by Daniel Heck
You hold a hand to your chest. Consistently regretful though you may be for losses of life, whatever their circumstances, you take a fragment of solace in the knowledge that the paladin’s soul rests well in the arms of the gods. The deity of the sun undoubtedly implanted his words within you, to return when you needed them most.
Titania takes your hand, and together you rush down a short flight of stairs. There, you meet the gaze of a manservant in neutral clothing, but upon seeing your determination, he bows out of the way, hands held in a defensive pose.
“Sir?” you ask. By the time he could respond, he is gone.
The stairs lead you to where you need to be. Standing next to the throne itself are two statues that seem drastically out-of-place, relative to what you thought you knew about the castle. To the left of the ornate seat of kings and queens is a sculptor’s representation, in pure marble, of a lithe woman in a flowing robe. Her arm extends toward some invisible target, as if casting a spell. On the other side stands a statue of a knight, in full armor and shield.
Upon a closer look, both statues as well as the throne glow with a mild blue magic. Whichever option seems best, you had better investigate quickly, as the servant may be routing the Arcanites toward you.
Consider carefully the first letters of the keywords you have gathered throughout your journeys in this book when evaluating what to do next. You may have to rearrange them, depending on what order you wrote the words down in.
What do you do?
We examine the sorceress statue.
We approach the warrior statue.
I sit on the throne itself.
Th orcblood is to wake you after the moon has reached its highest point, when you will take over for the second shift. You both concede (and verbally agree) that, due to her relative lack of combat training, Titania is in no position to take either shift.
You position your bedroll near a patch of moss, then shift a few pebbles around so they don’t poke into your joints and back. You climb in, reflecting upon your dwarven friend from six years ago. The fleeting notion that you should recruit him while passing through Whitetail--as it could be argued that he has a favor to return—passes through you, just before all goes to black, and you fade into a deep sleep.
“Mister Bartleby! Miss Titania!”
A rough hand grips your shoulder, and shakes the grogginess out of you. You force open your eyes to find Galumnuk gesturing in random directions, his eyes wild.
“A wizard confront me during watch…” he explains.
You place a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe,” you comfort, “and calm yourself.” You channel some charm energy through your fingertips, just to take the edge off for your friend’s anxiety.
Titania already stands awake, and peers over the orcblood’s shoulder, scanning the wood. “Where did he go?” she asks. “What did this person look like?”
“Oh, I took him down. You can see for self.”
This takes you aback. You thought yourself to be more observant. “You’re not… panicked?”
“Am excited!” Galumnuk shouts. “He already say he spill everything!”
You stand creakily and gesture for the orcblood to lead the way. The three of you climb over a small knoll and through a patch of weeds, to where a bearded man in black and red robes slumps defeatedly over his bindings. Galumnuk has tied the man to the broadside of a gigantic maple.
You dive right in: “Who are you?”
He speaks in barely audible tenor, “My name is Wilburton. I hail from the City of Storms.”
Galumnuk frowns, but Titania calmly raises a finger in caution. She double-checks the bonds on the wizard’s hands—they need to be free to cast most spells—as she interrogates further, “Why do you disturb our rest, Wilburton?”
“An agent of ours saw you from above, while riding one of our trained gryphons. I was on my way to convene with the other Arcanites when this agent informed me that you might be a threat to the organization’s plans, so I confronted your watchman, to my deep regret.” He sucks on his profusely bleeding lip, while glaring at the orcblood with his one non-bruised eye.
“Should know better,” Galumnuk mumbles.
You persist, “Tell us what you know about a gate involving Thomerion.”
“The circumstances by which one can be opened will come to pass very soon. It suffices to say that, if two pieces of a specific golden idol are reunited when three distant planets are aligned correctly, Thomerion can and will cross into this realm, to show humanity his true power.”
Titania’s eyes widen. Your chest tightens and your brain floods with trepidation.
Wilburton continues, “The Arcanites seek the idol pieces as we speak. Further, I recognize this… brute in front of me as a traitor to the cause.”
To this, the orcblood turns his back, silent.
You spend several moments unsure of how to handle this. Arms crossed and deep in thought, you almost don’t notice Titania concentrating intensely, while she stares, unblinking, straight through to the back of the wizard’s eyes.
“Relax,” she coos. The man obeys, although seemingly not from his own will. His eyes flutter in tune to an unknown rhythm, and he starts to moan quietly. You lean against a separate tree and watch in amazement.
“You shall listen to me very carefully,” she instructs after another moment, “You shall return to your headquarters, and use whatever power you may possess, with whatever tools you may choose to employ, to destroy the entire compound.”
You laugh, such is your surprise at this violent inclination, but quickly cover your mouth.
Despite appearances, the man nods slowly.
“We’re going to let you go now,” Titania continues.
You clear your throat. “Are you sure…about that, my dear?”
“Trust me.” She keeps eye contact with the wizard when saying this, but extends an open hand toward you. Galumnuk scratches his head, his gaze darting back and forth.
You hesitate, but soon find yourself smiling.
I chose to dedicate my life to, with, and for this person, you think as you drop your head humbly.
Whatever this is, she must know what she’s doing.
You reach back and grip Titania’s hand, in silent approval.
She holds it for a long while, then breaks her gaze, and steps around to the back of the maple. There, she unties the wizard’s bonds. As his feet hit ground again, his legs quaver a little, and his head bobs and weaves, but soon, he shakes all over and blinks many times.
“What happened? Where am I?”
Then, he notices the three of you standing around. He gasps and erupts into a full run through the woods, almost tripping on his robe in the process. You watch as the wizard scales a hill, then disappears among the foliage entirely.
You glare at Titania. She glances back with an innocent look, and drags a toe within the dirt. “What?” she coos.
“All this time,” you continue, “and I never learned that you knew charm magic.”
“Oh, that wasn’t charm magic.”
Galumnuk snickers.
“That was just straightforward hypnotism,” Titania explains. “One of my mother’s unique skills. She taught all four of the daughters in the family.”
The orcblood laughs out loud. You hardly contain your shock.
“We’re… going to have a talk about this,” you state with fake calm, “Maybe later. If there’s a world left to have a talk in.”
You proceed with your original plan, and make it to Noblehorn the next day, in time to speak with the envoy. But what you learn there astonishes you: word has already reached the city that a mysterious fire, the setter of which no one has yet tracked down, has set back the Arcanites’ plans significantly. You raise your chest in confidence that the gate may never open, but with no cause to rally around, the scheduled peace talks between Ambrosinia and Koraxon thereafter fail utterly. In addition, due to some uncouth wording employed by certain Koraxon representatives an
d failure to observe proper meeting protocol, the international relationship sounds worse off than when it started.
Within months, tariffs and other socioeconomical barriers prove your suspicion correct. You gain wind that orcblood troops attempt to claim portions of the Bladepass mountains for their own, even though the issue of gem mining therein had long since been resolved. With a heavy heart, you pay your tax, serve your congregation, and live the best life you can for years to come, constantly wondering why Titania couldn’t also have used her powers on people not so conveniently subdued as Wilburton.
Go back to the previous choice, or start again.
You conclude that something went wrong.
“Now that the worst is over, perhaps I can focus my energies where they will do the most good,” you say.
Titania rubs your shoulders, pressing a little into the tendons. “Now, now,” she says, “Why blame yourself? The gods are at constant war with one another. It’s not all that surprising if they can’t focus very well on enlightening common humans.”
You nod.
“But please,” Titania continues, “Do come back to me if it starts to truly overwhelm you.”
“I shall.”
You shake out some tension, sit up straight once more and plant your feet squarely on the floor. You close your eyes.
Visions of Thomerion imply that Fedwick is indeed in trouble, you reflect in supplication, but can you tell me where he is? What he’s doing? How much time do we have?
This time, you feel your irises open to accommodate rays of glinting light; they shine from a fuzzy image—it slowly transitions into focus—of many piles of golden coins and other valuable items. Upon one such pile, Fedwick sleeps, unkempt but peaceful. Then, the area around the pile sharpens: the whole image is set in a massive, shadowy cavern.
A treasure hoard? Like that of a dragon?
Despite this divination’s clarity, your head spins and your heart races. The problem is, dragons of many sorts exist, some benign and some not so. By now, your body and spirit scream at you to stop, but you fear that if you do, you won’t know which dragon is involved, or where it could be found. Finally, you probably wouldn’t be able to divine this deeply again in the foreseeable future.
What do you do?
I continue divining.
I return to the ‘real world.’
You glance toward Titania, who shrugs helplessly. The surroundings offer few clues as to how to proceed, so you take a few slow steps toward the sorceress statue. Subtle waves of grey dance underneath the magical sheen, as if gliding across the stone itself. No change occurs in the statue’s countenance…
“Should we speak to it?” Titania asks. “What do we expect it to do?” You approach closer, to where you can read a plaque:
Here stands Demetria Argent, of the Council of Royal Magi.
You frown, and look closer at the statue’s features. Although the being’s figure could be called attractive, the face is haggard and lined with deep cracks that look like they’d come from geological stress or erosion.
“This doesn’t look like Argent,” you comment, “and I should know. A comrade and I employed her help just outside…”
As you talk, you extend your arm and casually lean in the direction of the statue, meaning to support your weight via the marble base. But in the process, you brush against the stone representation of sandals or comparable footwear.
At your touch, the statue’s face turns. It shrieks at blood-curdling pitch, surely attracting the attention of anyone who has otherwise been ignoring this area. You stumble, fall flat on your back, and reach for Titania’s hand.
The two of you bolt toward the nearest staircase, as red energy gathers at the tips of the now very animated sorceress’s oversized hands. Having almost reached sanctuary, however, isn’t quite enough; a fireball soars toward you and immolates your entire being. You would try to exit the castle and jump in the moat, but pain and the smell of burning flesh soon overtake your consciousness, sending you to the divine void beyond.
Go back to the previous choice, or start again.
You feel baffled as to what to do, so you suggest to Titania that you walk some more through the streets of Sungaze.
“Perhaps divine inspiration will strike…” you say, half-hearted.
You converse with a number of locals: a baker here, a silversmith there. Many merchants spout the merits of their wares, but few of the townsfolk buy. At one point, you help a friendly young girl dig up worms with which to go fishing. She thanks you and gives you a dented copper piece, which you accept with grace. Although her generosity lifts your heart in a superficial sense, you can’t help but hang your head a bit. Titania rubs your arm, and the warmth of her hand comforts you as you continue forward, passing by an alleyway…
“Psst…”
The noise came from nearby. You scratch your head and glance about.
“Psst. Over here.”
The voice rings hollow even as it whispers. You squint to look deeper into the alley. There, a red-skinned creature, about the size of a cat, with pointy ears and a hooked nose peeks out at you from behind a crate. Its gaze darts about, scanning with extreme caution, as if to help it stay tightly shrouded within the shadows.
An imp? In the human world? Your protective instinct kicks in, if only out of concern for the public. You pull on Titania’s sleeve. She looks in the direction you point, gasps and covers her mouth.
You inch toward where the imp hides.
“I overheard…” it hisses as its large blue eyes bore into you, “what you learned from the fortune-teller. My name is Camnivoerus….”
“Why should we care what your name is?” you interrupt.
The imp reels. “So much for being friendly… Let me get straight to the point. I know of a way you can get to the demon realm, via two parts of a golden idol. When reunited and activated, they open a two-way gate.”
You arch an eyebrow. Titania blurts, “An associate of ours had been having visions about a gate.”
“A convenient coincidence,” the imp explains with a grin, “for I would be willing to tell you where these idol parts are, although I cannot reach them myself. In exchange, that is, for a pledge on your part.” The imp pauses and wrings his knuckles.
“And… what must we pledge?”
“That you let me through the gate, for the demon realm is my homeland, and I wish to return to my home.”
Titania cocks her head in confusion. “How did you cross dimensions in the first place?”
“Thomerion himself cast a spell of banishment upon me for failing to follow his orders.”
Something resembling pity rises within you, to your great astonishment. I suppose all living beings deserve clemency, you reflect, and this imp’s actions might imply its intentions…
With a confirming glance at your love, to which she offers a casual nod, you say to the imp, “Thus it shall be.”
“Very good,” it hisses, “The idol looks like a monkey when assembled. The top half is currently found on a cluster of frozen isles far to the north of the Ambrosinian mainland. An abominable yeti of considerable strength guards it. A band of nomads wandering the western desert possesses the bottom half. Meet me back here when you are ready, and I can show you how to work the idol.”
Which part of the idol do you go after first?
We explore the frozen isles.
We pursue the nomads.
Something intangible, perhaps the voice of the sun god itself, speaks to you about what it took to get to this point, and encourages you to investigate the throne itself. You approach and rub some gold flakes off a corner of its elaborate feet. The plush red seat and backing elicit respect for the association of this hallowed space with multiple generations of royalty.
You glance toward Titania, who shrugs and half-jokes, “Maybe you should add to its long line of prestige.”
After more hesitation, you step onto the supporting dais and abruptly sit on the throne. As you
grip the large ornate carvings built into the armrests, you feel magical energy pulse from the chair, through you and out of the room entirely. Awe floods your heart.
Silence.
Then, you think you hear a hissing sound coming from a considerable distance away.
You both say simultaneously, “The cannon!”
On top of it all, footsteps ring from the halls, in hot pursuit. You grab Titania by the wrist and dash back up the stairs and toward the ramparts, where the blue aura surrounding the loaded cannon has intensified. The fuse has burned nearly to a nub.
Your love stares, first at the cannon, then at you, and places a hand on your chest. “This is it.”
You pull her close and lock lips. Passion shoots through your veins, and your feet and head go light from pure ecstasy. You open your eyes again, just in time; with a soft pop, the cannon sends the idol pieces soaring upward. A jet of purple sparks trails beautifully behind them. Within an instant, the pieces are only tiny specks, and soon disappear altogether. Pride will have to wait, though, as you hightail it toward your gryphon and take off, just as dozens of robed wizards emerge onto the castle roof and start flinging aerial spells in your direction.
Back in Whitetail, you and Titania hide out with Fedwick, volunteering your services in the medical ward for several weeks, if only for personal safety. Word soon comes back to you: since the Arcanites have nothing left to pursue, they have abandoned the castle, and many have turned themselves in to the government. Others seek reform by visiting temples or finding legitimate employment. Once, you think you even see the face of the servant that caught you near the ramparts praying during one of Cristof’s services.
Feeling secure, you approach the man, sit alongside him, introduce yourself and ask, “Think about it. Thomerion himself. Would you really have brought such chaos into the world, given a choice?”
