Gilla had barely gotten back into the city of Resurrection when she could tell something horrible had been happening. After stashing her stuff in the back room of her herbalism shop, which had been left exactly as she had left it when she had headed out on her last misadventure nearly ten months prior. Dust covered everything, which she didn’t mind in the slightest. Even the stench of the rotting vegetation didn’t bother her. But the reception she got upon her arrival had been disappointing.

She wasn’t going to complain one bit about her having been pulled out of the Gray Wastes, though. Gilla wasn’t what you would call a traditional night hag in that she had no firm attachment to her native plane. In fact, she really didn’t like it much at all. It was precisely what one might think of when a place is given the name “Gray Wastes.” Dismal and energy draining. She had become too accustomed to having color in her life, vibrant music, and ebb and flow of humanity’s cultural and scholastic endeavors. But when she had made it back to Resurrection she had hoped to see more friendly faces.

The two xvarts that had run errands for her, Mr. Blue and Mr. Very Blue had rather excitedly told her of what happened to the rest of the group she had gone adventuring with. Baron Chaverin, a priestly drider, had of course been killed. Everyone else had been unceremoniously thrown out of the warped realm and back into the Prime Material plane. There had been some serious injuries but nobody else had died that day. Their mission had been more or less a success, though, as they had secured the Pearls of Githarm for the Duke of Condamner.

In the months following this event things got worse. Just a few weeks ago there had been an attack on the bandit town of Aranya where another drider, this one a sorcerer named Quinn, had been killed along with everyone else in the town except one dark elven priestess. She had been horribly maimed and blinded, but was in the care of the dark elves in Limbourg. Among the dead in Aranya were the wolfweres that had gone there to start their lives over after the debacle of the “Wedding Executions”. Gus was now dead beyond any doubt, along with all of his cohorts in that town. The only wolfwere alive from the original band was Priscilla, who now ran the Howler House while trying to care for all of the pups that had been left behind.

This development had sorely affected the power of the Fellowship of Fiends. There were still members lurking about, but they hadn’t the muscle that they boasted of a year ago. Gilla had her work cut out for her if she was going to have things in shape to prevent further catastrophes. The ten months spent in the Gray Wastes had only given her more reason to be anxious. There were problems developing in the multiverse, and that accursed warped realm was at the heart of it all. Gilla would need to speak to her mother soon, but first she had to secure things in Renatus. This was the busy season indeed.