choose your own adventure, episode 18a
KNIGHT SWORD, EPISODE 18A
You draw the sword. The soulblade looks like any other sword, save for a piece of gleaming crystal set into the blade below the crosspiece, and a similar crystal gleaming in the pommel. The blade gleams in the morning sunlight, and it looks very sharp. So sharp, in fact, that the sword looks as if Dietrich finished forging it yesterday.
And yet…something about the sword seems old. Very old. Older than you, older than the kingdom of Andomhaim, perhaps older than the world itself.
Both you and Curtwall stare at the sword for a while.
Absolutely nothing happens.
“Sacrifice,” you mutter. “That’s what the wraith said.”
Curtwall shrugs. “All the old stories say that the Paladins became Paladins through some sort of sacrifice. But no other details.” He shakes his head. “Certainly nothing that is useful. Still, the sword has chosen you.”
“How do you know?” you say.
“Because you can draw it,” says Curtwall. “Vlacht could pick it up, but he would not be able to draw it from its scabbard. And only a Paladin can use the sword’s power.” He beckons. “But that is a mystery for later. Come. We must get to the monastery before nightfall.”
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Curtwall leads you and the others into the foothills, closer to the mountains separating the kingdom of Andomhaim from the Haunted Lands to the north. The road grows ever steeper, and soon your breath becomes a steady rasp. The trees thin, dwindling to rugged bushes and scraggly pine trees.
Then you see the ruined monastery.
White walls perch upon a high crag, overlooked by broken towers. A single narrow road leads up to the monastery. Curtwall was right – five men with swords could defend this place against an army.
Especially after Curtwall uses a spell to collapse the gate, sealing the entrance.
You follow Curtwall into the courtyard, and then into the monastery’s ruined chapel. To judge from the piles of stone, the Blood Queen’s soldiers burned this place years ago. Yet the walls still stand, and if Curtwall is right, Ulmoch will not be able to enter.
“What now, sir?” says Dietrich, leaning on his hammer.
Curtwall turns in a slow circle, looking over the chapel. “Now we wait to see if the orcs show up.”
Mourner curses. “We won’t need to wait long. Look!”
You see a dark mass hurrying up the road to the monastery. Orcs in red chain mail, hundreds of them. Ulmoch’s soldiers.
You hurry with the others to the wall overlooking the sealed gates. You see Vlacht leading the orcs, and he orders them to move forward.
At least until Curtwall calls down a lightning bolt at their feet
“No further!” says Curtwall, his voice booming over the foothills. “I suggest you withdraw, servants of the Blood Queen, unless you want to see what I can do when I am angry.”
Vlacht steps forward, hands raised. “A parley!”
“I doubt you have anything to say,” says Curtwall.
Vlacht smirks. “You may not have anything to say to the High Queen, true, but I am not the High Queen.”
A snicker goes through the orcs.
“Let me be blunt,” says Vlacht. “Our interests may overlap. Ulmoch was most wroth when you escaped Moridun with the soulblade. So wroth, in fact, he threatened to vent his rage upon his loyal servants. Alas, while the High Queen may be a generous mistress, she frowns most sternly upon failure. Put simply, I am between a rock and a hard place…if I attempt to challenge your magical prowess, I shall perish, but if I return to Ulmoch empty-handed, I shall likewise perish.” He pauses. “Yet if we can fake our deaths…perhaps an escape exists for both of us.”
You wonder if Vlacht and Ulmoch know that Curtwall can open a portal come midnight.
Curtwall hesitates. “What do you have in mind?”
“A parley,” says Vlacht. “You and I meet, and we discuss how to escape from the wrath of the High Queen and her Ravens.”
You look at the sky. There’s two, maybe three hours until sunset.
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