by Daniel Heck
Look up again at the nearest digital timepiece. Add together the ones digit in the hours and the ones digit in the minutes, then follow the corresponding link below.
The sum is less than 5.
The sum is between 5 and 14 inclusive.
The sum is greater than 14.
Perhaps, you ponder, it’s trying to get me to do what Bartleby would have done and had indeed done many a time.
You pull the recovered talisman from your pocket once more and examine it, feeling its earthy features and multiple cracks. For a moment you wonder which tree it was cut from, and how it was enchanted to perform a priest’s work.
You shake your head, determined to not get distracted.
Celestine asks, “Titania, are you okay?”
Fedwick follows with, “What are you going to do?”
“Try what I should have tried a long time ago.”
You extend the talisman at arm’s length, pointing it at Bartleby, and concentrate. Gathering all the divine faith you have ever felt, you mentally picture white light coursing through your arms, and try to recreate feelings of relief, of healing, of all the good that has ever…
Then, through no will of your own, a beam of intense energy bursts from the talisman, hitting Bartleby in the side. You gasp. The flesh starts to burn and you detect an acrid smell. Slowly, the body revives, and its eyes open once again.
“Uh-oh,” Celestine mutters.
Thomerion’s host body sits up and screams, “You dare challenge the god of destruction?!?” A look of insanity floods its irisless eyes.
Before you can gather your wits, Bartleby reaches toward its side and dips its hands in the divine fire. Without showing pain in the least, it now channels its own energy into its hands, intensifying the flames into a gigantic ball of power.
“Run!” Fedwick commands.
Your friends only get a few steps before Thomerion’s rage engulfs them, sending them to the void beyond. As for what he’ll do to you…
Don’t let evil win. Go back to the previous choice, or start again from the beginning.
Your conscience propels you toward solving this injustice.
“At the very least, the farmers around here might be impacted if the dam fails,” you theorize, “so let’s help out.”
“If you say so,” Celestine chimes.
You launch yourselves straight into the monsters’ line of sight, waving your arms and shouting nonsense syllables. The kobolds shout in surprise, and most scatter to remote corners of the clearing. One large reptilian, however, scowls from its perch atop the dam, mumbles “Filthy humans…” and draws a shortsword and a sling. Two smaller companions flank it, one on each bank.
“Yield this landmark, scoundrel!” you command it from about thirty yards away.
“Come take it!” the leader replies, “Do you think that because you are women, we will take it easy on you?”
You growl in reply, feeling ferocious. Celestine’s jaw drops.
“You did not just go there,” she says, before loading her crossbow faster than your eye can follow and letting a bolt fly. The kobold steps back just in time, and the bolt thunks into the wood at its feet. The movement, however, sends the creature off-balance, and it tumbles backward over the top edge of the dam, conks its head on the far bank and finally splashes into the thick surf.
You wield your dagger and close in, but the leader’s guards cut you off. One chucks a huge stone; it hits you in the hip, and pain shoots down your leg. Wincing, you limp close enough to stab at it, missing one swipe but then landing two solid cuts. The monster screams a gargly scream and oozes green blood into the calm blue waters. A nearby beaver chirps curiously, watching the action. You could almost swear that it smiles at you.
The second guard jumps on Celestine’s shoulders and starts pulling on her hair and scratching maniacally at her face. She attempts to reach around and pull off the creature, but it’s too quick, and scrambles down the length of her body and onto a leg, rearing its head back to bite.
This is ridiculous! We have bigger tasks at hand…
Your friend’s kicking stalls the kobold for long enough that you can rejoin her and help. Infuriated, your cheeks reddening, you reach down, grab the kobold’s skull between both hands, rip its grip away from Celestine and punt the creature as far as you can straight downstream. Its screams end abruptly upon landing in the waters, and within seconds the body floats backside up, to be carried away by the currents.
The leader and the remaining guard gawk, first at you, then at each other in abject fear. “See ya!” they shout together before scrambling deep into the surrounding wood, completely out of sight. The beavers swarm back onto the dam and resume their business.
“Three points!” you hear a male voice bellow. Not far away, Fedwick stands, his arms raised above his head with his hands pointed straight up.
“Where have you been?” you shout, with perhaps more irritation than you intended coming through in your tone.
“I would have made it here in time if you told me you were going this far west…” the dwarf mumbles.
“Enough bickering,” another voice chimes.
All three of you turn toward the southern wood. A lithe man in green leather waders, holding a fishing pole and a bucket that clanks with every move, ambles towards you.
“Awww, more trouble?” Celestine whines.
“No trouble to offer. I greet you in peace,” the man says. “The name’s Evert. I hail from not too far off.” He extends a hand to shake with you, which you take. Fedwick follows suit, as does Celestine, with some hesitation.
“I am Titania Vermouth,” you introduce.
“Ah… of Sungaze?”
You nod.
“’Tis a pleasure,” Evert replies, “and while I couldn’t help but watch what just happened, the last thing I would want to see is gentlefolk like yourselves turning on each other, when you’re clearly out here for some specific purpose.”
Celestine explains, “It’s true. We’ve been looking for youth herb.”
Evert’s mouth twists into an astonished ‘O’. “Well,” he says, “that’s a mighty coincidence, because I happen to have found some.”
He shows you the contents of his bucket. Inside, a pile of soaking wet, sky-blue plants with two veins per frond slosh around from edge to edge, intertwined in beautiful asymmetric patterns.
“Well, I’ll be…” Fedwick grunts.
You offer, “May we purchase these from you, Evert? Name your price.”
The fisherman laughs. “You tempt me. As much as I could use the funds, I’d like to gift these to you. For saving the dam. Without the pooling water around here, it’d be near impossible to catch fish before they rush all the way to the northerly delta. Here.”
You smile wide, then start hauling the plants from the bucket to the leather rucksacks you brought for the purpose. “Thank you dearly, kind sir, from the bottom of my heart,” you say. After finishing the transition, you kiss Evert gently on the cheek. He blushes.
“’Tis nothin’.”
Once you’ve completed the loading, Evert goes on his way. Your group returns to town to grind the plants into a paste and brew some ‘youth tea’ for Fedwick.
“Why don’t we do this in your temple, godfather?” you offer. “There, you can practice a little before it counts.”
Fedwick emits a short ‘hrmm…’ but seems open to the idea. Celestine bounds ahead on the path, enthusiastic and youthful in her own right.
These really are quite the network of friends…
That whole business has nothing to do with why we’re here, you think.
“Let’s go this way,” you instruct the others while pointing downstream, away from the ruckus.
“Are you sure?” Celestine asks.
“They’re just kobolds. Vermin, yes, but not the end of the world.”
The others accept your decision. The three of you head in the direction you indicated, where the vegetation thickens and
the humid atmosphere starts to stick to your lungs. Before long, though, you start to feel you’re on to something. All three of you scour the shoreline, occasionally grunting, crouching and getting invariably wet as you reach into and wade through the depths.
“I think I’ve found some!” calls Celestine from a few yards away. You close the distance; she grips a fistful of radiant blue weeds that match the description you were given and even smell like they might possess some aspect of magical power.
“Nice job!” you tell her, looking where she thereafter points to find even more youth herb growing under a stone. You carefully harvest as much as you can find, and the party proudly carries the yield back into town.
“It’ll probably be best,” you theorize, “to sterilize the stuff. If we cook the herb thoroughly and mix it with some water…”
Fedwick grunts and complains, “Sounds disgustin’. But, whatever gets the job done.”
You enter your home and prepare your basin while Celestine takes a knife and starts chopping the herb into small bits. Your plan moves ahead without a hitch, at least until the herb begins to dry out in your pot a lot faster than you anticipated.
“Hrm…”
Celestine gawks at the pasty mess therein, then shoves a hand into her hip. “It seems to have absorbed all the moisture.”
“Not what I thought it’d do, certainly.”
Fedwick observes, “I don’t see the harm in it.”
You nod. “Shall we continue?”
You let the mixture cool for a little while, then retrieve some flatbread and spread the herb on it. All three of you raise your waterskins as Fedwick takes a bite and chews vigorously.
“To memories! To youth! To eternal energy!” you toast.
Celestine grins, beaming. “This might just work out after all,” she intones.
Suddenly, the dwarf coughs with a mighty, repetitive hack. He shuts his eyes, winces and clutches his gut, appearing to be in immense pain.
You take his outstretched hand, then guide him toward a bed. “Oh, dear. What happened? Are you okay?”
Fedwick’s leathery skin is now tinted a pale green. He can breathe, and in fact almost hyperventilates, so it’s clear he’s not choking. He lays down, turns onto his side and emits a long moan.
“Celestine,” you order, “go find the local herbalist. His name’s…”
“Yondol, near the weaponsmith’s to the southwest?”
You nod. She darts out the door with haste.
Whatever we did, you ponder as your internal fear intensifies, may the universe forgive.
It seems to take forever, but Yondol, a spindly blond male dressed all in red, and your friend finally burst through your front door. The herbalist zooms in on Fedwick, but also notices what you have in your pot. Glancing back and forth between the two, he admonishes, “You should have come to me first. If you were looking for the legendary youth herb, this is a highly poisonous variety of a plant that looks almost identical to it. What you wanted had two veins per frond, not three.”
Saving the dragons and learning how Thomerion was involved in it all now becomes far less important than, for the third time since you’ve known him, saving Fedwick. While he holds no grudges against you in the long run, the situation still makes you wonder what you could have done differently.
Your quest ends here, but don’t give up! Go back to the previous choice, or start again from the beginning.
Despite your inner voice urging you to leave good enough alone, you spin the wheel one more time. In the few seconds it takes to start slowing down, the inner voice morphs into a sinking feeling of dread, as the section with the skull creaks closer and closer. Your feet urge you to move… so that maybe it doesn’t point at you when it…
The wheel stops. Panic floods you. You unwittingly gaze straight into the eyes of the humanoid skull, which flash with red flame. It rises from the column. Its jaw flapping wildly, it cackles and charges at you, straight through the air. You dive to the side, but it is too fast. You feel a burning sensation as the skull crushes your chest, then dissolves into the rest of your body, melting muscle and bone alike until even your greedy memory floats among all that is left of you: a revolting pool of elven blood and entrails.
Cruel fate has taken your life! Go back to the beginning of the cavern, or start again entirely.
You watch at rapt attention as the wheel slows. You cross your arms and grumble as the section on which the boots sat before lands in front of you once again. The entire wheel glows red briefly.
Hrm…. Do I even get to try again?
You grip the wheel by the edge one more time. When you try to move it, the wheel won’t budge.
No more.
Shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth…
The number five has held significance throughout magical history, you recall, so you instruct Fedwick to chant the exorcism prayer five times in total. He nods fiercely, cracks his knuckles and then his neck, and steps toward the still-paralyzed body of Bartleby. The dwarf extends his hands, and starts in a whisper, but quickly increases volume:
“Bonshan ere du Voltra kahn…
Bonshan ere du Voltra kahn!
Bonshan ere du Voltra kahn!!
BONSHAN ERE DU VOLTRA KAHN!”
The flails his hands about as he shouts, red energy visibly coursing along every vein and artery. Celestine’s eyes become wide as plates. You feel excitement mix with uncertain trepidation.
Time seems to stand still.
Then, Fedwick finishes in even tones…
“Bonshan. Ere. Du voltra Kahn.”
Light bursts from Fedwick’s arms toward Bartleby, but in a weaker fashion than you expected, given the lead-up. You watch as a purple, ethereal being, complete with dagger piercing its head, starts to rise from the body, seemingly being pulled out by magical forces. But before it’s even halfway out, the spirit shrieks, redoubles its focus and retreats back into its host, causing it to convulse and shudder with such force as you’ve never seen.
You look into the eyes of your former lover, but to no avail. The body animates, stands and with its eyes red as hell itself booms, “You shall die!”
All three of you turn to run, but only get a few steps forward before a ball of white, sparking energy envelops you, electrocuting and permanently frying every cell from head to toe.
Your journey ends here. But don’t give up! Go back to the previous choice, or start again from the beginning.
“I don’t have all that much experience with such brutes,” you confess, “but maybe I can get this ogre chief you mention to listen to reason. I shall pursue the shield.”
The others accept your choice, as they each are in better positions to get those items closer to home. Celestine will search for the amulet, while that leaves Galumnuk with the sword.
“This isn’t a very good place to reconvene…” Celestine complains.
Galumnuk proposes with a clearing of his throat, “We meet at capital square in Whitetail?”
“Sounds reasonable, however long it may take.” You nod in agreement, then pull the others together for a hug, as this is the last time you might see them for a while.
Celestine bounds out of the clearing with a spring in her step. Just before you turn away, however, a pang of concern hits your heart, on your orcblood friend’s behalf.
You approach Galumnuk and lay a hand on his bulky shoulder. “Your task might require some negotiation. Are you sure about this?”
Galumnuk scratches his chin in thought for a moment, but quickly nods. “When Galumnuk think about challenging things, I borrow phrase from your love. He said it all the time. Lived by it too.”
Curious, you put a hand to your hip, and smirk. “And, what is that?”
Galumnuk smiles. “Have faith.”
With that, the orcblood turns and prepares to leave the swamp. You watch after him for a few moments.
Wisdom, you ponder, is a funny thing.
You consult with Omnara about
the precise location of the cavern in question. She is certain the entrance can be found three miles northeast of the mountainous village of Bladepass, between two large spires consisting of natural white limestone. You recompose your pack and refit your mask before hiking back out of the swamp, a process which thankfully proceeds without much incident.
As you trek southwest, you pass Ambrosinians of all races and types on the main paths, many of whom greet you by name, but soon find yourself needing to stray into the plains to save time. Crunching through a dry wheat field around dusktime, you gaze up at a bank of wispy clouds as a thought hits you.
Why us? Why now? Should I just return to my mayoral post at Sungaze and forget all this?
You stop in your tracks, and glance over your shoulder.
“It would make more sense to enlist royal help,” you whisper aloud, “if only King Wyver were equally invested in the draconic alliance.”
Contemplative, you sit within the dirt, unsheathe your dagger and pass time examining it. After a quick scan of the area, you conclude that you could probably get away with camping here for the night. Yellow stalks stretching higher than you are tall surround you for miles.
Your mind drifts toward daydreams, and soon, actual dreams. As you stretch your legs within your bedroll, images of Bartleby holding you around the waist and kissing your neck flutter in and out of your unconscious imagination.
Then, you wake with a start. Something, sounding like a wolf but with deeper pitch, howls from far in the distance. Once, followed by a short pause, then again. A mild breeze caresses your face. You look around and up, but are greeted by only the softly glowing half-moon.
Mind tricks…
Silence prevails once more.
You attempt to return to sleep, but tension now pervades your being, and your body won’t ‘turn off’ to the degree it must. You pick a chunk of soil out from between your toes, then readjust your bedroll. You give the process yet more time.