Some ending fiction from Jerry.

It was nearly dawn by time they emerged from the Caves of Hunger. For longer than he could remember, “dawn” to Candle meant only a certain time of day, rather than the actual rising of the sun above the Spine of the World. This everlasting night had been Auril’s curse set upon Icewind Dale – a darkness that knew no end and a midnight burden upon all living things. But now, with the curse lifted, through the actions of Candle and his companions, a pre-dawn brightening of the sky could be seen in the east shifting the starry night with promises of sunlight – hollow promises only whispered of for so many years.

The cold, however, endured. Candle watched as the breath of his friends’ exertions billowed forth from their mouths like dragon’s steam. They all seemed so very tired and each stood stock still for a moment, staring off to the east, wondering at the sight of the newly born sun. They were but five of an original six known as Won Alcazar & Associates; founders of the Bryn Shander Community Center and now, seemingly, saviors of all of Icewind Dale.

Gor Won Alcazar, the progenitor (and sponsor) of the party, was first to sit down. His greenish skin and slight mouth tusks illuminated by the coming dawn. A businessman by occupation, Gor was also an infamous scion of House Greycastle in Waterdeep and a proud follower of Waukeen, the goddess of commerce, wealth and free trade. Candle often wondered which came first for Gor - his business or his religion? What was clear, however, was that the lifting of the everlasting night would bring new travelers and trade to Ten Towns – a fact that Gor obviously realized, if the twinkle in his eyes was to be believed.

Next to Gor, still standing and well over seven feet tall, was Auken, a goliath member of the Thuunlakalaga clan of Icewind Dale. Candle had never really discovered what made Auken tick, even though he had spent some time with his clan along with the other associates. What Candle did know was that Auken was very well versed in the swinging of his magical battle axe. He and Candle had also found a way to cooperate in battle - after an attack, Auken would bash in the face of a foe with his shield, sending them onto their backside. That’s where Candle came in, sweeping out from the shadows with Sliver, ending the process Auken had begun. Candle wondered what would become of Auken now that their days of battle were at an end? He closed his eyes, drawing upon his newly acquired dark gifts, gathering the wisps of hope and dream emanating from Auken. A smile crept across Candle’s face – Auken was ruminating on home and family and clan - daydreaming about settling own with perhaps a partner and producing many children. It was a good (and very tasty) dream.

Out in front of both Gor and Auken sat Ilda, the one person Candle felt closest to among his friends. Though also very tall, Ilda seemed to have shrunken into herself a bit, but held her head high, looking straight into the brightening light. She was a powerful fighter and also Auken’s half-sister. Ilda displayed few of the goliath traits other than the typical height, but had taken to “tattooing” herself in the goliath way using black wax markings that were now a bit smudged. As former daughter of a cultist leader, Ilda had come up through a childhood of wealth, though stained by the actions of her father. To the unaware, she seemed the epitome of toughness and could rage into battle like very few before her. Candle knew, however, that this was but a protective shell for Ilda – a mere teenage girl forced to grow up too quickly and too hard. Candle could feel the wisps and motes of her dreams as well, but did not partake. He respected Ilda too much for that.

Standing apart from the rest was the dark elf, Shadowhawk. His surprise at the coming dawn seemed short-lived, as he pulled up the hood of his thick, black cloak – a low growl emanating from his throat. While most denizens of Ten Towns savored the thought of a returned sun, it was obvious that his drow nature made Shadowhawk much more comfortable in the lightless and endless night. Though outwardly a drow, Shadowhawk’s true nature was far different. These last few days had shown his true nature – their trials burning away the last vestiges of his elven blood and bringing forth the Ilithid that he had nurtured for so very long. Candle wondered what would become of him for he could never truly belong. His drow appearance made him unwelcome on the surface and the truth of his ilithid nature would surely reach the halls of Menzoberanzan and his mother’s ears any day now. Candle felt sorry for him in a way. Or at least the Candle that he used to be did.

One of them had not returned to the new dawn – Perrin Fatrabbit, the halfling ranger, conspiracy theorist and salesman of prepper kits. Candle had known of Perrin the longest as he had been a resident of Ten Towns for many, many years. He remembered always being entranced by Perrin when he would show up at the Northlook. Candle would often skulk around the place, taking odd jobs from the owner, Scramsax. Candle was a pest of the first order and his curiosity for new people and new sights kept him knee-deep in trouble. His mother, Crescent Moon, had explicitly forbade his entry into the place. “It’s full of fools and idiots, all with blades – you’ll get yourself skinned!” Her views, of course, made the Northlook that much more attractive. Perrin would often come, have a few mugs of ale or vintages produced in the town of Good mead, and sell his prepper kits. With enough cups, Perrin would tell stories of aliens and fantastical ships and abductions. “The truth,” he would shout, “is out there!” Inevitably, one or two of the sketchy patrons would warm to his stories and a few kits would be sold. Candle never imagined that this fascinating little man would become one of his dearest friends and companions; that Perrin’s talk of aliens and abductions and spaceships would be shown to be all too real. But now he was gone. “I hope you found what you were looking for Perrin.” Candle muttered to the wind. “I hope we all do.”

Candle sighed a deep sigh of relief, though no breath exited from his lungs. He too was tired, but he felt no physical tiredness – his was a tiredness of the spirit. Candle did, however, remember what it was like to sleep . . . and dream. It seemed like so long ago, even though it been just a few short days since he partook of the bloody ichor of an elder evil – it had gifted him immortality, but had taken from him what it meant to be truly alive. The others were shaken by his choice (and his constant queries of their dreams), but Candle knew what the bargain would cost – a covenant he gladly entered into – for he had plans where not needing to eat, sleep or breathe would be very useful indeed.