GM comment:So much for afternoon plans; it's pouring rain ...
Morning, Day Nine
It was another still, quiet night. The mist lay in heavy folds over the island, draping everything in cool dampness. Under these conditions, the chanting that started up around midnight seemed particularly loud and ominous, and once more it drew several of the delegates out of their tents to investigate. They had no more luck than before.
One of those drawn outside that night was Backwards Logic. The gnome-like little man stood for a while near the temple with his head tilted, trying in vain to make out any words in the overlapping stream of voices. As he turned once more for his tent, someone appeared out of the mist before him. He gave a polite nod to the figure.
Annoying, it is, he said, referencing the chanters.
The other did not respond. Backwards Logic saw the figures arm rise to eye level; a sudden pain blossomed in his throat. He collapsed to his knees, unable to speak, as the killer disappeared back into the mist. His shaking hands found the shaft that transfixed his neck, the tiny arrowhead that protruded beside his spine. He left it alone.
The life bled out of him. He would die here, and there was no time to do what hed hoped, no time left. Perhaps, then, just a tiny magic, just one small thing for himself, for remembrance
Hours later, the sun rose. Those whose tents were closest to where Backwards Logic had fallen noticed the anomaly first, as they emerged, rubbing their eyes in the unaccustomed brightness. All of them saw the sky first, the pale blue of dawn, the pink lacing of clouds. For yards around on every side, the mist had been pushed back, and the daylight shone through unimpeded.
Only then did they notice the tree. Where Backwards Logic had died stood a sturdy oak sapling, its roots sunk deep and strong into what had been nothing but bare rock the day before. Around it, a small patch of soil, and plants grew there as well: coiled fiddlehead ferns and strikingly out-of-season buttercups. The small crossbow bolt lay on the rocks a few feet away. Backwards Logics body itself was gone.
The morning would hold one more surprise for the survivors of the conference. Even as they stood still discussing the nights happenings, they once more heard the distinctive sound of giant wings rapidly approaching. The more prudent among them quickly withdrew back into the fog-shrouded portions of the island, but it was those who remained in the daylight who actually saw the beast: an enormous blue dragon flew by so low overhead that several of the tents were pitched over in the wind of its passing, and the oak sapling trembled. A moment later, everyone heard the sound of giant talons catching and holding at the top of the sheer cliff at the upper end of the island.
The dragon seemed to be staying.
As if it could read their thoughts, the delegates heard a bass voice from high above.
By all means, carry on with what you are doing. I find it quite fascinating. For now.
It is now morning. Posting is open. Icekommander possessed no items. A search of Backwards Logics belongings reveals the vials you recognize as once having belonged to The Lemon. Three vials remain.
Accusations and supports as usual. Votes for the vials in bold purple.