The figure made some weird, cooing noise, and as Tristan looked at the gory painting, he saw that it was drawing some type of large, spider creature in the blood. Obadai came up behind him and put his mouth right up to the elongated part of the helmet holding Tristan's ears. "It's a husk. The real thing is long dead. This is just its remains – nothing inside it."

Tristan held up his left hand and bladed his stance. He pushed his essence from his still-spinning crucible into his arm, and pressed the fingers together, tucked the thumb on the top, and began to incant the words for Frost Flurry under his breath. "Ich beschwöre die Wut von Eis und Frost herauf: Ich forme Splitter, die mein Ziel durchbohren und aufschlitzen." (I summon forth the fury of ice and frost: form shards that will pierce and slash my target).

The spike started small and then grew. Tristan poured essence into it until he felt himself gasping for air, and his armor receded. The spike was the size of a horse, and he let it launch right at the center of the creature's back. The icicle rocketed forward, skewering the creature as it gave a single shudder before fading to dust. The icicle embedded itself into the gory painting.

"Good job," Obadai said as he patted Tristan on the shoulder. "William, keep an eye out while Tristan recovers. I'll use my divination upon this robber's corpse and see what secrets may be unveiled."

Tristan sat down and began trying to breathe in in measured, even breaths – but he ended up panting instead. Felicity flew down and sat on the ground next to him. "Good kill," she said.

Tristan looked at her and smiled, "Thanks."

"Who are you talking to?" William asked.

"Felicity, you can turn off the invisibility I think."

She looked up at William, shrugged, and dropped the invisibility. "I'm Felicity, Tristan's fairy dragon companion."

William let out a gasp of delight that seemed to mix with a squee of joy. "You are so cute! Like a puppy mixed with a baby deer!"

Felicity's grin was as wide as it could be, and she looked at Tristan. "See? That is how you compliment someone."

"I've said you're cute before," Tristan replied. "And even complemented your beautiful feathers before."

"True. But you could do it m-o-r-e," Felicity replied with a devilish grin.

Obadai walked over to the group with a stern expression. "This person was not just any rogue, thief, bandit or brigand. She – it was a her – was a member of the Twin's Blades. A thieves' guild. They are an elite group of operators who seek out the most difficult challenges that will earn them coins. They have an island fortress in the Verdant Archipelago; a city-state called Tristana's Towers."

"Wow, you are a powerful diviner," William said.

Obadai smiled at the compliment, "I discerned that this one was stationed out of Jewel's Point and learned of the appearance of a Delve recently. They followed you, waited until you made camp, then waited more until you returned, exhausted. Stabbing you and grabbing the loot, they ventured down here through the tower, depositing their Buggorf in a flask as a trap for pursuers. Then…they met their end to that thing."

Tristan stood up, "Well, that answers the mystery as to why the thief entered the Delve, but not why they did not slay the rest of the Pathfinders while they slept."

Obadai pointed to William, "This one made quite the ruckus when he was stabbed. The rest of the camp woke. Doubtless, all would have died if not for your perseverance, William."

The young man frowned as his face went pale, "But everyone else still died."

"That is not your fault," Tristan said. "Not at all. They patched you up and left you up on that roof because it was not out in the open in the Mortal Realm, and you were relatively safe. They could have sat tight, or left the Delve, but they pursued instead. Condolences for your loss." He looked to Obadai, "Are you able to do the realmwalking spell to the Fey Realm, now?"

He nodded, "This space is big enough." He sat down, cross-legged, and placed his palms together, pressing them against one another in front of his chest. "I will need to focus, so please make sure nothing bothers me." Closing his eyes, he began chanting in Heaven's Voice, and there was a gust of gold and blue energy that cascaded from him. He began to move his hands in circular patterns to either side of his body – sometimes placing them flat on the ground.

Tristan walked past him and kept an eye out for anything that appeared hostile, but all was quiet save for the drifting chunks of land. He heard an enormous rip noise behind him, like fabric being torn, and looked back to see a black circle right next to Obadai, that was twenty-feet tall and just as wide.

The Archon collapsed forward and propped himself up on his forearms, "That…whew…it's done."

"Felicity, help him through," Tristan ordered. He looked at William, who was perplexed. "I can guarantee you safe housing in my Realm if you desire."

"Yes, please," he replied. "I'm so tired."

Tristan walked through the black and felt the familiar rush of essence as the Fey Realm attempted to fill him up with its potent power. He reverse-spun his essence crucible, sucking it in and re-energizing himself, as he began to spin the other way as well, becoming one with the Realm's power. "Matriarkka! Tule luokseni!" (Matriarch! Come to me!).

He turned back as he saw Obadai carried through by Elfanoid-form Felicity, and William's mouth went slack as he walked in. Tristan gently removed the knife from his hand and sheathed it on his hip. "Welcome to the Fey Realm."

Obadai let out a chuckle, "I'm going to stay here to recover for a bit, methinks. What is the plan, Tristan?"

"Well, we need to keep going from our last point and that Delve's other exit back to the Mortal Realm. I figure I'll give The Matriarch a time limit and then trust her there." It was then that Tristan saw the weird, shimmering hues behind the Delve. Walking to the side of the black, he saw what looked like a prismatic pool that rippled with the gentle blow of the wind. "What is this?" he asked.

Felicity glanced over as she set Obadai down. "Oh, that? The edge of the Fey Realm." She transformed back into her fairy dragon form and flew back to his head, plopping down on it as she began making claw-paw biscuits.

The sound of enormous wing beats could be heard, and Tristan looked up as The Matriarch descended along with a flight of twenty horse-sized fairy dragons – all with scythe-like hands. "Ah, Lord Tristan. And a new guest. And a Delve. You have been busy."

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Tristan rapidly filled her in with the events of the last hour, ending with, "…In one hour, I want you to graft this Lost Realm onto the Fey Realm."

"It would be my pleasure." The Matriarch put her enormous paw against the black circle, "Realm Protector's when given a Delve like this, can discern what the Lost Realm once controlled. And, when I graft it, we can take one feature to add to our own. This was once the Inspiration Realm, a place where creativity blossomed in all manner of art forms. If we were to graft this Realm, we get some feature of your choosing."

"Any ideas?" Tristan asked.

The Matriarch smiled, "Why not just that? Increase the chance for a creative, inspirational idea to pop into our heads. It would increase our innovation in all manner of ways – from combat tactics to new means of starberry harvesting or processing, anything where creativity could help."

"Sounds great," Tristan replied. "But who all does that effect?"

"Fairy dragons and those who you make permanent residents. There is a process for that I will teach you when we have more time. An hour, yes?"

Tristan nodded, "Yes. Felicity and I are going back through the Delve, to the Mortal Realm, and then we're going to continue journeying towards Jewel's Point before coming back here to rest for the night."

She nodded, "Escort our guests to the Queen's Wood clearing," she ordered. Two of the horse-sized fairy dragons swapped from scythe-hands to delicate, gentle, human ones – and they lifted up Obadai who slumped, exhausted, and William who was somewhere between a scream of fear and a whoop of elation.

Tristan waved goodbye and went back into the Delve, making a beeline for the tower. As he looked up at the massive edifice, he saw shapes on the bulbous, top of the spire. Ah…that could be a problem. Pulling his sword, spinning his now-full essence crucible, he manifested his armor and pushed the power up his channel and into his weapon. Heading into the tower, he began to ascend.

After getting up the first landing and past the burned-corpse room of the dead and still crisping away Pathfinders, he heard the shuffling up ahead. Holding still, he cleared his throat and spoke in the Standard Tongue, "Hello? Who is there?"

No sound responded, at first, but after a few seconds, he could hear whispers. Clearly, thanks to his Elvish heritage. But he could not tell what they were saying, as they spoke in Beast Speech, the language of the Demihuman heritages; like the Wolfkin he had met as part of Shandra's traveling bardic troupe.

"Здесь уже кто-то есть," a female voice said.

"Что нам делать?" a male voice replied.

"Давайте будем дипломатичны. Но держите арбалет наготове," a third, older, female voice replied.

Tristan cleared his throat, "I can hear you. But I don't know what you are saying. Do you speak the Standard Tongue?"

The female voice replied, echoing down the corridor, "Yes. Are you one of the people from the camp opposite the Delve?"

"No," Tristan replied as he made his way down the corridor. "I ventured down here to discover the fate of the Pathfinders. This Realm is dangerous, you should leave with me."

As he kept walking, he could hear the slight clank of a crossbow string being locked into place. "You kill them?" the male voice asked.

"No," Tristan replied. "I just want to get out of here. I wouldn't advise staying here; it's going to be grafted onto another Realm."

"I didn't see any gods near the Delve entrance," the older female voice replied.

Tristan chuckled, trying to put on a good-natured disposition despite his wariness at the situation. "And you know what the gods look like?" He rounded a corner and saw the trio. A female Foxkin who was holding a crossbow and dressed in dark, brown leathers. A male Bearkin who had a suit of chain armor, a mace, and a shield. And behind them, an older female Sheepkin holding a hooded lantern that shone on him, making him wince a bit.

The Foxkin woman frowned and pointed the crossbow at him, "No closer, armored man!"

"Ah, right. The armor." Tristan stopped pushing the essence into his armor, and it receded. "I'm an Elf."

The older Sheepkin shook her head, "No Elf I've ever seen has white hair and such long ears."

"I'm unique," Tristan replied. "We should leave. The Fey Realm is going to be grafting this one soon."

"How do you know that?" The older Sheepkin replied.

"Another Delve further into this Lost Realm," Tristan replied as he gestured back with his arm down the stairs he had just come from. "I spoke with the Realm Protector of that place, and they were preparing to graft this place. They gave me one hour to return to the Mortal Realm."

The trio looked at each other, and had a hushed, rapid conversation in Beast's Speech. The Bearkin nodded and faced Tristan, "You don't seem dishonest. Very well. We leave. You go up, first."

Tristan nodded, sheathed his weapon, and squeezed past them as they eyed him warily, but their grip on their equipment lessened in tension. As he began ascending the flight of stairs, he glanced back at them. "What brings you out this way?"

The Bearkin replied, "Traveling. Saw a Delve, according to our mentor, here, could have had treasure."

Tristan shook his head, "No treasure here."

The Foxkin with the crossbow cleared her throat, "Explain the bloody campsite that was abandoned."

"Pathfinders. They were ambushed, and chased their ambusher into this Lost Realm," Tristan replied. "I investigated, found their bodies, and killed the thing that had done it to them." I'm not a good liar, Tristan thought, but I can at least tell half-truths really well.

His answer did not alleviate the suspicion from these travelers, and Tristan just shrugged. Going to the ladder at the highest part of the tower, ascending, and then waiting at the top in their line of sight, he glanced at the rope that was still tethered. Going over to it, he gripped it but then let go as he felt the hackles on the back of his neck raise up. "Something's wrong with the rope," he muttered.

The Bearkin walked over, putting his mace through a loop in his belt, and grabbing the rope from Tristan, tugging it. "Feel's fine to me." He began to swing outward.

"Don't!" Tristan shouted.

As he began to swing out, the rope snapped, and he screamed out as he went plummeting down to the surface below with a titanic crunch. Tristan knew the man was dead on impact.

The Foxkin screamed, "No! Frosk!" She raised the crossbow at Tristan, "You rigged the rope!"

Tristan gestured to it, "How?! I just grabbed it, and something felt off. How could I sabotage it?"

The Sheepkin put her hand on the Foxkin's arm, and the startled woman fired the weapon. Time seemed to slow down as Tristan saw the projectile heading right towards him. But it missed his head, drawing a tiny line of blood along his left cheek as it whizzed by his head. Thank the gods that I had Near Miss active, Tristan thought as he let out a small hiss of pain. Stomping forward, he grabbed the crossbow from the now shocked woman, and ripped it from her grip. "Don't do that again," he growled.

The Foxkin nodded, shaking. But the Sheepkin spoke, "Elf, I do not believe you led to our companion's death. But you had a sense that the rope was not secure. How?"

"I'm an essence-weaver," Tristan replied. "A spell that gives me a bad feeling if something is going to happen that should be avoided. As soon as I tugged on that rope, I got that bad feeling."

The Sheepkin narrowed her eyes, but nodded, "Well, now we have a conundrum. An overhang leading up to the roof above, no rope to climb up, and we just lost our companion. How do you propose we escape this situation?"

Tristan walked over to the edge of the platform and had to bend his wrist in a weird way, but he was able to angle his fist so that it was along the edge of the platform. Spinning his essence crucible, he muttered the spell phrase for Frost Wall. "Ich beschwöre eine Wand aus Eis herauf." (I summon forth a wall of ice).

A platform of ice extended out from the edge of the tower, out a few feet, and then he focused on trying to thicken the base of it to create a support latticework anchoring it to the tower. Slowly standing up, he edged forward, and when he was under the lip of the roof, he jumped up, gripped the lip, and hoisted himself up. Laying prone, and looking back down, he gestured, "Get the ladder! We'll need it if the rope is no good."

The Sheepkin pulled the ladder up from the tower, and walked out onto the ice – cautiously, so as not to slip. She handed the ladder to him, and Tristan pulled it up before extending his arms down again, grasping hers, and helping her onto the roof. The Foxkin woman came over next, mumbling an apology, "Sorry for shooting you."

"It's fine," Tristan replied. "Come on. Jump and I'll pull." The woman did so, and after all three were on the domed roof, Tristan grabbed the ladder and walked to the spot just below the black circle. Yanking on the rope, he found it to still be stable, but he placed the ladder atop the metal object at the top, and against the edge of the hole, climbing up to safety.

He emerged back into the Mortal Realm, and it was late evening. He stood next to the Delve and reached out to help the two others in their departure from the hole. "Thank you," the Sheepkin said.

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