RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Episode 52: The Coin, the Ring, and the Wrath of Marcus
Marcus was fuming.
“None of you,” he growled, glaring at the collection of wizards, sorcerers, and mystics, “have anything that can undo this?! Nothing?! Not even a bloody scroll?!”
Elowyn shrugged helplessly. “My magic is druidic, not... whatever that was.”
Kaela Virell offered a sheepish smile. “Transmutation reversal requires a wish spell or… divine intervention.”
“Divine intervention?! You want me to pray my balls back?!”
Theron Blackroot, perched smugly on a half-shattered pew, smirked. “Why not just go through the archway again? I mean, it fixed your taste in boots.”
Marcus paused. His booted foot hovered in contemplation. Then, with a mix of rage and resignation, he turned toward the orange mist archway again.
He clenched his fists.
“If I die,” he hissed over his shoulder, “I’ll haunt you all.”
And with that, he stepped back through.
The scream echoed through the chapel like a jagged dagger down stone.
Marcus collapsed just past the arch, writhing. The mists churned violently, pulsing in time with some unseen, chaotic heartbeat. He clawed at the floor—then arched his back in agony.
And then… stillness.
He gasped.
His hands trembled over familiar terrain. He was himself again. Masculine. Muscular. Angry.
He stood, panting.
“I hate this place.”
The party rushed to help him.
“You okay?” asked Elric.
“No,” Marcus replied. “But I’m whole. Which is more than I can say for some of the freaks who built this tomb.”
They let him breathe.
Meanwhile, Tessa, ever diligent, was already poking around the eastern wall of the southern chapel.
“Found something,” she whispered, running her gloved finger across faint lettering.
Above a narrow slot in the stone was the letter ‘O’, delicately carved. The slot was thin—wide enough for a coin, a flat gem… or a ring.
“A keyhole?” asked Khopesh, eyeing it warily.
Tessa rubbed her chin. “It’s magical. Feels like it wants something enchanted. Could be a trap, but… it’s also likely our way forward.”
She hesitated only a second before slipping off her ring of protection.
“Wait—” Theron began.
But she’d already pushed it into the slot.
The ring vanished with a flash of silver light.
Click.
A soft rumble followed. A section of the wall slid inward and then aside, revealing a narrow, descending hallway wreathed in the same soft orange hue as the mist gate.
Tessa blinked.
“My ring…” she whispered.
“It’s gone,” said Elowyn, placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “It paid the toll.”
Tessa cursed under her breath. “That ring saved my life twice.”
Marcus grunted. “This place takes everything.”
They turned their attention to the urns.
Tessa approached the eastern urn first. “If this explodes,” she warned, “I want someone to build a statue in my honor.”
“I’ll chisel ‘Here Lies Quickfingers—She Should’ve Known Better’,” Theron offered.
She flipped the lid.
Something hissed.
Red mist burst upward like a geyser—twisting, alive.
Two bloodmote cloud swarms whirled up from within the urn, buzzing and writhing like malicious fog.
“TO ARMS!” Cedric shouted, already raising his blade.
The battle was a blur of motion and magic.
Kaela and Elric loosed scorching rays, which seared through one of the clouds. Theron’s Eldritch Blast crackled and dissipated some of the swarm. Sir Cedric used his divine aura to shield those nearest.
But the bloodmotes bit deep.
Tessa dodged and spun, slicing where she could. Lira sang to bolster courage. Thog’s great axe swatted at the cloud like a windmill in rage.
Eventually, the last of the bloodmotes dissipated into a sizzling mist on the floor.
In the ashes at the bottom of the urn, they discovered a bright red stone hanging from a golden chain.
“A periapt of wound closure,” murmured Elric. “Rare. Useful.”
“I’ll take it,” Marcus muttered, still brushing off phantom bugs from his armor. “Feels like I’ve earned something.”
“No argument,” Tessa replied, breathing heavily.
The party stood in silence for a moment, gazing down the newly opened passage.
Two misty archways. A trail of sacrifices. One step closer to something none of them understood.
Somewhere in the distance, the walls whispered.