RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Part 8: The Price of a Choice
The quiet among the outer camps of White Plume Mountain was tense, fragile—a silence made heavy by the whispered wind and flickering torchlight. Group One sat closer to the edge of the central fire, their wounds not only physical but laced deep with shame.
Kale Stronemarch, still clutching the hilt of his sheathed blade, stared into the flames as if trying to burn the memory of his failure out of existence.
“They made fools of us,” he muttered, voice hoarse with smoke and guilt. “We trained for weeks. Spent years building names worthy of bard songs. And we were undone by a spell. Not even a fight.”
Archivist Belthis adjusted his cracked spectacles and sighed. “That spell was woven from the mind of a mad archmage. There's no shame in—”
“There is shame,” Kale snapped. “In how easily we fell. In how we slept while the others pressed forward.” He looked up, meeting the gaze of Group Two’s leader, Myka Vex. “I propose something bold. Once the other groups have entered, we combine our strength. One final unit. You, me, ours and yours—reborn.”
Myka raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A gambit, then.”
“A second chance,” Kale corrected.
Myka looked around the fire—at the scars, at the watching eyes of those who had failed or not yet gone—and nodded slowly. “We’ll talk when the time comes.”
Meanwhile, inside the mountain’s shadowed gut, Group Five descended in steady silence. Their torches reflected off the algae-slick walls, the water at their feet sluggish and dark. Even before they reached the gynosphinx, the tension among them coiled like a serpent in the dark.
There she sat—Etrusca, wreathed in bones and arrogance.
“Choose your path,” she growled.
“East,” answered Hunter instinctively, no hesitation.
The gynosphinx grinned, fangs visible even in the gloom.
“My creator wants me not, And much in dread will I be bought. My cold embrace is fiercely fought, Most all who need me know it not.”
A grim chill settled over the group.
Alyssa “Switch” Vance furrowed her brow. “That sounds like… death, maybe? Or a coffin?”
“I think it’s a trap,” muttered Jessie “Slick” Vega, fingers twitching near her hip holster.
Hunter frowned. “What if we… don’t answer?”
Etrusca’s grin stretched wider.
“Then this pile of bones gets taller.”
Hunter stepped back. His allies looked around—no one had an answer. He swallowed. “We fight, then.”
He didn’t whisper it loudly, but Etrusca heard.
With a scream of primal fury, she leapt from her perch, a blur of claws and shadows.
Jessie Vega went for her revolver, but the sphinx was faster. A massive claw raked across Jessie’s chest, blood exploding across the corridor. She collapsed into the murky water, her eyes fogging white, her voice lost in the choking murk. Blind.
Brother Thamros Ironvein let out a roar of dwarven prayer and smashed his warhammer into her flank, staggering the beast for a breath.
“Shoot her!” someone shouted.
Alyssa’s Glock barked, sending echoes down the passage—but the shot went wide.
Seren Willowmere’s bolt followed, but also missed.
Jessie, bleeding and blind beneath the surface, drew her Remington Derringer from under her coat and fired. The bullet struck deep, driving into Etrusca’s gut. The beast howled, staggering, but refused to fall.
Harlan Drenn charged, shield raised high, sword ready. He swung—and missed.
Hunter fired his bow, but the string snapped in the wet and tension. He dropped it, drew his short sword—and met Etrusca’s wrath.
She descended again with her claws, tearing Jessie apart, the water around her blossoming red like a poisoned lily.
Alyssa screamed and fired again, this time striking true—but it only enraged the beast. With another roar, Etrusca launched herself at Switch and ripped her down, flesh and bone torn asunder.
Seren gasped. “Dear gods…”
Hunter lunged, his short sword carving a shallow line down Etrusca’s leg. It was brave. It was not enough.
She shredded him, like the others.
Seren turned to run, desperate now—no plan, no pride, just panic.
Brother Thamros stood his ground. Warhammer in both hands, he crushed the sphinx’s shoulder in one final blow before her claws ended him.
Only Harlan Drenn remained.
He took a breath. Rolled his shoulders.
“Then I die in stone.”
His swing was true, his resolve iron. But it was not enough.
The last of Group Five fell.
Seren ran for her life. She thought for certain that she would make it to the spiral staircase. Unfortunately, the gynosphinx did not feel so generous. Etrusca with her bloody claws pounced in her path, blocking her exit.
“You are a healer, are you not?” Etrusca growled.
“Y-yes,” Seren answered fearfully.
“Do you wish to live and leave here alive? I know your friends will be coming for me now that I have dispatched five of your massive party.” Etrusca paced.
“I do wish to live and leave,” Seren whimpered.
“Heal me and do not return, for any members who enter with you will become additions to my bone pile if I see your face again after today.” Seren agreed with a panicked, silent nod. Using all of her healing abilities available, she closed many of the wounds on Etrusca before taking her panicked leave via the rusted spiral staircase with only a wounded pride.
Back outside the mountain, Kale Stronemarch stopped mid-sentence.
The others looked to the peak, where the faintest tremor shook the air.
“Something’s happened,” Taro Vex whispered.
Kale stood. “Then we don’t wait.”
He looked to Taro and her gathered warriors.
“Group Six,” he said grimly. “That’s us.”