choose your own adventure, episode 6

“Magistrius,” you say, stepping forward. “I can see the purple monkeys, too.”

Both Ulacht and Linus give you a startled look, but Richard bobs his head up and down.

“You can see them?” says the old Magistrius, coming closer. “Then you know their villainy! You know they cannot be trusted! The purple monkeys are building mansions beneath the grass, and they are plotting against us! All of us!”

“Yes,” you say. “And I can help you.”

“How?” says Richard. “Will you raise the Order of the Soulblade and the armies of the High King and march to war against the sinister armies of the monkey emperor?”

“Something like that,” you say. “Please hold still.”

You step forward, draw upon the power of your bond with Heartwarden, and clamp your hands on the old man’s temples. Richard’s eyes bulge, and he starts to work a spell of his own, but he’s too slow. Blue light pulses from your fingers and into his head, and the Magistrius flinches and almost loses his balance.

And as he does, you feel…something flee from him. Some taint, some corruption in his blood. The Magistrius had indeed been poisoned. Richard stumbles back, blinking…and some lucidity comes back into his wild-eyed face.

“What…what am I doing here?” he says, looking at you, and then at Linus. “Father? What is going on?”

“You don’t see the monkeys?” says Linus.

“Monkeys?” says Richard. “What the devil are you talking about? This is the Northerland. There aren’t any monkeys for a thousand miles in any direction.”

“You were poisoned,” you say. “Some sort of drug that made you see things that were not real.” Such as, apparently, purple monkeys.

“Poisoned?” says Richard, shaking his head. “But that…that is preposterous. I am a Magistrius! Who would dare to poison me?”

“What is the last thing you remember clearly?” you say.

Richard blinks and looks at Ulacht. “You, headman. I saw you…I went to Rzoldur at your invitation, to heal an orcish woman with an infection.”

“Aye,” says Ulacht, “Ulacht remembers.”

“After I felt like talking a walk,” says Richard, “to the top of the hill, to clear my thoughts.”

Which would take him near, you note, the dark elven ruin atop the hill.

“After that…all I can remember is a gray mist,” says Richard. “Then I was standing here, with you, Linus, and…and this Knight of the Soulblade.”

“Sir Ridmark Arban,” you say.

“Magistrius,” says Ulacht, “it is as you say, you did heal Uzrbella…but that was six weeks ago?”

“Six weeks!” says Richard.

“How long have the children been missing?” you say.

“The first disappeared eight days ago,” says Linus.

“The first orcish child,” says Ulacht, “six.”

“Children?” says Richard. “What is going on?”

You open your mouth to answer, and then hear the rattle of armor.

You turn, and see five men in chain mail approaching the base of Richard’s tower, hands on the hilts of their sheathed swords. They have the look of men-at-arms. At their head walks a stocky, balding knight of about thirty, with a face like a disgruntled bulldog. To judge from his oft-broken nose and the scars on his jaw, the man knows how to fight.

“So,” says the knight, looking you over, “it seems Lady Gwenaelle was correct.” His mouth twists, just a bit, at the mention of the name. “We are honored by the visit of a Knight of the Soulblade.”

“I am Sir Ridmark Arban,” you say.

The knight bows. “And I am Sir Thomas Norsegard, son of Sir Hamus Norsegard, the lord of this village.” He looks at you. “My father and his…wife have heard of your arrival, and sent me to escort you to their presence. They wish to meet you. Now.”

His tone is just short of a threat.

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