RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Episode 62: The Song in the Mists
The hidden corridor behind the ruined funereal chamber was narrow, the walls close and damp with age. Moss glittered faintly in patches, catching the light of Elowyn’s staff as the party moved single-file, deeper into the tomb’s forgotten arteries.
Tessa ‘Quickfingers’ Vell led the way, dagger in one hand, the other brushing lightly along the stone wall. The corridor finally widened, and the rogue paused at the edge of a broad archway, waving the others to stillness.
“What in all the Realms…” she whispered.
Before them lay a chamber cloaked in swirling silvery mist, shot through with slow-dancing streamers of gold. The haze glowed as if lit from within, the swirling beauty both mesmerizing and ominous.
“Do you hear that?” Lira Valesong tilted her head, her Elven ears catching the faintest sound—a melody, haunting and wordless, threading through the mist like silk.
“It’s beautiful,” Elowyn whispered, voice dreamy. “Like the wind in summer trees…”
Thog Skullsplitter growled. “It’s a trap. Songs don’t come from nowhere. Mist don’t swirl like that without magic.”
Cedric Lightbringer stepped beside him, drawing his sword, the blade humming faintly with celestial energy. “There’s enchantment here. Strong, older than most I’ve seen. We’ll need to move carefully.”
Theron Blackroot narrowed his eyes. “It’s conjured mist. Not natural. And I smell death.”
Tessa tied a cloth over her mouth. “I’ll scout. Hold your breath if you go in. Something’s not right.”
She stepped forward into the mist, vanishing almost immediately from view. The party hesitated—until Thalia Emberbranch muttered, “Well, I didn’t come all this way to be outdone by a pickpocket,” and followed.
One by one, they entered, each holding breath. Bran McGraw went last, arms out wide like he could catch anyone who fell.
Within the mist, golden streamers floated lazily, obscuring depth, distorting perspective. The silvery fog wrapped around them, and even holding their breath, most of the group staggered as the mental fog of confusion crept into their minds.
Elric stumbled sideways into a column and held fast, blinking hard.
Lira gritted her teeth. “No… not real… fight it…”
Only Thog and Tessa seemed unaffected. The latter moved like a shadow through the mist, until she emerged into a clear pocket at the center of the chamber. Her dagger slipped into its sheath as her breath caught—not from poison or confusion, but awe.
There, reclining upon a half-sunken platform of stone and bone, was a creature both terrible and beautiful. Its form shimmered with pale flesh and translucent wings. A mouth too wide curved into a smile, and eyes that had no whites peered at her.
The singing intensified.
The others stumbled through the mist, one by one, blinking into clarity.
“Is that the siren?” Thalia asked aloud.
The thing laughed. “She left ages ago. I remained.”
The creature’s voice was unearthly, each word as melodious as a harp’s sigh. “Welcome, lost ones. Do you seek peace? Or pain?”
“We seek the way forward,” Cedric said, raising his sword. “If you would let us pass—”
“None pass,” the creature cooed, rising to its full height. “Not unless the price is paid in song and soul.”
Theron’s scythe hissed from his back. “That’s not negotiable.”
The Crypt Chanter sang again—this time not soft and beguiling, but loud and piercing. The melody slashed across the room like a blade of sound. Lira screamed, falling to one knee, her lute shuddering in its case. Bran rushed to her side.
Tessa vanished into the mist once more, looping behind the chanter. “Ugly thing sings like it swallowed a banshee,” she muttered.
Wave surged in Elowyn’s hands. “We end this.”
The battle began with a flash of silver. Elric hurled twin daggers of shadow and light, while Cedric charged forward, sword raised in a column of divine radiance. The Crypt Chanter floated above the mist, crooning a tune that confused and disoriented. Thalia staggered, swinging wildly, nearly hitting Theron.
“Watch the pointy end, ranger!” he snapped, hurling a necrotic curse.
Bran flanked the thing, Colt Dragoon Revolver raised, but the creature sang again—sending him spinning off balance, mind reeling.
Only Tessa remained steady. She danced through the mist like a phantom, her blade flashing once across the chanter’s exposed throat. The song faltered. Black ichor bubbled from the wound.
Thog roared, leaping up onto the raised platform and bringing Whelm down in an earthshattering blow.
The Crypt Chanter screamed—not musically, but with a gurgling wail—and with one final, discordant note, dissolved into mist and blood.
Silence followed.
“Gods…” Elric panted. “That was… something else.”
Elowyn looked around. “We’ll need to rest. The song—it’s still in my head…”
“Let’s clear the room,” Thalia said, already checking the perimeter. “There may be a way forward.”
Tessa nodded, wiping her blade. “There usually is. And I think we’re not far from the source of all this madness.”
Cedric closed his eyes, listening. “The melody’s gone. But something… something deeper is still humming beneath it all.”
In the dark corridors of the tomb, something watched. Raven, still bound behind walls of ancient force, stirred in his prison. He could not speak, could not guide—but he could feel.
And what he felt… was the nearness of the end.