Session 4

When your Dungeon Master asks if you want to challenge the party gods, and your character is chaotic by nature, “no” isn’t really an acceptable answer. Especially if your character’s been having a rough time. Just don’t roll a Critical 1, like I did, unless it’s followed by a Natural 20, like I also managed. Then welcome to the redemption club.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crowd teemed around the two combatants.

Zan squared off in the center of the tavern, chairs and tables cleared away to make a small ring. Bullywugs and orcs raised their frothing mugs. “FIIIGHT!”

 We had arrived at Stiltown to the apparent shock of the bullywugs and their elder. The native orcs who largely made up the military here, and who happened to place a bet on our adventuring party, cheered our return with raucous praise. How did a small tribe show their thanks when monetary compensation wasn’t enough? With booze and food of course.

“What do you mean he’ll only meet us tomorrow?” I groaned, practically tugging at Maziel’s cloak. As much as I looked forward to that night’s gathering, leaving my father to be resurrected at my convenience felt wrong.

Maziel sighed and whipped around. “Taelim, for the love of...I don’t care. Please. Tomorrow morning. Bright and early. Go do Taelim stuff.” She paused. “Actually, no, not without supervision. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The drow stormed off. To do hidden drow contact related things, dragging a semi-conscious Bargle with him.

I folded my arms and turned to my friends. We overachievers did what came natural.

“FIGHT!” I roared with the rest of them, sloshing my drink down my arm as I raised it upward.

“Can’t even stay in school, eh boy?” Zan’s challenger sneered. Through blurred vision I could see he was a monk like Zan, or some form of it, as he positioned himself in a fighting guard.

“I warned you, old man!” Zan mirrored the guard, but in a more casual manner.

They lunged at each other.

A flurry of blows were exchanged between the two bare-fisted brawlers. Feet flew overhead, palms punched with such force they shattered wood, even bystanders were knocked back, teeth flying. Before long, Zan’s opponent lay bruised and bleeding on the ground.

The crowd erupted.

Zan did the honors of throwing the challenger out the door. He turned to us and raised a fist. “Another round!”

Cosmo waddled to me, carrying tiny red shot glasses and offering me one. I smiled wanly, and we downed it with a clink.

“No, no,” a bullywug bumbled over, producing a container brimming with that red liquor. “Like dis, friends.” He poured two more glasses, then lit them on fire. “Now drink, yeah!”

I had just discovered my favorite drink, and they seemed to find their way toward me and my party the entire night. Mother Maziel excluded.

Having been denied nearly every possible bit of fun and freedom while in Illium, the day I left marked the start of my new life. One of reckless abandon, self-exploration, and enjoying every pleasure life afforded. I’m thankful Feeps doesn’t have a physical heart; I might have stopped it more than once in his efforts to bail me out of one trouble to the next.

“And then BOOM--combustion!” Klotonk was explaining one of his recent mechanical endeavors to me, so I sat there grinning, too drunk to grasp anything. There was a pause as I reached for the flaming drink the locals dubbed: Salamander.

“You doing okay…?” Klo asked tentatively. “I mean with everything that’s happened.”

I downed the liquid and the gnome flinched as I swayed in my seat. “It helps not to think about it right now…” I glanced around for Feeps, who was playing the fiddle much to the delight of the drunken crowd. His glimmering mantle still kept his form secret.

I stumbled off my chair, claiming another Salamander as I snuck outside for fresh air. I gazed upward at the star-studded night, then quickly bent over and retched. I noticed my flaming glass had fallen over and rolled down the wooden walkway, leaving a smoking trail as it went.

Shit...

“TAELIM!” Maziel’s voice bellowed from inside the tavern.

Oh shit!

I bolted inside.

We faced off before I managed a lazy smile. “You’re back!” I hiccuped.

The drow’s nose scrunched as she dragged me by the collar and shoved a water canteen in my hands, forcing me into a seat. “And you’re drunk. Again.” Maziel tapped their boot expectantly, and I sipped at the water, scowling.

As Maziel went about corralling members of our party, shouting orders and scattering partygoers, I abruptly passed out. I awoke to the panicked scream of locals and the wafting smell of smoke.

I leapt uneasily to my feet and rushed outside, and I froze in horror. The entire town was burning.

Holy. Shit.

Locals were busy filling pails and dumping it over the licking flames. Klotonk kept casting a frosty ray that did little more than the pails.

Oh. Gods. I really did it this time. What do I do?

It’s hard to describe the feeling of speaking to a god. Particularly when you don’t believe in them, and certainly don’t expect one to answer back. All I could remember was a voice warning me of a cost, and me agreeing eagerly to anything it wanted if it helped undo my mess.

Granted.

I rushed toward the fire, pushing past the people and shouting in a slurred voice: “I’ve got this!”

A druidic magic far beyond my level welled up within me. I extended my hands, eyes glowing with divine presence. The temperature suddenly dropped to frigid levels, wind whipping up around us. Rain began to beat down on my shoulders, which quickly turned to sleet. The storm doubled, then tripled in intensity, the slush quickly covering the area and smothering the flames. As fast as it had come, the sleet storm retreated, leaving behind a thin layer of ice.

Huh, that’s a cool spell. I thought in a drunken stupor.

The locals swarmed me, praising my actions and literally jumping for joy. Even my party stared, gaping.

“You’re welcome...” I said quietly, trying my best to escape their hugs and my corrupted conscious.

I returned to the half-charred tavern, thankful our rooms survived. When I reached the bed, I fell face first into the sheets and blacked out.

“Where is the girl!” A voice boomed in the hallway. The bedroom door was thrown open, forcing me awake to a splitting headache.

A thickly built orc woman in full armor, axe slung over her back, pointed a finger my way. “You are this Taelim?”

I could see my party shuffling quietly behind her, looking in.

I swallowed hard. “Yeap....”

She stomped toward me and stopped at the edge of my bed. To my surprise, she extended a hand. “You have my thanks for saving Stiltown.”

I took it, and we shook.

“I am Gnasha. Warlord and guardian of this village. I heard of your deeds last night, not a single person was killed. I have to come to thank you.”

I could feel my head nodding, but no words came out of my mouth. Just the same, she had nothing else to say. She thumped out the way she came.

Maziel folded her arms, and I found myself gazing away sheepishly. Then they stopped, jaw dropping, and pulled my arm toward them.

“Sweet tat,” Cosmo jumped onto the bed.

I blinked at the new image on my forearm, frowning. It depicted a weeping willow surrounded by a ring of stones. “Huh, I dreamt of that last night…” I added, half hungover.

“You have a Geas placed on you,” Maziel replied, hands on his hips. “From Obad Hai.”

“Oh…” was all I managed. They waited, expectantly. “If you honestly thought I could conjure a spell like that.” I smiled despite myself. “He gave it to me if I helped him with something.”

“Taelim. Why would you accept that?” Feeps asked, shaking his sleek head.

Because I started the fire in the first place. I wanted to answer. “Because…” was as far as I got.

      “You said you dreamed of it,” Zan interrupted reluctantly. “Where?”
    “At the top of a hill, past this abandoned town. The swamp was full of yellow fog near a graveyard.”

Zan groaned. “Of course it would be there!” He walked out to brood in the hallway.

“Guess he’s in the group now?” I responded groggily, plopping back down on the bed.

“Yes,” Maziel confirmed. “Now get up and get ready. My contact is waiting.” She shook her head. “After that, we have Geas to undo.”

“Yes, mom.” I grumbled, doing as I was told.

There happened to be small, forgotten stone church on the outskirts of town where the roof had long since succumbed to the elements. A thin albino man in white robes gazed upward at the exposed sky. He, however, was blind.

“A good morning to you, princess,” the albino greeted, before we were even close enough to exchange names. I shot Maziel an accusatory glance, but they only shook their head. “Rest assured, the drow did not tell me anything of your...questionable heritage.” The albino smiled, extending a knobby hand. “You may call me Dmitri, Taelim. Dmitri the Miracle Worker.”

“Pleasure,” I forced my civilities.

His smiled lessened, he clearly knew better. “Tell me what you’ve come for.”

I shoved my thumbs in my belt loops, trying to best explain the circumstance without giving much away. “Someone close to me...has died recently. I want--need--to bring them back. Maziel said you could help.”

Dmitri rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I can, perhaps I can’t.” He tilted his head to one side. “The question remains: does this person want to be resurrected?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know…”

The Miracle Worker grew serious. “If the spirit doesn’t want to return to this plane, then it cannot be done. There is no forcing it back.”

“Then what do I do?” I felt my stomach drop, and panic began to set in. I can’t return to Illium.

“You must ask,” Dmitri replied. Waving his hand with a flourish, a yellowed scroll appeared, sealed with black wax skull.

“Speak with dead.” I heard Feeps whisper at my side.

My eyes widened, I reached out slowly, then stopped. “What’s the cost?”

Dmitri cackled. He pursed his lips together, looking between different members of the group. His gaze landed on Feeps. “Quite a bond you two have,” he mused aloud.

I glanced over my shoulder. Feeps was my best friend and guardian. The first to accept me truly for who I was. “The cost?” I repeated in a quieter voice.

“How about a simple memory?” He responded kindly. “Something fond. Oh yes,” he was talking to himself now. He paused and his eyes clouded. “The night you left, the talk you had, he held you in his arms as you cried.”

I felt my breathing intensify as Dmitri depicted the memory down to every detail, how he seemed to pick one of strongest recollections of me and my companion, and how the remembrance of that night often held me together. I opened my mouth to refute the help.

“She agrees,” Feeps replied in my stead, his metallic fingers squeezing my shoulder.

The Miracle Worker held out the scroll. When I reached out and took it I knew at once I had betrayed my best friend in some small way. As I stared down at the parchment in my hand, I tried to remember what I had given for it.

“I bid you all a wonderful day,” Dmitri bowed his head, then hobbled out of the ruined church.

“Right then,” I faced my friends. “Back to the Black Tower.”

The ebony spire seemed to invite us this time around. The doorway we had left from shimmered from a distance, and the key opened the way inside. For the entire trek here I had been steadily drinking the supply of liquor I brought with me. So when we approached the throne, the suffocating fear of facing my father was partly masked by intoxication. And this time, Maziel didn’t stop me.

There remained the body of my father upon his throne, severed head on his lap. My constitution almost gave, but somehow I retained my liquor.

“Taelim,” Maziel leaned in beside me. The drow’s voice was calm, respectful even. “Do you know the restrictions of the spell?”

I shook my head, bringing out the scroll. My hands trembled as I unfurled it and regarded the inscriptions.

“You can only ask your father five questions. You know the first. As for the others, nothing elaborate. Do you understand?”

I nodded. Then hesitated. “He’ll talk back...like normal?”

Maziel bit her lip. “In a disturbing sort of way.” The drow paused, then firmly grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around to face the wall. “Wait.”

I could hear her move toward the throne. Then she called my name cautiously. When I turned to look, Maziel held my father’s head upright over his neck, an imitation of a full body. For a second time I nearly doubled over, but barely managed to contain myself with deep, shaking breaths.

“Thanks. I think.” I held the scroll out and reread it slowly. When I thought I grasped the basics, I exhaled deeply and cast the ritual.

The room seemed to grow cold, drawing in the essence of necromantic energy. The listless eyes of my father opened with a glow, his chest sucking in air greedily.

I nearly lunged forward, longing to explain myself and everything that had passed between us, to ask all of the wrong questions, to ask for forgiveness. Feeps slipped his hand into mine as a gentle reminder. My father wasn’t alive.

“Father…” I started weakly. “Do you wish to be brought back from the dead?”

A long wheezing imitation of Viceak’s voice responded. “No.”

“What? But why?!” I shouted back, foregoing the fact I just blew my second question irrationally.

“I imprisoned she who didn’t belong to me. This was my punishment,” the voice rasped.

Wrongly imprisoned? The daughter…. I mused to myself. Feeps nudged me softly, and my brain hurried to produced another question.

“Then who will take care of Illium?” I wondered aloud.

“Only an heir can inherit the throne.” Was the answer, ever the reminder of my position.

I grit my teeth. “Is Jayce really the only option?”

“Three heirs are listed in my correspondence.”

My hand suddenly went to my pouch and drew out the sealed scroll case. I opened my mouth to ask how to open it, and saw Maziel held up a single finger. One question left. Defeated, I placed it away quietly.

“Then what do you want of me?”

The voice paused. “To inherit my legacy.”

With that, the light in his eyes blinked out, the air escaping his body with a rush of wind. The necromantic air disappeared, and I stood facing my father. The dead king of Illium.

We buried Viceak’s body in the twilight woods where we met the old witch. That witch, as it turned out, happened to be Baba Yaga. Klotonk managed an identification on the staff she gifted him. So we returned the king’s body to where we thought he imprisoned what didn’t belong to him. Irony.

The party offered their condolences, then left me and Feeps to linger in private.

“I need to know what he wrote in this scroll,” I said to my warforged guardian distractedly, fumbling with the case.

“Taelim. What would that accomplish?” His robotic voice chided me gently.

“Information on the heirs, what this legacy is. I don’t know!” I answered hotly. I stopped when he regarded me, wounded. With a sigh I moved closer and leaned my head against his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do, Feeps.”

He thought for a moment. “You can cry you know. You don’t always have to be strong or sure.”

I didn't respond for a long while, and in that time my guardian waited patiently, rocking me softly.

“We go back,” I replied at last, feigning confidence. “I face them, face Illium. I tell the truth and help them find the heir worthy to lead them.”

“And then?”

I considered it for a moment. “Pursue this legacy I suppose.”

Feeps drummed his fingers against my shoulder thoughtfully. “I think he meant the Magi. That’s his legacy.” He extended a hand outward to suggest our surroundings. “This life outside of Illium.”

I tried to grasp that fully. My father, the same man who often vied with me on the simplest of things, trusted me to take on a position of such prestige? What had changed in that time to make him wish that? What's more, did he really believe I could earn the title and the respect of the other Magi? The prospect felt daunting.

We lingered until Maziel reappeared, signaling it was time to head out. I did have a Geas attached to my spirit after all. After that, it was on to Illium to face my past. That night as I drifted alone to my own corner of camp, I cried freely.