The wizard glanced away from the idol, and saw in the fading light of her final blast what Japheth described.

Even as her mouth opened, in dawning surprise, the eidolon sprayed another gout of seawater. Seren tried to evade and failed. Where the wizard had stood was a small obelisk labeled, "Seren Juramot. Preserved for sacrifice 1396."

Japheth mentally reviewed his options, even as he sidled away from the idol and from the darkness behind it that hid Gethshemeth.

He could channel arcane might wrested from primeval entities. He could commune with infernal intelligences and fey spirits, scour enemies with potent blasts of eldritch power, and bedevil them with compelling curses. While he wore the Lord of Bats's cloak, all his abilities were redoubled, at least. But even with all his advantages, he knew he could not defeat a great kraken and its eidolon ally alone. Especially a great kraken whose own power was magnified in some unholy way by the enigmatic relic the ex-whip had called the Dreamheart.

On the other hand, he would certainly die if he put his back to the threat. He stopped. Japheth squared his shoulders and turned to fully face the idol, and yes, the hints of swift movement just visible behind and above the animate statue. His hands came up, and from his lips leaped words that were transformed into a golden mist. A great cloud of shining, yellow haze billowed forward, bypassing the unthinking eidolon, expanding in size even as its interior light began to more fully illuminate the great kraken beyond. For the first time, Japheth realized how strange it was that the creature seemed completely at ease in open air. Was that ability to transcend water an effect of the Dreamheart, as Nogah had suggested?

The haze enveloped the massive squid. Japheth continued uttering the syllables that fed the spell, giving it the power to plunge Gethshemeth into a waking dream of eldritch beauty and illusion.

The haze was having an effect! Or, was it? Wait- The idol's rune flashed like a star. Water sprayed through air toward the warlock. Drops of the transformative moisture speckled Japheth's upturned face and unprotected hands.

His spell was ripped from him. A cold tide overtook him, and his body was locked in a vault of stone.

Blue, green, and gold streaked the ground beneath Raidon's feet, as if some god had knocked over creation's easel, spilling change over the world. The paint still ran, congealing and mixing to form ever stranger colors and textures.

The air was a haze of wavering orange and sapphire, thick with the scent of jasmine and licorice. He could hardly make out his hand before his face. It was as though he walked through the base of a heatless, if pleasant-smelling, flame. Raidon wondered if the dancing color was the spellplague itself, or merely a telltale by-product of the infection that writhed below the earth. Thankfully, he showed no signs of illness or dissolution… unlike Hadyn. The avatar of Grandmother Ash guided him forward through the brilliant murk by song. Her voice was a wind whistling through a forest of pines, leading him. His feet found solid ground with each step. The woman-like being of bark, leaves, and root disdained walking. Instead, she grew into each new point on the landscape she desired to visit.

Her latest incarnation came clear from the burning haze as he approached. With each new manifestation, her precise configuration of flowers, thorns, roots, and bark differed slightly.

As her eyes found his, she ceased her guiding song. This time, her eyes appeared as two blooming irises.

Raidon asked, "Do you send rootlets burrowing ahead each time you rise up?"

The avatar craned her head to one side. She said, "Why send new shoots if my root system already lies beneath all in the Plague-wrought Land?"

"Ah." Raidon wondered if Grandmother Ash was being truthful about the extent of her growth. If so, her real size, including all the woody growth below the earth, was something he couldn't quite imagine.

The avatar continued to stare at him. She said, "That is strange."

"What?" Had he become infected and didn't realize it? He quickly checked his hands, arms, and legs.

"I sense two entities inhabiting your fleshy form, where before I detected only one. I am concerned."

"Well met," came a voice. Cynosure's voice. Raidon breathed easier.

"Worry not, avatar," explained Raidon. "You sense the presence of my friend, Cynosure. I mentioned him when we first met. Cynosure, where have you been?"

The voice came again, "Recuperating from my last effort that saw you to Onnpetarr's gates."

"Are you well?"

"Yes, Raidon. For now. I used more strength than I expected, but I have a last bit to give. Which is lucky, because once you retrieve Angul, I can send you on to destroy the Dreamheart directly."

The leafy form of the avatar rustled as if to draw attention to itself. It said, "Cynosure… I've heard that name before. An extra-planar meeting ground for the gods."

"A coincidence of names, nothing more," came the sentient golem's voice, amusement clear in his tone. "But what are you? I detect you are far more extensive than the humanoid shape Raidon sees with his eyes."

"I am an avatar of Grandmother Ash," explained the woman, as if that were sufficient.

"Ah," returned Cynosure.

Raidon said into a growing silence, "She guides me to the Chalk Destrier, a creature Kiril and her dwarf companion sought when they entered this changeland. The avatar believes Kiril and Thormud were slain."

"Sad news," mused Cynosure. Then, "Lead on. Now that I have renewed contact with Raidon, I'll provide no further distraction until my services are next required."

Grandmother Ash's form dissolved. A few moments later, her voice came from ahead, raised once again in a song of guidance.

The monk continued his trek through the burning miasma, following the temporary, living guideposts the avatar provided.

Some large fraction of a day passed in such manner. The sameness of the surrounding bluish fog made it difficult to estimate time. Finally, Raidon broke through the haze into a new region.

He stood near the opening cut of a mighty canyon, steep-sided and long. The canyon sides revealed hundreds of varicolored bands in the stone, as if an account of some vast track of time. The sedimentary layers alternated between dozens of shades of brown, though a few layers seemed more crystalline than rocky. One exposed layer looked suspiciously like flesh. The canyon walls rose hundreds of feet on both sides.

The avatar retained her position at the very edge of the haze, declining to fully step forth. She pointed down the canyon. "Continue down this ravine, bearing neither right nor left down lesser clefts, and you'll find the Chalk Destrier at its end."

"You will go no farther?" asked Raidon. He was surprised to find himself wistful at the prospect of losing his one companion who was more than a mere voice.

"I told you my roots extended below all the Plague-wrought Land. That is true, save for this mass in the Plague-wrought Land's heart. I sense it is a misplaced fragment of another world, though its natures obviously affected just as thoroughly by the Spellplague as Toril. I am not able to send my roots farther than its edges."

Raidon wondered if he should remind the avatar of her promise to distract the destrier long enough for him to find the sword. He decided against it. If she was having second thoughts, well, his words wouldn't sway her.

"Thank you for guiding me as far as you have, Grandmother Ash."

The woman gave a fair imitation of a bow. "As I said, you are my first hero. Perhaps, if the Chalk Destrier does not slay you, you will return and tell me of your exploits and what drives you with such determination."