Settling down to rest for the night, Cycek takes the first watch. His new friend, Fûzzeedöng, scurries quietly about, exploring or perhaps looking for food. It is still early in the evening when a bit of flickering in the sky catches his attention. He sees, arrayed in the sky, a number of both orange and green lights, some of them very distant, some nearer, but none within immediate reach. He nudges the other guys awake and encourages them to go exploring, to see if they can get near to one of them. They tentatively set out on foot, and before long, the lights flicker out, but not before they observe a couple of things. First, they notice one of the orange lights high in the sky and far out over the southeastern plain seems to shed a few smaller specks of light which fall to the ground. Additionally, they notice a pattern to the position and arrangement of the lights. They seem to be arrayed on concentric arcs, akin to the arrangement of gems they had seen in the wire armature in Ekso’s lab. Extrapolation, based on insightful observation, would perhaps put the center point back in the center of the bluff. This realization leads to some discussion as to whether they should immediately head back into the caves to see if they can get to the heart of the matter. Instead, they decide it would be wiser to rest up, attend to their wounds, and set out in the morning, better prepared for whatever they might encounter.

Later in the night, Davros is awakened by a sharp pain in his side. He groans but remains sleeping. He feels another sharp pain, and comes to as he realized it is a hard boot in his ribs. He looks up to see Sartan looming over him. “What the hell!” he exclaims, to which Sartan replies with a bellow, “Get up asshole! On your feet or I’ll kill you where you lie!” His sword is drawn, and his eyes are alive with yellow flame.

Davros springs up and shoots out a kick, attempting to bring down the belligerent fighter, but in his groggy state, he misses. Sartan takes a half step back, and then lurches forward, swinging his sword, which cackles with laughter. The attack delivers a shallow but serious slash across his chest. Davros, in pain, grabs his rapier and tries to strike back, but again misses. Molten fire blazes in Sartan’s eyes, running down his face and charring it to ash. At this moment, Mishok steps out from behind Sartan, where he had lurked unseen. He carries the goblin, Stringbean, by the legs and swings him like a club. The goblin cranes his neck, sinks his teeth into Davro’s neck, and clamps on like a pitbull. Blood pours down Davro’s neck, soaking his shirt. He tries to bat him away and knock him off, but Stringbean holds tight. Davros is confused, and his confusion grows when a giant weasel burrows out of the ground directly in front of him, speaks with Cycek’s voice, and attacks with a flurry of claws and teeth. Davros skewers this bizarre creature with his rapier, and the resulting bloody wound blossoms into a gaping hole wreathed in orange fire. The sky glows with red light and spires of black rock tower all around him. He stands staring at heaving rivers of lava that flow sluggishly around an island of jagged black rock upon which he stands. The hole widens and two leathery black clawed hands reach out, which scratch and scrabble and pry at the edges of the holes, trying to widen it. Davros is rooted to the spot, as a hideous, enlongated face is thrust through the portal. Two tusks protrude from a distended lower jaw, and beady, close-set eyes glare with bestial fury from beneath a protruding, bony brow. It snarls in rage and frustration, unable to force its way through the too-small opening. It rants in a deep, coarse voice, “I am coming for you. I will eat your soul!” Davros comes out of his nightmare with a shout at the moment the orange portal flickers, falters, and contracts to a point, as the spindly black claws are abruptly drawn back in and disappear.

Davros’ noisy emergence from sleep alerts the rest of the party, and they all stand quiet in the early morning, listening for any reaction to the commotion. They hear nothing, and they relax long enough to discuss events of the night. Davros was not the only one to have an unusual dream, although his was certainly the most alarming. Sartan dreamed of intensive combat training under the tutelage of none other than Demonsbane, his enthusiastic demon-hating sword. With Demonsbane coaching him, the night’s nocturnal training instilled a greater understanding of ways to effectively fight infernal fiends. 

In Mishok’s sleep, he speaks with his god, Divoc. The deity offers words of strength and encouragement to his loyal servant. He instructs the dwarf to remain true to his values and to stay strong in the face of battles to come. Mishok asks if he should trust the Deva, Adara. Divoc replies that yes, Adara, and her master Tyr, are allied in the struggle against evil. He recommends that they heed her advice and welcome her assistance. Mishok awakes feeling strong and inspired, his heart filled with new prayers and, he believes, greater access to Divoc’s power.

Cycek, the elf ranger, has spent part of the night in deep meditation, and the rest in quiet reflection. He focused his attention on his weasel companion, studying its movement, marveling at its dexterity, and contemplating its finely-tuned sensory abilities. He gains a deep appreciation for these attributes, and takes them to heart to such a degree that he feels he has gained some of these skills himself.

the band of adventurers starts the day feeling stronger and more capable than any time before, despite the hardships of the past several days. They are ready to set out, but they are uncertain which way to go. Should they travel around the protruding edge of the bluff, back to the staircase they had climbed a couple of days before, or should the go directly back into the cave from which they emerged the previous afternoon, and perhaps face a collapsing tunnel? 

Before they can decide, they once again experience the rumbling vibration associated with the emergence of portals. An orange sphere, clearly now a portent of evil, appears nearby. Acting quickly, they move to investigate. They approach through a scrubby glade strewn with boulders. They approach the glowing phenomenon, and true to expectations, it spits out something horrific. Three distorted, leering human heads fly out, born aloft of flapping, fleshy wings, like ears grown to monstrous proportions. The adventurers stand ready as these latest flying monstrosities bear down on them.