RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Part 36: Gathered Strengths
The clang of steel echoed in the armory chamber of the Citadel as Sir Cedric Lightbringer stood before an ancient bronze mirror. He stared at his reflection, no longer a phantom but flesh, blood, and burden.
The enchanted full plate armor was as cumbersome as he remembered—dense, heavy, and awkward in the shoulders—but it was his. With methodical reverence, he fastened the straps and belt buckles, tightening leather until his form was sealed in radiant metal. He hung a masterwork bastard sword and longsword at his hips, and slung a heavy steel shield across his back. Lastly, he lifted the enchanted heavy mace, the head of which bore the symbol of a sunburst wrapped in thorns.
"I won’t waste this opportunity," Cedric whispered, his voice steady with purpose.
Across the chamber, Tessa ‘Quickfingers’ Vell suited up in sleek masterwork studded leather armor, admiring the mobility it offered. She ran a hand along the length of her newly acquired masterwork rapier and tested the string tension of a short bow slung across her shoulder. As she stood, she adjusted the fit of her boots of striding and springing, enchanted with subtle threads of windwoven leather.
Her eyes drifted—Bran was watching her from the corner of the room, pretending to clean a weapon. She caught his gaze. Tessa smiled gently, and his face flushed as he quickly looked away.
She was alive. That was enough… for now.
Lira Valesong, radiant even among warriors and legends, found her way through the pile of relics and spoils. Her hands passed over tunics and cloaks, until her fingers rested on the strings of a gilded lyre, once part of her soul. She gathered enchanted clothing fit for a bard, securing equipment befitting of her skills. As she began dressing, her back turned modestly to the others, Thog Skullsplitter happened to glance her way.
He furrowed his brow in quiet thought. He’d noticed no one had given her a blanket after resurrection, as they had with Tessa. He thought it rude. For all his brute strength, Thog had a quiet code of honor that few ever saw.
The half-orc retrieved his greataxe, newly sharpened. He found his iron-studded leather, a belt of giant strength, and a ring of protection, slipping it over his thick finger. As he tested his weapon’s weight, the wood creaked under his grip.
Elowyn Mosswhisper entered the chamber with Theron at her side, her staff in hand. Her face was calm but alert. The rest of the group—Kaelen Firebrand, Elric Duskwind, Kael the Ember-Eyed, Seren Willowmere, and Thalia Emberbranch—gathered and checked gear, redistributed potions, scrolls, and magical components. Blackrazor remained sheathed on Khopesh's back, still silent… watching.
“Sir Cedric, please take our lead,” Elowyn said with quiet authority, offering the paladin a respectful nod.
Cedric looked around the room—at the friends who had brought him back, at the scars of battle that still marked them, at the quiet resolve in their eyes.
He nodded once. “Then let us walk this path together.”
They exited the Citadel—no longer with awe, but with purpose—and made their way into the swampy marshlands, each step squelching in the thick, humid muck.
Above them, the sky rolled gray with stormclouds, and the land whispered of secrets buried in rot and bone. There were no signposts to guide their way. Only legend.
And ahead—somewhere cloaked in ruin, shadow, and misdirection—awaited the Tomb of Horrors.
None of them spoke. They knew where they were going.
They just didn’t know how many of them would return.