The maelstrom of smoke expands to encompass the entire party as shadowy tendrils erupt from the portal, seizing onto Finnian Highhill and dragging them to their inevitable demise.

“Have you no honor? Have you no respect for the dead? To so adequately fail in your investigation as to surmise that I am a murderer, and worse, a disloyal one. Kill me if you must, I don’t have the strength to stop you. I hope some day you realize your grievous error.”

As quickly as it appeared, the djinn dissolves into smoke and joins the swirling storm being sucked into the portal. As the final vestiges of the halfling curator vanish into the abyss, the portal closes. The lamp rests on its side, a large crack now running down its middle.

Though the djinn has meted out justice according to your word, you can’t help but feel that something isn’t right. The thick air of sadness still lingers in the Dread Dragon Inn, and the night feels so heavy you think that the new day may never arrive. 

Unbeknownst to you, the shadowy hand of darkness fighting for control of Estrea grows a little larger. Three bright lights have been snuffed out this night, and the future of the realm is bleak.

Perhaps you missed something.
Perhaps there was something else you could have done to right the wrongs of this terrible evening.

If only you could go back…