The Game Masters of Garden Place

by Denis Markell

  Gerontius nodded but looked annoyed. “I am grateful for your counsel, Rogue, but I am capable of making such decisions myself.”

  Bram shrugged. “As Your Most Majestic Highness wishes. I will refrain next time and we will see if our friend the dwarf has the ability to reattach hands or other necessary body parts.”

  Jandia leaned down. “Listen, friend rogue. You will speak in a nicer tone or I will sever more than our friendship.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the rogue. “Understood.” Bram joined the wizard by the small hole in the wall and peered in. He took the torch from the wall and shoved it in. He pulled it out and examined it. He sniffed the air. “No poison gases released. No traps unleashed.” Bram turned to Gerontius and bowed low. “Good wizard sir, you may proceed.”

  Gerontius gently nudged Bram out of the way and reached in. He rubbed caked dirt from a small object in his hand and wiped it on his robe to show the others.

  It was a small statue of a crawling snake, made of iron.

  Torgrim held his torch up to the bricks next to the hole. “There is something painted here.”

  It was faint, but hard to miss. A lizard and a bird.

  * * *

  Since Ralph’s birthday was in late April, six weeks had flown by before it was time for summer vacation. They had found the first serpent, and no one wanted to stop.

  But both Persephone and Jojo were going away to sleepaway camp, and Cammi was visiting his father and stepmother in California. Noel was off to Grenada to spend months with his grandparents and cousins on his mother’s side, which he found way more fun than his dad’s stuffy old New England family. It was agreed they’d pick up in the fall.

  Ralph was the only one staying put. Other than a week visiting family in Chicago (where he tried in vain to get his cousins interested in RoD), Ralph’s mom and dad had too many projects lined up for them to take time off. So he spent his summer immersed in books about RoD. He was amazed at how many there were. Even a whole fantasy series based on someone’s campaign! As summer ended, he was more eager than ever to return to their adventure.

  Fifth grade was even better. Once September rolled around, the group began meeting again.

  Ralph wasn’t the only one obsessed with the game. All five talked about it endlessly at school, and after school as well, with discussions both in person and online, trying to decipher the latest puzzle or determine the best course of action to defeat the newest enemy. And always the insidious forces of Cormorant seemed to draw ever nearer. But they had yet to find the elusive second serpent. The months passed, as different theories were tried.

  Persephone had suggested that the second clue could mean an island that had both birds and lizards, and Noel had thought maybe if they could find out what species of lizard and bird the pictures showed, it might narrow it down a bit.

  It was Ralph who finally realized they were to put the two pictures together.

  “A flying lizard!” Cammi agreed.

  “Which means a dragon!” added Jojo.

  It made sense that Ralph would be the one to figure it out. Of all of them, he was by far the most dedicated. He had collected all the books for birthday and Chanukah presents, and he had even purchased miniature figurines of each of the adventurers (called “minis” by veteran RoD gamers) to place on the game mat in order to keep track of their movements. He and Noel spent most afternoons sitting in one or the other’s room quizzing each other about stuff like the number of hit points that were needed to defeat a certain sea monster. By asking around at the various shops and taverns back in Breukelyn, they learned that dragons were extinct, for the most part. There were rumors about one island, though, but some chalked it up to legend and fairy tales. But it was worth a trip to find out. Declan put the minis on the board and rolled the d20.

  Then the story took a shocking turn:

  THE DRAGON GIRL

  It was not big, as dragons go, but it was a dragon nonetheless. Standing about as tall as a good-size elephant, it was a brilliant cerulean blue, and it was dying.

  When the party arrived on Draakland Island, they had hoped to find evidence that dragons had lived here long ago. They wanted to find the next serpent piece and move on, but there the dragon was, big as life and flapping its wings. Then they noticed the arrows deep in its flank. The shafts were striped, markings that showed they came from Kreel bows.

  It circled pitifully above them, gasping, as small jets of smoke escaped its snout.

  Exhausted, the dragon finally landed with a giant thud upon the sandy beach, writhing and moaning. Jandia was about to put the poor creature out of its misery with one death blow when Bram cried, “Wait a bit!”

  Jandia, not used to being addressed so forcefully by the halfling, turned in surprise.

  Gerontius stared down at the creature. “Bram Quickfoot is right to call out to you. See, the dragon is changing its form.”

  And so it was. The dying dragon’s scales were being shaken off, vanishing in little puffs of flame, like bits of paper escaping from a bonfire. What was left was assuming human form.

  It was a young girl, of a sort. Her jet-black hair was matted, and she was breathing with great difficulty. She was robed in the same blue as the dragon’s scales, which was stained with her blood. She lay quietly for a moment. Then she raised her head.

  Jandia pulled back her sword arm, sensing danger. But the girl’s sad eyes caught hers, and Jandia lowered it.

  Finally, the young girl spoke barely above a whisper. “You are sent by Andromodus, like the others, I presume?”

  Gerontius shook his head to the others. “We seek the serpent but serve no master,” he said carefully.

  The dragon girl coughed, and laughed. “I know the truth, Wizard. I have eyes. They are dimming, but they see still. He has bid you find the serpents before Cormorant attacks his castle.”

  Torgrim leaned in. “You are in need of healing. Perhaps I can help.”

  “I am beyond help,” the girl said in a simple voice. “I only stay here in this plane for one purpose.”

  “And that is what?” asked Jandia.

  “To give you a warning. Andromodus is not who you think. He is not the rightful heir to the throne. The Serpent Scepter will grant him power to rule all of Demos with the strength of a thousand armies.”

  This speech seemed to take much out of the youth, who closed her eyes and rested for a moment.

  “This is quite an accusation to throw at one who is not here to defend himself,” said Gerontius.

  “Use your spellbook, Wizard. Seek the truth.”

  Gerontius murmured an incantation and gazed into his orb. His expression was grave as he turned to the others. “The orb of wisdom confirms that what the dragon says is true.”

  “But what of Cormorant? He does not raise an army?” asked Torgrim.

  “There is no army. Cormorant is of the Blue Order, sworn to protect the serpents at all costs.”

  “How do you know this?” demanded Bram.

  With her dying breath, the girl raised her head. She stared fixedly at them. “Have you not guessed? I am Cormorant, fifth of that name, keeper of the silver serpent!”

  The youth was fading fast. “I beg you. You can see I have no army. I charge you with the task of finding the rest of the serpents. Go as you were, but do not bring them to Andromodus. It is for you to protect the scepter until its rightful owner finds you.”

  Her head fell forward and she was no more.

  The group stood still, letting her words sink in as a wind whipped around them.

  As the young girl died, her robe had fallen open at the throat. Bram’s keen eye spied it first. It was a silver serpent charm, hanging from a slender silver chain. He reached around and gently removed the second serpent.

  “There is something in the serpent’s mouth,” he announced to the oth
ers.

  He held it up, and Mirak peered at it closely. “It appears to be a tiny parchment scroll.”

  Bram’s small, nimble fingers carefully unrolled the paper. It was blank. He handed it to the cleric with a shrug.

  Torgrim studied it for a moment, then reached down and blotted the parchment on some of the blood from the dragon girl’s tunic. As soon as the blood touched the paper, two more images appeared. A crown and a mouse.

  “Pah! More riddles!” muttered Jandia.

  * * *

  No one had seen THAT coming!

  Well, Noel insisted that he had known Andromodus was bad all along, but the others knew he was just talking.

  As the game had progressed, Declan informed them when they had gone up a level, and with each level up they would be granted more powers and spells. Of course, this also meant the monsters and enemies were more powerful as well.

  Declan had a magical way of keeping the story moving forward, injecting a new NPC—or nonplaying character, as all the various innkeepers, guards, knights, and assorted allies and enemies were called—just when things began to feel predictable. Finding the third serpent proved harder than the first two. It seemed that no one in the port towns knew which island would match the picture.

  And it was not safe to venture back to Athanos, knowing now that Andromodus was using them for his own ends.

  To keep things interesting, Declan prodded them to add more background to their characters, giving the histories and experiences, which were reflected in how each had come to the group.

  Noel, of course, had five pages of notes on his character. “It was three hundred years ago when the first Quickfoot rogue, Patrack, was famed for his use of cards to cheat travelers at his inn, the Ratfaced Wanderer—”

  “Um, it’s great you have his whole family tree there,” Declan said gently, “but maybe we can skip ahead to where it’s about Bram.”

  Noel shrugged. “That’s cool. I can put the rest up on the website I created for our campaign so everyone can read it there. It’s really interesting.”

  “I think I’d rather eat my own boogers,” suggested Jojo.

  “You do already,” Noel answered.

  “I do not!” Jojo growled, and balled her hand into a fist.

  “Whoa. Settle down,” said Declan. “Let’s just talk about our characters, okay?”

  “Bram Quickfoot was orphaned at birth, his parents having been slain by the infamous lizard-man Orak-Thule.” Here Noel held up his copy of the Monster’s Guide and showed a picture of a scaly-headed bad guy. “Bram was taken in by a wandering group of thieves, pickpockets, and bandits who adopted him and taught him their ways. By the age of twelve, he could pick any lock, cross any threshold undetected, and disable any sentry with a silent strike of his daggers, Salt and Pepper, before they could raise the alarm.”

  Declan high-fived Noel. “That’s great work, Noel. Who’s next?”

  Jojo leapt up. She had scribbled a few things on a sheet of loose-leaf paper. “Jandia Ravenhelm is the last of her tribe, a fierce warrior race of humans. The men stayed at home and the women fought the battles and did all the cool stuff. One fateful day, a Kreel war party wiped out all the men while the women were out on a hunting party. They returned to find their homes burned. The stench of burning flesh made them sick, while the pools of blood—”

  “That’s fantastic,” Declan interjected. “Very, um, evocative.”

  “I haven’t gotten to the good part,” Jojo said, “where they find the pile of—”

  “We get it, Jojo,” said Persephone, who looked a little pale. “Could you maybe not be so yucky?”

  Jojo made a face. “Whatever. I was just trying to set the scene.”

  “And you did great,” Declan said. “So what happened when they found the…mess?”

  “The women made a pact to return to their village only after every Kreel had been removed from the world. One by one, the best Kreel assassins had hunted them down, until Jandia, feared by all of the Kreel nation, was the last one left.”

  Jojo sat down and smiled and nodded.

  Declan turned to Cammi. “You’re up.”

  Cammi sighed and took a tiny square out of his pocket. He unfolded it carefully, and Ralph could see it was covered in tiny handwriting.

  Cammi cleared his throat. “Ummm…Gerontius Darksbane is descended from one of the oldest and most respected noble families of wizards, going back to the earliest days of elven history. He was being groomed to take over the duties of his father, the high wizard of the FaerieField Wood People. But something occurred that was a terrible and tragic secret. This betrayal earned him banishment forever.”

  He stopped and refolded his paper.

  “That’s it?” asked Noel. “What was it?”

  “It’s a secret,” said Cammi, tight-lipped. “I can’t tell you.”

  Declan nodded. “Secrets are cool. I hope it shows up in the story somewhere.”

  “Maybe…,” Cammi said slowly, looking like it probably wouldn’t.

  “My turn!” Persephone yelped. She stood up, throwing her papers on the table and walking into the center of the room.

  “You forgot your notes,” said Ralph, holding them out.

  Persephone shot him a look. “I’ve memorized them.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began. “Poor misunderstood Mirak Melodin. As a half orc, half human, she was accepted in neither race. She was the product of—”

  “An orc warrior having taken a human woman as his war bride,” Noel cut in. He turned to the others. “I read all about half orcs in the player’s guide.”

  Persephone glared at him. “No, she wasn’t.”

  “But that’s how half orcs are made!” protested Noel.

  “Not in my story,” Persephone said. “Mirak was actually the product of a great forbidden love between an orc maiden and a human prince. Their passion was so great they went against the traditions and laws of both their races.”

  “That’s so romantic,” murmured Cammi.

  Persephone raised her hands to her forehead. “Rejected by both the orcs and the humans, the baby Mirak was left on the banks of a river, where the water people, the mermen and mermaids, took pity on the poor creature and raised her.”

  At this point in the telling, Persephone was so overcome with emotion she began to weep.

  “We can go on to Ralph,” suggested Declan.

  Persephone held up her hand. “I can continue. This poor child, born of love that was not accepted but was pure as any in the realm, was given a gift by the gods: a voice of such great beauty that the merpeople chose to train her from birth to be a bard, teaching her the songs of the great sirens of old and the powerful ballads of the ancients, giving her powers that she herself scarcely knew. On her sixteenth birthday, they gave her a glorious harp, bejeweled with gems taken from the vast treasure of the ships wrecked at the bottom of the ocean.”

  There was a pause as she finished. Then they all applauded, and she bowed.

  All eyes turned to Ralph.

  Ralph could feel his armpits getting wet. How could he possibly top that? He looked at his notes. Next to the stories his friends had told, his dwarf cleric looked completely ordinary.

  “Let’s see…,” Ralph tried. “Torgrim was a priest of his religion who had committed some, um, heresy against his god and was banished.”

  “Wow, what a coincidence,” Noel said. “Cammi’s character was also banished already.”

  “That’s okay,” Declan said quickly. “I’m sure Ralph’s story is different.”

  “It is!” Ralph added quickly. “In Torgrim’s case, he had fallen in love with a high priestess.”

  Persephone rolled her eyes. “I did the forbidden love thing already, RPG.”

  Now Ralph was getting mad. “Let me finish! She did
n’t love him back, so it’s different, okay? So he prayed to their god to bring harm unto Gundulf, the one she desired. Such a selfish and destructive prayer backfired on Torgrim. Instead of harming the rival, it brought a terrible fate unto Torgrim himself, scarring his soul so that every dwarf woman who would ever look upon him would do so with disgust. His shame was so great, and the mark of guilt so terrible, that he left his order, to return only once he could prove to his god through his selfless acts that he was worthy of having the curse removed.”

  That did the trick. Persephone had started to cry again, which he had to admit wasn’t all that big a deal.

  These three hours each Saturday were the highlight of Ralph’s week. What did it matter that he had gotten a bloody nose in kickball or that Cecille Hayes had laughed out loud at him when he mispronounced “epitome” in English vocabulary? (Who knew it was pronounced “eh-pit-uh-me”? Well, Cecille did, apparently.) Each Saturday he would assume the role of the great cleric, and with the other adventurers (who by this time were well-known throughout Demos) defeat evil and search for the remaining serpents of the scepter.

  The last session of the year before summer vacation was coming to a close, and Declan didn’t seem to be his usual amazing self.

  He had brought the group to what seemed to be an uninhabited island, but instead of filling their heads with details and bringing it to life as only he could, he barely sketched the details and was content to let the kids come up with the rest.

  At the sound of their parents arriving upstairs, Ralph waited for Declan to clap his hands and say, “We shall meet again in the fall!” like he did last year, but instead he cleared his throat and looked down at the floor.

  “Okay, I have some news for you.”

  “Is it bad news?” Cammi asked.

  “No, it’s good news, at least for me,” said Declan quickly, then adding, “but it kind of changes things….”