RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Episode 44: Ashes of Authority
The blasted air shimmered with heat as five efreeti stood within a pocket of the Elemental Plane of Fire, their figures flickering against the endless blaze. The remaining three—Zahur the Flame-Sworn, Kazem the Flame-Tongue, and Velharr the Smokecaller—had just arrived via Plane Shift, the tension boiling off them hotter than the fires around them.
Zahur’s eyes glowed like molten metal as he turned to face the others. His voice, deep and commanding, echoed with fury.
“You abandoned the mission.”
Ifraka the Ember-Skinned bristled, crossing his muscled arms.
“We assessed the threat—”
“You fled,” Zahur roared, his falchion unsheathed in a single motion, fire licking down the blade’s edge. “Sulkar is dead. Zayid is dead. And you ran.”
Velharr stepped between them, smoke curling from his fingertips.
“This is not the time for executions. We must return—stronger—wiser. Keraptis demands the relics. And now the Tomb itself is aware of us.”
Nadarus the Cinderfist hung his head, burned and battered.
“We were not ready. That thing—it fought like it knew our strengths.”
Kazem, uncharacteristically solemn, adjusted his burnished cloak.
“We need each other. Whether you're cowards or tacticians is irrelevant. Keraptis doesn't care why we failed. Only that we did.”
Rashoon of the Searing Grasp stood back silently, charred fingers flexing.
“Then we return.”
Zahur gave one final glance to the spot where Sulkar once stood.
“We do. Together. And this time, we do not stop until the relics and their wielders are ours—or we turn this tomb into our pyre.”
In a flash of flame and fury, the efreeti vanished once more.
From his perch atop the floating Citadel, Raven stared downward into the Material Plane. The mists parted in his vision as the eight surviving efreeti re-entered the Tomb of Horrors through the center passage.
He watched, amused.
“They don’t learn,” Raven whispered to himself, smirking faintly. “Good.”
He poured a bit of his divine awareness into the stone itself, listening, watching, waiting—not to interfere—but to bear witness.
Because the game was not yet over. And the pieces were moving once more.