Author: Joe Vasicek

Roderick

“I know why you seek the lost city of Xulthar,” the old crone said as she peered over the top of her crystal ball. “But the riches hidden therein will bring you nothing but evil and sorrow.”

Roderick the Young of House Valtan stood up straight with his shoulders back, his sharp eyes scanning the old crone from head to toe. His broad hand unconsciously brushed the hilt of his sword; it was a weapon that had seen more than its fair share of use. Unlike most nobles, his boots were worn and caked with dust, his face lined with the sun and wind of the open road—a testament to the hard times that had fallen on his house. But Roderick was not one to let the whims of fate define him.

“What do you mean, old woman? Speak your prophecy.”

The haggard old fortune teller wore faded and tattered robes, with a threadbare shawl that seemed as old and gray as she was. Clearly, no false and flattering sibyl was she. Roderick had sought her out for that very reason, foregoing all of the more popular soothsayers with their smooth words and their gilded tongues. With all that he had lost, he had no appetite for their lies.

The crone’s eyes pierced through Roderick’s soul like needles, her voice a deathly hiss that sent shivers coursing through his veins.

“Behold! I see a city of endless riches and unimaginable treasures, watched over by an infernal force of dark magic. You must face this terror, Roderick of House Valtan, and uncover the reason for your family’s demise. But know this – the path ahead is littered with danger, for even if you succeed in defeating the evil power, it will not restore your house to its former glory or bring you the honor you seek.

Her words stabbed him like a dagger to the heart. Honor was indeed the object of his quest, and the riches of Xulthar were merely a means to that end. The fact that the sibyl had divined as much spoke to her clairvoyance, since by all outward appearances, he was simply another young adventurer seeking his fortune. But even if the riches of Xulthar were cursed, he could not back down now; he had come too far and sacrificed too much.

“But will I defeat that dark power, and restore my family’s honor?” Roderick asked.

The sibyl clucked her tongue. “The future is not set in stone, young lord. You, not I, have the power to shape your own destiny.”

Roderick scowled impatiently. “I did not come into your tent to hear platitudes, old woman. Look into your crystal ball and tell me what will be if I defeat this dark sorceror and seize the riches of Xulthar for my own.”

The crone’s eyes glinted in the dim light of her tent as she glared into the depths of her crystal ball. “I see naught but a life of suffering and misery for you, my lord. Xulthar’s riches are cursed beyond your wildest dreams. If you dare step foot on this path, it will come at an immense cost, even if you emerge from it victorious.”

“But if I do not take this journey, then my family will never reclaim its lost honor and our house will be erased from existence forever.”

“As you have spoken, young lord.”

Roderick grunted. “Better to meet a cursed but honorable end than to take the coward’s path. If this is to be my destiny, I will not turn from it.”

The old crone nodded solemnly, her aged and wrinkled face softening with sympathy. “Beware, young lord! The evil that lurks within the ruins of Xulthar is so great that even I cannot foresee how your fate is intertwined with it. Your bravery is admirable, but the path that you choose will have consequences beyond your own life. Indeed, it may affect the fate of our entire world.”

“Then I will choose this path,” Roderick said grimly, “even if it brings me naught but sorrow.”

He adjusted his sword belt and turned to leave. As soon as his back was turned, the ball began to glow anew.

“There is something else,” the old crone prophesied, her gaze fixated on the vision within the crystal ball. “I see a young woman, beautiful and fair…”

But Roderick had already stepped out of her tent, his mind consumed with brooding thoughts.

Roderick

The tavern was as dark and smokey as the hot afternoon sky was bright and clear. Roderick narrowed his eyes as he adjusted his sword belt and peered at the long wooden tables, which were mostly unoccupied at this hour. A short raven-haired wench was washing down the table nearest to him, the hem of her billowing dress stained almost black with ash and spilled food and drink. She stood up straight as Roderick entered.

“Milord,” she said with a respectful curtsy.

He ignored her for the moment as his eyes scanned the room. Three scrawny chickens were roasting on a spit over the coals in the fireplace, while behind the bar, a fat, balding barkeep mindlessly cleaned pewter mugs. A warm breeze blew through the unshuttered windows, only marginally cooling the air.

For a moment, Roderick thought he had made a mistake. Then his ears caught the sound of laughter, and in the far corner, he found what he had sought.

“My friends,” he muttered, grunting as he pointed to the far table. The tavern wench nodded and smiled as he passed her without another word.

“Rod!” said Andrej, slapping him heartily on the back as Roderick took the seat next to him on the bench. “It’s good to see you, friend. Care for a drink?”

Roderick raised an eyebrow. “At this early hour?”

“Why not?” Jura said merrily across the table. “Andrej is paying!”

“There you are mistaken,” Andrej retorted with a mischevious smile. “Our beloved Lord Valtan is subsidizing our libations on this auspicious occasion, since he it was who called us to this council. Forsooth?”

Roderick sighed heavily. “Just as long as you don’t get drunk.”

“It may be too late for that, Lord,” Jura said with a trinkle in his eye. He held out his mug, and the wench hurried over with a pitcher of ale.

“Enough of that!” Roderick snapped. “I didn’t call you here to celebrate the occasion. I called you here to make plans.”

The tavern wench stopped pouring, and at a sharp glance from Roderick she scurried back behind the bar. Andrej clucked his tongue.

“You always have such a serious demeanor, Rod,” Andrej said, taking a swig of ale. “Can’t we just enjoy each other’s company for once?”

Roderick scowled. “This is not a social visit, Andrej. We are here to discuss our… pending expedition.”

“You mean our quest for the lost city of Xulthar?”

“Not so loud!” Roderick snapped, glancing around the room. But Andrej and Jura just laughed.

Roderick’s frown deepened. “This is no laughing matter. Xulthar is a place of great danger. We must approach it with caution and a clear head.”

“Of course, of course,” Jura said with a wave of his hand. “But we’ve been planning this for months. We know what we’re doing.”

“Maybe,” Roderick said, “but we must stay focused. We cannot let the promise of riches cloud our better judgement.”

“But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Andrej said, grinning. “We’re doing this for the gold.”

Roderick’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just about the gold for me. It’s about my father, and restoring my family’s honor.”

“Well, that’s all well and good,” Jura said with a shrug, “but I’m in it for the gold.”

Roderick shook his head. “You’re missing the point. This is not just a treasure hunt. Xulthar is not just some abandoned city. It is a place of great power and danger. We must be careful.”

“Relax, Rod,” Andrej said, clapping him on the back. “We’ll be careful. But we’ll also have a good time.”

Roderick sighed. His companions were not taking the expedition seriously enough. They didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. But he had to make them understand.

“Listen to me,” Roderick said, leaning in close. “In Xulthar, we will face not only physical challenges but also those of the mind and soul. The treasure we seek is cursed, and it will corrupt anyone who seeks to possess it. We must be vigilant and resist its lure.”

Andrej and Jura looked at each other and then burst out laughing. The sound of their merriment was like a dagger to Roderick’s heart.

“You think this is funny? Xulthar is no laughing matter. It is said that the city fell to an evil and sorcerous power, which slaughtered all of its inhabitants in a single day. That power still holds sway over the treasure contained within the ruins, and it destroys those who fall to it. Their bodies are possessed by demons, their minds reduced to nothing more than an addling soup.”

The laughter died down as they listened to him speak, but Roderick could sense that they still didn’t fully believe him.

“Look, Rod,” Andrej said, placing a hand on Roderick’s shoulder, “we know you’re worried, but we’re not a bunch of greenhorns. We’ve been on plenty of dangerous expeditions before. We can handle ourselves.”

“We’ll be careful,” Jura added. “And besides, even if there is a curse, we’ll just have to make sure we have the right magical protections.”

Roderick sighed again, feeling the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. He had to make sure that his companions understood the danger they were about to face.

“We’ll need to be prepared,” Roderick said, pacing back and forth. “Xulthar is hidden in the deep desert, and no one has ever returned from there. The journey will be long and arduous, and we’ll have to be prepared for anything.”

He looked at Andrej and Jura expectantly. They nodded in agreement.

“We’ll need supplies,” Andrej said, taking charge. “Food, water, weapons…all sorts of things.”

Jura chimed in as well. “And spells! We can’t forget about magical protection.”

Roderick nodded in agreement. This was all true, but there was something else they were forgetting about – something far more important than any physical preparation.

“But most importantly,” he said gravely, “we must protect ourselves from the temptations of the cursed treasure we seek.”

The two adventurers stared at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” Andrej asked with a furrowed brow.

“The curse of Xulthar is not just a physical danger,” Roderick explained. “It is a corrupting force that preys on our darkest desires and weaknesses. We must be vigilant against its influence, or else we risk falling to its power.”

Jura crossed his arms, looking skeptical. “And how do we protect ourselves from that? Do we just avoid the treasure altogether?”

Roderick shook his head. “No, we cannot simply ignore the treasure. It is our goal, after all. But we must be strong of will and clear of purpose. We cannot let our greed or ambition overpower us. We must remember why we are on this journey and what we hope to achieve with the treasure.”

There was a moment of silence as Andrej and Jura considered what Roderick had said. Then Andrej spoke up, a note of determination in his voice.

“I understand what you’re saying, Rod. And I promise you, I won’t let the curse get to me. I’m here to help you restore your family’s honor and get rich in the process.”

Jura nodded in agreement. “Me too. I’m not going to let some curse steer me off course.”

“Very well,” Roderick said, finally relenting. “But we must be cautious. We don’t know what we’ll face in that cursed city. We’ll need to rely on each other and be prepared for anything.”

Andrej and Jura nodded in agreement, and they all raised their mugs in a toast.

“To Xulthar,” Andrej said with a grin.

“To the treasure we’ll claim,” Jura added, clinking his mug against Andrej’s.

“And to glory and honor we’ll win,” Roderick said, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. Though his friends seemed confident in their plans, Roderick couldn’t help but worry they weren’t taking this dangerous journey seriously enough. What if something happened to them out there? Would they abandon him, or stand by him in the face of adversity? He only hoped he could trust his companions when it came time to confront the power of Xulthar’s curse.

Roderick

“I know why you seek the lost city of Xulthar,” the old crone said as she peered over the top of her crystal ball. “But the riches you find there shall bring you naught but evil and sorrow.”

Roderick the Young of House Valtan rolled his shoulders back as his sharp eyes scanned the fortune teller from head to toe. His broad hand unconsciously brushed the hilt of his sword, which had seen more use than most of its kind. Unlike most of the noble born these days, his boots were worn and caked with dust, his arms bronzed, his face lined and weathered from the wind of the open road—a testament to the hard times that had befallen his house. But Roderick was not one to let the whims of fate define him.

“What do you mean, old woman? Speak your prophecy.”

The robes of the haggard old sibyl were faded and tattered, and over them she wore a threadbare shawl as old and gray as herself. A woman of her profession could easily amass a small fortune spinning false and flattering tales—all the more so for the curse that multiplied the coin of liars and cheats, and shrank it for honest men. Indeed, this very soothsayer could be putting on a sham, her wealth discreetly hidden beneath a facade of beggary and dearth.

But Roderick did not think so. He had carefully watched the old crone for several days, searching for any sign of deceit. Now, inside her tent, he had even more opportunity to scrutinize her. Everything he saw convinced him that she was, indeed, an honest prophetess, for only an honest one could be this poor.

“You bear little resemblance to the other young adventurers who seek the riches of Xulthar,” the old crone cackled. “Unlike those other fools who greedily seek the city, you are a man of honor in an honorless world—a soul cast adrift by the cruel winds of fate, through no failing of your own. Your father—”

“If I wanted honeyed words, I would have gone to one of the popular soothsayers with their silk tents and their gilded tongues. Do not try to butter me up, old hag—I have no appetite for obsequious lies.”

“Old hag?” the woman shrieked. “Your uncouth tongue will bring you no favors, young lord—though you did not need to seek me out to learn that. No, I perceive you have come to learn whether your efforts to restore your family’s honor will meet with success, or failure.”

“Aye,” said Roderick, inwardly pleased that the sibyl had divined the true nature of his quest. Still, he brooded impatiently as she peered into her crystal ball.

“Behold!” she began, her voice a deathly hiss that sent shivers coursing through his veins. “I see a city of unimaginable riches and treasure, guarded by an infernal force of the darkest sorcery. You will face this dark force, young Roderick of House Valtan, and uncover the truth behind your family’s demise.”

“And will I defeat it?” he asked, his blood running cold.

The old crone paused until the silence was nearly palpable. “If you do,” she answered at length, “it will not restore your house to its former glory, nor right the wrongs that you and your family have suffered.”

Her prophecy stabbed him like a dagger to the heart. Honor and duty compelled him to do all within his power to restore his family’s house, and nothing short of the riches of Xulthar would enable him to accomplish that now. To hear the sibyl prophesy that his quest would come to naught was almost enough to crush him.

“Will I fail, then?” he asked softly, refusing to give in to despair.

The sibyl clucked her tongue. “The future is not set in stone, young lord. You, not I, have the power to shape your own destiny.”

Roderick scowled. “I did not come into your tent to hear platitudes, old woman. Scry into your stone and tell me what will be if I defeat this dark sorcerer and seize the riches of Xulthar for my own.”

The crone’s eyes glinted in the dim candlelight as she stared once again into the depths of her crystal ball. “I see naught but a life of suffering and misery for you, my lord. Xulthar’s riches are cursed beyond measure. If you do not turn from this path, you will pay an immense cost for it, even if you prove victorious.”

“But if I do not take this path, then my house will never be restored and my family’s honor will be disgraced forever.”

“As you say, young lord.”

“And even if the cause of my house is truly hopeless,” he continued, hardly hearing her, “then for honor’s sake alone, I must avenge our fall.”

To that, the old crone said nothing.

“I must seek the city of Xulthar,” Roderick argued, clenching his calloused fist. “I have come too far and sacrificed too much to take the coward’s path and turn from my destiny. Tell me, woman, what must I do to prepare? What must I take with me to defeat the dark power that resides in the ruins of Xulthar?”

The sibyl consulted her stone. “You must remain true to your cause,” she counseled. “If you do not allow yourself to be swayed or tempted away, then fate will provide all that you need to defeat that dark power.”

“But even if I defeat it, the honor and wealth of my house will not be restored?”

The old crone nodded solemnly, her aged and wrinkled face softening with sympathy. “Beware, young lord! The evil that lurks within the ruins of Xulthar is so great that even I cannot foresee how your fate is intertwined with it. All I know is that defeating that great evil will not bring you the honor that you seek, nor will it restore your house to its former glory.”

Roderick grunted in grim resignation, and his eyes narrowed and hardened with resolve. “It is better to meet a star-crossed end with sword in hand than to take the coward’s path. If this is to be my destiny, I will not turn from it.”

He adjusted his scabbard and turned to leave. As soon as his back was turned, the crystal began to glow anew.

“There is something else,” the old crone prophesied, her gaze fixated on the vision within the ball. “I see a young woman, slender and fair…”

But Roderick had already stepped out of her sun-faded tent, his mind consumed with dark and brooding thoughts.

Roderick

The tavern was as dark and smokey as the hot afternoon sky was bright and clear. Roderick narrowed his eyes as he peered at the long, wooden tables, which were mostly unoccupied at this hour. A raven-haired wench was scrubbing the table nearest to him, her apron stained black with spilled food and drink. She stood as Roderick approached her.

“Milord,” she greeted him with a curtsy.

He ignored her for the moment as he scanned the hall. Three scrawny chickens were roasting on a spit over the coals in the fireplace, while behind the bar, a fat, balding barkeep mindlessly cleaned pewter mugs. A warm breeze blew through the unshuttered windows, only marginally cooling the air. Then his ears caught the sound of laughter, and in the far corner, he found the party he sought.

“My friends,” he muttered, pointing to the two men. The tavern wench nodded and smiled, and he passed her without another word.

“Rod!” said Andrej, slapping Roderick heartily on the back. “It’s good to see you, friend. Care for a drink?”

Roderick raised an eyebrow. “At this early hour?”

“Why not?” Jura said merrily from across the table. “Andrej is paying!”

“There, you are mistaken,” Andrej retorted with a mischievous smile. “Our beloved Lord Valtan is subsidizing our libations on this occasion, since it was he who called us to this council.”

Roderick suppressed a chuckle. He could always count on his old friends from the guard to lift his spirits. Andrej was tall and dashing, with long golden locks and a carefully trimmed mustache and goatee. As the youngest son of a successful yeoman, he sought his fortune by the sword, since he had no hope of an inheritance. Jura was about a head shorter than him, and more of a brawler than a swordsman, but his blue eyes shone with rare intelligence. His grin, half-hidden by his short, black beard, always made Roderick wonder if he knew more than he let on.

“Just as long as you don’t get drunk,” said Roderick. “We have important matters to discuss.”

“Ah,” said Jura with a twinkle in his eyes. “It may be too late for that, Lord.” He held out his mug, and the wench hurriedly refill it.

“‘Important matters,’ you say?” Andrej asked, leaning forward. “My dear friend, you do yourself a disservice if you think anything in this world is more important than good friends, good drink, and good women.” He smiled at the wench and held out his mug to her, and when she had finished filling it, he spanked her soundly, making her giggle.

Roderick drew a sharp breath. “Leave the girl alone.”

“Why?” Andrej laughed. “She enjoys it—don’t you, lass?”

“That depends on the size of your money pouch, milord,” she said slyly, tickling his chin.

“Ah, but which pouch?” Jura asked with a twinkle in his eye. “The one that carries his coin, or the one that carries the family jewels?”

As his friends enjoyed another merry laugh, Roderick’s hand instinctively went to the pouch of coins on his belt. He frowned—had it grown noticeably lighter since his visit with the old sibyl? He silently counted them with his fingers, and sure enough, the curse had wrought its work.

He pulled the wench aside and gave her a hard look. “My friends and I have matters to discuss,” he told her. She smiled nervously and scurried back to the bar.

“Ah, Rod,” said Jura, taking a swig of his ale. “Why are you always so somber? Can we not simply enjoy each other’s company for a while?”

Roderick scowled. “I did not call you here to drink me into the poorhouse. We are here to discuss our… pending expedition.”

“You mean our quest for the lost city of Xulthar?”

“Not so loud!” Roderick snapped, glancing anxiously around the room. But Jura and Andrej just laughed.

“Ah, Rod,” said Andrej, slapping him on the back once again. “We cannot ‘drink you into the poorhouse,’ because you are already there. Aren’t we all?”

“Indeed,” said Jura. “That is, until we find the riches of Xulthar.”

The old crone’s words came back to Roderick, about the riches of Xulthar bringing him naught but evil and sorrow. His scowl deepened, and he turned away.

“Some things are more important than riches.”

“You are correct, my lord,” Andrej said with a flourish. “But the wonderful thing about riches is that they can buy all of the truly important things. Like friends—”

“And drink,” Jura interjected.

“—and women,” Andrej finished. They laughed uproariously and saluted each other with their mugs high in the air.

“This is no laughing matter,” said Roderick, unamused. “Xulthar is a place of dark sorcery and grave danger. We must be cautious and keep our heads clear if we are to succeed.”

“Of course, of course,” Jura said dismissively. “But we have been planning this adventure for months, and all of the supplies have been procured.”

“And right now,” Andrej added, “we are enjoying our last libations before the dry and dreary desert makes teetotalers of us all!”

Andrej’s hedonistic merriment failed to warm Roderick’s heart. His apprehensions about the coming adventure and the words of the old sibyl still weighed too heavily on him. If he had no hope of success, even in victory, how could he ask his friends to join him?

“Are both of you sure you wish to accompany me?” he asked.

Andrej and Jura looked at him as if he had grown a third arm. “Of course, Rod,” said Jura. “Why would we turn around now?”

“Because of how lightly you seem to take this. Does it not disturb you that no one has returned from Xulthar alive?”

“My dear and dismal friend,” Andrej said cheerily, “why should such things bother us, when the same can be said of life itself? We all must take our dance with death, and in the end, the reaper always gets his due.”

“Aye,” said Jura, lifting his mug. “Better to face death on your feet, with a sword in your hand and friends at your side, and the prospect of boundless wealth if you survive.”

Roderick grunted in agreement, though he still couldn’t help but feel that his companions were taking things too lightly. Then again, the honor and future of their house was not at stake, as it was for him.

“That is good,” said Roderick, “but for me, it is not merely a question of treasure. It is a matter of honor.”

“Of honor?” said Andrej, raising an eyebrow. “What is ‘honor,’ if not the fleeting judgment of fools? Honor, ha! I would rather be shamed forever, and have my coffers full, than have all the honors and glory of the realm, and be penniless.”

“Aye,” Jura heartily concurred. “Honor is all well and good, but gold is all I’m after.”

“How can you say such things?” Roderick asked, suddenly animated with righteous vehemence. “Honor is not merely a title that a king or a prince bestows. It is something that burns within you—the star that guides your soul through the darkest night, the compass that directs you through the bleakest waste. I would rather lose everything else that I own, before I lose my honor!”

Andrej and Jura paused to look at each other. When they turned to Roderick again, their eyes were uncharacteristically sad.

“Rod,” said Andrej softly, “do you not remember the horror of the plague years? How many men of honor perished alongside the mean and contemptible alike?”

“Or how so many wicked men prospered at the expense of the weak and innocent?”

“I have not forgotten,” Roderick said somberly, remembering the old sibyl’s words: you are a man of honor in an honorless world—a soul cast adrift by the cruel winds of fate.

Andrej took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean no offense, friend. But after all that I have seen, both in the guard and out of it, I have learned through sad experience that honor counts for little in this world.”

“So it does,” said Roderick. “But that does not mean it should not count for us.”

Jura eyed him curiously. “Well, one thing I will admit is that honor is no cheaper than life in this world. Better to die for honor’s sake than to live for nothing at all.”

And what if there is no cause in this godforsaken world worth dying for? Roderick could not help but silently wonder. He scowled again as he leaned over the wooden tabletop, brooding over his troubled thoughts.

Andrej sensed his growing melancholy and slapped him on the back. “Come now! Why should we trouble ourselves with such somber speech when our mugs are full, our horses are laden, and the greatest treasure in the world awaits the conclusion of our quest?”

“Hear, hear!” Jura concurred, taking a drink of his own.

Roderick forced a smile, but did not feel it. Still, for his friends, he cast aside his darker musings and focused on matters at hand.

“Let us talk of what we will face at Xulthar,” he said, leaning in close. “The city is guarded by a dark and sorcerous power, which we must defeat if we are to win the treasure. We will face not only physical challenges, but tests of our mind and soul.”

“Yes, yes,” Andrej said dismissively. “We all know that Xulthar is the seat of some upstart sorcerer.”

“It is said that all of the city’s inhabitants were slaughtered in a single day,” Roderick continued, ignoring him. “That power must still hold sway over the treasure, and will corrupt us just as surely as the coin of Xulthar—perhaps even more so. We must be vigilant and resist its allure.”

“Rod,” said Jura, “we know what we are up against. There are no greenhorns here.”

“Aye,” said Andrej, taking another swig of his ale. “We’ve been on plenty of dangerous ventures before. We can handle ourselves just fine.”

Roderick sighed again, feeling the weight of all his apprehensions pressing upon him. The words of the sibyl troubled him as well, but he did not feel that he could share that with his friends. More likely than not, they would simply mock him.

“Very well,” he said at length, “but we must be strong of will and clear of purpose. Our primary object is to defeat the forces of evil that infest the city and curse its treasure. Only then can we claim Xulthar’s riches for our own.”

There was a moment of silence as Andrej and Jura considered his words. Andrej spoke up, his voice suddenly filled with resolve.

“I understand, Rod. And I promise, I won’t let the curse of Xulthar get to me. Right, Jura?”

“Right,” said Jura, nodding.

Andrej turned back to Roderick and smiled. “You say that this quest is a matter of honor for you? Very well, then—let it be a matter of honor for us all. To restore your family’s name, we will ride with you to the cursed city and face whatever fate awaits us there.”

“Aye,” said Jura heartily. “And become the richest men in all the land.”

Andrej grinned and lifted his mug. “To Xulthar!”

“To Xulthar,” said Jura, clinking his mug against Andrej’s.

“To Xulthar,” Roderick muttered. But though his friends seemed confident, Roderick could not shake the feeling that they were on their way off to their doom.

<< Prologue << The Riches of Xulthar >> Chapter 2 >>

Long had the plague years ravaged the land, decimating every household and filling the ground with the dead. Crops rotted unharvested in the fields, entire towns were wiped clean of inhabitants, and the cities swelled with panicked migrants fleeing the spectre of death, only to spread the shadow of the reaper.

No kingdom or principality was left untouched. The mightiest empires fell as famine followed pestilence, with war harrying the heels of both. The highest priests of the old gods cursed them bitterly and died, while their acolytes despaired that the Creator had abandoned His creation to the forces of chaos. A thousand altars ran red with the blood of human sacrifice, all to no avail.

The despair deepened as the days passed, until it seemed that all of creation was in chaos. War raged across continents, as nations sought to defend their crumbling borders against invasion. Kings, once thought invincible, were humbled by their mortality and forced to admit defeat. The common people watched on helplessly as their homes were burned to the ground, their meager wealth plundered and their families broken up and scattered to the winds. Driven by desperation, many of them joined the hordes of invaders until the plague claimed them, too.

The old religions failed to offer any answers or solace, and out of desperation many turned to new gods—gods from far-off lands who promised protection from a wrathful deity. But still the plague remained, bringing death and ruin on its wake.

The rains refused to fall in their season, and once fertile fields turned to dust as the deserts reclaimed their own. Even after the plague had run its course, the wealthy and the poor continued to suffer alike. For a time, all trade ceased, as the few survivors hoarded their dwindling supplies and guarded them fiercely against any who dared approach.

But the plague years did not last forever. After the destruction had run its course, the pestilence relented, and slowly, life began to return to the land. The survivors banded together, pooling their resources and working together to rebuild what plague, and famine, and war had destroyed. Cautiously, they began to rebuild their homes and towns, reclaiming the dark corners of the world from death’s insidious grasp. New outbreaks of the plague claimed many of them, but those who survived continued the work of rebuilding.

Eventually, the need for commerce overwhelmed the fear of death. The merchants began to venture out once again, risking their lives on the dangerous roads in search of profit. Unfortunately, the plague had made coin scarce, and those who needed the trade goods the most were the ones least able to pay. Some merchants turned to barter, but this proved unwieldy and difficult, especially since the soldiers needed to guard the caravans demanded payment in gold. Those few merchants who traveled without guard quickly fell prey to the many bandits and highwaymen who now infested the land.

It was during these challenging times that the coin of Xulthar first began to circulate. Thought for centuries to have fallen into ruin, the lost city of Xulthar seemed to have risen from the ashes, its treasury filled with gold and silver. The merchants whispered rumors about the rise of a sorceror, a powerful mage who had discovered the secrets of Xulthar and had unlocked its riches. Some said he was a demon in human form, others that he was a man so wise and powerful that he could tame the very desert and make it blossom as the rose. But all agreed that the coin of Xulthar was sound.

For Xulthar had been a great and legendary city before its fall, renowned for its opulence and power. It had been a city of sorcerers and scholars, merchants and artisans, ruled by a council of wise and just elders. The city’s wealth had come not only from its trade routes, but also from its mines, which were said to hold rare gems and precious metals. With the fall of Xulthar nearly a century ago, the world had lost not only a great civilization, but also such treasures as the world had never seen.

The coin of Xulthar quickly gained acceptance among merchants and traders as standard currency. It became a symbol of stability during a time of chaos, though no one knew exactly how it had begun to circulate, and not one of those few who ventured in search of the fabled lost city ever returned. Still, the steady flow of trade brought wealth and prosperity to all who traded with Xulthar’s coin, enabling the survivors of the plague years to rebuild.

But as the coin of Xulthar spread across the land, it began to have a strange effect upon those who used it. Farmers and tradesmen who obtained the coin through honest enterprise, and who saved it against a time of need, found that their wealth diminished over time, insomuch that they could not hold onto it. Whereas greedy princes, unscrupulous merchants, and others who obtained their treasure by corruption and graft, found that their hordes grew unexpectedly, as if the sorcerous coin had multiplied.

To those who had eyes to see and ears to hear, it soon became clear that the coin of Xulthar was cursed. And yet, few there were who dared to point this out. For the need of the coin was still great, and those who profited most by the curse were chiefly the kings and princes of the people, those of power and high birth.

And so, as the plague years slowly came to a close, a much more subtle and insidious scourge spread throughout the land. For by some dark sorcery that few understood or even recognized, the cursed coin of Xulthar corrupted the souls of those who coveted it and magnified the dark desires that already existed within their hearts. It was as if the coin had a mind of its own, twisting the souls of those who used it toward madness and destruction.

Long had the plague years ravaged the land. No household was left unscathed by it, no graveyard was left unfilled. Crops rotted unharvested in the fields, while towns and villages lay devoid of inhabitants. At first, the cities swelled with migrants fleeing the specter of death, only to fall as the fleeing refugees spread the shadow of the reaper further across the land.

No kingdom escaped the devastation, and no principality emerged unspotted from the plague. The mightiest empires fell into ruin as famine followed pestilence, with the dogs of war harrying the heels of both. The high priests cursed the old gods bitterly as they died, their acolytes despairing of salvation or relief. A thousand altars ran red with rivers of blood, both of human and of animal sacrifice. But it was all to no avail.

As days turned to months and months turned to years, it seemed that all of creation had been thrown into utter chaos. War raged across entire continents as nations sought to defend their crumbling borders from the hordes of hungry invaders. Kings were humbled, emperors were brought low, and the mighty were mocked as if valor were but a bad jest. The common people watched helplessly as their homes were burned to the ground, their meager wealth plundered and their children enslaved. Driven to desperation, many of them took up arms and joined the invading hordes until scourge or sword claimed them.

The rains refused to fall in their season, and the once fertile fields that lay fallow for lack of labor now turned to dust as the deserts reclaimed their own. Lands that had been settled for longer than living memory now became as barren as the wastes. As empty towns and abandoned cities turned to crumbling ruin, the cultivated lands reverted to desolate wilderness, devoid of culture and civilization.

The old religions could not offer comfort or solace, and thus passed away with the old order. So also it was with the schools of the philosophers and the circles of the wizards and sorcerers. Even the merchants failed to ply their trade, and for a time, all commerce and intercourse ceased. The few survivors hoarded their dwindling supplies and guarded them fiercely against any who dared approach.

But the plague years did not continue forever. After the destruction and chaos had run its fated course, the pestilence finally relented, and slowly, life returned to the land. The survivors banded together, pooling their meager resources and working together to rebuild their world. Cautiously, they returned to the wreckage of their homes and villages, reclaiming the darkened ruins. New outbreaks of the plague claimed many of them, but these were mostly local, for the survivors were sufficiently hardened to dampen its spread.

As the villages were resettled and the towns were rebuilt, the demand for trade goods grew tremendously. Once again, merchants began to venture out across the shattered land, risking their lives on bandit-infested roads in search of profit. Unfortunately, the death of commerce had made coin scarce, and those who needed the trade goods the most were the ones least able to pay. Some merchants turned to barter, but this proved unwieldy since the soldiers who guarded their caravans demanded their payment in gold. Those few who foolishly traveled without guard swiftly fell prey to bandits and thieves.

It was during these challenging times that the coin of Xulthar first appeared. Centuries before, the ruined city of Xulthar had once been the center of culture for the entire civilized world. Legend held that its treasuries had overflowed with gold and silver, gems and jewels, and treasures of every kind. Before the plague years, many dismissed these stories as fanciful tales, but as the coin of Xulthar circulated freely, interest in the legendary city was renewed.

The merchants whispered of the rise of a dark and powerful sorcerer who had discovered the secrets of Xulthar and claimed its incredible treasure for his own. Some said that he was a demon in human form, while others claimed he was a man who could tame the very desert and make it blossom as the rose. For according to the legends, Xulthar had been one of the greatest cities of the world: a city of sorcerers and scholars, of merchants and artisans, of powerful princes and opulent patricians. The city’s wealth had come not only from its auspicious location amidst the most important trade routes, but also from its rich and abundant mines, full of rare gems and precious metals. But the people of Xulthar had delved too deep, or else their wizards had unlocked some great and tremendous evil, for according to the legends, the city had fallen in a single day.

In spite of these legends (or indeed, perhaps because of them), the coin of Xulthar became a symbol of stability in a time of chaos, though no one knew exactly how it had begun to circulate. Many bold adventurers set out to find the lost city, but not one of them ever returned. Still, few were willing to complain, as the steady flow of trade brought wealth and prosperity to all who accepted it. Without the coin of Xulthar, the survivors of the plague years would have found it far more difficult to rebuild.

But as the coin of Xulthar spread across the land, it began to have a strange effect upon those who held it. Farmers and tradesmen who obtained their wealth through hard work and honest enterprise found that it slowly fled them, insomuch that they could save a single coin for fear of losing it. On the other hand, greedy princes, unscrupulous merchants, and others who made their fortunes through corruption graft found that their riches grew with the counting of it, as if the sorcerous coin multiplied like rabbits within their unseen vaults.

To those who dared to see things as they really were, it soon became clear that the coin of Xulthar was cursed. And yet, few dared to point this out, for those who profited the most by the curse were chiefly those of power and high birth. The brave and honest souls who spoke out about the curse soon found themselves exiled in disgrace, their lands seized, their titles revoked, and their wealth confiscated.

And so, as the plague years came to a close, a much more subtle and insidious scourge began to spread throughout the land. For by some dark sorcery that few understand or recognized, the cursed coin of Xulthar corrupted the souls of all who sought it and magnified the dark desires that lurked within the human heart. It was as if the coin had a mind of its own, twisting the souls of those who bought and sold with it—though toward what dark and devious end, not even the wise and prudent could tell.

The Riches of Xulthar >> Chapter 1 >>