…by Skalrag
I think we’re in trouble.
It started well enough: we slew the treacherous Lord Snazzgazz and took his stuff (I got new – if slightly malodorous - boots), claiming a princely pile of gems and gold coins and some ledgers along the way. Then we fled the goblin foundry and made the trek back to Binwinn’s cabin.
Binwin was delighted to have his axe returned to him. Dirock had insisted on using the weapon to sever a few goblin necks during our run to the goblin Counter-Weighted Ascending/Descending Conveyance, warning that the weapon’s spirit would be offended if we did not allow it to exact revenge on those who had kept it from its rightful owner. I had not detected any latent sentience within the axe, but I did not argue the point, since I was busy running for my life from the volcanic beasts that were laying waste to the foundry. At any rate, the news that his weapon had been used to kill some of the goblins pleased Binwin, and so I kept to myself the fact that Dirock’s victims had been in full flight and offered no resistance whatsoever.
Binwin insisted on rewarding us for the return of his heirloom and presented us with some useful items: a potion to ward off necrotism and poisons, a bag of healing herbs, and an enchanted whetstone. Pleased that our good turn had been justly rewarded, we ate and drank with our host long into the night, then took a well-deserved rest.
The next morning Binwin prepared us a breakfast of duck eggs and boar back bacon and told us that before we first stumbled upon his cabin, he’d found evidence of a group of humanoids headed North-West from the South. It was a tenuous lead to be sure, but the chancellor’s map did show a possible dig site, code-named Elmban, in that general area. If the tracks that Binwin had found were indeed our lost prospectors, then it was logical that they would be headed there. We bade Binwin farewell and headed into the mountains.
When we first entered the foothills, we saw goats munching on shrubs (“An omen of good luck,” Viggo assured us), birds wheeling overhead and squirrels scampering along tree branches that were heavy with leaves. I even spotted a deer loping through the woods. The road to Elmban was long but not particularly difficult, even for me. In fact, it was a pleasant hike.
The changes came slowly, and I confess that I did not notice at first. Gradually however, we all realized that the further we pushed into the mountains, the more sparse and sickly the trees around us became. I do not know when the birds stopped singing, but the stillness of the air made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Thick, dark clouds filled the sky above us, and the grey trees that clung feebly to the bare rock looked like skeletal shadows of their healthy forest kin. We halted our march and looked around at our surroundings.
“What happened here?” Arnold’s voice cut through the quiet and startled me.
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but maybe we can find out.”
While Viggo and Thoradrin kept watch, I removed several vials from my pack. Beside me, Dirock knelt and held his Symbol of Battle close to his chest, murmuring quietly. I mixed a few drops from the vials into a cup and added a splash of water. I swirled the concoction and drank it in a single draught, and paused a moment to let it work. Then I opened my eyes wide, trying to see beyond the veil of the corporeal world, to catch a glimpse of the strands of reality. It did not work; my eyes were blind, and I was left only with an arcane aftertaste, like dust on the tip of my tongue. Dirock stood and nodded gravely at me. “Dust and decay,” he said, “this place is touched by death.” Viggo wandered over, and the only thing more unnerving than our surroundings was the serene look on the ranger’s face.
“You want making more silly brew-potion?” Viggo asked, “or you want I should tell you what this is?” I was too stunned to protest, and so Viggo took a knee as we all gathered around him.
“I taste this dust too, Scalrag,” he said quietly. “Dirock is right – death is close, for we are very near to the Raven Queen now.”
“How can you know?” I asked. Thoradrin shushed me and Viggo continued.
“We are never much far from the Raven Queen,” whispered the man from Festung, “always Her realm is close to ours.” He held his hands in front of him, palms facing inward, to illustrate the point. “Sometimes, in some places, is so close,” – he brought his hands together – “that the walls between this realm and Hers is the same, and we pass through without knowing.”
“We are walking in the realm of the Raven Queen,” Viggo finished, so quietly that we barely heard him.
We all stood in silence, entranced by his explanation. It was Thor, ever anxious to get to the root of things, who spoke first.
“Why are ye whisperin’?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Arnold hissed, “but it’s very effective.”
There was a sudden boom from above us and a thin, cold rain began to fall. Viggo ignored the change in weather and rose to his feet. “Come,” he said, “we must to the mountain. There we will see.”
We pressed on through the rain for several hours. It was the sort of rain that doesn’t seem so bad at first, but which gradually seeps through cloak and tunic and clings to the body, chilling you so thoroughly that you forget what it was like to be warm. A few drops splashed onto my lips and I instinctively licked them off. It tasted stale.
The rain finally stopped as we crested a hill. In the distance we could see a lone mountain, a colossus of dark stone crowned with black clouds. If ever a mountain could be said to be threatening, this was it. “That is our destination,” Viggo said, leading us onward.
A cold mist rose around us, turning into an almost impenetrable fog as we drew near to the mountain, until we could only see a few yards ahead of us. Thus we stumbled to a halt as the sheer side of the mountain rose up suddenly out of gloom. A cave loomed before us, crudely framed by three stone columns. We could not scale the mountain, and so we headed into the cave, closing up our marching order as we descended into the earth.
As we proceeded along, we noticed more columns set against the tunnel walls. We assumed they were supports, but Thoradrin shook his head. “Nay, thairr no s’ports,” he said, and patted the wall of the tunnel. “Dun’ need ‘em. The whole tunnel’s solid rrock, as stable and sure as any ah’ve everr seen.”
A little further on, we came to a small pile of rubble. Upon closer inspection, we saw holes and scratch marks on the rock face. Arnold examined these and smiled. “Picks!” he said. “Someone used a pick on this wall – possibly to take samples!” We seemed to be on the right track and so continued along the tunnel, passing a few other spots where our prospectors (?) had left their mark.
Finally, the tunnel narrowed to a sort of doorway, across which heavy planks of wood had once been nailed. Judging by the petrified state of the planks, it was clear that the tunnel had been blocked many long years ago, but the obstruction had been broken down at some point. Only one plank remained intact and on it was an inscription that none of us could read. Dirock performed a Comprehend Languages ritual and then examined the plank. “Turn back,” he read, “this way leads to death.”
I was ready to follow the plank’s instructions, but my companions would have none. If the prospectors had gone this way, then so too would we. Defeated, I followed my friends to what I presumed would be a gruesome demise.
Instead, we came to a large chamber, filled with twenty-five identical stone sarcophagi, arranged in five equal rows. A pedestal stood at the far end of the room, and there were no other ways in or out. Arnold halted us. “These sarcophagi are probably going to pop open and disgorge zombies any second now,” he said, “Get ready.” We prepared to be ambushed by the undead … but nothing happened.
“Nuthin’s hap’ning,” Thoradrin observed.
“Well,” I said, “maybe they’re just regular dead people.” I marched across the room to the pedestal on the other side. My companions tensed, expecting me to be assailed by slavering ghouls or worse, and I admit that I expected the same. Imagine my relief when I reached the pedestal unmolested! Atop it I found a clawed left hand, carved from stone and gripping an ebony scroll case, which I slid free and opened. Behind me, Thoradrin moved into the center of the room, ready to act should my actions lead to catastrophe. I reached into the case and carefully removed the scroll within. I expected it to be brittle and fragile, but to my surprise it was in pristine condition; the author may well have sealed the case a week ago.
I rejoined my companions and read the contents of the scroll out loud. It seemed to be the memoir of some spell-caster:
I was born in a small corner of the valley … Mother knew right from the start that was destined for greatness … I exceeded her expectations … she taught me the Dark Arts …
The scroll spoke of how the young wizard’s father had denounced his own wife and seen her burned as a witch, and how the author had taken his revenge. Who was this person?
As my powers grew, I carved out my own empire … my lieutenant Kas led my armies to victory … but then he betrayed me. My left hand and eye were severed.
Hmm, this is pretty interesting.
Wait – what?
My left hand and eye were severed.
Uh oh.
… when my tainted spirit found its destination, I toppled the master of that dark place. From my black throne, I lashed together a machine of blood and bone and fueled by my hatred for you this fear engine bore a hole between the worlds.
Oh no.
When it began, I imagine you must have heard the sound of children screaming, as though from a great distant. Then, a smoking orb of nothing grew above your head and from it emerged a thousand starving crows.
Oh, oh no.
Tell me, Kas: as I slipped through the widening maw in my new form, did you catch a glimpse of my radiance before you were incinerated? No matter. For as tears of bubbling pitch streamed down my face, my dark work began …
I am leaving this world now. Godhood is my destiny, and I shall wrest it from the very cosmos.
-V
“Demons and angels preserve us,” I whispered, “this is an account of the life of Vecna himself.” We realized then that we had stumbled upon a place sacred to the Lord of Secrets. Arnold suspected that an entrance was hidden inside one of the sarcophagi – all we had to do was figure out which one.
We puzzled over this for a time. We thought of simply opening the center-most sarcophagi, but that seemed too obvious. Arnold lit a candle and walked between the rows, searching for a breeze escaping from one of the sarcophagi – without luck. Thoradrin was in favour of simply opening each sarcophagus in turn, but Dirock warned that Vecna guarded his secrets jealously, and that the penalty for choosing incorrectly would likely be severe.
We returned to the scroll. Could a clue be hidden within its passages? There was mention of a seventh birthday, a decade spent in conquest. Could these refer to specific sarcophagi? It was impossible to tell, for they were plain and unmarked. We read again. Right from the start … if my education was left in the hands of traditional tutors … I grew up to be powerful … Father, I struck you down …
Right, left, up and down. These were repeated throughout the text. Could they be a clue? We decided to find out. We worked our way through the scroll, following the directions in the order they appeared. When we ran out of text, we found ourselves standing around a sarcophagus, no different from the others. We braced ourselves as Thor and Viggo slid the heavy lid aside and let it fall to the ground with a thoom that echoed through the chamber. We all peered inside at a desiccated corpse, which disintegrated before our eyes and left the sarcophagus filled only with dust. We looked at each other questioningly. Had we guessed right?
The sound of stone grinding against stone reverberated through the chamber and the floor began to shift. Remembering what had happened the last time the ground moved beneath me, I scrambled onto a nearby sarcophagus (Thoradrin’s claims that I “screamed like a girl” are slanderous lies, included here only for completeness’ sake, and because I still feel guilty about killing him). The sarcophagi lowered and locked into place, forming a spiraling staircase that descended into the darkness. Apparently we had chosen correctly, but what awaited us in the black?
