by F. P. Spirit
Everyone turned toward the Baron. His face was practically scarlet, his nostrils flaring. Mixed emotions played across Kelvick’s face. It was obvious that the Duke had never been spoken to in such a manner. He appeared to have no idea how to react. Gracelynn quickly stood up next to her husband and took his arm. She spoke in a calm voice. “Gentlemen, this has gone quite far enough. While I do not approve of my brother’s attitude, he does have a right to air his grievances.”
“Gracelynn!” Gryswold spun toward her, a shocked look on his face.
Kelvick visibly calmed at her statement, a smug expression crossing his face. It quickly disappeared, though, as Gracelynn turned on him. “However, you, dear brother, are forgetting that you accuse the very people who saved our lives a little more than an hour ago. Are you certain that you want to make these accusations? Perhaps Sir Fafnar was mistaken? It has been a fatiguing day, after all.”
Kelvick’s expression grew uncertain as he considered her words.
Fafnar stood with his arms folded across his chest. “I stand by what I said. These ruffians assaulted one of my men.”
Elladan eyed the Lieutenant carefully. “This wouldn’t be the same guard that you sent to keep an eye on us earlier today?”
Fafnar glared at the bard. “Yes, those were his orders. I did not trust you and believed you needed to be watched.”
Lady Gracelynn chided the Dunwynn noble. “That was quite presumptuous of you, Sir Fafnar. This is not your town, and thus it is not your right to do so here.”
Fafnar turned toward the Baroness, quite obviously taken aback by her comment. After a moment’s pause, he answered her. “I am sorry, your ladyship. I was just concerned for the Duke’s well-being, is all.”
Gryswold finally got a hold of himself. “Yes, well then, you should have brought your concerns to us instead of taking these matters into your own hands.”
There was another long pause as Fafnar regarded the Baron. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, your lordship. It will not happen again.”
“Sir Fafnar?” a voice spoke up from their table. It was Aksel. “May I inquire as to the health of your guard? When we left him, he was merely asleep, thanks to a lullaby from our bard. We certainly did not want to see him hurt in any way.”
Glo could not help but smile. Aksel’s regard for others was unshakable. Fafnar, however, regarded the little cleric with disdain.
“He will be fine, no thanks to you and your friends. However, despite your pretty speech, I still hold the lot of you to blame for his condition.”
“Which he would not be in if you were not overstepping yourself,” Gryswold reminded the Dunwynn knight.
“Gentlemen, this is getting us nowhere,” Kelvick spoke up again. He turned toward his Lieutenant. “Sir Fafnar, you were indeed overzealous.” Fafnar’s face fell at the Duke’s chastisement. “However, an attack on a Dunwynn personage cannot go unanswered.” He paused for a moment, as all eyes turned upon him. “Were this Dunwynn, I would demand immediate retribution. However, as this is Ravenford and a noble from Penwick was involved, I ask that you, Sir Fafnar, see to the righteousness of our cause at the tournament tomorrow.”
“Yes, your lordship.” Sir Fafnar bowed respectfully to the Duke.
Kelvick pushed back his chair. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have had enough for one day.” He bowed to the Baron and Baroness. “Gryswold. Gracelynn.” He nodded to his niece. “Andrella.” He then strode away, waving his entourage to follow him.
Fafnar glared one last time at Lloyd, then hurried after the Duke. As the Dunwynn contingent marched away, the air where Kelvick had been sitting shimmered and Seth appeared. The halfling grabbed an uneaten chicken leg and took a large bite out of it, and swallowed the huge morsel. “I thought they would never leave.”
Seth’s irreverent attitude broke the tension. Even Gryswold chuckled at the halfling’s timely entrance.
“Welcome, Master Seth, it is so good of you to join us.”
Unfortunately, the brief respite was cut short. Seth turned to Gryswold, his expression quite serious. “Thank you, your lordship. Unfortunately, I am the bearer of bad news. There is a real problem that we need to discuss.
Gryswold’s face turned solemn. “What does the matter involve, Master Seth?”
“The Serpent Cult, your lordship. Regretfully, they are not going away all that easily. In fact, they may become even more of a danger if we don’t put a stop to their new plans.”
That doesn’t sound good. Glo wondered where Seth had come across this new information.
Gryswold appeared to agreed. “That sounds extremely serious. Perhaps we should take this matter inside.”
“Your lordship?” It was the Dame Alana. “If there are matters that concern the foul Serpent Cult, the Knights of the Rose are more than ready to stand with you.”
Gryswold smiled at the lady knight. “That is most appreciated, Dame Alana. Very well then, let us adjourn to the side chambers off the throne room to discuss this new threat.”
Gryswold stood, a thin smile stretched across his lips. “Thank you all for attending my daughter’s party today. My apologies if the entertainment was a bit melodramatic.”
He then took Gracelynn’s arm, and the two of them strode away toward the keep.
The Serpent’s Head
It is more than just the Thrall Master’s legacy that is driving the Serpent Cult
A short while later, the companions reconvened with Gryswold, Gracelynn, Gelpas, and Andrella in the meeting chambers off the throne room. This time, they were joined by the Dame Alana and Donnie. Once everyone was seated, Seth began the narrative of his encounter with the gypsy woman, Elistra, and the subsequent discovery of Telvar. He finished his story with the information the half-dead mage had provided concerning the Serpent Cult’s interest in the Golem Master’s work and the monolith in the Darkwoods.
The conversation then turned to the implications of the Serpent Cult getting their hands on Larketh’s works and making themselves an army of golems. They had all seen firsthand what just one golem could do. Earlier that day, the Boulder had literally ripped the largest serpent on the battlefield in half.
The Dame Alana rose up at the other end of the table. “I think our course is clear. We must find this monolith and stop these foul creatures before they can make away with these golem plans.”
“Indeed, you speak the truth.” Gryswold paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “We must set up a strike force to go to the monolith and put a stop to these cultists. And I cannot think of a better group than the one assembled in this room at the moment.”
Lloyd stood up next to Dame Alana. “It would be our honor, Baron Gryswold. Once I clear our name tomorrow, we will be ready for such a journey.”
“And I can send Sir Craven ahead to gather our squads from the Wind Tower,” Alana added. “They are five light cavalry each. It would give us a fighting force to be reckoned with.”
Gryswold’s expression brightened considerably. “That would be most appreciated.”
“They should probably meet us in Vermoorden,” Elladan said, his eyes turning upward as he envisioned the route they should take. “The town is on Lake Strikken. There is a river that runs west out of the lake and up into the Darkwoods. If we hire a ship, it will save days of travel.”
“Excellent!” Gryswold slammed his hand on the table with force. He had appeared anxious when they first heard the Serpent Cult was still plotting and scheming. Now, with a clear course of action before them, the Baron was enthused once more.
They still needed to determine the exact location of the monolith, but Glo might be able to use the scrying orb they had taken from Voltark to find its location. Then again, perhaps they had another option. “Baron Gryswold, perhaps we should question this fortuneteller further. She seems to know quite a bit about
the Serpent Cult. She may know more about the monolith.”
“You may be right, Glolindir.” Gryswold turned to Gelpas. “Send someone to bring the fortune teller here.”
“Right away, your lordship.” Gelpas went to the door and passed instructions to the guards stationed there.
Smaller conversations broke out around the table, but Glo remained silent as he mulled things over. They had already found one of the Golem Master’s works at the ruins atop Stone Hill, specifically a manual of stone golem creation. If the monolith held a copy of that book, or manuals to create more powerful golems, then the cult could indeed make an army of constructs to supplement their serpents.
Still, it would take time and skill to create those golems. However, the companions had also found the Boulder at Stone Hill. If the monolith held more constructs like that, then the cult could have a ready-made stone army. Then there was that scroll they had procured for Maltar, the one with the Armageddon spell—a giant fireball that could destroy an entire city. Larketh hadn’t written that spell, it was far more ancient than he, dating all the way back to the time of the mad Emperor Naradon. Still, if he had anything like that sealed away in the monolith…
Glo forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. There were too many unknowns to start panicking just yet. The Serpent Cult might be after Larketh’s works, but what was their end goal? Why focus on Ravenford? They had certainly gone to a lot of trouble, recruiting orcs, goblins and worse. Was Andrella really their target, or was it instead the Duke? Perhaps both? All pomposity aside, Dunwynn was in fact one of the most powerful forces in the area. It would make an excellent launching point for an invasion of eastern Thac. Was that the cult’s plan, or was their goal the entire continent?
Glo’s head began to hurt. There were still too many questions, and not nearly enough answers. Somehow they needed to gain insight into who, or what, was behind the cult. They needed to cut the head off the serpent, so to speak, to put an end to their plans. Only then could they be sure that Ravenford was safe.
About twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Captain Gelpas went to open it and stepped slowly aside, a rapt expression on his face. Into the room strode a woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, dressed in gypsy garb. She wore a red and black top that exposed her midriff, a red skirt that almost reached her knees, and lacy black stockings that disappeared into a pair of black leather boots. Atop her head, she wore a black cap adorned with yellow stars and a red hood draped over it. Her honey blonde hair was braided in places, framing her heart-shaped face, slim nose and strong cheekbones.
Yet what stood out the most was her eyes—they were bright violet. Glo had never met anyone with eyes that color before. He found them quite intriguing. The gypsy’s eyes flickered around the room, pausing as they fell on him. She wore an amused expression, almost as if she could read his thoughts. Glo found himself smiling back.
Gryswold addressed the newcomer. “And you are, Mistress... ?”
“Elistra, your Lordship,” she responded, executing a perfect curtsy. It was so well done, in fact, that it appeared as if she was a lady at court.
Gryswold repeated the name. “Elistra. Thank you for coming.” A brief smile crossed his lips for the first time since they had entered the room. “Master Seth told us how you helped him a short while ago.”
A serene smile spread across Elistra’s lips. “I was just glad I could be of service.”
Gryswold motioned toward the table. “Please, sit down and join us.”
Glo got up and pulled a chair over for her. Elistra’s eyes fell on him as she sat down, wearing that same amused expression. “You’re such a dear.”
Glo found himself mystified as he sat back down. What is it she finds so amusing?
Gryswold began introductions all around. He first presented his wife and daughter and then asked the others to introduce themselves. Before Glo could speak up, Elistra turned to face him.
“Ah, the mage. You must be Glolindir.”
Glo hesitated before replying. “I did not realize I had a reputation.”
There was a mysterious twinkle in her eye. “Maybe not just yet—but you will. You definitely will.”
Glo found himself even more mystified than before. He opened his mouth to respond, but Elistra had already turned toward the little gnome cleric seated across from them. A shrewd smile crossed her lips. “And the healer. You must be Aksel.”
“I am,” Aksel replied, his expression remaining neutral.
“Well met, young cleric. The power of your faith is only matched by the kindness in your heart.”
Aksel eyed the woman quizzically. “Thank you.”
Elistra continued down the table, next turning to the elven bard. “And the entertainer. You must be Elladan.”
“Well, I guess I do have a bit of a reputation,” Elladan said with a half-smile.
“That you do.” Elistra nodded, her expression still amused. “And the warrior. Lloyd,” she went on, turning toward the tall young man. Lloyd sat at the other end of the table between the Lady Andrella and the Dame Alana.
Lloyd appeared perplexed. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I know of you,” she replied in a lofty tone. She paused a moment, glancing at Andrella. “The lovers,” she whispered in a voice so soft that Glo wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been right next to her. Elistra gave him a brief glance and winked before turning back to Lloyd. “Your heart is in the right place, young Master Stealle. Trust your feelings. They will not lead you astray.”
Lloyd appeared even more puzzled by those words, his brow furrowing, but then Andrella grabbed his arm. The young man turned to look at her and all traces of bewilderment vanished from his face.
“And the knight,” Elistra continued, addressing the Dame Alana.
“Well met, Mistress Elistra,” Alana said quite courteously. “Pardon if I ask, but is this some sort of witchcraft?”
An amused smile graced Elistra’s lips. “Not at all, my dear. It is merely the tarot.” Her eyes passed over at all those present. “The cards are what led me to this town in the first place.”
Seth snorted over on the other side of the table. Glo’s eyes narrowed as he watched the gypsy woman, but she appeared quite sincere. Glo was familiar with the tarot—his mother, Aerandir, had introduced it to him. She was a very skilled psionicist and had taught him a bit about the subject.
Psionics is the manipulation of spiritual energy, the force of an individual’s life essence or soul. It is different from arcane or divine magic which is fueled by mana, the energy that flows in and around all things. In that respect, psionics is more akin to a martial discipline, like that of the Spiritblade. Yet, like an arcane caster, a psionicist focuses their abilities via the mind, or perhaps more accurately, their will. Tools like tarot cards were merely to amply the focus of psionic power. They could be used in the same way a wizard used spell components.
In the meantime, Elistra moved on to Donatello, referring to him as the “Swordsman.”
“Milady,” Donnie stood and bowed with a flourish.
For the first time since she entered the room, Elistra sounded uncertain. “There are many mysteries that surround you, young elf, but stay the course and you may very well find what you seek.”
Donnie squinted at her suspiciously but said nothing more, instead merely sitting down. However, his eyes remained firmly fixed on the gypsy for quite some time after that.
There was a long pause in the conversation until Gryswold finally broke the silence. “So, Elistra, can you please tell us what you know about the Serpent Cult and this Darkwoods Monolith?”
Elistra’s eyes flickered around the table before speaking. “I did meditate on the subject of this monolith while waiting for your summons, and I did see a vision.” She closed her eyes, her head tilting back slightly.
“A tall structure made of very dark stone, almost black in fact, standing high above the trees in the middle of a large clearing. It is surrounded by a dense forest, although I did get the sense of water not too far away.” She paused a moment before continuing, her brow furrowing as if she were trying to see clearer. “And there were mountains, definitely mountain peaks in the background, both to the north and the west.”
“That’s the northern end of the Darkwoods,” Elladan spoke up. “The Korlokesel range turns east for a bit at that point before stretching north once again.” His eyes took on a faraway look as if he were trying to picture the area in his mind. “And if there is water nearby... it would have to be... the West Stromen. That is the river that runs northwest from Lake Strikken into the Darkwoods.” He finished with a nod toward the gypsy woman.
Elistra nodded back at the bard. “I’m glad my vision was useful. However, there is more I would impart to you.” Her face took on a serious cast for the first time since she had entered the room.
Gryswold sat forward in his chair, his own expression turning grim. “Go ahead, Mistress Elistra.”
She gave the Baron a brief nod. “I am sure Master Seth has detailed the gravity of the situation. However, things may be even more serious than you realize.”
Glo raised an eyebrow. “More serious than an army of serpents and golems?”
Elistra turned to face him. This time there was no amused expression on her lips. “Yes, for it is more than just the Thrall Master’s legacy that is driving the Serpent Cult. It may very well be an actual Thrall Master.”
Elistra’s pronouncement caused a commotion around the table. There was a gasp or two, and then everyone started to speak at once. Glo remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. An actual Thrall Master? How could that be? They were all destroyed nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, or at least that is what we were all told...
Elladan, Donnie, Lloyd, Alana, and Gryswold were all trying to speak over each other. Seth sat quietly watching the pandemonium while Andrella and Gracelynn tried to get Lloyd and Gryswold, respectively, to sit back down in their seats. Elistra, in the meantime, sat back, calmly gazing around the table.
