Roderick
Evil laughter boomed through the halls of the temple as Roderick staggered toward the black altar, his armor hanging off of him in tatters and his battered sword still firmly in hand.
“So! Our sacrificial victim has a hero. Have you come to rescue her? No matter, you too shall join in my ascension.”
With a wave of his hand, the Dark King sent a wall of flames before Roderick, cutting him off from the altar and Laria’s naked and unconscious form. Roderick yelped and jumped back, trying to evade the blistering heat of the fire, but it moved with him, circling around him until he was trapped.
With a mighty roar, Roderick steeled himself and tried to run through the flames. But his body was too beaten from the fight through the catacombs, and he could not endure the heat. Defeated, he fell back into the circle, his hair singed and his tattered armor almost too hot to the touch.
The Dark King laughed at Roderick’s futile attempts to pierce the curtain of fire. He thrust out his arm and raised it high, drawing forth an army of undead warriors to face-off against Roderick.
“You thought your petty skills would save you?” the Dark King sneered. “Your pitiful sword will be no match for my minions! Watch now as I command them to tear you apart, limb by limb!”
But Roderick was not so easily intimidated. He knew that this was his moment to prove himself, to show this Dark King that he was no mere treasure hunter. He took a deep breath, steadied his grip on his sword, and charged towards the undead horde with a ferocity that surprised even himself.
The first few skeletal warriors were easily dispatched, their brittle bones shattering under the weight of Roderick’s sword. But more and more kept coming, and soon Roderick was ankle-deep in their shattered bones.
“You think to impress me?!” the Dark King roared, his booming voice echoing through Xulthar’s crumbling ruins. He could not hide the admiration in his eyes as he watched Roderick battering away at the ancient skeletal warriors.
“Your pitiful reign ends today!” Roderick screamed, undaunted by the Dark King’s presence. “Release the girl Laria and surrender to your fate!”
“I am the Dark King!” bellowed the Dark King, his laughter reverberating off every wall of Xulthar. “My kingdom will never end!”
Roderick threw back his head and laughed maniacally. “Your soul is bound to Xulthar until its last stone crumbles to dust! Your paltry empire will never extend beyond these fallen and forgotten ruins!”
“You dare!” The Dark King stepped forward, his face red with rage, as he raised his hands over his head and began to chant. As he did so, his skeletal warriors pulled back, evidently awaiting their master to launch his attack.
Look to his crown! a voice suddenly whispered in Roderick’s ear. It sounded like Laria. He glanced quickly at the altar, but her body was still bound to it, and she had not moved.
The Dark King stepped into the ring of fire, brandishing a whip in one hand and an iron mace in the other. But in the center of his crown sat a magnificent gemstone the size of Roderick’s fist, which seemed to pulsate like a rapidly beating heart. Somehow, Roderick knew that this was the source of the Dark King’s power.
“Your will is stronger than most who have faced me,” he said, his lips pulled back in an evil grin. “When your body has been broken and your soul has been bound to mine, I shall make you one of my lieutenants. You should be honored.”
“Never!” Roderick shouted, and he charged the Dark King.
The two exchanged a flurry of blows. The Dark King swung his mace, but Roderick ducked under it and slashed at the Dark King’s midsection with his sword. The Dark King swatted the sword aside with his whip.
The Dark King swung again. Roderick parried and swung back. The Dark King dropped to one knee and kicked Roderick in the chest, knocking him back a step. Roderick recovered quickly, but the Dark King was already swinging his mace again. Roderick blocked the swing of the mace, but the whip struck him across the face, tearing a gash in his cheek.
“I grow tired of this,” the Dark King said. He raised his right hand and, with his left, grabbed Roderick by the throat. A blue light surrounded the Dark King, and Roderick felt himself being lifted off the ground. He struggled to break the Dark King’s grip, but the Dark King was too strong.
Roderick felt his feet leaving the ground, and he kicked and struggled with all his might, but his efforts were in vain. Slowly, he felt himself being lifted into the air.
“I can feel the power of your soul resisting me,” the Dark King said. “It will be a fitting addition to my collection.”
The pulsating gemstone was so close that Roderick could almost touch it. He dropped his sword and lunged for it, ignoring the Dark King’s grip on his throat. But the Dark King only laughed as he held him at arm’s length, choking the breath out of him.
“Do you think you can seize the heart of Xulthar so easily? No–you are defeated!”
Roderick gasped for breath as the Dark King threw him back onto the stone floor. His body was bruised and battered, and after so much deadly fighting, he was too exhausted to stand.
“Kneel before me!” the Dark King bellowed. “Kneel before your eternal master!”
“No,” Roderick growled. Exherting all his strength, he rose to his feet on unsteady legs, his hands balled into fists. He would never bow to such a monster.
But the Dark King only laughed. “Defiant to the end! I like it. You truly will be one of my greatest minions.”
“I’ll go to hell before I serve you!”
“And so you shall,” the Dark King answered cryptically. “So you shall.”
He lifted his clawed hand to cast a final spell–the same that had transfigured the priest of the black altar, and the lost adventurer in the abandoned caravanserai, and so many others before. But as he cast his spell, a brilliant flash of white light filled the chamber. It was as if an invisible force had protected him from the Dark King’s sorcery.
“No,” the Dark King exclaimed in disbelief. “How can you defy my power? It simply cannot be!”
“Yes it can,” said Roderick. From beneath his shirt, he pulled out the claw talisman that the fallen adventurer had instructed him to make with his last dying breath. The talisman glowed with a brilliant light, and with it came a newfound strength to Roderick’s battered frame.
The Dark King howled in fury and astonishment, but before he could recover, Roderick seized his sword from among the scattered bones and swung it toward the Heart of Xulthar in a tremendous arc. The sword struck true, and the pulsating gemstone shattered like glass into a thousand shimmering shards.
The Dark King roared in a deafening rage, his booming voice reverberating throughout the hall. His powerful presence consumed all in its vicinity. With a final cry of despair, he fell to the ground in a heap of broken bones and writhing shadows. His undead skeletal minions swayed and crumbled into dust around him, their crumbling fingers clattering like glass against the stone floor.
Roderick stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by a pile of skeletal remains and an eerie silence. He had done it. He had slain the Dark King, who had by his cunning sorcery brought his house to ruin. Honor had been satisfied, and his family name could now be restored.
Yet even as he grasped his sword firmly in his hands, Roderick could not help but feel a sense of growing unease. The Heart of Xulthar had been destroyed, but its power still lingered in the air. He sensed that the curse of Xulthar had not been truly lifted, even if its immortal Dark King had been slain.
As he gazed about the bone-strewn chamber, his eyes fell on the black altar, with Laria’s naked and unconscious form still chained to it.
“Laria!” he exclaimed, rushing to her side. He shook her gently, but she didn’t stir from the spell-induced slumber that held her bound. He grew frantic as he tried desperately to rouse her, but no matter how hard he shouted or shook her, she remained under the spell of her curse. His heart racing, he felt a wave of helplessness wash over him – no matter what he did, it seemed like there was nothing more he could do.
His heart heavy with despair, Roderick bowed his head and wept.
Laria
The moment the Dark King died, Laria felt a tremor that reverberated through the Void to the core of her very being. The power that had held her bound suddenly released her, and she found herself floating over her body, still tied fast to the black altar, with the corpse of the Dark King crumbling to dust and Roderick standing over her naked and unconscious form, trying in vain to resuscitate her.
As she looked down, a portal opened above her, and a pillar of light descended gradually until it completely enveloped her. It seemed that it was invisible to all but her, as Roderick did not glance up from his vain and frantic efforts. But as she looked up, the eyes of her understanding were opened, and she found herself gazing beyond the Void to the Immortal Realms.
“Hello?” she called out tentatively. In the Mortal Realm, of course, her voice made no sound, but in the spiritual realms of the Void and beyond, she knew that she had been heard.
A warm feeling of the most profound peace came over her. It seemed to tell her that if she wanted, she could leave this mortal coil behind her forever, with all of its sorrow and suffering, and return home to that eternal paradise to rest in joy forever. Indeed, the longer she gazed upon the beautiful Immortal Realms, the more she felt as if her whole life had been nothing but a dream and a forgetting.
But at the same time, she knew that if she chose this path, she would be as frail and as insubstantial in that eternal world as she was now, in her disembodied state. Just as her body served to anchor her to the physical reality of the Mortal Realm, the experiences that she gained here would serve to anchor her to the spiritual realities in the life beyond.
I cannot go, she realized. My life has been too poor, too devoid of real experience, to return to my immortal home right now.
And in that moment, she suddenly realized how empty and poor of real experience her life as a slave had been. How could it be otherwise, when she had never truly owned anything, not even her own self?
But could she embrace her own freedom? Could she really be her own master, even with how much the very thought terrified her?
Yes, she decided, and in that very moment, her spirit fled downward, into her physical body. All of the aches and pains of the last few days suddenly came back to her, filling her with an agonizing awareness of her own mortality.
She gasped for breath and opened her eyes in time to see Roderick standing over her. “Laria!” he said quickly. “Are you alright?”
Laria nodded, still catching her breath. “I… I think so,” she managed to say.
She tried to sit up, but she was bound to the black altar by her wrists and ankles. Roderick drew his dagger and swiftly cut the ropes, freeing Laria from the altar. As she stood up, she realized she was naked, the tattered remains of her clothes lying at her feet, where the priest of the black altar had torn them from her.
Roderick’s eyes traced the curves of her body, and Laria felt a sudden warmth flush through her. As a slave, she had tried many times to attract his gaze, but now that she had embraced her own freedom, she had never felt so exposed or so vulnerable before him. He noticed and quickly averted his eyes.
“I am sorry for what you had to endure, Laria,” he said softly, trying to sound sincere. “I got here as soon as I could. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said, smiling to set him at ease. Then she noticed his own wounds, and her eyes widened.
“Roderick, you’re hurt!” she said, ignoring her own minor aches as she hurried to his side. “Let me attend to your wounds.”
She saw the gash on his chest and the blood that soaked his shirt. Without waiting for him to reply, she ripped a piece of cloth from his tattered tunic and used it to wipe the blood away from the wound. She could hear his intake of breath as she gently cleaned the injury. Her hands were surprisingly steady despite the fact that she still felt shaken by what she had endured on the black altar.
Roderick’s eyes flickered with gratitude, and Laria felt a strange stirring in her chest. “Lie down,” she said, helping him down onto the cold marble floor. Only then did she notice the hundreds of charred and broken bones that lay scattered about the black altar.
“What happened here?” she asked, leaning over him to try and see the wound better.
“It is the Dark King,” Roderick answered, each word a labor. “He is dead.”
“I already know that,” Laria said as she reached for another strip of cloth that she could use to bandage the wound. “But what about the rest of the carnage? How many of those… things died? Did you do this? Or was that the Dark King?”
Her eyes flickered to the edge of the room, where the body of the Dark King lay. His flesh had turned to ash and dust, and what was left of his skull was bleached white and frozen in a final scream. But all around him, the bones of the fallen skeleton warriors were burned almost to a crisp.
“It was the Dark King,” Roderick answered. “In death, his magic burst out of him like a great, sorcerous flame that burned all of his skeleton warriors and scattered their bones.”
“Did all of the Dark King’s minions perish when his magic was broken?”
“I do not know.”
Laria nodded and set to fastening the clean cloth over his injury. Brushing the hair out of his face, she said, “We’ll have to get you out of here, in case any of them survived.” As Roderick began to say something, Laria’s hand slipped away from his face and she saw the deep burn marks that still lined his forearm. “Your arm! What happened?”
He grinned sheepishly, but she could tell he was in great pain. “I must have been in the blast zone when the Dark King’s magic exploded. I had my arm in front of my face, and the wound is deep, though not as bad as the one on my side. I fear that I shall lose this arm, unless we find a very skilled cleric.”
“You will not be able to wield a weapon,” she told him.
“Perhaps not,” he said, coughing. “But as long as there is breath in these lungs, I…”
His voice trailed off, and his eyes began to glaze over. Laria looked around frantically, but there was no help to be found. Reaching out and gripping Roderick’s hand, she shouted, “Roderick! Stay with me! Do not give in! Please, do not go!”
Roderick’s eyes flew open, and despite the blood that was streaming out of his mouth, he smiled. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly as he said, “I love you, Laria. Stay strong. Be well. Do not give up this world. Do not let despair take you, like it almost took me.”
She squeezed him in return, sobbing as she kissed him. But all her efforts could not heal his wounds as he closed his eyes again and drifted into unconsciousness.
Laria knelt next to Roderick, her tears still flowing. He seemed so peaceful, she almost couldn’t believe he was dying. But then, with a deafening roar that shook the very foundation of the temple, an eerie figure stepped out of the shadows, wreathed in strange tendrils of smoke.
Laria leaped to her feet, unsure whether to run or to shield Roderick from the creature. Her mind raced with uncertainty as she watched the priest of the black altar approach. The creature’s form shifted and changed, and as it drew closer, it became apparent that the priest was not what it once had been. She drew a deep breath, but did not run away.
“Do not be afraid,” the beast told her. “My will was bound to the Dark King’s, but now that he is dead, I am finally free.”
“You are?” she asked.
“Yes. I am free to pass on from this mortal coil, and face my fate in the eternal realm. For my many sins, I fear that my fate will be terrible. I know that I will never be able to atone for the souls that I have slain on his black altar.”
The priest approached her, moving like a shadow. It was unlike anything she had seen before. Even an assassin couldn’t hide in its darkness.
“Have you come to slay me as well?” Laria asked. Despite the terror this creature caused within her heart, Laria found herself drawn towards it for some strange reason. She stepped forward slowly, ready to face whatever fate this creature presented to her; if necessary she would draw blood with Roderick’s sword. But instead of attacking her, the creature spoke again and said:
“Although my body is weak and my spirit has grown weary, I have no desire to extend my time in this world. Your eyes tell me that you are pure and innocent, unlike all the others sacrificed in my name. Yet I cannot help but sense a strange connection between us, an invisible bond tugging me closer like a whisper in the air. My heart aches with longing for the hope I once had, yet I can no longer find it within me. In its place, I offer you this.”
From deep within the coils of smoke, the creature produced a vial of shining blue liquid.
“Once a man has tasted of eternal life, he will never be able to live without it. Without the strength of the black altar, he will be forced to spend eternity among the shadows of the abyss. But this elixir, fashioned with the last of my dying magic, will grant life and healing to whomever drinks it. It will not grant him eternal life, but it will bring his soul back from the void.”
Laria nodded gratefully. She understood now, more than ever, how it felt to be a creature born in darkness. Her heart ached for the priest of the black altar who, at the end of his life, was able to find meaning in his sacrifice. She had expected to feel fear and revulsion, but instead she felt sorrow for him.
“Take this,” he said softly, handing her the vial. “Use it on your friend.”
“Thank you,” Laria said reverently.
“And now, I must go,” said the monstrous priest. “The last of my energy has been spent in this final appearance, and once again I must pass from the world.
The creature reared back in terror as it looked upon the human bones. A deep crimson red washed over its body, emanating an intense heat that seemed to bubble and steam in the air. The stench of decay filled the room, making it difficult to breathe. With one last bellow from its mouth, the creature released a wave of smoke so thick the entire room was engulfed in darkness. When it finally dissipated, all that remained were piles of fine bone dust.
Laria hurried over to Roderick’s side. With trembling fingers she unstoppered it and carefully poured a few drops onto his wound. Miraculously, she could almost see his injuries beginning to heal before her very eyes! After a few moments Roderick stirred and sat up groggily.
“What happened?” he asked dazedly.
Laria choked back a sob of relief as she knelt beside him on one knee. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and smiled down at him through tear-filled eyes. “You don’t know how worried I was,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “The priest of the black altar… he saved us! You’re safe now—thanks to him!” She pulled him into a fierce hug and held him there for a long time, crying tears of joy that he had made it back to her alive.
“Thanks to who?” Roderick asked weakly.
“The priest of the black altar. When you slew the Dark King, you released him from the dark magic that bound him here. He’s passed on now, to whatever fate awaits him in the Void.”
Roderick was still a bit pale from his ordeal, but she could see the color slowly returning to his cheeks. She smiled softly as he began to look more like himself again.
“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.
Roderick answered with a weak smile. “I’m okay,” he said, sounding exhausted. He shifted slightly and added, “You almost died too.”
Laria shook her head and released him from her embrace. “Not quite,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion as she let out a deep sigh of relief. She glanced down at her naked body and laughed softly. “I guess I should probably find some clothes.”
Roderick chuckled and nodded. “I think that might be a good idea.”
They searched the temple for something she could use for clothing, but the granite walls and marble floors were devoid of anything suitable. Laria felt a bit at a loss as to what to do. She had never been ashamed of her nakedness before, but the strangeness of the temple, combined with all that they had been through, left her feeling vulnerable and exposed.
“Hey,” said Roderick, calling to her from deep within one of the temple’s adjoining halls. “I found something that might work.”
Laria hurried over to see. Unlike the main section of the temple, where the stone was weathered with age and where sand and dust had collected in the corners, this hall was pristine. The walls and floors were made of a smooth, polished marble, and intricate frescoes adorned the ceiling. White silk hangings, trimmed with gold, hung between the pillars. Roderick had cut one of these hangings down with his sword, and now held it out to her.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, wrapping it around her chest and waist. The silk felt cool and luxurious against her skin, and she couldn’t help but run her fingers over its smooth surface. The intricate golden trim caught the light, mesmerizing her.
But as she looked up at Roderick, she saw that his attention was focused elsewhere.
“What is it?” she asked, noticing how he seemed to be standing in the middle of a strange symbol carved into the floor.
Roderick stepped back from the symbol and gestured for her to follow him. He led her further down the marble hallway, stopping at a set of stone doors with silver runes etched on them. Eagerly, Roderick placed his hands onto them, and with an echoing boom they opened before him. Beyond them lay a massive chamber filled with gold coins and jewels beyond what even the most avaricious could hope to possess.
Laria gasped in awe as light glinted off every corner of the room. For a moment, she felt as if time had stopped. She rememered the awful vision of this place from her time in the Void, and when she looked into Roderick’s eyes, she saw with dismay that a terrible frenzy had come over him.
Roderick carefully grabbed a handful of coins from the nearest chest. He held them up to the light and examined their details before grinning with wild abandon. “This is it,” he said excitedly, his voice echoing off the walls of the chamber. “The riches of Xulthar!”
