Aramis Journal Entry 17

[March 16th, continued]

[this is copied into the journal off to one side, the handwriting much neater than everything else on the page]

Orson,
I’ve gone to search for answers. If there’s a chance that I can find a remedy for Henri, I have to take it. I’m sorry for leaving the burden on you, but I must do this. For all of us. I have to do everything I can. Just like you did for Aramis. Just like Aramis is doing now.
Forgive me,
-Iva

[then the handwriting gets bad again, like he’s writing while he walks]

That, on the other hand, was definitely a huge mistake.

While we were in the Citadel, Iva left, and Orson blames me. He blamed me right in the eye; I’m leaving it black. Let it be a reminder.

She’s gone off to look for a cure for Henri. She’s a smart woman, but I’m not sure what a wool-spinner’s doing questing. Hopefully Garon can shed some light on where she’s gone.

When Orson hit me, I instinctively responded with sacred flame. I scared Orson, which was the point – but I also scared Mother. I’m sorry that happened, but it made clear what I’ve been trying to deny: I’m not a shepherd – or a Shepherd – any more. I don’t belong in their world any more.

And even if Talgen were fine, the prospect of returning to Brindinford holds little appeal for me now. Could I go back to consoling the bereaved, after everything I’ve been through here?

No. For good or ill, Fate has made me an adventurer. I have to put my old life behind me and embrace the new one – and that begins with saying goodbye to everything I knew. “Closure,” Father Sloane called it.

That meant saying goodbye to Celeine.

I went back to her grave and told her everything I could think of…about our “adventure” in the Citadel, and the dreams I had down there. I recalled the first time I brought her to that spot beneath the tree, how young we were when we kissed there, also for the first time. I told her about Sharwyn – I had to – and it was strangely liberating. My happiness is all my wife ever wanted, after all, and if Fate has brought Sharwyn back into my life, I would be a fool to refuse.

I still love Celeine. She’ll be in my heart until the day I die – and perhaps beyond. I could never forget her…but I have earned the right to love again, and I intend to use it.

I have to tread carefully, though. Sharwyn’s always felt guilty for wanting me; now she feels guilty for having me. She needs to know that I’ve decided to be with her. And I need to give her as much time as she needs to come to me.

I’m in no hurry, after all. After three years of celibacy, a little more time doesn’t bother me.

I’m headed back to the Ol’ Boar to ask Garon about Iva. I guess I need a room, too.

-Aramis

III Interlude: Farewell

Aramis left House Hucrele for the shrine, quickly told Sister Corkie where he was going, then set off for the ranch.

He arrived a few hours later at the ranch house. No one was in sight, but that was hardly unusual. Probably out in the fields, he thought. "Sheep don't herd themselves," his father was fond of saying. Well, Mother or Iva might be inside... He shifted the weight of his pack and went up to the house. It was strange to knock on the door, after all his years of living inside, but he felt it best. "Hello?" he called. "Anyone home?"

"Aramis?" his mother's voice answered from inside.

"Yes, Mother. I'm back."

The door opened to reveal Amerie Shepherd, holding little Henri. Her eyes seemed wide at the sight of her son. After realizing that she was staring, she said "Come in, sweetheart. I wasn't sure when to expect you back." She stepped aside to let him in.

"Thank you." He walked to the table and set his pack down against one of the legs, but didn't sit down yet. He could already tell that something was wrong.

"Where is your friend?" Amerie asked distractedly.

"She's back at the shrine, taking care of Talgen Hucrele."

"Good, good." She seemed relieved, but for some other reason.

"We found out where those creatures came from, the ones that were attacking the flocks. They won't be bothering you any more."

She crossed the room to put Henri in his playpen, and said "Really?"

"Really. The tree that made the apples, down in the rift - it went bad, somehow. We had to destroy it."

"I see," she said absently, like she was talking about the weather. "Are you... will you be staying long?"

"Only for a couple of days, if that's all right." What's going on here?

"Oh, of course I don't mind - "

At that moment the back door opened, and Orson stormed into the room. When his eyes fell on Aramis, his face turned to a snarl and he lunged for his brother. His meaty fist connected with the unprepared cleric's head, and Aramis spun to the floor in a heap. "YOU!" Orson roared. "You've done this!"

"Orson!" pleaded Amerie.

Aramis returned to his feet in moments, his hand bathed in the unearthly light of sacred flame. Orson froze in his place, and Amerie's face paled.

"Speak your piece," Aramis said coolly, dabbing blood from his temple with his other hand.

"Iva's gone." It was all Orson could do to keep his rage in check.

"Gone?" Aramis flicked his eyes to Henri, the child passive as a log, then back to Orson. He didn't notice his mother shift between him and the baby, but he allowed the flame to dissipate. "Gone where?"

"I don't know," his brother replied through gritted teeth, clearly spoiling for another crack at him. He took one step toward the cleric. "But she left a couple of days after you and your whore tiefling breezed through."

"Orson, please!" whispered their mother.

Aramis set his mouth in a tight, grim line. "Orson, you're my brother, so I'll give you a chance to take that back."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Who do you think you are?"

"Try me," Aramis said, "and I'll show you."

Orson scoffed. "After the two of you breezed through, she got it in her head that she could find the cause for... for Henri. For why... he's not right." He deflated at last, and turned to look at his son. Aramis felt the pain coming off his brother in waves.

"I wanted to find an apple for him," Aramis said. "I truly did."

Orson whirled to face him. "Fie on your apples, your magic! What good have they done you, eh? Always too late, or with some excuse...before you leave again. And now my wife." He'd bitten through his lip; blood trickled down into his beard.

"Orson," said Amerie, "show him the note."

Orson gave Aramis a level stare for a moment before reaching down to a pouch and pulling out a small, crumpled parchment. He set it on the table and backed away, crossing the room to where Amerie had picked Henri up again. Aramis sat at the table to read the note.

Orson,
I've gone to search for answers. If there's a chance that I can find a remedy for Henri, I have to take it. I'm sorry for leaving the burden on you, but I must do this. For all of us. I have to do everything I can. Just like you did for Aramis. Just like Aramis is doing now.
Forgive me,
-Iva

Without looking up, Aramis took his journal, quill, and ink from his pack, and began to copy the note into his book. "When did she leave?" he asked.

"On the 12th," his mother said.

"Did she keep a diary? Leave any other indication where she might have gone?"

"Nothing," Orson said bitterly, stroking his son's hair with clumsy hands. "Might have said something to her uncle. I don't know."

Her uncle, Garon, ran the Ol' Boar in the village. Aramis blew on the ink to try it, snapped the journal shut, and stashed it in his bag. "Then I should start there."

"And who asked you to?" Orson snarled. "You're not the answer to all... Hells, any of this family's problems."

"I killed the tree that was spawning those twig-blights that were killing your sheep."

"Sure you did."

"And I killed the man who took care of it."

"Guess you serve your death goddess well, then."

It's useless to argue with him, Aramis thought. "Guess I do. Anything else you have to say to me?"

"Why? Leaving again? Of course you are. It's what you do..." He shook his head in disgust, then glared at the cleric. "Get out."

"As you wish. It was good to see you, Mother." Aramis stood up and collected his belongings.

"Aramis..." She was on the verge of tears, contrasting Henri's utter indifference.

"I won't impose where I'm not wanted. And Orson's right, I don't belong here any more."

Amerie began to cry, but her plea to Orson still seemed half-hearted.

As Aramis passed his brother, he said "I'll find your wife, Orson. Don't worry, I'll send her back to you alone. Now, if you'll pardon me, I'd like to say goodbye to mine."

Orson made no response. Aramis opened the front door and said "Farewell" without looking back.

***

He crossed the fields and climbed the hill, where he sat under the tree and said his long goodbye to Celeine. When he finally ran out of tears and things to say, Aramis went back to Oakhurst, more certain than ever that he would never go home again.

Aramis Journal Entry 16

[March 15, continued]

It's done. We're alive. We've won. It could have been worse.

We found Belak the Outcast beneath the Gulthias Tree. The Hucreles were there, too, sort of. The Tree has transformed Talgen into something more plant than man, and Sharwyn was inside the Tree, turning into a 'supplicant' like her brother.

As you might imagine, Azal was furious, and Belak refused to change Talgen back, so battle was joined. Such was my own anger that I slew Belak's giant frog in one blow; we weathered an army of twig-blights, and I smote Belak with daunting light. The Outcast mentioned Azal's mother as he died...

We subdued Talgen; it wasn't easy for Azal, especially after Belak's revelation. Was I wrong to encourage her feelings? How could I have anticipated what's happened to him? I comforted her as best I could, asked Bhavik to bind Talgen, and went to check on Sharwyn.

I could feel the Tree's evil in my mind, and my resolve to destroy it only grew stronger as we hacked at it until it gave Sharwyn back to us. She was miserable, but still human; I gave comfort to her, as well, after reviving her with a healing word. I swore to her that we'd do everything in our power to change Talgen back - and I meant Azal and myself; I hope that Bhavik understood - before Azal burned the Gulthias Tree with her alchemist's fire.

We collected Belak's treasures, and a set of journals we'd found, and made our way back to the surface, making the half-day's walk back to the village in silence.

Erky and Sister Corkie greeted us in Oakhurst. Once Corkie had examined Talgen in her shrine, I took Sharwyn home to her mother.

The horrors we experienced in the Citadel seemed to wash away in Madame's gratitude. I repeated my vow to help Talgen to her, and she seemed satisfied. I doubt she would have been so calm if she'd seen his condition. I promised to bring everyone back for dinner, and Adell led me back downstairs.

Sharwyn caught my eye as I left, but I couldn't divine what was behind her gaze... gratitude, yes, but something more besides. We saved her before the Tree could transform her, but she's still very different from the little girl I used to know...

Returning to the shrine, I claimed a pair of enchanted gloves that had been Belak's, and learned that the Tree's most recent healing apple had been stolen by duergar. Erky believes they have have come from Khundrukar, near the mining village of Blasingdell. None of us have any other notion of how to help Talgen, so our path seems clear.

There's so much on my mind - so much more to write - but it's time to go to dinner at House Hucrele. Maybe after a meal and a decent rest I can put my thoughts in order...

-Aramis

[March 16th, 103 CY]

I may have made a huge mistake.

I stayed after dinner to talk to Sharwyn - mostly to tell her about Azal's feelings for Talgen, in case that was a problem for her - and she told me that it's her fault Celeine died, that she was the one who told Gerabaldi about the apple. If it wasn't for her, Madame and I wouldn't have been outbid.

She couldn't have known what would happen; Fate wills what it will, and I told her so. After all, if I'd never become a servant of the Queen, I couldn't have rescued her... but Sharwyn went on to say she loves me. That she's always loved me, and that I never noticed, being so wrapped up in my Celeine.

And she's right. Unless she's making this all up - and I don't believe that she is - I never had any idea. In fact, she was so quiet and shy around me, I thought she didn't like me, as I've written before.

But she was neither quiet nor shy last night. She was emotional, and after everything she's been through, I can't say I blame her. I wanted to ease her pain, to bring her peace... and I suppose I did.

We had sex.

I can't call it "making love," not yet at least. I care about Sharwyn - I always have - but do I love her? Can I? It's me that's the problem here, not her - isn't it? I can't see myself in love with anyone - anyone who's alive, that is.

Would I rather love a dead woman than a living one who's crazy about me? She was so willing, after all. Sharwyn did things for me, to me, that Celeine never did, things I never even thought of...

This morning, she asked me not to tell Madame - and my plan was to ask for formal permission to court Sharwyn, just as I'd done for Celeine all those years ago. I don't want to sneak around behind Madame's back; she means too much to me, .. is that what I want to do, or what I'm supposed to do? Am I fated to be with her? Or am I meant to be alone, as I've always believed?

It's all too much, and I don't have anyone I can tell. I'm going home, to tell my family about what's happened, study my new rituals, and, with Fate's blessing, find some peace of mind.

-Aramis

Cold Blood Interlude: The Right Thing to Do

Catriona arrived the morning after Joris’s sending spell, just as the cleric concluded his early services. The three left Firil to mind the temple and retired to the vestry.

“It’s true,” Catriona said. “Malcanthet has Faodhagan in Shendilavri.”

“How do you know?” Joris asked.

“The Court of Stars has friends in many places,” the eladrin said. “That’s all ye need know.”

That made Joris’s mind race. Were there eladrin who treated with Malcanthet? With her enemies? With friends of her enemies? It didn’t matter in the end; he trusted Catriona, and she wouldn’t have come if she wasn’t sure…

“Do you know where in Shendilavri?” asked Kalisa.

“The Scarlet Saray.”

“I know it well,” Kalisa said with distaste. “The Queen keeps all her favorite playthings there.”

“Is that why she’s kept him alive all this time?” Joris asked.

Kalisa nodded, her eyes on Catriona. “She’s perverse enough to find pleasure in violating an eladrin hero. Forever.”

“I know a little more,” Catriona said, color rising in her cheeks, “but before I tell ye, tell me what ye plan to do with this information.”

“I’m going to save him,” Kalisa announced before Joris could say anything.

Catriona’s hands went to her hips. “Are ye now?”

“I am. I know every portal in and out of the Saray. I know exactly where I’d stash him if I were Malcanthet. I can have him back in Arvandor before anyone knows I was there.”

“The place may have changed.” Catriona ran her fingers over an old tapestry as she spoke. “It’s the Abyss, after all.”

“Maybe so, but only Morgrith and the Queen herself know it better than I do.”

That name was new to Joris. “Who’s Morgrith?”

“The balor who runs the Saray. Malcanthet sent him after me when I turned stag. He’s probably still sore with me…”

A balor with a grudge? Joris caught her hand in his. “Kalisa, are you sure about this?”

“I can do this, Joris.” She squeezed his hand and moved closer to him. “You know I can. I’m meant to do this.”

“I don’t doubt that. But I don’t want you doing this out of guilt.” Or because you’re still in love with him, he thought.

“I’m not in love with him,” Kalisa replied.

Get out of my head, Joris thought.

<> “I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Fine,” replied Joris. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“And I,” said Catriona. “I’ll go ‘cause I’m still in love with him.”

The succubus smiled. “Good. Then we might have a chance.”

“Shouldn’t we get Haden and the others in on this?” asked Catriona.

“Can’t,” replied Joris. “They’ve left Sigil; I don’t know where they’ve gone. It’s up to us.”

Kalisa nodded. “Then let’s go.”

III Interlude: Sharwyn

When dinner ended, Sharwyn asked Aramis to stay and talk. To her relief, the cleric agreed, saying she needed to hear what he had to say, too. He followed her up the stairs and out onto the second story deck, where they could see the sinking sun, take in the cool air of early evening, and stay out of everyone's way.

She took a chair next to the railing, and Aramis pulled another chair close to hers before sitting in it. He leaned forward and locked his eyes on her, saying "What's on your mind?" in that calm, smooth voice she knew so well.

That won't do, she thought, and said "You go first."

"All right. Azal is in love with your brother." That was always his way, to get right to the point. "I just found out this morning, and we don't know if Talgen feels the same way... but some of the villagers don't like tieflings, and I don't know your own thoughts on them. I just thought you should know."

Sharwyn didn't know Azal yet, but wasn't one to judge based on things like race. Talgen had mentioned his tiefling friend before; if Azal was anything more than that to her brother, she'd missed it. But Talgen had always been a private person, and there was no asking him now... "It's not a problem." she said. "And even if it was, it's none of my business. Talgen's old enough to chase whomever he likes."

Aramis leaned back in his chair. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Azal's like family to me, and anyone who has a problem with her has a problem with me."

Azal's like family to me. Sharwyn had known at once that Aramis was close to the tiefling, but hadn't been able to fathom the relationship's depth. He didn't seem jealous of Azal's feelings for another man, so they weren't together, after all. Aramis wore a wedding ring, true, but it was the old silver one - the one Celeine had given him.

She took a deep breath. This is it, she told herself. You've been waiting for this since you were ten years old...

"What did you want to talk about, Sharwyn?" Aramis asked.

"Before I tell you," she began, "thank you for saving me." He nodded, and closed his eyes for a moment. He's blaming himself for not reaching Talgen in time. Pull him out of it. "I was sure I was going to die today, Aramis." Maybe not die - Talgen wasn't really dead - but she nearly lost who she was, which would have been just as bad, if not worse. "There's so much I have to say - things I've never told anyone, things that you, alone, need to hear - and who else should save me but you?"

The cleric simply said "You're welcome. Please, go on."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice rising in the intensity of his undivided attention. "I've had years to think about how to tell you this, but I didn't think I'd ever get the chance, and now you're here and I'm losing my nerve and - "

Suddenly his hand reached out for hers, warm in the cool evening. Hot, even. "It's all right," he assured her, and she wanted to believe him. Maybe she could make it through this without crying after all. "You can tell me anything."

"It's my fault that Celeine died," she blurted out, and Aramis's fingers raised for a split second before closing back down on her hand.

"What?" Whatever was going on behind the cleric's deep blue eyes, Sharwyn couldn't tell. He's hiding his pain, she thought. If I didn't already know it was there, I might never know...

"Gerabaldi... it was my first year at the school, and I wanted the apprenticeship so badly! I told him about the apple and he went to bid on it - he won it when Celeine needed it..." Her tears flowed freely now; she didn't care any more. If that was the price for finally telling him, then she would pay it. "It's all my fault. I'm sorry, Aramis. I am SO sorry."

He left his chair without hesitation and put an arm around her, allowing her to melt into his embrace. She loathed herself for the thrill it gave her. "I know how much you loved her," she cried. "And if it wasn't for me, you'd still be together. You must hate me."

"I don't hate you." His calm would have been unnerving, but for the compassion in his voice. "I don't blame you."

"You can't mean that," she sniffed. clawing her way back to composure. She searched his face for any sign of falsehood, but he truly seemed at peace with this revelation.

"I do. Fate wills what it will. You couldn't have known what would happen." His fingertips brushed the tears from her eyes, her cheeks burning at his touch.

"I guess not," she said. "But I've always felt terrible about what happened."

"Foolishness doesn't become you. You have no reason to feel guilty."

"You're wrong. You're so wrong, Aramis."

Feeling his chest stop in mid-breath, Sharwyn sat up and faced him. "I don't understand," the cleric said.

"I love you, Aramis." There. It was finally out. "I've loved you since the first time I saw you."

"What?" he said. It sounded exactly like the response to her first confession.

"And that's the problem, right there! You have no clue. You've never known - because you only had eyes for the servant girl."

"Sharwyn, I - "

"Please, just listen to me. I was always so jealous of her." She was weeping again. "She was a good woman, and I know she made you happy, but I wanted to do that. And then she died while I was at the academy... and you left for Brindinford before I got back... I tried to leave you behind, Aramis, I really did. But there's no one else for me. No one else but you."

He stared at her in disbelief. Sharwyn might as well have told him that she was really a gnome. "I had no idea," he said. "You were always so quiet... I thought you didn't like me."

Her laugh caught her by surprise. "No. Believe me, that wasn't the reason. I didn't want to come between you and Celeine... and I was shy back then, of course. I grew out of that in school." At least, I thought I did... you have no idea how hard this is for me, shepherd.

"I noticed."

"I'm not a child anymore," she said. "I want the same thing I've always wanted..." Sharwyn reached behind his head, fingers in his unruly blond hair. "And now it's finally in my reach." She leaned forward, holding her desire in check to place a tentative kiss on his mouth.

"I'm not the shepherd's son you used to know," he whispered, his breath warm on her lips.

"I know." If anything, she wanted him even more now. He was stronger now, and confident... and his air of mystery intrigued her. She wanted to take his pain away, to lose her own in him.

"I'll need time," he said, returning her kiss at last. "I don't know that I'm ready for this sort of thing."

"I know."

"I haven't touched a woman since she died," he said, though his hands had found her now.

"I know."

"Sharwyn, I'm afraid."

"There's no need. Foolishness doesn't become you."

She took his hand and led him to her bedroom, where they kindled a spark of light amidst their darkness.

- – - – -

Adell listened to their conversation - and everything that followed - and was shocked by Aramis's thunderous finish. That man's been holding it ALL in, she thought.

- – - – -

When he woke her the next morning, Aramis was already dressed.

“I’m going back to the farm,” he said, “for a couple of days. I need to tell them what’s happened, and I have some rituals to learn.”

“Right,” she said, pulling the sheets up to cover herself. “That… that might be best.”

“You’re welcome to come with me. I just thought you’d prefer to stay with your family…”

“No, you’re right.”

“I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Sure,” she said, casting her eyes away from him. “When you get back.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, another on her lips, then turned to leave. “Aramis?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t say anything to my mother. Please.”

“I—”

“Just please. Don’t.”

He nodded and slipped out the door, leaving Sharwyn as alone as she’d ever felt.

Silent Winter Interlude: Knife in the Dark

The marble floor was cool beneath Teresa's forehead. She heard worshipers somewhere behind her in the temple, amused by such an unusual display of devotion. Let them laugh, she thought, prostrate before the shrine. Casidhe had vanished weeks ago, and she had exhausted all avenues of investigation in her efforts to find him. Throwing herself on the Maker's mercy seemed to be her last course of action.

Her new mission couldn't come soon enough. Her mind spent every free moment obsessing over his fate; if Casidhe hadn't been stolen away by some other woman - and that couldn't be true - then he must be someone's prisoner, or worse. Perhaps the conspirators had struck at him to get to Teresa? The pain of losing him was unbearable, but it paled in comparison to this uncertainty... with any luck, her new assignment would keep Casidhe out of her thoughts.

Teresa had finally found the words to tell Casidhe about her work, but he'd disappeared before she could tell him. "I'm not a Templar," she'd told the mirror one morning, "not officially. But I hunt rogue mages just the same. If a Templar is the Chantry's big stick, then I'm their knife in the dark."

How she wished she'd told him! He could have handled it; he didn't hate the Templars. And if it was the conspirators who took Casidhe, he might have been better prepared if he'd known the truth. The more she dwelled on it, the more that seemed like the likeliest scenario. He couldn't have left voluntarily; he never would have left his weapons behind.

Her hand went to the hilt of the sword he'd given her; the blades were all she had left. She'd never felt this way about a man - had never thought she could feel like this - and now the Maker had taken him from her. Doesn't change anything, she vowed. I serve the Chantry. Test me if you will; it only makes my faith stronger. But I'm tired of torturing myself like this -

"The Templar-Commander is ready for you."

Teresa looked up into the face of the man who'd spoken to her, nodded, and got to her feet.

---

She found the Templar-Commander deep in the catacombs beneath the temple, kneeling before someone's ancient remains. His shining armor had no place in this dark, dusty place, but such was their need for secrecy.

"Corwin," the Commander said softly, without turning to face her. His deep voice echoed in the chamber, even at that low volume.

"I'm here, Your Grace," she replied, walking up and kneeling near him.

Silence stole into the space between them. The Commander eventually said, "I never got to thank you for exposing the plot against me."

"There's no need, Your Grace. I am your servant." If you must thank me, she thought, thank me for giving up the man I love to do it.

And she did love Casidhe; Teresa knew better than to deny it. She had fallen for the serious and intense man who hid behind all the charm and bravado. What would she do to be back in his arms, to fall into the cool green of his eyes? What wouldn't she do?

'I thank you anyway." The Commander's voice ended her daydreaming like a whip's crack. "You've become a very valuable servant, Corwin, as was your father before you. But I have need of you again."

"I am your servant," she said again. "Command me in all things."

He reached up to scratch his iron-gray beard. "Word has reached us of a man - a very dangerous man. You will find him. Bring him to us, if you can. Kill him if you must."

"It will be done, Your Grace. What is this man's name?"

"Segonal."

Arams Journal Entry 15

I was right; Azal is infatuated with Talgen. She didn't want to tell me, but I'm sure she feels better now that she's told someone. I've encouraged her to pursue her feelings; denying herself does no one any good, and after everything she's been through, she deserves an opportunity for happiness.

[March 15th, 103 CY]

Slept poorly. I had too much on my mind to reach a deep sleep, but I was still plagued by fevered images of wicked trees and bloodthirsty plants. They would have been slain by Celeine's green thumbs, had she been there...

Azal seems in better spirits today; confession is good for the soul. We're also growing accustomed to Bhavik, and he to us. My hope for success in our quest is renewed in such excellent company.

We found another dragon statue, with empty, glowing eye sockets and a red circular tile before it. Our inspection of the statue was interrupted by a pair of wraiths, but we dispatched them with sound tactics and conviction.

Azal found a treasure cache behind the statue, including vials of alchemist's fire, like those she'd misplaced before. I teased her about hiding them there, and found comfort in her predictable reply - and that made me smile.

How long has it been since I've done that? I certainly can't remember smiling in all the time we've spent down here. Let this be a sign that fate favors our mission, and not of impending madness on my part.

Unable to figure out what to do with the statue, we pressed on, coming to a locked door which Azal couldn't open. This frustrated her, but she held her temper; perhaps she's turned a page inside.

The next door led to a cavern full of goblins and twig blights, who took a nasty bite out of us before they fell. We would have fared much worse if not for Bhavik's sound tactics. I think Azal and I will both be content to let him call the shots in battles to come.

Azal unlocked a door on the north wall, which led into a study. We found a trapped book that burned me when Bhavik opened it, and a quarterstaff that practically sings in my hands. I can tell that it'll increase the power of my healing words. Praise the Queen for spinning my fate in this manner!

I'm sure we're close to the Twilight Grove. I know that we'll face Belak soon, and that the encounter will end in someone's death. If it's mine, please tell everyone what's happened here.

Tell Azal and Bhavik - and Erky, Owen, and Meepo - that fighting alongside them was an honor, and that I could not ask for better friends. My life's been richer for having them in it.

Tell my family that I love them. They may never understand why I've done what I've done with my life, and I won't ask them to. Tell them I did what I was fated to do, and what I thought was right; that should be enough for them, or for anyone else.

Send word to Father Sloane that I've fallen, and see if you get a reaction out of him. I'm not one for wagering, but I still bet you'll get a tear out of the old man.

Tell Madame Hucrele that I'm sorry I've failed her. She's always been good to me - and so have her children - and she deserves better than this. I did the best I could, but as I heard Brother Perceval tell his cousin once, "Fate doesn't smile on the same dog's ass every day."

Bury me on the hill under the tree, beside my Celeine. We've been apart for far too long.

It's time. Here we go.

-Aramis

III Interlude: Confession

Aramis had too much on his mind, but he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open. He stretched out a hand and gently shook Azal awake. "Wake up," he said softly, trying not to wake Bhavik. "It's your watch."

The tiefling raised herself up on one elbow and yawned dramatically. "'Kay," Azal muttered. "I miss anything?"

Aramis shook his head. "It's been quiet. Well, the Citadel's been quiet; you haven't."

"What do you mean?"

"You were saying Talgen's name, over and over."

"Was I?" She rubbed sleep from her black eyes and dragged herself upright. "I must have been dreaming about him..."

"Are you in love with him, Azal?" Not 'do you love him', Aramis thought. We both love him as a brother, at least...

Aramis knew her well enough to see her blush; most people would have missed the response in the redness of her skin. "I don't know what you're talking about," she announced, her voice laced with warning.

"You're just so desperate to find him; I thought that might be the reason."

"He's our friend, and it's our job. What business is it of yours how I feel about him!" she hissed. Bhavik stirred and rolled over before his light snore returned.

"You two are my best friends," the cleric replied calmly. "And if your heart overwhelms your head down here, it could get all of us killed. That makes it my business."

Azal growled and slumped against the wall, her dagger suddenly in her fingers. She turned it over in her hands, staring at it, ignoring Aramis for an uncomfortable while.

Aramis moved closer to her, saying "You're a very proud woman, and you don't want to need anybody. I understand that. And maybe you don't want to love Talgen, for fear that he won't love you back."

"I don't want to lose his friendship," she said, not looking at Aramis. "I don't have that many, you know."

"That's true, but the ones you have would walk through fire for you. And you know that Talgen doesn't care that you aren't human... why not take the chance? Are you afraid you'll win him, then lose him, and end up like me?"

That got her attention. "I'll tell you this," he continued. "Everything I've been through since Celeine died - all of this misery - was worth it for the years I got to spend with her. Even if I never know another hour of gladness until the day I die, it was worth it."

"You can't mean that."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"Never." Azal dabbed the corner of one eye.

"So. Are you in love with Talgen?"

She nodded before she could say "Yes." She was on the brink of tears now; Aramis put an arm around her, and she went slack in his embrace, quietly weeping.

"We'll find him, Azal. I swear it. You'll have your chance to tell him."

She didn't protest. Instead, she sniffed loudly, as if to say she was done crying, which caused Bhavik to stir again. "Celeine," she said. "I wish I'd know her."

"She made me very happy," the cleric sighed. "Maybe Talgen will do the same for you. Don't give up on him yet."

"Thank you, Aramis."

"You're welcome."

Aramis Journal Entry 14

[March 14th, continued]

We climbed back up the shaft to the chieftain's chamber to catch our breath. It's a strange feeling, being forced to retreat from a fight. I'm not ashamed - we do what we must to survive in these depths, and we'll never succeed otherwise - but fleeing costs us time we don't have.

When we came back down the shaft, the bugbear was waiting for us with a pair of goblins. We were better prepared for his tactics this time, but the struggle to take them down was still difficult. Bhavik helped himself to the bugbear's hide armor, and we also claimed his pouch of gold.

We pressed on, encountering another bugbear and group of goblins. This bugbear fought with a flail, and proved just as difficult to take down as the last one. Sadly, we've already exhausted our resources, and must rest again.

We must be getting close now. I can feel it. I find myself thinking about what we'll do when we're done with this awful place; it's not my way to think such things, but dwelling on Celeine is poor distraction from the pressure of this place and our quest. We'll return the Hucreles to their mother, of course, and escort Talgen back to Brindinford when he's ready. We'll tell everyone about what happened here. And we'll need to set someone in place to make sure that this never happens again; the kobolds shouldn't mind expanding their territory into the rest of the Citadel.

Azal's doing it again - whispering Talgen's name - and she's got the next watch. I'll ask her about it when I wake her; that way, we can talk about it without Bhavik listening...

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 13

[March 13th, continued]

We found an arboretum where undead skeletons composted the soil, no doubt to further Belak's hideous experiments. One skeleton was different from the others we've encountered so far, sending out deadly sprays of bone shards as we damaged it. Azal and I destroyed it together from a distance; the resulting explosion left Bhavik too weary to go on.

We've decided to secure the arboretum's only entrance and rest here, rather than spending the time to return to the secret room on the level above us. As the least exhausted party member, I've drawn the first watch, which has given me time to write this.

A goblin patrol came through the area a few hours later, finding the remains of the goblins we'd previously slain. Azal won the argument that followed, so we struck camp and headed south, into the unexplored part of the dungeon. As Fate would have it, we found another arboretum, this one with no sign of recent use. We rested again, the noise of the goblin activity to the north no match for our sheer exhaustion.

Again, I took the first watch. Azal slept fitfully, muttering Talgen's name in a way that reminded me of how Celeine used to say my name while she dreamed. Is Azal in love with Talgen? It would explain why she's so desperate to find him. Now the fear of finding him dead comes back to me, worse than before. I know what it means to lose a love, after all, never knowing what could have been. What would it mean for Azal, to never know if Talgen felt the same way for her?

And does he? Talgen never breathed a word of it to me, but he was always a private man, and I wouldn't blame him for seeking more qualified advice on romantic matters... still, Azal and Talgen are my best friends. Sometimes I feel like they're my only friends. They deserve happiness, especially after everything we've been through in this accursed place.

We have to find him, and his sister. If Azal and Talgen are meant to be together, then let Fate's servant play his part.

[March 14th, 103 CY]

Slept poorly. I dreamed that Maurelle persuaded Vardan to grow grapes for wine - she'd always wanted to do that, even though the climate doesn't agree with it - but something she did caused the vines to thrive. I crept into the vineyard one night, hoping to learn her secret, and found the grapes growing out of Vardan's dead body - then Maurelle came after me, vines poking out through her clothes. I woke up with cold sweat and a cramped neck. Images like these make me reluctant to turn this journal over to Father Sloane when the time comes...

We faced a deadly foe, a bugbear who used his rope to snare Bhavik and use him as a shield. We slew the bugbear's goblin and twig blight allies, but at a cost which forced us to flee before we could finish the leader.

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 12

[March 13th, continued]

Glad to be free from that maze. Azal's still cross with herself, but at least her mood's improving now that we're back on task.

We found another dragon statue, this one with a tray in its mouth. I feared to tinker with it, after having my lungs seared by the statue on the previous level, but the tray responded to the weight of Meepo's jade dragon statuette, revealing a hidden compartment full of treasure. I secured it and recovered the statue - gold and jewels may be useful later, but they only distract us from our objective now.

We agreed that this wasn't the way to the Twilight Grove, and tried another path. We soon came across an alchemical laboratory, full of goblins hard at work. My clumsy attempt at stealth gave us away, but Azal's brilliant bluff allowed us to get the drop on the goblins anyway. We dispatched the goblins with little difficulty. Azal was right; it's hard to believe we once feared these creatures.

On our way into the chamber, we found some sleeping goblins; to my relief, Bhavik told us that he couldn't murder the helpless creatures. I'm now convinced that he's trustworthy, and that seems to be good enough for Azal (who was good enough to agree with us and let the sleeping goblins be).

Bhavik found a dire rat strapped to the table, plagued with cancerous, plantlike growths. It must have been one of Belak's experiments. Bhavik put it out of its misery, but the very existence of such a creature is an affront to my Queen.

Belak's madness threatens Oakhurst, now, as I wrote before. The town guard would never stand a chance against these creatures - and neither would my family. I fear that I've forgotten them with everything that's happening down here... in particular, my thoughts turn to poor Henri and his mother.

It's no longer enough to save the Hucreles. I must not fail to save the town. Belak's experiments must end, and if it falls to me to see that through, well, Fate wills what it will.

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 11

[March 13th, continued]

More changes. We've gained an ally in Bhavik Devanta, a man with primal power in his blood. He has a savage air about him, and I don't think he's exactly human, but he speaks like a righteous soul. He certainly has Owen's courage; only time will tell if he has any more prudence.

But now Erky has returned to the surface, headed back to Oakhurst in search of more help. I can't blame him; if it'd been me held captive for a year down here, I doubt I'd have waited as long to do the same. But it's down to Azal, Bhavik, and myself now. My decision to embrace the Discipline of Divine Wrath seems to have been well-timed.

We descended to the lower depths of the citadel, which was like crossing over into another world, earthy and plant-choked. I couldn't shake the memory of my dream as we fought our way through the lower chamber's guardians - more twig-blights, skeletons, a pair of wolves, and their bugbear keeper. Bhavik immediately proved to be a valuable addition to our group, helping to dispatch our foes with little cost to our party. He spent a few minutes poking through the bugbear's den, and came up with some treasures; I'd hoped for clues, but will take what comes.

Searching for the Gulthias Tree, we made a wrong turn and got lost in an infernal maze of tunnels. The three of us finally figured out how to get back to the familiar part of the Citadel, but I can't shake the feeling that the hours we wasted in the maze could have made the difference between finding the Hucreles alive or dead.

And I fear for Azal. She blamed herself for leading us into the maze, even though we decided as a group to go that way. She knows that time is running out, and it's all I can do to keep her from sliding into true despair. She already misses Owen; we have so few friends, she and I, and the thought of losing any of them is unbearable for both of us.

I still hold hope that we'll find Sharwyn and Talgen alive down here. They have at least as much strength and cleverness between them as Azal and I do. It's the uncertainty that's driving us mad; Fate, if you've claimed them, please, let us find out soon...

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 10

[March 13th, 103 CY]

Slept poorly. I dreamed of my Celeine at the heart of a garden, beneath a monstrous version f the tree on the hill where she's buried. The wind was cold, the sky blue and clear, but I couldn't see what her hands were doing in the dark, wet soil.

She saw me and favored me with that sad, knowing smile that always melts my heart. She beckoned me to join her, but I knew that her garden was for the dead. To enter would end my life - and I still had much to do, even though my fondest wish was to be with her again. She called me a coward and worse as I walked away, and her voice still rang in my ears when I woke. I pray that it's the foul magic at work in this place that plagues me so.

The goblins besieged us on our way back to Goblintown, as I feared they would. Overcoming them wasn't too difficult, but we all knew the real challenge still lay ahead - the goblin chief, Durnn.

We found Durnn and his minions in a chamber with a vine-choked shaft leading deeper into the Citadel. He was in no mood for parley, as I had also feared, so we fought. Durnn had a pair of horrible plant-monsters and a mystic at his command, among others, but we still won. Durnn is dead - but not before he'd had Maelgrek, the hobgoblin whom we captured before, spiked to the wall. I helped him down and healed him while the others searched the room.

Alas, we realized that one of Durnn's grisly decorations is all that remains of the elven ranger, Karakas. Worse still, Owen has decided to leave the Citadel and report this news to his family at once, in Ossington. His mind's made up, so I've asked him to tell Madame Hucrele what's happening down here, and to take Maelgrek with him.

This setback is the last straw. I've come to rely on Owen's spirit as much as I do his prowess; I don't know if Azal, Erky, and I can stop Belak without him. But we must. I'm sure those thorny plant-creatures must be behind the dead ram on our ranch, and the other attacks... And from what Maelgrek's told me, the druid is spitting in nature's eye. I must send him unto my Queen for judgment.

I know what I have to do now.

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 9

[March 12th continued]

We’ve retreated to the secret room to rest again. The goblin berserker attack left us weary, but, as I’ve written before, we pressed on.

The berserkers guarded a passage which seems to lead back to the kobolds’ territory. We spent a little time investigating that room before we found the main goblin settlement, “Goblintown.” Their guards – hobgoblins among their numbers, including a mystic – spotted my light and were upon us at once, with no chance for parley.

Our victory was hard-won, and we subdued the last hobgoblin and dragged him back to the storeroom for questioning. He didn’t respond to Azal’s fury at first, but my own method of intimidation seemed more successful.

The hobgoblin feared the strength of his chieftain, Durnn, but took issue with his use of “mere goblins” as retainers. He also said that Durnn kept “stick-monsters” as pets. What strangeness is in play here? We’ll find out soon enough.

I had no intention of leaving the hobgoblin to die, and neither did Owen, but Azal was prepared to do exactly that. She has never been a virtuous woman, and I’ve long since given up on educating her, but I can’t allow her rage or grief to cloud my own morality.

But Azal is passion, just as Owen is courage. Erky strikes me as ‘determination,’ but I haven’t known him long enough to say. Strong as they are, I can only pray that they are strong enough that this place doesn’t change who they are.

This last fight was the worst one yet. Even with Erky’s help, keeping our party standing took damn near everything I had. Assuming that Durnn will not negotiate, we have the fight of our lives ahead of us. I will rest as best I can, and pray for strength and wisdom.

I dare not ask for more. I hope it’ll be enough.

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 8

(I just realized, as I get ready to catch up on Aramis's journal, that I forgot to cross-post the last couple of entries here.)

[March 12th, 103 CY continued]

I never thought I would be sad to say such a thing, but Meepo has left our company.

We took Calcryx back to the kobold territory, so Yusdrayl would know our role in his return. She didn’t expect us to succeed, but I think that says more about her than it does about us. She may rule a little pond, but she’s still the biggest fish in it. Treat her with the respect she demands, and we should be all right.

Of course, she didn’t anticipate a need to renegotiate Calcryx’s place in the tribe, either! Yusdrayl consented to the new terms, which were clearly better for Calcryx – but it’s also better for Meepo. I know little of kobolds, but I hope she’s still honoring the agreement when we come back this way…

Yusdrayl rewarded us for returning the dragon. My first impulse was to refuse, but, remembering Meepo’s hurt feelings, I claimed a book of rituals. I don’t have any materials to perform any rituals, but they will surely come in handy some day. Owen took some antivenom, and Azal chose the vials of alchemist’s fire. Owen was so ready to get back on the trail! If Azal and I are driven, he must be obsessed.

Meepo had to stay behind, which came as no surprise. He’s obligated to his people, as we are to ours. He is… nothing like what I expected. It’s strange to find a friend so true in a place so dark. I will miss him. Even Erky seems to realize the kobold’s worth now.

Meepo offered us the statues again, and this time, we did the right thing.

I must keep an eye on Azal. Having Meepo around kept her occupied; I can only pray that she can move her focus to finding this Twilight Grove – and Belak.

We returned to the goblin territory and soon encountered another gang of berserkers. I struggled through this fight; my first attack failed, and each miss after that only weakened my confidence. Thank the Queen that Erky was on hand; I got to see more of what he could do, and the other kept the goblins busy long enough for me to find myself again.

We must be close to the heart of the goblins’ lair. They know we’re here – they must. Entering their territory will be like descending into the Hells themselves, but what else can we do?

I think of Talgen and Sharwyn, lost in the unknown. Then I think of their mother, a woman who’s already suffered more heartache than anyone should ever face. She has already lost so much… I can’t bear the thought of any more sorrows descending upon her.

We press on. Someone has to.

-Aramis

Silent Winter Interlude: Thy Solemn Pledge

When Casidhe awoke in his old bedroom, he suspected that he must be dreaming. His father's presence near the window, dressed to spar, confirmed his suspicion.

"Get up," Brandeouf said, throwing back the curtain to flood the room with sunlight. "There's work to do."

Casidhe rubbed crust from his eyes and squinted at his father. "You're dead. Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"It's your dream, boy. You tell me." Brandeouf moved to the door; without looking back at his son, he added "You never dream about her."

He stumbled out of bed and got dressed, catching up with Brandeouf in the training room. "Why would I want to? After what she did?"

"You have no idea what Teresa did," Brandeouf said, tossing a weapon to his son. "You keep running away at every hint of danger before you even know what it is. You know the code, boy. Be brave and swift when all the Fade breaks loose."

"Yeah, sure. Look where the code got you." He made his salute and engaged.

"Better to die for something instead of living for nothing. Sooner or later you'll run out of places to hide, son. If you never fight, you'll never know how, and you'll end up just as dead as I am." He punctuated with the flat of his blade on Casidhe's shoulder.

Casidhe was already panting; even in a dream, he was no match for Brandeouf. "I know how to fight, Father. You never taught me anything else."

Brandeouf returned to his fighting stance. "Then do it."

Casidhe's frustration grew with each pass, until he simply couldn't go on. He fell to the hardwood floor, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe. To Casidhe's surprise, his father sat next to him.

"Your problem," Brandeouf announced, "is that you don't know what you've gotten mixed up in this time."

"I'm not sure I could handle knowing," Casidhe said between gasps. "Let the mages figure it out."

Brandeough shrugged. "But you also understand that you are mixed up in it. That you can't run away this time. That the only way out is through. At least you've got some friends now."

Casidhe hadn't thought of them as friends yet, but he supposed it was true. They were better friends than Sim had ever been, that much he knew.

Brandeouf continued, saying "You should focus on the things you can help with."

Casidhe reached into the problems and drew out the thread that concerned him most. "Like finding Segonal. Did you know he had a son?"

"Only if you knew that I knew," his father replied. "You're right, though; that's a good place to start. You could do worse than to swear a vow to that effect, you know."

Casidhe turned the idea over in his mind. He'd left Denerim in search of something honorable, after all. And he was committed to rooting out the source of the unseasonable winter; on some level, he thought that Segonal's disappearance was connected...

Still, a duelist's vow was his life. To Casidhe, Brandeouf was less a man than a tangle of oaths and obligations. Casidhe had never sworn himself to anything - not to Sim, nor to Teresa, though the urge to do the latter had been overwhelming. Still, if he wasn't going to be a duelist - a proper duelist, a LaCroix duelist - what else was he going to be? And that path had to start somewhere...

"I'm not saying to make Geoffrey your client," Brandeouf said before Casidhe could. "But surely he could use your help."

"And Gheris might be more agreeable if Geoff wasn't solely her burden." Casidhe wasn't sure of that at all, but he couldn't rule it out, anyway. "I'll do it. I hereby vow to - "

"Not to me, lackwit," Brandeouf sighed. "To Geoffrey."

"I will, Father."

"Good lad." Brandeouf stood up and helped his son to his feet. Casidhe knew better than to expect any more affection from even this vestige of his father. "Good lad" was positively demonstrative, really...

A loud pounding sounded at the front door, and Casidhe knew someone was coming to wake him.

"See you later," Brandeouf said, and the training room went white...

More Pretty Girls Than One

The next morning, Teresa noticed a raised welt on Casidhe's back, just above the left shoulder blade. "What is that?" she asked when he caught her looking.

"An old burn scar," Casidhe replied. "My father's patron came to the house in the middle of the night, and asked him to escort a woman out of the city. Less than an hour after they left, Templars came to the house, demanding to know where they'd gone. I swore I had no idea, but they didn't believe me until they'd done this to me" - he turned so she could see the scar - "with a poker."

She reached out to touch it, a bit surprised that she missed it during the night. "How old were you?" was all she could think to say.

"Eight. Father's boss - Segonal - came back later on and took me to have it treated. I never told Father about it, though. He never told me why he'd left that night; it seemed only fair."

Sensing his bitterness, she said "He must have had his reasons."

"I suppose. I never understood him, you know. Brandeouf Fionnlagh was a man who could have been somebody - could have guarded the king all by himself - but he was content to work for some merchant."

"Why do you think that was?" she asked, feeling the same way about Casidhe.

"I'm not sure. Segonal told me that Father was never the same after my mother died. I was only three weeks old when that happened, though, so I wouldn't know."

"Did you love your father?"

"No," He said with a sigh. "I wanted to - I tried to - but that was one hard man to love. Loving my father was like trying to love a sword. You can respect the talent and discipline that went into making it. You can admire how it's so perfectly suited for its purpose. But you can't use it for anything else. And it'll never love you back."

"I'm sorry, Casidhe." Teresa wondered if anyone had ever loved Casidhe, then wondered what it would mean for her if she became the first.

"Don't be; there's no need." When he resumed dressing; Teresa decided to do the same.

"The woman," she asked, "who was she?"

"No idea. I thought she was my mother. I hoped she was. When I asked Segonal about her, all he told me was that she wasn't my mother, and that Father felt responsible for losing her. That's why he demanded to be freed from Segonal's service."

She laid a hand on his shoulder, and Casidhe closed his fingers over it. "We lost my mother, too," she said. When I was five. My father endured because of his faith, Casidhe. He believes that he'll see her again when he dies." And so will I, she thought, but chose not to say, given Casidhe's problems with matters of faith.

Casidhe took up his sword belt, but stopped before belting it on. "She loved you?" he asked, looking at Teresa with quiet desperation.

"Very much. She was wonderful, Casidhe; I love her with all my heart, even now that she's gone."

Casidhe let go of her hand and turned to face her. "I can't love a Maker who lets things like that happen to His devout."

"I won't ask you to. But you've got to accept that my father and I don't feel that way."

She couldn't divine much from his nod, or the kiss that followed, but was quite surprised when Casidhe accompanied the Corwins to worship on the next holy day.

- – - – -

Casidhe saw little of Teresa that week. Her work kept her busy, sometimes long into the night. Despite his frustration - and his own obligations - Casidhe made the most of their time together...

Seven weeks ago

Casidhe smiled as he saw Teresa crossing the field, joining her in a kiss near the gymnasium. "I got you something," he announced, presenting her with a duelist's sword.

"Casidhe?!" Teresa gaped at the sword and didn't take it from him.

I knew this would happen, he thought. The Corwins were people of modest means, but too proud to accept anything that resembled charity. "It's not much to look at, sure, but it's well-made, and much better suited to your size and build than what you've got."

"I couldn't possibly take that," Teresa announced, moving her gaze from the sword to Casidhe's eyes.

"I insist." He took one of her hands in his and clasped it to the sword's hilt. To his relief, Teresa didn't fight him - not yet, at least. "It's a gift, Teresa."

"You've given me so much already," she said. "It's not fair; I can't give you anything in return."

"It'll keep you safe. It'll remind you of me, and keep your heart close to mine. Think of it as my gift to myself, if it helps."

She seemed placated by that; once she tied the sword to her belt, they began the lesson.

Casidhe found his mind fraught with worry the entire time. What manner of sellsword was Teresa, to vanish for hours at a time? To leave in the middle of the night? She always evaded his gentle questioning, changing the subject or telling half-truths. The doubtful part of his mind - the part that sounded like Sim - reminded Casidhe that he didn't deserve Teresa. If she wasn't duping him, it was only a matter of time before she realized he wasn't good enough for her. It was all he could do to spar despite those thoughts.

When the lesson ended, Teresa nearly left before taking a goodbye kiss. Casidhe was so wound up that he nearly sprained his next student's wrist, and ended up refunding the poor man's money. He went back to the Blue Bottle to wait for her, but she didn't return that night - or the following morning....

- – - – -

For five days, Casidhe had very little word of Teresa. Afraid that he was losing her, he devoted himself to wild, romantic gestures which brought some light to whatever darkness she was enduring...

Six weeks ago

They met at the Blue Bottle one evening and made love as the last of the summer storms rolled into Lothering. Not long after Casidhe fell asleep, Teresa slipped out of bed, got dressed, and crept into the night.

A short time later, the inn shook with a violent clap of thunder, jolting Casidhe awake. He reached for Teresa to find her side of the bed empty, still bearing traces of her warmth. Realizing that she couldn't have gotten far, he threw on his clothes and charged down the stairs. He asked Bakrum, who said that he'd just missed her.

He searched the dark, crowded street until he saw her turning a corner, and he waded through the mud to follow at a distance. She led him through the rain toward the chantry, but crossed the road before reaching it to duck into a narrow alley. Casidhe moved to a spot where he could watch without getting any closer.

Four figures emerged from the shadows, half-surrounding Teresa. Her hand hovered near the hilt of the sword he'd given her. Realizing that he'd left his own blades at the inn, Casidhe cursed his luck under his breath. Teresa was on her own.

One of the men (at least, they looked like men from here), his red cloak too small for his tall, broad frame, stepped forward. Casidhe couldn't see his face, or hear what he said, but everyone relaxed. Teresa spoke to him, turning to point east, back the way she'd come. The man in the red cloak nodded and handed her a small bag - a coin purse, perhaps.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the scene, allowing Casidhe to glimpse one detail - the man's wooden leg, which ended in a clawed foot like a piece of furniture - before all went dark again.

I know him, Casidhe realized. When the man came to speak to Luthias MacDaer about Black Torin's "business opportunity," his two associates had to wait outside. This was one of those men. Casidhe would know that leg anywhere.

What was Black Torin's man doing in Lothering? Why was Teresa talking to him? Taking money from him? Pointing him east to...

Face it, Casidhe, he thought. Teresa's selling you out to the pirates.

He refused to believe it, even as Teresa led the men back onto the street and east. He headed west, mindless of his soaked clothes, trying to understand what he'd just seen.

She cared about you, he thought. She might even love you. So? Sim was your friend your whole life, and you saw what a little pirate gold did to him. He remembered the last thing his father ever said to him: A woman with her fingers around your heart is the most dangerous of foes.

I was wrong to forget your words, Father. But I remember the second thing you told me: there's more pretty girls than one.

The lessons were all he had left of his father, now that he'd forgotten the swords. Serves you right, he could imagine Brandeouf saying. That'll remind you to listen to me next time.

He persuaded the guards at the gate to let him leave the city in the middle of the night, and he followed the river west. By the time the rain stopped, just after sunrise, Casidhe knew he'd come down with fever, but he kept walking. A song came to him, one that Sim was fond of, and he sang until he started to believe it:

So honey, look down that old lonesome road
Hang down your pretty head and cry
'Cause I'm thinkin' all about them pretty little girls
And a-hopin' that I never die...

The Blue Bottle

Nine weeks ago

Her mission kept Teresa from investigating her father's ideas about Casidhe, but the notion never seemed far from her mind. Indeed, the duelist's alleged affection for her lurked in every thought she had about him, and that made it harder to concentrate on her assignment. Fortunately, it was nothing serious - a con artist who'd riled one mark too many, posing as a magician to discourage pursuit - easily tracked down, arrested, and left to the Bann for his punishment.

After five days on the road, she returned to Lothering, made her report, and went past her house without stopping. She arrived at the gymnasium near sunset, the eastern sky swelling with summer rain clouds. She saw Casidhe in the field, teaching an older man how to feint, and she stopped to watch.

The student lunged too far. Teresa felt proud to realize it so quickly; Casidhe asked him to hold that pose. He moved behind the student, placing his hands on his shoulders to guide him into the proper position. Teresa felt a sudden urge to have Casidhe all to herself, to have his hands on her body...

She snapped from that fantasy when Casidhe called her name. He took his payment from the student and walked over, the smile on his face different from the one she was used to seeing. Or was she seeing it from a new perspective, now?

"Teresa," Casidhe said again. "How're you feeling? All right?"

"Fine," she replied. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, after you missed three lessons I started to worry. Your father told me you'd left Lothering on business, and I know how dangerous travel can be."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm all right. In fact, your training came in handy." The charlatan's bodyguard never stood a chance, really. Teresa hoped to leave it at that; Casidhe wouldn't understand or approve of the things she did...

"Glad to hear it." Looking over his shoulder at the setting sun, Casidhe said "We're about out of daylight, but I could give you a quick lesson if you're game."

"No," she said, "I just got back to town, and I'm tired." Casidhe's elation seemed to give her a second wind, but she wasn't up to sparring.

"Just as well; so'm I." Casidhe snapped his sword back into its scabbard. "So where are you off to now? Going home?"

"No! No, I'm not that tired. You know, I am quite thirsty, though. I'd like a beer. I'd like to get a beer. With you."

"I know a place," Casidhe said.

As he led her around the block, the clouds burst into a sudden storm, and they started to run. Casidhe was laughing by the time he reached the Blue Bottle's door, but he managed to get it open in time for Teresa to dash inside. The barman greeted Casidhe warmly, and in mere moments Terea held a stein full of very good beer.

"I've never been in here," she said. The raucous crowd forced her to raise her voice, but at least she wasn't shouting. "I've passed it by a hundred times."

"Bakrum's great," Caisdhe replied, pointing at the barman. "I work here nights, keeping the peace in exchange for room and board. Are you hungry?"

He's a bouncer? Teresa thought. In this place? Not that it was a bad place; Casidhe just seemed better than this.

Teresa didn't hear Casidhe's question, so he asked again. She shook her head, and Casidhe raised his tankard. "Here's to you," he said, clanking his drink against hers.

She lost track of time as they talked and drank. Casidhe was witty and charming company, but he seemed very careful not to flirt with her. Father must be mad, Teresa thought. Either that, or Casidhe's never tried to bed a woman before. She was having a good time, though, so she didn't press the issue.

As the night wound down, the inn's common room started to thin out. As much as Casidhe liked to talk, he was much better at listening. Teresa found herself saying things she never expected to tell him - to tell anyone - and he seemed to know exactly what to say, what to ask. But when Teresa tried to ask the same questions of Casidhe, his answers carried no substance, no truth. She still had no idea who in the Fade this man was - or what his interest in her was.

"So tell me," she finally said. "why are you here?"

"I work here."

"I mean in Lothering. Teaching dueling and bouncing."

"I'm not fond of starvation," he replied, a hint of steel in his voice, "and I never learned to farm."

"You know what I mean. A man like you could find a better job anywhere. But you hang around teaching me - teaching people like me."

"You've learned a great deal in the last three weeks, haven't you? And how can reach your full potential without my help? I'm responsible for you, now, just as I'm responsible for all my students."

"But that's just it. My full potential is nothing like yours. How can you ever be what you're... what you're meant to be, doing what you're doing?"

He spent a few long seconds draining his tankard. When he was done, he said, "I spent my entire childhood trying to be what I'm meant to be, and as many years trying to deny it." He was drunk, or close to it, but his voice rang more soberly than she'd ever heard it before. "Right now, I just want to be happy. And I want to help people. And I am."

"That's something," Teresa sighed. She felt like she was a few inches outside of her own body. Was she drunk too? "It's just... if I had your talent, I'd want to do something with it. It seems like a waste."

Casidhe already had another drink in hand, and Teresa wondered if he'd heard what she said. 'I don't want a different job, Teresa. I don't want to be anywhere else... doesn't matter where I go, I'll never have another student as pretty as you."

There it was. Teresa couldn't hide her reaction, and she knew that Casidhe already regretted saying it. Still, she couldn't just let it go. "You think I'm pretty?" she asked, trying to sound sweet.

"I'm sorry," he said at once, "if I've made you uncomfortable. You aren't that sort of woman, and I shouldn't think of you that way."

"What way? What sort of woman, exactly?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, waving his free hand in her direction. "You shouldn't care what someone like me thinks. I understand if you don't think much of me... or if your father doesn't approve..."

"Casidhe, do you think I'm pretty?"

He seemed unable to answer, and the look in his eyes belonged on a rabbit about to bolt. Before he could flee - before Teresa knew what she was doing - she leaned forward and kissed his lips.

The sensation was disappointing; Casidhe didn't protest, but he didn't participate, either. How dare you not react? she wondered. That's a good kiss, Casidhe! Wake up, Fade take you!

He gently pulled away from her, looked her right in the eyes, and said "Yes" before kissing her again. There was the sensation she'd expected - but more intense than she'd imagined, like she'd skipped surrender and simply fallen into him. She felt his hand on the back of her neck, felt cracks spread through the dams that held back her passions. Then she almost fell off her barstool, but Casidhe caught her, asking if she was all right.

"Fine," she said. "Just tired." And drunk, she thought. "I should lie down."

"My bed is just upstairs," he said, an unspoken promise in his cool, green eyes.

"Then take me to bed, Casidhe." I may be drunk, but I still know what I want.

She suddenly found herself in his arms,whisked up the stairs and into a small, dark room. He laid her on a bed before turning to close the door, and waiting for his return seemed an eternity to her. But at last, he came to her side and helped her out of her clothes. She reached to undress him, but he was already naked. Teresa had time to wonder How in the Fade did he do that? before his hands found her skin and all connection with rational thought was severed.

- – - – -

Casidhe looked down at Teresa, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

Maker, he thought, I haven't prayed to you since Father died. Truth is, I haven't had much to say. But this is the first time in all my life I've ever felt your presence, so I wanted to talk about it. So here goes.

I know this is your doing, because I never could have found someone this wonderful on my own. He stroked her lovely hair; she moaned softly and pressed her cheek against his naked chest. And there's no chance that she'd fall for someone like me unless you willed it so. Question is, why?

Did you decide I've been alone long enough? Did you want me to find someone who believes in you, to show me how to forgive you? Or are you planning to take her away from me and see what I do then?

Now you and I, we've had our differences, but you can't deny that I've never asked you for anything. So you know what it means for me to come to you like this. I'll do anything you say, but I ask you - I beg of you...

Don't let her wake up tomorrow and decide this was a mistake.

Teresa

Casidhe found little to hold his interest in South Reach. His feelings about the Templars kept him from looking for work in Lothering, until he overheard a group of men talking about Black Torin and took to the road without a backward glance...

Three months ago

Casidhe knew he had less than two minutes to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow before his next lesson began. He didn't mind; he needed the practice, and he felt like he was getting through to some of these people. Besides, more clients meant more money...

His next client turned out to be a human woman, close to his age and height, with a wave of shining red hair. She was dressed to move, and wore her own sword. She was also beautiful in his eyes, but he pushed that aside; business was business. "Are you Casidhe?" she asked.

Casidhe nearly panicked. Did Black Torin send her? No, that was stupid. "Indeed I am," he replied, with what he hoped was his most dazzling smile. "Casidhe Fionnlagh, trainer of duelists in the Orlesian fashion."

"Good. I'd like a lesson, please."

She reached for her coin purse, but Casidhe waved his hand. "You can pay me after the lesson, Ms...?"

"Miss Corwin."

"Honored to meet you, Miss Corwin. I fear the weather's turning, though; shall we head into the gymnasium?"

She nodded and followed him inside. Full of warm summer air, it wasn't much of a gym, really - Casidhe had been in nicer barns - but it was convenient to the field, and not too crowded. She seemed put off by his charm, so he decided to drop it. "Do you have any former martial training?" he asked her once they'd found a spot.

"Sort of. My father taught me a little, when he was around. I'm not very strong; is that a problem?"

Was her father dead, too? "Not really. Most foes you'll face will be stronger than you anyway; I have the same problem. But dueling is about making the most of what you've got. You're right-handed; that's good. May I see your sword, please?"

Miss Corwin drew it and handed it to him. "Just as I thought. This sword's much too heavy for you. Truth be told, it's too heavy for me."

"Sorry," she said, annoyed. "It's all I can afford."

"I meant no offense, miss. Please, use mine for now." The blade went from his scabbard to her hand before she could object. Her attention focused on the sword's beauty before she realized how much more natural it felt in her hand. "Now," Casidhe said, "show me your fighting stance."

It took her a moment, and Casidhe knew right away that they had a lot of work to do. "Here, like me." He snapped to attention automatically. "Your right foot should point at me, and the sword's too close to your face..."

He spent most of the session addressing her bad habits while trying to manage her temper. She found the work frustrating, and was jealous of how naturally it came to him. She refused to quit, though, and by the time another client demanded his turn, Casidhe was sure that Miss Corwin had learned something - and she thanked him for his time as she paid.

"Come back next week," he told her, "and I'll teach you to parry, Miss Corwin."

"You'll teach me tomorrow, Mr. Fionnlagh," she said with a smile, handing his sword back to him, leaving the gym as the rain began to fall.

* * *

Miss Corwin took three more lessons that week, and was reasonably good at defending herself by the end. But every lesson had been cut short by new clients.

"Come by at noon," Casidhe told her as he took her coins. "Most everyone's taking lunch then. I'll have more time for you, Miss Corwin."

"Call me Teresa."

"As you like it, Teresa." To Casidhe, saying the name was like a mouthful of glittering jewels.

* * *

Two weeks after the lessons began, Teresa asked Casidhe, "My father's asked me to invite you to our home for dinner tonight."

"I would love to," he answered, unable to think of anything he would rather do.

Once the arrangements were made, Casidhe stopped giving lessons that day. He went to the Blue Bottle, the inn where he was bouncing in exchange for room and board. He bathed and shaved, helped himself to a good bottle of wine, and made his way across town to the tenement.

A squat, broad-shouldered man in his fifties answered the door, his ruddy face breaking into a wide grin. "At last!" he said, clapping Casidhe on the shoulder as he passed into the home. "I'm Jaedar Corwin. Teresa had to step out for a moment; please, come in and make yourself at home." He took the wine bottle from Casidhe and squinted at the label as he closed the door.

It only took a moment for Casidhe to take in the small room. Food covered a table, ringed by four chairs; a large, overstuffed couch showed signs of constant occupation. He noticed a tiny shrine in one corner, adjacent to a display of weapons and armor. Between a wash basin and a chest of drawers, an open doorway led off to another room - probably the only other room. It didn't add up to much, but Casidhe felt more at home here than he ever had in the MacDaer estate.

Jaedar limped across the room and settled in the couch before asking, "Are you any relation to Brandeouf Fionnlagh?"

How has this man heard of my father? Casidhe wondered as he took a seat at the table. "Yes, sir. He was my father. Did you know him?"

"Only by reputation. I was a fighting man in my youth, you see. I heard he once slew four men in ten seconds without even breaking a sweat."

"He never told me any stories, but the ones I heard from other people were a lot like that, yeah."

They talked for a few minutes until Teresa came through the front door, a loaf of bread in her hands. She waved to Casidhe, then stopped to kiss her father's cheek. As the Corwins chatted, Casidhe examined the breastplate near the shrine. The craftsmanship was extraordinary - and the markings were Templar.

What had Casidhe gotten himself into?

Suddenly Teresa's hand was on his shoulder. "Thank you for coming. Sorry I was out, but our bread was moldy and - are you all right?"

"Are you a Templar, sir?" he asked Jaedar.

"I was. Once I hurt my leg I wasn't much use to them any more."

Teresa sat next to Casidhe at the table."Is there a problem?" Her eyes were a shade of blue that Casidhe had never seen before.

These are good people, Casidhe. They're not out to get you. For the Maker's sake, say something! "The Templars in Denerim gave my family a hard time once."

"That sort of thing's not limited to Denerim, I'm sorry to say." Jaedar worked the wine bottle open as he spoke. "When I was among them, it was just the cost of doing business. Now that I'm out, I see things... differently."

"I'm relieved to hear you say that, sir."

"Me, I'll be relieved once we've all had some of this wine."

* * *

"What do you think of him?" Teresa asked after Casidhe had gone home.

Jaedar looked up from the wash basin, where he was dealing with dishes. "Rough around the edges. Not as sure of himself as he wants you to think. And he's running from something, but I'm not sure what."

"You know, I didn't like him at first - he was so chummy, and so much better than me. And me made it look so damned easy."

"He's got a lifetime of training from a father who didn't love him very much. You've got two weeks with him, and all the terrible stuff I've tried to show you."

"He's helped me so much already... if I could afford to hire him all for myself, I would."

"You might not have to." He placed the last dish to dry, and looked up to see his daughter staring at him. "What, you didn't notice? That boy is crazy about you." When Teresa laughed and shook her head, he added "You're beautiful, Teresa, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your father."

"You really think he fancies me?"

"I do. You know there's only one way to be sure.."

Don't Look Back

Last year

Casidhe tried to get up to take care of his unconscious boss, but the Princess Anna's captain forced him back down, and one of the deckhands slung Sim over his shoulder, presumably taking him to a bunk down below to sleep it off. "Let us handle ’im," Captain Fallon said. "I'm enjoyin' yer company, and yer not near drunk enough yet."

And I won't be, as long as you're serving this swill, Casidhe thought behind his smile. But he feigned affection for the grog all the same. That afternoon, the ship had returned from a perilous voyage loaded with exotic silks, and the crew’s celebration had raged all over the city before ending up back here. With Sim and the deckhand gone, the galley belonged to Casidhe and the captain alone. He might not get another chance like this.

Casidhe let the captain finish his drink and pour himself another before he began. "So Captain, indulge me if you will. Earlier on, at the Golden Flask, you said that you were worried about being boarded by the navy.” Sim had shushed Fallon at the time; hopefully, the captain wouldn’t remember that part. “Some reason for that, beyond the usual?”

“Aye, it’s because Torin got greedy this trip, an’ we couldn’t fit all th’ swag in th’ blasted smuggler’s hold.” The captain swigged his grog again with a stupid grin.

Torin? Black Torin, the pirate? Casidhe once heard Phelan tell a friend about one of Torin’s lackeys coming to Luthais with a business proposition, only to be led away from the MacDaer estate in irons. Sim hadn’t been part of that meeting – or, at least, he told Casidhe that he hadn’t.

One of Sim’s ships was smuggling pirate goods into Denerim – and had done it before, if the words “this trip” were followed to their logical conclusion. If Luthais had refused Torin’s proposal… and Phelan had talked about it in front of Casidhe…then Sim must have made that deal.

And in exchange, Black Torin’s men moved Sim into power.

Wait, that didn’t make any sense. Thugs attacked Sim and Casidhe, and the authorities found documents showing Phelan’s guilt. Still, Phelan had been attacked too, or so he’d claimed, and documents could be forged…

This all ran through his mind in an instant. Casidhe raised his tankard to salute the captain. “Then it’s good that fortune smiled upon you today.” They clanked mugs together, and Fallon drained his again, not noticing that the duelist set his right back down. “Torin could never have done this without the MacDaer reputation,” Casidhe said. Fallon became the Princess Anna's captain after Luthais’s death, and barely knew Casidhe outside of these drunken revels; it was time to see what he knew. Set the hook, wait for a bite.

“Aye,” said Fallon. “Costs him ten percent of every haul, but it’s worth it.”

“And what about the sacrifices that the family made?” Casidhe kept his tone bon vivant; a friendly demeanor always worked for Sim.

“Cost of doin’ business,” Fallon replied. “Torin tried with Luthais first; to the Fade with ‘im if 'e don’t know a good deal when ‘e sees it. And that Phelan was so far up ‘is father’s arse that t’kill one was t’kill t’other.”

Fallon had no reason to lie. Casidhe weighed those words carefully as other facts came back to him. It had been Sim’s idea for Casidhe to train with his father in the old house on the night Brandeouf died. Luthais was left under the protection of lesser retainers on his trip to the docks that night… and Brandeouf was ambushed on his way back from the MacDaer estate.

He remembered visiting a girl that night – a last-minute decision he regretted at the time. Would he have been killed, too, if he’d been where Sim expected him to be?

Casidhe’s head swam in the sea of lies, and his guts squirmed. “Ye all right there, boyo?” asked the captain. "Ya look green about th' gills, thar."

“Not as such, no. I believe I’ll take some air.”

* * *

Casidhe stood by the hatch to the crew’s quarters, looking down at the moonlight shining on his dagger. Sim was down there somewhere; in the work of a moment, Brandeouf Fionnlagh and the others could be avenged.

Father wouldn’t want that, and you know it. You’re not a murderer. And you can’t call Sim out for a duel... he’d never stand a chance against you, and duels are for honorable men. Never lower yourself to the level of trash like him.

What do you do, then? Turn him in, and pray that the law can protect you from those pirates? Act like you don’t know, and wait for Sim’s sorry life to catch up with him? Fall on your sword?

This was all too much. He needed to get away and clear his head before he could think it through. Casidhe sheathed his knife, walked down the gangplank to the dock, and into the street, still crowded even at this late hour. It felt good to leave Sim behind him, so he kept walking. The more he walked, the better he felt. By sunrise, he’d left Denerim, the city of his birth, the only world he’d ever known, behind him, without so much as a backward glance.

Casidhe wasn’t sure where this road went; he only hoped that it would lead him to something honorable.

Brotherhood

Two years ago

Too angry with the Maker and the Prophet and the whole damned lot of them to find any solace in prayer, Casidhe wept until no more tears would come. When he was done, he unbuckled the sword belt from his father's lifeless body and fastened it around his own waist. The blades were his now, whether he deserved them or not.

This was no end for a man like Brandeouf, laid out on a dining room table, waiting for a hearse that should have arrived hours ago. It was no end for Luthais MacDaer, either - his corpse, still riddled with arrows, lay on the room's other table - but Luthais was his best friend's father, not his own.

The story of Brandeouf's final hour wasn't in the deep gash across his chest, but in the tiny cut on his arm, and the muddy green stain on the surrounding flesh. A poisoned blade, Casidhe thought. The bastards never would have taken him down otherwise.

Not that Casidhe had any idea who those bastards were. The many foes that Brandeouf had slain before he fell bore no identifying papers, and no one knew their faces – not the MacDaers, not the law, nobody. And no one got a good look at the archer who killed Luthais on the docks, either; the queer scarlet feathers which fletched the deadly arrows seemed like a clue, but they, too, were unfamiliar to everyone involved. Casidhe was sure of two things, though: the attack on Sim and himself earlier in the day was no mere mugging, and Luthais never would have died if Brandeouf had been there. That makes it your fault, he thought, but he pushed the idea to the side for now.

He planned to stick close to Sim in the MacDaer estate until the family's agents came back with news of the attackers, or until they found Phelan. Sim was worried sick by his brother's disappearance; they'd never really gotten along, but the MacDaers stood on the brink of extinction.

But what about the Fionnlaughs? With Brandeouf's death, Casidhe was now the last of his family. He started to cry again. Sleepy and exhausted, he yearned to have a drink, but he'd promised to remain with his father until the undertakers arrived, and he needed to keep his wits about him until the danger had passed.

He sat alone in his thoughts until a crash rang in the hall. By the time he heard Sim crying out for help, Casidhe had already reached the parlor. He saw Sim standing behind a marble display stand, the vase it once held smashed to pieces on the tiled floor. Phelan stood on the other side of the stand - the side closer to Casidhe - with a bloody dagger in his hand. Blood streamed freely from a gash on Sim's right arm.

"Casidhe! Thank the Maker! Phelan's trying to kill me!"

"Stay out of it, Fionnlagh," Phelan said.

Sim kept yelling: "He's behind the whole thing, Cas! He had our fathers killed, and he tried to do the same to us!"

Sim tried to slip around the stand, but Phelan was too quick for him. "Do you really think he's dumb enough to believe you, Sim? Your thugs tried to kill me, too, but I didn't have a duelist to save me."

Casidhe took a step toward them; when Phelan glanced over his shoulder, Sim made a break for it, circling the room so that Casidhe stood between him and his brother. Phelan tensed to pursue, but froze when Casidhe struck a defensive posture.

"Come on, Fionnlagh; think about it," Phelan said to Casidhe. "I could never raise my hand against our father - against anybody. And Sim has the most to gain from all this. You can see that; I know you can."

Pointing his sword at Phelan, Sim turned his head to face Sim and asked "Is this true?"

"Cas." Sim raised his hands, palms up, right hand shaking. That wound might be worse than it looked. "You've known me for almost your whole life. I've never lied to you before."

"Then tell me the truth now. Are you behind this? Did you... did you have our fathers murdered?!"

'No," he said quietly.

You’ll have to listen to your head, and your heart, and decide what’s right. Casidhe turned back to Phelan's incredulous face. "Let the law decide," Casidhe said before Phelan could protest. "They'll be here soon anyway."

Phelan's mouth drew to a straight white line, and the knife came up in his hand.

"Don't," Casidhe said. "You know you can't win."

But Phelan dashed across the room, lunging at Casidhe with the gracelessness of a man who only wore a blade for show. Easy enough to subdue him now, Casidhe thought. He dropped to one side and extended his right leg; Phelan tripped over it and fell flat on his stomach with a blood-curdling shriek. Casidhe dropped to Phelan's side and rolled him over to see that the man had landed on his own dagger, pierced through the heart.

"No," Casidhe breathed. "Oh, no."

*

Sim did most of the talking when the watch arrived, allowing Casidhe to see the fathers off when the undertakers finally showed up. He slept through the day and most of the following night in the grip of illness, and much of what happened in the following weeks seemed like an ongoing fever dream. When evidence of Phelan's plot came to light, Sim was cleared of any wrongdoing. His first act as head of the family business was to formally hire Casidhe as his bodyguard...

Lessons

Two years ago

"Are you all right, son?" Brandeouf asked as Casidhe entered the kitchen, sparing a moment to look up from his soup.

"Fine," Casidhe replied. "Some ruffians jumped us outside the tavern, but I took care of it." His frilly shirt had fared much worse than he himself had.

"I heard." The reply was flat, even for Brandeouf.

"The Templars came," Casidhe said with his usual contempt for that subject, "of course, but there were twenty witnesses. We didn't have any problems."

"Good."

He doesn't seem angry, Casidhe thought. But who can tell? This could be going worse, anyway... "Anyway, the fight... it wasn't easy for me. I was sloppy, out of practice. I know I could have done better."

"Oh?" Brandeouf sipped at his spoon, eyes on his son, unblinking.

He's going to make you ask, so you may as well get it over with. "I want to start training with you again, Father. If you'll have me," he added quickly.

Brandeouf returned the spoon to his bowl. "This isn't the first time we've been here, son. Why will this time be any different?"

"Because this time, I want to."

"Maybe you're just afraid of what might happen the next time you get in a fight."

"I won't lie to you; that's part of it. But I really want to try again."

Brandeouf's chair squeaked as he pushed it back from the table. With one last dab of his mustache, he set his napkin down, and moved for a better look at his son. Finally, he said, "You're serious, aren't you?" When Casidhe nodded, Brandeouf said, "All right. I'll meet you in the training room in the morning."

"No." Brandeouf cocked an eyebrow at his son's exclamation. "Not here. Let's practice at home. In our own house. Tonight."

"Want to start all over, do you?"

"I do. It was Sim's idea."

"It's a good idea. I'll see you there."

***

The session was better than Casidhe had dared to dream. He absorbed more in three hours than he had in the last six years, and he couldn't recall ever feeling closer to his father. Something about coming home, quiet and dusty as it was, had made all the difference.

They stopped only when both were too exhausted to go on. Casidhe got up to leave, explaining that he had somewhere else to be.

"Sim?" his father asked.

"Not tonight. It's about a girl."

"I see. Is she interested in you? Or in Sim's money?"

"That's what I've got to find out," Casidhe replied with a wink. To his surprise, the ghost of a smile appeared on Brandeouf's face.

"Two things to remember, son. First: a woman with her fingers around your heart is the most dangerous of foes. Second: there's more pretty girls than one."

"I'll keep that in mind, Father. See you in the morning."

"I look forward to that," said Brandeouf, saluting his son with his dagger as he left.

***

Brandeouf was right to be wary of the girl, but Casidhe never had the chance to tell him. The next time he saw his father, Brandeouf was dead.

The Code

Eight years ago

Casidhe’s sword slipped from his sweaty fingers as he landed on his backside. No amount of air could soothe his burning lungs; muscles ached that he’d never even felt before. And his head still rang from the night before…

“You used to be so much better at this,” said Brandeouf, looking down at him. “How sad to think that you hit your peak at the age of ten.”

“Sod off,” Casidhe growled, struggling to regain his feet – he knew better than to ask his father for help. He never would have dared to address his father in such a manner at that age, either. “There’s more to my life than this now.”

“Oh yes. Why learn a trade when you’ve got Sim to take you out drinking and whoring every night?”

“He’s a better friend to me than you ever were.”

“You’re damned right. I’m your father, not your friend.” Brandeouf snapped his sword and dagger back into their sheaths. “But you know, my own father died before I was born. And I never thought I’d be a father myself… so I’ve raised you the only way I’ve known, to be like me. But you’re almost a man, now, and I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“What’re you saying?” Casidhe had never seen his father act like this before.

“I’m saying that you’re free. I’ll continue to train you, if you want, but only if it’s something you truly want to do. If you’d rather live in the sewers, I won’t stop you. I only ask that you pay heed to one last lesson.”

Where was he going with this? Casidhe wondered. He stumbled his way into a chair, watching as Brandeouf searched for the right words.

“Being a duelist,” said Brandeouf, “isn’t about fighting. It’s about the code. It’s about wanting to be more than you are, being part of something bigger than yourself. Our ideals are what elevate us from every thug with a blade on those streets.”

“You’ve told me this before,” Casidhe said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but you need to know why. Someday, Maker willing, you’ll be a man. And you’ll face decisions that are harder than anything you’ve ever faced before. What’s important to me is that you do the right thing. Not what I’d tell you to do, not what Sim thinks you should do, or what you think will impress some girl… not what’s easy. You’ll have to listen to your head, and your heart, and decide what’s right.”

“And the code says what’s right.”

“It’s as good a way to live as any.”

Casidhe leaned forward in his chair. “The code that says to offer mercy when it’s asked for, even when you know the bastard will stab you in the back as soon as you’ve turned it.”

Brandeouf nodded. “That’s always a risk. But sometimes, your example can – “

“Are we done here?” Casidhe stood up, legs uncertain, and headed for the door.

“Off with Sim again, I’m sure. I pity poor Islene, how she must weep to look down on what’s become of her son.”

Casidhe froze. He could count the number of times Brandeouf had mentioned his late wife on one hand. His father, seeing that his words had hit home, said “Begone,” and Casidhe left the room.

- – - – -

Casidhe woke up the next day with no idea where he was or any memory of arriving there. His first thought was of his mother; he’d failed to kill the pain with drink.

It was the first attempt of what would be many.

The Duelist's Son

[This begins a series of posts summarizing the background of Casidhe Fionnlagh, my PC in the Silent Winter campaign.]

Sixteen years ago

Casidhe Fionnlagh wandered around the parlor, staring at the paintings. This one's the worst, he thought. This swordsman's posture is all wrong... well, at least it's something to look at.

Nobody ever decorated their parlors for the enjoyment of children, and Casidhe had seen enough of them to be sure of that. He'd been left in so many during his father's endless meetings; still, Father seemed sure that today would be different. Casidhe could only hope that he was right.

A door opened, and a dark-haired human boy, no more than a year older than Casidhe, entered the room. "You've got a sword," the boy said.

Casidhe looked down at the short sword at his hip. "Sure do," he said.

"Can you use it?"

"Yeah." Not well enough to please Father, he thought, but better than you, I'll wager.

"Who are you?" the boy asked. "You a friend of Phelan's?"

"Uh, no," Casidhe said. "Who's Phelan?"

"My brother." The boy waved his hand dismissively, as if Phelan wasn't worth talking about.

"No, I'm here with my father. Name's Casidhe."

The boy shook his hand vigorously. "Pleased to meet you, Casidhe. I'm Sim." Sim leaped into one of the stuffed chairs, kicking his feet. "What's your dad doing here?"

"Visiting Luthais MacDaer."

With a nod, Sim said "Yeah, that's my dad. He mentioned that he's got meetings today. Your dad needs a job, huh? How come?"

"He used to work for someone else," Cas replied. "But something happened, and they aren't friends any more. Father's been looking for a steady job for months now."

"Well, he's come at the right time. My dad's looking for a new bodyguard."

"My father's not a bodyguard," Casidhe said, his hands balling into fists. "He's a duelist."

Sim threw his hands up. "Fine! I didn't know there's a difference."

"There's a world of difference," Casidhe said. His posture relaxed, but his voice was still insistent. "A duelist fights with honor. A duelist never breaks his word. A duelist always -"

"All right, all right! What, are you a duelist too?"

"Not yet. But Father's teaching me, and someday I will be."

"Huh." Sim got up and walked toward a portrait of his family. "Phelan's gonna inherit the business someday, so I don't know what I'm gonna - "

Another door opened, and Casidhe's father, Brandeouf, came in. The man wasn't smiling, but Casidhe knew him well enough to know that he was happy. "I've taken the job," the duelist announced. "We'll spend the night at the house; in the morning, we'll be moving in - hello, you must be Sim."

"Yes, sir." Sim was distracted by the sight of Brandeouf's ornate blades.

"I'm Brandeouf Fionnlagh. My son and I just became part of your life, Sim. I'm sure the two've you will be very good friends."

Sim looked back at Casidhe, smiled, and said "Of course."

III Interlude: Avenger

Aramis moved through the door back to Goblintown, seeking the source of the moaning that Owen had heard. There was no sign of the mystic who’d fled this way – no sign of anyone. Good, he thought. Let that be a lesson to any goblin who’d rather fight than talk. Whoever’s still alive that’s strongest will take over now; I just hope they remember –

The moaning came from behind him, above the doorway. The cleric held up his sunrod, illuminating the hobgoblin he’d questioned before, hanging upside down above the door. Blood ran from both of his feet, pinned to the wall with a single, massive nail.

“By the Queen!” Aramis said, scarcely aware of Azal’s brief presence at his side. At once the cleric piled up some of the chamber’s junk in an attempt to reach the hobgoblin and get him down. With sweat in his eyes and rage in his heart, the cleric finally completed his grisly work, lowering the hobgoblin onto a long table.

The hobgoblin’s moans settled down into ragged breathing. Knowing that his time was short, Aramis pronounced two healing words upon the hobgoblin. The creature regained enough strength to open his eyes and focus them upon Aramis. He drew a breath to speak, but only coughed up blood. Aramis placed a hand over the hobgoblin’s chest, finding it easy to keep him flat on the table.

“Easy,” said the cleric. “Easy.”

The hobgoblin stopped squirming. “The chieftain is dead?” he finally asked.

“Yes, he is. Your tribe has fled Goblintown.”

The hobgoblin grunted and sat up with obvious difficulty, looking at his wounded feet. “Maybe you should have left me to the rats after all. I might have been spared this torment.”

“What’s your name?”

“Maelgrek,” said the hobgoblin, a little surprised by the question.

“Maelgrek, you’ve been knocking on death’s door since you fought us. If you really wanted to die, you would’ve. But instead, you chose to live – and you were strong enough to do it.”

“But everything I had to live for is gone.” Maelgrek tore a rag off his tunic and began to clean himself up. “My chieftain is dead, and whatever’s left of my tribe will never take me back.”

“Then you’ll have to find something else to live for.”

Maelgrek stopped and looked at Aramis for what seemed like the first time. “You sound like a man who knows what he’s talking about,” the hobgoblin said.

“I’ve been there before, yes. It’s not easy; I won’t lie to you. But it’s a big world. I suggest you have a look around before you give up.”

Aramis heard Owen in the throne room announcing his imminent departure. Thinking quickly, he said “You can travel north, with Owen. He could use the company, and there’s sure to be someone in Ossington who could use your services.”

Maelgrek pondered the cleric’s words before nodding his head. “If there’s nothing for me in the Sunless Citadel,” said the hobgoblin, “maybe I can find something there.”

Aramis clapped Maelgrek on the shoulder and gathered himself to stand, but the hobgoblin clamped his hand over the cleric’s. “What is your name, human?”

“Aramis.”

“Thank you, Aramis, for your help. How can I repay you?”

“Make the most of the opportunity you’ve been given.”

“I will, make no mistake. But maybe I can tell you something about what’s down in the Twilight Grove.”

- – - – -

After Owen and Maelgrek were gone, Aramis rejoined Azal and Erky in the throne room, his face more grave than usual. “What’s wrong?” Azal asked at once.

“I need to make a vow,” replied the cleric. “I’d appreciate it if you’d witness it.”

“Sure, lad,” said Erky.

Aramis drew the longsword that he’d been carrying and held it aloft. With his eyes closed, he recited the words that Brother Perceval had taught him, a sacred rite of vengeance culminating in “Let all who defy the Raven Queen be delivered into her embrace.”

He knew at once that the ritual had succeeded; the path to divine vengeance was now open to him. He opened his eyes to see Azal and Erky exchanging puzzled, concerned glances. “Everything all right?” Azal asked.

“It will be,” replied Aramis. “I believe that it will be.”

Cold Blood Interlude: Bearer of Bad Tidings

“The others wanted me to give you this.” Joris placed one of the tiny red crystals in Tarsem’s outstretched hand. “It’ll let them contact you if they need you.”

Tarsem’s green eyes lingered on the crystal still in Joris’s hand. “They gave one to you, as well.” He wasn’t asking.

“That’s right. I, um, I’m not traveling with them any more. My responsibility to my shrine is getting in the way.”

“Of course.” Tarsem pocketed his crystal. “How is my sister? I haven’t seen much of her since I arrived in Sigil.”

“Sheen’s fine. She was worried about Haden… honestly, I haven’t seen her that much either. Listen, have you seen Tulio? I’ve got some bad news for him.”

“He was at Chirper’s when I left.”

Joris uttered his thanks and left the Library of the Lady, headed for the Market Ward.

- – - – -

Tulio wasn’t at Chirper’s, but Sigrund pointed Joris to Thea’s shrine in The Lady’s Ward. His happiness at seeing Joris dissipated as the weight on the cleric’s shoulders became clear.

They adjourned to the tiny courtyard behind the shrine, a garden shared with the millinery next door. The din of Transformant’s Square was diminished here, giving an odd serenity to the scene.

“There’s no easy way for me to say this,” said Joris. “So I hope you’ll forgive me for just saying it. Thazia’s gone.”

“Gone?” Tulio scratched his head absently. “The undead have taken over?”

“No, Tulio, it’s been destroyed. The entire world… it’s been destroyed.”

Tulio backed into the bench before sitting on it. “How did it happen?”

Joris recounted the story, trying to remember every detail. Tulio didn’t look up until Joris was done, his expression strangely vacant. He drew a deep breath, then said “I may be all that’s left of Thazia.”

“Maybe. A proper diviner could tell you -“

“I need to write it all down.” Tulio was on his feet again. “All the stories, the history. The places I saw. Everything.”

Joris looked to the gate; when he turned back to Tulio, the young man was right in his face. “If I die,” Tulio said, “it’s all gone. I’ve got to tell Thazia’s story.”

“Mal may know someone with a press” was the only thing Joris could think of to say.

“Perfect.”

They talked for a while after that. Tulio didn’t seem very upset to Joris; the cleric had the impression that Thazia had died for him long ago. He needed little consolation – and how do you help someone grieve for an entire world? Sigil probably had somebody who knew the answer…

Once he was sure that Tulio was all right, Joris got up to excuse himself. “Where are you off to?” asked Tulio.

“Back to the Circle, so I can prepare a sending prayer. Kalisa knows where Faodhagan is. I need to tell Catriona.”

Aramis Journal Entry 7

[March 12th, 103 CY]

Slept fitfully, coming back to myself after all the dreaming. I dreamed of Sharwyn in a cloak of black feathers; I can only hope that it’s my own morbid mind, and not some glimpse of truth, that’s responsible for such imagery. In our obsession with finding Talgen, I sometimes feel like she’s being forgotten. Please, Sharwyn, be safe…

Azal’s bites responded well to treatment, with no sign of scarlet plague (so far). I’ll have to keep an eye on her.

The dwarf, Erky Timbers, accompanied us back to the secret chamber, where we rested while Meepo took the kobolds back to his people. He told us his story; the important part was that Talgen, Sharwyn, and Karakas were also prisoners of the goblins, until they were taken to the Twilight Grove, a place deep in the earth. That’s where the Gulthias Tree is, which provides the goblins’ apples.

A druid named Belak wanted Talgen and his friends for some reason. We don’t know for what reason, but if that’s where they’ve gone, that’s where we must go. Erky has agreed to come with us, but I can already tell that there will be friction between him and Meepo. Maybe they’ll work it out on their own; if not, I will have to set things right.

After we collected Meepo, Erky led us into a part of the goblin territory he’d seen once, during an escape attempt. From there we made our way into a trophy room, where Meepo’s dragon, Calcryx, attacked us!

I never believed that I’d face a dragon in combat; he was small, but big enough to hurt us. Calcryx focused his attacks on poor Meepo, and very nearly killed us all. Once the dragon was bloodied, though, we convinced him of our strength, and he agreed to return to the kobold enclave, though under new conditions. If only I’d learned Draconic and not Dwarven…

We’ll have to get out of here quickly.

-Aramis

The Threshold Episode 6: Wrath of the Goddess

The castaways rested. By the time they felt ready to press on, they could hear scratching at the top of the collapsed shaft. The prospect of facing more goblins or orcs convinced them to make haste.

They followed the tunnel behind the secret door to a vast underground chamber, its walls beyond the range of Alistina’s light of Lunia. To the east they saw three niches, similar to the storerooms above; one section of the south wall looked like smooth, worked stone.

Theronna, now recovered from her ghoul fever, started toward the first niche, the others trailing behind her. A brick wall separated the chamber from the next niche; it contained an upraised slab of stone in its exact center. Idly touching the tender wound on his chest left by the crossbow trap, Zeke moved closer to the slab, saying “Somebody with keener eyes’n mine should check this out…”

Eilir, who’d been standing behind Zeke, nodded and moved to examine the room. Alistina moved to the second niche, where she found a similar slab, with the body of a man upon it.

He was dressed in rich blue garments and dulled scale mail. A bastard sword lay by his right hand; a golden coronet adorned his brow. His flesh was pallid, yet undecayed, with old cuts and bruises still vivid. His eyes were open, unmoving.

Crudely carved into the slab was this message:

Viledel
Sea King
Tamed the Islands
Laid Low by Pirates

“There’s a body over here,” Alistina called to the others. Zeke stopped Eilir with an outstretched hand, and she grabbed his arm.

Eilir readied her wand. She, Zeke, and Theronna moved around the brick wall to the second niche to see what Alistina had found. “What in the Hells?” Zeke muttered. Theronna drew her sword as Alistina drew closer to the body – and suddenly the king’s eyes turned upon her, and he lurched off the slab with a dreadful moan.

Viledel clawed at the woman, but she was too quick for him. Theronna closed the distance in a flash; her upswing sheared off the back of the Sea-King’s skull and pivoted him around to face her. Zeke aimed his blow for where Viledel would have been, falling short of the mark. Alistina blasted him in the chest with the light of the Heavens, and a low groan issued from what was left of him.

Another figure shuffled into view from the third niche, the vestige of Liala, the Sea-King’s wife. She lunged at Eilir, who seared a magic missile right through the zombie’s skull.

Theronna took a blow to the jaw from Viledel, spoiling her attack. Zeke’s strike severed both of the zombie’s outstretched arms; he kicked Viledel between the shoulder blades, causing him to keel over and expire with another terrible sigh. Once sure Viledel was down, Zeke ran over to the queen, trying to get between her and Eilir.

Alistina snatched the sword from the slab and swung it at Liala in one fluid motion, nearly severing her leg. The zombie snarled and rounded on Alistina, but the reach of her new weapon kept the creature at bay.

Eilir forced her way between Alistina and Zeke, scorching the zombie with a burning hands spell. At once Liala was wreathed in flame; she crashed against the brick wall and slumped to the ground, burning back down into death.

Alistina looked down at the sword in awe. It felt right in her hands, like a gift from Helm himself. The name “Khaven” was engraved upon the blade in Dwarven runes.

Zeke looked at Eilir. “Ya didn’t have ta… we were gonna… Thanks.” He put his sword away.

“I just wanted to help,” replied the wizard.

“I’d say ya did.” Smirking, Zeke nodded at the burning corpse. Eilir smiled and blushed lightly.

While Theronna busied herself with stripping off Viledel’s scale mail, the others returned to exploring the chamber. The third niche contained another stone slab with another crude inscription:

Queen Liala
Laid Low by Pirates
Rests Beside the Sea King

This last niche had a brick wall to the south, which wrapped around the corner and continued into the main chamber. Along this part of the wall they found a plaque which read:

Here Lies Prince Horedel
Brought Down by Illness
In the Twentieth Year of Viledel’s Reign

“Did Osric mention this Horedel?” asked Zeke.

Eilir nodded. “Viledel’s son. And my father told me stories about them when I was younger.”

“I don’t remember when I was younger,” said Theronna, strapping herself into her newfound armor.

“This wall’s different from the others,” Eilir said, her fingertips brushing along the bricks. “I bet the Prince is behind it.”

They searched, but found no way to get through the wall. Alistina wandered over to the smooth section on the south side of the wall, where she found a lever. A great crashing sound boomed forth when she pulled it, and the smooth wall broke up into its component stones, tumbling out into the ocean. A great blast of cold wind and rain sliced into the chamber – and it was nearly dark outside.

“Oh,” said Zeke. “Good.” He leaned out to see if the boat lay outside the chamber, but saw nothing.

Eilir asked for Zeke’s help with removing the plaque from the brick wall. Scowling, the farmboy asked “Ain’t we wrecked enough crypts yet?”

“This might help us find the boat, Zeke. Please?” She batted her eyelashes at him; with a noncommittal grunt, he moved to help her. The wall gave a hollow ring as the plaque scraped against it. Zeke kicked at the wall, and Eilir bashed it with the plaque, but did little damage.

As Theronna and Alistina approached, Eilir shouted “The JAVELIN!”

“From the library!” Alistina was already backing away from the wall. “Good idea, Eilir!”

“Wait!” hissed Theronna. Her longsword was already in her hand. “I hear something!”

Eilir cocked her arm back to the javelin, but froze at Theronna’s warning. Voices carried from the far end of the tunnel. Were they speaking Orcish? Goblin?

No. Both.

“We’re getting out of here now,” announced Eilir. She threw the javelin toward the wall, shouting “TALOS!” at the top of her lungs. The missile transformed into a brilliant bolt of lightning which blasted the wall into rubble, sending dust and huge chunks of brick all over the room. Through the dust they saw a small galley, about thirty feet long.

“The boat!” Theronna cleared a path through the rubble to reach it. “We’ve got to drag it to the water.”

“Perfect,” said Eilir. “I’ve got the navigational charts; I can get us out of here. Come on!”

Zeke followed, a bit dazed, saying “It turned inta… inta lightning.”

“That’s magic for you, farmboy,” Alistina said with a chuckle.

Eilir climbed onto the boat, where she saw a body at its center, wrapped in linens and surrounded by grave-goods. She saw some chests, a suit of chainmail, and some weapons – but more importantly she saw a well-oiled sail and sturdy oars. This boat was seaworthy. “There’s another body up here,” she said.

Getting into position to push the boat, Alistina yelled “Get rid of it!”

Eilir rolled the Prince off the boat, and the body hit the ground with an undignified thud. “Sorry, fella,” said Zeke, carrying the body to one of the stone slabs, “matter a’ life ‘n’ death.” The voices of the humanoid pirates were drawing closer.

“ZEKE!” Theronna shouted. “Get back here and PUSH!”

Finally, the boat splashed into the water, and the castaways clamored aboard. “Wind’s against us!” Eilir said. “We need to row! We’ll be all right once we’re out to sea!”

They took to the oars and rowed with all their might. A huge force of orcs and goblins appeared in the chamber once the ship was about twenty yards out; they launched a flight of arrows at the boat, most splashed into the water, but a few stuck into the hull, the mast, or the oars.

Suddenly the wind shifted. The castaways hoisted the sail, lifting the boat out of range as a massive wave crashed into the tomb.

- – - – -

The boat rocked in the storm. The sky above was utterly swallowed by storm clouds. They could still see the island, as if lit by a faint glow.

“Is that a tornado?” Theronna asked, pointing at the sky above the island. It was, and only the first of many. They descended from the mantle of clouds and stripped great tracts of territory up into the air, disintegrating the ruined village, the manor, the barracks, and the stable. The orc and goblin ships were torn to pieces, their crews swept out to sea or dashed against the cliff sides.

By the time the boat was a quarter mile out to sea, the rocking had subsided. A great whirlwind of rocks and scrub and sand and sea rose to scour the island, and when it was done, the isle was gray-white and smooth, with no features to remind them of the island they’d shipwrecked upon only yesterday.

Then, all at once, the seas were calm and still. The clouds cleared, allowing the moon and the stars back into view. Their world became silence.

Zeke was the one to break it, simply saying “Dang.”

“All right,” Eilir said. With Theronna and Alistina exploring the ship, she asked Zeke to take the helm so she could plot a course.

“Right!” he said enthusiastically. “What’s a helm?”

“Hold this big wheel looking thing, and make sure we don’t go too far left or right.”

He did so. Once Eilir knew her course, she took the helm again, her fingers lightly brushing his. When he didn’t pull his hand away, she said “I was right, you know.”

”’Bout what, Miss Eilir?”

“I learned to navigate from my father. So, in a way, Daddy is saving us after all.”

Zeke was too exhausted to argue.

Eilir steered the ship toward Daggerford, and the sails found a favorable wind, speeding them toward home.

The Threshold Episode 5: Under the Manor

“He’s dead,” Alistina said, not finding a pulse along Osric’s neck. Zeke stared at Theronna, dumbfounded. The soldier took no notice, her attention fixed on the old man’s body, her face glistening with sweat and scarlet.

“We need to find that boat, now.” Eilir wasn’t sure if she should be shocked or grateful. She looked at the map and moved down the hall, wand out. “I don’t want to stay down here and test fate.”

“She’s right,” said Alistina. “I don’t want to be around for the destruction of the island.”

“Ya didn’t have to kill ‘im,” Zeke said softly to Theronna before turning away.

“Sure she did.” Alistina moved to where she could see Theronna’s face. “You did, didn’t you?” Getting no reply, she followed Eilir and Zeke down the tunnel.

Theronna knelt beside Osric, closing the old man’s eyes. “Sorry, Osric,” she sighed, holding his limp white hair in her hand. “One day I’ll meet you on the other side.”

The long white hair reminded her of a man in Waterdeep, the man who met the VIPs she’d escorted there. That’s right, she wasn’t attacked on the way to Waterdeep; it was on the way back. That man wasn’t to be trusted, either. What was his name…?

She coughed, the first in a chain of hacking coughs; she pulled herself together, then started after the others.

- – - – -

They entered the storeroom that Osric had marked “good weapons and armor” on their map, finding crates stacked precariously high along every wall.

Alistina said “Try your wand on those crates” to Eilir. The wizard nodded and moved into the room, not noticing the tripwire until her ankle had already found it. The crates came crashing down on her, bruising her back. One crate split open as it hit the floor, spilling out a pile of bricks.

Zeke and Theronna moved to dig her out, and Alistina provided some healing. The wizard put up a hard front, but still seemed to be on the brink of tears.

“Mebbe we should leave these storage rooms in peace,” Zeke suggested.

Eilir nodded and allowed him to help her back to her feet. With one loud sniff, she made her way back to the hall, where a rotted tapestry blocked their view of the corridor beyond. Zeke pushed it aside, allowing the magical light to illuminate another tapestry twenty feet beyond.

Zeke and Eilir approached the second tapestry. The farmboy nodded encouragement to her, and she replied with a weak smile before brushing the tapestry aside. Doing so tugged another wire tied to counterweights, which yanked out the beams supporting the hallway.

The wizard dove forward as dust and massive stones rained down upon the others. Stones pelted Alistina and Theronna; Zeke took a rock to the temple and fell to the ground, quickly buried under debris.

It was over in moments. Now crying openly, Eilir moved to uncover Zeke, with Theronna’s help. They found the farmboy bleeding and unconscious, but alive. The soldier used her knowledge of battlefield medicine to stabilize him; once Alistina mended her own wounds, she tended to the others, explaining that she was out of healing magic for the day.

Eilir dusted herself off as best she could. “Let’s get out of here. I shouldn’t lead us anymore, I know, but I can get us back to the mainland once we’re on the boat.”

“I’ll lead,” Zeke said, trying to shake off grogginess.

- – - – -

The second set of storerooms was much like the first, with crates stacked high in the first two and a circular stone-lined well in the third.

Theronna experienced another coughing fit as the castaways approached; seeing the looks of concern, she said “It’s nothing a good shot of whiskey can’t cure. Back in Silverymoon, every soldier acquires a taste for it.”

“I see,” said Zeke, without seeing. He went to examine the well, finding a bucket, but no rope. He turned his attention back to the crates, hoping to find something he could use to haul water; however, the boxes were filled with earth and rubbish.

“Strange,” said Eilir, “that someone would go to so much trouble to store – did you hear that?” She grabbed Zeke’s wrist and pulled him toward her. A scratching sound, faint at first, grew louder as several mangy-furred creatures wormed their way out from the crates – five rats the size of dogs.

The rats were upon them in a flash, biting Eilir and Alistina. Zeke readied his falchion and brought it down on a rat, severing its head. Eilir cast an orb of fire at one which missed her by inches, filling the room with the stench of burning hair. The smoldering rat scurried back toward the wall of crates.

Theronna dodged an attack, neatly slicing the dire rat in half with one deft stroke. Another rat avoided Alistina’s club; Zeke aimed too high with his attack, his blade whistling right over the rat’s head. Eilir doused that one with a splash of acid; it screeched but continued its assault.

Theronna struck another rat with a powerful blow, but it caught the flat of the blade and flew into the crates, chittering but unharmed. Alistina brought her club down on the rat’s leg, pulverizing its tiny bones. It leaped up and closed its sharp teeth on Theronna’s forearm.

Zeke reversed his missed upswing and severed the rat’s spine without splitting it in half. He lifted it off the ground and sent it sailing down the hall, dead before it hit the ground. The acid-scarred rat evaded a ray of frost from Eilir, only to end up in front of Alistina, who bashed its skull in with her club. The scorched dire rat scrambled over the crates and disappeared.

“Ever’body alright?” asked Zeke. Eilir sank to the floor and sighed heavily, bleeding a little from where the rat bit her. After a short rest, she said, “Why would someone pack a bunch of earth up into crates… why would they spend so much time doing that?”

“Maybe there’s goldat the bottom of the crates.” Theronna looked around the room. “Or treasure. We should check for – “

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Zeke scolded. “Who gives a damn about treasure when our lives are in danger here? The only thing we should be thinkin’ ‘bout is survivin’ long enough to get off this damn island. Ta do that, we need a few things, but treasure ain’t even on the list.”

Eilir recoiled from Zeke’s sharp words, even though they weren’t directed at her.

Theronna stood toe to toe with Zeke. “Listen here, comrade, what’s the harm in taking a few for the road? It’s not our intention to load up, but don’t we have a right to give someone a proper burial?”

“Stealin’ from the dead ain’t my idea of a ‘proper burial,’ Miss Theronna. I don’t know how they do things in Silverymoon, but we ain’t like that in Tethyr.”

“Enough!” Eilir looked up, her eyes full of tears. “If you want to look for treasure… you better hurry… and stop fighting over it!” She stood up, thrust the wand at Theronna, and pushed past everyone on her way out of the room.

After a beat, Theronna said “Then I’m mistaken. And I’m sorry. It was not my intention to do the gods any injustice.”

Zeke seemed surprised by the apology. “Kay, then. Help me find somethin’ to fetch water from the well, and somethin’ ta carry it in so we can get on with searchin’ fer this damned boat.” He spun around and continued his search of the crates, keeping a wary eye out for rats. Finding nothing helpful or valuable, he went after Eilir, finding her and the others at the edge of the tunnel that Osric had marked “Go Slow Hallway” on their map.

The laid-stone floor looked buckled. Theronna ignored Osric’s advice and raced across the uneven stones, but they gave way beneath her feet, and she dropped out of sight.

“Miss Theronna!” yelled Zeke, racing to the edge of the pit. He saw her leap from one narrow ledge up to another, about twenty feet down. The sound of rushing water below was deafening. Theronna had clearly hurt herself in the fall.

Alistina ran back down the hall, returning with the tapestries. The group fashioned a makeshift rope from them, which they used to haul Theronna out of the pit. They also drew water from the well, which was cold and refreshing.

- – - – -

The last group of storerooms bore no semblance to Osric’s maps; they found two short hallways, each with a series of five doors. Theronna tossed the wand back to Eilir, saying “This thing is too complicated.” The wizard spoke the command word and began to search for magic auras, not finding any.

Frowning, Zeke tried the first door on his left, not seeing the wire attached to the door until it was too late. A crossbow bolt flew from the darkness and thunked into his chest; he staggered back a step, groaning in pain.

“ZEKE!” shouted Eilir, trying to catch him. “What happened?”

“Uh…” he said vaguely, gesturing at the bolt sticking from his chest. “Trap.”

She ripped off a piece of her shirt to bind his wound. “Ow… I’m all right, Miss Eilir.” He saw her bare stomach.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, eyes cast down.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. “I appreciate it.” Then he released her and turned away.

They searched every inch of the area and found nothing… no valuables, and no secret door.

“Wait!” said Eilir. “The rats… they had to come in from somewhere. Let’s check behind those crates! Maybe there’s a way they got in.”

They returned to that room. It was arduous work, but they moved the boxes away from the walls. They found small holes in the wall, big enough for a dire rat to squeeze through, but of no use to them.

Eilir was ready to give up when she found an oddly colored rock along the wall. She turned it, causing a secret stone door to grate open, revealing a long tunnel winding down, deeper into the earth.

Aramis Journal Entry 6

[March 11th, 103 CY continued]

The body belongs to Sir Braford, the paladin of Pelor who accompanied the Hucreles on their expedition down here. I only met the man once, and there is very little of him left to identify. Still, this armor is marked with Pelor’s symbol, and the time of death seems consistent with Sir Braford’s arrival in the Citadel.

I wish I could share Azal’s relief – and I do, at least in part – but for me, this discovery raises more questions than it answers. How was he separated from the others? Why would they leave him behind? Could they survive without him?

No time to dwell on it. We took his armor and bracers (keeping the first for myself and the second for Owen), and a gold ring which might serve as proof to his church that he has fallen. My mantle covers the symbol of Pelor, but I still seem to feel its presence. I’m uncomfortable with this practice, to say the least, but he has no grave to rob, and I feel that we need all the help we can get down here.

I also hate to leave the body out in the open, without a proper burial, but we can’t spare the time to take him back to Oakhurst until we’ve found the others. The kobolds feed their dead to their dragon, or used to, so that option’s out as well, at least for now.

I will burn this rats’ nest to cinders when I know it’s safe to do so. So much filth and pestilence… I must keep a watchful eye on Azal, lest she show any symptoms of scarlet plague.

‘Guthash’ was the goblin name for the bloated rat, or so Meepo tells me. I have never been so happy to see something dead, not even the wolves that ravaged our flocks back in 99. It’s a curious feeling. Fairly sure I don’t like it.

Meepo offered us some dragon statuettes that once belonged to the kobolds. We politely refused – they belong to his people, after all – but I’m sure we offended him. I hope we find an opportunity to make it up to him soon. He’s been very brave, and I must be sure to show how much we all appreciate his help.

We decided to press into goblin territory, but my clumsy efforts at stealth forced a long and costly battle. We never would have survived such a fight yesterday. How far we’ve come in so short a time! We’re working as a team, and it makes all the difference, praise be to the Queen.

Still, Azal went down in the midst of the fray, and I feared that the Raven Queen had claimed her. How can I describe the anger I felt in that moment? I know that fate wills what it will, but it would be unjust for Azal to have perished here, now, never knowing what became of our friend.

Why would I think such a thing? I don’t expect to be treated any differently for serving her. I only want the same as anyone… or do I? Do I deserve a little more?

No. I belong in the service of the Queen. Banish all other thought from your mind, Aramis.

anyway

We’ve also found some prisoners, three kobolds and a dwarf. I look forward to hearing their stories while we rest.

Talgen, Sharwyn, stay alive. We are coming for you.

-Aramis

Threshold Episode 4

The four castaways moved into the hall, planning to cross to the other side of the manor, where Osric said they’d find the hidden entrance to the catacombs. Theronna leaned on Alistina for support.

Zeke whispered “There’s some goblins ‘round the corner ‘n’ down a bit.”

“Great,” said Alistina. “Anyone got a plan?”

“Sneak past ‘em?” Zeke offered weakly. Eilir held her tongue instead of replying.

They moved into the cross-hall, which ran nearly two hundred feet to the other side of the manor, with several sets of double doors on either side.

“Intellego!” Eilir spoke the wand’s command word, bringing its detection magic to life. Paying close attention to its rosy glow as she walked, the wizard bumped into Zeke, muttering an apology and trying to hide her blushing face by looking intently at the floor.

Alistina saw the wand’s glow brighten a bit when they reached the midpoint of the hall. Before she could say anything, Theronna pointed to the north and said “Someone’s coming.” At once she opened one of the double doors, and the four of them ducked into the room as humanoids appeared at both ends of the hall – orcs to the north, goblins to the south.

Zeke closed the door as softly as he could as the humanoids shouted at each other, then charged, coming together with a mighty crash just outside the room.

He turned to see what was left of a library. Eilir wandered through the ruined shelves, fingertips brushing the moldy remains of books with a furious expression. She made her way toward a large wooden plaque leaning against the east wall, depicting a life-size harpooner drawing back his weapon. As she approached, the wand’s glow intensified.

Zeke stood braced against the door, keeping an ear trained on the melee in the hall. He thought that the goblins were losing.

“Look,” Eilir said. “This harpoon is separate from the plaque.” She reached up and carefully removed it; its head fell off, revealing the golden hue of the javelin beneath.

Eilir gasped and peered at the tiny symbol engraved on the weapon’s shaft, which depicted three lightning bolts converging on one point.

Alistina described it aloud to Theronna, but it was Zeke who said ”’S Talos’s mark. God’a thunder ‘n’ lightnin’ ‘n’ such.” His father had spoken that name more than once, to spare their crops from his wrath…

He snapped out of his reminiscence as the doorknob began to turn in his hand, and he heard Eilir talking (too loudly for their circumstances) about the javelin’s possible powers. Eyes widening, he shushed the women and grabbed the knob; he held the door fast, until the frustrated grunts on the other side ended, and the orcs shuffled away.

“Are they gone?” whispered Alistina.

Zeke shook his head, eyes still wide, unable to hide his annoyance.

“I hear them.” Alistina pointed at the door on the south wall – the orcs were moving to enter the library from another direction.

Zeke cracked the double door open and peered into the hall, seeing three dead goblins and no orcs, living or dead. He eased into the hallway, and the women followed, Theronna having finally regained her senses.

They crept through the manor to the room that Osric had marked “Go to Catacombs” on their map. That door was closed, but the door at the end of the hall, leading outside, was opened a crack. Zeke opened the door and entered the room, finding two broken desks, several bookcases groaning with trays full of mold and scraps of paper – and Osric.

“What kept ye?” asked the old man as the castaways filed into the room. The sudden sound startled Eilir, and she grabbed Zeke’s arm, letting go just as quickly.

“Ye lot’ll be ready ta leave, I’ll wager.” With a smirk, Osric stood up, dusted himself off, and walked over to one of the bookcases. Reaching up to the top, he pressed a hidden button with a soft click. Then… nothing.

Theronna drew her longsword. Zeke blinked slowly. “Something wrong, Osric?” asked Alistina.

“Seems.” Frowning, the old man pressed the button again, with the same result. “This here button should open th’ bookcase so’s we can use th’shaft. Ain’t used it in twenny years, though, s’I can’t say’s I’m too surprised.”

“You mean we cain’t get down this way?” Zeke asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t say that, lad. Ya could pry th’ bookcase away from th’ wall, but that’d take time ‘n’ make noise… But once we’re down there there’s more works that’ll seal the shaft b’hind us.” A strange look came over the old man’s face as he caught sight of the javelin in Eilir’s hand, but it only lasted a moment.

The group considered their options. Finally, Eilir pulled a large wooden beam loose from the debris littering the floor. “We could use these to pry the thing open. Doing it quickly would cause a ruckus and draw their attention. We could do it slowly instead, but that could take a while. Either way, we risk getting caught.”

They got to work. Theronna and Eilir closed the door and shifted debris to block it, listening for patrols, while Zeke and Alistina tried to force the bookcase open with makeshift prybars.

“Someone’s coming!” Eilir whispered. The prying stopped at once. Footsteps echoed in the hall. Another door opened – across the hall? – then silence returned.

They resumed prying. After a minute or two, the bookcase groaned away from the wall, revealing a shaft behind it. They lowered the case to the floor carefully. Zeke saw that the shaft was very dark, and about two feet in diameter, with rusty steel staples for rungs.

Osric brushed past Zeke and started to climb down, just as someone tried the door. It opened – barely – and they heard goblin voices arguing.

Theronna drew her sword again. “Hurry, down the shaft!” she whispered, preparing to cover the others’ escape. Zeke readied his falchion and stood by her side.

As they filed down the narrow passage, the goblins tried to force their way into the room. Fortunately, they were delayed by the mountain of debris. By the time Osric, Eilir, and Alistina were out of sight, they opened the door open enough for a goblin to get an arm in, flailing around the other side of the doorknob.

Theronna turned to face Zeke, yelling “Move farm boy, go! We must save our strength for a real fight!” The sound of her voice caused a change in the goblins’ pitch – three of them at least.

“Have it yer way,” he said, and started down the shaft.

Theronna held her position until the shaft was clear, then climbed down, the first goblin bursting into the room as she reached the bottom.

The castaways found themselves in a dark, damp chamber with rough stone walls, partitioned into three storerooms. A low shaft led off to the south, deeper into the catacombs. They felt surrounded by quiet.

Osric reached for a lever and yanked it. A tremendous crash came from overhead, and the sounds of goblins descending the shaft turned to screams. A great cloud of dust rushed out of the shaft and a hail of rocks pelted down, forcing the adventurers to take cover.

“That oughtta keep ‘em out,” grumbled the old man. “Made it. Knew we would. Haven’t been down here awhile.”

“So where are we?” asked Alistina.

“Catacombs, where I entombed himself ‘n’ nis family. Used his ring ta keep ‘im from rottin.’ In ‘is adventurin’ days he found a ring that made things happen if ya wished for ‘em, d’ye se. So I wished they’d ne’er decay, so they’d be in one piece when it w’s ime for tha dead to rise up in th’ afterlife.”

“Smart,” Alistina said, thinking Sounds extremely dangerous, but smart.

Osric continued, saying “I were gonna get down here an’ shut the shaft when th’ orcs first landed, but they grabbed me. Ya done me a real favor, gettin’ me down here so I could shut it off.”

Eilir brushed dust from her hair and readied the wand. “You really cared for him and his family, didn’t you?”

“Course!” he replied. “Can’t let them bastards make off with ‘is treasures ‘n’ pretties. What manner o’servant would I be if I did?”

“So where are these pretties?” asked Theronna.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” replied the old man in a sing-song tone.

“Not really,” said Zeke. “Where’s the boat? I’d like to git clear ‘fore Tymora smites the whole damn place.”

Osric turned on Zeke, spell-light gleaming in his eyes – and on the shining dagger in his hand. “What manner’o servant would I be to let you profane his son’s tomb? Nah, you ain’t leavin, no more so than me. Gonna die down here, like me. Good idea.”

He lunged forward, but Theronna’s longsword was already in her hands. She deflected the old man’s attack on Zeke, then swept her blade up, slicing Osric’s neck open. He clapped a hand to the wound and fell to his knees, blood streaming through his fingers, laughing maniacally as he died.

Cold Blood Interlude: Dagger in the Dark

“You’re not the first person to wake me up with a knife at my throat,” growled Nashtoreth of the Umber Scales. The corpulent tiefling’s tone had served him well on those prior occasions, but the blade didn’t waver.

“I’m not here to threaten you,” the woman said, her scent and her voice accented with the unmistakable taint of Shendilavri. “But I need your attention, and I’ll defend myself if I must.”

“I know you. You’re that succubus, the one who turned stag on Malcanthet.”

“I am,” replied Kalisa. “But I have chant for you, chant that’s beyond value to the right ears.”

“Whose ears would those be?”

“You’ll know once I’ve told you.”

Kalisa allowed the priest to sit up. “Assuming your chant is reliable, what will it cost me?”

“Noxana’s left your temple, and your company. Vow to let your daughter go free – and to forgo reprisal against me, or my friends – and I’ll tell you what I’ve come to say.”

“My daughter?” Nashtoreth laughed, contemptuous and phlegmatic. “Is that what she told you? I thought you were cagey enough to know a peel when you heard one.”

“Whatever she was to you,” said Kalisa, “she won’t be any more.”

“I see.” Light reflected from Kalisa’s dagger glinted in the tiefling’s cold black eyes. “What if I refuse?”

“Then my next visit won’t be so cordial. And if you break your vow, the same.”

Nashtoreth took a moment before nodding. “Then I forsake my claim to Noxana, and I forsake my right to vengeance.”

Kalisa sheathed the dagger, apparently satisfied. “Now, let me tell you about the copy of Sigil that the baatezu are making outside of Dis.”

Cold Blood Interlude: Assassin's Choice

Xillian’s going to assassinate Jhalefein.

Jazra could think of nothing else as she worked her way down the narrow alley to Alehouse Row and the Hooded Lantern. That was where the drow warlock Jhalefein had hired Tulio, and where Hexla’s friends had seen him.

If Jhalefein was still in the Lantern, then Xillian surely would have found him by now. If he wasn’t, though, where would she look next? Even someone as distinctive as a drow could find a thousand places to hide in the Cage…

The drow. How little she understood them! Xillian and Jhalefein hailed from a Prime anthill called Erelhei-Cinlu. Jhalefein’s clan, House Eilservs, lost the civil war there; Xillian’s family, House Tormtor, drove the few survivors into exile.

Xillian failed to capture Tulio for his masters – thanks to Tulio’s friends – and Jazra had believed that he’d chosen to forsake his House and live in exile with her.

Why, then, had he asked Tulio about Jhalefein? Was he planning to murder the warlock in some bid to regain favor with his House? And why hadn’t Xillian told her what he was up to? True, it seemed like he’d barely said ten words to her in the week they’d been together… they were together, weren’t they? It was so confusing. Whatever existed between them, Jazra had never felt anything like it before…

But now she’d arrived, and there was no time to think about such things. Offering a half-felt prayer to any power that might be listening, she went into the Hooded Lantern.

Jazra hated the Hooded Lantern. As an Anarchist, she was accustomed to meeting hooded strangers in darkened alehouses – but everyone here was under a hood or a hat. Darkvision was a common trait in the Cage, after all.

She felt the eyes of the dwarven barmaid on her at once. Thyra Rivenshield was her name; Jazra wondered if the barmaid remembered the shouting match they’d ended up in last time the tout had set foot in this dive.

“Lookin’ fer someone?” Thyra asked without looking Jazra in the eye.

Good, Jazra thought. Don’t pay any attention. “A dark elf. Quiet fellow with violet eyes.”

The dwarf jerked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing out a shadowy corner. Jazra saw Xillian there, but who was he talking to? He faced away from her…

Now Thyra was staring at her. “I could do with some firewine,” Jazra announced as she headed for the corner. The barmaid went about her business, hopefully put at ease.

Xillian looked surprised when he saw Jazra coming. Good, she thought again. Serves him right for not tellin’ me what he’s up to…

He had time to say her name before she grabbed him by the tunic. “Whaddaya think yer doin’?” she hissed. “You think you can just go back to writin’ berks into the dead-book without even tellin’ me first?”

“What are you talking about?” Xillian spoke calmly, as always, as if nothing could possibly be amiss.

“Yer not killin’ Jhalefein.”

“No, he’s not,” whispered the other man at the table. Jazra turned to look at him and saw another drow, horribly scarred across his head and throat.

“Jazra,” said Xillian, pointing to the other dark elf, “this is Jhalefein.”

“Enchanted,” whispered Jhalefein. Jazra let go of Xillian’s shirt, allowing Jhalefein to take her hand in his own. His fingernails were longer than hers.

“What’s goin’ on here, then?”

“Sit down,” Xillian said, “and I’ll tell you.”

Jazra sat next to Xillian, not feeling as close to him as she should. The arrival of her mug of firewine relieved her. It was terrible stuff, but she needed it all the same. Once sure the tiefling was settled, Xillian began.

“When I first heard that Jhalefein here was in Sigil, I did consider assassinating him. It might have brought me back into House Tormtor’s good graces… More than that, though, it’s what I was taught to do. It’s who they made me.”

Jazra searched Xillian’s eyes, then said “I could never forgive you if you did that.”

“That’s why I didn’t. I realized that if I’m to become someone else, I needed to look into this man’s eyes, and see a man, not an enemy.”

Jhalefein drank from his glass, whispering “He’s lucky I’ve come to a similar point in my life.” Maybe he can’t speak any louder, Jazra thought. I don’t think I care to hear the story those scars on his neck would tell…

“Then… everything’s fine?”

“Yes.” Xillian’s hand closed over hers, and her tension eased. “I’m free, Jazra. I’m free.”

“Good thing, too,” hissed Jhalefein. “I’ve seen the future. House Eilservs will rule the Vault again someday… but they’ll do so without me.”

Jazra couldn’t hide her confusion; luckily, Xillian saw it, and Jhalefein didn’t. The assassin sketched a quick and polite goodbye, then ushered Jazra out of the alehouse before she realized what was going on.

- – - – -

“The problem,” the drow said when the Hooded Lantern was well out of sight, “is that I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

“Well, I’d rather ya not run around murderin’ for a livin’.”

“Then I won’t.”

Jazra had been thinking about this. She said “But you’re good at lyin’, sneakin’, pullin’ down the chant.”

“Yes.” Not an opinion, but a fact. “Do you have something in mind, Jazra?”

She nodded, leaned close to his ear, and whispered, “Let me tell you about the Revolutionary League.”

Threshold Episode 3

The castaways awakened from fitful sleep, the dawn which greeted them muted by the ongoing storm – and by the goddess’s ultimatum.

“So, old timer,” Alistina said to Osric, “we better get off this island today.”

Zeke frowned at his growling stomach. “Some grub’d be nice, too. Ain’t too keen on the notion-a sneakin’ through the goblins on a empty stomach.”

“Can’t help with food,” replied Osric. “Mebbe we kin fish off th’ boat once we’re away.”

Disappointed, Zeke busied himself with Hafkris’s crossbow.

“Sure you know how to use that thing?” Alistina asked.

“Sure’n I do. Point an’ click. Ain’t a simpler weapon out there that ain’t a stick.”

He smiled as if he’d made a joke; Alistina couldn’t be sure if he had. Eilir obviously had her doubts, but said nothing, packing up her spellbook once she was finished with it.

Stetching himself out with a riot of cracks and pops, Osric said “Manor’s about a thousand yards north. There’s a depression we kin use ta sneak most of th’way to it. All th’entrances ‘re guarded, but thar’s a window with loose bars I been usin’ ta git in ‘n’ out.”

“Then let’s go,” said Theronna, belting on her sword.

They walked out of the temple and back into the storm. Soaked by the time they reached the bottom of the hill, they saw the manor in the distance – a large keep flanked by two smaller buildings. They also saw the depression leading away from the base of the hill, coming right up to the manor. Dozens of humanoid figures surrounded the smaller buildings, and at least half a dozen goblins guarded the manor’s entrance.

Zeke shook his head. “You sure that trench is gonna git us past all them pirates?”

“I ain’ sure o’nothin’,” Osric replied. “But if ye’ve got a better idea now’s th’ time.”

Eilir said “I could try to stage a diversion.”

“Like what?” asked Alistina. “Calling for Daddy?”

“No.” Eilir made a rude gesture at her. “I could start a fire. That might lure the guards away from the entrance.”

“Bit wet fer that, ain’t it?” asked Zeke.

Theronna moved closer. “And what’s supposed to keep their attention once your fire’s got it? Two rats humping each other?”

“I don’t know!” shrieked Eilir. “I’m just trying to help!”

“I say we follow Osric’s idea,” said Theronna. “He’s been getting around with no magic and no martial training.”

Smiling, the old man ran down to the depression and crept toward the manor.

“Doesn’t mean I trust him, though,” Theronna muttered to the others before following.

They made it just past the halfway mark when a patch of scree loudly gave way beneath Eilir’s bare foot.

They froze in place, readying their weapons. They heard someone approaching, making no effort to be stealthy. Zeke felt oddly hot in the cold and rain.

A lone orc pirate appeared, gazing down into the depression, a falchion hanging loosely in his grip. Alistina struck him right in the midsection with the light of Lunia, knocking the wind out of him and doubling him over in pain. Zeke fired his crossbow and caught the orc in the shoulder, a trickle of blood leaking from beneath his studded leather armor. Theronna’s longsword found a tiny glimmer of sunlight as it bit into the orc’s neck, turning his cry for help into a gurgling mess. It fell into the depression, dead before it hit the dirt.

Zeke moved up to the body, watching as the orc’s blood oozed out with a queasy look on his face.

“Better not throw up this time, boy.” Theronna peered over the lip of the depression to see if anyone else was coming.

“That armor might fit him,” Osric said, pointing from the orc to Zeke.

“Didn’t do him much good,” the farmboy said.

“Mebbe not, but ain’ like he needs it n’more.”

He donned the leather smoothly, naturally, like one would clothing. It fit him quite well, although the boots were a bit tight. The falchion seemed to belong in his hands.

Theronna pointed and laughed, saying “Now he’s a man.”

“Don’t make fun of him!” Alistina said. Eilir also seemed offended.

“I’m not. He’s come a long way in one day. I salute you, Zeke. You’re a man now. That’s what I said and I stand by my word.” She offered him her hand, and he shook it, grudgingly.

Osric moved like a ghost toward the window with the loose bars; a cat would have made more noise. Zeke went to follow, but his new boots pinched like mad, and he crashed into Alistina, both of them falling in a noisy heap. Zeke caught a sharp rock in the back and it was all he could do not to shout.

“They heard that,” Osric said, looking off toward the manor entrance. “Wait here, I’ll lead ‘em off to’ard the temple, then come ‘n’ find ya inside later.”

“You sure about this?” asked Theronna.

“Sure, they won’t follow me inta th’temple. The Queen’s room has that stick; ya kin use it t’find th’other pretties.”

“Queen’s room,” Zeke repeated to himself.

Alistina whispered “Be careful.”

“Sure, miss. Suren I will.”

With a wink, Osric bounded out of the depression, flailing his skinny limbs to get the orcs’ attention. Shouting insults in Orcish, he fled back up the hill, four orcs taking up the pursuit. After a moment, all was quiet again.

They counted to ten, then moved to the window, sliding the bars out of the way so they could climb into the manor. They found themselves in a dark room, illuminated by Alistina’s light of Lunia, with broken cots and chests strewn around.

Zeke purposefully moved toward the door, but Theronna was there first, peeking into the keyhole. “Dark hall,” she whispered, “running west to east.”

Voices echoed somewhere in the distance; but the direction and the language were indistinct. As Zeke opened the door, Theronna’s hands went to her head, and her legs began to shake.

“Douse that light,” Zeke told Alistina, and she complied. The soldier looked around, as if seeing beyond the concerned faces of the other castaways.

“Theronna? Are you all right?” asked Eilir, wringing out her hair.

Theronna said “Who are you?” before collapsing to the floor.

Alistina dropped to her side at once. “You two find the queen’s room,” she said. “I’ll take care of Theronna.”

Leaning out into the hall for a look around, Zeke asked “Sure we should split up?”

“We need that wand to escape, and we can’t wait for her. Just go.”

“All right, then. See if you kin keep ‘er quiet ‘til we get back.” He slipped into the darkened hallway, Eilir close behind him.

They came to a door, which Zeke carefully opened. Beyond it, a hall continued west; another ran to the north. The voices they’d heard before seemed to come from that direction – two or three, speaking what sounded like Goblin.

Zeke motioned for Eilir to open the ornate door before them, and she did so quickly. He let out a breath he didn’t remember holding and crossed into the sitting room, taking Eilir’s arm and pulling her in behind him.

He closed the door and began his search. “If you kin make a magic light,” he whispered, “now’s the time. We gotta find this magic stick, and I don’t think we kin do it in the dark. Er, find the stick.”

He may have blushed, but it was gone by the time Eilir cast her spell. “Right,” she whispered back. “I couldn’t find your stick in the dark. THE stick. Right.”

The room had already been tossed, but they checked it before moving on to the bedroom. But as they approached the door, a pair of goblins emerged. They saw an unadorned stick of crimson wood in the second one’s hand.

“Bree-YARK!” the other goblin shouted, and they closed to attack, he first one stabbing Zeke with its spear. Eilir blasted the wand-bearer with a magic missile, blowing a hole clean through its chest. As it fell down dead, Zeke fumbled to draw his falchion, failing to strike the surviving goblin. The creature jabbed him again; incensed, Zeke reined in his wire arc for a shorter chopping strike, cleaving the goblin completely in half.

Still shaking from the sudden burst of violence, Zeke wiped the blood from his faves and leaned over to take the stick. “Think this is it?” he asked absently.

Gasping for air, Eilir said “Let me… let me see it.” She made her way over to Zeke, her fingers lingering on his as she took it from him. Blood on his hands stained hers, and he stared at the sight.

“Yes, this is it,” she announced. “There’s a command word carved on it here…” Her eyes flicked up to his. “I, um…”

“We should… we should get back.”

Eilir nodded and led Zeke back down the hallway.

- – - – -

Theronna awakened and leaped to her feet. She threw Alistina against the wall and shouted “Who are you!” before recognizing her. Nothing had changed; the island still had her. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, releasing Alistina. “I’m… what happened?” She fell back to the floor, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You were saying all kinds of things… about war, your parents… shooting a chicken… just what’s on your mind, anyway?”

“I don’t know; my mind’s no longer my own. When we arrived here yesterday, I couldn’t remember anything that’s ever happened to me. Ever. I’m acting on instinct – martial training, I guess?”

“Sounds like amnesia. I’ve seen it before, when I was with the Watchers Over the Fallen.” Alistina started to rub her arm where Theronna had grabbed it, but chose to bear the pain instead. “You might have suffered it when the slavers knocked you out.”

Her words brought no comfort to Theronna; the soldier was crying now, and made no effort to hide it. “What else was I saying?”

“There was a lot of it.” Alistina sat facing her. “You didn’t wand to wear a dress; you were afraid the boys would laugh at you.”

“A dress?” The word made Theronna think of Eilir. Such a girl... had Theronna ever worn a dress? “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but think about it. It might help you remember something else.”

Theronna squeezed her eyes shut, sending fresh tears down her cheeks, and shook her head.

“It’s all right,” Alistina said at once. “It’ll come when it comes. You don’t want to push too hard.”

“I’m keeping a journal… maybe that’ll help.”

“Maybe.” Alistina reached out and brushed strands of blond hair away from Theronna’s face.

“I don’t trust Osric,” Theronna announced.

“I know. You said so before.”

“But I don’t know if it’s a bad feeling about him, or if he’s reminding me of someone else! His white hair… it’s his hair.”

“What about his hair, sweetie?”

“I don’t know. Not yet. It’ll come to me soon, I think.”

“Like I said, don’t push yourself too fast. There’s no telling what feelings your memories will bring up.”

“So where are the others?” Theronna wiped the tears from her face, and started to get up.

Alistina caught the soldier’s hand and guided her back to the floor. “They went to get the wand. They’ll be back soon. Let’s just wait here, and try to keep our wits and our strength about us.”

Theronna allowed Alistina to lead her to the corner of the room, where she lay her head on the woman’s shoulder. Alistina didn’t see the soldier; all she saw was a woman in pain.

“Thank you for helping me,” Theronna said. “I feel like I don’t have any control, and I don’t know any of you… I don’t, do I?”

“No. We never spoke to each other before yesterday.”

“I feel helpless, and that feeling goes against everything I believe in. We’ve got to make it off this gods-forsaken island.”

“We will,” Alistina said, hoping she sounded convincing. She looked down and saw Theronna’s hand holding hers. How long had that been there? She thought of Gendry, and she wasn’t sure why…

- – - – -

“What happened to you?” Alistina asked the bloodied Zeke when he returned. Eilir was close behind with the wand.

“Got the stick,” Zeke announced. “Goblins stabbed me. They’re dead.”

Theronna jumped up, freeing Alistina to heal Zeke’s wounds. Eilir said “And we can use the wand to find any other magical treasures that might be around…” She seemed a bit disoriented, yet curious about what she missed while she and Zeke were away.

“Then let’s go,” Theronna said. “We should make for the catacombs, and we’ll pick up any treasure we find on the way.”

Star Wars: Attack of the Fork Points

(cross-posted from here, and a partial response to this)

If the players in a Star Wars RPG take the roles of the movie characters playing through the movie plots, then the random nature of traditional RPGs, or the cooperative one-up-manship of story games, would seem to demand inevitable variation from canon. There has to be the possibility that the heroes will fail - or, at least, succeed in another way than they did canonically - or what's the point of playing? (After all, if Han's player hadn't -blown- his Stealth roll and snapped that twig, the GM would have been scrambling to make sure that the Rebels and the Ewoks met before the Battle of Endor.)

But that terrifies some orthodox Star Wars fans, apparently, and many of us would rather create our own characters. This seems to be where the problems arise.

A lot of Star Wars campaigns that take place during the Rebellion era have the events of the movies happening "off-screen," and the campaign plot never intersects that of the Holy Trilogy for fear of Canon Compromise. This is also a pain in the ass, because 1) it just feels less like Star Wars when you're using a bunch of Expanded Universe stuff, whether it's from novels, RPG source material, or the GM's own creation, and 2) if the PCs aren't going after Vader, or the Emperor, or the Death Star, or whatever, then they don't feel like their actions matter. The "important stuff" is in the hands of a bunch of GMPCs. And who wants that?

The GM advice I always hear is to "make a setting your own," and I don't think Star Wars should be any different. I like Rob's idea about reinventing Star Wars:

- Furious about Vader's redemption, a friend of mine ran Trilogy-as-Campaign with a completely different ending in which Obi-Wan was Luke's father.
- SO much of the Expanded Universe was created for the d6 RPG; is it really any better than stuff you make up yourself? Throw it out already!
- I once spent some time combing through Lucas's early drafts of the script for the original movie, looking for discarded ideas that could be fleshed out into 'quasi-canon.'

But the approach I chose for reinvention is to establish a "fork point" - an event that diverges the campaign timeline from that of Star Wars canon. If this event shifts the spotlight away from the canon heroes to the PCs, so much the better.

The best examples of this I can point to are the Star Wars Infinities comics, which are "What If?" style stories (or Elseworlds, if you're DC) that set fork points and extrapolate events from there. The series they've published are:

- A New Hope: What if Luke failed to blow up the Death Star?
- The Empire Strikes Back: What if Luke froze to death on Hoth?
- Return of the Jedi: What if the heroes failed to rescue Han from Jabba?

In each case, the (surviving) movie heroes are still the ones who eventually set things right, but it wouldn't take much to remove them from the equation and make the Empire your PCs' problem.

Here are some other fork points I've been chewing on:
- What if Qui-Gon Jinn survived his duel with Darth Maul? Would Anakin have turned out any differently?
- What if Padme was assassinated before Anakin fell in love with her? That's one way to keep Luke and Leia from overshadowing your PCs, at least.
- What if Luke failed to turn Vader at the end of Jedi? In the permutation I've been working on, Vader kills Luke -and- the Emperor, and the Death Star (which also survives the battle) destroys Endor's moon and most of the Rebels with it. Then a couple of years go by... Good luck, PCs!

I'm sure some of the orthodox crowd would complain about it being non-canon, but if you're playing your own PCs, it IS non-canon. And I think most players would jump at the chance to take on Vader and the second Death Star, canon be damned.

But Your Mileage May Vary, naturally.

The Threshold Episode 2

The four castaways followed Osric through the cold and rain, in search of the shelter the old man had promised them.

Osric told them about his former master, Viledel, and that the Sea-King died when pirates raided the island sixty years ago. But the pirates never found the real treasure.

“Treasure?” Zeke asked – yelled, really, over the deafening wind – “That why them orcs ‘n’ goblins are about?”

Osric replied “Aye!” without looking back. “The orcs came to plunder the temple three days ago, ‘n that’s when the storm started. They got the message – they won’t go back there.”

“That’s where you plan to hole up?” Theronna gathered twigs and branches as she walked.

“S’best. Orcs’re in the ol’ soldier’s barracks, ‘n’ th’ goblins’ve taken o’er th’ stables.”

“Won’t we anger the goddess too?” asked Eilir, wringing rainwater out of her hair.

“Nah. Th’orcs came to plunder, and they made a terrible mess o’things. If ya just come to spend the night ye’ll be safe.”

Seeing Theronna’s actions, Alistina began to do the same, not wanting to go without a fire for lack of fuel.

They followed back trails and crossed rough terrain until they came to a hill, topped by a two-story structure that had seen better days, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. No lights, smoke, or other sign of habitation could be seen. Osric opened the fence’s rusty gate with an alarming squeal and led the way to the front door.

“All right, comrades,” said Theronna, “Let’s get a look at these digs. How can we show you our gratitude, Osric?”

“Ye kin take me with ye when ye leave this island, and cut me in fer a share o’the swag.” With a wink, Osric pulled the heavy doors open and headed into the dark hall beyond.

The castaways followed him into a vast, dark chamber, the tiled floor cool beneath their feet. “All these years on this island,” began Theronna, aiming suspicious eyes at Osric, “and you never tried to find this treasure for yourself?”

“There’s no need to search for any treasure,” said Eilir, binding her hair into a ponytail. “I keep telling you, Daddy will rescue us, and soon.”

“Uh-huh,” Zeke said to Eilir, absently.

Osric began to gather debris, piling it in the middle of the room. “No need to search is right. I know where ‘tis.”

“Ain’t we gonna try to figger a way off the island?” Confusion laced Zeke’s words.

“I got one o’those, too.”

Alistina dumped her firewood in with Osric’s. “But you never used it?”

“Never had a need,” the old man replied. “Someone had t’watch over himself’s house ‘n’ treasures. But these orcs ‘n’ goblins have got me thinkin’ o’greener pastures agin.”

“Fire first,” announced Theronna. “Plans later.”

A few moments of frustration ended with the beginnings of a fire, which soon grew to reveal the dimensions of the room. Recently smashed furniture littered the room. Aging frescoes showed signs of vandalism. Shallow steps led west to a line of pillars, and a set of ratty tapestries obscuring the room beyond.

With the front doors closed, and no windows in the hall, the fire soon brought precious heat to the room, while smoke rose to the high ceiling. The castaways collapsed around the fire, relieved to find sensation returning to their fingers and toes.

Osric grabbed some palm leaves and a bit of charcoal, rendering maps of the island, the temple, the manor, and the catacombs beneath it. “Grave goods,” he muttered as he worked. “Where Viledel was from, they like ta bury their noble dead with presents. You know, so they can have their favorite play-pretties with ‘em when they wake up in th’ time th’ gods decree.”“

“I see,” said Zeke, feigning comprehension. Eilir studied the maps as Osric completed them.

“Well, Viledel had him a son who died, and they buried ‘im with weapons ‘n’ armor ‘n’ sacks o’ gold ‘n’ a few servants ‘n’ a li’l boat to sail ‘em all over th’ seas. We can drag that boat through th’ catacombs to this place you can get out, but not in.”

“We’re goin’ inta the manor?” asked Zeke, alarmed.

Eilir showed him Osric’s maps and said “That’s the way into the catacombs. Don’t worry, farmboy. Daddy will save us before we have to go in there.”

“And the treasures are in the manor?” asked Alistina, pointedly ignoring Eilir.

“Nah, th’ orcs ‘n’ goblins woulda got most o’those. But himself gave his queen this stick o’ wood that glows when it’s near th’ funny treasures. Never bothered with it, but since it’s life or death ‘n’ all… I kin lead ya to it ‘pon the morrow. But fer now, I need m’sleep…”

He rolled to one side and was lightly snoring in moments. The castaways regarded him for a moment with something like envy; they were so weary from the horrific sea voyage, and everything that came after, that sleep would not come so easily to them.

They explored the temple, finding a well in the garden, and enough scraps of cloth in the storeroom to fashion crude clothes. Rats scurried away from them in a few rooms. Theronna managed to kill one; the fire made it no less palatable, so she left it on the floor, insisting that it seemed like the thing to do.

Every room showed damage caused by the plundering orcs. They found the worst desecration beyond the tapestries in the great hall, where a white marble statue stood behind a small altar. A depiction of a small, boyish woman, the statue bore a large crack across the torse. Her nose and left arm were broken off, and the statue was smeared with filth.

Zeke muttered “Ain’t no wonder she got ticked off and sent the storm.”

“I think it’s Tymora,” said Eilir. “The goddess of luck. I hope Daddy punishes those orc pirates for doing this. Poor statue.”

Thinking of the stables back home, Zeke busied himself wiping the filth away from the statue. When he was done, the talent of the sculptor shone through; the statue’s pose seemed natural and lifelike. “Cain’t do nothin’ ‘bout those broken-off pieces. Sorry, Lady.”

Alistina saw Eilir gently smile at Zeke’s words – just for a moment, before the wizard’s growling stomach drew her attention down.

“All right, soldiers, let’s turn in.” Theronna headed east for the fire and tried to make herself comfortable.

“Maybe he can tell us where some food is,” said Eilir, pointing at the sleeping Osric. Earlier she had wanted to ask him about the charts she’d found aboard the Scourge, to see which island they were on, but that concern seemed far away now.

“Leave him be,” Zeke said, not looking at Eilir as he bedded down.

“But I’m hungry,” she whined, causing Alistina to wince.

Zeke turned to Eilir, an oddly serious look on his face. “Leave him be.”

Eilir blushed and looked down at the floor, shocked enough to be the last of them to fall asleep.

---

Zeke found himself gently awakened a few hours later by a woman’s voice calling his name, somewhere to the west. Shaking off his confusion and weariness, he saw a faint flow radiating from beyond the tapestries.

Walking past them he found the statue of the goddess made whole and glowing, the hint of a smile on her face.

“What brings you to my temple?” asked Tymora.

Zeke’s eyes went wide. “We… we was shipwrecked, ma’am. I mean, Lady. I mean… anyway, the old timer brought us here to escape the orcs an’ goblins. How… jist how is that you’re…?”

“I’m a goddess, Ezekiel, and you’re in my house. I can do whatever I need here.”

“Reckon so.” Zeke was sure that the statue’s smile had spread, becoming beautiful, sad, and crafty all at once. He blushed, feeling stupid. “Sorry they busted up yer temple, Lady. I tried ta clean up, only…”

“I saw. Thank you for your efforts. You’re welcome here. You all are.”

Zeke became vaguely aware that his fellow castaways had appeared behind him. But he could not tear his attention from the divine manifestation before him. Eilir was close behind him, but he did not notice her presence, or her apprehension.

“You see what the Hak-kubra have done to my sanctuary,” said Tymora. “When the pirates came sixty years ago, they killed everybody but they left my temple alone. That’s proper. And I wasn’t offended by the wind, storm, age, and rot that followed. Nature’s got a right to beat down what men’ve raised up. But these orcs have made me mad.” A rumble of thunder punctuated this announcement.

“Have they,” Zeke’s words were more statement than question.

“They have indeed. I’m so made that I’m going to destroy this island every every living thing on it. That’s how you clean a… a stain like this.”

“But… but you said we was welcome here!” cried Zeke.

“Right,” said Theronna, half-concealed by a tapestry.

“Please,” Eilir said, “can’t you wait until Daddy comes to save us? He’ll be here soon; I know he misses me.”

The statue took in their faces. “I tell you what,” said Tymora. “It isn’t your offense, and you shouldn’t have to die for it. I was going to cleanse this island tonight, but instead I’ll stay my hand and do it at nightfall tomorrow.”

“You’re most generous, Lady Luck.” Alistina bowed grandly. Eilir followed suit, her apprehension deepening to worry.

“If you’ve fled by then,” continued Tymora with a nod, “then you’re fit to survive. The storm that takes the island won’t take your boat with it.”

“Hope we’re lucky,” Zeke said with a knowing smirk.

The statue blew a kiss in his direction. “You have my blessing, Ezekiel. That’ll help.” The farmer’s fingertips went to his cheek as if he felt its touch, and his blush deepened.

“Prove yourselves worthy,” said Tymora. “Fortune smiles upon you.” With that, the glow faded, the statue resumed its original pose, and the arm and nose fell back into the dust.

“Won’t see anything like that on a battlefield,” muttered Theronna as she turned back to the fire, brushing past the wide-eyed Osric. “Better keep sleeping, soldiers. Looks like we’ve got no choice but to make for the boat now.” Reassured by the sight of her skewered rat, she was the first to fall asleep.

Eilir was the last to succumb, spending several minutes arranging her cloak so that she wouldn’t have to sleep directly on the floor. With her feet dangling off the cloak’s edge, she admitted to herself that Ronan Stormweather might not rescue her in time before she drifted off.

---

The ghoul climbed down the chimney, emerging into the temple’s kitchen. Its first attempt to come down had ended when it sensed a divine presence. The creature was clever enough to recognize the danger, and had remained in the chimney until its Hunger could no longer be denied.

It made its way through the temple to the hall of the goddess, drawn by the smell of the living. Rats had sustained the ghoul since it finished off the last of the merchant ship’s crew; that was months ago, but the creature had little sense of time. There was only the Hunger, and now, there was more fitting prey.

They numbered five in all, sleeping around the fire. It recognized the wary and paranoid old man, whom it had tried to catch before. But the fair-skinned blond was closest to the ghoul’s position.

The creature crept across the hall, pausing only to devour the dead rat it found. Paralyze that woman first, then the man. You can kill them, hang them on the meat hooks in the pantry, then eat them at your leisure. The Hunger will be appeased.

But Eilir’s eyes snapped open as the ghoul leaned over her. With a shriek she scuttled out from under it, waking the others at once. A small orb of acid flew from her fingers onto its face, and it growled like an animal as its rotting flesh burned.

Theronna charged toward the undead creature, carving the creature’s putrid flesh with her longsword. The monster turned upon her, and her world became a blur of flashing claws and teeth. Its talons raked her arm, freezing her in place.

Alistina invoked the Light of Lunia, flooding the room with celestial energy, and she sent some of it the ghoul’s way, missing her mark. Zeke scrambled to his feet, readying his makeshift club. The ghoul ducked his first swing, but Zeke felt a strange sensation come over him, and he tried again, snapping the creature’s leg. It collapsed in a fetid heap, returned to death.

“Tymora’s blessin’,” Zeke whispered, knowing that he had used it up.

Osric emerged from behind the remains of a pew about the time that Theronna’s paralysis wore off. After a few minutes, they went back to sleep, Eilir moving her cloak-bed closer to Zeke’s position.

Aramis Journal Entry 5

[March 11th, 103 CY continued]

We must find some proof that Talgen’s band is alive, and soon. We entered a burial chamber just off the room with the fountain; when we found no trace of the Hucreles inside, Azal fell down, weeping.

I’ve only seen her cry on one other occasion – that night at the tavern, when I told her and Talgen I had sworn myself to the Raven Queen. Azal was so furious with me… She seethed with rage, and Talgen said “What would your parents think?” I told them that it didn’t matter. I knew Madame was proud of Talgen, but I’d never heard Azal breathe a word about her parents, so I asked her if she cared what her parents thought.

Azal burst into tears, and I hated myself for being so thoughtless, but Talgen and I coaxed her story out of her. She spoke of her youth in the orphanage, under the eyes and the thumb of Brother Angelo… of her years spent on streets and in sewers, struggling to survive, never knowing her mother or father…

As meaningful as it was for Azal to lay her history bare to Talgen and I, the most important thing was that we accepted her for who she was – flaws, pain, and all. My misery was nothing compared to hers, but we all found our burdens lighter in each others’ company.

Since that night, Azal has spoken little of her past. There has been no need. She has been as close a friend as I’ve ever had. But there are times, such as this, when I feel like I barely know her at all.

After saying a few words to honor the dead, we pressed further into the dungeon. I saw glittering in the rats’ nests, and felt grateful not to be in the company of adventurers who would have stopped to pick every coin out of that filthy mess. I also shudder to think what others would have done to the sarcophagi in the burial chamber.

I made another stupid mistake… I triggered a trap and got lungs full of sickly green vapor. Why do I keep taking these chances? Gods know I don’t have a death wish… Am I testing the limits of fate? More likely, Owen’s zeal for this adventuring life is winning me over. He seems more careful now; I hope I wasn’t too harsh with him.

More rats here; their lair is full of the old remains of humanoids. The largest was terribly familiar, old and scarred, one side of her face bashed in – by me, years ago, when we drove her pack from our land. These rats gave the scarlet plague to Celeine and I, and I’m sure that realizing it cost me my wits in the battle. I’m also certain that the rat bit Azal in the fight.

My Queen, I know that you will what you will, and that your servant has no right to ask you for any boon. But please, I beseech you, spare Azal from that plague.

[The ink on the last line is smeared; the book was closed before the ink dried]

is that a body?

Aramis Journal Entry 4

[March 11th, 103 CY continued]

I nearly died today.

I wanted to blame Owen – and his insistence on crashing through the goblin territory, expecting his honorable challenges to be met by creatures without honor, played a role – but I’m the one who opened the door. I should have known better, but my emotions got the best of me, and I paid for it – goblins put two crossbow bolts in my chest. I thank the Queen that Owen and Azal were so quick to act, because a third would have surely killed me.

I have been close to death before. I contracted the same plague that killed Celeine. But I responded to Sister Corkie’s treatments, when my wife did not. So I knew what I faced today, and I must confess: despite my faith in fate, I feel that it was only blind, stupid luck that kept me alive.

I should have known better, but my emotions got the best of me. Remember this lesson, Aramis. Your heart will get you killed.

One of the goblins escaped, so the rest of the lair must know that we’re here. We secured the door as best we could, but it’s only one door out of many. We must be cautious going forward. Got to figure out how to get that across to Owen…

More rats attacked after we rested, and now Azal shows the signs of filth fever again. Poor Azal. Her fussing over Meepo seems to agree with her, and saves me the trouble. I’d ease her pain if I could, but I’m only trained to console the bereaved, not those who don’t know if those they care about are dead or alive.

There’s more evidence that Talgen’s band came this way; all we can do is follow the trail, and hope to find him at its end.

One more thing: Owen says he chose me because I’m “going to be one of the best.” Is this more of his prattle, or am I fated for something important? And what would he know about it?

More worrying. Fate wills what it will! What good does all this worrying do?

Why can’t I stop?

-Aramis

Operation: Rembrandt

I'm involved in a PbP game over at the Trapcast, an RPG podcast. It's a WWII zombie-thon using a homebrew story game system.

My character, Andrew Portnoy, is an inquisitive art historian. In the movie he'd be played by Adrien Brody.

It's been a gas so far, very creepy fun. You can follow the thread here.

People are Stupid Potpourri

Work has been insane since people started receiving their income tax refunds, so here's a blotter of incidents since Christmas:

- It's not my job to tell you if you're buying a live album, or a tribute album, or to tell you if something is fullscreen, or has Spanish audio/subtitles. That's the PACKAGE'S job. I can't provide much more information than the package can. If you don't like live albums, then ask me. Or become a fan of bands that are, you know, actually good live.

- If you're too shy to sing the song you want me to look up, then you don't want it badly enough.

- Playing the song on your cell phone doesn't help either. It sounds like transmissions from the surface of the moon, and I haven't heard that song anyway, because I don't like rap.

- Do I LOOK like someone who likes rap? I must have been born about twenty minutes ahead of all the middle-aged bald overweight white guys who do. Caveat: rap that's fun is fun. Rap that's about how great you are, treating women like shit, and killing each other is not. No one asks me for fun rap; I don't think anyone's making it any more.

- Someone held up a DVD box and asked me "Is this a DVD?" I had so many comebacks for that that I couldn't choose one.

- I had to explain to a different lady what DVDs are. What have you been watching movies on since they quit making VHS, exactly?

- A sweet old couple with a printed e-mail of metal bands they wanted to get for their grandson when he visited them. I believed them when they said he was a good boy until I realized the bands were part of the "WHITE PRIDE WORLD WIDE" tour, then I had to wonder how sweet the old couple really was.

- One of the bands was Marduk, who claims to not be Nazi metal according to Wikipedia. It made me think of Sealab 2021 ("Marduk, slayer of Tiamat!")

- And the best part, the old man turning DVDs over in the clearance boxes so you couldn't read the titles on the spines.

I watched him for a minute before asking "Excuse me, please; why are you doing that?"

"I dunno." Pretty much the answer I was expecting, but then he kept doing it.

I let it go as long as I could before saying "Um, could you stop, please?"

That's retail, y'all. People are stupid.

The Threshold Episode 1

The Threshold is a new chat-based D&D v.3.5 campaign that I'm running, set in the Forgotten Realms. The Obsidian Portal wiki is here. The adventure log for session 1 follows.

* * *

The ship lurched in the storm for hours without end. The forward hold was devoid of all light, the noise deafening. Four desperate souls lay shackled to their bunks in that darkness, each in their own private agony.

All at once, the crashing sound of the waves was drowned out by a tremendous crash which caused the entire ship to shudder – she must have run aground.

Shortly came the sound of snapping spars and a great crash which could only have been the mast coming down. The prisoners were thrown forward, but were rooted to the spot by their shackles, bringing fresh agony to bruised and chafing wrists.

The impact shattered the ship’s bow, tearing it away entirely and allowing a sharp blast of cold air and rain into the hold. A great boulder ground against the port side of the ship, buckling one of the bunks as the ship ground to a halt.

Then there was only the sound of fierce wind and pounding surf, and the sight of rain-pounded beach outside of the open bow.

The prisoners – three women and one man, all human – took a few moments to catch their breath. One, a blond woman shackled to the buckled bunk, saw that the plate anchoring her in place had been loosened by the impact. She tried to work it free, but it was hard to gain leverage in this position.

“I don’t deserve this,” she announced. “My daddy will punish whoever’s responsible for this.”

“None of us deserve this,” replied the dark-haired woman to her right. “And unless your father’s got a crystal ball, I don’t think he’s punishing anybody.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No, I don’t even know who you are.”

“My name is Eilir Stormweather,” the fair-haired woman said, still struggling with her chains. “Ronan Stormweather is my father, Miss….?”

“Alistina Cruo.”

“Miss Alistina, I promise you, when my daddy finds out what’s happened to me, these slavers will wish they were never born.” The plate budged a bit, and Eilir gave an excited squeak, then went back to pouting.

“We’d be better off,” said Alistina, “if someone could reach those keys.”

The ring which held the keys to all the shackles hung from a hook near the hatch to the deck. The man, large, blond, and well-tanned, was closest to the keys. Eilir favored him with a dirty look. “Don’t you know to help a damsel in distress?” Eilir demanded.

“Sorry, miss,” said the man, “but I cain’t reach, and I cain’t budge this here bunk.” He tried to damage the bunk with a kick, but the damage was minimal.

“You’re no help, sirrah.”

“Don’t know from sirrah, miss. Name’s Zeke.”

But Eilir was already complaining again and missed these words.

Alistina ignored them and concentrated until silvery radiance surrounded her. She aimed a bolt of energy at her shackles, but failed to put more than a scratch on them. Zeke turned from arguing with Eilir to watch this display with awe.

Furious with the interruption, Eilir yanked on the chains once more, and the plate tore free, causing her to fall over backwards with a shout. Within moments, she held the keyring in her hands; she freed herself, then released Zeke and Alistina.

The third woman, a tough-looking blond with an olive complexion, simply said “Thank you” when Eilir came to unlock her shackles. Before Eilir could say anything else, the woman stood up, scooped up a chunk of debris that might serve as a club, and moved to the broken bow of the ship for a peek at the beach.

“Careful, miss,” warned Zeke.

Alistina said “He’s right. We don’t know what’s out there.”

The woman’s blue eyes swept over the others. “That’s what I plan to find out, comrades.”

“Comrades?” Eilir blinked rapidly. “Who do you think you are, some kind of soldier?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Name’s Theronna.”

Theronna missed Eilir’s reply as she turned her attention back to the beach, seeing a dull gray sky, a cliff wall rising forty feet or more, and a figure staggering up and down the beach some thirty feet away.

“Hafkris,” she growled.

The half-orc slaver who had made their time in the hold such hell stumbled around the beach like a drunken soldier on parade, singing off-color chanteys. He was armed with a longsword and clad in studded leather armor; the prisoners wore only rags, with no cloaks or boots, and only improvised clubs for weapons.

After some discussion, the prisoners came up with a plan to get past the slaver. Eilir summoned an obscuring mist, which Hafkris dismissed as a trick of the miserable weather. The four then tried to sneak past him, losing all sight in the fog, only to hear the rasp of a sword being drawn.

“Who goes there!” demanded Hafkris.

Alistina scorched the slaver with another burst of heavenly light. Zeke tried to pin him to the ground, but misjudged the slaver’s position and gave his own away in the process, resulting in a vicious slash to Zeke’s side. Eilir struck the half-orc with a magic missile, and Alistina broke his shoulder with her club moments before Zeke brought his weapon crashing down on Hafkris’s skull. After a dull crunch, the half-orc’s body fell to the sand, dead.

Zeke’s body shook as he stared down at Hafkris’s corpse. Suddenly he crumpled to the ground and retched what little his belly held onto the beach, only barely aware of Alistina casting a healing spell upon him. The women stripped Hafkris of his armor and started putting it on Alistina; Theronna claimed his longsword.

He looked up to see Eilir holding the slaver’s dagger and sneering at him, saying “Guess not all men can be manly as my daddy.”

“It ain’t that,” Zeke replied. “I know he deserved it. He had devil in ‘im. But I ain’t never killed nobody.”

“Killing’s part of life out here,” Alistina said, pulling on Hafkris’s boots although they were far too big for her feet. “It ain’t pretty, but it was him or us. You’ll be all right.”

Zeke eventually picked himself up and looked toward the ship. Scourge read the ship’s name plate, sticking out of the remains of the bow. The mast lay across the deck, blocking the hatch to the forward hold, but the hatch to the aft hold looked free, even though that section of the ship still lay half in the water. There was no sign of anyone else.

It was clear to all that the ship would provide no shelter from the weather. After some discussion, Zeke and Eilir climbed aboard the ship to investigate the aft hold, while Alistina and Theronna explored the beach.

The bottom of the hold was swamped with seawater, and there was no sign of the dress Eilir wanted to find so badly, but they found a crossbow and a small floating chest which contained two books and a stack of papers.

“My spellbook!” Eilir exclaimed, snatching it from Zeke’s hands. “Now I can prepare some spells to help us in case you can’t. Daddy’d make a man out of ya, though you do look pretty strong…”

She looked away when Zeke glanced up at her. “Just my luck,” he grumbled as they climbed out of the hold, “to git marooned on a deserted island with three hardened, bloodthirsty women.”

The four of them – once prisoners, now castaways – regrouped on the beach and followed the cliff wall to its lowest point, climbed up, and got their first good look at the island.

They saw hills in every direction, roughest to the west, a bit flatter in the east, and no sign of shelter or settlements in any direction. There was little green to be found; the island looked lifeless except for some common, practically indestructible growth.

They headed west. Some time later, they were passing between two hills when Theronna (who had taken the lead) held up a hand, stopping the others. She led them to the top of the hill on the left, where they peered over some boulders to see a battle going on in the ravine below.

Six orcs fought a dozen goblins; they also saw a scrawny old human tied up behind the orc line, craning to see the fight for himself. Agreeing to help the old man, the castaways climbed down and around the hill, reaching him without drawing the attention of the combatants.

“Help me!” the old man whispered. “Get me out of here!”

Eilir used her dagger to slice through his ropes, and the old man jumped up and led them away from the battle in a flash of bony knees and elbows. In a few moments, they were well out of sight of the battle. Once sure they were clear, the old man said “Yer the first human faces I’ve seen in more years’n I can remember, it’s true. What’re ye doin’ here?”

“We were captured by pirates, then we were shipwrecked. I’m Zeke.” Zeke found that shaking the old man’s hand was like holding a bundle of twigs.

“Do you have a name?” asked Alistina.

“Name’s Osric. Haven’t needed it in a long time; least I can still remember it.”

“And where are we going?” asked Theronna. “Is there somewhere we can hide, or get out of the rain?”

“Sure, sure. Follow me, I’ll take ya t’a safe place and tell ya all about himself, Viledel the Sea-King.”