Episode 70

The great frozen gate looms before them — a monolith of ice and runes, whispering faintly in the dim blue light of the cavern. Collective Action stand ready, frost biting at their skin as cracks begin to spiderweb across the magical ice. Groban channels his will through trembling hands, while Aveline and Celine strike the frozen surface with blades and fists. At last, a deep fissure blooms through the ice, just wide enough for Groban to press his palms against the ancient seal.   A word of power echoes. The runes dim. The frost shudders. And with a slow, thunderous groan, the door opens.   Beyond lies a hollow world — a buried city, entombed in ice and shadow. Frost covers every roof and spire, while a pale light glows beneath the surface, as if something deep within the ice still breathes. The ceiling above is a weight of compacted snow and frozen air, held aloft by some impossible barrier.   Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into memory.   A bridge stretches from the cavern’s mouth toward The Frozen City beyond, its length littered with the remnants of ordinary life: broken carts, scattered tools, the outlines of humans long since turned to statues of frost. They are not burned, nor butchered — only still, as though time itself stopped mid-step.   The wind sighs. And then — a whisper.   Halfway across, several corpses twitch, then rise, their eyes flaring with a pale blue light. The dead stumble forward, animated by the echo of some long-forgotten curse. Collective Action responds in kind — steel and spell cutting through the silence. The fight is brief, but grim. When it ends, the only sound left is the creaking of the bridge beneath their boots.   Hootcules takes to the air, circling the frost-choked skyline. Through the owl’s eyes, the adventurers glimpse a handful of landmarks: – To the right, a purple-glowing building, pulsing faintly through the haze. – To the west, a temple-like structure capped in ice. – And in the city’s centre, a collapsed tower, half-broken, half-floating — defying gravity through sheer magical will.   The owl also spies movement — scattered undead wandering through the streets, lost souls forever pacing their frozen tomb.   They find refuge in an abandoned tavern. The night is cold and long, marked by the passing shadow of an ooze slithering through the streets outside. The creature drifts past their hiding place without notice.   But the true disturbance that night is more personal.   As Celine rests, her sentient weapon begins to whisper — not to her, but to Aveline. Its voice is honeyed and persuasive, promising power and partnership. It urges the Dragonborn to take it, claiming it has grown weary of Celine’s martial discipline. Aveline, wary but resolute, refuses. For now.   Come morning, the adventurers share a tense breakfast before confronting the temple to the west. The building’s architecture is elegant but unfamiliar — not a temple at all, but a conduit, etched with sigils older than dwarven record. Groban studies the patterns, his eyes widening as he deciphers the runes.   This place served as a faucet to the Plane of Water, and it's got a leak.   Cold Magic leaks from the walls, frosting even their breath. Among the frozen dead, the adventurers find a Quintessence shard, still glowing faintly, and a few surviving documents. The notes speak of Master Tharos Geludrin, and the experiments conducted here in the once-thriving city of Vorstoven.   With that revelation chilling their blood, the party presses on to the purple-lit structure. The air here hums with raw energy, and once inside, it’s clear why: the runes are nearly identical to the first site, but this conduit connects to something far more volatile — the Plane of Magic itself. The gate pulses, unstable, spilling raw arcane energy into the material world.   Celine, ever impulsive, takes this as an invitation. Before anyone can stop her, she thrusts her sentient warhammer into the rift. The result is instantaneous — and absurd. The weapon’s head transforms into a banana for several seconds before flickering back to normal.   The others stare in disbelief. Then the questions begin.   Is the weapon cursed? Has it been influencing her all this time? The tension grows. Celine, desperate to defend her friend — for she truly believes the hammer to be alive — lashes out. Her fists blur. Magic crackles. The party reels as she strikes, stunning several of them before making for the exit.   But Aveline catches her. And in a moment of grim resolve, the Dragonborn reaches out and accepts the weapon’s offer. The moment she does, her mind blanks — every suspicion, every warning simply erased. The warhammer’s whispers fade to silence.   Celine, freed of its influence, blinks in confusion. She remembers nothing of her attachment. Nothing of her fury.   The rest of Collective Action look on, unsettled. Sigrun and Thalen exchange glances, unease written across their frostbitten faces. They’ve travelled with many adventurers before, but never ones who bring such chaos with them — nor Magic that bends reality itself.   As the group gathers their bearings, the wind howls again through the broken streets of Vorstoven. Somewhere beyond the ice, something vast and ancient stirs…