by Drew Hayes
While the adventurers readied themselves, Notch’s town council sat in Brock’s tavern. Kieran, Jolia, Simone, and Brock were all gathered around a table, with Fritz sitting slightly off to the side. All four of the non-elves were staring Fritz down, waiting for her to laugh, or say that she was joking, for her to do something to make her prior words untrue. After nearly a full minute, it was clear that no such reprieve was coming.
“You’re serious about this. I know you’ve always been fascinated by that artifact, and that you’ve been hunting pieces to experiment on, but that is nothing compared to what you’re proposing. Even if you can gather all the pieces, and know that there are others collecting them you’ll have to steal from, no one is sure what happens when they’re joined. Not the gods, not the adventurers, no one. How do you know you aren’t building a magical device that will destroy the entire plane?” Kieran kept his voice calm. He’d known Fritz long enough to realize she responded better to reason over emotion.
“That one seems pretty unlikely,” Fritz countered. “The mere fact that we’re finding pieces at all means the artifact had to be shattered, and since none of them react destructively around the other chunks, someone else probably did the shattering. You are right, though. It’s a mystery, and if there’s one thing I know about this world, it’s that no mystery stays unsolved forever. I’ve brought you all up to speed on the situation; you know more pieces have been appearing lately. Maybe it’s coincidence, maybe it’s fate, probably something in between. Either way, I see an opportunity, and I want to seize it… unless you’d rather see someone else beat us to a potentially all-powerful artifact.”
In truth, Kieran wasn’t sure Fritz would be his first choice for such responsibility. She wasn’t malicious; however, she did have a tendency to cast off things that held her back, especially when in pursuit of some new item or magic. She’d even left her role at the Mage Guild when it became too cumbersome, though she did install a proper replacement first. As a trader, she was fair and upfront, and as a friend, she’d been reliable. Fritz was far from perfect, but if Kieran had to back someone who was capable of succeeding and whom he trusted to not be outright evil, then she was in the top five. The others, unfortunately, would have no interest in such an endeavor, so Kieran was left with little choice.
“We don’t fight anymore.” Kieran held up a hand, cutting off Fritz’s objection. “Last night was a very rare, special occasion. There was a potential threat to our town that we were cutting off early, and in the process, we only destroyed automatons. My blade alone tasted blood, and I assure you, it was enough to quell the appetite for a long time. I cannot speak for the others, but if you call upon me for help, understand that this is a condition I do not intend to violate. No blood. If the situation cannot be solved without killing, then I am not the resource for the job.”
“Nor am I,” Jolia agreed. Next to her, Brock and Simone were silently nodding their agreement. The message was clear: while they might be willing to help her, violence was off the table.
Fritz was only mildly discouraged. Having a shock force of unstoppable warriors would have made things substantially easier, but she’d known from the start that wouldn’t happen. Even getting them this receptive was a victory in and of itself. She imagined the presence of the other adventurers had helped with that. They were a walking reminder that, much as Notch might like to pretend otherwise, the town wasn’t truly disconnected from the world at large.
“What about for a Stone of Severing? Are you willing to kill if I find one of those?”
The words hung in the air, drifting slowly down like a fallen feather. Finally, Kieran laid a hand on the hilt of his blade. “I swore to defend this town, and if the world goes, we go. So yes, Fritz, I will draw my sword for you if, and only if, the fate of the world is at risk. Otherwise, I will refer you to someone else if fighting is what you require. Who that is will depend on exactly what threats you are facing.”
The grin on Fritz’s face made Kieran wince. She’d just gotten something she wanted out of him and wasn’t shy about showing it. “That will be plenty. Thank you, Kieran. Together, with our pooled might and wisdom, I think we might very well have a chance at succeeding.”
There was danger in her eyes as they flitted about the room, taking in every nuance and detail in that unnerving way of hers. “I can hardly wait to see what a completed Bridge is capable of doing.”
* * *
The pages were piled in the middle of the table, tossed there as each player finished reading the email and fully understood its significance. Wordlessly, Cheri went to the kitchen, returning with a sizable glass of water. She took a deep sip, then turned away from the others and sprayed it through the air in mock surprise. “There, does that more or less encapsulate what we’re all feeling?”
“I didn’t expect… of course, there would be… it’s just…” Bert smacked himself once in the side of the head, gently, and the rambling died off. “Sorry, I can get stuck on things too easily. Need a little jarring to break up the spiral. I guess what floored me is realizing that it’s not just us, is it? We speculated before, but this is as close to proof as we’ll get.”
“No, it isn’t.” Alexis was forcing her tone louder, closer to Gelthorn’s. “The closest to proof we’ll get is in Thatchshire, where actual evidence is waiting for us.”
Bert swiveled in his chair to face her. “Are we sure? And if so, how will that even work? This is still a module, one that other people are seeing. Let’s say we get the next one, and find this dude in Venmoore—what happens then? Is there going to be a whole letter to us printed in that module? Because the other options get really scary the longer you consider them. Maybe the character will pop out, or yank us in, or connect us to the dice, or any number of unknowns that we can’t calculate for. I get it—that’s the nature of magic—I’m just advocating that we not stroll into this with the assumption that it’s safe.”
“Save your worry. I’ve known from the moment Russell got possessed that none of this was safe.” Cheri winked at him before taking a normal sip of her water, poorly disguising the worry in her face. “That’s part of what makes it fun.”
Steadily, almost unconsciously, attention turned to Tim, who’d been silent thus far. Despite his relative inexperience with gaming, the young man played his character to a fault, doing all he could to embody the ideals of what a paladin should be. What they would decide to do was still in contention; however, if they wanted to know what the right thing to do was, Tim was their default guide.
“Together, after what happened in the dragon’s lair, we decided to keep going. To chase the magic. This makes it feel real in a way I hadn’t expected, but it doesn’t fundamentally change what we’re doing,” Tim said. “Either we give up on it all now, or we go to Venmoore. There’s no point in chasing if we aren’t going to follow leads. I’ll support whatever choice the group makes, just make sure you’re ready to see it through.”
Russell coughed into his hand, a quick and dirty way to steal attention back at the game table. “It bears mentioning that we don’t even have the next module yet. Until we do, you won’t be able to head to Thatchshire, anyway, so there’s no need to make your minds up right now. I showed you that email because I don’t want to keep secrets from you all, not because we’re making a choice today.”
His words swept much of the tension from the air, a collective holding of breath let out by the players. Only Bert still looked worried, although it was hard to tell if he was truly concerned or simply deep in thought. “I disagree. Let’s not just wait for our next step to present itself. We should decide and start making preparations. There are bound to be side quests we can do, items we can hunt, things to prepare ourselves for the next adventure. Better to pick a path and start down it now, so we’ll be ready when the next one arrives.”
Given his words, it was fairly obvious which way Bert was leaning, and he didn’t find objections from the others. Alexis gave a thumbs-up, while Tim stuck
to nodding. Cheri was the only one to respond verbally. “I’m down for that. Some of these fights were tough, and seeing how outmatched we were in Lumal left a bad taste in my mouth. Let’s pick up another level, and maybe some new tricks in the time we’ve got.”
“Should we hunt for them in the real world while we’re waiting?” Several sets of surprised eyes focused on Tim, who immediately turned flush. “I mean, the email came from a person on our side of the game, right? If we can find them, talk to them in person, maybe we can get them to tell us more.”
“Maybe,” Russell said, though there was little conviction in his tone. “To an extent, we’ll be hunting them. We have to keep on Broken Bridge’s trail if we want the next module anyway, and I’ve got a hunch that finding a real lead on them might lead us to our email buddy. Given how out of reach they stay, though, the game is probably our best bet. At least we have a name and a location in there.”
Deep down, Russell hoped he wasn’t the Pied Piper leading his friends off to their deaths. By nature of his role, there was little he could do. As GM, he set the scene, built the stage, but the players wrote the script. Their actions, their choices, determined where the story went. He couldn’t tell them which path was the right one. He could only do his best to prepare them for whatever lay ahead.
* * *
Grumble sat on his throne. It wasn’t especially grand, not unless he was entertaining visitors. Most of the time, it was a simple chair with an extravagant number of cushions the kobold could nest in. Comfort had always been his greatest decadence, a stark contrast to his mortal years spent shivering on a stone floor. There was nothing comfortable about the seat today, however. The full weight of his responsibilities as a god sat heavy on Grumble’s shoulders as he contemplated the dilemma before him.
Somehow, Timuscor had done something incredible. He’d become attuned to divine magic in a way mortals weren’t supposed to be capable of. Even in Grumble’s mortal days, the free paladin was nothing more than myth and whisper. As a god, Grumble should see the newly-born paladin as a threat to the established system. After all, if mortals relearned that they could serve the calling without owing allegiance to a god, would so many still choose to kneel? Of course, that ignored the fact that, even in myth, free paladins were incredibly rare, and the simple truth that no other had been born in untold ages meant it must be a hard power to attain.
A scaly claw ran down Grumble’s snout as he realized his mistake. He didn’t know of any other free paladins that had been born since the ancient times, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been any. Casting his attention to Thistle and his friends, Grumble could see each of them easily, save for Timuscor. The same divine magic that fueled his new gifts also concealed the paladin, making him difficult to see. If the boar was still with him, it was completely hidden—as a creature purely made of magic, the protection was more effective on it.
At first, this new development had puzzled Grumble, until he gave it more thought. Divine concealment was a necessary power for any that filled such a role. Paladins who served no god fought only for the greater good. Sooner or later, that was bound to run them across the path of an evil or ambitious god. Being able to move undetected by a god’s magic would make such paladins a far more dangerous threat. Grumble didn’t love that there were now factors in play he had little control over, but he could certainly see the value in a divine warrior that was nearly invisible to the gods. True, he didn’t have Timuscor’s loyalty, but Thistle did. Where the gnome led, Timuscor would follow.
For now, Grumble resolved to keep the incident to himself. While it might have gained him some small favor with the other gods to report a free paladin, Grumble was a fan of the underdogs. He had to be, as god of the minions. Seeing someone throw off the shackles of a system, seize power for himself, bow to no master—it was the kind of spirit Grumble could admire. The others would be mad when they found out, and Grumble was prepared for that. Let them be angry, if they wanted.
If things went to plan, then by the time they found out, it would be too late to matter anyway.
* * *
Eric was briefly surprised to see Timuscor saddling his normal horse, before he realized that riding a giant armored boar around was going to attract more suspicion than any of them needed. Their trek would be a long one—west across the plains of Urthos until they made it to the emerald meadows that signified the beginning of Thatchshire’s kingdom. Even from there, they had quite a way to ride. Thistle’s directions were taking them just past the borders, near a city called Venmoore.
Jolia had offered to open a portal for them, but Thistle had declined. Evidently, there were preparations to lay, so even if they arrived early, there would be nothing to do. Despite the fact that he hadn’t said it, Eric suspected Thistle’s other reason for wanting to ride there was training. On the road, there would be dangers and threats, but also the opportunity to hone their skills. Especially for Gabrielle and Timuscor, who were still learning about their new abilities, that practice could prove vital. They’d barely survived that last fight—only a genuine miracle had gotten them through. If the others were feeling anything like Eric, then they wanted to be stronger before the next one.
It was strange. When they’d left Maplebark, Eric’s chief concern had been living long enough to get attention off their town. Once that goal was accomplished, it became about surviving in general. Even his training with Elora had been about figuring out how to be good enough at his job that he could help the party keep living. Kalzidar had changed that. Taking Madroria, sending the priestess against them—it was clear he wouldn’t stop. Eric didn’t want to just keep surviving anymore. He wanted to become strong enough to fight back, to not live in fear of what some god or king would decide to do with his life. In a way, he suspected the journey of every adventurer involved such a realization at some point.
From the tavern, Fritz emerged, making a beeline directly for Eric. “There’s my guy. Where did you leave the piece?”
“Back in the ritual room.” Eric had been tasked with retrieving the priestess’s piece of the Bridge, as he was the only member of the party who could safely touch them. Honestly, he wasn’t convinced that leaving it for Fritz was the best idea, but Thistle had made the point that none of them could safely use two pieces, not even Eric. Better to put it in secure hands, especially since they were set on angering a god. No sense in making Kalzidar stronger if they fell. “I couldn’t get the staff to let go. Guessing that’s something you can handle?”
Fritz patted her bag. “I’m sure I can find something in here that’ll be up to the task. Got your own piece stored safely, I trust?”
It was Eric’s turn to pat something—in this case, his backpack. “Safe as anything in this world can be, I suppose. If luck is with us, the morning’s peace should at least hold until we get out of the forest and back onto the plains.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you. Agramor apparently agreed to escort you all out. After everything that’s happened, I don’t think they’re taking chances.”
“I’ve heard that name a few times, but never met the person,” Eric admitted.
Taking his arm, she spun them around until they faced the tree line further down the road. “She’s a druid, prefers to stay close to nature. Never was great with people, even less so now. Trust me, you won’t be able to miss her when she wants to be seen.”
Sure enough, even from this distance, Eric could make out a huge shape deep within the trees. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was; only that it had fur, horns, and a tremendous size. Something that big had been lurking in the forest all along? Or was that Agramor herself, using a druid’s famous talent for shapeshifting? Either way, it was a presence bound to make the horses feel skittish and the adventurers feel safe. It would be strange, getting back on the road, but Eric was ready for it. Nice as some rest had been, being around such powerful, dangerous people left him constantly on edge, even if they were friendly.
; “I suppose we don’t have to worry about losing her in the brush,” Eric chuckled. “Do you ever get used to this place?”
“I certainly hope not. What’s the point of going on if spots like Notch become mundane?” Fritz shivered; whether it was theatrical or genuine, Eric couldn’t tell. “Traders and adventurers have that much in common; we’re always on the move. Hopefully, it won’t be long until our paths cross again. It’s not every day I meet someone who can handle wielding a piece of the Bridge. Even rarer that said someone is a looker.”
Eric blushed. It wasn’t the first time Fritz had teasingly flirted with him, but even with the time apart, he still hadn’t figured out how to react. The elf merely grinned and kept going, as if she hadn’t noticed his embarrassment.
“This time, I know it won’t be long. I’ve got some business up near Thatchshire, as well, though I’m taking my own route. Keep those eyes peeled and at the ready when you’re crossing the plains. As the most alert one in the bunch, I’m counting on you not to let something so precious fall into the hands of mere bandits.”
The blush faded as Eric’s mind turned to serious matters. He looked Fritz right in the eyes, making sure she saw the depth of his resolve. “Now that I know who’s after us, I doubt I’ll take so much as an unnecessary blink.”
Fritz’s own eyes sparkled as she considered the words. “I’ll say this much: if nothing else, you certainly sound more like a rogue these days.”
* * *
A flash, and then darkness. That was all she remembered. One moment she was at peace, and the next, suddenly the world was tumbling, chaotic, mad. It was like she was alive again.
Finally, the world was becoming clear, the stones of her prison cell snapping into focus. There was a glow lighting up the dreary interior. Looking down, Madroria realized that the glow came from her. A lovely bluish light that radiated out of the core of her ethereal form.
“Mithingow’s shine.” As a priestess in her living days, Madroria knew the light well. Even now, in some unknown pit, her god’s protection gleamed in the darkness. Rising to her feet, she surveyed her surroundings. No doors. No windows. Only stone, dark like it had been formed from soot, at every turn.
