…and the swirling mists turn from silver to muddy brown. As the small group moves forward, the walls of the valley rise ominously around them, hiding the darkening sky. The fabric of happy illusion, so carefully wrought by each of the Nialls' imaginations, begins to fade and wear thin. Through the holes poke the twisted and grisly limbs of the inhabitants of this valley - the writhing and decaying entourage of Agog.

A sulfurous smelling breeze billows Eldrich's cloak and the druid braces himself for the inevitable confrontation. Arwen moves to his side, still holding the white elder-flower, her eyes wide with fear. Ahead, Mai and Brandubh are shrouded in an ochre haze. Everyone else closes ranks, as if nearness to each other may add protection.

The flower turns to gray dust in Arwen's palm and is blown away by the noxious wind. The breath of Agog...

Towering above them, the monstrous creature laughs and the sky erupts with thunder. "Why do you trespass into my domain?" The challenge is cast down like a bolt of lightning, sizzling the druid's beard.

Eldrich steps forward, grasping the staff Siobhan gave him. The carvings on the heavy wood seem to come alive as the druid gathers his courage, from skull to heart to spine.

"Agog, keeper of mud and mire!" he calls out. Immediately he feels the murky glow of the demon's gaze upon him, oppressive and stifling. He takes another deep breath and launches his satire, brandishing his staff like a warrior's spear poised to kill.

"Agog, keeper of mud and mire,
Corpses dressed up for play,
Rotting stench of funeral pyre,
Betrayed by the light of day!
Ghosts fade before the sunlight's fire,
Hide faces of crumbling clay,
Death's mask conceals a cowardly liar,
Without shadows your imps run away!
Concealed in your robes of fury and ire,
You pray that no demons betray
The slime-worm who spawned as your sire
And your mother the bane of the fey!"

Having delivered the satire, Eldrich chuckles to himself and folds his arms across his chest, awaiting the response.