“Should we take this stuff back to the Dead Warrens, let Kroft know what we’ve found, and try to decipher this book?” Tomas asked. They were in Domina’s Study, high atop her namesake tower, and they’d apparently found Ileosa’s secret lair, full of incriminating documents and tantalizing clues. But they still hadn’t found the Queen, or, if the Infernal Contract they’d found could be believed, most of her Hellish minions.
“If the Queen’s here, we need to find
her,” Nat said emphatically. “I agree,” Jax chimed in. “Now that we’ve stirred
things up, she might take off, and I’d hate to miss her by this much.”
“But we’re pretty beat up,” Erin
cautioned, trying to wipe some of the dried blood off her shield.
“I’m not!” chirped Nat. “I’ve still got lots of spells!”
The debate continued like that for a few
minutes, but in the end, the group decided this task needed to be seen through
to the end. They descended through the Phase
Gate back into the lower tower, and crossed the parapet back into the main
castle. They crossed the Grand Salon, still littered with Red Mantis bodies, to
a pair of double doors they hadn’t explored. These led into a trophy hall, its
walls covered with the mounted heads of dozens of beasts, from common deer and
elk to more exotic creatures, like wyverns. To the left, the hall took a turn,
and Jax crept over to peek around the corner. The long hall, extending over the
gatehouse below, looked like it had once been an armory, with empty weapon
racks lining its walls. But it was empty, save for a huge heap of fetid marsh
grass, rags, and partially eaten bodies at the far end. Jax watched patiently
for nearly a minute, but seeing no movement, carefully approached. He could see
light shining in from a hole that had been ripped in the roof above the reeking
nest. “I think we’ve found that dragon’s nest,” he called back to the others.
Nat, visions of a dragon hoard racing through his head, practically knocked Jax
over in his rush to search the nest, but he found nothing save for a few black
scales scattered among the rags.
Disappointed, he followed the group as
they made their way to another closed door at the opposite end of the trophy
hall. It opened into a room lined with empty bookcases emblazoned with the
crest of the Sable Company. “I’d heard that the history of the Company’s
engagements were stored here in the Castle,” Tomas said in a low growl. “It
looks like the Queen had them destroyed when she disbanded the Marines.”
The library held yet another closed
door. Beyond it, they found an odd-shaped room illuminated by three windows set
in deep, tall niches. One either side of each window stood a pair of white
marble statues, each depicting a woman in the same pose, hands high above her
head clutching an object. One grasped a large key, the next an open book,
followed by statues holding a shield, a star, a hammer, and a crown. “The suits
of the Harrow!” Nat whispered as he recognized the objects in the statues’
hands.
In the center of the room was a round
table surrounded by six chairs. A small case sat in the center of the table,
identical in size to the case holding Zellara’s deck of cards. Checking
carefully for magic or traps, the group filed into the room, and Tomas gingerly
lifted the case off the table and opened it, revealing a well-worn deck of
Harrow cards. As he did, a sudden wind blew into the room from the windows
(although they were glazed and shut) causing the cards to fly into a vortex
near the ceiling for a moment before fluttering to the ground, landing
face-down. Except for one; against all reason, the Midwife card remained stuck
to the ceiling.
Everyone stared open-mouthed at the card
pressed against the stone above them. “The Midwife,” Wren whispered. “Zellara
said that card portends new life, or the arrival of new information.”
“Does the ceiling look different there
to you,” Jax asked. Sure enough, as they peered more closely at the stone
around the floating card, it looked smoother than the stone around it, as if
someone had smeared their hand over soft mud. “Looks like someone used Stoneshape to close up some opening in
the ceiling,” Jax continued. “Maybe there used to be a trapdoor there!”
Shadow used his Boots of Levitation, to float up to the ceiling, and Wren joined
him with her Winged Boots. Wren
retrieved the card, and both pushed with all their might on the smooth area of
stone, but it didn’t budge; if there had once been an opening here, it was now one with the rest of the ceiling. “If you can get me up there, I can try a Passwall,” Nat suggested. Shadow drifted
down, and he and Nat traded boots (Nat found that Shadow had much larger feet than he did, a
fact that didn’t surprise him in the least). Nat rose up to join Wren, and cast
his spell, creating a square opening into a dark room above. “Um … ladies first,”
Nat said gallantly.
Wren sighed, and poked her head up into
the newly revealed room. The windowless chamber was a surprisingly
well-appointed bedroom, with a large bed, a nicely carved table with a pair of
chairs, a comfortable-looking armchair, a large silver lamp (unlit), and a
small stove. Everything was covered with a layer of dust, as if no one had been
in the room for months. Along one wall was a long glass showcase. When nothing
appeared to take Wren’s head off, Nat joined her, then dropped the Boots down so the others could begin
ferrying up.
Wren moved to examine the glass case.
Inside were an array of at least fifty decks of cards, all displayed with care
and competence. Each had a few cards displayed face up, and most had elaborate
matching cases of wood, ivory, or leather. Behind her, Jax gave a low whistle
as he surveyed the collection. “Those are some pretty fancy cards. Rare, too,
by the look of them. They’d bring a pretty penny from the right collector.”
“This must have been Venster’s apartment,”
Tomas said as he surveyed the room. “The king’s secret half-brother. Neolandus
told us it was up here, but he didn’t say anything about it being sealed.”
“I don’t think it was,” Erin said. She
pulled a neatly-folded rope ladder from behind a folding screen, next to a
chamber pot. “I think Venster was able to climb down, to get his meals and
such. The Queen must have sealed this up after the King’s death.
There was another door out of the room,
but it didn’t look like it had been used in a long time. When Tomas opened it, he saw
why: it led into a low-ceilinged space full of cobwebs and dusty blackened
beams supporting the Castle’s roof. There was another door on the opposite
wall, and Jax duck-walked across the low space to try to open it, but it
wouldn’t give. He and Tomas both worked on it, and finally succeeded in pushing
it open a few inches. Their light spilled in just enough to show a large space
packed with old and dusty odds and ends: old clothes, broken furniture, tools,
toys, lamps, and unrecognizable flotsam from a century of life in the Castle.
As they returned to Venster’s bedroom,
Erin was carefully examining the eastern wall. She was convinced there had to
be more to this apartment than they were seeing, but her most minute study
revealed nothing. But the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she heard a
soft scratching sound coming from somewhere behind the wall in front of her.
With a sudden pop, the wall in front of her shifted forward half an inch,
revealing the seam of a very well-concealed secret door. “I didn’t touch
anything!” she whispered as the others gathered around.
Weapons at the ready, they eased the
secret door open. Inside was another dusty room. It also held a bed, another
armchair, and a pedestal table with a single chair. A darkened lantern sat on
the table, next to a dusty Harrow deck in an elegant redwood case. As they
eneted, the temperature droppped several degrees. A moment later, a strange
roiling mist rose from the deck of cards on the table, causing them to flutter
and dance on the table, as if caught in a small breeze. The mist took on a
vaguely humanoid form – that of an older man with horns on his brow. He stared
at the party in apparent confusion, reaching out ghostly hands towards them. “My bones,” he whispered in a gravelly
voice. “Bring me my bones … they rot so
far below … bring me my bones … I can help you if you bring me my bones …”
The spirit faded away, although his voice continued calling for his bones after
his image had disappeared. As it did, Wren felt a stirring, and Zellara’s voice
called to her from far away. “You must
seek out his tomb,” she told Wren. “I
can lead you there … the spirits know the way.”
“I know where Venster lies,” Wren said,
turning to the group. “I’m not sure how I know, but he’s in the Vaults, below
the Castle. I can show you the way.” Having learned not to question Zellara,
the party followed Wren as she dropped back down into the room below, then led
them to the Epochal Tower with its great stair. They climbed down the spiraling
stair, to the Castle’s second floor. “Neolandus’s maps said there was a secret
entrance to the Vaults off a smithy up ahead,” Tomas whispered. Sure enough,
the passage from the Epochal Tower led into a workshop. Part of it was filled
with tools for working wood, leather, or wicker, and beyond that was a smithy
with anvils and a large open forge, now cold. A passage led on from the
workshops, and Jax could hear muffled voices from up ahead. He also heard other
sounds: crackling flames, dissonant singing, and distant screams.
Jax reported back, and Nat decided not
to take any chances, so he cast Silence
on a hammer lying on a workbench. Wren led them silently forward, motioning to
a door to their right. It led into a small cluttered storeroom, but with Wren
pointing and recalling Neolandus’s sketches, Tomas had no difficulty finding a
secret door in its back wall. Inside was a narrow spiral staircase leading down
into darkness. Everyone slipped inside, with Nat closing the doors behind him,
leaving the Silenced hammer at the
top of the stairs.
Some twenty feet below, they found a
landing leading to the back of another hidden door, one that would lead out to
the Castle’s first floor, but Wren was still leading them down. They continued
descending, circling round and round on the stairs until they were at least
seventy feet below Castle Korvosa. At last the stairs ended and a narrow
passage led forward. Their magical lights were the only things breaking the
inky darkness and their footfalls the only sound. The passage led into a
circular chamber, its ceiling rising suddenly almost beyond the reach of their
lights. A huge, green-gray pillar rose in the center of the chamber; to their
left, part of the wall had collapsed, blocking their way, so they squeezed
around the pillar to the right. As they did, they realized that the stone of
the pillar was much cooler to the touch than the stone walls, but it showed no
sign of magic, nor anything else unusual. But the stonework here was clearly
different from the Castle above, and obviously far older. “This is
Thassalonian,” Nat whispered as they moved forward, scanning the walls around
them. “The entire mastaba on which the Castle is built dates back to the
Thassalonian Empire. They say that this was part of the Runelord Sorshen’s
capital.”
By this time, they had come to a
T-intersection; one direction looked just like the other, but Wren led them
confidently to the right. The hall opened into a vast chamber, its vaulted
ceiling supported by stone pillars carved with spiky Thassalonian runes. The
floor of the chamber was a mess of empty chests, upturned urns, and other
containers. Here and there an odd coin lay forgotten on the floor, or a small
gem glittered in their light. “This was supposed to be the Royal Treasury,”
Tomas said, recalling Neolandus’s maps. “Looks like Ileosa looted it, too.”
“The secret room where the Fangs were
stored is supposed to be over this way,” Jax said pointing left, but Wren was
already striding to the right, and the party continued to follow. Another
narrow passage led into another huge vaulted chamber. This was the Royal Crypts.
Several niches lined the walls, and five of them held stone sarcophagi. As they
passed, Nat read off the names engraved on each sarcophagus: “Lord Arbust. King
Eodred. Queen Domina. King Eodred II.” He pointed to another sarcophagus, on
the opposite side of the room far from the others. “That one says King
Cardraith. I wonder why he’s way over there.”
“He was king during the Cousins’ War,”
Tomas said, remembering his Korvosan history. “He was beheaded for betraying
the city to Cheliax.” Nat didn’t see any magical auras, so he continued
following Wren as she led them out of the Crypts. The hallway continued on, then
turned to the right. They could see openings leading to other vaults; they’d
already passed a number of open, empty vaults on their way. Tomas turned the
corner and started to move on, but Wren had stopped. “He’s in here,” she said
softly, pressing her hand against the wall. As they looked more closely, they
could see that what had once been the entrance to another vault was now sealed
by a brand new brick wall. Wren unlimbered her mace, and Nat cast a hasty Silence on a coin, lest the noise
disturb anything lurking unseen in the darkness.
It took but a few minutes work for Wren
to batter down the brick wall. As the bricks fell, a thick stench of decay
spilled out. Inside a partially decomposed corpse, mouth agape in a painful death
scream, lay slumped against the wall near the entrance to this otherwise empty
room. The corpse, clad in a rich, dark purple outfit, was that of a thin,
bearded dwarf-sized humanoid with pointed ears and a pair of vestigial horns
sprouting from his brow. Wren knelt beside the body, laying her hand gently on
its head as she said a soft prayer to Pharasma. “This is Venster Arabasti,” she
said.
They wrapped the body respectfully in a
robe; whatever else he might have been, he was Queen Domina’s son, and of royal
blood. Then they linked hands, and Nat stared up at the ceiling to get his
bearings, then cast Dimension Door to
return them to Venster’s apartment at the top of Castle Korvosa.
“But then his new bride came to visit.
She was a vision of loveliness, and I was truly smitten for the first time in
my life. She flattered me, and told me how unjust she felt it was that I, the
elder brother and rightful heir, had been kept from the Crimson Throne. She
said that she should have been my
Queen, and not Eodred’s. I realize now that she had enchanted me, but at the
time I swallowed her lies and loved her for them.
“She told me we should rule Korvosa together, but that Eodred had to die
first. She gave me vials of some poison, and instructed me how to use it. When
we played cards, Eodred always licked his fingers as he spread the cards in his
hand, so I coated each card with the poison, being careful to wash my own hands
after we played. Ileosa’s plan worked, and my brother fell deathly ill. But
when he died, her cruelty was revealed. She came for me, with a pair of her
masked assassins, and drug me off to the vaults. She laughed and mocked my love
for her as they walled me up in my tomb, leaving me to slowly die of thirst,
and guilt.
“But even after death, my spirit could
not rest. I found myself trapped here, and still somehow linked to my
murderess. I could catch snatches of her thoughts and desires, especially when
she was in my mother’s tower, where she spent much time. I know that she has
discovered some ancient source of Thassilonian magic, in a place called the ‘Sunken
Queen’, and that she intends
to use it to achieve eternal youth. I know little else, save that the ritual
requires the freely-given lifeblood of an army of sacrifices. I fear that the
people of Korvosa are those sacrifices.”
Wren suddenly gasped as she felt a burst
of empathetic energy from the Harrow deck in her pocket. Zellara’s Harrow deck
flew out of her robe and landed sharply beside Venster’s Harrow Deck on the
table. Zellara’s spirit appeared next to Venster’s, an odd smile on her face.
“My friends!” she said, her voice trembling with both excitement and fear, “I
finally realize my role in all this, my final opportunity to aid in the
protection of Korvosa. So many have died in Korvosa as a result of Ileosa’s
cruelty and whims, and their spirits cry out for justice. Venster Arabasti is
of the royal bloodline, and should have been King of Korvosa, whether before or
after his brother’s death. Together, he and I can channel the lost spirits of
Korvosa’s restless dead. We can merge our Harrow decks into something much
greater, something that might give you great aid in your final confrontation
with the Queen.”
Venster’s spirit was looking at Zellara
in astonishment, as he slowly nodded his head in agreement. “Yes – yes we could do that, funnel the spirits
of the dead into the cards. But it would be dangerous. Many of those spirits
were cruel or even insane in their own lives.” He turned to look at the party. “We
could not exclude them from this infusion of power. The best we could hope for
would be to try to moderate their influence through the traditions and
mysticism of the Harrow. You can choose from the deck, or not, and if you have
an … unfortunate … choice, our spirits can perhaps redirect the draw.”
Zellara smiled again at the party, and
this time there was a true shadow of sadness in her smile. “This is my goodbye,
my friends. I will not see you again in this life. I cannot express my thanks
for all you have done for me, and my son, and my city. May the spirits smile
upon you always.”
Zellara and Venster looked at one
another and the cards of their respective decks flew out of their containers
and began to spiral and spin in the air around them. The respective cards from
each deck began to collide with one another, merging into a single card with a
small flash of light. As the decks slowly combined, the ghostly figures began
to fade, until at last they were gone, and a single Harrow deck lay neatly
stacked on the table. Nat could see the deck glowing brightly with an aura of
intense magic. “Um, guys. I think we’re talking artifact-level magic here.”
Indeed, Zellara’s Harrow deck had become
something far more powerful: a Harrow Deck of Many Things. The
heroes somehow knew that they could choose to draw some number of cards from
the deck. Once their decision was made, they would have to draw that number of cards, and that they might
receive a great boon from the card they had drawn. Or suffer some great
calamity. They could only pray that Zellara and Venster’s spirits could protect
them from the latter.
Nat looked nervously around the room.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” he began, but Wren was already reaching for
the deck. “I’ll take two,” she said. Without hesitation, she flipped over the
top card: The Theater. She nodded; this was a good draw – she would
absorb some of the abilities of the next foe that she killed. She turned over
the next card: The Tyrant. Wren staggered back, her face suddenly gone pale.
Erin caught her as she almost fell, and Wren gripped her shoulder hard. “It’s
Kazavon,” Wren whispered. “I can feel
him! It’s as if … as if somehow my soul is attuned to him.” She stumbled to the
bed and sat down, head in her hands.
That gave everyone pause, but it didn’t
seem that anything fatal had
happened. Taking a deep breath, Erin turned to face the Deck, realizing that
Wren’s cards had somehow shuffled themselves back into the Deck. “I’ll also
take two,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. She fanned the deck,
and selected a card at random from it: The Trumpet. “Wow!” she said as the
card’s import became clear. “I can summon aid to fight with us!” Inspired, she
quickly selected another card: The Beating. “Whoops! No, I don’t
think so!” she cried, realizing that this card would always give her opponents
the advantage over her. She heard the whispering of spirits around her, and
Zellara’s distant singing, and it was as if she’d never drawn the card. Her
hand trembling, she drew again.
The Marriage. There
was a flash of light, and an impossibly handsome young man suddenly appeared
before Erin. He had a chiseled jaw, thick black hair, and smoldering dark eyes.
He was bare-chested (and quite the chest it was), and wore flowing silk
pantaloons, although his legs ended in a haze of smoke as he floated slightly
above the ground. He gazed at Erin for a moment before giving a courtly bow and
kissing her hand. “At last, the great Erin Nelsson! I am Prince Alzhabaar,
youngest scion of Lord Rangimari, ruler of the Plane of Air. Ages ago, our
seers foretold that I would marry the greatest of human heroes, and they have
watched your deeds upon this Plane with great interest. You are indeed the hero
who it is my great fortune to wed. I beg you to accept my humble offer of marriage,
to allow me to devote myself to you, and you to me, for all time.” A single,
perfect red rose suddenly appeared in his hand and he offered it to Erin. “We
must be wed within the week – you will have to organize the festivities, of
course, as is our custom.”
Erin looked down at the rose in her
hands, her cheeks burning. “Nope. Nope. No way, no, no, no.” she muttered,
backing away (and yet, somehow, wanting to fall forward, into those strong,
bronzed arms). The djinn’s face fell, but then the spirits swirled around her
again, and the card was returned to the deck as if never drawn, the fury of the
elemental court at her refusal avoided. A handful of rose petals fluttered
slowly to the floor.
It took a full minute before Erin could
work up the courage to draw from the deck again (Shadow’s snickering from the
corner didn’t help). At last she drew another card: The Vision. The room
around her grew dark, and seemed to fade away altogether. She found herself
floating over the city of Korvosa, looking down on its streets and docks, then
the clouds closed around her, and all was gray and indistinct.
An image began to form. She was looking down into a
room with weathered wood walls, and an open pit of water and mud in its center.
With a gasp, she recognized it as Gaedren Lamm’s lair below the Old Fishery,
and the room was not empty. Lamm was there, along with Giggles, and Giggles
held someone struggling in his grasp. It was a girl, a girl with short black
hair, but streaks of red showed through where tears or blood had smeared away
the cheap dye. Erin’s guts clenched as she realized the girl was her sister,
Brigitte. She was bleeding, one leg bent awkwardly, and she cried out in pain
as Giggles threw her on the floor at Lamm’s feet.
“Welcome home, little Lamb,” Lamm purred evilly.
“Thought you were too big for your britches, did you? Thought you could get
away with back talk, and disrespect, just because you earn a bit of gold?” He
kicked the girl, and she winced but didn’t cry out. “Well you thought wrong,
poppin.” Lamm turned his attention to Giggles. “Did you get it?” The half-orc
giggled, and nodded, tossing a burlap sack onto the table beside Lamm; it
spilled open revealing a tangle of jewelry – including a particularly fine
brooch with the image of a house drake and imp intertwined. "And the
junkie?” Lamm asked. Giggles simply drew a finger across his throat, giggling
madly.
“Excellent!” Lamm squatted down next to Brigitte,
brushing her hair out of her eyes with a dirty finger. She glared at him, and
spat in his face. Lamm punched her hard in the stomach, then smiled as she
doubled up, wiping the spittle off his cheek. “Quite the bitch to the bitter
end, aren’t you, Jit? Not that it matters now – your service to me is almost
complete. Almost, but not quite. You’ve got one more little job to do, a little
payback for your old friend Jax. Course, you won’t be around to appreciate it,
but I’m sure he will!”
“Fuck you, Lamm,” Brigitte snarled, her green eyes
blazing. “You’re the one who’s almost done. They’re coming for you. My
sister, and her friends. They’re coming, and they’re going to feed you to
Gobblegut!”
Lamm stared at her for a moment in astonishment,
then threw back his head and laughed. “You must have hit her in the head pretty
hard, Giggles!” he chortled. “Poor little thing’s havin’ hallucinations! No,
nobody’s coming for you, poppin,” he snarled, turning back to Brigitte, his
mood shifting to fury in an instant. “You family doesn’t give a shit about you
– they forgot all about you within a week. They’re gone, Jax is gone, all the
Lambs upstairs will be gone before too long, and then everyone who ever knew
you existed will be gone. Except for me. I’ll be here, and I’ll remember this
day, think about it every night before I go to sleep.” He drew out a long dagger,
pressed it against Brigitte’s eyelid, and the girl began to scream.
The scene faded, Brigitte’s screams drifting away
into the clouds. Erin floated, then the clouds began to clear. She was high
above Korvosa again, looking down upon Castle Korvosa. She descended, and saw a
huge crowd had gathered in the square below the Castle. A small group stood on
the balcony overlooking the square, the same spot where Queen Ileosa had
condemned Trinia Sabor to death, and had survived Marcus Endrin’s assassination
attempt. Endrin was there again, along with Cressida Kroft, Neolandus
Kalepopolis, Grau Soldado, and all the magistrates of Korvosa. Neolandus was
dressed in finery, a heavy gold chain of office draped over his shoulders, but
his face was worried. "You still haven’t heard anything?” he asked Kroft,
and she shook her head.
“Not a word since they said they’d found the Sunken
Queen. But that was days ago. I’d have expected to hear something by
now.”
Neolandus shook his head. “But if they’d failed …
well, the Queen would be back, right? So they must have succeeded, mustn’t
they?”
Bishop d’Bear interrupted. “It’s time, my lord.”
Neolandus Kalepopolis gave Kroft one last glance, then stepped to the front of
the balcony.
“Citizens of Korvosa!” he called, and his voice rang
out across the square. “Your long ordeal is over. Ileosa Arabasti has been
deposed for crimes against the city. It is my great honor to have been
appointed Regent, to serve as …” His voice faltered. On the square below him,
the crowd began to fall, like wheat before the scythe, falling all at once by
the hundreds. Here and there the isolated individual still stood in shocked
silence, staring at the field of death around them. Neolandus turned in horror,
but everyone around him on the podium had also fallen. Cressida Kroft lay
staring lifelessly up at him, Grau Soldado’s arm draped limply across her
midsection.
As the new Regent of Korvosa tried to grasp what had
befallen his city, he heard laughter, a woman’s laughter, ringing through the
skies of Korvosa, the City of the Dead.
Erin blinked herself back to reality.
She was still in Venster’s small room, her friends looking at her with concern.
“Are you alright?” Tomas asked gently. “Was that card OK?” Erin shook her head.
“I … I’m not sure. I’m not sure what I saw. A vision. Two visions. But I don’t know which to believe. If either.”
This had all seemed like a bit of a game
when they’d started, but the mood in the room had definitely shifted to the
somber side. Jax took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll draw a couple, too.” He
pulled a card off the deck, quickly, like removing a bandage, then gave a sigh
of relief. “The Inquisitor. I can force someone to answer me truthfully.
Not great, but it could be worse.” Feeling more hopeful, he drew again. The
Bear. For a moment, Jax’s arms grew beefy, covered with coarse black
hair. He gave a gasp of surprise, but it came out as a gruffling snort. Then it
passed, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Well! This should be …
interesting.”
Tomas moved in next. “I think you’re
leaving opportunities on the table – literally. I’m going to draw four cards.”
He drew the first card: The Sickness. Blood Veil pox burst
out all over his face and hands, seeping blood, as he was wracked with a spasm
of wet coughing. He shook his head, unable to speak, and the spirits undid his
draw, and the disease passed. Somewhat less confident, he drew again: The
Crows. Tomas suddenly saw a scale before him. On one side was his Seeking Longbow; on the other, Neolandus Kalepopolis. Tomas knew he had to choose,
one or the other, whichever he did not choose would be destroyed beyond mortal
recovery. “I don’t choose this card,” he said emphatically, and the spirits
returned his card to the deck. He was starting to worry now – how many times could
the spirits protect him? He drew again: The Teamster. The room around him
fell silent, his friends frozen into motionlessness. The air before him
stirred, and a figure materialized. It was a woman. No, not just a woman. The woman, the model from which
all womanhood must have been formed. This, he knew, was Sorshen, the Runelord
of Lust, and she smiled at him, the power of that smile almost knocking him
unconscious. “You know who I am,” she purred, running a finger gently down his
cheek, and he quivered with ecstasy. “This upstart, Ileosa, intends to corrupt
my legacy. You must perform a service for me. You must destroy this would-be
Queen before seven days have passed. If you do not, I shall be displeased.”
Tomas felt tears stream down his cheeks at the thought of displeasing Sorshen. “But
if you do, I shall be … pleased.” Tomas shuddered, and had a small orgasm. The
vision of Sorshen faded, and Tomas found everyone looking at him expectantly. “Well?”
Shadow asked. “Yeah, I’ll keep this one,” Tomas said gruffly, shifting his
sword belt to hide his crotch.
The next card he drew was The
Beating, the same card Erin had rejected earlier. But after some of the
worse choices Tomas had seen, giving foes the advantage of flanking him
seemed like a problem he could live with. But he still had two more cards to
go; he was beginning to second-guess his strategy of drawing the maximum number
of cards. Nevertheless, he reached into the deck and drew out his next card.
The Joke. “What the
hell?” Erin exclaimed as she suddenly found herself standing in front of the
table, drawing cards out of the deck. She laid three cards face up on the
table: The Big Sky, The Owl, and The Cricket. She knew
that she would have to choose one of the three, Tomas another, and the third
would go back into the deck. The Cricket would require her to
draw three more cards, so she
quickly rejected that choice. Instead, she selected The Owl, knowing it would
grant her the one-time ability to scry on anyone she wished – although the
subject would be aware of it. Tomas gratefully selected The Big Sky, granting him
greater agility and slipperiness against some assaults.
Three down, one to go. He drew again,
and just as quickly threw the card away – The Liar, which would have cursed
his longbow. How many times could he get away with this? He drew again, hoping
it would be for the final time. The Wanderer. Tomas felt a sudden
weight on his belt. He looked down, and where his dagger had been a moment
before, a dark purple robe was now tucked into his belt. The gold stitching on
the robe seemed to be continually pulling itself apart and reforming, as if
unable to find the right pattern. He had no idea what it was, but he was
willing to live with it. With a sigh of relief, he stepped away from the Deck.
Shadow stepped up next. Despite what Tomas had just been through, he had a grin on his face as he shuffled the cards - he had a good feeling about this. "I guess I'll take three," he said, cutting the cards one last time, the turned over the top card. The Courtesan. "Hello, good lookin'!" he heard a resonant baritone voice say. Shadow looked around, but no one else seemed to have heard anything. "By the gods, you are one handsome man!" the voice continued. Shadow felt a vibration on his forehead, and realized his Headband of Alluring Charisma was talking to him! "Next time we walk past a mirror, we should take a moment to drink in just how good we look together," it suggested. Everyone was looking at Shadow expectantly - would he keep this card? "Sure," he said with a smile, "I think this card will do just fine."
Still feeling good, he drew again. The Paladin. Shadow felt a sudden heavy weight on his belt. Looking down, he saw a broadsword hanging at his side. It was not gleaming silver steel, like Serithtial, but rather dull gray iron, but it seemed to glow with some inner light, and its hilt was emblazoned with an overflowing drinking flagon, the holy symbol of Cayden Cailean. He stared at the sword for a moment, considering whether to keep this card or draw again. "Oh well," he said at last, "I guess I can always sell it." "I should hope so," his headband sniffed disdainfully. "That sword makes your butt look fat."
"I don't know why you guys got so worked up over some of your draws," Shadow said to the others. "This deck seems to have nothing but great cards!" He drew again, and his body began to crumble into dust. "Please! No!" he tried to cry out, but his lips and tongue had already turned to dust in his mouth - all that came out was a garbled "eeee! oooo!" But the spirits understood his intent, and the card flew back into the deck, Shadow's body rematerializing. "You were saying?" Tomas asked with an arched eyebrow.
Shadow couldn't respond. His mouth was still dry and parched (his sword seemed to tell him that he really needed a drink, while his headband insisted he really needed to find a mirror and make sure his hair still looked OK). He looked at the deck on the table for a moment, then grinned at his friends. "Guess I spoke too soon." He drew one more card, almost afraid to look. The Theater, a card Wren had already drawn, which would infuse him with some of the qualities of the next foe he felled. Shadow heaved a sigh of relief and stepped away from the deck.
Nat looked around – it seemed that
everyone else had already chosen, and it was up to him. Part of him really, really, didn’t want to risk
drawing a card, but a bigger part really, really
wanted to see what he would get. Hurrying, before he lost his nerve, he stepped
forward, cut the Deck, and drew the top card. The Peacock. His skin
grew tough and pebbly, its rigid surface making it more difficult to move. He
knew it would make him harder to hit, but if he was in a situation where people
were hitting him, he’d already have made a series of very bad choices. He shook his head,
the spirits intervened, and the card returned to the deck.
Nat drew again. The Fiend. The instant he
saw the card, Nat knew he was in trouble. His awareness expanded, and he knew,
absolutely knew, that he was screwed. Lorthact the Unraveler, secret master of
the contract devil they’d slain in the demiplane of Hell attached to the
Acadamae, had taken special notice of one Natan Dorré. Even now, one of his
minions – an Immolation Devil – was on its way to Queen Ileosa, to pledge its
aid to ensure Nat’s utter destruction. “Oh please! Gods, no!” Nat cried
fumbling to force the card back into the Deck. The spirits took pity on him,
and the draw was undone.
It took a full minute before Nat could
stop shaking enough to draw another card. He scrunched his eyes shut, drew the
card, then squinted one eye open just enough to see the face of the card. The
Hidden Truth. Nat almost collapsed with relief. This was more like it!
Spiritual aid to unravel any puzzle or question – he’d love that! Feeling
hopeful, he drew on last time. The Wanderer – this was a card Tomas
had already drawn. Nat felt something in his pocket; reaching in, he found a
small metal flask; it felt like it had some liquid in it. He wasn’t sure what
it was, but considering what might have been he counted himself lucky and let
it stand.
Everyone having drawn, the magical aura
around the Harrow Deck quickly faded, until it was nothing more than a mundane
deck of cards. Wren carefully gathered them up and replaced them into Zellara’s
case, holding them to her breast for a moment as she offered a silent prayer of
thanks. Then she looked at her friends. “Don’t ask me how I know, but the Crown
of Fangs – it’s that way.” She pointed west-northwest.
“Wait!” Jax said, looking confused. “It’s
not down?” Wren shook her head. “But we’re already on the top floor of the
Castle. We know it’s not in the next room, and beyond that, there’s nothing
else … wait! What’s that direction in the city? The Temple of Asmodeus? Is it
there? That’s kind of that direction. Sort of.”
Wren shook her head. “It’s not in the
Castle. It’s not in the city. It’s far away – at least a hundred miles.”
That left them stunned. They’d assumed
that Ileosa was hiding somewhere here in Castle Korvosa, that they were on the
verge of confronting her. But now … Most of the group struggled to come to
terms with this new knowledge, while Tomas was overcome with doubt about his
ability to satisfy Sorshen’s demand that he destroy Ileosa within seven days.
“OK, look,” Erin said at last. “Our mission
here wasn’t just to find the Queen. We also need to clear the Castle, to make
it safe for Grau’s troops to take on the army outside. They’d be no match for
the devils and who-knows-what-else is in here. And if those things figure out
that their Queen is long gone, and decided to run amok in the city, there’s no telling
how many will die. We’ve already cleared the third and fourth floors, and we
know there are still enemies on the second. I say we finish wiping them out.”
Erin’s mission statement filled them
with a new resolve, and they retraced their steps to the workshops on the
second floor. Nat’s Silence had long
since expired, and they could still hear sounds from up ahead. Jax cast Greater Invisibility on himself and
crept forward to a T-intersection. To the left, he could see some sort of break
room; a Gray Maiden leaned against a wall, chatting with another who had her
feet up on a table, and it sounded like there were others he couldn’t see. Jax
shifted his gaze up the right-hand hallway, and had to shake his head to make
sure he wasn’t seeing things. It was like he was looking into Hell. He could
see parts of a dining hall – Neolandus’s sketches had identified this as the
guards’ mess hall, but there were bubbling pits of lava, walls of flame, pits
belching smoke. He could hear distant anguished screams, and closer at hand
some kind of dissonant singing in a language he didn’t understand. The smell of
smoke and sulfur hung in the air.
Jax crept back and reported what he’d
found. “Whichever way we go, we’ll be caught with enemies on both sides,” he
said gloomily.
“Not if one side doesn’t know we’re
there,” Nat said cheerfully. “Let’s go after the Gray Maidens first – they should
be easy-peasy. I’ll cast Silence in
the room and you guys can mop them up without the Hell crowd being any the
wiser.”
That sounded suspiciously like a plan.
Everyone cast preparatory spells – Haste,
Bless, etc. – and Jax returned to the intersection. He made sure nothing
had changed, then gave Nat a nod. Nat cast Silence
on a coin, then tossed the coin down the hall and into the Gray Maiden’s
break room.
As the startled Gray Maidens tried to
figure out why they’d been cut off in mid-conversation, death descended on
them. Jax, still invisible, rushed into the room; there was a Maiden he hadn’t
seen just to the right of the doorway, and he detoured to stab his sword deep
into her kidney. Tomas stepped into the corridor and feathered the Maiden
lounging against the wall with a volley of arrows. Shadow, also invisible,
pushed past Tomas, ran into and across the room, skidding to a stop as soon as
he’d exited the radius of Nat’s Silence.
Spinning, he cast Chain Lighting that
ricocheted from one armored Maiden to the next, felling the one Tomas had shot.
Erin dashed in as the sparks were still flying, opening a gaping wound on the one
who had just stood up from the table. She swung back, and another from the far
corner of the room charged to attack Erin as well, but she easily parried their
blows. The Maiden Jax had ambushed was bleeding profusely, barely conscious,
but she valiantly swung at the spot where something
had stabbed her from, but to no avail.
As Nat had predicted, the Gray Maidens
were proving to be small challenge. But what was waiting for them in that
Hellscape behind them?
The PCs earned 13,150 XP, putting them
at 533,185 XP, with 600,000 required for Level 16.
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