So the ‘Watch’ troops in Manzallore are imposters, we’ve got a hidden, enchanted city in the forest, and we’ve discovered the names and images of the Lost Gods. Linfors thought that these all paled when compared against her beauty.

Yes, the imposters were obviously up to no good – why impersonate the Watch, live off the town’s good will for months, give back nothing in return, without some plan for what they’d gain over the long-term? There must be something more to them than simply the desire to mooch. This is important, but clearly not as noteworthy as the city.

The city was hidden from view, accessible only through a portal exposed when a large boulder was moved, exposing a hole in reality, it seemed, from the snowy-covered forest into a cityscape that clearly was not in the same space…different terrain, different weather, different sky. The statues, collapsed buildings, and the fae-infused fountain, along with its weapon-stealing water, gave up only some secrets as to their purpose and message. This small amount of information learned through runes, inscriptions, and the presence of the fae gave the team the name of the Overfather, and his image. It showed that the fae could inhabit other materials and objects, like water and steel. It would rock the foundations of scholarly knowledge, if they could return with proof of it.

And yet there was something hostile about the land, too: the fountain, the vampiric vines, and the open question as to why the woman was there, frozen in time and yet breathing. Something had not only happened here, but was still happening – and although they were in it, they could not comprehend it.

The fae, and its perpetual flow deeper into the city, guided them. It guided them past more, and larger buildings, along deserted avenues, and past a group of dancers, caught somewhere in time, dancing with themselves, wrapping fabric around a statue. What was going on in this place?

The fae guided them – or, they’d like to think, they followed it – to a massive central temple. After dealing with and then disarming a few traps, they found their way into a ceremonial room, complete with statues, a giant dining table, guests, and a seemingly retro-fit altar dais. That’s where the fae flowed, that’s where the maiden lay, frozen in a trance.

Linfors didn’t care about his wounds, or how tired and bruised he felt – really, he wasn’t injured so much as beaten up by the day’s work. He didn’t care that he couldn’t move. Well, he could, but he chose not to at the moment. She was just too beautiful for him to look away. Jacen and Osweald thought so, too. So did the old man. Cohen would, too, if he just gave her another glance.