained away by its presence. It stopped short of Pyt and his viol but didn't do much else. Pyt told it to go back to where it had been before they started actually dying from being near it.
	+ At that point, they really didn't know what to do. Aerendyl figured they should just fight it, but the others were saying that it had nearly killed them just from being stood close by - what would happen when it actually tried to start killing them?
	+ They discussed sending it off in various directions, but most of the places they wouldn't mind sending it to (including Newwe Rumidia) were too far away for the time they had control over it.
	+ Eventually, Wilfred said he'd try *Banishing* it. If it wasn't a native of this plane, then it wouldn't come back when the spell ended. But if it did come back, or if it resisted the spell in the first place, it would likely attack - the magic compulsion from the Iron Flask didn't limit the creature from defending itself from them.
	+ The group got ready and Wilfred cast Banishment on it. The massive, shadowy creature disappeared with an audible popping, and after a nail-biting minute of tension, the spell was complete and it did not return.
	+ They all sagged and sighed with relief. Taylor started laughing with mirth from the boat, calling them a bunch of crazy bastards but smiling despite himself.
	+ They concluded that it was good to have the flask empty at least.
* The next day they resumed their journey, treading the path to the Northern Margraviate.