RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Part 32: The Gatekeeper
The survivors gathered their wounded, their spoils, and the remnants of their once-mighty party.
Khopesh, now bearer of Blackrazor, carried the massive blade across his shoulder like a monument of victory and loss. The weapon was too large, forged for a creature far larger than himself, but its voice whispered promises of power, urging him onward.
The hallway ahead grew brighter as they passed familiar ground—the gynosphinx’s lair and the scattered pile of bones where once they’d faced riddles and threats.
But something was wrong.
The bones had been scattered like brittle parchment in a storm. And among the fragments stood a robed figure, its features concealed beneath a hood darker than shadow.
“Not thinking of leaving, are you?” the figure said, voice smooth and malevolent.
“You’ve been so very entertaining that I just couldn’t think of letting you go—especially carrying those collector’s items of mine.”
The party stilled.
“And since you’ve eliminated all of their guardians,” the figure continued, “you’ll simply have to stay… and take their places.”
Weapons were gripped tighter.
“Leave your ridiculous weapons behind,” the voice commanded. “Let my servant Xonxin escort you to the Indoctrination Center. I’ll be most disappointed if you force him to eliminate you.”
Hachiro Noboru stepped forward, bloodied and tired, but unbowed.
“We were sent to conquer this mountain by a god. We lost many allies along the way, and we will return… to find out what that god truly wants. You are nothing but another obstacle.”
With a wordless cry, Hachiro charged, followed by Elowyn Mosswhisper and Khopesh.
Their weapons passed through the figure—an illusion.
Suddenly, a curtain of fire erupted behind them—a Wall of Fire, summoned by the invisible Xonxin, now exposed.
Flames roared. The heat drove back the rest of the party, who could only hear the chaos beyond.
Xonxin struck with brutal force. A burning fist crashed into Hachiro, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the stone. His armor smoldered, his flesh burned.
But the samurai rose.
He charged again, blades flashing. Each strike seared his hands against the burning skin of the efreeti, but he fought with everything he had.
Elowyn’s trident missed wide.
Khopesh struck with Blackrazor, causing the efreeti to stumble, but his mummy flesh smoked from the heat.
“This is your last chance,” Xonxin snarled. “Serve Keraptis, or die.”
He struck Hachiro again—harder.
The samurai gasped. The flames enveloped him as the blow lifted him off his feet once more—and this time, he did not rise.
“HACHIRO!” Elowyn’s scream pierced the wall of fire.
No one could reach him. No one could stop it.
Khopesh roared, swinging Blackrazor and driving Xonxin back. The efreeti tripped on the blackened bones and lost control of the spell. The wall vanished in a whoosh of heat and embers.
The survivors rushed forward.
Theron Blackroot unleashed an Eldritch Blast, searing into the now-visible Xonxin.
Elowyn missed again with Wave, tears streaming.
Khopesh swung wide.
Seren Willowmere fell to her knees beside Hachiro’s body.
Kael the Ember-Eyed launched a magic missile, striking Xonxin in the chest.
Elric Duskwind cast ray of frost—a direct hit. The fire creature howled, vulnerable to the cold.
Kaelen Firebrand missed with his own ray of frost, but Thalia Emberbranch didn’t miss.
Her composite longbow sang. The arrow hit Xonxin through the throat, and the efreeti gargled smoke as his flames sputtered out. He collapsed, lifeless.
Silence fell.
Theron walked to Hachiro’s side and fell to his knees.
“Stubborn fool,” he whispered.
Together, they carried the body of their friend—the warrior who had fought until the bitter end.
They buried their dead at the mountain’s foot—Shino, Lin, Brock, Trix, Taya, Kael ‘Fingers’, Elaren, Dr. Finch, and now, Hachiro Noboru, warrior of Raven.
Marcus ‘Tank’ Rourke and Bran ‘Brick’ McGraw stood at the gate, waiting.
“You made it,” Marcus said quietly.
“We did,” Theron replied, looking back at the mountain. “But it cost us.”
And so the survivors turned toward the Citadel, toward Raven, toward answers.
Behind them, Blackrazor whispered in the mind of its new bearer. Feed me. Again.
White Plume Mountain is quiet now. The echoes of battle have faded, replaced by the soft hush of wind across the volcanic stone. The remaining adventurers bury their dead. Hachiro. Tessa. Trix. Shino. Kael Vire. All laid to rest under stone cairns or set to flame with whispered prayers. Yet, far beyond mortal sight, another conversation unfolds—a reckoning not just of swords and spells, but of will.
Elsewhere, beyond the realms of men…
In a swirling void between realms, shadow and starlight coil around the throne of the Trickster God. Raven stands cloaked in feathers and dusk, his eyes twin voids that shimmer with ancient intelligence. Across from him, floating above a platform of molten obsidian, is Keraptis—gaunt, robed in tattered crimson, his golden mask carved into a twisted sneer.
Their words ripple like tremors through the planes.
“You dare to meddle in my sanctum? You send your little pet mortals—tired husks you dragged back from death—and they leave with Whelm, Wave, and even Blackrazor! My guardians lie in ruin. My vaults plundered. You will return what is mine.” Keraptis demands.
“I do not return what was claimed through trial and blood. They bested your traps. They faced your beasts. They paid in flesh. What they hold now is earned.” Raven replies.
“Earned?” His mask tilts, mockery in every syllable. “You think them worthy? They are playthings. I forged their crucible. They merely survived it by chance and chaos.” Keraptis argues.
“And yet… they survived. Something your loyal horrors failed to do.” Raven’s wings spread, his voice cold as winter. “You presume too much, wizard. I did not pluck them from death just to serve your ego. Watch your tongue when you address me.” Raven scolds.
Keraptis falls silent for a beat. Then his voice comes quieter, coiled with contempt.
“Very well, god. Then what do you intend? Shall I let them keep my relics and run free?” Keraptis submits for now.
“No. Not yet. Their story is not finished.” Raven steps forward, the space warping around his feet. “I offer you a bargain. One final trial. A crucible worthy of your demands. Let them face Acererak’s Tomb. Let them descend into that crypt of horrors. If they emerge whole, then I will call them to a parley. They will stand before you—face to face—and you may make your demands. Until then, they remain free. That is the price for meddling in my game.” Raven offers.
A long silence follows. Then a nod.“The Tomb of Horrors. Fitting. But if they die—” Keraptis is bewildered.
“—If they die, we split what’s left. You keep the bones. I keep the echoes. Do not push for more.” Raven does not allow Keraptis to take control of the conversation.
“You play a dangerous game, Raven.” Keraptis warns.
“And you forget… I wrote the rules.” Raven counters.
Far below, in the halls of the Citadel, the surviving heroes of Raven’s chosen rest. They do not know yet what lies ahead. Only that the mountain is behind them… and something darker waits beyond the horizon.