Shining, shimmering, splendid. Endless open doors, in a countryside of vapor. Everyone's invited. Do we have enough food? This is what you wanted. You leapt out the window, you walked through the door, you sent up the flare. But that's the past, and we're not headed there...are we?

You are weightless and powerful. Whatever you were on the way to being, this can be done too. This world is a dream, yes. But whose? It's time to go home.

In the sky, war. On the ground, blood. There goes the neighborhood.

Lou Wilson hosts this special sample of his latest game show masterpiece: CLASS ACTION!

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, and the dry stone no sound of water. When the dead tree bears the fruit of empire, it will all be this. You can't shake it. You can't shake me. Or the burning sky, or the blood, or the ink, or the ash. But there is a part of us that lives forever, and chances taken are rewarded. Stretch your legs, use the space, and I will show you your shadow at evening rising to meet you. I will show you fear in a handful of dust and freedom in the shadow of man. Deep breaths.

Across the night, with the dawn, this version of her, our gilled mage. Suvirin Kedberiket, amphibious and unalone. In the ice cave abattoir, our survivors, the otter and the otherworldly. The fresh hells of a secret past. And then, the trail, far beyond the broad road, taking them to whatever gifts the past has left. The task at hand. A good feeling. Dark river water. Bodies at the bottom murk, and above us: nothing. Exactly where we want to be.

The keen mind is king, and you are not in your tower. You are here with us, underground, haunting the foundations of the world, a shadow, here to offer and support the force. In front of you is a cellar door and a brush of blood. Choose quick: Wear the muzzle, or grow some teeth. By a turning of the coin, you are awake and remember you are dreaming still.

The road is a door, and it beckons wide and open. Turns out, you can, in fact, get there from here. If there is a town, a bag, the throat of the ravening beast, the back room of a humble butcher's shop, your end at the bottom of the mighty Lydwyn. Towns are like Empires, they are made of people and promises. Roads are like graves, they are made of dirt and the space you fill. And along the road, like pallbearers: wild, wild things.

War makes strange bedfellows. Glasses clink like funeral bells. We become the fox, at last, or at the very least: We are not the sheep. Every time we step out of that door, all we have are the words of soldiers. And so many doors are open to us. You don't want this, but at last, and at the very least: in the morning, we ride. This could change everything.

The spirit touches all things, but boots find sure footing on moss and stone. At long last, the long arm of empire legs it. The machine is repurposed. Love your mommy and listen to the mirror for once. The least you can do is ask. Finally, after such a long time in the wilderness, peace, and like a knife in the stomach, quiet. All hail the returning heroes. We're going home.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. And within the rills and jagged boughs, a beckoning abyss drinks in the light. If you are not careful, if you do not listen, if you speak or move without thought, it will gobble you up, like a sweet tomato, or a useful child, or a secret name, or an empty boat, its lines knocking and bobbing unseen down a river, into night.

The Battle of Abassin is won, but the escape, and the peace are anyone's game. Into the woods, we go, where the tall trees blind us and we cannot see the forest. The mask slips. We make monsters of men, and speak with animals. The chain of command is thus: hunger, water, music. Each family of sad adventurers is sad in its own way.

Confusion is the brother of death, but my water is good and fast and clean. There is something wrong with your friend, and yet you fight alongside them. Someone will fly and someone will die on the mountain today, when the sun is a red smudge beyond the pines. Who will it be?

The fog of war floats in the valleys and ravines of the Shroud Mountains like a ghost. It erases. It confuses. It hides. It lies. And through the veil, those unlucky few soldier on, to take in the view, and plan their attack, above a place so many will never leave. Anyone can turn around, but thresholds were made for crossing, and we've got business with the butcher.

The mountains want blood. The birds are in on it. The only way out is up. Or down so deep your friends forget your face. Just when everyone finally came together, so many people have to go.

In this, the final chapter of the first book of our tale: It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life, for our wizard, our witch, and our wild one. Far above the mist-cloaked scree of the Shroud Mountains, the Meridian flies to a daring rescue, captained by a promising, but increasingly rebellious, young wizard. Back in Toma, the Witch of the World's Heart takes care of old business and new friends. The wild one runs. As fast as he can. Don't even try to catch him. That ship has sailed.

[To hear this episode and its mind blowing conclusion, ya gotta come and join us by the fireside, on our Patreon.] There is an idea, buried deep within every human being, that says "Anywhere I can go, I should go." And so we climb mountains, we sail oceans, we plunge into pitch black caverns, every time with the confidence and entitlement that comes from the idea that we are fundamentally welcome in the world. That idea is wrong. There are some places. There are some woods. There are some glades. And in these places, we are very much unwelcome. Happy Spooky season, kids. Heads up, there's more gore than usual in this one.

Join the cast as they lift Arc 3 over their heads, take off its head and gulp up that delicious Arc juice. Look out for the juice, you're in the SPLASH ZONE! Would you believe we do one of these for every episode? Well, guess what, kiddo, we absolutely do. For more like this, join us on the Patreon. It's fun! Always be closing! Hard sell!

The arc is now over and it's time to part ways. You've got a long trip ahead of you, why don't you take one for the road? A memento of our time together in the North. Now that the accounts are settled and the elders have a new project to keep them busy, collect your parting gifts, consolation prizes, gift bags, powerful arcane devices, your phone charger and the doggie bag, and then a wandering we will go. Be careful out there, the weather can get rough.

Two great big lenses, like unblinking eyes, spread out upon the table. The better to see you with, my darling. The better to catch you. The better to use you up. Don't ask which, you can't handle the truth, and honestly? Same. Someone's game is over. Someone's done messing around. Someone's time is up. But worry not, for what goes up, must come down. Strap in.