The Gate to Thomerion

by Daniel Heck

  With a nod and wave of her hand, Titania beckons you. You shrug, but she guides you toward a section of cavern wall. You run your fingers over it, and judge by its splintered, craggy feel that you could dig your way through to see what’s on the other side. Indeed, when you push between the cracks, large shards of shale give way, exposing a thin line of natural light.

  “We could just go back the way we came,” you whisper.

  “It just seems entirely too easy,” Titania counters.

  You acquiesce, and start chipping away. The passage widens and rises as you work, until it breaks open entirely, leading to a section of woods.

  Sunbeams peek through the cracks between branches, and the breeze out here is slight at most. A gentle birdsong meets your ears from somewhere.

  “Too easy, indeed,” you say.

  You glance at Titania long enough to see a gauntleted hand dart in front of her face and cover her mouth. She mumbles, struggles and strikes, but the body the arms belongs to, ensconced in golden armor, holds her fast.

  “Xelba…! mrrrhmmphh….”

  Before you can call for help, you have been similarly captured: a gryphon-rider with a sadistic grin on his face pulls your arms behind you and ties them with rope. A dozen more men emerge, having caught the two of you at a weak point. The dragon would have to surmise you’re in trouble to find you, and even then, might not see through the dense foliage.

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  You squeeze sideways through the oak’s trunk, then feel a weird compression upon your torso, but the feeling fades quickly. Matthias and Titania follow right behind. The floor beneath you has changed drastically compared to the outside; it’s now made of stone, with no plant life anywhere to be seen.

  A dark passage lay ahead.

  Titania nods toward you. You wordlessly take the lead.

  As you weave through turn after turn within the passage, large sections of silty chalk shift underneath you. The humidity dampens your clothing, and your lungs feel like they draw in thick fog.

  Titania remarks, “A strange place to call divine, if you ask me. One would think the gods would prefer something a little more luxurious.”

  “They operate in mysterious ways,” you add, “but perhaps there is more than meets the eye.”

  Matthias turns and says, “Speaking of which…” He stares at a flat section of wall, which looks out of place among the rough, naturally-formed pathway.

  You follow it into a square chamber, lined by neatly-cut stone that emits a faint glow. In the far wall are three archways, each of which leads to an additional small chamber. As you look about, you notice three cubical holes, one above each entrance. Also, a dusty inscription in bronzish lettering stretches above all the entrances:

  Let your talents shine, and unlock the code!

  “Well…” you say, nonplussed.

  Finally, you notice a shiny metal door in the left wall, which you immediately check.

  “It’s locked,” you note, “but it sure looks like the way we need to get through.”

  Titania scratches her head. “Shall we look around,” she suggests, “before deciding how to handle this?”

  “That seems prudent.”

  Titania leads your group into the leftmost chamber. While its craftsmanship matches that of the lead-in, it seems otherwise unadorned, until you reach a statue built into the far wall. Made of ancient limestone, the statue depicts an armored dwarven warrior, posed on one knee and with a shield on its back. Its left hand grips its right arm, and the face’s expression is pained.

  Your party ponders for a moment and returns to the main chamber.

  As you approach the middle chamber, strange skittering sounds meet your ears. A gang of tiny goblins, even smaller than the ones you’ve seen in monster arcana, reside within. They struggle with a collection of wooden blocks of various shapes, and as you watch, one or two occasionally point to a square-shaped hole in the wall.

  “Well…” Matthias says, “This is…. unusual.”

  “One more to go…”

  The instant you step into the right-most chamber, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as a gargantuan bear claw swipes at you, missing your face by millimeters. You back down, trying to contain the rest of your party. You can’t tell how you possibly missed the rest of the bear before now, but relief washes over you as you notice that a strong manacle and chain secure its ankle to the back wall.

  It stands on all fours, growling and writhing against its restraint.

  “Let’s… take a moment,” you say. You return to the main area.

  “Look,” Titania says, “The writing’s changed.”

  Indeed, the phrase above the archways now reads:

  One per chamber, please.

  Titania scratches her chin. “Seems like a strange rule.”

  “The question is,” you say, “What now?”

  “The first instruction said, ‘Let your talents shine.’ Is that how we’re supposed to get past this area?”

  “Perhaps. But where do we start?”

  What do you do?

  We investigate the statue.

  We address the goblins.

  We get the bear over with.

  The dusk before the festival is to begin, you meet up with Titania as planned and spend the final hours of anticipation (and what little savings you have left) on drinks and a room at the Pig’s Foot Inn and Tavern. The tables are abuzz with conversation; you overhear tidbits about everything from the limited availability of wizards’ tomes this year to how and where the farmers from the surrounding plains plan to show off their prize cattle. Preparative activity in the streets continues into the wee hours, as if no one here really gives much credence to the silly concept that the rest of the continent calls ‘sleep.’

  An animalistic shriek from outside pierces the din. You hear feather-like ruffling and the tinny tap of claws on stone. Few within the tavern notice immediately, but a moment later, a long-haired human in golden armor pushes open the doors and steps into full view.

  Six-and-a-half feet tall, his shoulders broad as a barn, the man half-grins and looks about as everyone turns and gawks. A woman two tables away, appearing as if she might faint, fans herself at a rabid pace. The man brushes a shred of straw off his chest, and marches slowly toward the barkeep.

  This is no mere commoner, you think, but am I supposed to already know him from somewhere?

  Josephine belts, “Stephano!” Her tone carries wispy admiration, but she holds herself together.

  “Josephine,” the man replies, “As much as I would love to spend time among my adoring public, I shall need a room for the night.”

  “A specimen of such proud rank as yourself?” she coos, “I’d think you’d be able to find someplace a little more, shall we say, upscale…”

  “We Shieldwings need more convenient access to all of Whitetail than what the castle affords, what with the Spring Festival coming soon. No sense in dawdling come the morn.”

  While exuding a slightly cocky air, this man nevertheless holds your attention rapt through every word he says. When he mentions ‘Shieldwings,’ you wave your hand in the air, which Josephine notices. You mouth a few words and point alternately between you and Stephano, but she focuses on the paladin.

  “That may be true,” the barkeep continues with a regretful lilt, “but it doesn’t change that I just booked our last room earlier today.”

  Stephano harrumphs and tosses his hair about. “Well… that’s… just too bad, then. I was prepared to offer a mighty share of coin. As a gratuity, shall we say?”

  The paladin winks flirtatiously, turns and exits, even as Josephine hollers, “Wait! Perhaps something can be arranged…” Before a murmur can rise from the others in the room, you grip Titania’s hand and follow Stephano.

  “Pardon me,” you shout.

  You catch him as he prepares to mount a beige-maned gryphon, tied nearby. He shoots you a nonchalant glance.

&n
bsp; “I understand,” you say, your voice cracking, “That you train and ride gryphons.”

  He indicates his mount, half-smiles again and lets go of the creature’s stirrups. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

  You clear your throat, and swallow.

  “Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

  “Bartleby, servant of the church of the sun.” You reach for a handshake, which he returns with a grip that’s firmer than a vice upon a blacksmith’s works, yet also reassuring. For a moment you feel swallowed by his shadow, such is his presence.

  “We’re interested,” Titania interjects, “in traveling to the frozen isles, and were wondering whether you can help.”

  “I am for hire,” he replies in a cordial tone, “A ride that far, however, fetches no less than one hundred gold.”

  Even without counting, you think, I’m certain we don’t have that much.

  Scratching your chin, you reflect further. Over the course of the afternoon, you’d learned that the Festival includes three competitions, each with a significant cash prize for first place. They all sound like they have certain pros and cons. Win one, however, and you might just be able to hire Stephano. On the other hand, an alternative comes to mind that could suffice, if you’re up to the required finagling.

  What do you do?

  I enter the archery contest.

  I enter the jousting tournament.

  I try my hand at comedic performance.

  I offer Stephano our room at the inn in exchange for waiving the fee.

  A little bit of kindness might go a long way, you ponder, as the Shieldwing prepares his gryphon.

  “Sir Stephano,” you inquire with reverence, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you have a bit of a problem with lodging. If you would consider eliminating, or at least reducing, your travel fee, I might be persuaded to allow you to stay at my home in the northeast quarter for the duration of the Festival.”

  “Allow?”

  The shock in his voice makes your mistake clear.

  “No offense intended,” Stephano grumbles as he stands straight as a board, “as I’m sure your quarters are perfectly reasonable. Nevertheless, you heard what I said in there. I’m already taking a downgrade, at the behest of my commanders, relative to accommodations I’ve frankly earned via decades of hard service. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve no more time…”

  “But…”

  Titania grips your hand in a silent request to not dig yourself any deeper into this hole. The paladin turns, hauls himself onto the back of his mount and flies away.

  You have little choice now. You re-enter the tavern. Fortunately, the sailor you encountered earlier still sits in his booth, drinking and chatting away.

  Time to resort to plan ‘B’.

  You notice a patch of cacti nearby and beckon toward Titania to join you behind them. From there, you observe the gnolls, who don’t notice you yet. Over time, they dig in the sand, then point in various directions, then sharpen their scimitars upon flint. Finally, they start to plod down the opposite side of the dune, still making strange hand-signs to each other, and soon, their bobbing heads disappear under the edge of the sand.

  With a signal to Titania, you lead the effort to tail the gnolls, while keeping considerable distance. Climbing up the dune as the sands shift underfoot stresses your calves to the point of pain. The breeze stiffens and the collar of your unbuttoned tunic flaps wildly, chafing your neck.

  When you can see just over the top of the dune, a revelatory sight gratifies your efforts. Within a valley ahead lies an encampment consisting of various burlap tents, near each of which stand crates, waterskins, and other supply-related containers. A half-dozen more gnolls mill about here, many sporting confused looks. What’s more, you think you see one take an apple from a pack and start to gnaw on it.

  Aren’t gnolls known to be exclusively carnivorous?

  You duck back out of sight and say, “They’re acting more like humans than anything else.”

  “Which could mean,” she replies, “maybe they would be open to communication from strangers…”

  You nod. “It is possible. But at this point, we can see that if we’re wrong in assuming so, we’d be badly outnumbered in a fight.”

  Write down the keyword ENCAMP.

  What do you do?

  We infiltrate the camp at night.

  We decide to be friendly after all.

  “You little guys need a leader, don’t you?”

  Titania’s gentle tone calms the creatures, as their chittering halts for the moment.

  “They’re looking up at me like they don’t understand the language,” she says. “Which wouldn’t surprise me…”

  She starts pantomiming and pointing, to express what she wants them to do. Over the next several minutes, you watch the clacking of blocks, interspersed with an occasional joyous yelp. One goblin snarls, then hisses at another, but Titania replies with a firm “No!” She has handled the conflict with her usual grace and authority.

  You smirk, waiting dreamily.

  I love that woman.

  “The last piece is ready,” Titania says. “Here goes.” She directs the tallest imp to place it, finishing the puzzle.

  A flash of light emerges from the hole. The goblins scatter into the main chamber, whooping, hollering and high-fiving each other, then skitter onward and into the outside world, via the way you came.

  The square above the middle archway now glows with a soft white light.

  If all three tunnels are lit, proceed further into the labyrinth.

  Otherwise, return to the main chamber and pick an unexplored option.

  You ponder the pros and cons but admit to yourself that if Titania means as much to you as your heart professes, it’s time to be brave.

  “I’ve already given up one job on this quest,” you say, trying to speak with sarcastic cheer, “I might as well throw the rest of my reputation to the wind also.”

  Titania lays a hand on your chest. “Everything will be all right. And this will be fun. What would we do in the meantime otherwise?”

  You nod in agreement. Titania’s logic wins out again.

  “I just have one question left for you,” you state.

  She smiles. “What’s that?”

  “How good of a dancer are you?”

  A day and four hours later, your lower back muscles throb, and pain twinges through your toes, to the point where you can barely stand. If a fellow gentleman asked you how many times the latter had been stepped on, you’d gladly admit that you’d lost track, if somehow you could avoid further embarrassing the already sheepish-looking Titania.

  You try leading more assertively for the penultimate performance of the evening, but stumble and nearly fall. Light-headedness floods you.

  “Shall we rest?” Titania asks.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  You limp toward an ornate bench near the far wall and sit together. She gazes into your eyes, with a degree of love and care unparalleled.

  “You’ve been such a trouper, and so patient with me.”

  “And,” you admit while scanning the several dozen lords and ladies filling the room, “it turns out that my fears were completely unfounded. No one’s bothered us.”

  Titania points toward the space’s opposite corner. “Oh, there’s Helmina Wilton! We met ages ago, while just small girls at the elven academy. Do you mind if I…?”

  You shake your head. She says, “I shall return very soon,” and kisses you on the cheek before bounding away, into the throng.

  She wants a new level of commitment, you ponder with a touch of sadness, yet won’t even go for a peck on the lips.

  A familiar voice rouses you out of your reverie. It comes from behind a door to your left: “Sir, just because I will have some help with me when traveling to the northern isles, albeit unwitting help, does not mean your goal is in jeopardy.” The unmistakable baritone could be no one else besides Stephano.


  A mysterious, wheezy voice replies, “It had better not. You will acquire the item while you are there and bring it to us, or the Shieldwings will suffer the fallout.”

  “You dare blackmail me?”

  A long pause ensues. You strain to hear more above the music and general chatter.

  “Would you rather we expose you as a traitor to society?”

  Another pause.

  “Exploit these commoners to the best of your ability, then deal with them as you see fit. The Arcanites expect nothing short of complete success.”

  “Understood.”

  A final moment passes. Then, the door opens. Stephano, dressed in lighter but more formal attire than his usual golden armor, steps through. He strides right past you and grins wide as companions greet him in the center of the hall. For someone who makes it a point to stand out, you observe, he’s doing a good job of seamlessly blending in.

  The door to the side chamber remains ajar.

  You scan to see if anyone’s watching. Then, without standing, you lean to peek inside. Within, you find a bench and a few shelves adorned with a variety of reading material, but nothing (and no one) else.

  Suspicion and fear rise within you, yet the timing and necessity of the circumstances could dictate that you play along and see what happens.

  You feel a tap on your shoulder. Titania stands above you.

  “Talking to Helmina was a sheer joy. But something seems to be on your mind. Am I mistaken?”

  What do you do?

  I confront Stephano about what I heard.