The Cult of the Cheerful Necromancers
OR
The Many Ways We Almost Died
A collection of journal entries found on the body of a changeling who died following several unsuccessful attempts at rehabilitation in the Asylum for the Insane of Osia. This collection was curated by asylum staff, and no accurate attribution may be made.
THE DINNER WITH NO PARTYIt was a gloomy morning. The group was just rousing from the previous day's exhausting work in the local fighting pits. Moira, the erstwhile ingenue oracle who joined the group just before their first excursion into the arena, had almost died in the fighting. She was the last to join up with the group back at the tavern, wandering in with a small, spectral owl on her shoulder having spent the night with the guild master of the Silver Mantle inscribing ever more knowledge into her Book of Secrets.
Upon arriving, she overheard Lucian and Thomas discussing a unique invitation that had come into their possession only recently. It seemed to indicate an upcoming dinner party hosted by an aristocrat named Arian Alvidin, and some work involving adventuring. Ever keen to undertake a lucrative venture, Thomas was making up costumes and finery for the group after only mild verbal abuse shared among the fraternal travelers. Moira and Garid, her new familiar, listened and observed, trying to get a better understanding of her new companions.
Lucian was insistent upon bringing his god-touched sword, Heaven's Bane, despite the invitation appearing to forbid weapons of any kind. Thomas, a magic-wielding rogue of Elvish ancestry on his father's side, and eager to get on with it, finally offered to disguise it as a walking cane. He then continued his costume work for the rest of the party.
After a few hours of work for Thomas, and a breakfast of dark beer and slightly stale bread for the rest of them, the party was ready to travel in style. Everything Thomas made for them fit perfectly. They couldn't help but strut when they saw each other and their own reflections. There was a bit of an impromptu fashion show in the crowded tavern. Suddenly, somehow, the prospect of wandering into a dangerous castle with a mysterious overlord administering adventures and bounties seemed more whimsical than worrisome.
Offering his arm to Moira, Lucian led the group out of the tavern, down a few jutting alleyways, and onto the main promenade where he negotiated a carriage ride for four. The dark, lacquered carriage was drawn by two beautiful brown mares. It had black painted wooden lattices across the windows that resembled wrought iron, and behind the lattice were intricate lace depicting climbing vines. It was, however, driven by a veritable urchin with a terribly low accent and the unnerving habit of maintaining eye contact as he periodically spit out the excess juice from his chewing tobacco. Without much chit-chat, he corralled them into the carriage and drove them out of the city, up the hill and onto the estate of the eccentric collector who penned the mysterious invitation.
By the time the manor was on the horizon, the gloomy morning had dissolved into a dismal, rainy afternoon. Peels of thunder periodically roused the crowded group which only fit into the carriage after Nut, the druid in the group, agreed to ride as a ferret. By the time they arrived, dampened by the weather, they all carried the slightly nauseating stench of wet rodent with them. Even the driver winced at the odor emanating from the group while they disembarked. Trying to get away from the stink as quickly as possible, he didn't even wait for a tip – which he customarily would have done with a group wearing such expensive looking clothes. But even for a lad raised in the streets, some smells were just too much. He was back atop the carriage and cracking his whip before the party had a chance to walk up to the guardhouse at the outer wall of the looming estate.
Nut hopped down from Thomas' shoulder and changed back into his human form over the course of a few steps, growing larger with each, and rising to become bipedal. With a final, very ferret-ish, shake to remove fur from his clothing, Nut was in stride with the group and approaching the small guardhouse.
Buffeted by the wind and rain, and distracted by a crack of lightning that split the sky perhaps a little too close to the manor, the guards didn't notice the rogue amongst them. Thomas had gone ahead of the group to survey the potential trap they were all about to enter and lurked lonesome in the shadows. As soon as the guards were blinded by a second shot of white-hot light across the sky, Thomas was past them and well on his way inside the estate proper.
Lucian confidently approached the guards followed by Moira, Nut, and Ferp, a goblin who was as much a part of the party as any of them-at least according to Lucian and his magical, um, walking cane. The guards, noticeably equipped with unused steal, accepted the invitations from the attractive couple and the druid. They exchanged a questioning glance before both of their gazes settled on the short, green goblin who, it should be pointed out, was at this time smiling amiably up at them.
"A close family friend."
Ferp nodded at Moira who placed her hand on his little shoulder while looking at the guards without blinking.
"Indubitably," echoed Lucian who was, at least from the guard's perspective, a particularly stout looking fellow with an oddly wrought steel cane.
One of them opened his mouth to speak but instead paused, squinted, and stood aside, ignoring the imbecilic attempts at small talk Lucian insisted upon making as Moira tugged him through the portico.
Handing over the intercepted invitations, they finally imposed their way into the courtyard of the estate where another guard was waiting to lead them to the dining hall. It was no hall at all, but rather a separate building equipped with its own guard house, stable, kitchen, and guest rooms all elaborately worked over with decorative etchings in the granite façade that covered the entire hall. The panels of the façade depicted scene after scene of battles, discovery, and great games. Clearly, this Arian fellow did not engage in mediocrity.
Thomas, having stalked his way through the shadows, was waiting for the rest of the party. Thomas had a distinctly sinister look in his eyes as he inspected the shocked guard leading the party, but merely said, "What took you guys so long?"
"We don't have your, uh… charisma…" muttered Lucian, interrupting the ambush.
"How did you get so far ahead of us?" Moira chimed in helpfully.
Moira had decided the guard wasn't catching on quickly enough and was about to say something else when Lucian poked her ribs with his elbow rather forcefully. She shot him a searing glance only to be rebuffed by his own placid demeanor. He wanted as little talk as possible, at least when he wasn't the one talking, wanting to be nearer to the wine as quickly as he could get there. Lucian drank when he was unsettled and there was nothing settling about this situation.
"Oh, I have… friends," said Thomas, unconvincingly while indicating the approaching group.
Clearly disinterested in the strange quipping of the new attendees, the guard escorting the group backed away from them, slightly shaking his head, "Yes, please enter. Alfred will lead you to your table and all that…" With a quick about-face, the guard was headed back to the main gate, hopefully, to be dismissed for the evening or at the very least to return with a far less interesting group.
Turning away from the retreating escort, the party saw who must have been Alfred standing at the doorway between two guards who were far more advanced than others in the mastery of the menacing stare. They were silent in their sentry, thumbs hanging from the short swords hung on each hip.
The finely dressed butler between them was advanced in years, his hairline just past his ears. The remaining splash of hair along his nape, as well as his short mustache, was white. He was wizened, but the few age spots on his hands and face spoke to his life of interior service.
"Hello," said the butler who must have been Alfred.
"Table for five," beamed Lucian offering his arm to Moira, who declined it, remembering his most recent ministrations to her ribs.
"You must be the adventuring group Master Alvidin spoke of? Yes?" To his credit, Alfred took in the motley collection of characters without a single thought passing visibly over his face. Even as he paused, for just a second, to take in the short, grinning goblin, he betrayed no signs of revile.
"But of course," intoned Lucian in a poor attempt at some foreign accent which sounded like it had far too many vowels and not nearly enough consonants. The rest of the group, including Alfred, stared at him deadpan.
"Hey Alfred, how are you?" Thomas stepped up beside Lucian and Moira. Lucian inclined his head inquisitively at Thomas.
"Lovely, Sir, and yourself?" Alfred finished a calculation in his mind and announced with a subtle bow, "My apologies. I thought there were to be four of you. I will need to have another chair fetched. One moment, please." Another quick bow and Alfred turned and entered the hall. For a moment, the party was bathed in the warmth and light pouring out of the expansive dining room within. They could suddenly hear laughter, chairs scraping floorboards, spilling wine, curses. These were some very thick doors to have kept all that inside.
Lucian was still tilting his head at Thomas, who replied, "I know every butler. Good people to get information from." Without the time to inquire further, Lucian turned to Alfred, who was now returning to the group from within, having directed a boy of around fifteen with teeth too large for his face to retrieve the extra chair. He blushed furiously as he brushed past one of the beer maids.
"Please, follow me, and I will seat you."
As they followed Alfred into the center of the dining room, each of them stared at another of the groups of interesting guests scattered about the many tables. Lucian was staring, almost proudly, at a Dwarf at the far end of the hall. He had rusty hair with streaks of silver around his face and braided into his beard. He wore a modest doublet which was, at the moment, serving as a depository for the meaded saliva dripping from its unconscious wearer.
Nut was watching a group of men to the right as they watched their friend at a far table trying to impress a young woman. Nut's nose kept twitching slightly and he had, at this point, wiped his hands off more times than was necessary.
Moira was doing her best to read body language, as the halfling man and woman at the table to their left weren't speaking any of the languages she knew. Aside from being a polyglot after years of research in the Temple of Oghma, some of the tongues she spoke were quite esoteric. It was strange that she couldn't understand a word they were saying. They kept her focus as she tried to see the table to which they were being led by Alfred. She muttered an arcane phrase and an iridescent owl appeared suddenly, perched in the rafters above the Halflings and looking as calm as if it had been there the whole time. It was a familiar animal. She had only just learned the spell the previous evening. It was supposed to transmit all it observed to her mind. Garid, as she called the owl, was instead watching a lovely elderly couple at a nearby table. The woman's hand trembled ever so slightly as she was trying to sip her mead and it spilled onto the table. And every time she did, the man's hand would dart out under her cup as she drank, covertly eliminating the evidence of her mortality with his handkerchief.
Thomas, who was trailing the group, had his eyes on a table which sat an Elven couple who appeared to be wealthy. Thomas met the eyes of the male elf and bowed his head slightly. The elf returned the gesture with curiosity. Thomas was half-elven himself and hoped perhaps these Elves might be able to enlighten him about his heritage.
Lucian was watching Ferp tug anxiously at his collar as he waddled at the center of the group. "Everything okay there little buddy?"
"Sure," said Ferp, doing his best to sound like he was enjoying himself.
"Not a fan of the suit, I take it?"
Ferp wanted to say it was no problem. He wanted to be just like the rest of the team. He wanted to be the least bothered by the new clothing and environment in the whole group. You could see his tenacious intent in his eyes as he furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. But he was a little goblin. And he came from a little goblin town. And this was just a little too much for him if there wasn't going to be any fighting to take the edge off his nerves. "It's new for Ferp," was the conversational concession he made, his head drooping slightly.
"Well you look good buddy," said Lucian, smiling at Ferp.
With this, the goblin's mood improved slightly. "Thanks, you too." It was only by a fraction, but Ferp's shoulders relaxed.
Having arrived at their assigned seating, the group stayed at the table just long enough to watch Alfred retreat to his post at the front door before a lavishly dressed man stood in the center of the room and boomed cheerfully, "Hello everyone! Thank you for coming. Dinner is being prepared. In the meantime, please feel free to mingle with each other!" He had rings on almost all his fingers. He had some strange embroidery on the collar of his jacket which was longer than it should have been and made of silk, and rather gave the impression of being a robe. Even his shoes looked more expensive than all the funds the group could muster. Yet he wore no weapons. This must be Arian Alvidin.
The group wasted no time mulling over his instructions. Each of them headed to a different table to investigate this new crowd. They dodged the small group of serving maids heading out of the kitchen, each carrying trays laden with drinks. Thankfully the shortest of the maids was also the deftest, as Lucian nearly smashed into her on his way to make small talk with the beautiful woman who had just sat at the otherwise empty table with the dwarf, apparently hoping for a moment of solitude. Her stare was withering as Lucian asked her about the weather, himself still dripping from the downpour. Ferp stared up at him blankly, hoping they would soon move on to another table.
Moira, used to working crowds to ply gold and secrets from strangers with her painted fortune cards, began friendly interrogations with the guards. She would ask them how they were. Then how work was. What do you do for fun around here? Got anyone special? Ever notice anything weird around here? Ever do anything courageous in this job? She was a natural performer and they each gave her tidbits, although none of it was particularly useful. They all seemed to actually enjoy working for Lord Arian. He seemed to be a generous master with an eccentric flair that managed to stay just-this-side of crazy.
Nut did not look happy to be at the party. He sat silent and withdrawn at the table opposite the sweet old couple. Their sense of smell had long since passed, which was not only a boon for their love life, but it was keeping them from detecting the gamey odor emanating from the strangely twitching young man with antlers who had joined them. It was probably also good that their eyesight had gone years before their senses of smell.
Thomas headed directly toward the two Elves, who did not seem to notice him initially. Thomas made a slight bow and asked, cheerfully, "So, hello friends, how are you?"
"Hello, Stranger," intoned the Elven male, unimpressed with the attempt at companionship from this new, wet vagabond. As he surveyed Thomas from floor to brow, squinting, he continued. "I am Elodin Ahlromain," his tongue trilled with flourishes as he half-sang the Elven name, "Who might you be?"
"I am Thomas." He waited as they regarded him, unmoved. "I had an Elven family."
"Oh, yes?" Elodin's eyebrows were high on his tall face. "Any nobility I would know?"
"I'm not sure. They were separate from the rest of the Elves. They wanted to help everyone."
"Hmmm. Interesting," said Elodin, "what were their names? You've peaked my… curiosity."
"Well, the surviving one was called Stephan. Their leader was called Woundhealer."
"Hmmm… doesn't sound familiar."
"It shouldn't. They weren't High Nobility."
"I see," Elodin said with compassion. "Well," he said, turning the conversation, "How do you know Lord Alvidin?"
Thomas lied unflinchingly. "Oh, well he sent us an invitation for help."
"Oh, one of his adventuring projects, I'm sure." Elodin recoiled ever so slightly.
"Yes. Probably that." Thomas smirked. "May I ask where you are from?" Thomas gave a slight bow.
Elodin took a deep breath and grandly pontificated, "I am from Ylsera, the crown of the forest of the same name, to the West." This was no understatement. Ylsera was the capital city of the Ylseran Forest, and home to myriad elves. Thomas had heard tales of its grandeur, of the feckless nobility, of the starving poor in the alleys behind the grand promenades, the guards who allowed thugs to embezzle and extort. How the governors used the city walls as a guillotine, exiling any leaders who opposed them and thereby cutting off the head of any nascent uprisings. Thomas lied unflinchingly.
"Well, from what I know, it is wonderful. The Elves I lived with were from that forest."
"As long as they weren't from Laluna Forest, I'm sure they were grand."
"Yes, yes they were," Thomas said, in memory of his grand friends from Laluna Forest. "So, do you mind if I wait here?" Thomas flashed a roguish smile at the handsome married couple.
"Feel free," said Elodin, his gaze wandering past Thomas to rest on a beautiful woman sitting beside Lord Arian. Thomas sat, intrigued by the two Halflings at the adjacent table, eavesdropping on their conversation spoken entirely in whispered Infernal.
Having found no useful information from the rather handsome guardsmen inside the dining hall, Moira made her way back to investigate the trouble she suspected Lucian must be stirring. By the time she got there, she observed that he was no longer wooing the withering vixen but had instead also fixed his attention on the bored beauty sitting by their magnificent host.
If Arian spared no expense on his entertainment and adornments, it was nothing next to what he must spend on her wardrobe. Her gown shown as if wet from across the room. But as Moira approached, she noticed that it was woven gauze, beaded entirely with the tiniest gems and precious stones she had ever seen. It was sheer but not translucent, and it hugged her youthful body around the waist and thighs, rounded the shoulders in a high, open collar and flowed out from her knees in a small train.
"I see you planned to not be upstaged this evening," swaggered Lucian. How he had managed to drink so much, so fast, was a mystery to Moira. Not many things were mysteries to a former acolyte of the god of all knowledge. But there it was. His cup was empty by the time he sat next to the helpless girl, so he threw it back at the table with the slumbering Dwarf and took one of the cups from the new table and continued drinking.
"Aren't you the charmer," replied the young woman at the head table, smiling but not blushing.
"More like a conveyer of truths," said Lucian, slowly leaning closer and closer to the poor girl.
"Ah hello! I am Arian Alvidin, this is my lovely wife, Mary." Arian appeared to be as surprised as Moira at Lucian's current state, forgiving his forward behavior on sight, but grabbing his hand in a shake and re-adjusting his position on his chair, nonetheless.
"Lovely iz right," Lucian said with a sloppy grin, now facing the center of the table. Lucian had never seen Elven nobility before, and nobody had told him how close their eyebrows would be to the top of their foreheads.
Turning back, Lucian continued, "Hullo Aryan. Howaryew. I yam Lushen."
Moira couldn't figure out what Lucian must have drunk to get his speech so slurred. She almost wondered if someone had spiked his drink. She didn't know why she had this gnawing feeling that something was amiss with their host either. She had a unique relationship with… something. It wasn't a deity. It was just a voice that called to her from the void and guided her. It was the voice that helped her interpret her painted cards. And she felt like it wanted to tell her something, but she couldn't hear it in this crowded, new environment.
"I am well. I'm glad to see my invitations found you all." As he took his bride's hand, Lucien finally relented in his amorous entreaties.
Not realizing the story was already bought, Lucien leaned into the lie. "Yeah… I gessit wusn't too difcult. Bin mayken a name for ourselvzzz," he stammered with overt emphasis.
"Yes. Yes, yes! I've heard many a tale from your group. Quite impressive… Do tell me how you stole that emerald from the crimson dragon's lair. I've heard many variations and would love to hear the truth."
Lucian, looking around the room, and feeling the pressure from the newly inquisitive host, sobered up a bit rather quickly. Maybe he, too, was beginning to get the feeling that something wasn't right. "I figured this was going to be a black-tie affair, but looking around I see quite a bit of armor."
"Oh, yes," countered Arian with a smile, "guards are a must when you have things people want to take."
"Well, see that Elf over there?" Lucian was pointing at Thomas, who was leaned over with the Halflings. "He's quite the thief. He's the real reason we're so successful." Lucian nervously motioned Thomas over, hoping for some assistance in the ruse. Thomas waved back and continued his discussion with the Halflings.
"Ah… yes," Arian chimed with a dismissive tone.
"Thomas! A moment?!"
"Yes, Lucian?"
Thomas sauntered over with a wry smirk.
Lucian and Arian rose as introductions went around, and Thomas more than did his part in assisting Lucian in inflating the reputation of the team. They briefly recounted a recent fight at a local arena, greatly exaggerating their own roles and playing down how effective Moira and Nut had been. They explained that was when the group acquired the nom de guerre 'The Cult of the Cheerful Necromancers.' For the odd name, they gave the solitary druid sole credit.
"Yes, yes, let's sit down while we speak." Arian waved his hand over the wine glasses around and stared expectantly at Thomas. Thomas returned a blank, but friendly, smile. Ferp rolled his eyes.
"This gentleman would like to hear the tale about how you got the emerald from the crimson dragon's lair."
Thomas stared at Lucian. Ferp stared at Thomas. Moira took a seat in Lucian's former position at the Dwarf's table and leaned in to listen.
"Yes, yes, the truth gets so jumbled. I'd love to hear what really happened." Arian winked at Thomas.
"Oh, that?" Thomas paused, composing his thoughts as the Dwarf choked on his drool, coughed a spasm, then gently returned to quiet snoring. "Yeah, that was easy."
"Go on," continued Lucian, rather less than helpfully in Thomas' estimation, "tell 'em."
"Yes, yes, I must know."
"Well… I just… sorta," here, Thomas found his inspiration. "Wore this suit… it lets me go invisible. Wanna see?"
"Yes, yes! Please!" Arian was positively gleeful. "You wear this suit while stealthing around?"
"Well, yes. It lets me hide." And with this Thomas vanished, then re-appeared a step away from his seat.
"Magnificent! So, you go invisible while in the lair. Then what?"
This obviously wasn't going to be as simple as a vanishing trick. But Thomas was undeterred. And his confidence and wine were going to his head a bit now. "Then I stab any monsters! Killing them! Immediately!"
"The dragon had monsters in its lair?" Arian seemed baffled.
"Yes… as servants," Thomas intoned ominously.
"He must have been a smart beast to keep them there. But how did you get the emerald from around his neck?"
Moura stifled a laugh with an unconvincing cough at Thomas's incredulous expression.
"It was smart," agreed Thomas, "but not smart enough to try and smell the ashes it kept by it at all times. I covered myself in those ashes."
"And the ash covered your scent?!"
"Yes, it did. And… I lifted the emerald with magic and then snuck out."
With Thomas nodding, Lucian chimed in. "With my blessing, not only is he a master thief but also an amazing combatant. In fact, he can take any person in attendance tonight in solo combat." Thomas stopped nodding. Ferp was grinning.
"Oh, no need for fighting tonight," said Arian. At this, Ferp slumped.
"This is a time for enjoyment and mingling. And our business of course." He nudged Lucian with a wink. "In all of the tales about you, I don't remember hearing about a Goblin among your ranks. Very interesting to see one as civilized as he." Arian nodded at the little suit Ferp wore.
"How about a bear?" Lucian asked hopefully.
"A bear? You trained a bear?"
"Well, he was trained by our friend," offered Thomas.
"Goblins are not well received in 'polite society,'" offered Lucian, with fingered air-quotes. "He practiced some druid rituals to allow us to move around easier." He placed his hand on Ferp's shoulder. "But he's also a well-established swordsman."
"Interesting."
"The quiet one over there," he pointed toward Nut and the overtly affectionate older couple sitting with him. "He's a master of the druidic arts."
"The horned one?"
"Yes."
"He looks the type," agreed Arian.
"And then to our right," Lucian turned and indicated Moira at the adjacent table, "is our newest addition. She's a teller, of sorts. But skilled in magic combat."
"A wizard among your ranks? Very good."
"Well, I'm off to impress that wench," announced Thomas as he swaggered off in the direction of a delightfully plump brunette.
"Yes, yes. Business is always better with full stomachs. I'm off to chat with my good friend Elodin. Dinner will be served shortly."
Once Arian was out of ear-shot, Lucian asked Moira "Learn anything useful?"
"Nothing really. I can't understand those Halflings. It bothers me." As she was speaking, the male got up, walked over and poked the Dwarf, unsuccessfully trying to start a conversation with him. Even as stout a drinker as any Dwarf must be had succumbed to the drinks offered here. They were… strong. "You?"
"Yeah… I learned I might eat Ferp if dinner isn't served soon."
Ferp, who didn't find that funny at all, went to sit with Moira. Thomas was outstanding in his ability to be rebuffed by his new barmaid. Eventually, he returned to sit with Moira and Ferp. "Anything useful," he asked Moira?
"No. He obviously wants to hire us for an adventure, but he keeps talking to those Halflings in a language I can't understand."
Thomas, somehow, managed to hear and understand Arian speaking with them about some delivery that had been arranged but was delayed. They wanted it from Arian immediately. He, looking increasingly helpless, finally made eye contact with Alfred who announced dinner was served. With this Arian excused himself and returned to the table with Lucian.
Several minutes passed, and no dinner arrived. Lucian eyed Ferp suggestively who snarled back.
Arian motioned for Alfred to come over. "What is the delay?"
Alfred had no response.
"Well, go find out." Arian turned to the group. "Well, with his extra time on our hands, you may as well know. I enjoy collecting oddities from all over. So, I have hired explorers and adventurers who are all over the world, wandering about. One of my hired explorers came back with a tale of some unmapped island. Apparently, it is inhabited by overgrown reptiles – creatures never seen before. I want you to search this island and find out if it has anything… anything interesting."
"Really?" Thomas had one eyebrow raised.
"Define interesting." Lucian had his other eyebrow raised.
"Oh, well… ruins of old civilization, ancient artifacts, magical things, really anything that you've never seen or rarely see. Do you have a map by chance?"
Surprisingly, for a group of "adventurers," none of them did.
"Well, I have one you make take as you have misplaced your own," offered Arian, reaching into one of his sleeves to produce a map, and into the other to produce a filed piece of lapis lazuli. "We are over on the Eastern Coast, as you know. And there are a few islands, but none marked where this island should be." With that, he drew an X on open water.
"Any way to get there?" Thomas asked, hoping transportation had been arranged.
"By boat is your best shot," countered Arian, logically. "But be careful. The island is surrounded by a thick fog. But ships can be arranged any time at the local docks."
"I say we head for the island." Thomas eyed his companions.
"I tend to agree with Thomas. However, we should know what we're doing this for." Moira couldn't shake the ominous feeling she had felt since entering the hall.
"Yes, yes. Payment. Of course! One-thousand gold to make the trip, and extra for whatever artifacts and oddities you bring back."
"Well, I'm in." Moira was ready for food and an end to negotiations.
"Let's try for more." Thomas whispered to Lucian as Arian was clapping his hands at Moira and exclaiming.
"Splendid!"
"Extra," asked Lucian as Arian's claps slowed and the relieved expression on his face drooped, "For just handing over artifacts, probably powerful artifacts? Why wouldn't we just keep them? Surely there's a market for these parts."
Alfred returned from the kitchen and whispered to Arian, who turned to the group. "We will discuss this later. Dinner is being served." With this, the serving staff emerged with large trays carrying roasted bar, baskets of bread rolls, dishes of stewed vegetables, cakes, and, most importantly, more wine.
At this, the Dwarf finally roused. He inhaled a slab of meat, quaffed a pint of wine, and resumed his hibernation.
Thomas dug in with equal verve. The table ate and then ordered seconds before resuming conversation, finally sated. Moira noticed something slip out of her bag. On the floor between her and Lucian, a card had fallen. It was face up. As she looked down at it, Death stared back at her. Horrified and distracted, she was frozen.
Thomas, keen to her change in mood, asked what was wrong.
"I see Death." Moira did not look up at first, but she knew what she said didn't make sense to the rest of them. She reached down, picked up the card and faced it to them, showing each of them the sign that had just manifested, confirming her dire misgivings.
"Yes, it's usually killed before it's cooked, darling," Lucian pointed to the boar and laughed at his own joke.
Arian was the only one laughing along with him.
No, Arian wasn't laughing. He was choking. Violently. As he shook in his chair, blood emerged from the corners of his mouth. First in a trickle, but then pouring out, down onto the table. With a peal of thunder, a gust threw itself through the hall, extinguishing all the candles and torches indiscriminately. After a breath, they all ignited again, apparently of their own volition.
As they all blinked, adjusting to the sudden change in lighting, they saw Arian, lying in a pool of his own blood on the table. Veins protruded from his face. Blood still dribbled from his lifeless mouth. And, somehow, a silver knife stuck out from his chest at a table of unarmed guests.