With the sun high in the clear sky above him, Zero took to using the bushes and scrub to keep himself hidden on the way down to the stake. Taking plenty of time, and always looking about, he moved from bush to shrub to thicket with practised ease.

As he got closer and closer the rogue paused to check the path and the bushes surrounding whatever it was that was staked out — he still wasn't sure — ensuring that nothing was coming down the path or was hiding in one of the bushes.

‘And so we ask the obvious question. Why?’ the mage mulled, prodding the disgusting carcass with no more emotion than he might prod a rock.

‘Not a sacrifice, not if it was already dead. A trap? Not for us, why would we care for such a creature? Being lulled in with easy bait? Or is it a warning? Stay out of our lands?‘

Kireth gave thought to its positioning then looked at the immediate surroundings.

If it was, then the obvious thing to be worried about would be whatever was east and behind the corpse.

‘There is something up this rise,’ surmised the mage. ‘It looked like there was a path leading in that direction from back at the top of the hill,’ he said, looking down, finding the trail harder to spot now he was right on it. ‘If we followed that, we would find out what all the fuss is about I would think.’

‘Yes, perhaps, but if I am correct this goblin has more to tell us!’ Tradden deduced, striding forward and rolling up his sleeves. Detective Tradden was back.

Kireth barely managed to choke down a snort of contempt, and stepped out of the fighter's way, towards the back whilst the fool made a idiot of himself. What next, a pipe whilst he worked?

The young man stood in front of the corpse, analysing from close up, with arms folded. If the smell and general unpleasantness bothered him, it didn't show. He took his time and Khalin was just about to suggest they move on when Tradden started to speak.

‘This,’ he started, emphatically, ‘was a goblin…’

‘Yes, lad,’ intervened Khalin, ‘but perhaps we should…’

‘…and, before I was rudely interrupted, one which has…’ There was a pause. ‘died!’

Khalin moved to pull the man away, but Tradden shooed him away. ‘Ah, ah, ah. I am working here!’ he warned. With that, he crouched down, his back to the group.

‘Yes, yes,’ came Tradden's now slightly muffled voice. ‘Mmm, hmm…’

The fighter stood up slowly and then turned around at an equally relaxed pace. He stood one hand across his chest, supporting the elbow of the other arm, which now held an empty pipe to his mouth. There was an audible snort from the back somewhere.

‘This goblin died, I think, from poison. And, what is more, a poison I have encountered before!’ gestured Tradden to various parts of what remained of the body. ‘See here, here, and here,’ he pointed with the end of the pipe. ‘Small cuts and slices. And, oh yes, here! One of the thorns still stuck in the body! Don't touch it!’ he warned.

The smell is almost like the taste of rotting vegetation,’ Tradden gave an involuntary shudder. ‘The same as I encountered in a glade outside of Blackengorge. I was with Aukan and touched one. Fair knocked me out, it did, and left me with a terrible headache. From just a pin-prick!’

He focused on Khalin. ‘If the bad folk around here know how to weaponise this poison we need to be ready — an arrow with a modest amount on is all it would take to down any of us.’

Finished, Tradden tried to blow a smoke ring from the empty pipe and started to choke.

‘Yes!’ chimed in Tradden. ‘Aukan said there was something important about that circle, although he was a bit weird about it.’

Tradden looked a bit pained-yet-confused for a moment, as if the memory was both hazy and unpleasant at the same time. ‘Anyway, I think it is. Important, I mean. Like the stones. The ones that are magic and make a good wall. Hmm, sounds strange now I say it out loud. Anyway, something else to add to the list to look at when we get back.’

‘Fascinating as this little tale is, unless it ends with “and this is how we make the antidote” I really do suggest we move on.’

Kireth didn't wait for anyone to concur, he assumed they would, and gestured Khalin to “get on with it”.

‘It strikes me,’ mused the dwarf, ‘that we have a straightforward choice. We head up the hill to investigate, or we continue our current path to meet with the Talons.’ He stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘Given this is a warning, the sensible approach would be to heed it and continue on. Alternatively… the enemy of my enemy?’ the others stared back blankly, so the warlord elaborated. ‘A killer of goblins might be a potential ally of ours?’ though the look on Khalin's face betrayed his sceptism as he glanced up the rise to the east.

‘Given, as Kireth says, we don't have an antidote, I am minded to take good precautions and take a look east.’ The warlord hefted his shield as he nodded to the faint path that headed up the hill.

There were no objections from the group, though Beltak retained an unhappy gait and Zero rolled his eyes in anticipation of being sent out ahead.

‘Aye, lad,’ nodded Khalin to the rogue. ‘We'll be needing your skills again. I suggest we have weapons and defences at the ready. I do not want to find out how quickly that poison works first hand!’

‘Beltak, Tradden, you're most familiar with these thorns. Stay on the look out and let us know the moment you see any sign of them.’

Khalin frowned at the vista below them. ‘What in Moradin's name is that?’ he exclaimed, almost under his breath. ‘It does not look… natural.’ The marshal turned towards Beltak and Tradden. ‘Does that look like what you saw at the stone circle?’

‘It looks like an effective barrier. But is it to keep something out, or to keep something in?’

He slowly paced forwards, moving to within fifty yards or so.

‘Well,’ said Zero, clapping his hands together, ‘that's clearly that. No way through that scrub and no reason to try, in my humble opinion. So, shall we proceed on mission and meet up with those Talon folks?’

He looked around for any hint of concurrence from the others.

‘That's it? No one else? Nothing?’ Kireth looked around at the blank faces, he sighed and mumbled to himself, ‘No, of course not.’ He spoke again louder so all could hear, all that wanted to listen anyway as he scornfully noted Tradden preoccupied with a belt buckle. ‘Well, obviously it's a magical circle isn't it?’

Beltak looked down at the circle. Khalin cocked his head to one side. Zero scratched. Tradden's belt came undone.

‘It's right there… it's… how have you people lived this long?’ implored the mage. ‘There is a circle within of some power. I cannot tell you what, yet, but I can tell you it is powerful. Is it within because it needs protecting or is it because those outside need protecting from it? What is strange,‘ he continued, ‘is that someone has cast a faerie fire upon this circle. A simple evocation spell of generally little consequence but it does draw attention to it, even you people would see it once the light gets darker. Why would you cast such a spell if you didn't want to draw attention?’

‘Well, I…’ started Beltak, before Kireth spoke over him. ‘Yes, yes, an intriguing mystery that I for one would love to see solved, but we must first get past the vines. I do not wish to go down to their poison.’

‘Khalin,’ finished the mage, gesturing the dwarf to get stuck in.

‘Khalin!’ the half-elf repeated, growing more irritated by the moment. The warlord was deep in thought, staring at the unnatural copse below them, as if gazing at it for long enough might allow him to see through the vines to what might be within or beyond.

He stroked his beard. ‘Do you know what it reminds me of?’

‘Oh, do enlighten us!’ Kireth retorted, folding his arms in growing impatience.

‘A nest,’ finished the dwarf.

Tradden immediately stopped adjusting his belt and looked down at the tangle of vines ahead of them. ‘That would be a very big nest. A very big nest indeed,’ the mirth slowly drained from the fighter's voice. ‘What would need a nest as big as that?’

‘Something big enough to chew gobbos ‘til only bones remain,’ sighed the dwarf, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Zero, didn't you say you saw something flying far to the north a few days ago? And the orc you saw was afraid of something this way.’

‘Legend once told of winged wyrms who guarded great hordes of gold, but their breath could turn scores of men to flame,’ Khalin continued, his voice growing richer as if telling a story round a roaring fire.

‘Gold?’ enquired Zero, his interest suddenly piqued.

‘Aye, lad, gold,’ responded Khalin as he clapped the rogue on the shoulder. ‘But they were just tales to tell children at bedtime. Besides, if Kireth says it's a magic circle, a magic circle it is.’ Khalin nodded to the mage before turning to scan the clouding skies about them. ‘Still, I'm not sure I want to be out in the open exposed.’

‘Okay, Kireth, we will take a closer look, but let us have our wits about us more than ever. I don't like this,’ he finished with a frown before twirling Aecris with a flourish to point the path ahead.

The group trudged towards the mass of dark vines. ‘Beltak, didn't you say it took several days to clear the other circle back near Blackengorge? And the vines were inert I presume?’ the dwarf shuddered at the thought of unearthly tentacles tightening in like a trap. ‘We don't have to clear the whole area, but we do need a safe path. This could be slow work — and it needs to be careful work!’ he warned, raising his voice for the whole group to be clear. ‘I suggest no exposed flesh, and put on your most hard-wearing gear.’

Zero groaned at the prospect of snagging vines and thorns tearing at his fine silks.

‘Kireth,’ the warlord continued, ‘do you know of any magics in your scrolls that might clear us safe passage through this mess?’

Tradden was already twirling his blades impressively, and the dwarf nodded appreciatively at his friend's enthusiasm.

‘Kireth,’ repeated the dwarf, ‘I don't want to be working on this for a moment more than is necessary.’ Khalin frowned again, clearly unhappy about their situation. ‘Once you determine what it is this circle is protecting or, Moradin forbid, imprisoning, don't keep it to yourself!’

Tradden's enthusiasm took him right to the edge of the brambles with his swords at the ready. At the edge he paused before thrusting his swords energetically into the ground, their pommels shaking with the force, and slipped his pack from his shoulders. With a flourish he pulled out a pair of slight and supple leather gloves and pulled them theatrically over his hands.

Zero spluttered. ‘Aren't they ladies'…’

‘No,’ retorted Tradden swiftly before taking up his swords and giving them an expectant twirl. Taking a brief look up at the rain falling from the sky, he took a large breath and settled into a familiar stance. His blades began to whirl.

The brambles were no match for his skill or strength, falling sharply to the edges of his blades. The vines, however, were another matter. Half a dozen strokes were needed for each tendril, long, hard strokes that were usually accompanied by a grunt, or even a curse.

The going seemed slow but Tradden gradually made some headway. After half an hour he thought he could see something tangible through the vines, but had probably only cut through maybe a dozen feet.

‘I'll take over for a bit,’ offered Beltak, who had obviously found nothing of value in his books.

‘Not… ugh… with my… grr… swords you won't,’ muttered the young fighter under his breath, interspersed with the efforts of chopping down on the vines.

‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ huffed Khalin. ‘This will take us forever.’ The dwarf, still close to Tradden turned over his shoulder to search out the mage.

‘Kireth!’ he shouted. ‘What sort of damage might one of your “magic missiles” do to that, do you think?’

The dwarf had hold of Tradden's feet, fortuitously free of the brambles and vines, and started to pull.

‘Wait,’ baulked Tradden, trying not to panic. ‘There's something here I can see.’

‘The stone, yes, yes, I see it,’ marveled Khalin, squinting through the opening that Tradden had made in the undergrowth.

‘No, not that,’ mumbled Tradden, trying not to move his jaw too much lest another thorn pierce his flesh. ‘This, this right in front of me.’

‘Do not touch it!’ scolded Kireth sharply. ‘Get the fool out of there, Khalin. This cannot be solved by brawn.’

The mage casually walked towards Zero as Khalin grudgingly assented and motioned Beltak over to help him pull out Tradden safely. Next to the rogue, Kireth smiled and snuck his hand into one of Zero's front pockets, plucking out another of the gems that Zero had secreted throughout his embroidered clothes. There was a moment when the rogue looked as though he was about to complain, but seemed to think better of it and just shrugged.

‘Give me some moments,’ Kireth said, already staring intently at the gem.

The mage studied the inside of the gem, stood before the vines, softly mumbling to himself, ignoring the rain and all of the others around him.

Beltak and Khalin managed to extricate Tradden from the brambles and vines without catching the young fighter on any further thorns, and the scribe set to cleaning the cheek wound and checking for any remaining poison. By the time Beltak was confident Tradden would not suffer any adverse effects, Kireth appeared to be reaching a crescendo. The mage slowly walked over to the nearest black vine and, being careful to avoid any of the sharp thorns, stuck out his arm and grasped the tendril tightly.

‘Very impressive, Kireth, thank you,’ marveled Khalin. ‘One wonders why you didn't suggest we try that before Tradden wasted all that time and effort hacking away, but no matter.’

Taking care not to enter the circle, the dwarf regarded the stones with the eye of an artisan.

‘Indeed one might wonder, Khalin,’ Kireth retorted. ‘There is still much work for me to do here, unless you are proficient and knowledgeable of the arcane rites of protective circles. My power is not unlimited,’ Kireth continued, though Zero swore the mage mumbled “yet” under his breath, ‘and no doubt I will still have much thinking, concentration and skilled action to perform.’

Whilst Kireth and Khalin continued their bickering, Zero simply shook his head and started to wander around the circle, keeping a wary eye on the faerie fire. It felt safe to him now, as long as he didn't step over the chalk lines. Safer than facing orcs and goblins, that was for sure.

The whole circle seemed like some sort gallery to Zero, fine carvings in beautiful black stone. He felt a pang of regret that he was not in one of the fancy galleries in Deepingwald, warm, dry and surrounded by waitresses with glasses of wine and small, tasty bites to eat.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he peered through to the centre of the circle and the statue within.

‘So, what are we doing about this magic circle thing, then?’ the rogue casually asked.

No-one seemed to be listening to the rogue. The dwarf and the mage were still in conversation, though it did sound a little like an argument. Tradden was still recovering from his fall with Beltak tending to his wounds.

Idly, Zero picked up a rock, tossing it up and down in his hand. Looking the other way, as though the rock was nothing to do with him, he tossed it into the middle of the stone circle and through the magical barrier.

The rock sat silently on the bare ground only a few mere yards from Zero. It hadn't exploded, or burst into flame, or turned into a lizard. It just sat there in stony silence, mocking him.

The others still seemed busy, but Zero was getting impatient with the rain, the growing wind, and the grumbling from his stomach. Were they going to stand around here for ages, or were they going to actually do something?

He thought about the gold that Khalin had mentioned and whether any lay under the statue at the centre of the circle. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a look? The chalk marks in front of him looked quite old, perhaps the magic had worn off — it had had no effect on the rock.

Before he knew it himself, he strode forward, stepping over the chalk marks and through the limned ring of faerie fire, between the monolith of the elf-like stranger and that of Ioun, entering the circle where a worshipper might be admitted.

He scuttled a few steps forward, almost falling over his own feet, half expecting something to stop him. He kicked up dust and let out a huge exhale of breath and a cough.

At the noise, the others stopped their chatter and turned to look at the circle. To the south they spotted Zero, within the bounds of where they assumed was a magical barrier. The rogue looked sheepish, almost apologetic, as he was stared at and began to whistle a tune to cement his innocence.

All heads stopped what they were doing, and turned towards the rogue. Khalin was the first one to break the awkward silence.

‘Zero!’ he chided. ‘That is… that… is, well, I expect that kind of behaviour from Tradden!’

The young fighter looked hurt, and stuck his bottom lip out. And then burst into loud, hearty laughter, initially to the consternation of Beltak, who then joined in despite himself — proving that some things really are infectious.

Khalin chuckled, as did Zero himself. Kireth alone just scowled at the others, but despite this and the rain, spirits were generally lifted for welcome moment.

Then the lighting struck down from the sky, the rains came with intent, and the wind began to strengthen.

Zero looked up at the increasingly angry sky. ‘I'm sure that's just a… coincidence,’ he said with a nervous chuckle.

Khalin reached across to clap Tradden on the back in amiable fashion. ‘Come on, let's take a closer look, before it's too late,’ he added, with a nervous glance at the darkening skies. With a deep breath, he stepped over the chalk and lightshow into the circle.

‘Sandstone and shit!’ cursed the dwarf as he tried to dust himself off, but the movement provoked another yelp of pain. ‘I can't wait to get to a bloody inn!’

Tradden hurried over to help the injured warlord back to his feet. After a few long breaths Khalin righted his helmet and once more regarded the central statue, now a fair distance away. ‘The form of a dwarf as a warning to dwarves?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Not a very bloody good one if so!’ he finished angrily. After a moment he continued, ‘I'm not going to recommend anyone else tries, but by all means be my guest. Zero, what do you make of that statue?’

Tradden stood back from Khalin and looked thoughtfully at the barrier-that-wasn't there, thumbs tucked in his belt, rain dripping from his nose.

After a while, he spoke. ‘Kireth…’ there was a pause as Tradden tried, mostly successfully, to keep a straight face, ‘…you enjoy testing hypotheses, do you not?’

With that, the fighter gestured with one hand as if to encourage the mage to join Zero, in the circle.

As the others seemingly looked for ways into the circle, Zero cautiously approached the statue for a better look. He circled around it, keeping a respectful distance, looking for fine details, carvings, jewels, buttons or handles — anything that might lead to a secret compartment opening up and spilling its treasure.

‘This is amazing!’ Zero shouted to his distant companions. ‘This statue is just perfect… more like a frozen person.’ He inspected it again, marveling, the thoughts of rain, cold, the thunder and lightning, even his hunger banished from his mind.

Tradden looked up at the sky. What was not already a threatening black morass directly above them was grey and tumultuous. Water was already falling in thick, oily globules — the kind that instantly soaked leather and skin, throwing aside any respect for either. The hazy sky all around them was full of portents of more, more and more. A wicked wind whipped up as if sent by an evil god of zephyr's intent on scathing the land of all that was good and righteous.

It all seemed like an unearthly message meant to deliver a truth that if deciphered could usher in an understanding that would elevate the beings of the world to levels hitherto unseen, if only the right prophet of this new world could sense the message, and start to decrypt it…

‘Hmm…’ said Tradden. ‘Looks like rain.’

It was perplexing but extremely exciting. This was powerful magic indeed. Kireth tried to recall all of the information he had on such circles. It ticked many boxes in the usual manner and yet exceeded them in several ways. Khalin should certainly have been blocked by its power but not so aggressively thrown back… not a totally unsatisfactory result Kireth smiled to himself.

To the others it looked like Kireth was having a conversation with a third, unseen, person. His lips moving quickly, his hands gesturing absentmindedly, the odd word spoken aloud. But Kireth was no madman.

Without warning he stopped his mumbling and strode quickly forward to the edge of the circle, carefully stopping just before it. ‘Blood of the Eagle,’ he said almost accusingly at Zero. ‘Why? Tell me quick!’ the mage's eyes narrowed.

‘I don't know!’ shouted Zero above the wind, rain and eerie groans. The rogue looked animated, perhaps even panicky.

‘But I had this dream about a throne and there were maidens singing in a circle around it then I sat in it and they all became these hideous hags and an eagle suddenly swooped down and attacked them. It was awful!’ The words tumbled out of him one after the other.

He shook his head as if trying to get something out. ‘Can't get that tune out of my head, either,’ he sighed.

Tradden looked up, towards his fellow human. Narrowing his eyes partly against the wind and rain, which was getting to slightly ridiculous levels, and partly as it was his natural reflex when thinking hard.

‘Hey, Z!’ the fighter bellowed, against the wind. ‘Don't you have that eagle stick thing? The one Sorrow looked at?’

Khalin was still dusting himself off and stretching out a shoulder from the impact, but had nevertheless heard the question from Kireth.

‘Blood of the eagle?’ he enquired. His thoughts immediately flew to the bloodied standard that was lashed to his pack. Could there be a connection? The thought was quickly followed by the recollection that he'd compared the thorny circle to a nest. As the wind and rain seemed to increase its ferocity, a feeling of foreboding descended. ‘I have a bad feeling about this…’

Breaking out of his reverie, he hurried towards the mage, careful this time to not get too close to the magical aura surrounding the circle. ‘What are you thinking? Could the standard be something to do with this?’ he asked the mage, a feeling of increasing urgency descending.

Kireth considered the dwarf's question and looked at the ragged and bloody standard strapped to the warlord's back. ‘Well, I wonder,’ he said. ‘It clearly is not the key to entry, considering the ferocity in which you were rejected by the barrier. If your standard is in opposition to the guidelines in which this circle was set up, would you like to take it off and try again?’ the mage enquired gesturing with his arm to the circle like an innkeeper might gesture to a vacant stool.

Khalin paused for a moment, genuinely unsure if the mage's suggestion was a serious one or not. The half-elf's face gave nothing away.

‘No,’ confirmed Kireth. ‘You should not. I shall make the next step here.’

For in those brief moments of dwarven uncertainty, Kireth’s mind had been weighing up a myriad of options and possible outcomes. He appeared to decide upon the most actionable of those. The mage's hands disappeared beneath his deep, dark robes and deftly moved them in some strange, unseen, arcane fashion. The hands stopped their movements and reappeared from the clothing.

‘And now we shall see…’ he said confidently, approaching the edge of the barrier. Anyone with keener hearing may have heard the elf mutter: ‘…see what a damn fool you are if this doesn't work.’

The elf stepped forward to cross the circle.

‘Well, now,’ marvelled the mage, examining the ring on his finger with great interest. ‘That worked out nicely now, didn't it?’

Khalin raised his eyebrows in surprise and appreciation, both at the half-elf's successful negotiation of the magic circle, and, he had to admit, at the mage's guts in risking getting blown across the clearing as the dwarf had.

‘Well done,’ he acknowledged, though despite no sign of the faerie fire remaining the warlord looked reluctant to enter the circle. But the need to investigate the “statue” made the dwarf keen to try. Still, better safe than sorry. ‘It's no longer dangerous, then?’ he enquired of Kireth. ‘Even with the standard?’ Khalin was reluctant to leave the ragged banner behind, even for a few moments.

The mage didn't appear to hear Khalin through the howling wind. The dwarf edged nervously towards the very edge of the circle, unconvinced that the effects of the faerie fire had been fully nullified. He cupped a hand to his mouth and tried to make himself heard above the din. ‘Kireth! What did you do?’ he yelled.

With Kireth now within the circle, Zero felt a little more assured. The mage would know what to make of the statue and perhaps the others might now come in and burn those horrible black vines. If only the rain would cease and the sun come out. It might help if that damned wind died down and stopped making those strange noises.

With a huff he turned his back on the statue and strode across the circle to most northern of the monoliths, his mind made up to do something — although he didn't know what — about the noise.

As he approached the carving of Pelor he felt a little daunted. The stone was huge, towering above him, splattered with lichen and moss, but carved and decorated with care. The “head” of the monolith was where Zero focused his attention. Even through Pelor's sacred head a hole had been carved through which he could see the dark clouds in the sky. Closing his eyes for a moment, the rogue listened.

Now within it, Kireth looked around the circle with curiosity in his eye.

The principles of the magic were familiar but not all of its aspects were as expected. ‘Most peculiar,’ he said to himself.

‘Yes, yes,’ he replied to the dwarf. ‘It is safe for you to enter now. You can bring your stick if you like.’

‘Fellas!’ Zero shouted through cupped hands over the wind, rain and noise. ‘This one's head needs fixing. Give me a hand.’

Shielding his eyes against the fierce winds, and involuntarily shrugging his shoulders to keep warm, Tradden looked from Zero to Kireth to… invisible… wall… of death… thing… and then over to Khalin. The dwarf met his gaze and they shared an unspoken “rock, parchment, knife” game.

Tradden, who always lost those games, decided that the same was going to happen here and so strode forward, then shrieked as a “something” hit him in the face, bang on! He reeled back a couple of steps. Khalin coughed. ‘A twig, lad. Caught by the wind.’

‘Ah, yes,’ replied the fighter, straightening back up. ‘I knew that.’

Fighting back a familiar red flush, he set forth again, this time ending up next to Zero, who was still staring up at what appeared to be a statue of Pelor, albeit one with a hole where the face should have been.

‘It's not right, it's not right,’ Tradden swore he could hear the rogue mumbling.

The young fighter stared at the head, plus its hole, and wondered what it was that was causing his friend so much consternation. As he stared he couldn't help but notice that a twig — he swore it was the same one — whipped round and past his face, through the hole in Pelor's head, and presumably back around.

Tradden put his hands together, locking the fingers in place, in a horseshoe fashion, and held out the convenient stepping stone to Zero. ‘Want a boost?’ he hollered.

Khalin took a deep breath and stepped gingerly into the circle. As his trailing foot touched down with no ill effects this time, he let out the breath. He was minded to head straight over to the dwarven “statue”, but Zero and Tradden appeared to up to something over at the monolith to the north.

Khalin hurried across to join the duo. ‘What is it, Zero?’

The rogue seemed to pay no attention to Khalin's question, his mind focused on the monolith before him. He looked down at Tradden's cupped hands briefly and then shrugged off his pack. With a nimble leap he was into the young fighter's grasp and stretched up to inspect the head of Pelor.

‘A bit higher,’ he called to Tradden, who locked his shoulders and lifted until the rogue was at eye level with the hole in the god's head. Reaching out he tried to find any way to twist it or turn it but was stumped. ‘Just a bit more,’ he shouted and climbed from Tradden's steely grasp up and on to the young fighter's shoulders.

‘The Nine Hells!’ swore the rogue from atop Tradden's shoulders. ‘There doesn't seem any way to move it,’ he said. ‘Hang on. Khalin, hey, Khalin! Pass me my pack,’ the rogue ordered.

With a frown the dwarf picked up the rogue's pack. ‘What do you want from it?’ Khalin hollered.

‘What? Oh, the whole thing,’ shouted back Zero, leaning down with one hand grasping the back of Tradden's head and the other towards the dwarf and the ground. The quick movement and strain on the young fighter made him lose his balance for a moment.

Even with the unbalanced load, the rain, the wind and the fatigue, Tradden was a match for the task and straightened his back, raising the rogue and his pack back to the top of the monolith.

Digging his heel into the cheekbone at the side of Tradden's face to get just that little extra height, Zero found purchase and shoved his pack into the gaping hole where Pelor's face should have been. ‘Excuse me, your lightness,’ the rogue mumbled, just in case.

With a sudden fleetness of foot he scrambled down the young fighter's body, much to the relief of Tradden's face, shoulders and fingers, with a broad grin on his dripping face, and cupped his hand to his ear.

‘Ah, ha!’ appealed the rogue, his finger pointing over to the east. ‘Mr Soul Forger, eh?’ he tutted and strode off towards the monolith representing Moradin, waving at his mule, Tradden, to follow.

‘Meh!’ exclaimed Tradden, once again shrugging his shoulders as he fell into line behind the now-determined Zero. ‘Beats getting hit by things.’

As the rogue moved over to the eastern monolith, which Tradden recognised as being Moradin, he skipped past and planted both feet firmly on the floor, opening his stance to allow his friend to again climb up onto his hands, getting the height he needed to inspect the dwarven deity's head.

Zero took a good look at Tradden's clenched hands and then at the head of the monolith. Although this stone was somewhat shorter than that of Pelor, the head, and therefore the hole within it, seemed a little larger in comparison. The rogue's eyes strayed to the pack on his friend's shoulders, but frowned at how slim and lightweight it looked.

‘What are you up to, Zero?’ came a gruff call from behind him from the confused dwarf, who was striding across the circle to meet the pair.

Zero's eyes didn't meet Khalin's, instead they wandered over the warlord's broad shoulders to inspect what he could see of a typical dwarven pack. ‘Your pack,’ he waved expectantly. ‘Can I have it?’

Khalin looked over at the statue of Pelor, with Zero's pack stuffed into the face-hole. The rogue appeared to be trying to manipulate the notes “played” by the wind. The warlord dropped his head and stifled a curse as he pulled the pack from his shoulders. ‘In the name of Moradin, be careful with this, Zero,’ he sighed, nevertheless putting his trust in his two friends not to damage the contents.

He turned to respectfully face the statue of his patron, before bowing quickly. ‘Forgive us, my lord,’ he whispered.

Khalin quickly but carefully removed the standard and the pole, lest they need it, or worse, it be lost to some magical mishap. Gripping the standard with one hand and trapping the pole under his armpit he handed the pack over to the rogue. Leaving the duo to whatever plan they were hatching he hurried over to the “frozen” dwarf statue nearby, to inspect it more closely.

Zero took the pack from Khalin with grace, holding it in both arms tightly. When the dwarf had turned around to head off to the statue near the middle of the circle Zero's face turned into a grimace. ‘What in the gods' names has he got in here?’ he mumbled to himself as he lurched about and waddled over back to Tradden.

With a fair amount of difficulty he managed to climb up onto Tradden's hands and with the strength of the young fighter once again showing, get himself eye-level with the dwarven god. With a curse he managed to wrestle the heavy pack to the fore and line it up with the hole in Moradin's head just as another mighty peal of thunder echoed around, nearly toppling the rogue over with alarm.

Steadying himself, by thrusting his knee into Tradden's face, he grasped the bottom of the pack and gave it an almighty heave, lodging it into the hole, firmly bunging it up. With new-found litheness he slithered down to the ground, patted Tradden on the shoulder condescendingly, and then looked back up at the statue, cupping his ear to examine his handiwork.

Tradden took another glance at the oddly behaving rogue, shook his head, and abandoned him, slowly walking over towards Khalin and the statue, taking a good glance up at the rain and clouds above him.

‘What do you make of it?’ the young fighter asked Khalin when he arrived at the statue, still rubbing his eyes and looking a little disappointed that the statue didn't resemble Khalin at close inspection.

‘If this is indeed a real person, trapped and frozen, we must try free them,’ Khalin continued earnestly.

‘Without,’ he added with a confused look at the maelstrom growing above, ‘becoming trapped ourselves.’

With that he retrieved the pole from beneath his arm and began to carefully lash the standard securely to it. Tradden looked on enigmatically. ‘By thunder, it's worth a try,’ finished the warlord, faith ringing in his voice, and with a somewhat lopsided smile at the unintended pun. With that he walked to what he estimated was the centre of the circle.

‘Moradin guide us,’ he whispered, and with a flourish thrust the pole into the ground.

Khalin shoulders sagged at the anti-climax. He nevertheless looked back towards the frozen dwarf, hoping… something… might have happened. ‘Anything?’ he called to Tradden above the howling winds.

Pausing only a moment for the fighter to respond, he shouted towards Kireth, who'd been silent for several moments now. ‘Kireth, what do you make of all this?’ The dwarf span to regard the other statues around the circle, and searched his memory for any familiarity with the “melody” of the winds.

Tradden was cold, wet and tired. The wind and rain whipped in his eyes and, yes, there was that same twig again, slapping against his face and causing a teeny abrasion. Nothing seemed to make sense about any of this. It was, as his old sergeant in the Deepingwald Guard would have said, ‘Above your pay grade, Aversward!’

The fighter slapped his hand across his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The hand then slid down across his face, wiping away some of the rain.

As it did so, the light fell in a certain way across the banner which had been so forcefully planted by Khalin only moments ago. The dwarf was walking past Tradden right now, also mumbling about how this was all pointless. However, the young human snaked out a hand and gripped his shoulder by the pauldron, twisting so as to turn him around.

‘Wait, Khalin. The banner, it's. This sounds crazy, but isn't it…’

The dwarf half turned to look at his friend, and then turned fully to look at the standard again, this time shielding his own eyes from the elements. The banner was… different. Not as ragged as when he had first seen it, and wrapped it up when at “The Mouth”. It wasn't as if it surely once would have been, but certainly looking better. Which was odd — they hadn't done anything to mend or fix it.

‘By Moradin!’ Khalin exclaimed loudly, invoking the name of the god which seemed most appropriate. ‘Your're right lad! Kireth, Beltak, get over here and look at this. What do ye make of it?’ This time it wasn't a polite request — it was the warlord in full “command” mode.

The noise from his comrades and the environment was doing all it could to distract the mage but Kireth's mind and eyes were focused. His eyes, in fact, were narrowing by the second. He didn't like where all of this was going. Not one… little… bit.

The thief was humming, Beltak was wittering at him and Khalin was giving it his usual “Kireth, what do you think of this?” routine.

Suddenly the sound of a large, booming, gong rang out above the noise of the winds and the rain and the chattering party. As they all looked over to the sound, which had come from about a foot above the mage's head, Kireth slammed his staff to the ground.

‘Can you all just stop!’ he shouted.

As one, they all paused, like scolded children, at least for a moment to hear what the mage was so upset about. Even the rain stopped at Kireth's command. Noting that he had them, he continued. ‘Khalin, the standard is special, I agree, and we shall definitely come back to that, but we have a more pressing concern.’ Kireth looked upwards.

‘Has no one else noticed that the clouds above? The very, very, angry clouds above, that are reacting to the tune our very own Zero has started?’

Once they had all finished looking up and then back to him, Kireth continued. ‘Well, I have. I have been paying very close attention and I believe we are building towards a crescendo here. A crescendo I fear we are not going to like. In the words of a sea captain I once knew, “Brace yourselves, boys, it's about to get choppy”.’

Tradden reached each arm back, in unison, over his shoulders and drew his swords. He kept them point down on the basis that, well, water. Big black clouds that might have lightning in them and long pieces of metal sticking into the air were not a good mix, he knew.

‘So, what are you saying Kireth?’ he asked in a calm voice. ‘Is what Zero is doing bad so we should stop?’ He looked again at the clouds above, which were admittedly getting more ominous-looking by the second. ‘Or, is what he is doing bang on right, so we keep doing it?’

Zero winced and groaned what he thought might be loudly, the sound strange in his ringing ears. He blinked and shook his head, but the smear of brilliant light across his eyes did not clear.

He rolled into a more comfortable position, trying to stop everything from spinning, and spoke his mind, though he couldn't hear clearly what he said. Breathing out hard he waited in hope to see if his sight and his hearing would return.

As he lay on his back he felt the meagre warmth of the sun's rays upon his chest for a moment. The clouds above must be clearing.

Tradden, perhaps more used to being knocked down than the others, involuntarily sat up from his previously prostrate position. As he waited for his vision to clear and the ringing in his ears to stop, he found that they did not.

Having been in this situation before, Tradden knew that staying calm was the trick — but also hard to do. He swallowed hard, trying to quell the natural feelings of unease that came with the loss of senses. He cleared his throat — he could feel it rather than hear it — so tried saying a few words.

He shouted. There was no reply, or none that he could hear.

Relying on his innate balance skills, Tradden got to his knees and then shakily stood up. The world didn't appear to end, which was pleasing.

Having got this far, the fighter waited — gathering his inner calm and trying to focus on clearing his head.

Zero lay on his back. The kiss of the sun felt quite nice. Shame he was still shy of his major faculties.

He called out, or hoped he called. He couldn't hear anyone shout back, but they might have heard him, so he continued, despite the fact he could hardly hear himself. It was disturbing.

Tradden entered a tranquil state. Or at least he thought he did. That was the aim anyway. Calmly sheathing his longsword on his back — easy enough given the muscle memory and that he did it by feel anyway — he then bobbed back down on his haunches, using his one spare hand to feel around him in a slow, circular motion, patting the floor to see if any of his friends were there.

He tried speaking again and at least felt as though he was actually saying out loud what he was thinking. He just hoped the others could hear.

In his floundering he stumbled across something soft and wrapped in fabric — a leg at his best guess. Thinking quickly, as he often did, he wrapped out a whimsical “knock” on the “leg” hoping that without voice or hearing he would get a friendly reply.

Kireth was no fighter but he had been punched and bullied by the best of them as a youth. Despite not being able to see what was striking him he made movements to avoid a further blows and rolled away in the opposite direction.

Coming up onto one knee he held his staff out forwards in a defensive position, a spell ready to form on his lips.

Moradin's folk were a stout bunch and, despite the blast of ungodly force, Khalin stood firm on his feet. As the tempest dissipated the warlord calmed his breathing and racing heart, whispering a prayer to his patron. As he strained his eyes he could make out the hazy shapes of four figures before him, one stood, two crouched off to the right and one on the floor further away. “…its…” shouted a voice that he could just make out as the ringing in his ears started to ease.

The dwarf reached out instinctively for the standard nearby, and presumably still standing proud against the lightning strike, using the pole to steady himself as he continued to shrug off the after-effects. It was definitely warmer now and the haze appeared brighter than the sky had been before the climax of the storm. Khalin hoped that was the end of it, and that his comrades were none the worse for wear.

His thoughts turned also to the “frozen” dwarf, but first things first. ‘Is everyone alright?’ he called clearly, hoping his voice would cut through the daze.

Tradden stood quickly when he heard a noise  — he was sure he heard “…alright…” — and instinctively drew his longsword again from his back.

‘Hey, anyone's hearing better than mine? Wave if you can hear me!’ he shouted.

Seemingly drawing strength from his grip on the standard, Khalin felt his eyesight clear further. He could make out the closest figure, still standing. It was the “statue”, but to Khalin's amazement and delight, the figure seemed to be alive.

‘Moradin be praised!’ he exclaimed, as he strained to clear the remainder of the shock from his senses. ‘You're free!’

‘What?’ said Tradden, seemingly able to put aside the fact that a statue had come to life. ‘We're not goblins, I think you ought to…’ The human trailed off, and slowly looked behind him, twisting his head round whilst the rest of his body stayed perfectly still.

‘Oh, right…’