Category: The Riches of Xulthar

Roderick

Roderick paused from turning his field and wiped the sweat from his brow. The sun was hot, but not unbearably so, and the clouds blowing in from the south promised rain. He smiled at them with hope that the harvest would be plentiful this year, and peered at the traveler approaching from down the road.

He was young, probably no more than twenty five years of age, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. His armor was of boiled leather, and he carried his broadsword on his back. His steed was a massive stallion, obviously bred for war.

Roderick drew a deep breath of the fresh spring air and leaned on his mattock as he waited for the young man to draw near.

“Ho there!” he called, waving his hand in greeting.

The young man pulled his horse up short, making it whinny in protest as it anxiously pawed the ground. Clearly, the rider was an impatient and impetuous man.

“Greetings, old man. Is this farm and its hovel your home, or do you work the land for your lord?”

“I have no lord,” Roderick answered. “We are free homesteaders, with our own claim on the land.”

The young man frowned skeptically, as if this yeoman farmer were beneath him. There was a time when Roderick would have bristled at his arrogance, but instead, he inwardly smiled, knowing that his attitude would change quite quickly if he knew that Roderick was of noble blood. But such things mattered little on the frontier.

“How do you protect yourself from brigands and thieves?” the young man asked.

Roderick shrugged. “There is a fort near the town, where the militia trains. If our land is ever raided, we will rally there.”

“And you belong to this militia?”

“Aye,” Roderick answered, smiling inwardly again. “The people of this settlement have elected me to be their sheriff. But we are all equals here.”

The young man drew a sharp breath and spat on the dusty ground. “I’m looking for food and lodging for the night. Can you direct me to a tavern?”

“There is no tavern in this place,” Roderick told him. “Not yet, at least. But you are welcome to stay with me and my family for the night.”

“Very well,” said the young man. “How much shall I pay you?”

“No payment is necessary. Honest travelers are always welcome in our house.”

The young man blinked in surprise. “I thank you for your hospitality, good sir.”

“Of course,” said Roderick, taking the horse’s reins. The young man dismounted and shook his hand warmly. Perhaps he was not so haughty as Roderick had first thought.

“What is your name?” he asked as the young man walked beside him.

“Petyr the young, of House Hukvald,” the young man answered. “My father was a knight, and won his wealth by valor and the sword. But as the youngest son, the inheritance falls to my brothers.”

“I see,” said Roderick. “So you seek to win your fortune on the road?”

“Not exactly.” Petyr glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in close. “I seek the lost and fabled city of Xulthar. Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“Aye,” said Roderick, nodding. “I have heard a few stories about such a place.”

“Xulthar is no mere myth,” Petyr said excitedly. “It was once the center of culture and civilization, the crown jewel of a magnificent empire. Its riches were incomparable!”

“What became of this lost city?” asked Roderick, feigning ignorance.

Petyr shrugged. “Some claim that it fell in a single day, its inhabitants consumed by a dark and evil power. Others claim that its citizens delved too deep, and some great evil rose up from the earthy depths. But whatever the case, it lies in ruin somewhere in the desert that borders these lands.”

“Have any returned to tell of it?”

“None that I have heard. But they say that after the plague years, its coin began to circulate anew.”

“I remember,” said Roderick, rubbing the horse’s nose as he led it toward the house. “The coin of Xulthar used to be quite common in these parts. But it seems to have fallen out of fashion.”

“Even so,” Petyr said excitedly, “the fact that it circulated at all can only mean one thing!”

“What is that?” Roderick asked, feigning ignorance again. But Petyr was too impassioned to notice.

“It means that the riches of Xulthar are real! Though the city lies in ruins, the fabled treasure must still remain!”

Roderick raised an eyebrow. “Aye, that may be true, young lad. But you are not the first adventurer to seek the riches of Xulthar. What if someone else has already found the treasure, and kept it secret all these years?”

Petyr’s expression turned sullen, almost enough for Roderick to pity the young man. “I cannot believe that is true,” he said at length, “for if it were, would we not hear of it?”

Roderick shrugged. “Perhaps, or perhaps not. It is difficult to say.”

They reached the fence that ringed the farmhouse. Roderick’s ten year-old son Francis came running out to meet them, his little sister Elsa following in tow.

“Papa! Papa! Who have you brought home with you?”

“This is Petyr, a traveler who is passing through these parts. Petyr, my son Francis and daughter Eva.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” the Petyr said, politely nodding.

Eva went wide-eyed and turned to run back to the house. Francis, meanwhile, stared at the traveling adventurer in awe.

“Francis, can you take this man’s horse to our barn and rub him down? Our friend has journeyed long today.”

“Yes, Father,” Francis said obediently. He took the reins and led the horse to the barn, glancing back over his shoulder and nearly tripping over a stone.

“When you’re done, feed him a bucket of oats and be sure to leave him plenty of water.”

“Yes, Father!”

“You are too kind, sir,” Petyr said gratefully. “Is he your oldest?”

“Second oldest,” said Roderick. “His elder sister is fixing our supper with my wife. Shall we go in and see them?”

“By all means,” said Petyr, following Roderick to the farmhouse.

Laria

“Mama, Mama!” Eva shouted as she burst into the house. “Papa is coming—and he has a stranger with him!”

“Shh!” Laria chided her, putting a finger to her mouth. “Not so loud—you’ll wake the baby!”

Little Eva suddenly became self-conscious as she glanced through the bedroom door at the cradle in the corner. Thankfully, the one year-old infant inside still slept soundly. To reassure her, Laria leaned down and put an arm around Eva’s shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me, dear. I’m glad that you were watching out for us.”

“What sort of stranger is Papa bringing home?” Anya asked from beside the fireplace, where she tended a pot of stew. They had just made some dumplings together, which sat on the cutting board on the table, ready to be put in.

“A warrior!” Elsa said, her eyes widening in awe and wonder. “He has a scary horse, and an even scarier sword!”

“Sounds like a passing adventurer,” Laria said. She glanced at Anya, whose eyes lit up with anticipation, just like her little sister.

“Is he young?” Anya asked. “Is he handsome?”

“Not young enough for you,” Laria answered, patting her on the head. At twelve years old, Anya was too young to yet take an interest in boys—though all too soon, that would start to change.

“Mama!” Anya said petulantly. “I’m not just a child. Don’t I help you around the house?”

“Yes, you do, dear, and I’m very grateful for that. Will you put the dumplings in while I go see what Papa is about? I’m sure you’ll get a chance to see the stranger soon.”

Anya nodded, and Eva went off to play with her younger brother Tomas, who was playing on the rug on the floor. Roderick and Laria had five children now, which made for a very crowded homestead, especially since Tomas now slept in the loft with his three older siblings.

The house had only two rooms: a living room and kitchen, with the loft overhead, and the bedroom for Mama and Papa—and of course, the baby. Soon, they would have to build an addition, as there wasn’t enough room in the loft for five children. Laria didn’t mind how cozy it felt, though, and neither did the kids, since they spent most of their time outside playing when they weren’t helping her around the house.

In some ways, life as a free woman was harder than life as a slave. But the fruits of her labor were all hers now, and her family was more than she could have ever asked for. As Laria watched Eva and Tomas play, she remembered how she used to think that her only hope for happiness was to find a good master and give him all she had. Now, she knew that was only partially true, for it was not to a master that she gave herself now, but freely to her husband and children.

Outside, Roderick and the stranger were talking beside the well, just out of earshot from the house. Laria stood in the doorway and shook out her apron, waiting for Roderick to notice. When he did, he handed the bucket and dipper to the stranger, who washed his hands while his host walked over to talk to his wife.

“Good evening, dear,” said Roderick, greeting her with a kiss.

“And to you as well, though I hope you’ll follow our guest’s example and wash yourself before stepping inside.”

Roderick grinned at her. His brawny arms and calloused hands were encrusted with dirt from laboring in the fields. He genuinely enjoyed the work, though, and it made her happy to see it.

“Of course, my love,” he told her. “I wouldn’t dream of tracking dirt into your home.”

“Our home,” she corrected him, leaning in for another kiss. “Who is our guest? Eva said he was some sort of warrior.”

“Aye,” he told her, becoming suddenly serious. “His name is Petyr, and he’s a young scion of a noble house, seeking the city of Xulthar.”

“Of Xulthar?” she asked, folding her arms. “Have you told him of our—”

“No,” he said quickly. “I haven’t told him anything, and I don’t plan to.”

“Why not? I assume you want to dissuade him from such a futile quest. After all, there wasn’t much left of the place after we left.”

“Aye,” he said absently, glancing over his shoulder as he folded his arms. “But a man has to carve his own path through the world, and I doubt he’ll take the right message from our tale. At best, he won’t believe it, and at worst, it will harden his resolve.”

“You’re probably right,” Laria admitted. The young adventurer did bear a certain resemblance to Roderick before he’d settled down. Her memories of that time brought a smile to her lips.

“Are you going to introduce us?” she asked.

Roderick nodded and took her hand. Together, they walked up to the well.

“Petyr,” he said, addressing the stranger. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Laria.”

“Milady,” he said, bowing in the fashion of more civilized lands. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is mine,” she said, wondering what he would think of her if he’d known she’d spent most of her life as a common slave.

“Your husband was telling me that I’m not the first adventurer to come through these parts,” Petyr said eagerly, “nor the first you’ve met who seeks the fabled city of Xulthar. Is that true?”

She cast a sideways glance at her husband, though subtly enough that their guest did not take notice. “That’s right,” she said cryptically, “though you’d probably find their reasons for seeking the city to be quite strange.”

“Is that so?” he asked, suddenly quite interested.

“Indeed. Most people seek Xulthar for its legendary riches, but another traveler who passed through here sought the lost city not for treasure, but the truth.”

“The truth?”

“That’s right,” said Roderick. “He wanted to know the truth behind the curse of the coin of Xulthar. Have you heard of it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Petyr dismissively. “I’ve heard all the rumors and tales. Frankly, it seems that was just an excuse to blame all the hardship from the plague years on some external force. I doubt the coin was ever actually cursed.”

Roderick and Laria glanced at each other with subtly laughing eyes. Petyr, of course, was too taken by his own opinions to notice.

“Still,” said Roderick, “there may have been some truth to the rumors. Else why would the coin appear so suddenly, and disappear almost as swiftly?”

Petyr shook his head. “Whatever force of magic caused the city’s infamous fall, I doubt that it still infests the place, after so many centuries of ruin.”

“Aye,” said Roderick, surprising him with a slap on the shoulder. “I like the way you think, lad.”

“Enough about Xulthar,” Laria changed the subject. “You must be exhausted. Will you join us for dinner? We have duck stew and dumplings cooking in the pot, and there’s more than enough for all of us.”

“And if you don’t mind sleeping in the barn,” Roderick added, “you’re welcome to spend the night here as well.”

Petyr bowed deeply. “Thank you for your hospitality. I hope I’m not too much of a burden on—”

“Nonsense!” said Laria, turning to face their humble homestead. She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted: “Anya! Francis! Eva! Tomas! Time to wash up for supper!”

Moments later, three children spilled out of the house, while Francis came running from the barn. The sight of the four of them never ceased to bring a smile to Laria’s lips.

“You have quite a lovely family,” Petyr remarked as they washed up. It was a chaotic but happy affair, as were most of their family activities. Anya and the younger children watched Petyr shyly.

“Thank you,” said Laria. “There’s one more you haven’t met, but he’s sleeping in his crib. We’ll introduce you to them all over dinner.”

“I look forward to it, Milady.”

“Please—just call me Laria. We have no noble houses in these parts.”

Roderick glanced sideways at her and winked. That, too, was only half a truth, but it was gratifying to see that he had no qualm about it. She returned the wink and began to walk back to the house.

“Eva! Tomas!” she called out over her shoulder. “Come help me set the table. Anya, get the food ready, and Francis, see to the comfort of our guest.”

The children scurried about, showing only a vague inclination to follow her instructions. She let out an exasperated sigh, but inwardly smiled at the happy chaos of her home.

Roderick

The dawn’s soft rays warmed the dew-kissed plains. Hand in hand, Roderick and Laria walked with Petyr to the fence at the edge of their homestead, his horse plodding beside them.

“Please,” he said, reaching for his money pouch. “I must repay you for your generosity.”

“Nay,” said Roderick. “The pleasure was ours. Besides, you’ll have more need for that coin than we.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to settle down here?” Laria asked him. “Our settlement is still harassed by bandits from time to time. We could use a good knight like you.”

Petyr shook his head. “I’m sorry, Milady. My destiny lies in the desert.”

Where have I heard that before? Roderick couldn’t help but reflect. He fingered the silver locket beneath his shirt.

“If that’s the case,” he said aloud, “you should probably trade your horse for a camel at the next town. And be careful in the oases—the fey undines watch those waters carefully.”

Petyr scoffed. “Undine nymphs? Next you’ll tell me that the treasures of Xulthar are guarded by walking skeletons.”

Roderick and Laria glanced meaningfully at each other. Should we tell him? she mouthed silently as Petyr mounted his steed. Roderick shook his head.

“You’ve got a long journey ahead of you, lad,” he said, helping Petyr into his saddle. “Long enough that you may not yet know where it leads.”

“Of course I know where it leads,” Petyr retorted. “It leads to the legendary city!”

“Aye,” said Roderick. “That’s certainly the dream. And what is life without something impossible to dream for?”

“Just don’t be surprised if the fates have something better for you,” Laria added.

Petyr gave them both a quizzical look, then turned his horse about and trotted through the gate. “Farewell!” he called out behind him.

“Farewell!” Roderick and Laria called in return, waving until he passed out of view over the next hill.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Laria asked as they returned to the house, her voice filled with motherly concern.

“Aye,” laughed Roderick. “In another year or two, he’ll probably find a girl somewhere and settle down like us.”

“You’re not afraid that he’ll die out there, alone in the desert wastes?”

Roderick thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Nay, Laria. ‘Tis good to dream the impossible dream, and tread the untrodden road for a season. Else how can a man look back on his life and be satisfied with what he has become?”

The younger children came running out of the farmhouse, yelling as they played their imaginative little games. Francis stepped out of the barn with two buckets full of fresh milk, while Anya scattered corn for the chickens in the yard. Soon, it would be time for breakfast, and another day’s labor in the fields. It was a hard life, but a rewarding one, and there was nowhere else Roderick would rather be.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Laria smiled and squeezed his hand. “And are you satisfied, my dear husband?”

He answered her nary a word, but with a long and lingering kiss instead. It was enough.

<< Chapter 9 << The Riches of Xulthar

Laria

The riches of Xulthar!

Fear gripped Laria’s heart at those words. All throughout the chamber, the gold and gems gleamed with an unholy light, and though she was unaffected by it, from the crazed look in Roderick’s eyes she saw that he was succumbing to their dark and sorcerous temptation.

“The riches of Xulthar!” Roderick shouted, laughing with glee as he plunged into the midst of them. Gold and silver coins spilled from their chests like water as he overturned them, heedless of anything but the wealth before him.

Laria watched with a mix of horror and fascination as Roderick’s body began to change before her very eyes. His skin stretched taut and became scaly, his eyes turned from blue to a gleaming, fiery red.

She knew that he was transforming into some sort of monster, but still she remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the grotesque spectacle before her. As Roderick let out a deep, guttural growl, the spell was suddenly broken, and Laria cried out in terror.

“Roderick!”

He turned to face her, and in that moment, his transformation abruptly reversed. Had Laria just imagined it, or had it been real?

“Laria, I don’t know what came over me,” Roderick said, his voice still filled with a hint of the growl that had just escaped from his lips. “I saw something in those treasures, something powerful, and…”

His voice trailed off, like someone who had fallen into a trance. Laria stepped towards him, taking his hand and trying to pull him away. However, he stood as if rooted to the spot, unable or unwilling to go.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said urgently. “Don’t you know that these riches are cursed?”

Roderick said nothing. He stood like a statue, transfixed by the sight of the treasures before him.

Laria watched Roderick’s eyes shift and glaze over, his breathing quicken as the ancient temples of Xulthar loomed before them. The air was thick with the scent of decayed riches, gold trinkets from ages past, and a palpable greed that made Laria’s skin crawl. She stepped closer to him, but he seemed lost in this moment – something lurking darkly at the back of his mind.

She remembered her vision while her spirit had wandered the Void while her body was bound to the Black Altar – saw again the Dark King’s possession by a sorcerous power as old as the ruins of Xulthar itself. And she knew, deep in her bones, that the same power now snaked its fingers through Roderick’s thoughts.

This treasure was cursed, and would be their undoing if they did not leave right away.

The sound of her own breath echoed in her ears as she quietly said, “Roderick… it’s time to go.” But he didn’t seem to hear her, lost in his feverish obsession for these treasures.

Why had the lust for the treasure not affected her? Why did she seem immune to their temptation? Because, as a slave, Laria had never before owned any money or material wealth. The same qualities that had made her the ideal human sacrifice for the Dark King to seal his power on the world now made her impervious to the dark and wondrous power of the cursed riches that lay before.

But Roderick was different. Though driven primarily by honor, he had never been far from power and wealth. Growing up in a noble house meant that he had never been far from worldly concerns. To Laria’s dismay, he was lost to the curse of the riches of Xulthar, a curse that had claimed many before him.

Laria knew she had to act. She couldn’t leave Roderick standing there, lost in his own world, with the cursed treasures of Xulthar. She swallowed hard and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Roderick’s waist and pulling him back with all her strength. He resisted, pushing his body against hers, and Laria felt his warm breath on her neck.

“Let go,” he growled, his voice thick with a desire she had never heard before.

Laria knew that Roderick was not himself. He was possessed by the same dark power that had possessed the Dark King. And if she didn’t break the hold that that power held over him, all that they had fought and sacrificed for would be lost.

Desperate to get his attention, she walked around until she stood in front of him, then placed both hands on his shoulders and shook.

“Roderick! Please, listen to me!”

He blinked as if coming out of a trance, but his eyes were still on the treasure that surrounded them. He glanced from her to the riches and back again, as if torn between two paths–and hers was not the one he favored.

Roderick

Roderick gaped in awe at the treasure heaped in piles before him. God and silver coins of all sizes, jewel-encrusted chalices and platters fit for the table of an immortal king, and shimmering gemstones of every color, some as large as his fist, some larger. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that so much wealth could exist in this plague-shattered world, let alone in one place.

The touch of Laria’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “No, Roderick,” she urged him. “You must not fall to the temptation of these riches. You must refuse them.”

“But think of all the good I could do with them,” he argued, running his fingers through a pile of gold coins. “Think of all the slaves like you that I could buy, and set free.”

“But you will become a slave, Roderick–a slave to these riches. Have you forgotten that the riches of Xulthar are cursed? Have you forgotten what the Dark King said about your father?”

“Leave my father out of this!” Roderick snapped. “My father was an idealistic fool. It was he who brought dishonor upon our family–he who brought disgrace upon our house. But with these riches, I can restore our family name and–“

“Roderick, please!” Laria begged. “Listen to yourself! Is this truly what you came for? Is this truly what you seek?”

The riches of Xulthar gleamed in the flickering light of Roderick’s torch. Roderick stared at the wealth before him until it began to blur in his vision. He shook his head, clearing away the mesmerizing spell of its dazzling beauty.

But despite Laria’s warning, Roderick could not help but feel drawn to the wealth. It was not just the thought of what he could do with it that tempted him, but rather the sheer magnificence of it all, the way it seemed to promise him power beyond his wildest dreams. And yet, something in Laria’s plea resonated with him, a voice of reason that urged him to resist the temptation of this cursed gold.

He turned to face her, his eyes searching for answers. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

Laria stepped closer to him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. “Come with me, Roderick. Abandon this cursed treasure and leave Xulthar behind. We can start anew, away from all this darkness and corruption.”

Roderick hesitated. He knew that Laria’s words held truth, but the desire for power and wealth still tingled within him. The conflict between his conscience and his ambition left him torn.

Suddenly, a chilling breeze swept through the underground chamber, causing the torches to flicker and making the walls tremble. A sense of foreboding filled the air.

Laria’s eyes widened in fear. “Roderick–when I was tied to the black altar for the Dark King’s sacrifice, I saw the true source of the evil power that cursed this fallen city.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “But I have already slain the Dark K–“

“The Dark King was not the source of that evil. As powerful as he was, he was still a slave to it. Please, Roderick–you must believe me!”

Roderick scowled. He did not want to walk away from this great treasure that he had won, but Laria’s words had a ring of truth to them that he couldn’t ignore. The sense of dread foreboding grew, and he knew that he could not long hesitate between two options.

“What did you see in your vision, Laria?” he asked, fearing that he already knew the answer. “What is the source of that dark and sorcerous power that you saw?”

“These riches,” said, pointing to the treasure that filled the chamber. “They are not just jewels and gold, Roderick. They are cursed and tainted by the blood of innocents and the power of ancient gods beyond our comprehension. The very air in this chamber is poisoned with dark sorcery, and the longer we linger, the greater grows its hold upon us.”

Roderick took a step back, his eyes widening in horror at her words. A sense of realization crept into his mind as he looked at the treasure with new eyes. He saw now that his motives for seeking the riches of Xulthar had always been less than pure–that deep down, he had always known that they would prove his downfall. Somehow, he had convinced himself that he was making a noble sacrifice. ButLaria was right–the cursed riches of Xulthar would never restore his family’s honor. That, too, had always been a lie.

He met Laria’s gaze, and could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. After a long silence, he finally managed to find his voice, and said:

“I refuse these riches.”

The impact of those three words was instantaneous. The treasure vanished in an instant, leaving no trace of its existence save for a cloud of dust that hung suspended in the air around them. The ground rumbled and shook, and the walls of the temple began to crumble.

Roderick grabbed Laria’s hand and pulled her toward doorway. The stench of death and decay filled the air, and the pair could hear the screams of the undead in the halls beyond.

“We have to go!” Roderick yelled, his heart pounding in his chest.

Roderick’s voice thundered through the hall, reverberating off the encased walls. His heart raced like a stampeding herd of cattle as Laria ran after him, her eyes wide with panic. Without hesitation, they sprinted past crumbling stones and fallen pillars, their feet barely grazing over chasms that threatened to swallow them whole. Together, they raced against time, desperate to make it out alive.

As they burst out of the temple doors, a whirlwind of sand and desert dust blasted their faces. The tremors were not limited to the temple itself–the ground heaved beyond its bounds, and the whole earth seemed eager to swallow the ruined city. Laria stumbled and fell on the temple steps, and it was all Roderick could to do help her back up again.

“Hold on!” Roderick shouted over the deafening roar of crumbling stones and earth. He wrapped his arm around Laria, pulling her close as they sprinted across the square toward the caravanserai where they had left their camel. But the distance was so far, and his strength was nearly spent.

“We can make it!” Laria urged him. “Don’t give up now!” She lifted his sagging frame and ran ahead of him, pulling his hand.

If Roderick had been alone, perhaps he would have surrendered to his fate. But with Laria depending on him, he found a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had. They stumbled and fell, but kept on running, as all around them the world itself seemed to collapse.

Laria

The earth shook beneath Laria’s feet as she ran after Roderick with all her strength. All around them, buildings tumbled and collapsed, throwing up great clouds of dust that blotted out the sun as the destruction enveloped them. She stumbled, but Roderick caught her hand and pulled her on down the avenue.

They heard the braying of the camel before they saw it. The animal was frantic, but the rope still held it bound. It tugged on its leash with all its might as the world seemed to tumble to its doom all around them.

“Get up!” Roderick shouted.

Laria did not need to be told twice. With his help, she climbed up the ponderous beast’s back, barely avoiding its limber legs, and scrambled into the trough between its neck and its hump. Roderick leapt up behind her, and with a powerful sweep of his sword cut the rope that held the panicked beast to the court of the caravanserai. It immediately took off at a gallop.

“Yah!” shouted Roderick, pumping the reins. Laria held on for dear life, and would have been thrown from the camel’s back if she had not managed to grab onto a large clump of the beast’s hair. Roderick also reached out to steady her, gripping the flesh of her arm with his caloused hand.

They reached the gate just as it began to crumble and fall. The enormous keystone cracked down the center and collapsed just as they passed beneath it, making the camel stumble as it struck the earth with the rest of the arc. But they were through.

“Yah!” said Roderick, urging the camel on. The ruins were safely behind them, but the billowing clouds of dust from its destruction still enveloped them. Only after he led the beast up to the crest of the bluff overlooking the city were they able to see the sky.

Laria’s heart began to race as she looked out at the vast expanse of the desert before them. She had never been free to roam as she pleased before. As a slave, her entire life had been dictated by her owners, their every whim and desire her only purpose. But now, with Xulthar fallen, she was free to explore this vast, seemingly endless world.

“It is done,” said Roderick, though with a heavy heart.

Laria turned to look at him, noticing the sadness in his eyes. “What is done?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“The task I set out to accomplish,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have fulfilled my family’s duty to Xulthar, but I have failed in my quest to restore our honor and lands.”

Laria’s heart ached for Roderick. She may have been a slave, but at least she was secure in her place in the world. He had lost all that he ever knew, and now had nothing to cling onto.

Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Looking into his eyes, she offered him a warm smile. “Do not worry, my dear Roderick. The world is vast and full of possibilities. Perhaps there is a new journey waiting for you in life – a new purpose that only you can fulfill.”

Roderick turned to look at her, and in his eyes she saw a glimmer of hope. “You’re right,” he said, a small smile forming on his lips. “I may have lost everything I once had, but at least we still have each other.”

Laria smiled back at him, feeling a warm flutter in her chest. Roderick had become more than just a companion on their journey to break the dark sorcery that held Xulthar captive. In their travels, she had grown to care for him deeply. His steadfast determination and unwavering loyalty had won her over, and she knew that he felt the same way.

As they stood there, watching the sun begin to set over the vast desert, Laria felt a sudden surge of desire for the man beside her. She had never felt this way before, but something about Roderick’s vulnerable state made her want to take charge and show him how much he meant to her. Without a word, she leaned in and softly pressed her lips against his, feeling a rush of electricity as their mouths met.

Roderick was stunned at first, but quickly responded with an equal passion. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as they deepened their kiss. Laria’s heart raced, and she couldn’t help but let out a small moan of pleasure. The sensation of his strong hands on her body sent shivers down her spine, and she knew that in that moment, she was completely his–not as a slave, but as his equal.

Roderick’s breath was gentle on her bare neck as he murmured her name. His body trembled with anticipation, the wounds of battle still tender. He leaned forward to envelop her in a tender embrace as Laria helped him out of his tattered armor. They paused only to unroll a rug onto the ground before carefully lowering themselves onto it. With eager longing, they gave in to their mutual passion that had been pent up for so long.

As their bodies intertwined, Laria noticed that Roderick was weeping. She tenderly cupped his face in her hands and whispered, “What’s wrong? Let me help you.” His wounds were not just physical, but emotional as well, and she knew that she was the only one who could heal him. Roderick looked into her eyes and breathed deeply, taking solace in her presence. He grabbed her hands and placed them on his scars, allowing her to trace his skin with her fingertips. With a newfound intensity, she let him draw her closer and kissed away all of his sorrows.

For a long time, they lost themselves in each other, forgetting the world around them. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the feel of their bodies and the love they shared. And as they lay there together, entwined in each other’s arms, Laria knew that she had made the right choice in choosing freedom–because only now, as a free woman, was she capable of freely giving herself to the man she loved. And with joy, she gave herself totally to him.

The sun had already set, and the stars were beginning to shine in the dusky purple-hued sky by the time their love-making was over. The camel had wandered off somewhere to forage, and from their place at the top of the bluff, overlooking the fallen ruins, the empty horizon stretched all around them. There was not another human in sight.

Roderick murmured quietly, running his fingers through her hair. “Laria, I could never express my love for you enough.”

Laria closed her eyes, taking in the peaceful moment. She softly replied, “I understand, Roderick. When I’m with you, I feel like there’s nothing to worry about as long as we’re together.”

Roderick smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You give me strength, my love. Together, we can take on whatever life throws our way.”

“As long as we are free,” she added.

He brushed his lips against her forehead. “I never realized this until I met you, Laria, but your love has shown me that happiness can exist in the most unexpected places. Together, we can create our own paradise, no matter what comes our way. And we will. I promise, we will.”

He reached into the bundle of clothes piled at their feet and withdrew a silver locket. She leaned in closer to peer at it, her breasts brushing against his arm.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked.

She took it from his hand and examined it closer. “Yes,” she said. “It’s the locket I found on the bottom of the oasis.”

He nodded and took it back. “A few days before we met, I encountered an undine nymph at an enchanted oasis on the borders of the deep desert. She tried to steal a kiss from me, but I gave her this instead.”

Laria’s eyes widened. “Was it at the same oasis where I bathed?”

“No. To the undine nymphs of the deep desert, I suppose every oasis is a portal to their fey and frightful realm.”

He opened the locket and withdrew a small tuft of hair. “This lock of hair is from my mother,” he told her reverently. “I took it out before giving it to the nymph, of course.”

“Of course,” said Laria, resting her chin on Roderick’s broad and naked shoulder.

“When you found it again, and returned it to me, I replaced the lock and wore it again on my neck, as I have for many years. I have carried this lock of my mother’s with me everywhere, Laria–I have not been on a single mission or adventure where it has not been close to my heart.”

As she watched, he took his dagger and cut the knot that bound the strands together. He then held up his hand and cast the loose hair into the desert wind, which scattered it immediately.

Laria gasped. “What have you done?” she asked in shock and confusion.

Roderick turned to her and smiled. “It is time to let go,” he told her. “Time to stop trying to restore my house’s honor, and my family’s lands and legacy. I will never be able to restore what has been lost, and carrying this lock of hair with me has only been holding me back. I love my mother, but it is time leave my old family and focus instead on my new family–our family.”

“Our family?” Laria asked, her heart pounding eagerly.

“Yes,” he said, gently cupping his hand beneath her chin. “The family that we will have together. The family that we have started here, tonight.”

Laria felt tears prick at her eyes as she gazed up at Roderick. She had never dared to dream of having a family before, not when she was a slave and not even after she had gained her freedom. But here she was, with a man she loved and who loved her in return, and they were starting their own family.

She moved closer to Roderick, laying her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her ear, strong and steady, and she knew that they would face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

Roderick ran his fingers through her hair again, and when he came to the end, he gently lifted his dagger and cut a short length of it. He handed it to her wordlessly, and with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, she tied a knot at the top of it with her slender fingers.

“I will be yours, forever,” he promised her as he placed the lock of her hair inside the pendant and carefully closed it shut. “Will you be mine, Laria?”

“Yes,” she promised, her heart more full than it had ever been before. “I will be yours, forever.”

The stars shimmered in the cool night breeze of the desert, and the warmth of their bodies seemed to radiate outward like a small oasis of love, hope, and peace. Whatever else was true, Laria knew that this was only the beginning of something truly wonderful.

Laria

The riches of Xulthar!

Fear gripped Laria’s heart at Roderick’s words. All throughout the chamber, the gold and gems gleamed with unholy light, and though she was utterly unaffected by the temptation they presented, from the lust in Roderick’s eyes she saw that he would swiftly succumb.

“The riches of Xulthar!” Roderick shouted with glee as he plunged into the midst of them. Gold and silver coins spilled from their chests like water as he overturned them, heedless of anything but the boundless wealth.

With horror and fascination, Laria watched as Roderick’s form began to shift before her eyes. His skin stretched tight and began to turn scaly, his eyes shifting from blue to a gleaming, fiery red. She knew that Xulthar’s sorcery was transforming him into some sort of monster, but still she remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the grotesque spectacle.

As Roderick let out a deep, guttural growl, she suddenly broke free from her trancelike state, crying out in terror:

“Roderick!”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. In the moment his eyes met hers, his transformation reversed. Laria blinked in disbelief as he stood before her as the man she’d always known. Had she only imagined him turning into a scaly beast?

“I’m sorry, Laria,” he said like a sheepish schoolboy. “I don’t know what came over me.”

She slipped her arm in his and pressed her other hand against his chest. “Whatever it was, let’s not do it again.”

“Aye,” said Roderick, though his gaze lingered hungrily on the riches spread out before him. “But Laria, I saw something in those treasures. Something so powerful that I cannot…”

As his voice trailed off, Laria’s heart began to pound with fear. This was the very room she had seen in vision while trapped within the Void—the very source of Xulthar’s dark and deadly power. The Dark King had sought to wield it, but in the end he had been its slave. And now, it sought desperately to corrupt and enslave another, tempting Roderick with its specious lies.

“Let’s get out of here,” she gently urged him. “Don’t you know that these riches are cursed?”

But Roderick said nothing. He stood like a statue, transfixed by the sight of so much wealth.

“Roderick!” she cried, her gentleness giving way to desperation. “Did you hear me? Please—we need to leave!”

“In a moment,” he muttered, but his voice sounded more like a growl. Laria watched in dismay as his eyes began to shift again, turning slowly from blue to red before glazing over entirely. The air was suddenly thick with the scent of age and decay, as if the riches themselves were full of evil rot. Laria stepped closer, pressing her body against his, but he seemed utterly lost in that moment, something lurking darkly at the back of his mind.

“Roderick,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

He stirred again at the sound of her voice, giving her hope that he would yet break free of his feverish obsession. She pressed herself closer, the feel of her body warm against his, but it was not enough.

Why had the lust for the treasure not affected her? Why did she seem immune to their temptation? For the same reason the Dark King had sought her for a sacrifice: that in all her life as a slave, she had never owned money or possessions of her own. Those same qualities now made her impervious to the dark and wondrous power of Xulthar’s riches. But Roderick was different. Though driven primarily by honor, he had never been far from power and wealth, and was thus not truly free of the fallen city’s curse.

Laria knew that she had to act. She couldn’t bear to leave Roderick under Xulthar’s evil sway, nor stand by and do nothing as the sorcery enslaved him as it had enslaved the Dark King before.

“Roderick!” she shouted, pulling on his arm yet again. “Don’t let the riches of Xulthar tempt you!”

But Roderick planted his feet and refused to move.

“Let me go,” he growled, in a furious tone of voice that she had never heard from him before.

“Roderick! Please, listen to me!”

He blinked as if coming out of a trance, but could not tear his eyes from the riches that surrounded them. He glanced from her to the treasure and back again, clearly torn between two paths—and hers was not the one he favored.

Roderick

Roderick was dimly aware of Laria’s efforts to pull him away, but the riches of Xulthar were so magnificent that he could not cease staring at them in awe. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that so much wealth could exist in this plague-ridden world, let alone in a single place. When he stared at the jewels and gemstones, the chests of gold and silver, and the heaps of priceless artifacts, he saw not only an abundance of wealth, but all that could be accomplished with it as well. In the hands of a righteous king, these riches could reshape the world!

He blinked and realized that Laria was shaking him by the shoulders, tears streaming down her delicate cheeks. The sight of her anguish brought him back to the present, if only for a few fleeting moments.

“Roderick,” she urgently pleaded with him. “You must reject this riches, Roderick. You must not fall prey to their temptation.”

“But Laria,” he said, brushing away tears from her lovely face. “Think of all the good I could do with them.”

“No! Don’t you understand? You think you would do good, but in reality, the riches would only consume you!”

“Are you sure of that, Laria? Think of all the slaves that I could buy, and set free.”

She shook her head vigorously. “Even if you did that, you would only make yourself a slave to all this treasure and wealth. Have you forgotten that the riches of Xulthar are cursed? Have you forgotten what the Dark King said about your father?”

“Leave my father out of this!” Roderick snapped. “It was he who brought dishonor upon our family—he who brought disgrace upon our house. But with this wealth, I can restore what was taken from us and—”

“Listen to yourself, Roderick. Is this what you truly came for? Do you truly feel that way toward your father?”

The riches of Xulthar gleamed in the flickering light. Roderick tried to think, but all his thoughts were consumed by the mesmerizing sight before him. As he stared at the gleaming gold and silver, it seemed to promise him power beyond his wildest dreams. Power such as the sovereigns of Xulthar had once possessed. Power such as that which the Dark King had sought to wield.

“Roderick!”

Something about Laria’s plea resonated with him. As much as he loathed to admit it, hers was the voice of reason, urging him to resist the temptation of this cursed gold. He turned to face her once more.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

Laria stepped in close and took both of his hands in her own. “Come with me, Roderick. Abandon this cursed treasure and leave Xulthar behind. We can start anew, away from all this corruption.”

Roderick hesitated. He knew that Laria’s words held true, but his hunger for power and wealth still warred within him. The conflict between his conscience and his ambition left him feeling uncertain and torn.

“Roderick—when I was bound to the black altar for the Dark King’s sacrifice, I saw the true source of the power behind Xulthar’s curse.”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “But I have already smashed the Heart of—”

“The Heart of Xulthar was not the true source. And as terrible as the Dark King was, he was still no more than a slave to it. Please, Roderick—you must believe me!”

Roderick scowled. He did not want to just walk away from this treasure that he had won, but Laria’s words had a ring of truth to them that he couldn’t simply ignore. He knew that he could not hesitate between two options for much longer.

“What did you see in your vision, Laria?” he asked, fearing that he already knew the answer. “What is the true source of the power that you saw?”

“These riches,” she said firmly. “They are cursed, Roderick—tainted with the blood of the innocent, and the crushed hopes and dreams of honest men. Can you feel it? This wealth has a mind of its own, and it means to make all the world bow before it. It means to enslave us all!”

“Are you sure, Laria?”

“Yes! Oh yes! You must believe me, Roderick—you must!”

Roderick frowned and looked upon the gleaming treasure with new eyes. Perhaps his motives for seeking the riches of Xulthar had always been less than pure. Perhaps, deep down, greed had always played a part in his dreams. Somehow, he had convinced himself that he was making a noble sacrifice. But Laria was right—the riches of Xulthar would never restore his family’s honor. That, too, had always been a lie.

He met Laria’s gaze, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. After a long silence, he finally found his voice and said:

“I refuse these riches.”

The effect was spectacular. The treasure vanished in an instant, as if it had all been a mirage. The ground rumbled and shook, and the walls of the temple began to groan and crumble. The stench of rot and decay filled the air as a hole opened up in the chamber that had once held Xulthar’s famous treasure.

“We have to go!” Roderick yelled. Cracks began to spread across the ceiling above them, and he knew they had only moments before the temple began to cave in.

“Run!”

Roderick and Laria tore through the hall, their hearts racing and their eyes wide with panic. They barely escaped being crushed beneath the falling pillars and great slabs of marble and granite. As they entered the domed chamber where Roderick had slain the Dark King, a chasm opened beneath the black altar and stretched from wall to wall.

“Roderick!” Laria screamed, but there was no time to stop and judge the gap. Without thinking, he squeezed her hand and sprinted full force toward the edge.

Together, they leapt just as the altar fell into the abyss, but the moment they landed, the ledge beneath their feet began to crumble. Behind him, Laria stumbled and fell—alone, she would never make it. With a mighty roar, Roderick flung her forward, then fell to his knees as the floor gave out beneath him.

Thinking quickly, Laria turned and dropped to her stomach, reaching out her hand. He grabbed it just before the abyss swallowed him, and with his other hand, he grasped the ledge. Dust and stone fell all around him, but exerting all his strength, he pulled himself over the edge.

“This way!” Laria shouted. The main entrance was just ahead now, though they had only moments before the temple became their tomb. With no time to rest, Roderick stumbled after her, his lungs burning and his muscles crying out in pain.

They burst through the doors not a moment too soon, barely escaping the temple’s final collapse. But outside, it was no safer. A whirlwind of sand and dust blasted their faces, and fissures were opening across the ruined square. The tremors were not limited to the temple itself—indeed, it seemed the whole earth was eager to swallow the ruined city.

Laria fell as the steps shook beneath them, and Roderick stumbled as he helped her to her feet. Together, they barely managed to make the square. Then the ground heaved up beneath them, and they both fell to their knees again.

“It’s no use!” he shouted, blinded momentarily by the burning wind. “We’re too late!”

“No!” Laria urged him onward. “We can make it! Don’t give up now!”

If Roderick had been alone, perhaps he would have surrendered to his fate. But with Laria depending on him, he found a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had. He held her hand as they sprinted across the square. Somehow, they evaded the worst of the fissures, leaping over the smaller ones as they ran through the blinding sand. They stumbled and fell several times, but kept on running, as all around them the world itself seemed to be coming to an end.

Laria

The cobblestones rippled and broke beneath Laria’s feet as she ran with Roderick to the end of the avenue. All around them, the city’s great stone structures collapsed, throwing up clouds of dust and sand. She stumbled, but Roderick pulled her back to her feet.

They heard the braying of the camel before they saw it. The rope still bound it to the court of the caravanserai, and the beast had become frantic.

“Up!” Roderick shouted, grabbing the camel’s neck and forcing it to its knees.

Laria did not need to be told twice. She climbed atop its hump, ignoring its thrashing struggles and panicked cries. Roderick sat in front of her, and with a single stroke of his sword he slashed the rope that held the animal bound. Within moments, they were galloping away.

“Yah!” shouted Roderick, shaking the reins. Laria held on for dear life, and would have been thrown off if she had not managed to grab the camel’s hair. Roderick reached out to steady her, gripping the flesh of her arm with his calloused hand.

They reached the gate of the city wall just as it began to collapse. The keystone of the enormous arch cracked down the center just as they galloped beneath it, and the crash of so much stone striking the earth made the camel stumble unsteadily. But somehow, they made it through.

“Yah!” shouted Roderick, urging the camel on. The ruins were safely behind them now, but the billowing dust and sand still surrounded them. Only after they had climbed the bluff outside the city were they finally able to see the sky.

They stopped at the top of the ridge and peered down at the destruction. Whatever dark sorcery had possessed the city before, what was left was naught but rubble. As the whirlwind died and the dust began to settle, the once impressive ruins appeared as little more than sand-strewn heaps.

“It is done,” Roderick said with a heavy heart.

Laria turned and saw the awful sadness in his eyes. “What is done?” she asked, tilting her head.

“All the hope I ever had of restoring my family’s house and honor,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The Dark King is slain and the curse has been lifted, but all else I hoped to accomplish has come to naught.”

Laria’s heart ached for Roderick. She could empathize with the pain of losing all that he had ever known. Until she had embraced her freedom, she’d felt that pain herself. Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It may be done, but it is not the end. Not for me, not for you—and not for us.”

After some time, he glanced over at her. “Aye,” he said softly. “Even if I have lost everything, at least we still have each other.”

They rode on in companionable silence, leaving the ruined city behind. Laria wrapped her arms around his waist, and felt a warm flutter in her chest as she held onto him. They were so much more than mere traveling companions now: the struggles and trials they had faced together had forged a singular bond. And as the sun began to set over the vast and lonely desert, Laria realized that she wanted nothing more than to share her life with him. Yes, she was a free woman now, and Roderick was no longer her master, but as such she could freely give herself to whomever she would—and there was no one she wanted to spend her life with more than the man who was with her now.

As night began to fall and the stars shone down in the sky, they stopped beneath a rocky outcropping to make their camp. First, they spread the rug out on the soft and level sand, and then they unloaded the saddlebags with their supplies. But before Roderick raised the tentpoles, Laria put a hand on his arm.

“I want to sleep under the stars tonight,” she told him.

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded and put them back. As the moon rose wide on the horizon, she felt a sudden surge of desire well up within her. Without another word, she wrapped her arms around Roderick’s neck and softly pressed her lips against his, feeling a wonderful rush as they kissed.

Roderick was stunned at first, but soon responded with equal passion. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Laria’s heart raced as his fingers slipped beneath her makeshift tunic, and she couldn’t help but moan in anticipation as the silk slid off her skin. The heady sensation of his strong hands upon her body sent shivers of pleasure down her spine, and she knew in that moment that she was completely his.

“Laria,” he murmured her name softly, his breath a soothing breeze upon her bare neck. His recently healed wounds were still tender, and she carefully helped him out of his sweaty clothes. Then, with eager longing, they gave in to their pent-up passion.

As their bodies intertwined, Laria noticed that Roderick was weeping. She tenderly cupped his face in her hands, her heart reaching out to him more than ever before.

“Oh, Roderick,” she whispered, and in that moment, they fully surrendered to each other. There was no inch of her body that was not his—no corner of his innermost soul that was closed to her. Their focus was not themselves, but each other, each of them striving to give to the other more than they took in return. Thus their tender lovemaking became a healing balm, and in the end, they both shed tears of joy.

For a long time, they lost themselves in each other, forgetting the world around them. Nothing else mattered except the embrace of their bodies and the newfound love that they now shared.

The moon was nearly at its zenith by the time they finished. The camel had gone to sleep, and there was not another soul in sight—only the barren mountains and the endless sea of dunes.

Roderick murmured quietly, running his fingers through her hair. “Laria,” he whispered, “You are my strength, and my life. Together, there is nothing we cannot face.”

“So long as we are free.”

She tilted her head back, and they kissed tenderly again as Roderick gently rubbed her neck. He let her down softly onto the blanket and gazed into her starry eyes.

“I never realized this until I met you, Laria, but your love has shown me that it is possible to find happiness even in the midst of our greatest struggles. Together, we can create our own paradise, no matter the times we live in. And we will. That much, I can promise you.”

He reached for the bundle of clothes at their feet and withdrew a silver locket. She leaned into him to peer at it, her breasts brushing up against his arm.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked.

She took it from his hand and studied it in the moonlight. “Yes,” she answered. “It’s the locket I found at the oasis, after you saved me from the slaver.”

He nodded and took it back. “A few days before we met, I encountered an undine nymph on the borders of the deep desert. She tried to steal a kiss from me, but I gave her this instead.”

He opened the locket and withdrew a small tuft of hair.

“This lock is from my mother. I have carried it with me everywhere, Laria—there has never been a mission or an adventure where I have not kept it close to my heart.”

She nodded reverently, then watched as he drew his dagger and cut the knot that bound it together. He then held up his hand, letting it scatter in the wind.

Laria gasped. “What have you done?”

“It is time for me to let go of my old family,” he said as he gave her a smile. “Time to let go of restoring my house’s wealth and honor. I will never be able to recover what has been lost. I dearly love my mother, but it is time to focus on our new family instead.”

“Our family?” Laria asked, her heart pounding eagerly.

“Yes,” he told her, gently cupping his hand beneath her chin. “The family that we will have together. The family that we have started here, tonight.”

Tears came to Laria’s eyes as she gazed up at her beloved Roderick. As a slave, she had never dared to dream of having a family of her own. How could she, when even her own body did not belong to herself? But now, here she was with the man she loved, and who cherished her deeply in return.

She moved closer to Roderick, laying her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his strong and steady heartbeat, the rhythm of it merging with the beating of her own.

Roderick ran his fingers through her hair again, and when he came to the end, he gently lifted the dagger and cut a short length of it. He handed it to her, and with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, she wrapped it around her slender fingers and made it into a lock.

“I will be yours, forever,” he promised her as he placed it carefully inside the locket. “Will you be mine, Laria?”

“Yes,” she solemnly promised. “I will be yours, forever.”

The stars shimmered in the cool night breeze, and the warmth of their bodies seemed to radiate outward like a small oasis of love, hope, and peace. Whatever else was true, Laria knew that this was only the beginning of something truly wonderful.

<< Chapter 8 << The Riches of Xulthar >> Epilogue >>

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!”

Roderick

Evil laughter echoed through the hall as Roderick staggered toward the black altar, his armor hanging in tatters and his 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’s face, cutting him off from the nefarious altar. Roderick yelped and leaped back, barely evading the blistering heat of the blaze. Gripping his sword with grim resolve, he tried to go around them, but the sorcerous flames surrounded him.

With a mighty roar, Roderick tried to push through the obstructing fire. But his body was weak from the flight through the catacombs, and he could not endure the heat for more than a few moments. Frustrated but undefeated, he fell back into the flaming circle, his hair singed and his armor hot to the touch.

The Dark King laughed at Roderick’s futile attempts to pierce the wall of flame. He thrust out his arm and raised it high, drawing forth an army of undead skeletal warriors.

“You thought your warrior’s heart would save you?” the Dark King sneered. “All the might and strength that you possess shall be no match for my minions! Tremble with fear as I command them to tear you in pieces!”

But Roderick was not intimidated so easily. He had faced these fey minions before, and worse within the catacombs besides. As the wall of flame dissipated and the sword-wielding skeletons closed in for the kill, he took a deep breath and charged headlong, bellowing with all his might.

This was what he had come for. These were the forces of darkness he had vowed to fight. He met the first wave in a brutal clash of blades, shattering their brittle bones and smashing their grinning skulls. A few of their strikes drew blood, but he ignored his wounds and pressed the attack until the mindless hordes broke before Roderick’s righteous might.

“Well done!” roared the Dark King, as if Roderick’s swordplay were only sport. “But you will have to do more than that if you truly wish to impress me.”

“I wish you dead!” Roderick shouted, pushing through the next wave toward the altar upon which Laria lay. “You are nothing but a king of a crumbling ruin, not even fit for the vultures and rats!”

The Dark King laughed. “Your strong words will not stop me from slaying your precious friend. When her blood has been spilt upon the black altar, my dark and terrible reign upon the world shall then begin!”

“Your pitiful reign ends today!” Roderick shouted, undaunted by the Dark King’s taunting claims. “Release the girl Laria and surrender to your fate!”

“I am the Dark King!” his adversary bellowed. “My kingdom will never die!”

Roderick shattered another skeletal warrior with a mighty swing of his sword, then threw back his head and laughed. “Your kingdom is a forgotten trash heap, and your soul is bound to it until the last stone crumbles to dust! You will never rule over the land of the living—only over these stinking bones!”

The Dark King snarled and raised his fists. Immediately, his minions ceased their attack, pulling back to leave Roderick panting for breath. He raised his sword high above his head, sensing that the Dark King himself had decided to join the fight.

Look to his crown! a small but insistent voice whispered in his ear. Was it Laria? How could that possibly be? He risked a quick glance at the altar, but her body was still bound upon it, as unconscious and unmoving as before.

The flames roared suddenly back to life, but not before the Dark King had stepped within the circle. He brandished a burning whip in one hand, and a black iron mace in the other. Heeding the voice, Roderick cast his gaze upward at the crown upon the Dark King’s head, and lo! a magnificent gemstone glowed within the midst of it, pulsating with sorcerous energy.

The heart of Xulthar! Roderick realized as the words of the temple’s high priest came back to him. Somehow, that gem was the nexus of the Dark King’s sorcerous power.

“Your insolence annoys me,” the Dark King stated flatly, “but your will is stronger than most. When your soul has been bound to mine, I shall make you one of my chief lieutenants.”

“Never!” Roderick shouted as he charged.

The two combatants exchanged a flurry of blows. The Dark King swung his mace in a murderous arc, but Roderick ducked beneath it and slashed at the Dark King’s ankles. His blade passed harmlessly through the king’s billowing cloak as he swiftly stepped backward, and with the crack of his whip sent Roderick tumbling to the floor.

Rolling quickly to his feet, Roderick lifted his sword just in time to deflect the Dark King’s mace. He sent a deadly riposte at his adversary’s chest, but the Dark King kicked Roderick in the chest, knocking him back a step. He recovered swiftly, but not enough to evade the Dark King’s whip. It lacerated his flesh before ripping his sword from his hand.

“I grow tired of this pointless contest.” A sorcerous blue light surrounded the Dark King as he grabbed Roderick by the throat and lifted him off of the ground. Roderick tried to break his grip, kicking and struggling with all his might, but his efforts were all in vain.

“I can feel the strength of your soul as you resist me,” the Dark King said. “It shall bring me exquisite pleasure to bind it to mine forever.”

The pulsating gemstone was so close that Roderick could almost touch it. He reached out desperately for it, ignoring the Dark King’s grip on his throat. But the Dark King only laughed as he choked the breath out of him.

“Did you think I would let you seize the heart of Xulthar so easily? No—you are defeated!”

Roderick gasped for breath as the Dark King threw him onto the stone floor. He struggled to rise to his feet, his body bruised and battered after so much deadly fighting. It was almost more than he could bear.

“Kneel before your everlasting sovereign!” the Dark King bellowed.

“Never,” Roderick growled. Exerting all his strength, he stood up straight, his hands balled into fists. He would never kneel before such a monster.

“Defiant to the end!” the Dark King laughed. “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 twisted 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 did so, a brilliant white light shone immediately around Roderick’s person, brightening until it filled the entire chamber.

“No,” the Dark King exclaimed in disbelief. “How can you defy my power? It cannot be!”

“Yes, it can,” said Roderick—and from beneath his shirt, he pulled out the claw talisman that the fallen adventurer had instructed him to fashion from his dying flesh. It now glowed with the same brilliant light that had protected Roderick from the Dark King’s sorcery, bestowing newfound strength to his bruised and battered frame.

The Dark King roared in rage, but before he could recover, Roderick seized his sword and swung it at the Dark King’s crown. The blade struck true, and the Heart of Xulthar shattered into a thousand shimmering shards.

The effect was immediate. The Dark King’s roar turned to a howl of agony and pain. His undead skeletal minions swayed as his magic flowed inward, toward the broken crown. One by one, then all at once, they collapsed into heaps of bones. Then the Dark King himself fell to his knees, and with one last cry of despair, his robes burst into flames.

Roderick stepped back, shielding his face with his arm. The flames burned hot but fast, dying down to embers as suddenly as they had come. When it was all done, the Dark King’s corpse was little more than ash and blackened bone.

“It is done,” said Roderick, sheathing his battered sword. Honor had at last been satisfied, and the name of House Valtan could now be restored.

Yet even as he surveyed the now eerily quiet scene, Roderick could not help but feel uneasy. Even though he had destroyed the Heart of Xulthar, the power that had possessed the gem still lingered in the air. He sensed that the curse of Xulthar had not yet truly been lifted, even if its immortal sovereign had been slain.

As he gazed about the bone-strewn chamber, his eyes fell upon the black altar, with Laria still lying upon it. He rushed to her side, cutting her bonds with his dagger and examining her naked body for any sign of harm or injury. There was none that he could see, but her spell-induced slumber refused to abate, and she remained as unconscious as before.

“Wake up, Laria!” he shouted, gently shaking her, but his frantic efforts had no effect. Nothing he did could wake her. It was as if she lay between life and death itself.

Roderick’s heart raced. A wave of helplessness seemed to wash over him, making him feel as if he were drowning in its wake. Although he had withstood all the sorcery of the Dark King, this was magic that he could not break. All he could do was wait and watch.

Falling to his knees, his heart heavy with hopelessness, Roderick bowed his head and wept.

Laria

The moment the Dark King passed, a tremor reverberated through the very core of Laria’s being. Though she was still just a spirit, she felt it as surely as if it had been an earthquake beneath her very feet. With his death, the power that kept her from her body suddenly released her, and she floated toward it, pulled by that force that gave her life in the mortal realm.

She returned to the central chamber of the temple and saw Roderick kneeling at the black altar, surrounded by the bones of those lost souls who had plied the river of death. They were free now that they were no longer bound to the Dark King’s will. But Laria’s body was far from gone—in fact, it still lay on the altar, where Roderick strove in vain to resuscitate her. She saw his tears and felt seized by a sudden sadness.

Don’t cry for me, Roderick, she wanted to tell him. All is well.

Just then, a portal opened above her, and a pillar of pure light descended until it completely enveloped her. She looked down quickly at Roderick, wondering if he was as surprised as her, but he did not glance up—evidently, the light was invisible to all but her.

She looked up and gasped in wonder upon the Immortal Realm. She saw, and remembered, and understood the things which few men discover before death, and all forget upon birth. With a perfect knowledge, she knew that this place of wonder and beauty was her true home, far from the pain and suffering of the Mortal Realm.

“I’m coming!” she said eagerly, answering the call to come back home. She flew on wings of glory toward the eternal light, ignoring the pull of her body as she began her ascent into the light, to rest in joy and peace forever. In that moment, she felt as if her entire life had been nothing more than a fitful dream, soon to be forgotten.

But at the same time, she knew that if she chose this path—if she answered the call now, in her current pitiful state—she would feel just as frail and insubstantial in that eternal world as she felt in her disembodied state. For just as her body served to anchor her spirit to the physical realities of the Mortal Realm, the experiences that she gained there would anchor her to the spiritual realities in the life beyond.

I cannot go yet, she realized with dismay. My life has been too poor, to devoid of real experience, to return to my immortal home right now.

After all, how much of life had she truly experienced as a slave? Yes, she had learned to tell the bitter from the sweet, the evil from the good, the suffering from the joy—but that was only the first and most basic step in her eternal journey. Because she had never truly owned anything, not even her own self, that knowledge counted almost for nothing, for she had never put it to practical use. Without the experience that came from exercising her agency, she would have no anchor in that undying world.

But could she embrace her own freedom? Could she really become her own master, though the very thought filled her with terror and fright?

Yes, she decided—and in that very moment, her spirit fled into her physical form, leaving the immortal light and returning to the terrible dream. All of her aches and pains suddenly flooded back to her, filling her with agonizing awareness of her own mortality.

And yet, there was something purifying about the pain—something that made her feel grateful for it, even as it made her moan. There was no pain in the Void, but neither was there any other sensation. Life was pain, she now realized, and she would gladly suffer the worst of it for the privilege of living one more day.

She gasped for breath and opened her eyes to see Roderick standing over her. “Laria!” he said quickly. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, catching her breath. “I… I think so,” she managed to say.

With Roderick’s help, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the stone altar. The tattered remains of her clothes still lay where they had been torn from her, leaving her naked.

As Roderick’s eyes unconsciously traced the curves of her body, she felt a sudden warmth flush over her skin. Was it embarrassment? No, not quite: more like a sense of heightened vulnerability, which was strange in itself, because Roderick had never done anything to harm her.

“I am sorry for what you had to endure, Laria,” he said as he averted his eyes. “It was my fault that the Dark King’s minions seized you in the catacombs.”

“It’s all right,” she said, smiling to set him at ease. “It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“I suppose,” he said softly.

The way that he blushed reminded her of the time she had bathed for him in the oasis. She remembered what he had told her about privacy, how it was a thing that all men value who are truly free. Was that the source of her newfound vulnerability? As a slave, she had often tried to attract his carnal gaze, but that was before her body had truly been her own.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. Then she noticed his own wounds, and her eyes widened in horror. “Roderick—you’re hurt!”

“I’m all right,” he protested lamely, but she was having none of it. Forgetting her own nakedness, she hurried to his side.

“Let me tend to your wounds. Here—lie down.”

“But—”

“Just do it, Roderick. Please.”

He took a deep breath and complied with her commands. Only then did she notice the hundreds of charred and broken bones that lay scattered about the black altar. She ignored them for the moment, only taking the time to clear a space for him to lie down. Then, tearing a strip of cloth from his tunic, she used the water from his waterskin to make a swab.

“Your flesh is singed,” she said, wiping it ever so gently. The worst burns were on his arms, which also had several deep cuts.

“The Dark King raised a wall of fire to keep me from rescuing you,” he told her. “I tried to break through, but it was too much for me.”

“We need to bandage the worst of these wounds,” she said, looking for more cloth that she could use. His tunic was stained with blood, sweat, and ash, but her own tattered robes were still relatively clean. She picked up the fabric and began tearing it into strips.

“I’m all right,” he protested. “None of these cuts is serious.”

“Just rest for a minute. I’ll take care of you. Here, let’s get you out of that armor.”

He resisted at first, but even he could see that his armor was so broken as to be totally useless. She eased it gently off of him. Then, with great care, she washed and bandaged the worst of his wounds.

Her hands were surprisingly steady, even though she still felt shaken by what she had endured while bound on the black altar. But judging from his wounds, Roderick had endured far worse. In fact, it was a wonder he was still conscious. As she gently nursed him, he closed his eyes and began to drift in and out of sleep.

“It’s all right,” she said soothingly as she ran her fingers across his forehead. “Everything will be alright.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes flickering with gratitude. His chest slowly rose and fell with each breath, and Laria felt a strange stirring in her own breast as she watched him.

Her gaze wandered to the edge of the chamber, where the charred remains of the Dark King lay. His flesh had turned to dust of ash, his skull bleached white and frozen in a final scream. It was almost too terrible a sight for her to bear. Nevertheless, she forced herself to look until she was sure of his demise.

“Did all of the Dark King’s minions perish with him when his magic was broken?”

“I do not know,” he answered truthfully. He coughed, and only then did she see the deep burn marks that lined the side of his forearm.

“Roderick! Your arm! What happened?”

He grinned sheepishly, though she could tell he was in great pain. “I must have been too close when the Dark King burst into flames. I had my arm in front of my face, but my armor shielded me from the worst of the blast.”

She opened his shirt and saw to her dismay that his chest was burned as badly as his arm. The armor must have grown too hot, and kept the worst of it in for too long. That explained the cough.

“I fear… that unless we find a skilled healer… I shall never wield a weapon again…”

“Don’t talk like that,” she said, quickly tearing another strip of cloth. “We’ll save your arm.”

“Perhaps,” he said, coughing again. “As long as there is breath in these lungs, I…”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes began to glaze over. To Laria’s horror, there were little flecks of blood around his mouth—the wound in his chest must be far more severe than either of them had realized. She looked around frantically for help, but there was none to be found.

“Roderick!” she said desperately, taking his hand in both of her own. “Stay with me, Roderick! Do not give in to death! Please—do not go!”

His eyes fluttered open one last time, and in spite of the pain he obviously carried, he smiled and pulled her close.

“Stay strong, Laria. Be well. Do not… give up on this world. Do not… let despair take you, like it almost… took me.”

“Roderick!” she said helplessly as he fell into another coughing fit. This time, there was too much blood to ignore. He was dying—of that, there could be no doubt.

Tears came to Laria’s eyes as she remembered the pillar of light that had enveloped her, and the wonderful view of the Immortal Realm. As Roderick drifted gently into unconsciousness, she wondered if he saw a similar vision. She squeezed his hand, now grown frighteningly limp, and fell into a fit of sobs. He seemed so peaceful, she almost couldn’t believe that he was dying. After all that they had been through, this was almost too much to bear.

At that moment, a deafening roar shook the very foundations of the temple. Laria jumped in fright, unsure whether to run or to shield Roderick from this new terror. But then, an eerie but familiar figure stepped out of the shadows, wreathed in tendrils of smoke.

“Do not be afraid,” the priest of the black altar reassured her. “My will was bound to the Dark King’s, but now that he is dead, I am finally free.”

“You are?” she asked hesitantly. His form seemed to shift and change from man to beast to man again, much as it had upon their first meeting. And yet, there was something different about his appearance that she couldn’t quite describe.

“Yes,” he answered mournfully. “I am free to pass on from this mortal coil, and face my fate in the eternal realm. I know that I will never be able to atone for all the souls that I have slain on this sorcerous altar, and for my many sins, I fear that my fate will be terrible.”

The priest continued to approach her, moving like a shadow of darkness that was deeper than any Laria had ever seen. Even an assassin would not have been able to find his way through it.

Laria took a deep breath and stood up straight before the priest, almost daring him to take her. “Have you come to make one more sacrifice?” she asked, clenching her fists.

Despite the terror that the priest of the dark altar instilled within her heart, she would face him as best she could—even if she had to draw blood with Roderick’s sword. But then the priest spoke.

“Nay, friend. I have no desire to extend my time in this world. An eternity of torment for my sins is preferable to living forever with them as a slave in this mortal world. I have not come to slay you on the black altar of Xulthar.”

“Then why have you come?”

He paused, shifting between forms almost involuntarily. Perhaps that was the change that had come upon him.

“Your eyes tell me that you are pure and innocent, more so than most whom I have slain upon this awful slab of stone. In spite of that, I sense a strange connection between us, as if this altar has intertwined our souls. My heart aches with longing for the hope I once had, yet can no longer find within me. But your soul is not nearly as tainted as mine.”

From deep within the coils of smoke, the priest produced a vial of shining blue liquid.

“Once a man has tasted eternal life, he will never be able to live without the hope of it. The hope that burns within you is far too precious to be lost to the tragedy of the flesh.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused by his shifting words. “What is that vial in your hands?”

As he held it out to her, it seemed to float in a cloud of shifting smoke. “This elixir, fashioned with the last of my dying magic, will grant life and healing to whoever partakes. It will not grant eternal life, for that is not mine to give, but it will bring his soul back from the Void.”

Laria nodded gratefully. She knew now how it felt to be bound to the darkness. Her heart ached for the priest, who had little hope of finding the joy which she had briefly tasted.

“Take this,” he said softly, handing her the vial. “Use it to save your friend.”

“Thank you,” Laria said reverently.

“And now, I must go,” the priest said sadly. “I have spent the last of my dying energy to appear to you, and my soul must pass from this mortal world.”

A deep crimson color washed over the priest’s shifting body, bubbling and steaming with a weird and sorcerous heat. Laria stepped back, shielding Roderick, but unlike the Dark King, the priest did not burst into flame. Instead, with one last groan, he released a wave of smoke so thick that the entire temple was engulfed in its darkness. When the smoke finally dissipated, all that remained was a pile of fine bone dust, as white as the driven snow.

Laria turned hurriedly to face Roderick. With trembling fingers, she opened the vial and carefully poured a few drops onto his wounded arm. Miraculously, it began to heal before her eyes! She pressed the vial to his lips and poured the rest of it down his throat, waiting eagerly to see what would happen. After a few moments, he stirred and sat up, life and color returning to his cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked.

Laria choked back a sob of relief. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and smiled at him through tear-filled eyes.

“The priest of the black altar,” she said, almost unable to contain herself. “You’re alive now, thanks to him!”

“Thanks to who?”

She pulled him into a fierce hug and held him there for a long time. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, crying tears of joy. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“So am I, Laria,” he answered. “So am I.”

Roderick

Roderick’s body healed with surprising speed. In merely minutes, he had recovered enough to stand and shed most of his bandages. He felt like a new person, free of the aches and pains of his long journey. He hadn’t realized how much of a burden they had been, but now that he was healed, he wondered how he’d managed to bear them at all.

“How do you feel now?” Laria asked, her eyes full of joy at his rapid recovery.

Roderick smiled at her. “Much better now, thanks to you. What about yourself?”

Laria shrugged. “I feel a bit exhausted, but otherwise all right. I didn’t sustain nearly as many wounds as you.”

That much was clear to see, for she was still completely naked. In her frenzy to help him, she’d forgotten that fact, putting his welfare above her own. But now that he was well again, she hugged her chest self-consciously—something he’d never see her do as a slave.

“Nevertheless,” he muttered as he averted his eyes. His gaze fell upon the ash and bones that lay scattered across the floor, giving the temple an eerie, desolate appearance. “Come, let us be gone from this place. There is nothing for us here.”

“I agree,” Laria said readily. “Let us put this cursed city of Xulthar behind us forever.”

Roderick frowned and gave her a puzzled look. “And abandon its treasure to the jackals and the bats, when it lies so nearly within our grasp? No. Besides,” he added, stretching for an excuse, “you are naked. We should not leave before we find some garments with which to clothe you. The desert sun will not be kind to your fair complexion.”

“I can manage just fine,” Laria protested, but Roderick refused to accept that as an answer. How could he, when the riches of Xulthar were almost within their grasp? Not bothering to look if Laria would follow, he set off down the nearest adjoining hall, searching for any sign of the legendary treasure.

“There’s nothing here,” she said, pulling on his arm. “Nothing but hard granite walls and dusty marble floors.”

“Nay,” he said softly. “When the Dark King passed, I sensed that his power still remained. This place is still cursed, and I must find the source of it.”

“Did you not say that the treasure itself is cursed?” she tried to reason with him. “If it is, then should we not leave before we fall under its power?”

“Nay,” he repeated, though he was no longer really listening. He felt her tug on his arm again, but ignored her feeble attempts to stop him.

At length, they came to a hall where the stones were unweathered and the floors were devoid of dust and sand. Unlike the rest of the ruined temple, this place was pure and pristine. The walls and floors were fashioned of polished marble, and intricate frescoes adorned the vaulted ceiling. White silk hangings, trimmed with gold, hung between the pillars. Roderick drew his dagger and used it to cut one of them down.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “You should be able to fashion something with that.”

While Laria wrapped the fabric around her body, Roderick examined the room. He could feel that they were close to the treasure, though he couldn’t tell how. But wherever it was, it clearly was not here, for the chamber itself was empty, the marble floors devoid of any furnishings.

“There,” said Laria, adjusting the silk fabric into a crude tunic. “Now, let’s leave this place.”

“Not yet.”

“Please, Roderick,” she begged. “This place is evil. You’ve already defeated the Dark King—what more could you possibly want?”

“To restore my house and honor,” he answered as he wandered back out into the hall.

A pair of stone doors stood at the end of it, engraved with ancient runes. Laria gasped at the sight of them, but Roderick ignored that as he walked up to them. Something about the doors drew him toward them, as if his soul were tied to a string that he now felt tugging on him. The runes traced a circle between the doors, and Roderick put his hand in the center of it, though he couldn’t tell why. With an echoing boom that shook the very walls of the temple, the doors swung open of their own accord.

“Roderick,” Laria whispered, still holding onto his arm. But he ignored her and pressed on into the massive chamber, gasping in wonder at what he saw.

From wall to windowless wall, the chamber was filled with piles of treasure. Gold coins glinted as if with their own light, while silver shone coldly with the whiteness of ice and snow. Gems and jewels of every kind lay strewn about like riverstones, some smooth, others sharp and multi-faceted. Besides the coins and jewels, Roderick saw all sorts of artifacts: chalices and candelabra, necklaces and chains and rings, bars stacked like bricks and crowns fit for the heads of kings.

The sight of so much treasure awakened something deep within his soul. His eyes wide and dazzled, he could hardly contain how he felt.

“Look at this, Laria,” he said eagerly. “Do you see all this?”

“I see it,” she said quietly.

Roderick grabbed a handful of coins and let them fall through his fingers. “This is it, Laria,” he shouted in frenzied abandon. “The riches of Xulthar!”

<< Chapter 7 << The Riches of Xulthar >> Chapter 9 >>

Laria

Laria screamed in terror as the animated skeletons carried her with demonic swiftness through the unearthly catacombs. Their dry, bony fingers dug into her skin like the fingers of death itself. Their hollow eye sockets glowed with a chilling orange light as they sped through the enchanted caverns on the Black Altar’s borrowed power.

In moments they came to an abrupt stop outside a small antechamber. One of the skeletons went to work opening a hidden door, which opened with a metallic screech as he thrust the black, functional lever back. Two of the empty figures rushed into the lightless space beyond, carrying Laria at high speed with eerie silence. As they came closer to the back chamber, their voices began to echo eerily from the walls.

“The master commands your presence,” the ghastly leader said with a hollow, grating voice. “The stars have nearly aligned, and the sacrifice must be made ready.”

“The sacrifice must be made ready,” the others all repeated as one. Though not entirely mindless, they seemed to be the very guardians of doom, executing their master’s will without hesitation or emotion.

Laria screamed as they carried her back through the door and into the cloistered halls of the temple. Once again, she stood under the enormous dome, but this time the chamber was not empty–it was filled with the animated bones of the undead souls the Dark King had twisted by his evil sorcery to obey his will.

The black altar stood in the center of the chamber, its ebony stonework gleaming with a sinister light from within. Behind the altar stood a sinister figure dressed in robes of deepest ebony –The Dark King. He smiled wide and beckoned at Laria as the skeletal warriors pushed her forcefully towards him.

Though her body trembled with fear, she did not have the strength to break away from their iron grasp. Against her will, she was constrained before him on the chilly stone platform and forced to kneel in submission before his chilling presence.

“So!” the Dark King bellowed, “the stars have nearly aligned, and the hour of Xulthar’s restoration is nearly at hand. Bind the sacrifice!”

“Bind the sacrifice,” the skeletal warriors repeated with one voice, sending chills of terror down Laria’s back. Before she could even scream, two bony apparitions had her in their grasp, methodically ripping off her garments until she was utterly naked. She tried to fight back, but they were too strong for her, their dry and bony hands tying ropes around her wrists and ankles and lashing her to the cold stone altar.

Soon she was bound securely in place, powerless against the evil forces now gathered around her. A smile of cruel intent crossed the Dark King’s countenance as he stepped closer and leaned over her.

“Now, at long last,” he barked with an icy malice, “the dawn of my immortal reign has come! Centuries I have waited for this moment, when my sould will no longer be bound to these crumbling, forgotten ruins. With your death, my power will fill the whole Earth, and all nations shall be enslaved to my will!”

Laria’s body shook with fear as the priest of the black altar materialized in a cloud of smoke. His glowing eyes seemed to be filled with sadness as he looked upon her, but his will was bound to his master’s, and this was the Dark King’s hour.

“Help!” Laria screamed, glancing every which way. “Roderick! Help me!”

“Your foolish companion will not save you,” the Dark King taunted her. “But it shall give me great pleasure to enslave him when he comes for you. What form shall I change him into? A wolf? A bear?”

Laria gazed up at the Dark King in horror–and suddenly saw the Heart of Xulthar set in the center of his crown. Her eyes widened with recognition as she rememembered the priest’s words.

“Roderick!” she shouted. “The Heart of Xulthar–I’ve found it! It’s here!”

“Silence!” screeched the Dark King, his mocking turned to malice. His arm rose, and his fingertips sparkled with an ethereal light. With a flick of his wrist, an invisible shockwave rippled through the air and over Laria’s naked flesh.

Laria tried to scream, but she felt as if the air were being torn from her lungs. She could feel herself being pulled away from her physical form, her consciousness suddenly lifted from her body. The Dark King’s triumphant cackle seemed to open a gateway to the Void–a swirling black abyss that pulled at her spirit and threatened to swallow her whole. She tried to pull herself away, to return to her body now lying unconscious below her, but the Dark King’s power was too great, and she fell into oblivion.

Laria

Laria could feel her consciousness leave her body. It felt a bit like shedding some exceptionally dirty clothes, or washing layers of mud, dirt, and refuse off of her skin in a crystal clear spring of pure water. At the same time, her spirit felt so insubstantial that she feared a gust of wind would blow her into non-existence, like a whisp of a cloud over the desert at the touch of the dawn’s first rays.

She floated into a swirling vortex of mist, and found herself looking down into a dark and misty canyon. A pale ribbon of a river wound its way through a chaotic series of rapids, and the canyon walls climbed ever higher and higher, taking the river and the fog with them into the shadows. A distant hiss of water flowing over rocks was the only sound, and the canyon seemed to go on forever.

Bright pricks of light pulsed in the fog like light shining from lanterns. They glowed and flickered, and seemed to come closer as Laria drifted downwards to the river. As the glow from the lanterns brightened, Laria saw that each one belonged to a shrouded figure, their faces hidden by long, hooded robes. They seemed to float with the river, carried down canyon by the current.

As they passed, their hands reached out in silent communication to Laria. She could feel their panicked fear as they were carried away from the light and down into the darkness. Laria called out to them, but their faces were as still as stone, their misty features distant and cold.

Laria recognized the canyon, and she knew the river. It was the River of Death, and that flowed eternally through the Void without beginning or end, like a snake eating its own tail. The shrouded figures were spirits, like herself, used by the Dark King and cast aside like old clothing.

“Who are you?” she asked as they drifted past her.

“We are the forgotten, the ones caught under the spell of the Dark King,” one of the figures spoke. His voice was a whisper, barely audible above the rush of water. “In life, we were citizens of Xulthar, rich and poor alike, but our names have been stolen from us, and we no longer remember who we were.”

“Who you were?” Laria asked, confused. “Don’t you mean, who you are?”

“No,” the figure said sadly. “Our bodies were stolen from us, our flesh stripped away and our skeletons animated by the sorcery of the Dark King. Because we are neither dead, nor living, our souls are consigned to wander the Void until our physical form has been shattered, or the Dark King has been slain.

As Laria watched, the lantern of one of the distant figures suddenly went out, like a flickering candle extinguished by a gust of wind. The shrouded figure drifted up from the river, rising through the haze and fog.

“I am free!” the nameless figured cried in exultation. “Farewell, sad friends! My chains have been shattered, and I go to the immortal realm!”

The spirit’s face was wreathed in joy, but as he drifted upward, his face suddenly twisted into a mask of agony, his mouth contorted in a silent scream. A light appeared, and he flew toward it like a moth circling a flame, until it swallowed him and vanished into the fog.

“What was that?” Laria asked, a feeling of dread rising within her.

The voices of the spirits howled in unison as the ghostly figures watched, a despairing cacophony that flung its echoes across the chasm between life and death.

“That was his freedom,” one wailed, her voice hollow and echoing with anguish. “His skeletal form was slain in the land of the living, freeing his spirit to enter his eternal reward.”

Laria shuddered at those words. “His eternal reward?” she whispered.

“Yes,” rumbled another figure, a deep moan that seemed to contain all of their sorrow and regret. “The moment his eyes beheld the Immortal Realm, he remembered who he was – and all of his sins. They must have been many, for him to be such an anguished soul.”

Laria’s eyes widened in shock and horror. “What happened to him?”

“He passed on to his eternal reward,” the figure lamented.

“No,” argued another. “His soul was not ready, and he passed into another part of the Void.”

“We don’t know,” the first figure admitted to Laria. “All we know is that our souls have been bound here for longer than we ever lived in life, and that we can no longer return to the mortal realm.”

Laria pondered this for some time. Unlike the ghostly figures, she bore no lamp, and her body was not shrouded in robes. She was naked, just as she had been when the Dark King’s priest had bound her to the altar. But she sensed that the thinnest of threads bound her to her physical form, and the moment it was severed, she, too, would drift upward into the light.

“Is there nothing we can do?” she asked.

“No,” the first figure said sadly. “When Xulthar was destroyed, our souls were bound to this river. There is nothing we can do.”

Laria’s heart sank in the despair at the figure’s words. She had come to the Void with a purpose, to stop the Dark King from unleashing his evil on the mortal world. But now, she wondered if her fate would be the same as these lost souls.

“Is there no way out?” she asked, hoping against hope that there was a way to break the cycle.

The figure paused for a long time to consider. “For us, death is our only release. But for you, there may be a way back to the land of the living. It all depends on how you came to be here.”

Laria thought on that for a moment. With dismay, she remembered the black altar, and how the Dark King had tied her body down there before banishing her spirit to this place.

“The Dark King plans to use me as a human sacrifice,” she said desperately. “My body is tied to the altar in his temple. When the stars are perfectly aligned, he will slay me to complete his spell.”

The ghostly figure nodded sadly. “Then your fate is already sealed. Once the Dark King has sacrificed your physical form, your soul will be forever bound to the Void.”

Laria felt a shudder run through her spirit, like a cold sweat except more ephemeral. She had to find a way back to her physical form before it was too late. She knew that the Dark King’s temple was full of dark sorcery, but she had to try.

“I have to find a way out of here,” she said firmly. “I have to stop the Dark King and save the mortal realm.”

“You seek the impossible,” the dark figure told her as he drifted down the river with the others. “Farewell, Laria. May you find your way to the eternal peace of the Immortal Realm.”

“Wait!” Laria called out, but the ghostly figures drifted away from her, disappearing into the mist. She tried to run after them, but it was as if she were caught in a dream, unable to move of her own accord.

Laria was desperate. She had to find a way back to the temple of Xulthar before the Dark King completed his ritual. But how?

The mists seemed impenetrable, and no matter which way she turned, she found only more fog. She felt as if she were spinning in circles, her feet rooted to the ground beneath her.

Suddenly, she heard a voice from within the mist. It was an old voice, familiar yet distant. The kind words of her first slave master echoed in the air.

“Come back, young child,” he said gently. “We need you.”

Laria clung to the hope that he offered and followed the sound of his voice into the mists. But as she drew closer, she realized it was not him at all but something much more sinister lurking in the darkness.

A creature with glowing red eyes stepped out of the shadows and roared a challenge at her with its fangs bared. Instinctively, Laria whirled around and ran for her life through the swirling fog until finally emerging breathless and terrified from its depths.

Laria took a step, but was suddenly met with an overwhelming chorus of voices from within the mist.

“Come here, slave girl!”

“Come to me, you little wench!”

“Here, my pretty my pretty little slave!

“What’s wrong? Would I ever hurt you? Ha!”

Many years prior, these same voices had made her submit to their cruel bondage. Laria’s body shuddered in fear as she realized that if she chose to heed their voices, there would be no possibility of ever finding her way back home.

Laria stood at the edge of the mist, her heart pounding in her chest. She had come too far to turn back now. The voices of all her previous masters called out to her, but she ignored them, though it took all of her strength of will to do so.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward. As she moved deeper into the mist, she could feel a sense of dread creeping over her, and found herself yearning to hear Roderick’s voice. Surely, he would know what to do in a place like this.

But then, she remembered the beast who had nearly attacked her when she had followed the voice of her first master. None of these voices truly belonged to any of her previous masters–or if they did, they were all monsters now, eager to consumer her.

Roderick was not in this place. He was still in the catacombs beneath the temple of Xulthar, in the mortal realm. Fixing that thought in her head, she pressed forward, ignoring the voices that called to her.

Laria emerged from the mists and found herself floating over the ruins of Xulthar, a city of dark and sorcerous power that humans had once built but no longer remembered. She looked down and saw the city in its full, dismal beauty–the tall towers that crumbled with age, the deep shadows that lurked in every corner, and the faint glimmer of strange blue-green lights that shimmered from within the forgotten depths.

But what caught her attention most were the strange swirling energies she could feel emanating from the city. Invisible to mortal eyes, it seemed as though some powerful presence had filled the ruined city. Fearful yet curious, Laria followed these energies, drifting like a ghost on the dusty wind.

She saw the temple, with the Dark King and his minions crowded around the black altar. She even saw her own naked and unconscious body tied to its black marble surface. But to her surprise, the source of the power was not there.

Instead, her gaze was drawn to a strange shimmering pool of energy swirling in the heart of the temple. When she concentrated on it, she could feel its tremendous power and remembered the tales she had heard as a child – tales of the cursed treasure of Xulthar said to be hidden somewhere in this city.

The Dark King and his minions seemed almost like slaves before this power, and Laria finally realized that the true source of their power came not from him but from the cursed treasure of Xulthar itself.

But what could she do? She was nothing more than a spirit, her body still bound to the black altar.

As if in answer to her thoughts, a figure materialized in the center of the pool of energy that now filled the temple. Laria gasped as she recognized him. It was Roderick, his eyes blazing with power and determination as he stepped forward and raised his sword.

Laria

Laria screamed as the animated skeletons carried her with demonic swiftness through the unearthly catacombs. Their dry, bony fingers dug into her skin like the fingers of death itself. Their hollow eye sockets glowed with a chilling light as they sped through the enchanted caverns on the black altar’s power.

They came to an abrupt stop outside a small antechamber. One of the skeletons went to work on a hidden door, which opened with an eerie metallic screech. They rushed into the lightless chamber beyond. Laria momentarily ceased her struggles, knowing she could never find her way out of this dismal darkness.

Another troop joined them in the murky depths. Their dry bones clacked and clattered unnaturally, and the eerie glow of their eyes made Laria shudder with fear. If there was any possibility that she could break free and escape, that hope was now as dead as the hands that gripped her.

“The stars have nearly aligned,” the leader of the squad uttered in a hollow, monotonous voice. “The sacrifice must be made ready.”

“The sacrifice must be made ready,” the others all repeated as one. They sounded utterly soulless, like automatons bound to a single will. Even as a slave, Laria had never been totally possessed like these skeletal warriors were to whatever force compelled them to carry out the Dark King’s orders. Their movements were stiff and mechanical, like puppets on unseen strings of sorcery. Whatever souls had once possessed these undead bodies, they had been twisted or cast out of them long ago.

Up ahead, Laria saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and realized that it led back to the temple of Xulthar. She renewed her hopeless struggles as they carried her swiftly toward it, breaking off a fingerbone but otherwise having no effect.

“Let me go!” she screamed, kicking her feet in vain.

“The sacrifice must be made ready,” the undead apparitions continued to chant. They carried her through a cloistered hall into the central chamber, beneath the enormous dome. The chamber was now filled almost to overflowing with the animated bones of the undead souls that the Dark King had bound to his will.

The black altar stood in the center, its smooth marble stonework gleaming with unearthly light. Behind the altar bent the shapeshifting priest, his eyes deadened and cold, while behind him the Dark King towered like an indomitable force of iron will. He stood dressed in sinister robes of deepest ebony, a crown of sorcerous gems upon his skull-like head. Laria shrank as he seemed to penetrate her with his eyes. His sneering smile widened as the skeletal warriors dragged her into his dominating presence.

“The hour of Xulthar’s restoration is nearly at hand!” the Dark King bellowed. “Bind the sacrifice!”

“Bind the sacrifice,” the skeletal warriors repeated with one voice, sending chills of terror down Laria’s spine. She tried one last time to break away from their iron grasp, but the mindless hands ignored her ineffectual struggles, methodically ripping off her garments until she was utterly naked. Against her will, they pulled her onto the stone platform and wrapped strong cords around her wrists and ankles, lashing her to the sorcerous altar.

Laria was powerless against the evil forces gathered around her. She panted and arched her back with all her strength, but it was no use: she could not break free of her bonds. A smile of cruel intent crossed the Dark King’s countenance as he came closer, looming above her.

“Is everything prepared?”

A shadowy cloud of smoke obscured her vision as the priest examined her from head to toe. He placed a cold and clammy hand on her forehead, his nails like uncanny claws, then ran his fingers along her side, making her shiver.

“Everything is prepared,” the priest answered. “Her soul remains untainted.” His voice was nearly as mindless as that of the other undead minions the Dark King commanded. Laria stared wide-eyed at the thing that had once been a man, remembering the counsel he had given her and Roderick in this very chamber, but the light of his own will had nearly gone out of his eyes, and he was fully possessed by the Dark King now.

“At long last,” the Dark King gloated, his exultant voice dripping with icy malice, “the dawn of my immortal reign has come! Centuries have I waited for the time when my soul would no longer be bound to these crumbling ruins. With the imminent slaughter of this last and final sacrifice—this soul untainted by money or coin—my power will fill the whole Earth, and all of the nations touched by the coin of Xulthar shall be mine!”

The coin! Laria realized too late, remembering the fallen god Zonthar and his gift which she had shunned. If only she had accepted it, instead of casting it into the desert sands, the Dark King would now be deprived of his precious sacrifice, and his plans would all be thwarted. But now was the Dark King’s hour.

“Help!” Laria screamed, glancing frantically every which way. “Roderick! Save me!”

“Your foolish companion will not save you,” the Dark King taunted her. “But it shall give me great pleasure to enslave his will to mine when he comes to try. What form shall I change him into? A wolf? A bear?”

Laria gazed up at the Dark King in horror and anguish, but as his mocking laughter filled the chamber, her mind began to clear. She suddenly remembered how the priest of the black altar had urged them to sever the heart of Xulthar. Now, as she stared up at the Dark King, she understood what he had been trying to tell them, for the gem that was set in the center of his crown shone with crimson light and pulsated with sorcerous energy, almost like a living thing.

“Roderick!” she shouted. “The Heart of Xulthar—it’s here!”

“Silence!” screeched the Dark King, his mocking turning to malice. He lifted his arm, and with a flick of his wrist, a wave of evil sorcery rippled over Laria’s bare skin.

The effect was immediate. Laria’s spirit was torn from her flesh, her form suddenly as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. She stared down at her body, lying prone and unconscious on the black altar. The thread that tied her soul to her flesh was so thin that she feared a gust of wind could blow her into non-existence, like the touch of the dawn’s first unrelenting rays upon a desert cloud.

In that moment, a swirling black abyss opened and pulled at her spirit, threatening to swallow her whole. She tried desperately to pull away, to return to her body now lying below her, but the Dark King’s power was too great, and she fell into the Void.

Laria

When Laria came to herself, she was floating through formless mist. She was alive, but still separated from her body, in a world that had a certain dreamlike quality to it, as if time and space were as fleeting and formless as clouds on the wind.

She looked down and saw what appeared to be a dark and misty canyon. A pale ribbon of a river wound its way through a chaotic course of rapids, and the canyon walls climbed ever higher, shrouding the river in shadow. The churning of the water was the only sound.

She floated over the canyon until the river widened, and waters began to run smooth. The roar of the rapids faded into the distance as she descended, her soul all but swallowed by the calm, unbroken mist.

For how long she drifted over the water’s surface, she could not tell. It could have merely been moments. It could have been a lifetime.

Bright pricks of light pulsed in the fog like light shining from lanterns. They glowed and brightened, seeming to come closer. The fog lifted, and Laria saw that each one belonged to a shrouded figure, their faces hidden by long, hooded robes. They seemed to float with the river, carried down the canyon by the current.

One by one, they began to pass by her, reaching out their hands in silent communication. Come, join us, they seemed to say. Fear and horror warred within her heart, but the moment she accepted their invitation, she drifted alongside them as if propelled by her own will.

“H-hello?” she called out tentatively. A few regarded her sadly, but their faces were as stone, their half-hidden features distant and cold.

Suddenly, Laria realized that she knew the name of the river. It was called Death, and flowed eternally without beginning or end, like a snake eating its own tail. How did she know its name? The memory came to her as if from another life, one which she had forgotten at her birth.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying again. This time, one of them drew near to her.

“We are the forgotten of Xulthar, the ones caught under the Dark King’s sorcery. In life, we were citizens of Xulthar, rich and poor alike, but our names have been stolen from us, and we have forgotten who we were.”

“Who you were?” Laria asked, confused. “Don’t you mean, who you are?”

“Nay,” the shrouded figure told her. “The Dark King stole our bodies, stripping away our flesh and casting our spirits aside like old clothing. Because we are neither living nor dead, our souls are consigned to wander this river until our physical forms have been shattered.”

As Laria watched, the lantern of one of the distant figures suddenly went out, like a flickering candle extinguished by a gust of wind. The shrouded figure floated upward through the air, rising through the haze and fog.

“I am free!” he cried in manic exultation. “My chains have been shattered, and I go to the immortal realm!”

A point of light appeared above the fog, and he drifted toward it like a moth circling a flame. But as he drew nigh, his face suddenly twisted into a mask of agony, his mouth contorted in a silent scream. Just before he passed into the light, he howled a despairing cry that seemed to pierce all the shrouded figures along the river, causing them to shudder and shrink.

“What was that?” Laria asked, an awful sense of dread rising from deep within her.

“That was his freedom,” the figure solemnly answered. “His body was slain in the land of the living, freeing his spirit to enter his eternal reward.”

“His eternal reward?” she whispered.

“Yes,” another figure moaned in sorrow and woe. “The moment his eyes beheld the Immortal Realm, he remembered his name—and all of his manifold sins. They must have been many, to cause him so much anguish. Such is his eternal reward.”

“No,” argued another. “His soul was not ready to enter the Immortal Realm, and so he passed into another part of the Void.”

“We do not know what happens after we pass beyond,” the first one admitted to her. “All we know is that without our names, our souls are bound to this river, unable to continue on to the Immortal Realm.”

Laria’s spirit-eyes widened in shock. “What about your bodies? Can’t you return to them?”

“Nay, for the Dark King has stripped them of all their flesh. It is his power that now animates them, and if our spirits were to return, our bodies would crumble and perish.”

“Which would be far preferable to wandering this damnable river for eternity,” the second figure added in a sullen tone. Laria sensed that he had been a man of action in life, and was ill-suited to this hellish limbo between worlds.

“Is there nothing we can do?” she asked.

“No,” the first figure said sadly. “When Xulthar was destroyed, our souls were bound eternally to this river. Until the Dark King is slain and his power over our bodies is shattered, there is nothing we can do.”

Laria’s heart sank at the shrouded figure’s somber words. But then, she remembered that she carried no lantern and wore no dark robes.

“What about me?” she asked. “Is there nothing that I can do?”

Her shrouded guide paused for a long time to consider. “For us, death is our only release. But for you, there may be a way. How did you come to be here?”

“The Dark King plans to use me as a human sacrifice,” she told him. “My body is tied to the altar in his temple. When the stars are aligned, he will slay me to complete his spell.”

“And consign your spirit to wander the river with us, no doubt,” said the figure, nodding sadly. “But until such time as that, I see no reason why your spirit cannot return.”

“But how?” Laria asked desperately. “How can my spirit return to my body? How?”

The figure shrugged and began to drift away. In alarm, Laria realized that all of the spirits were departing from her.

“We do not know,” her one-time guide admitted to her. “Farewell, my friend. May you ultimately find the eternal peace of the Immortal Realm.”

“Wait!”

But time and space shifted, leaving Laria all alone. She tried to run after them, but her limbs were nearly frozen, as if she were caught in a dream where she was unable to move of her own accord.

The mists were now impenetrable. No matter which way she turned, she found only more of the thickening fog. In desperation, she cried out, knowing that she had to find a way back to the temple of Xulthar before the Dark King completed his sacrifice. But how?

As soon as that thought entered into her mind, her spirit feet felt as if they touched solid ground. She took a tentative step, and the dreamlike quality of the Void faded as well, unbinding her limbs and leaving her free to move as she willed.

She saw that she was in a dark forest, on a straight and narrow path that extended only a few steps before her before it was shrouded in darkness. Though the mists had released her, they had not receded far, and she sensed that if she forgot her purpose or failed to exercise her will, the mists would swiftly swallow her again.

Her will—her free will. That, she realized, was the key in this realm between life and whatever lay beyond.

Suddenly, she heard a voice calling for her. It was an older man, distant and yet familiar. The kind words of her first slave master echoed in the air.

“Come back, little child,” he called to her gently. “We need you.”

Laria’s heart leaped, and without a second thought, she left the path and ran after him. But as she drew closer, the same feeling of helplessness began to overcome her, and she realized that she had made a terrible mistake.

Just then, a creature with glowing red eyes stepped out of the shadows, charging her with venomous fangs bared. Laria screamed and ran back through the swirling fog, until she stumbled breathlessly back onto the path. The creature watched her from the shadows, his red eyes tracing her every move, but it did not challenge her.

Willing herself forward, she took another step, but an overwhelming chorus of voices soon met her ears.

“Come here, slave girl!”

“Come to me, you little wench!”

“Here, my pretty little slave!”

“What’s wrong? Would I ever hurt you?!”

Laria trembled in fear and indecision. The voices belonged to all of her prior masters. The ones who had been cruel were easy to ignore, but those who had been fair to her were much harder, for a part of her still yearned to be a slave. The benevolent and kind ones were the hardest to resist, and it was all she could do not to run and leave the path.

But then, she remembered the beast who had just attacked her. These voices were all an illusion—or if they were real, her masters were all monsters now, eager to consume her.

Ignoring the temptation to return to the life of a slave, she followed the path through the mists and forest of darkness until time and space shifted once again. This time, she emerged over the ruins of Xulthar, that city of dark and sorcerous power that had fallen in a single day. She looked down upon the crumbling ruins and realized that this was the city as it really was—she had returned to the land of the living. And yet, as a spirit touched by the Void, she could see beyond the mere physical reality to the underlying powers beneath.

What she saw filled her with fear and fascination.

Deep, unearthly shadows wandered the dusty streets under the full light of day. Strange eldritch lights from before the city’s founding shimmered within the forgotten depths of the catacombs. But what fascinated her most were the dark and sorcerous energies that possessed the ruins themselves. Invisible to mortal eyes, it seemed as though some powerful presence flowed through the empty fountains and the abandoned homes.

Fearful yet curious, Laria followed those energies, drifting like a ghost on the dusty wind. She saw the temple, with the Dark King and his minions crowded around the black altar. She even saw her own body lashed to its black marble surface. But to her surprise, the source of the city’s power was not to be found there.

She drifted away from the central domed chamber. The deeper she went within the temple’s antechambers, the stronger the sorcery became, until she felt it throbbing and pulsating all around her. Through a thick stone wall, her spirit now plunged, until at last she beheld it—the riches of Xulthar!

Gold and jewels beyond every description filled the chamber from wall to wall. Coins minted by magic and cursed with dark sorcery issued out of a shimmering fountain, spreading from the very heart of the fallen city throughout the entire world. Looking upon them, Laria realized that the riches of Xulthar were the true source of the city’s evil power. Before them, the Dark King and all his minions were naught but slaves themselves.

But what could she do? So long as her spirit was sundered from her body, she was helpless. And soon, her sacrifice would seal Xulthar’s terrible restoration, not as a city of wonder and glory, but an eldritch abomination of undead horror. What could she do? What could she do?

As if in answer, she felt a familiar soul enter the temple from below. She flew through brick and stone until finally entered the crypt, and when she saw him, her soul leaped with hope. It was Roderick, his eyes blazing with determination as he rose to his feet and picked up his sword.

<< Chapter 6 << The Riches of Xulthar >> Chapter 8 >>

Roderick

At long last, they arrived at the fabled city of Xulthar.

The ruins first appeared like a mirage against the blazing desert sun. As they drew near, however, the shimmering image became solid, and the grandeur of the city became impossible to deny.

Roderick stared warily at the towering city walls, the ancient, weathered stones standing as a testament to the city’s forgotten might. Portions of the wall had fallen into rubble, but the nearest gate was still intact, the massive arch standing open like a portal to some mythic realm. Through it stretched a wide avenue lined on either side by a colonnade of marble pillars, each more than thrice the height of a man and intricately carved.

“So this is Xulthar,” Laria whispered, her soft voice mingling with the forlorn whistling of the wind.

“Yes,” said Roderick as he eyed the massive gate. “We must be cautious.”

He dismounted and drew his sword, as if daring the evil forces within the fallen city to come out and challange him. None did. The ruins were as silent and empty as weathered bones. If any fell beast or eldritch creature lurked within, they did not haunt the outer gates.

Laria dismounted behind him, and together they passed through the gate and into the city. The footsteps of their camel echoed on the dusty cobblestones. On the other side of the wall, they found a well with a large stone trough for watering animals, and using some rope and their waterskins, they were able to draw some for themselves and their thirsty mount.

“Please, Master Roderick,” Laria urged. “I can draw the water.”

“Both of us can,” he answered gruffly, ignoring her protestations.

Even working together, it took nearly an hour before their camel’s thirst was fully sated. Leaving the dumb beast tied to a stunted tree near the well, they began their explorations deeper into the once-great city.

All around them, the ruins lay as testaments to the ravages of time and the brutality of the desert.

Laria clung to Roderick’s arm. “It’s magnificent,” she whispered. “But it’s also so haunting.”

Roderick nodded. “Aye, that it is. Take my dagger and get behind me. Who knows what dark sorcery we’ll find in this place?”

Her eyes wide with fear, she took the proffered dagger and obeyed, staying so close behind him that she practically walked on his heels. He considered leaving her back with the camel, but he didn’t want them to become separated–not in a place like this.

As they ventured deeper into the city, they came to a massive central plaza, now desolate and partially covered in sand. Roderick imagined he could hear the echoes of merchants from every corner of the world hawking their exotic wares. Or was it his imagination? Their voices seemed to whisper on the wind, as if the ghosts of the city’s long-departed glory were still present, even now.

Laria shivered in spite of the hot sun. “Master, do you feel that? This place is haunted by an otherworldly presence.”

“The curse of the coin of Xulthar,” Roderick muttered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

“What do mean?”

“This place was once the center of trade and commerce for the known world,” he told her. “Now, it is haunted by the same sorcerous evil that has cursed all the coinage minted in this place.”

“The same curse that brought about the downfall of your family house?”

“Aye.”

Laria paused. “I do not know much about coinage or money, Master Roderick. I have never owned any in my life. But this place… it feels evil to me.”

*

Roderick nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. “You sense it well, Laria. The curse of Xulthar is a dark magic that possesses its treasure, and all who use it. Those who bear the cursed coinage will eventually become corrupted and consumed by its power.”

Laria’s eyes widened in fear. “And you think this curse starts here?”

“Yes,” Roderick confirmed. “The coin of Xulthar was minted here, and this was once its epicenter. The dark magic seeped into the very stones of this city, corrupting everything it touches. That’s why we must be careful.”

Laria tensed, her grip on Roderick’s arm like a vice. A dust-devil swirled through the plaza ahead, and he watched it warily, ever on the lookout for danger. The plaza lay still beneath their feet–not a soul in sight–but something seemed to lurk in the shadows just beyond his vision.

The sun beat down upon the stones of the plaza, baking them in its merciless heat. Up ahead, Roderick could make out a massive stone structure looming at the far end–a temple of such size that it seemed as if it had been hewn from the very heart of the mountain itself.

The pair advanced steadily but cautiously towards the temple, their sharp eyes scanning for any sign of ambush or hidden danger. But there was nothing but silence surrounding them apart from the clack of their footsteps echoing off the temple walls. Every step they took drew them closer to whatever destination awaited them inside.

Somehow, Roderick knew that this was the final destination of his quest. For good or for ill, his fate would be decided here.

The two crossed the square quickly but cautiously, their every sense alert for any sign of an ambush or some other danger. But there was no sound apart from their own footsteps echoing off the stones.

Laria suddenly stopped, and Roderick paused and turned towards her. “Are you alright?”

Laria shook her head, her breathing ragged. “I feel like we’re being watched,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the plaza.

Roderick’s hand went to his sword hilt, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. “Stay behind me,” he said, edging closer to the temple’s entrance.

As they neared the massive stone doors, they saw that they had been left slightly ajar. Roderick pushed them open, his sword at the ready, and stepped inside.

At first, the interior of the temple was shrouded in darkness, but as their eyes adjusted, they saw that it was empty. The only sound was their own breathing amplified in what seemed like an echo chamber for centuries-old whispers that refused to die away completely.

Roderick’s steps faltered, and he stopped in his tracks. The musty air was heavy with tension and anticipation; he could feel the weight of both his hope and dread pressing down on his shoulders. Through sheer willpower, he forced himself to take another step forward. His heart thrummed in his chest as he advanced through the cave, the echoes of his own footsteps thunderous in his ears. He wanted – needed – to find some kind of answer that would break the curse which had brought his family to ruin.

Keeping that thought in the forefront of his mind, he pressed onward, steeling himself for whatever fate awaited him inside the cursed temple.

Laria

Laria shuddered under the oppressive weight of the darkness inside the temple. The eerie, prickling sensation of dark sorcery which she’d felt out in the plaza was ten times worse in here. With each muffled footstep on the dusty stone floor, she felt as if they were walking into the jaws of a trap.

In the center of the temple, beneath an enormous dome, stood a massive altar hewn from a solid block of black marble. A sense of dread came over Laria as they approached it. She could feel the presence of something dark and malevolent here, a force that had lain dormant for centuries.

“We shouldn’t be here, Master Roderick,” she said, frightened. “Please, let us–“

Suddenly, the chamber shook with a violent tremor. Laria gasped in fright, and Roderick drew his sword as a monstrous creature emerged from the shadows between the cloisters. Its form changed and shifted, sometimes appearing as a man.

“Get back!” Roderick told Laria, putting himself between her and the monster.

But the monster did not charge. Instead, it moved calmly in front of the sorcerous black altar, as if to shield it from them–or perhaps to shield them from it.

“Leave this place, mortals,” the shapeshifting creature warned in a voice that rumbled throughout the temple. “Xulthar holds secrets long forgotten, dark and forbidden knowledge that should never be brought to light.”

Laria fell to the ground, clutching Roderick’s leg in terror. She had a premonition that this beast had once been a man.

“Ho, there!” Roderick called to it. “Are you friend or foe?”

The creature’s form shifted and solidified into something unmistakably human, confirming what Laria had sensed. His eyes gowed with an unearthly light as he spoke.

“I am the chief high priest who guards the black altar of the ancient city of Xulthar,” he boomed. “Many have I thwarted who sought to unlock its powers. Is that what you seek? The dark and ancient magic that made the name of Xulthar feared throughout the world?”

“No,” Roderick said quickly. “I seek not for power, but to pull it down.”

The beast paused, and his human form solidified. “That is well,” he said, his voice softening. “Xulthar was once a city of great power. But its rulers delved into forbidden arts, seeking to unlock the secrets of the gods themselves. Their arrogance led to their downfall.”

The creature began to pace, his shadowy form flickering with spectral energy.

“The priests of Xulthar unleashed a calamity that laid waste to the city,” he continued. “In pursuit of immortality, the last king of Xulthar sacrificed thousands of human souls upon this altar, unleashing dark powers that slew the remaining inhabitants in a single day. Their forms were twisted by dark sorcery, turning them into mindless, undead slaves.”

“Did the king achieve immortality?” Roderick asked.

The priest nodded. “Indeed he has–but only within Xulthar’s walls. The city is now cursed, its very foundations infused with dark energy. But through the coin of Xulthar, the Dark King’s power and influence has spread throughout the world, enticing men with promises of power and manipulating the course of nations from afar.”

Roderick’s eyes grew wide. “The accursed coin of Xulthar! My father lost everything for revealing that the coin was cursed!”

“Indeed,” replied the malevolent priest in an uncanny voice.

Laria, sensing danger, clung to Roderick for protection. “What does this Dark King seek?” she asked.

“To enslave the world,” the priest answered darkly. “And to release himself from the bond that chains his immortal form to Xulthar. And now, the stars have nearly aligned for one last sacrifice upon this altar.”

“One last sacrifice?” Laria asked nervously.

“Yes. All that is needed for the Dark King to complete his spell is to sacrifice a soul that is pure and uncorrupted by money or coin. Then his immortality will transcend Xulthar’s borders, and his evil reign will be unleashed upon the world.”

Lari gasped as the priest’s glowing eyes pierced her. “One pure and uncorrupted by money or coin?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“Yes,” the priest said sadly. “One such as yourself.”

A wave of cold dread swept over Laria. She felt a strange sense of disconnection from the other people in the room–it was as if she stood apart, an outsider looking in. She began to piece together why her captors had sought her out: her soul was indeed uncorrupted by wealth or power, for she had never owned anything in her life as a slave–not even herself. Her gaze darted to Roderick, silently pleading not to let her fall into the clutches of this great evil.

“We have to stop him,” Roderick said, his jaw set. “But we need to know more about this curse and how to break it. Can you help us, priest?”

“Nay,” said the priest, “for my will is bound to the Dark King’s, and I cannot so much as lift a finger against him. Even now, my mind and body strain against what I must ask of you.”

As if in response, his form shifted and contorted, revealing the grotesque, inhuman monster beneath. Laria felt a shiver run down her spine as she looked upon the twisted flesh and bone of the cursed priest.

“But there must be something we can do,” Roderick insisted, his hand on his sword hilt. “Some way to break the curse?”

“There is,” the priest said, his voice strained. “And if you succeed, then my soul shall be released from this accursed temple, and I shall be free to depart this mortal realm.”

“What must we do?” Laria asked, her eyes wide with terror.

The priest groaned, and the smokey tendrils of his ever-shifting form rose nearly to the cupola of the dome. “You must… you must… sever the Heart of Xulthar from the Dark King’s crown!”

The monster who had once been a man screamed in unholy pain, and the walls of the temple shook with fearful fury. “He knows!” the priest howled. “My will… the Dark King… he knows you are here!“

Laria shrieked in fright as the monster shifted and grew. Roderick grabbed her hand.

“Come on!” shouted Roderick. “We have to get out of here!”

Laria needed no urging. Together they ran past the ancient pillars that lined the hall all the way to the entrance. But just as they were about to reach it, the stone doors slammed shut with a loud crash.

Roderick and Laria stared in shock at the closed door that blocked their way out. Before they had a chance to react, the air about them began to ripple with dark energy. Suddenly, a deep, cold voice echoed throughout the temple chamber.

“So, Roderick, you have come to try your luck against me,” it boomed. “You are foolish indeed–just like your father.”

The Dark King stepped out of the shadows, his eyes blazing with bitter mirth. Laria gasped in terror as he turned those eyes on her.

“And you!” he said, the leathery skin of his skull-like face pulled back into an ugly sneer. “My pretty little sacrifice, a soul oh so pure. Like a lamb to the slaughter, your beloved knight has brought you to me!”

“Stand back!” shouted Roderick, placing himself between the Dark King and Laria as he drew his sword. But the Dark King only laughed.

“So brave,” he said in a cruel voice. “But alas, this is no mere mortal you face. I have mastered powers beyond your comprehension!”

Suddenly, the dust of the temple stirred and began to form strange shapes in the air. Out of thin air, skeletal warriors rose up from the dust and took their places around Roderick and Laria.

The Dark King raised his hand and pointed at them with a twisted, deformed finger. “Kill him,” he commanded, his voice dripping with malice. “But bring her to me alive.”

Roderick did not hesitate–he lunged forward, his broadsword slicing through the air with a fierce determination as he fought off wave after wave of undead monstrosities.

But it seemed that no matter how many creatures Roderick felled, more would take their place–and still, more coming in an endless stream of horror from within the bowels of this cursed temple. Slowly but surely, Roderick was forced backwards towards the wall by sheer numbers alone. His chest heaved with exertion and beads of sweat dripped down his brow as he fought on relentlessly, even as hope began to fade from his eyes.

Laria soon saw that there was no escape–no chance at victory against such overwhelming odds.

“Roderick!” she shouted, urging him to fall back behind the pillars while she searched desperately for some avenue of escape. But the only other way out beside the entrance were the stairs leading down to the crypt.

The crypt! Laria suddenly remembered her time as a slave in the city, when her first master had sometimes sent her to help wash the Great Temple’s floors. Where there was a crypt, there were sometimes catacombs–and surely a city as vast and ancient as Xulthar must also have an equally vast and ancient maze of catacomb tunnels running beneath.

“This way!” she shouted, pointing to the stairs that led down to the crypt. “We can escape through here!”

Roderick hesitated only briefly. With a final burst of energy, he swung his sword in a wide arc, taking out at least half a dozen skeletal warriors in one fell swoop. As the other undead creatures fell back, Laria grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Together, they stumbled down the stairs and shut the door to the crypt behind them.

The Dark King’s maniacal laughter reverberated throughout the crypt as Roderick and Laria made their escape into the catacombs. With a shared breath of trepidation, they clung to each other tightly before venturing forward, into the musty catacombs.

“We must keep going,” Roderick murmured grimly, his hand grasping Laria’s tightly, “no matter what horror waits for us.”

Roderick

The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and the darkness seemed to claw at Roderick’s very soul. He knew that each step might lead them into a trap, but the inhuman screeching of their pursuers drove him and Laria forward, like rats fleeing a pack of dogs.

Fortunately, the deeper into the tunnels they ventured, the more their enemy was forced to spread out. If he was forced to turn and fight, at least he would not have to face the entire horde. Perhaps he could even defeat them in detail. But what unknown horrors lurked in the forgotten depths of these cursed catacombs?

Lights glowed around the next corner. He and Laria approached it cautiously, and saw that it came from some sort of magically infused gemstone, doubtless meant to lighten the underground paths. Instead, their eerie glow only served to deepen the shadows all around them.

“This place is evil,” Laria whispered behind him.

Roderick was inclined to agree, but they had no choice. With sword in hand, he stole quietly through the tunnels, trying not to awaken whatever fell creatures lurked in their depths. Trembling with fear, Laria followed close behind.

The tunnels had a winding, maze-like quality to them, and by moving swiftly they soon left the sounds of pursuit far behind. In the eerie calm that followed, Roderick’s thoughts dwelt on the words of the eldritch priest who guarded the black altar. There was no doubt in his mind that this Dark King was the one responsible for his family’s fall. But it would not be enough to defeat him, here in these accursed ruins so far from his family’s lands. No–to truly right the wrongs he had endured, he would seize this Dark King’s riches and use them to restore his name, position, and honor. After he defeated him, of course.

No sooner had the thought entered his heart than the gemstone lights began to pulsate and throb.

“Master Roderick!” Laria gasped. “The lights–“

“I see them,” he muttered, guiding her by the hand. The air suddenly became heavy with the musty scent of decay, and the darkness seemed to close around them like a living thing. He could hear the faint echo of footsteps as they ran, and he was not sure if it was theirs or someone else’s.

Up ahead, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be sunlight, shining down through a distant shaft. His heart leaped with hope.

“This way!” he said, urging Laria forward. “The way out can’t be far. We–“

Without warning, three undead skeletal warriors leaped out in front of them, their hollow eye sockets glowing with malevolent energy. Roderick slashed downward with his blade, shattering the scull of the first and causing its body to collapse into a heap of bones. With a mighty shout, he lunged before the other two could circle around, forcing them back. He moved with the skill and ferocity of a seasoned veteran, his muscles rippling with each swing of his sword.

“Roderick!” Laria suddenly called out from behind him.

He turned and saw three more of the undead creatures emerging from the tunnels in their rear. Laria screamed and kicked at them in a vain attempt to fend them off, but they grabbed her by her waist and lifted her off of her feet.

“Laria!” Roderick bellowed, his heart surging with rage. He hurried back to save her, but three more undead warriors emerged from the shadows between them. Though he hacked them all to pieces, his sword shattering bone and slicing through rotten sinew, the undead abominations carried Laria off faster than he could reach her.

Still, he fought with the fury of a cornered beast, his eyes ablaze with determination. As more of the skeletal warriors seemed to materialize out of the darkness itself, he roared and carved a path through them, his battle cries echoing through the catacombs.

At some silent command from their master, the warriors began to disperse. With dismay, Roderick realized that the Dark King’s sacrifice had already been procured, and there was no need for him to waste more of his minions when Laria was already in his hands. Instead, he seemed content to abandon Roderick to the horrors of the catacombs.

Even so, Roderick pressed forward, trying to retrace his steps back to the temple. As he rounded the next corner, a monsterous creature reared up in front of him, its form twisted and grotesque. Its eyes glowed red as it lunged at Roderick with its razor-sharp claws.

Roderick lifted his sword just in time to deflect the beast’s attack. He tried to parry into a riposte, but the creature was so quick and savage that the fight soon devolved into a contest of brute strength rather than of form. Roderick could barely hold his own against the onslaught, but he was a seasoned warrior, and he fought with the ferocity of a wounded lion.

“For father!” he shouted as his sword leaved through the beast’s leathery hide, splattering dark blood across the catacomb floor. The monster howled in pain and retreated to the shadows, leaving the way forward clear.

But the struggle was far from over. As Roderick pressed forward through the maze of tunnls, he encountered other fell beasts, each more fearsome than the last. They came at him from all sides, claws slashing and teeth gnashing like unspeakable horrors from out of the depths of hell.

Roderick’s sword flashed in the pulsating light of the gemstones as he hacked and slashed, his blade a blur of of steel. Pushed to the brink of exhaustion, he fought for his life now, muscles burning with fatigue as deep cuts criss-crossed his body. But he refused to falter, driven by the imperative to reach the Dark King who now held Laria captive.

His strength almost entirely spent, he stopped trying to defeat the creatures and instead focused all his effort on pressing his way through. Up ahead, he saw the doorway that connected the crypt of the temple to the underground catacombs. He made a mad dash for it, ignoring the talons that clawed at his armor and grasped for his feet.

He stumbled over the threshold and collapsed on the cold stone floor, but the beasts of the catacombs did not pursue him. Instead, they snarled and hissed at him from the tunnels, held back by some unknown sorcery that kept them bound to the hellish depths beneath the city.

Roderick struggled to catch his breath, bleeding from a hundred cuts and wounds. None of them were too serious, though, and he soon recovered strength enough to stand. His armor now hung in useless tatters, but he was still alive, and still in fighting shape. He rested only a few more moments before dashing up the stairs to the black altar, where Laria was now doubtlessly bound.