The Gate to Thomerion

by Daniel Heck

  The man thinks for a moment. “Chaos. Law. Good. Evil,” he says. “Why do these things exist, if not to validate their struggles against each other?”

  You have prevented the gate from being opened, and at minimal cost, the ultimate victory!

  Keep reading The Gate to Thomerion for more alternate endings.

  “This is getting out of hand,” Titania admits.

  You nod in agreement. Galumnuk grunts loudly. “And if the Arcanites are actively trying to interfere with our progress,” you say, “dealing with them seems to have taken top priority.”

  The orcblood says, “We turn south, then?”

  It’s an adventurer’s prerogative to change one’s mind...

  You shout, “You leave me no choice!”

  You concentrate, and white energy courses through your extended arm and into your talisman, then bursts forth, only to sail wide to the right of the man by a yard. It instead strikes an oak, setting its bark and several branches afire.

  “By the gods…” you mumble.

  As further chance would have it, a tremendous gust of wind carries the fire to adjacent trees and the path at your feet, which, dry as they are due to recent weather, also immolate.

  “Let’s try to put out what we can…” you command. You and Titania empty your waterskins over the fires, using a minor spell to regenerate small amounts of moisture once you run out, but it’s not nearly enough. For every flaming patch of leaves or twigs you extinguish, another takes its place.

  You start to run back to where you came from, only to stop short as a burning branch as thick as your body cracks from a great height and falls across the ground, blocking you into the clearing.

  “Do you suppose,” you ask as panic roars within your spirit and you concede that the end is near, “that the god of fire would care to intervene?”

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  Upon further reflection while returning to Whitetail, you realize that while the imp agreed to meet back up with you in the alley where you discovered it, the idol parts are quite easy to reunite; obvious grooves around the perimeter of each would indicate how they screw together to even the most challenged of small children.

  “Titania,” you posit, “We don’t need the imp in order to handle the idol. We could just leave him behind.”

  Titania nods and adopts a matter-of-fact look. “Bartleby, my dear,” she counters, “You have always been a man of your word. What happens here depends on how comfortable you are with breaking your word. Plain and simple.”

  “Nevertheless,” you ponder as you flip the idol’s top from hand to hand, “Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

  What do you do?

  We meet up with the imp for further guidance and to keep my promise.

  We continue with our current plan to destroy the idol.

  The three of you break into a full sprint, but thick foliage slows you down. In contrast, the wizard seems to float above the ground, evidently being helped by magic. Despite Galumnuk’s large stride, the suspected Arcanite pulls nearly out of sight. Suddenly, Titania trips on a thorny vine and yelps as she falls to the ground. You keep up the chase. The orcblood hurdles a large log and closes into a clearing, only to find the wizard mounting a gryphon therein. The pair take off with a squawk, and barely avoid Galumnuk’s outstretched grip.

  “Curse you!” the orcblood shouts.

  You catch up, out of breath and sweating intensely, and lay a hand on Galumnuk’s arm. “It’s no use…”

  You return to Titania, who weeps in pain. You embrace her and recite a healing incantation while holding your hands over her badly scraped leg. Relieved, she smiles, and strokes your cheek in gratitude.

  “I find something…” Galumnuk says as he emerges from the clearing, “Wizard must have dropped it.”

  The orcblood shows you a piece of parchment, tied with twine in the style of a magical scroll. You take it, open it and read:

  The planets are set to align. Our scouts will

  retrieve the idol. Reconvene at headquarters.

  “Planets? An idol?” you say, as you scratch your head.

  “They sound necessary to open the gate…” Titania theorizes.

  “More important,” Galumnuk says, “If everyone gathering, maybe we should rethink our plan, go to Arcanite place after all.”

  What do you do?

  We change our minds, and pursue the Arcanites.

  We continue to Noblehorn.

  “Me?” Matthias points at himself.

  “Maybe your ‘talent’ has to do with the stone, and working with your hands,” Titania purports.

  “I’m a stablemaster, not a sculptor.”

  “Try it anyway,” you say.

  Matthias sighs, pulls his shoulders back and cracks his neck, before stepping through the archway. A few feet in, he stops and glances around. You and Titania observe from outside.

  “So far, so good.”

  The stablemaster proceeds to the chamber’s rear, and slowly runs a hand across the statue’s stone. He adjusts his spectacles and peers above, below and to the side of every detail. Standing tall, he grips the shield on the back of the dwarf and pushes hard. Nothing happens.

  Matthias backs away from the statue for a moment, then searches the floor. He picks up a stone, approaches the statue again, rears back and strikes it in the leg. A dull thud echoes through the tunnel and into the chamber, as small shards of limestone fly from the point of impact.

  You and Titania glare at Matthias. He notices and blushes.

  “I figured it might come loose, or something…”

  “Not quite,” you say politely, “But look.”

  With gritted teeth and deep furrows in its brows, the face of the dwarf statue now looks even more pained, almost in agony.

  Titania asks, “Is there something living stuck in there?”

  “I’m looking into the gash,” Matthias says, “but there’s no blood or flesh, or anything like that inside. Just more stone.”

  Who will try the statue tunnel next, if he or she hasn’t already?

  Titania.

  Myself.

  So much for my calling as a mediator, you ponder, given that conflicts like these sometimes end up for the greater good.

  “We might as well take them on,” you tell the others, “And it helps that they don’t look amazingly strong.”

  Titania and Galumnuk nod in agreement and listen to your plan as you point toward the far corners of the valley. As it’s getting late, the cliff shadows allow them to sneak around to opposite sides of the compound, to surround the guards and hopefully split their attention.

  These fighters don’t appear skilled enough to conjure an arcane fireblast that would take you all out at once, but doubt and insecurity creep into you anyway as your companions take their positions. A band of sweat accumulates above your eyes, despite relatively cool weather. Glancing down at your palms, you grip your sun talisman, then flip it a couple times.

  You initiate a silent count…. One, two…. Three!

  Upon your signal, all of you charge the compound. The guards’ eyes widen, then they jump into action, gathering magical energies around their fists. One unleashes a purple bolt in the orcblood’s direction, but the brute ducks just in time, using his momentum to tackle the guard about the waist. Easily pinning the guard to the ground, Galumnuk socks him in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

  Titania helps you outnumber the other guard, who has drawn a gnarled wand. Her slashes deflect off something invisible; the opponent’s concentration keeps a magical shield in place, so you wheel around to his backside and attempt to headlock the man. He elbows you hard in the gut, and you reel backward, trying to take in oxygen.

  Your lover sees the opening and sinks her dagger into the man’s thigh; he screams, falls and raises his hand in submission.

  “Let’s finish this quickly,” you command as you gag the guard with a length of cloth, yet also cast a qui
ck healing cantrip on his wound. Together, you remove both guards’ robes and tie the men securely with spare rope from your packs.

  You hear footfalls and manic scuffling from within the compound. The guard’s scream appears to have alerted the others.

  “Put them in there, quickly!” you tell Galumnuk, as you indicate a wide but shallow pit nearby. They shouldn’t be able to escape or climb out, you think, yet shouldn’t be hurt further by the fall to the bottom.

  With a heave and lots of grunting, the orcblood dumps the men therein just in time, then jumps in himself as you and Titania stand in the guards’ post positions and pull their hoods tightly over your brows. Seconds later, two female wizards plus four males, most of whom look as easy to overcome as the guards, burst out of the compound’s front door and start scanning the area. The only remotely intimidating one, a gnome with a bulbous head and shifty eyes, sees you and croaks, “What’s going on out here?”

  “Nothing at all out of the ordinary,” Titania blurts, her voice authoritative but warbling, “Just taking over watch.”

  The gnome approaches her, a strange limp forcing his gait askew, and stops a half-foot from her face. He reaches forward, and touches her on the arm, brushing her delicate skin… slowly… with a pasty white finger. The perception that he might see right into her very core makes the hairs on your neck stand.

  “I don’t recall posting you out here,” he says, letting the tension hang for several moments, “as a matter of fact, are you new? I don’t remember names, but I thought I knew every face…”

  The gnome arches an eyebrow higher than you thought one could go upon a face. Titania locks her jaw, stands her ground, and says nothing.

  “Pah!” the gnome spits. “It matters little. Follow me. There is more important business to attend to inside.”

  You and Titania exchange glances, wary of the disconnection from the orcblood. Yet, if he were to make himself known by climbing out of the pit…

  You fold your hands obediently and indicate that you will follow. Titania stays close to you as you let the others reconvene and approach the main doors. You purposely straggle behind, to get what you came here for.

  But, you ponder as you enter a dark hallway lined with carved gargoyle statues, what now? Do we try to interrogate someone high-ranking? Something else altogether? How long can we pretend to be part of all this before getting caught?

  As you pass a narrow offshoot, you see that within it stands a vibrant golden door, upon which runes and multiple mysterious patterns depict plant life, heavenly bodies and geometric angles. You feel yourself drawn toward it, and beckon toward Titania.

  “What are you dallying near the temple for?” asks a nearby wizard. The others press onward, and wait for the elf to unlock a different door further down the hall. “You know it’s locked up, at least until the planets align and the gate can be opened.”

  Planets?

  You clear your throat, trying not to look amazed at what you just heard. “Yes,” you grunt, “Of course…”

  The man turns and rejoins the others, leaving you alone.

  You exchange glances with Titania, who nods, but frowns in trepidation.

  If earlier in the story you picked up a certain teleportation device and you wish to try using it here, pull it out of your vestment pocket.

  Otherwise, rejoin the other wizards.

  “You’re a compassionate soul,” Titania notes, “maybe these goblins could use your guidance.”

  “I’m not sure what to say,” you counter, scratching your chin in thought. “But I’ll try.”

  You step into the chamber and immediately your feet and legs feel like they’re drowning among the creatures. While they dart about in random directions, they look at each other, the blocks or the ground instead of at you.

  You kneel and tap one on the shoulder.

  “You know,” you say gently, “this reminds me of growing up, and of some of the toys we children’d play with…”

  It turns a block over and over in its hand, feeling its texture with a leathery finger, and glances back and forth between it and you.

  You turn back toward your companions. “I’m not sure it understands at all.”

  “Keep trying.”

  While you scan the goblins, a commonality jumps out at you. They’re all quite young, with one exception: the tallest has some level of authority over the others, and you’re quite sure it’s a male.

  The father. And yet, it’s not really helping matters.

  “Where is your mother?” you ask, even as you realize they won’t answer.

  “Intriguing…” Titania remarks.

  Who will try the middle chamber next, if she hasn’t already?

  Darlayne.

  Titania.

  “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 pantomimes and points, to express what she wants them to do. For 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 goblin to place it, finishing the puzzle.

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

  Looking at the square above the middle archway, you note that it now glows with a soft white light.

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

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

  You feel a force tug at your heart. Never in your professional or spiritual life has your faith been challenged to this degree. On the surface, you’ve always thought your trust went deeper than to doubt your deity’s intentions, yet there it lay, at the front of your mind: Who is she to ask you to fly blind?

  You close your eyes and bow your head. Digging far within your resolve, you remind yourself that the safety and peace of the world itself is as stake. Even if I die today, you ponder, my soul shall rest knowing that I have fulfilled my purpose.

  You glance over your shoulder at the golden door, in the direction where you assume Titania still stands. Her beauty, both internal—a sharp mind and remarkable leadership skills—and external—you’ve always liked redheads—strike you right now as profound. The effort you made to hide your relationship from your church tightens your chest as you reflect—the times you wanted to hold her hand but held back, a white lie here or there to your superiors… it strikes you as odd that these never came back to haunt you in any way…

  “May you impose your will upon me,” you whisper. “I agree to the sacrifice you desire.”

  Instantly, a vision comes upon you. In it, a hand taps upon three planets, one at a time, edging them ever so slightly forward within their orbits around their respective suns, and now, it is finished. The required worlds are out of alignment, and won’t align again within any mortal being’s lifetime.

  You stand and activate the cube again. On the other side of the door, you notice a flame-haired female stranger standing nearby. Upon noticing you, she brandishes a dagger. “Who are you?” she asks.

  You lost Titania, but have prevented the gate from opening!

  Is there more to the story?

  Read through the Gate to Thomerion again to find out.

  You decide that the risk of civil unrest, not to mention personal consequences, is too great, and sit within the meeting room without a word. As you are at the end of an aisle and people are running out of space, Titani
a leans against a nearby wall. Soon, the envoy, a portly woman wearing all white, enters and directs two bodyguards to stand at attention near the corners. Her voice rings authoritatively, but in terms of subject matter, her opening speech rambles, sometimes touching on the Arcanites but never specifying why they’re a threat. Soon, others within the room glance at each other in confusion, seemingly not knowing how to best conduct the meeting or to choose with which topic by which to begin negotiations.

  Koraxon representatives, each with polished fangs and neatly kept locks, take turns presenting arguments and concerns, after which an open discussion phase ensues. While disagreements are clearly on the table, and it’s soon clear that neither side wants to budge when it comes to certain terms, it’s all rather overtly civil; for a race that relishes brutal warfare for no logical reason, these orcbloods so far display remarkable restraint.

  So much so, in fact, that by the time the first three hours have elapsed, you wish that another brawl would occur, just to mix things up. You lay your head groggily in your hands, and press your fingers into your brow, wringing out tension and utter boredom. At one point, it all becomes too much. You open your mouth and start to raise your hand, but Duke Mudd utters a sharp, curt “uh…” and shoots you an intense stare. You purse your lips and fall back in line.