After the morning's minor calamity and then a few hours' waiting, we set off again. For the record, my charred flesh does not appreciate anything touching it, and it is low-level agony every time it is jostled. At least Roscoe loaned me his boots that allow movement a bit unnaturally along surfaces, so hopefully I won’t become an absolute burden, and Tara mended my original boots, too. Also, that practical joke I played on Rue came in handy, because now the quarterstaff in my quiver is my charred hobo shepherd cripple walking stick.
We didn't get as far as we wanted into the trek before we came upon a group of Lost, sorrow-filled creatures from the Shadowfell. I doubt the seriousness of the encounter resonated with all of the party, but we nearly lost Fern, Blackthorne, and Tara. It was by some misplaced grace of the gods that we ultimately made it out, but I can't undersell the value of Roscoe befriending those pixies earlier and summoning them to aid when it was most dire. It was especially bad because as a result of the chaos of the first few seconds of that encounter, an antimagic field of some kind was triggered, which significantly impacted our ability to defend ourselves and, more importantly, to heal. (Margin Note: That effect lasted about 24 hours, all told.)
At some point along the way, we actually found the hot springs Blackthorne has been on about for weeks, and most of the group indulged, but I refused both on principle and because I cannot think of anything that sounds worse with my foot the way it is. Roscoe and I ended up slowly carrying out a perimeter watch, which we failed at, because the forest manifested portals—one to the plane of fire, one to the Shadowfell, and weirdly, one to my home carved out of Oghma's domain. Obviously I had to take advantage of that, but it took way too long to get Roscoe to see the doorway. Maybe his force of imagination is too weak?
We obviously went to my place, but it didn’t work like I remembered. I don’t know if it’s because the forest’s magic brought us there or because Roscoe was an issue or what, but the room that can summon anything didn’t work for him. Also the trapdoor to the best part of the place apparently tried to chop off his head, so there’s that. I should talk to Oghma about that before I can purposefully bring anyone there…
Roscoe being Roscoe, he tried to use the horn to bring Myri to the HoZ, but that’s way more complicated of a request than any normal thing he could have asked for, and it turned out… special. It seemed to use the mirrors’ connections with people to—and stick with me for this wild conjecture—project their likeness into the space? And yes, I used a plural pronoun there because in addition to getting a version of Myri, Roscoe also brought mid-hot springs Blackthorne and Seksgar into the place. I can probably never look at that common room the same again. (At that point, I was glad the HoZ hadn’t let Roscoe up to the top part.) Roscoe was pretty put off by this turn of events, but I’m still trying to figure out what even happened. He could touch Myri, but my hand passed through the projections like they weren’t there.
Anyway, we spent a day of Veldorn time in HoZ, because I had reading to do, and the salve the horn gave me was such welcome relief from the constant pain of my foot. Keenor and Theodora are a strange combo now, flying around together and talking freely in that room that lifts Keenor’s curse. I read a lot, guided by some suggestions Percy made about our new research project, but now it is time to depart.