Returning to Phandalin, Igor was thoroughly exhausted.

He’d been spent after the attack on

Cragmaw Castle, having used the entirety of his well of magic fighting the bugbears and healing his
companions, so after the incident with grey, the trek through night and the attack by the owlbear he
was bone-weary like he’d never been before. As the group made their way into town, he figured
everything was under control, so he found a nice shady spot under a tree at the edge of the town
green and fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

Rising from an impenetrable sea of darkness, he could feel a dream take shape around him, blurrily
at first before snapping into focus. He was in the great hall back at home, a feast laid out on the
tables as some visiting nobles paraded their daughters in front of his father and brother at the far
end of the table. His grandfather, now old and infirm sat beside him, having passed his title to his son
as his health failed. Serving his grandfather then himself from the food piled on the tables, he tried to
make out what was being said, but over the noise of minstrels, raucous courtiers and the servants
passing by with wine it was an impossible task.

Next to him, his grandfather began to mutter to himself “fiends, always fiends. Always looking with
their black eyes… Could be anyone. Anyone! Even you!” before beginning to cackle almost maniacally
to himself. As people nearby began to take notice, he took his grandfather by the arm led him from
the hall. Looking back, he briefly locked eyes with his father. To anyone else, he looked composed but
Igor knew better, the slightly pinched nose, brows drawn ever so slightly together belied rage and
shame in equal parts. “As if this was my fault” Igor thought to himself. As his father looked away, the
dream blurred, fading out of focus.

“MARIGOLD!?” a distant voice called, but the dream pulled him onwards and the voice was quickly
forgotten.

An indeterminable time later the swirling colours came back into focus, and a familiar dread formed
in the pit of his stomach. Not again, please not again… It was late, and he was reading in his
quarters. There was muffled talking in raised voices from outside his door, at this hour probably his
brother’s arguing or a quarrel between servants. The voices became louder, and he suddenly felt a
strange shifting, some “force” moving in the corridor. Bolting upright, he cautiously opened the door
and peered out.

At the end of the corridor, his grandfather’s nurse tried to encourage him back into his room, but as
they struggled his grandfather’s eyes filled with soft light. “Back you fiend! Get back!” he yelled now,
as a sharp blue bubble former around him pushing the nurse back. Guards came from the other end
of the corridor drawn by the noise. “No no no. Get back! So many, they’re everywhere! I’ll stop you!
STOP YOU!” he screamed, eyes wide, with fear showing evidently on his face. The light flared an
incandescent silver-white and he reached back, then hurled his arm forward, a roaring ball of liquid
flame careening down the hallway at the guards, who dived back through the door and down the
stairs. The fireball detonated, and Igor ducked back into the doorway as the shockwave slammed the
door closed. Opening it again, the air was filling with smoke and orange light flickered as the carpets
and tapestries lining the halls ignited. Eyes wide in panic, Igor slowly turned back to his grandfather.
His grandfather reached back as if to throw more fire but stopped suddenly as recognition filled his
face. “I know you. Sorry… So sorry…” he breathed as his eyes rolled into the back of his head,
collapsing to the floor.

Coming awake with a start, he was cold with sweat. In the distance he could hear Einar’s panicked
shouting as he called for Marigold. Dragging himself to his feet, he went to find his giant friend
before the half-orc did something rash.

As they made their way back through wave echo cave, Igor turned his mind the Zulficar. Initially the
pact had rankled at him. He hated the idea of being beholden to anyone or anything. But after the
lesson on the power of names, and Zulficar’s humility? Contrition? Whatever it was he felt better
after Zulficar had re-labelled their relationship as teacher and student.

The Djinn had really come through for them dealing with that creature while we dealt with the
underlings, and he had no doubt they’d not have survived ten seconds against that thing. And
further back, at the binding of their pact he remembered the subtle feel of the genie’s power
whispering through his mind like a summer breeze, releasing a tension or pressure within his well of
power that he hadn’t even realized was there. Looking inward, that breeze seemed to have a ragged
edge to it that he hadn’t noticed before. He hoped his new teacher would be ok, but after the battle
he'd seemed to have only minor injuries.

Yelling up ahead startled him and he instantly readied a firebolt, but let it disappear when he
realized it was just Zelda arguing with Logan. How she still had the energy to be angry he did not
know. Regardless, better to nip this in the bud before he temporarily turned her into a toad or
something equally unpleasant.

“Zelda, Ursula looks pretty shaken up, I’m sure she could use some company” he told her, and as she
moved away he stepped up to keep pace alongside Logan. The wizard eyed him suspiciously.

“You helped us with that Glabrezu, seems the least I could do to save you from a redhead!” he said,
smiling as gregariously as he could.

“Besides, I’d like to pick your brain about some of the finer points of ritual magic. While my power is
mostly inherent, I’ve made some small study of arcane magic but any advice from someone as
accomplished as yourself would be greatly appreciated!”