A cleric who doesn’t believe in the Divine.
A revenant with no memory of his past.
A wizard who wants to kill himself or something.
The following story was adapted from a Dungeons & Dragons campaign, the original tabletop roleplaying game enjoyed by nerds, bachelors, and the unemployed alike.
This is a work of fiction satire. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Especially if they resemble Richard Dawkins.
6th Day of the Month of Wages of the 1242nd Year
“Raynor? That bastard of dead Cousin Sanguine’s? No surprise his own brother wants nothing to do with him. So why in the nine hells should we?”
“Please, Husband. He’s just a child. He has no one else to cling to.”
“And you want that Sanguine rat clinging to me? I’ve already got my daughter. Is she not enough? Besides, did you consider how this could affect my standing with the council?”
“They would not permit one of their own to suffer in the streets. Nor shall I.”
“Then lock him in the cellar, damnit!”
“Husband . . .”
“He’s a Sanguine! Another stuck-up, nose-in-the-book, ‘look at me, I can trace my bloodline all the way back to the first emperor’ sort. They’re the bad apples of elfdom, I tell you, the whole lot of ’em!”
“I’ve already made arrangements with his brother. Raynor will be arriving this afternoon.”
“Oh-ho, you’ve grown bold, woman. Fine! Have my kin as your pet. But don’t expect me to stick around and raise it for you. I’ve my honor to protect!”
“So I see . . .”
The butler straightened his coat. He didn’t dare look at me, and nor I at him. When the argument subsided and all seemed peaceful on the other side of the door, he knocked softly. When only silence acknowledged his existence, he turned the lever and let himself in.
“Lady Silvian?” he said slavishly. “Lord Raynor has arrived.”
“Thank you, Rohan. You may show him in.”
“As you wish, milady.”
A young boy with pointy ears soon stood in the doorway. Me.
“So, you must be Raynor! Do sit down,” she said, patting the space on the divan beside her. “I imagine you are dreadful tired after your long journey from Dawnfield. Are you hungry? I can have the servants fetch you something to eat. Raynor, dear? Is something wrong?”
This . . . was Lady Silvian. The mother I never had. As fair as her daughter, Roxane, who I had met playing outside in the snow. So gentle. So caring. She was a goddess. My queen.
But Lord Silvian. He just stared out the window. As if I didn’t exist. Vile creature.
I love you, milady. But please understand. He must die.
3rd Day of the Month of Mars of the 1248th Year
“Say, you’re that Sanguine elf, aren’t you?”
I was accosted by those words in the middle of my studies today. “What of it?”
“I’ve seen that stack of books you carry to class. Impressive grades, kinsman! Look, I’m part of the Goldeneye. We’re a society of high intellectuals like yourself. Lately, we’ve been digging through some old books, looking for leads on what we’ll call the elixir for immortality.”
Huh?
“Some say it’s impossible, of course. But the Divine’s immortal, isn’t he? And legend says he was an elf like us once. Maybe even attended this very university. Imagine!”
Ascending to divinity? I can imagine. Just what I would be capable of. Lord Silvian has mocked my studies ever since I enrolled. What would he do if his unwanted son came home a god?
“Well, what do you say, Sanguine? You in?”
He needn’t even ask.
16th Day of the Month of Wages of the 1251st Year
I’ve been home three days now. The university had discovered the existence of the Goldeneye, and more importantly, its ambitions. I was handpicked by the Alchemist to represent the organization, and thus, I was expelled. And I could not raise a word in my defense lest I reveal what we had uncovered. He didn’t choose me because I’m expendable. He chose me because my time had come.
“I hate him, Rohan.”
“I understand, milord.”
“He’s never loved me. He’s never loved Lady Silvian. They hadn’t closed her casket before he was sweating the sheets with that elf from Meridies. Why shouldn’t I kill him?”
“Because, milord, life and death are not your domain.”
Those words resonated with my soul. Not because they were true. No, quite the opposite. You see, life and death are my domain. Especially death.
“He’s a bad man, milord, I won’t deny it. But he doesn’t deserve to die for it. Milord? Where are you going?”
I only remember his plead after the fact. I had a mission. One that required the assistance of that silver knife on the table. Then everything would be right in this house.
“Milord—I beg of you! Lady Silvian would not hear of it!”
I threw open the door to his study.
“Raynor? Mannerless boy! Try knocking next time. I might have comp—”
And did what I had to.
22nd Day of the Month of Juno of the 1260th Year
It’s real. All of it. What my comrades and I learned from our studies. I dare not test it on myself—the years of thought and research would be at risk—so I instead acquired a test subject. A friend of Roxane’s who visits once a month. Turns out she works for the Ex Cavare. Perfect. Luring her into my cellar was as easy as stealing confections from a babe.
7th Day of the Month of Maia of the 1263rd Year
Well, well. I caught my beloved Silvian sister snooping about my study today. Roxane pretended to be worried. About me. Fancy that! In truth, she’s afraid. She should be.
I’ll have Rohan install a lock on my door once he’s done fixing the winepress.
12th Day of the Month of Juno of the 1263rd Year
That confounded elf escaped. Bit my hand and bolted up the ladder, cursing the name of all elfdom, delirious! Three years in the darkness of my cellar has left her blind, but she sees with her ears. The dwarves couldn’t find her. Nor could their hounds. A bird of some sort threw them off track. Useless canines.
21st Day of the Month of Septum of the 1263rd Year
Roxane left the house today. She wasn’t supposed to.
I had Lando and Ronnub bring her back. She’s in the cellar now.
I’m so close, I can taste it.
13th Day of the Month of Octobres of the 1263rd Year
I am the empire. I am the color of immortality. I am Sanguine.
* * *
“Find anything?” Tulik asked with a shiver. He glossed over Father Dawkins with bored eyes as the cleric flipped through the diary he had found on the mantle.
“Nothing short of a man who’s read one too many fairy tales,” Dawkins said abruptly. He closed the book with a thud, and when Tulik wasn’t looking, tossed it into the fire. “But I would still very much like to meet the master of this house.”
Again, Tulik shivered. He didn’t want to spend another second in that manor. But he had a duty. The other members of his investigation were dead. Well, he couldn’t remember, exactly. But he could feel it in his non-beating heart. He had to find him. The elven lord responsible.
Raynor Sanguine.
When he wiped the cold sweat off his forehead, he realized his left index finger was missing. “Argh! Dolores.”
Though his stomach churned, Dawkins failed to conceal a grin. Dolores was finally out of the way. Now he could work undisturbed on restoring Tulik’s memory, and that other matter.
Two rotting elf corpses lay in a black pool of blood, and a midnight breeze seeped in through a broken window.
“Can you open it?” Dawkins asked with a nod to the hallway door.
Tulik gulped and approached the lock, and in a few clicks, the door swung open. The hallway on the other side was as black as night. Not at all how it was a couple hours earlier.
Dawkins sucked in his breath and took the first step. As a half-elf, he possessed certain magical powers that were not naturally gifted to non-elvish folk.
“Fiat lux,” he said, and the darkness was lifted like a blindfold. Just in time for him to see four ferocious hounds bolting from the shadows.
Dawkins yelped, seizing Tulik who had stepped up beside him. He threw the door shut, but a snarling, biting head was lodged between the frame. Dawkins groaned, pushing with all his might, his back to the door and feet slipping.
Tulik attempted to help with the door, but a rabid swipe at his legs startled him. “What should I do?”
Dawkins threw his glance at the winepress room, but his attention landed elsewhere. “Those corpses! Tear off an arm, and throw it into the hall!”
Tulik nodded hastily. He knelt over the zombies, and after a twist and a tug and a plead, an arm dribbling blood was in his hands. When Dawkins eased his grip, the opening widened—the hound almost through—and Tulik tossed the arm into the growling hall.
The door clicked shut. Dawkins sighed in relief. His semi-pointed ears twitched at the sounds of flesh ripping and a bone cracking. With a nod from Tulik, he pried the door open, and they dared step through again. But the hounds had already finished the arm and came charging right back at them.
This time, Tulik seized Dawkins, and the door bounced against the frame as it hit.
“There are dwarves in there. Two of them!” Dawkins said. The door bucked. The frame creaked. Nails scathed its surface on the other side. “They’ll tear us to shreds if we go in there. Let’s try taking one at a time.”
One at a time? Tulik thought. He swallowed.
“Ready?” Dawkins asked. Before Tulik could respond, he cracked open the door, and a lone hound slipped through.
White fangs flashed before him. Tulik stood back, sword trembling in hand.
Zombies he could take. But a cute, helpless puppy? Awww . . .
“What are you waiting for!”
A bead of sweat rolled down Tulik’s head. He crept forward, sword held tight. But before he could strike, the hound leapt and latched onto his wrist, writhing and growling.
Tulik dropped his sword, slapping the hound’s rock-hard skull. “Stop it! Let go! Nice doggy!”
But the hound tugged and tugged until Tulik’s entire arm popped off.
Dawkins rolled his eyes. Some soldier!
“Hey!” Tulik called. He whistled. “Come back!” He stumbled after the hound, which trotted off with an arm wiggling in its mouth. They disappeared into the room with the winepress.
The door bucked again. Dawkins almost lost his balance.
“How I knew I should regret this!” he hissed. “Hurry up, boy!”
“Nice doggy! Nice doggy!”
A gruff voice then spoke. “Here, here! What goes on, lads?”
Dawkins turned his head to the door. “You! Dwarf! Call off your dogs!”
“Nope. Can’t do.”
“If you don’t, then we shall kill this one. My companion has a blade to its throat as we speak!”
“Nice doggy!”
The dwarf laughed. Then an axeblade bit through the door, finger lengths from Dawkins’s face. When the iron retracted, he leapt back before the next blow.
The door flew open. Another hound barged through, followed by a stocky dwarf with a long red beard.
Tulik returned to the room with defeat hung over him. “I can’t get my arm back! Lucky for me, it’s the one with the missing the finger.”
The dwarf pointed his ax at Dawkins and grunted at his hound. “Attack!”
Dawkins swung his war hammer. It met the hound’s skull with a shuddering crack. The creature crumpled to the floor.
Tulik cringed. “Why’d you do that!”
Dawkins threw himself at the door before any more hounds could get through. “Are you going to help, or what!”
Tulik hesitated. All he had was his crossbow and only one arm to shoot with. So instead, he grabbed beneath his jaw and pulled up until he held his detached head like a jack lantern.
The dwarf stared. Dazed. Then he snickered. Chuckled. Laughed. Tears streamed down his face as he retreated into the corner and curled up into a ball.
For a second, Dawkins considered doing the same.
The first hound then entered the room, arm in mouth and tail wagging.
Tulik reattached his head. “Here, boy! Drop!” He swiped forward, fingers of his attached arm interlocking with those of his detached. He leaned back, playing tug of war with the snarling beast.
As Dawkins watched, he could hear the other dwarf and two hounds on the other side of the door behind him. He squeezed his hammer, preparing to strike.
Just then, a great shadow darkened the door to the winepress room. A man in a maroon robe and pointy hat stared at the ground.
Dawkins felt a knot in his chest. Could this be the master?
“Wingardium leviosa,” the man muttered. At once, he levitated three feet off the ground, then fell. “No such luck . . .”
“Well met, wizard!” Dawkins said. “We could use a few magic spells right about now!”
The wizard looked up. “Huh, me? Oh. Well, okay. I guess so.”
Dawkins frowned. Then the door bucked, launching him across the room. He tripped over the pile of corpses as in came the last two hounds. He slammed his hammer down as they descended upon him. One didn’t even yelp as its head cracked open like an egg. The other bit into Dawkins’s chainmail, the metal rings crunching between razor teeth.
Across the room, Tulik cried. “Let go! Let go!”
Grrr!
Dawkins threw off the hound, then striking it dead with his hammer.
The second dwarf stumbled into the room, iron ax in hand. He studied the carcasses and the blood, then landed his wild eyes on Dawkins. “My dogs . . . you’ll pay for that!”
Do I have to do all the work? Dawkins grimaced. He threw himself forward, and his hammer locked with the dwarf’s ax, a stalemate in the doorway to the hall.
The dwarf flashed his crooked yellow teeth. “What’d you do to my dogs!”
“The same thing I’ll do to you!” Dawkins hollered, then gasping. “Tulik! Help!”
“Good boy!” Tulik said, thrusting his arm back into its socket. The hound wagged its tail as if it expected him to take off the other. When Tulik turned to face the room, the wizard was giving him a sheepish look. “Who are you?”
“Uh, I think your friend needs help or something,” the wizard said. But what he was thinking was, Wow. This guy’s dead or whatever. Must be nice.
Tulik at last took notice of Father Dawkins and his latest predicament. “Right!” He snatched his crossbow and extended his arm.
The hound lunged for it as he squeezed the trigger.
“AIGH!” Pain shot through the left side of what in the True Tongue would be Dawkins’s gluteus maximus. He felt a warm river cascading down his leg. “What in the Divine’s fictitious name are you doing!”
“Sorry!” Tulik squeaked, looking around for his sword. The dwarf forced Dawkins back and stomped into the room.
The wizard sighed and meandered over. He reached out his hand and touched the dwarf’s beard. “Incendio,” the wizard said. At once, the dwarf’s beard erupted in a blanket of fire.
“Ahhh! Put it out! Put it out!” The dwarf screamed, tearing at his fiery hairs. He collapsed to the floor, kicking and rolling as the fire consumed his flesh. The wizard held his nose. Tulik gagged. Dawkins dropped to his side, wheezing.
“Hold on, Father!” Tulik hurried over to him.
“What are you—AIGHH!”
“Got it!” Tulik beamed, a bloody crossbow bolt in his fingers.
“I could help, I guess,” the wizard said, kneeling. He waved his hand over Dawkins.
“Nooo, no, no, no—”
“Incendio.”
“AIGHHH!”
“There. I seared the wound or something,” the wizard said. Smoke and the scent of burnt flesh rose from the cleric’s backside.
It took Dawkins a few moments before he rose to his feet, swatting Tulik’s hand away as he tried to help. Dawkins swayed up to the soldier and glared into his unsuspecting eyes for a good solid moment. Then punched him so hard that his jaw flew off, bouncing across the floor.
A hideous noise climbed up from Tulik’s open throat. The hound frolicked after his jaw and brought it back to him.
“Good boy, Killer Eyes!” Tulik said as he straightened his jaw. “Wow, what a battle! And look, I tamed a dog!”
Dawkins bit his tongue until there was blood.
Tulik frowned at the wizard. “Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”
It took the wizard a few seconds to realize he was being spoken to.
“Oh, me? No one special.”
“You’ve got a name, don’t you?”
“Alec, I guess.”
Tulik nodded. “Right. And how’d you get in?”
“Through the door.” Alec motioned to the winepress room. “I heard screams or something.”
“Well, thanks for your help. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
Dawkins squinted, flattening Tulik between his lids.
“I wonder just what’s going on around here,” Tulik said. He observed the second dwarf still curled up in the corner, motionless. Picking up another log from the fire, he ventured into the hall with Killer Eyes at his side. With a grunt, Dawkins limped after him. Alec followed.
The hallway was now abandoned. There was nothing peculiar about it besides a broken set of stairs that led up to the next floor. As if on a mission of his own, Alec ascended the steps without a word. He then turned to where the wooden rail used to be. And jumped.
Tulik and Dawkins watched as the wizard fell flat on his face.
“Ugh . . . didn’t work,” Alec said as he dusted off his robe.
“Try a rope next time,” Dawkins said. Tulik grimaced.
A door was open at the end of the hall. When they stepped through, only a small room waited for them with a round table and a bottle of blood-red wine.
Tulik and Alec continued into the next room, but Dawkins stayed behind to inspect the bottle. He then inspected the cork. Then inspected the bottle without the cork. A deadly flavor of grapes washed over his tongue. Delicious. Already, the pain in his backside—which he aptly named “Tulik’s pimple”—had lessened greatly.
“Over here,” Tulik called out. Dawkins lowered the bottle and followed the voice into a dining room. “Come on, Father!” He staggered after it, clambering up a set of stone steps that led to a kitchen on the second floor. Once Dawkins found Tulik and Alec, he shared their gaze toward the man who had answered the door, cowering with a few servants behind a table.
Tulik stepped forth. “What’s going on here?”
Rohan raised his hands. “Please don’t be cross with me, milord. But the master! He went mad several moons ago, killing his own stepfather—and he imprisoned his sister, Roxane. There was no way I could warn you!”
Dawkins took another swig from his bottle. But it was empty.
“Sho, tell ush!” he belched. “Jesh where is thish mash—hic!—ter of yers?”
Tulik questioned him with his eyes. Before Rohan could answer the first question, Dawkins launched another.
“And do ya got any—hic!—more of thish wine?”
Rohan frowned. “That’s a very exquisite wine you’ve taken, Father. Very expensive.”
“Shome hoshpitality ya got here!” He swayed, wobbling across the room and poking the butler’s chest. “Shombies. Wolveshes. I betsh ya don’t even got birdsh in the attic.”
“Oh, yes, Father, there are indeed a number of birds in the attic.”
“Birds?” Alec asked. That word seemed to bring him to life. “Oh. I almost forgot. I ran into an elf or something before I got here. She tripped over me as I was trying to drown myself in a rain puddle.”
Tulik turned toward Alec. So did Dawkins. But he lost balance and fell onto a piano, which comes standard with every kitchen in Mortium Campis. Dawkins was mesmerized. He poked one key. Then another. Then began to sing. But what he sang wasn’t exactly intelligible.
Alec moved his fingers. A ball of fire engulfed the piano. Even as the keys lost their ability to hum, Dawkins kept poking them and making noises until he slunched over, mumbling with his eyes closed. “Shmart Alec . . .”
“Music makes me want to live,” Alec explained. He then reached into his robe and presented Tulik his missing finger. “She said she was going to ‘kill them’ and gather an army of a thousand owls to do it or whatever.”
Tulik felt the blood drain from his face. Or thought he did. “Then we better get out of here before she comes back.”
“You can’t, milord,” Rohan cried. “You must save Roxane! The master has her locked up in the cellar. I’ll show you where it is!”
Tulik cringed. Can’t refuse a damsel in distress, that’s for sure. “All right, fine. We’ll help. But you better not be lying to us!”
“No, milord, I am not! Please, hurry!”
Tulik nodded and rushed over to Dawkins. “Come on, Father! We got a girl to save!”
“I’ll havsh you know . . . that I’ve taken a vow of shelebrity!”
“Snap out of it!” Tulik slapped Dawkins across the face, but that only made the cleric put on a stupid grin. Snorting, Tulik turned to the wizard, who was testing the sharpness of a kitchen knife against his wrist. “Alec. You with us?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“Great! Rohan? Lead the way!”
The butler straightened his suit and descended the stairs. But Tulik hesitated. He stared down at the snoring cleric and shook his head. Best to let him sleep it off. Then he hurried after Rohan, Alec in tow. The butler stepped out the front door and to the side of the manor where a cellar hatch hid among a row of thornbushes. “The master’s down there. Do be careful, milords.” He seized the handle and pulled open the hatch, revealing a ladder and no visible bottom.
Tulik felt suddenly cold. They were outside. And somewhere out there lurked Dolores and her faithful owl and possibly a thousand more like it.
A hound snuggled up to Tulik’s leg. He smiled. “Attaboy, Killer Eyes. Stay here, and let me know if anyone sneaks up behind us, okay?” The hound whined in compliance.
Alec crept up to the hatch. Loomed over it. Darkness called his name.
Jump. Jump. Jump.
He obeyed.
“Wait, milord!”
Thud.
Tulik knelt and glimpsed over the edge. “Alec? Are you still alive?”
“I guess.”
“How deep is it? Ten, twenty feet?”
“Something like that.”
“Butler!” a staggering voice cried. “I’m looking fer my fwend. He’s got shkin like a mucus and can be a real pain in the assh.”
Tulik tapped Dawkins on the shoulder. When the cleric swung around, he raised his hammer.
“Another shombie!”
Tulik didn’t duck in time. A steel war hammer slammed across his face. In a flash, his head soared through the air like an eagle. It was his second out-of-body experience that day. He bounced off the side of the manor and sailed into the grass.
Killer Eyes chased after him, seizing him by the hair, and brought him back. Tulik fit his head back on, feeling a permanent fracture in his jaw and a dent above his ear. Dawkins lay at his feet, having tumbled after taking his swing.
Rohan looked at Tulik. “Will you be needing anything else, milord?”
Tulik shook his head, which felt like it was going to fall off on its own now. “No. Get yourself and the servants out of here—as far away from this place as you can.”
Rohan bowed and took his leave.
Tulik hovered over the hatch. He then noticed a bundle of rope coiled under a bush like a snake. “Alec! I’m sending Father down.”
“Uh, okay.”
Tulik proceeded to tie the rope around Dawkins’s waist.
“Meridies, Meridies,” the cleric slurred. “Everyone shays go to Meridies. Elves. Halfs-elves. Pshuedo-elves. Quashi-elves. Jesh as long as yer a priesht. But don’t ashk no queshtions, who’sh the Divine, ish he divine . . . or they turn on you like rabid wolveshes, chashe you outta the chitty.”
Tulik yanked on the final knot and pushed him down the hatch. However, the rope was much longer than he anticipated, and he had given Dawkins too much slack. The weight of the fall yanked on Tulik’s arms. He could feel the stress in his muscles, the strain on his joints.
Then at once, both his arms popped off and disappeared down the hole.
Thud.
“Whoops—sorry, Father! . . . Father? Alec, is Father still alive?”
“I guess so.”
Tulik frowned. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way down.” He then reached for the ladder—forgetting his arms had already climbed down. “Whoa—”
Thud!
Standing over him, Alec wore a stagnant look. “Are you still alive?”
“Shut up,” Tulik muttered as he reattached his arms. He then staggered to his feet, untied Dawkins, and helped him up. “You all right, Father?”
Dawkins rubbed his back, shaking his head. “Should’ve shtayed in Meridies . . .”
“Looks like there’s a light or something,” Alec said, pointing down the tunnel.
“Let’s see where it goes,” Tulik said, putting an arm around Dawkins’s shoulder. The tunnel turned, and they found themselves in a large chamber. The floor was littered with torn books, and along the wall were basins filled with blood. At the very end of the chamber were two chairs. A girl was tied to one. The elven lord warmed the other.
Tulik felt his muscles tense. Sanguine.
“It would seem my visitors have wandered from their rooms,” a voice boomed throughout the chamber. The basins of blood rippled as it spoke. “I should have suspected as much. A soldier of the Ex Cavare accompanied by a priest of the Divine. And who’s this, now? A wizard? What happened to the elf that was with you?”
“The elf,” Dawkins spoke up as he stumbled forward, “shall return to us on the wingsh of a thoushand owls!” His head swayed, and he caught sight of the basins. “Shay, is that more of that wine?”
“Wine? Why, you sheltered man of virtue! It’s my elixir to immortality!”
Elixir. Immortality. Those words spiraled around Dawkins’s head until he felt he would vomit. Elixir. Immortality. Then he shook his head. Elixir! Immortality!
“Sobrii,” he said. At his command, the world stopped moving. Dawkins could feel his surroundings. The cold. The darkness. The closeness of his objective.
“We meet at last,” he said almost in a whisper.
“Raynor Sanguine,” Tulik shouted, standing firm by Dawkins’s side, sword in hand. “By order of the Ex Cavare, I have come to kill you—to put an end to your hideous experiments!”
Hideous, yes. But what if they work? Dawkins wondered, stirred for a moment.
Raynor rose from his chair, his long shadow dissecting the chamber floor. “So, you’re the survivor. Just how much did they pay you to die, rogue?”
Tulik heard himself gasp.
“I’ve been looking for you. And you come so willingly into my lair. Perfect!”
Tulik squeezed the handle of his sword, gritting teeth.
Raynor turned to the girl in the chair. “Roxane, my dear, you’ve been complaining about how boring it can be down here in the dark. Well, sit tight! Big brother’s going to put on a little show for you.”
With that, he leapt into the air—backward—crawling up the wall like a spider until he hung directly over his visitors. Then he dropped down from the ceiling, flashing a silver sword with a ruby hilt.
Tulik pulled Dawkins out of the way. They crashed into the stone floor. Alec stood still as Raynor spun on his feet, blade in a thrusting position.
Alec looked up. “Oh. Are you going to kill me?”
Raynor grinned with his teeth. “That is my intent!”
“Okay. Cool.” Alec dropped to knees and spread his arms.
“What are you doing!” Tulik cried, clambering to his feet.
Raynor eyed the wizard, caution swirling in his hungry eyes.
Tulik leapt. Swords clashed. Sparks blazed. Raynor forced him back. The tip of his blade slit the surface of Tulik’s stomach. The soldier came right back at him, executing combat moves he didn’t even know existed. Memories of training with dummies and soldiers came flooding back to him.
Dawkins watched from the floor. On one side was Tulik the revenant. The stray cleric’s walking, talking elixir. On the other side was Raynor Sanguine, who seemed to have an elixir of his own. Which one would Dawkins be leaving with? He watched as the two exchanged chops, slashes, and thrusts with their blades. Raynor didn’t seem like one to share. And Tulik? The boy didn’t even know what he had.
That settles it, Dawkins thought. He gripped his war hammer and stumbled into the fray. He saw two Tuliks and two Raynors, and they seemed to spiral around each other. But he had to take that risk. “Heads up, Tulik!”
Blades locked with Raynor, Tulik looked just in time to pull his head up—literally. Dawkins’s hammer passed between his jaw and shoulders, slamming Raynor square in the face. Pearly white teeth clattered across the floor as the master fell onto his back.
Tulik didn’t waste any time. He stuck his head back on and lunged forward.
Raynor lurched, blocking the deathblow, breathless. “Pathetic rogue! You’re too late! The Goldeneye has infiltrated your precious Ex Cavare!”
Goldeneye? Tulik pushed down with all his might. But he felt weakness in his soul. What am I doing here? I’m no soldier, he thought. Then his muscles bulged. But I’m all that’s left!
“What is this Goldeneye you speak of?” he demanded, eager and ready.
“You don’t know?” Raynor released a pitiful laugh. “My, the rumors are true—the sole survivor who doesn’t know his own name! The Goldeneye, you ask? It is the beginning and the end! The hand that pulls all strings! The key that unlocks the doors to the demon hordes that roam throughout your precious lands!”
Tulik could feel his bloodlessness boiling up in one big bubble. “Who’s at the head of this operation? Tell me!”
“All shall know and fear his name in due time, my boy. But for now you shall know him only by his title. You shall know him as the Alch—”
Raynor’s face suddenly pulverized, painting Tulik’s in blood. When he opened his eyes, Dawkins stood before him, his hammer dug into the master’s skull.
“Father! He was going to tell us who he worked for!”
Dawkins gave a light hiccup on still feet. Tulik shook his head, recovering his breath. Then he saw movement behind the cleric and remembered the girl tied to the chair—Roxane. He wiped his bloody hands on his clothes and hurried over to her, cutting the ropes. She was an elf, like her brother who lay dead in a pool of his own blood. Tears stained her cheeks as she choked for the words.
“Austere,” she gagged. “Family . . . Austere.”
Dawkins followed behind Tulik, observing.
“I think she wants us to take her to Austere,” Tulik said. He glanced over his shoulder. “Father, do you know where that is?”
Dawkins nodded. Another errand for the do-gooder. So be it.
Tulik helped the girl to her feet and guided her through the chamber. “Alec? You good?”
The wizard looked up. He now sat in a pile of books, attempting to crush his head between two large volumes. He dropped the texts and climbed to his feet.
Splash!
“What was that?” Tulik asked, looking back into the chamber.
Dawkins turned and rubbed his eyes. It was either double vision or . . .
“He’s not dead!” Dawkins warned, pushing out his hammer. The remains of Raynor Sanguine had liquidized into a massive red blob, pulling itself across the floor at a hauntingly fast pace. A trail of blood painted the ground in its wake.
“Everyone, up the ladder, quick!” Tulik cried. He sent Dawkins up first, then the girl. Killer Eyes barked from above. “Stay there! Alec, you’re next. Alec? Alec!”
When Tulik turned around, the wizard was nowhere to be found.
Back in the chamber, Alec faced down the red mass before him. It inched closer and closer.
These guys have purpose, Alec thought. That must be nice.
The blood touched the tips of his boots and slowly moved up his legs like the rising tide. He closed his eyes and felt the warm, pulsing fluid slither up his neck. He allowed himself to slowly drift away like a lost boat on the Forbidden Seas. And he felt it. Sweet, suffocating death. It was what he had been longing for ever since the day he was afflicted with life.
Tulik screamed, waving his sword. His blade got stuck in the blob, which then sucked it into the blood, pulling Tulik along with it. It started with his hands, arms, then the rest of him. He hadn’t even time to throw his head across the chamber.
Alec’s lungs burned. The pressure was so strong, he couldn’t open his eyes.
He had finally found it. His purpose. Which was to have no purpose at all.
And so, Alec the wizard stopped breathing and let darkness take him.
Only to decide he really didn’t like it.
“Incendio!”
The blob glowed bright red, a raging furnace of sanguine. The blood shrunk from the size of a wagon to a small flaming puddle on the floor, then to nothingness. Two bodies rolled on the ground, out of breath.
Tulik hopped to his feet, batting part of his trousers that had caught fire. He glanced at the wizard, who was now standing by the ladder.
“Ready to go?” Alec asked. Tulik nodded and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Lose your way?” Dawkins frowned as his companions popped out from the hatch. His head pounded like a hammer, but he felt like himself. He liked being drunk better.
Tulik stared at Alec. “What was that down there?”
At first, the wizard seemed perplexed. Then for the first time in years, he cracked a smile. “Oh, Alec, you mean?” he asked. “Don’t worry about him. He’s gone. I’m the wizard now. And I don’t want to die. I want to live life to the fullest. I’m going to give myself purpose and do everything in my power to see it through!”
Alec the wizard stepped out into the moonlight, his cape blowing in the wind.
“I’m so happy, I could light fireworks. Check this out!”
He waved his staff. “Fulgur!” he cried.
At once, the night illuminated, and a bolt of lightning ripped across the sky. In a flash, his staff exploded into a million pieces, and the wizard himself was now a charred corpse.
Tulik gasped. “What just happened! Father—can you do something?”
“Nothing short of a eulogy, I suppose,” Dawkins said, clearing his throat. “We are all going to die. Some sooner, some later. Some by age or illness. Some by war or famine. And others by lightning. May he rest in peace (though he’s quite dead and isn’t resting anywhere).”
Tulik frowned, then turned to Roxane. “My name is Tulik from the Ex Cavare, and this is my friend, Father Dawkins—and Killer Eyes too. We’ll get you to your family in Austere, okay?”
Roxane nodded. “Thank you.” Those two words were all she could manage.
Continue to Dawkins & Dragons IV: The Goldeneye Principle
BEHIND THE SCENES
Our DM didn’t work with “chaotic evil” characters and dismissed Dolores from the party when she had decided to kill Father Dawkins, requiring the creation of a new character—Alec. The campaign also never resumed after this third session, which ended in the kitchen after Alec incinerated the piano (Dawkins was singing “Hello! Ma Baby”) and dropped dead on top of it (Austin was having a rough night). Everything written afterward was planned by the DM but never experienced by the players. That said, 90 percent of everything prior is a literal account of what happened, the biggest addition being the opening journal entries of Raynor Sanguine.
Special thanks to Dom (Tulik), Austin (Alec), and Tom (Dungeon Master).
