Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 247
Memory of a Dark Place
“He’s not raving mad,” explains Yoba, as the Company walks down the main street of Bakersfield. “He’s just... quiet. Most of the time he barely seems aware of what’s going on around him.”
Morningstar has a notion to cast greater restoration on Porridge, but not if it’s already been tried. To find out, the Company stops first at the small shrine of Hol the Harvest God, where the local priestess Prinn tends to the sick and hurt. They find her in a small chamber warmed by a fire, brewing a pot of sleeping draught for an ill patient. She looks like she’s in her mid thirties, but of course in Het Branoi there’s no way to be sure of a person’s age. There is an air of matronly competence around her.
Prinn leaves her patient in the care of a young acolyte and motions for the Company to join her in her office.
“We were talking about Porridge,” explains Morningstar, “and wondering what’s been done for him already. We’ve heard that someone has tried the prayer of heal on him. Has anyone, to your knowledge, taken the step of a greater restoration?”
“Heavens no!” exclaims Prinn. “Few people who have come through Bakersfield have had that kind of power, and none have felt that Porridge was worth the... personal cost.”
“How long was Porridge on the other side of that door?” asks Dranko.
“Only a second or two, I think,” says Prinn. “But no one knows for sure. We’ve gleaned that from Porridge’s mutterings in the years since. Such a tragic thing.”
“More bad decisions are made when drunk,” says Ernie.
Prinn nods in agreement. “They had no ropes, even. Not that that would have helped. Young Sturt stands watch over the Black Door now, to stop other people from becoming drunk and doing the same.”
“But you do let sober people through,” says Dranko. “Tell us about the remains.”
Prinn looks distinctly uncomfortable at this question. She licks her lips, and decides there’s no way to be delicate about it.
“Usually it looks as though – and I’m sorry if this is upsetting – usually it’s just torsos. The limbs and heads are pulled or twisted off. Not sliced like with a weapon. Now, usually nothing comes back, but when something does, it’s... torsos.
“There is a stand of trees about a hundred feet from the Black Door,” she continues. “Many people have tried tying ropes to them, especially after one person, holding a rope for another, was yanked through as well. It never amounts to anything. We’ve left the bloody ropes hanging from the trees there, as a warning.”
“Anyone ever tried to go through invisible?” presses Dranko.
“Folks have tried all sorts of things,” answers Prinn. “About ten years ago, a large party of adventuring types decided they would all go in together. They cast many spells on themselves, made many preparations. They talked a lot about ‘buffing,’ which I guess means something to you heroic types. Some were invisible. Some had other wards and protections and such. They went in, certain and brave, despite the warnings of Peralta. I think one of them who had a collection of gems thought she was the one foretold. None of them ever came back.”
“Never?” says Dranko, musing. “You know what that means? All of their stuff is waiting on the other side!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” says Prinn, frowning. “But you should mourn for the deceased, and not talk about looting them. Dozens of people have gone in over the last twenty years, despite Peralta’s warnings. We expect that all of them are dead, may Hol grant them peace.”
“Joke,” mutters Dranko.
“What about Porridge?” asks Kibi. “What did he see?”
“It’s hard to get him to talk about it... or about anything at all. Whatever he saw, it ruined his mind. I’ve talked to him on many occasions, trying to ease his discomfort and distress. He talked about a curtain. He talked of thick ropes... and that he didn’t see, or hear anything at all. It was completely black.”
One Certain Step feels his throat go dry.
go with them to your certain doom
and be the one in the lightless room...
... light must rive the last of five
but don't expect to come back alive
Dranko comes to the same conclusion, and puts a comforting hand on Step’s shoulder.
“Have you tried speaking with any of the dead who have come back?” asks Morningstar.
“No. And I’m not going to, and neither are you,” says Prinn firmly. “Hol doesn’t hold with necromancy, and neither do I. I’ve buried the remains, and I will ask you not to dig them up.”
Dranko looks offended. “What kind of cleric do you take me for?”
“I didn’t take you for a cleric, sir,” says Prinn. “My apologies. It was the joke you made about looting the dead that threw me off.”
Dranko glowers. “I have no interest in looting the dead, but I do want to eliminate whatever’s making them dead.”
“I appreciate that,” says Prinn. “Do you think you’re the ones from the prophecy?”
“Lord knows we have as good a chance as anyone else,” says Dranko.
“You’ll need a better chance than anyone else,” points out Prinn.
“Well, thank you for your help,” says Morningstar. “We’re going to talk to Porridge.”
“Please don’t stress him unduly. He’s in a delicate state.”
* *
A light snow falls on the packed dirt streets of Bakersfield. The Company stands shivering outside a small dark house as the white sun sets. Dranko knocks on the door, but no one answers.
After two more knocks Dranko simply opens the door and peeks inside. A trace of dusk’s light spills inside, revealing a single plain room with sparse furniture. There is a musty smell. Dranko’s darkvision spots right away that a man is inside, sprawling out of a small chair on the far side of the only ground floor room.
“Knock knock!” says Dranko cheerfully.
The man tilts his head slightly, but though his gaze seems to fall across the crowd on his threshold, he shows no sign of interest.
“Mr. Porridge?” says Kibi. “Would you mind if we came in and visited with you for a while?”
Enough time passes for the Company to start wondering if he’s unconscious, or asleep with his eyes open, when he stirs and answers in a small slurred voice, “Come in. Please.”
Slowly so as not to alarm him, the Company files into Porridge’s house. Ernie reaches him first.
“Are you hungry?” he asks the man.
“Hungry?” he repeats softly. “Hungry? Hungry? What? What... what...”
“I’d like to try to help you,” says Morningstar, kneeling beside his chair.
“Uh huh,” says Porridge, though this utterance doesn’t sound like an assent.
“Would that be okay?” asks Morningstar.
Pause.
“I dunno,” says Porridge at last, but he nods as he speaks, which is enough for Morningstar.
For someone in his mental state, Porridge is not physically decrepit. There are signs of meals eaten, and he himself has clearly been bathed on a regular basis. His hair has been recently cut, and he is clean shaven. Terrence, they suppose, has been tending to his needs. While Morningstar begins preparing to cast the spell of greater restoration Ernie tries to make small talk, but Porridge is mostly unresponsive. A few times he whispers answers to simple questions, or jerkily takes sips of water from a wooden cup that someone had set beside his chair. The only thing that seems to catch his interest is Aravis’s unusual face.
“Funny eyes,” he says, staring. “Funny eyes.” His breathing starts to quicken. Aravis stands without speaking and leaves the room, respecting Prinn’s request not to agitate him. Porridge stares after him.
“Prinn thought maybe we could help you,” says Morningstar, distracting him.
“I dunno, I dunno,” Porridge whispers.
“I don’t know either, but I’d like to try,” says Morningstar gently.
“I feel fine,” says Porridge weakly. “I feel fine.” He turns to the empty space where Aravis had been standing. “Go away please.”
Morningstar casts her spell. When she finishes there is a surge of energy from healer to patient, and a swift chill runs through Morningstar’s bones.
Porridge’s eyes pop open, suffused with a heretofore absent clarity. Calmly he observes the assembled company, and his gaze lingers notably on their weapons. He addresses Morningstar, whose hand is still on his forehead.
“Who are you?” he asks calmly. Morningstar removes her hand, her breath coming in gasps from the effort of the spell.
“My name is Morningstar,” she answers.
“May I ask what you... what all of you... are doing in my house?”
“You’ve been ill for a very long time,” says Morningstar.
“Have I? Would you... would you mind if I asked you to leave? I don’t remember asking eight armed strangers into my home.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?” asks Dranko.
“I remember...” he trails off, his expression puzzled.
“You were drunk,” prompts Dranko helpfully.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you remember being drunk?”
“I remember waking up,” says Porridge, dredging up memories. “I remember going down to the Warthog. I was with Tom and Crows. We were having a good time, but I don’t recall the particulars. I’ll have to ask them.”
Dranko opens his mouth to speak, but in the back of his mind he hears Ernie’s reprimanding voice. Dranko, how about next time you let me comfort the grieving?
“You were talking about going through the Black Door,” says Morningstar.
“Yes. We were,” says Porridge. “We must have decided against it, fortunately,”
“Er...” says Dranko.
“Are you telling me I went through the Black Door?” Porridge sounds incredulous.
“Yep,” says Dranko, looking for a bright side to share. “You’re the only person who’s gone through the black door and lived.”
“Well, me and Tom and Crows,” says Porridge.
“You’re the only person who’s gone through the black door and lived,” repeats Dranko. “I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t funny,” says Porridge. “Who are you people? Didn’t I ask you to leave?”
“Prinn can explain,” says Ernie.
“I should hope so,” says Porridge, and Ernie dashes out the door to fetch her. While they wait for him to return, Dranko asks, “Do you remember how long your hair was when you went through?”
“Yes, of course, it was...” He reaches up to feel his head. “Huh. That’s weird. I... I don’t know what to say about that.”
“You went through the Black Door, and whatever you saw there broke your mind,” says Dranko.
“No, I didn’t,” insists Porridge. “I think I’d remember something like that. And you still haven’t answered the question of why you’re in my house.”
“To cure you,” says Morningstar.
“I’m not ill.”
“Not anymore,” says Kibi.
“We could leave our weapons outside if that would make you feel better,” says Grey Wolf.
“Could you? Yes, it would. Thank you.”
While they are disarming themselves, Ernie comes back with Prinn, breathless from running. She goes inside while the Company waits without. Ten minutes pass, before they hear a terrible sobbing. A few minutes after that Prinn comes back out.
“He’s going to need a little while. Can you come back in the morning?”
* *
Dranko takes a deep breath.
“Step?”
“Yes?”
“Can I work out a trade with you? No matter how I say this, it’s going to sound ghoulish, so I’m just going to ask. You know your immovable rod?”
Step nods. It’s part of the paladin’s equipment, but to Dranko’s ongoing frustration Step has never explored its tactical possibilities.
“When was the last time you used it?” asks Dranko.
“It’s been a long time,” Step concedes.
“What do you want for it?”
The rest of the Company does in fact agree that this is a ghoulish request, but that’s Dranko for you. One Certain Step looks at Dranko and laughs.
“Dranko, it seems that soon I am going to die. I will give you the rod, and if I survive we can work out a trade. We’ve known each other a long time. If and when I pass away, you are all welcome to my belongings, to divide amongst yourselves as you all see fit.”
Dranko has the good grace to look ashamed. “Let me just say that on a daily basis, you’re an inspiration to all of us. My life’s been better because of you.”
“The future is written in water,” says Kibi suddenly. “The Eyes said that... well, the one of them that was right.”
“That is true,” says Step. “But still, the prophecy said I should not expect to come back alive, and I do not.”
“Grey Wolf expected to die too, and he’s still alive,” points out Ernie.
“And that fact does give me hope,” says Step, smiling.
“That’s only because we were too incompetent to betray him properly,” laughs Dranko.
“I have a ... feeling...” says Step, growing solemn again. “A feeling that I will go through the Black Door, and I will not survive. But thanks to all of you, I will be better off by far than the last time. And if my understanding is correct, you’d all better hope I’m right.”
* *
They spend the night enjoying the hospitality of the Wily Warthog. Flicker spends most of the evening in a funk, looking often at Yoba but keeping his distance. When Ernie gets up to use the privy, Dranko sits down in his place.
“So, what do you think of him?” he asks.
“Ernest seems an honest fellow,” says Yoba, looking hard at Dranko and wondering what other questions might be coming. “I think he’d have trouble concealing things about himself even if he tried.”
“True,” Dranko agrees. “You know, I don’t know that he’s ever had a girlfriend before.”
“So he’s not married,” says Yoba, and she can’t help but smile.
“He’s been waiting for the right girl,” says Dranko. “It’s hard for him to find someone who’ll understand the kind of life he leads, and appreciates him for who he is.”
Yoba starts to blush again, and when Ernie comes back to the table Dranko excuses himself. Ernie looks after Dranko worriedly, but Yoba gives an assuring smile. It’s then that Ernie notices Flicker, sitting gloomily on the stairs with his legs hanging through the banister, a mug of ale in his hand.
“I worry about Flicker sometimes,” says Ernie. “I don’t think he’s found Yondalla. Brandobaras, more like it.”
“I don’t think anything’s wrong with that,” says Yoba. “Is he a good person?”
“Yes,” says Ernie quickly. “But he... needs guidance.”
“I’m sure he’s getting it,” says Yoba. “He has you! And... and he seems like a nice fellow.”
That prompts Ernie to tell Yoba the story about Flicker’s unexpected game of Farangi back in Djaw, and Yoba once again listens eagerly to Ernie’s tales. Hours later they are still at the table, yawning but reluctant to part. They walk together up the stairs, though once at the top their rooms are in opposite directions down the hall.
“Good night,” says Ernie, a bit awkwardly. “I hope to see you in the morning.”
They turn and walk away, but both of them turn around before going into their own rooms. She smiles once more at him, before opening her door and stepping out of sight.
* *
Prinn approaches Morningstar over breakfast.
“I just came from bringing Porridge his morning meal,” she says. “He said he wants to talk to you.”
“How’s he doing?” Morningstar asks.
“Better. He still doesn’t remember what happened to him, but he knows now what he did, and what the consequences were. I explained everything to him, as gently as I could. He said he wanted to talk to the person who healed him.”
Morningstar nods.
A tall, portly man in dark blue clothing stands up from his own table and saunters over to where the Company sits. It’s Ox, whom they briefly encountered the previous night. He pulls up a chair.
“So, what do you think of the place?” he says in a deep, stentorian voice. Dranko’s attention is drawn to the cheap-looking longsword strapped to his side.
“Any good with that thing?” he asks.
Ox shrugs.
“Maybe we can duel later,” Dranko suggests.
“Ah, you’d be too much for me, I’m sure,” says Ox. “And I don’t like fighting.”
“So why you carry that thing around?” asks Dranko, pointing at the sword.
“Makes people think twice,” says Ox.
“What is it you like doing? You a spellcaster?”
Ox nods and smiles, as if to say ‘you got me.’
“We’ve got three of your kind in our group,” says Dranko. “One who does it with his eyes, one who does it with his sword, and one who does it with his rocks.”
Aravis sighs.
“I just dabble,” says Ox.
“What’s the most powerful spell you can cast?” presses Dranko.
“Not even worth talking about,” says Ox.
Somehow Ox manages to deflect several more of Dranko’s attempts to pin down the extent of his spellcasting prowess. “It makes me happy to have people wonder,” says Ox finally. “Makes people less likely to try something.”
Dranko gives up.
“Are you going to wait around for Peralta’s saviors to show up?” asks Ox.
“Yup,” answers Dranko. “You?”
“Of course!” says Ox, grinning. “That’s why I’m still here.”
“You gonna help him then?” asks Dranko.
“Absolutely. With what little means I have. And it beats the alternative, right?”
“You could spend time trying to pick up chicks with your super magic powers,” says Dranko.
“Actually, I’m hoping to be reunited with my wife as soon as possible,” says Ox with a smile.
Ernie and Yoba have been making googly eyes at one another all through breakfast. Ernie suddenly pipes up. “Say, anyone want to go for a walk? I’ve never seen a six-legged cow before. I want to take a look!”
“I’ll show them to you if you’d like,” says Yoba. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Without waiting for anyone else to show interest, she takes his hand and leads him out of the inn. The others just watch, amused.
“This is so sad,” says Morningstar. “When we get out of here, Yoba will have to back to being the Commander of the Southern Border, and Ernie will stay with us.”
“Maybe not,” says Dranko. “Maybe he’ll fall in love, and leave us to go with her.”
“My folks always told me, it’s better to have loved and lost that to never have loved at all,” says Aravis, though the others suspect he’s not speaking from actual experience.
“That’s a load of crap!” says Flicker bitterly, but no one pays him much mind.
“Can you plane shift from our world to her world?” asks Dranko, turning to Aravis.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then she can come join us, and eventually you can send her home, and Ernie can go with her if he wants,” says Dranko.
“Then we’ll lose Ernie!” Aravis protests.
“It’s better to have loved and lost....” says Dranko, leering.
“Isn’t this premature?” says Kibi. “He only met her yesterday. Sheesh.”
* *
Only Morningstar goes into Porridge’s house. Dranko eavesdrops from outside, just in case.
“Ah, Morningstar!” says Porridge, seeing her standing in the doorway. “Come in! Are you hungry? Thirsty? Sit down, be comfortable!”
Morningstar sees that the furniture has been rearranged and the table set.
“I wanted to thank you,” says Porridge, once Morningstar has been seated. “I know all about what happened. And I’ll deal with it. We got drunk and stupid, and did something... well, stupid, and my friends paid for it. I don’t know why I didn’t. But, here I am. And I’m in my right mind again, which I understand I wasn’t. So thank you.”
Morningstar gives an acknowledging nod, then licks her lips.
“Porridge, I have a question for you, one that I want you to think about. There may be a way that your memories could be helpful to separating the Slices and returning people to their own worlds.”
“You think so?” asks Porridge, his eyes wide.
“I think it’s very important for us to know what’s on the other side of the Black Door.”
Porridge shakes his head. “I don’t remember. If I could, I’d tell you.”
“I know,” says Morningstar. “But I have a spell that could cause you to remember.”
Porridge is silent for almost a minute before answering.
“Prinn tells me that whatever was in there is probably what caused me to go mad,” he says softly.
“Yes,” says Morningstar.
“Do you think I might go mad again if I remember? I want to help end the Slices, but...”
“If you go mad again, I can fix you, just like I did before,” says Morningstar.
“Prinn said that you had to make a severe personal sacrifice to help me. Would you do that again?”
“I... yes. We believe this is very important.”
“Well... okay then,” says Porridge.
“I want you take some time to think about it,” says Morningstar. “It’s a serious thing, what I’m proposing.”
“You say it’ll help fix the Slices?”
“It might.”
“You should just do it then.” Porridge sits up straighter in his chair. “Cause if I think about it too much, I might chicken out. But if I could help fix things... that would be pretty neat, huh?”
Morningstar smiles at him. “Let me get a couple of my friends, so they can keep an eye on us while I cast the spell.”
* *
Ernie is sitting on a beautiful snow-speckled hilltop, looking out upon a field of docile six-legged cows, listening to the sound of the wind, and trying very, very hard not to focus too hard on the fact that he and Yoba are holding hands. The two had talked for a while, but now are simply to content to enjoy the presence of the other, on this lovely winter morning. It’s just a perfect...
“Powerful cleric needed! Half-orcs don’t qualify!” Dranko’s voice intrudes on his reverie.
Ernie lets go of Yoba’s hand like it had caught on fire, and leaps to his feet.
“What about Morningstar?” he asks.
“You’re her spotter,” says Dranko.
“Ah.”
Ernie invites Yoba to come with him and she happily agrees.
* *
Morningstar knows that it is possible for the caster of a memory read to suffer if the memory in question is sufficiently horrible. But she was weathered the memory of a man thrown alive into a massive furnace, and trusts in Ell that she will endure this one as well. Ernie brews up a potion that fills the room with a pleasant scent, and arranges some cushions and bedding to make sure both Morningstar and Porridge are comfortable.
“We’re going to live about five minutes of your memory,” explains Morningstar. “Then we’ll come back here, and see how you feel.”
“I trust you,” says Porridge. “Prinn said a lot of pretty powerful healers tried to fix me up over the years, and none of the succeeded. I have faith in you.”
Morningstar takes a deep breath and casts her spell.
She’s drunk.
It’s always a strange sensation, being two people at once. She is Morningstar, and she is Porridge, and she is staggering out of the Wily Warthog into a cool autumn evening. On one side of her is a short and rotund fellow, and on the other is a tall gangly red-headed youth. It’s hard for her to concentrate on the details of the memory, because she’s rip-roaring plastered. The three of them stumble down the main road of Bakersfield. The red-head – Tom – is carrying a torch, and it’s only by the grace of Hol that he’s not setting his hair on fire. They are laughing and joking and from their banter it’s clear that they have recently all convinced one another to see what’s on the other side of Mystic Peralta’s “Door of Certain Dooooooooom.”
Ahead of them they see it, an opaque black rectangle against the almost-pitch-black horizon. It’s dead dark, ten feet wide and eight feet tall. Tom holds the torch inches from the Black Door.
“You sure ‘bout this?” he asks.
“Hop in, hop out,” Porridge says. “Whassever in there, wont’ have time to know we’re there. Jus’ like any other doorway. Hop in, hop out. Coupla seconds inside, come out again. Don’ worry. Ferny, he dinnit cmout again ‘cause he stayed in too long. In, out. In, out.”
“I don’t know if we should be doing this,” says Crows. “Thisss really... I dunno.”
“Come on,” urges Morningstar. “Go in, come out. In, out. In, out. No one knows we’re coming. We’ll be famous. Famous!”
“All right,” says Crows. “Famousest of the whole town then.”
They look at the Black Door in the light of Tom’s torch. There’s no reflection, no sparkling, just a matte black painting hanging in the air..
“When I say tree, we all runnan jump,” says Morningstar. “Remember, right in, right out. One! Two...”
“No no no no no!” says Crows. “Wait, wait! We could get killed doing this.”
“No, it’ll be fiiiiinne,” says Tom, emboldened by Morningstar’s confidence. “Everyone elswennin, thinking they would look around, essplore. We’re just jumpin in, jumpin out, like Porridge says.”
“Here we go,” says Porridge. One! Two! Three!”
Morningstar sees the other two jumping in, one on either side of him. She experiences the memory of being pulled through a Way, so familiar to her, so unexpected to Porridge.
She arrives...somewhere. She feels like he’s standing on something solid, but far away, as if she’s on a stone floor in huge padded shoes. It is more than just pitch dark. There’s no light, no sound, no sensory input of any kind. It is utterly not what she expected.
Some number of seconds have passed, maybe one or two, maybe more, and there’s great confusion in her memory. “Right!” she thinks in a panic. “Jump back out!”
Morningstar feels like a curtain of ropes is in the way, and that she’s pushing her way through it, even though the feeling of them is dulled to almost nothing. And as she does so, she gets a feeling, or the memory of a feeling, of a presence. Something unspeakably horrible is there in the darkness with her, and Morningstar’s body shudders with the remembrance of it. It’s incomprehensible, and she knows that it will devour her, and she’ll never understand why. She panics. She thinks she has turned around and is pushing toward where the Door must be, but there’s no way to tell if she’s even facing the right way. Her last memory will be one of hideous oblivion...
She pushes through the ropes, and once more there is the sucking void of the space between Ways, and then he is stumbling out onto the hard ground, sobbing and retching and clutching the earth like it’s his own mother come to embrace him.
...to be continued...
Memory of a Dark Place
“He’s not raving mad,” explains Yoba, as the Company walks down the main street of Bakersfield. “He’s just... quiet. Most of the time he barely seems aware of what’s going on around him.”
Morningstar has a notion to cast greater restoration on Porridge, but not if it’s already been tried. To find out, the Company stops first at the small shrine of Hol the Harvest God, where the local priestess Prinn tends to the sick and hurt. They find her in a small chamber warmed by a fire, brewing a pot of sleeping draught for an ill patient. She looks like she’s in her mid thirties, but of course in Het Branoi there’s no way to be sure of a person’s age. There is an air of matronly competence around her.
Prinn leaves her patient in the care of a young acolyte and motions for the Company to join her in her office.
“We were talking about Porridge,” explains Morningstar, “and wondering what’s been done for him already. We’ve heard that someone has tried the prayer of heal on him. Has anyone, to your knowledge, taken the step of a greater restoration?”
“Heavens no!” exclaims Prinn. “Few people who have come through Bakersfield have had that kind of power, and none have felt that Porridge was worth the... personal cost.”
“How long was Porridge on the other side of that door?” asks Dranko.
“Only a second or two, I think,” says Prinn. “But no one knows for sure. We’ve gleaned that from Porridge’s mutterings in the years since. Such a tragic thing.”
“More bad decisions are made when drunk,” says Ernie.
Prinn nods in agreement. “They had no ropes, even. Not that that would have helped. Young Sturt stands watch over the Black Door now, to stop other people from becoming drunk and doing the same.”
“But you do let sober people through,” says Dranko. “Tell us about the remains.”
Prinn looks distinctly uncomfortable at this question. She licks her lips, and decides there’s no way to be delicate about it.
“Usually it looks as though – and I’m sorry if this is upsetting – usually it’s just torsos. The limbs and heads are pulled or twisted off. Not sliced like with a weapon. Now, usually nothing comes back, but when something does, it’s... torsos.
“There is a stand of trees about a hundred feet from the Black Door,” she continues. “Many people have tried tying ropes to them, especially after one person, holding a rope for another, was yanked through as well. It never amounts to anything. We’ve left the bloody ropes hanging from the trees there, as a warning.”
“Anyone ever tried to go through invisible?” presses Dranko.
“Folks have tried all sorts of things,” answers Prinn. “About ten years ago, a large party of adventuring types decided they would all go in together. They cast many spells on themselves, made many preparations. They talked a lot about ‘buffing,’ which I guess means something to you heroic types. Some were invisible. Some had other wards and protections and such. They went in, certain and brave, despite the warnings of Peralta. I think one of them who had a collection of gems thought she was the one foretold. None of them ever came back.”
“Never?” says Dranko, musing. “You know what that means? All of their stuff is waiting on the other side!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” says Prinn, frowning. “But you should mourn for the deceased, and not talk about looting them. Dozens of people have gone in over the last twenty years, despite Peralta’s warnings. We expect that all of them are dead, may Hol grant them peace.”
“Joke,” mutters Dranko.
“What about Porridge?” asks Kibi. “What did he see?”
“It’s hard to get him to talk about it... or about anything at all. Whatever he saw, it ruined his mind. I’ve talked to him on many occasions, trying to ease his discomfort and distress. He talked about a curtain. He talked of thick ropes... and that he didn’t see, or hear anything at all. It was completely black.”
One Certain Step feels his throat go dry.
go with them to your certain doom
and be the one in the lightless room...
... light must rive the last of five
but don't expect to come back alive
Dranko comes to the same conclusion, and puts a comforting hand on Step’s shoulder.
“Have you tried speaking with any of the dead who have come back?” asks Morningstar.
“No. And I’m not going to, and neither are you,” says Prinn firmly. “Hol doesn’t hold with necromancy, and neither do I. I’ve buried the remains, and I will ask you not to dig them up.”
Dranko looks offended. “What kind of cleric do you take me for?”
“I didn’t take you for a cleric, sir,” says Prinn. “My apologies. It was the joke you made about looting the dead that threw me off.”
Dranko glowers. “I have no interest in looting the dead, but I do want to eliminate whatever’s making them dead.”
“I appreciate that,” says Prinn. “Do you think you’re the ones from the prophecy?”
“Lord knows we have as good a chance as anyone else,” says Dranko.
“You’ll need a better chance than anyone else,” points out Prinn.
“Well, thank you for your help,” says Morningstar. “We’re going to talk to Porridge.”
“Please don’t stress him unduly. He’s in a delicate state.”
* *
A light snow falls on the packed dirt streets of Bakersfield. The Company stands shivering outside a small dark house as the white sun sets. Dranko knocks on the door, but no one answers.
After two more knocks Dranko simply opens the door and peeks inside. A trace of dusk’s light spills inside, revealing a single plain room with sparse furniture. There is a musty smell. Dranko’s darkvision spots right away that a man is inside, sprawling out of a small chair on the far side of the only ground floor room.
“Knock knock!” says Dranko cheerfully.
The man tilts his head slightly, but though his gaze seems to fall across the crowd on his threshold, he shows no sign of interest.
“Mr. Porridge?” says Kibi. “Would you mind if we came in and visited with you for a while?”
Enough time passes for the Company to start wondering if he’s unconscious, or asleep with his eyes open, when he stirs and answers in a small slurred voice, “Come in. Please.”
Slowly so as not to alarm him, the Company files into Porridge’s house. Ernie reaches him first.
“Are you hungry?” he asks the man.
“Hungry?” he repeats softly. “Hungry? Hungry? What? What... what...”
“I’d like to try to help you,” says Morningstar, kneeling beside his chair.
“Uh huh,” says Porridge, though this utterance doesn’t sound like an assent.
“Would that be okay?” asks Morningstar.
Pause.
“I dunno,” says Porridge at last, but he nods as he speaks, which is enough for Morningstar.
For someone in his mental state, Porridge is not physically decrepit. There are signs of meals eaten, and he himself has clearly been bathed on a regular basis. His hair has been recently cut, and he is clean shaven. Terrence, they suppose, has been tending to his needs. While Morningstar begins preparing to cast the spell of greater restoration Ernie tries to make small talk, but Porridge is mostly unresponsive. A few times he whispers answers to simple questions, or jerkily takes sips of water from a wooden cup that someone had set beside his chair. The only thing that seems to catch his interest is Aravis’s unusual face.
“Funny eyes,” he says, staring. “Funny eyes.” His breathing starts to quicken. Aravis stands without speaking and leaves the room, respecting Prinn’s request not to agitate him. Porridge stares after him.
“Prinn thought maybe we could help you,” says Morningstar, distracting him.
“I dunno, I dunno,” Porridge whispers.
“I don’t know either, but I’d like to try,” says Morningstar gently.
“I feel fine,” says Porridge weakly. “I feel fine.” He turns to the empty space where Aravis had been standing. “Go away please.”
Morningstar casts her spell. When she finishes there is a surge of energy from healer to patient, and a swift chill runs through Morningstar’s bones.
Porridge’s eyes pop open, suffused with a heretofore absent clarity. Calmly he observes the assembled company, and his gaze lingers notably on their weapons. He addresses Morningstar, whose hand is still on his forehead.
“Who are you?” he asks calmly. Morningstar removes her hand, her breath coming in gasps from the effort of the spell.
“My name is Morningstar,” she answers.
“May I ask what you... what all of you... are doing in my house?”
“You’ve been ill for a very long time,” says Morningstar.
“Have I? Would you... would you mind if I asked you to leave? I don’t remember asking eight armed strangers into my home.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?” asks Dranko.
“I remember...” he trails off, his expression puzzled.
“You were drunk,” prompts Dranko helpfully.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you remember being drunk?”
“I remember waking up,” says Porridge, dredging up memories. “I remember going down to the Warthog. I was with Tom and Crows. We were having a good time, but I don’t recall the particulars. I’ll have to ask them.”
Dranko opens his mouth to speak, but in the back of his mind he hears Ernie’s reprimanding voice. Dranko, how about next time you let me comfort the grieving?
“You were talking about going through the Black Door,” says Morningstar.
“Yes. We were,” says Porridge. “We must have decided against it, fortunately,”
“Er...” says Dranko.
“Are you telling me I went through the Black Door?” Porridge sounds incredulous.
“Yep,” says Dranko, looking for a bright side to share. “You’re the only person who’s gone through the black door and lived.”
“Well, me and Tom and Crows,” says Porridge.
“You’re the only person who’s gone through the black door and lived,” repeats Dranko. “I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t funny,” says Porridge. “Who are you people? Didn’t I ask you to leave?”
“Prinn can explain,” says Ernie.
“I should hope so,” says Porridge, and Ernie dashes out the door to fetch her. While they wait for him to return, Dranko asks, “Do you remember how long your hair was when you went through?”
“Yes, of course, it was...” He reaches up to feel his head. “Huh. That’s weird. I... I don’t know what to say about that.”
“You went through the Black Door, and whatever you saw there broke your mind,” says Dranko.
“No, I didn’t,” insists Porridge. “I think I’d remember something like that. And you still haven’t answered the question of why you’re in my house.”
“To cure you,” says Morningstar.
“I’m not ill.”
“Not anymore,” says Kibi.
“We could leave our weapons outside if that would make you feel better,” says Grey Wolf.
“Could you? Yes, it would. Thank you.”
While they are disarming themselves, Ernie comes back with Prinn, breathless from running. She goes inside while the Company waits without. Ten minutes pass, before they hear a terrible sobbing. A few minutes after that Prinn comes back out.
“He’s going to need a little while. Can you come back in the morning?”
* *
Dranko takes a deep breath.
“Step?”
“Yes?”
“Can I work out a trade with you? No matter how I say this, it’s going to sound ghoulish, so I’m just going to ask. You know your immovable rod?”
Step nods. It’s part of the paladin’s equipment, but to Dranko’s ongoing frustration Step has never explored its tactical possibilities.
“When was the last time you used it?” asks Dranko.
“It’s been a long time,” Step concedes.
“What do you want for it?”
The rest of the Company does in fact agree that this is a ghoulish request, but that’s Dranko for you. One Certain Step looks at Dranko and laughs.
“Dranko, it seems that soon I am going to die. I will give you the rod, and if I survive we can work out a trade. We’ve known each other a long time. If and when I pass away, you are all welcome to my belongings, to divide amongst yourselves as you all see fit.”
Dranko has the good grace to look ashamed. “Let me just say that on a daily basis, you’re an inspiration to all of us. My life’s been better because of you.”
“The future is written in water,” says Kibi suddenly. “The Eyes said that... well, the one of them that was right.”
“That is true,” says Step. “But still, the prophecy said I should not expect to come back alive, and I do not.”
“Grey Wolf expected to die too, and he’s still alive,” points out Ernie.
“And that fact does give me hope,” says Step, smiling.
“That’s only because we were too incompetent to betray him properly,” laughs Dranko.
“I have a ... feeling...” says Step, growing solemn again. “A feeling that I will go through the Black Door, and I will not survive. But thanks to all of you, I will be better off by far than the last time. And if my understanding is correct, you’d all better hope I’m right.”
* *
They spend the night enjoying the hospitality of the Wily Warthog. Flicker spends most of the evening in a funk, looking often at Yoba but keeping his distance. When Ernie gets up to use the privy, Dranko sits down in his place.
“So, what do you think of him?” he asks.
“Ernest seems an honest fellow,” says Yoba, looking hard at Dranko and wondering what other questions might be coming. “I think he’d have trouble concealing things about himself even if he tried.”
“True,” Dranko agrees. “You know, I don’t know that he’s ever had a girlfriend before.”
“So he’s not married,” says Yoba, and she can’t help but smile.
“He’s been waiting for the right girl,” says Dranko. “It’s hard for him to find someone who’ll understand the kind of life he leads, and appreciates him for who he is.”
Yoba starts to blush again, and when Ernie comes back to the table Dranko excuses himself. Ernie looks after Dranko worriedly, but Yoba gives an assuring smile. It’s then that Ernie notices Flicker, sitting gloomily on the stairs with his legs hanging through the banister, a mug of ale in his hand.
“I worry about Flicker sometimes,” says Ernie. “I don’t think he’s found Yondalla. Brandobaras, more like it.”
“I don’t think anything’s wrong with that,” says Yoba. “Is he a good person?”
“Yes,” says Ernie quickly. “But he... needs guidance.”
“I’m sure he’s getting it,” says Yoba. “He has you! And... and he seems like a nice fellow.”
That prompts Ernie to tell Yoba the story about Flicker’s unexpected game of Farangi back in Djaw, and Yoba once again listens eagerly to Ernie’s tales. Hours later they are still at the table, yawning but reluctant to part. They walk together up the stairs, though once at the top their rooms are in opposite directions down the hall.
“Good night,” says Ernie, a bit awkwardly. “I hope to see you in the morning.”
They turn and walk away, but both of them turn around before going into their own rooms. She smiles once more at him, before opening her door and stepping out of sight.
* *
Prinn approaches Morningstar over breakfast.
“I just came from bringing Porridge his morning meal,” she says. “He said he wants to talk to you.”
“How’s he doing?” Morningstar asks.
“Better. He still doesn’t remember what happened to him, but he knows now what he did, and what the consequences were. I explained everything to him, as gently as I could. He said he wanted to talk to the person who healed him.”
Morningstar nods.
A tall, portly man in dark blue clothing stands up from his own table and saunters over to where the Company sits. It’s Ox, whom they briefly encountered the previous night. He pulls up a chair.
“So, what do you think of the place?” he says in a deep, stentorian voice. Dranko’s attention is drawn to the cheap-looking longsword strapped to his side.
“Any good with that thing?” he asks.
Ox shrugs.
“Maybe we can duel later,” Dranko suggests.
“Ah, you’d be too much for me, I’m sure,” says Ox. “And I don’t like fighting.”
“So why you carry that thing around?” asks Dranko, pointing at the sword.
“Makes people think twice,” says Ox.
“What is it you like doing? You a spellcaster?”
Ox nods and smiles, as if to say ‘you got me.’
“We’ve got three of your kind in our group,” says Dranko. “One who does it with his eyes, one who does it with his sword, and one who does it with his rocks.”
Aravis sighs.
“I just dabble,” says Ox.
“What’s the most powerful spell you can cast?” presses Dranko.
“Not even worth talking about,” says Ox.
Somehow Ox manages to deflect several more of Dranko’s attempts to pin down the extent of his spellcasting prowess. “It makes me happy to have people wonder,” says Ox finally. “Makes people less likely to try something.”
Dranko gives up.
“Are you going to wait around for Peralta’s saviors to show up?” asks Ox.
“Yup,” answers Dranko. “You?”
“Of course!” says Ox, grinning. “That’s why I’m still here.”
“You gonna help him then?” asks Dranko.
“Absolutely. With what little means I have. And it beats the alternative, right?”
“You could spend time trying to pick up chicks with your super magic powers,” says Dranko.
“Actually, I’m hoping to be reunited with my wife as soon as possible,” says Ox with a smile.
Ernie and Yoba have been making googly eyes at one another all through breakfast. Ernie suddenly pipes up. “Say, anyone want to go for a walk? I’ve never seen a six-legged cow before. I want to take a look!”
“I’ll show them to you if you’d like,” says Yoba. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Without waiting for anyone else to show interest, she takes his hand and leads him out of the inn. The others just watch, amused.
“This is so sad,” says Morningstar. “When we get out of here, Yoba will have to back to being the Commander of the Southern Border, and Ernie will stay with us.”
“Maybe not,” says Dranko. “Maybe he’ll fall in love, and leave us to go with her.”
“My folks always told me, it’s better to have loved and lost that to never have loved at all,” says Aravis, though the others suspect he’s not speaking from actual experience.
“That’s a load of crap!” says Flicker bitterly, but no one pays him much mind.
“Can you plane shift from our world to her world?” asks Dranko, turning to Aravis.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then she can come join us, and eventually you can send her home, and Ernie can go with her if he wants,” says Dranko.
“Then we’ll lose Ernie!” Aravis protests.
“It’s better to have loved and lost....” says Dranko, leering.
“Isn’t this premature?” says Kibi. “He only met her yesterday. Sheesh.”
* *
Only Morningstar goes into Porridge’s house. Dranko eavesdrops from outside, just in case.
“Ah, Morningstar!” says Porridge, seeing her standing in the doorway. “Come in! Are you hungry? Thirsty? Sit down, be comfortable!”
Morningstar sees that the furniture has been rearranged and the table set.
“I wanted to thank you,” says Porridge, once Morningstar has been seated. “I know all about what happened. And I’ll deal with it. We got drunk and stupid, and did something... well, stupid, and my friends paid for it. I don’t know why I didn’t. But, here I am. And I’m in my right mind again, which I understand I wasn’t. So thank you.”
Morningstar gives an acknowledging nod, then licks her lips.
“Porridge, I have a question for you, one that I want you to think about. There may be a way that your memories could be helpful to separating the Slices and returning people to their own worlds.”
“You think so?” asks Porridge, his eyes wide.
“I think it’s very important for us to know what’s on the other side of the Black Door.”
Porridge shakes his head. “I don’t remember. If I could, I’d tell you.”
“I know,” says Morningstar. “But I have a spell that could cause you to remember.”
Porridge is silent for almost a minute before answering.
“Prinn tells me that whatever was in there is probably what caused me to go mad,” he says softly.
“Yes,” says Morningstar.
“Do you think I might go mad again if I remember? I want to help end the Slices, but...”
“If you go mad again, I can fix you, just like I did before,” says Morningstar.
“Prinn said that you had to make a severe personal sacrifice to help me. Would you do that again?”
“I... yes. We believe this is very important.”
“Well... okay then,” says Porridge.
“I want you take some time to think about it,” says Morningstar. “It’s a serious thing, what I’m proposing.”
“You say it’ll help fix the Slices?”
“It might.”
“You should just do it then.” Porridge sits up straighter in his chair. “Cause if I think about it too much, I might chicken out. But if I could help fix things... that would be pretty neat, huh?”
Morningstar smiles at him. “Let me get a couple of my friends, so they can keep an eye on us while I cast the spell.”
* *
Ernie is sitting on a beautiful snow-speckled hilltop, looking out upon a field of docile six-legged cows, listening to the sound of the wind, and trying very, very hard not to focus too hard on the fact that he and Yoba are holding hands. The two had talked for a while, but now are simply to content to enjoy the presence of the other, on this lovely winter morning. It’s just a perfect...
“Powerful cleric needed! Half-orcs don’t qualify!” Dranko’s voice intrudes on his reverie.
Ernie lets go of Yoba’s hand like it had caught on fire, and leaps to his feet.
“What about Morningstar?” he asks.
“You’re her spotter,” says Dranko.
“Ah.”
Ernie invites Yoba to come with him and she happily agrees.
* *
Morningstar knows that it is possible for the caster of a memory read to suffer if the memory in question is sufficiently horrible. But she was weathered the memory of a man thrown alive into a massive furnace, and trusts in Ell that she will endure this one as well. Ernie brews up a potion that fills the room with a pleasant scent, and arranges some cushions and bedding to make sure both Morningstar and Porridge are comfortable.
“We’re going to live about five minutes of your memory,” explains Morningstar. “Then we’ll come back here, and see how you feel.”
“I trust you,” says Porridge. “Prinn said a lot of pretty powerful healers tried to fix me up over the years, and none of the succeeded. I have faith in you.”
Morningstar takes a deep breath and casts her spell.
She’s drunk.
It’s always a strange sensation, being two people at once. She is Morningstar, and she is Porridge, and she is staggering out of the Wily Warthog into a cool autumn evening. On one side of her is a short and rotund fellow, and on the other is a tall gangly red-headed youth. It’s hard for her to concentrate on the details of the memory, because she’s rip-roaring plastered. The three of them stumble down the main road of Bakersfield. The red-head – Tom – is carrying a torch, and it’s only by the grace of Hol that he’s not setting his hair on fire. They are laughing and joking and from their banter it’s clear that they have recently all convinced one another to see what’s on the other side of Mystic Peralta’s “Door of Certain Dooooooooom.”
Ahead of them they see it, an opaque black rectangle against the almost-pitch-black horizon. It’s dead dark, ten feet wide and eight feet tall. Tom holds the torch inches from the Black Door.
“You sure ‘bout this?” he asks.
“Hop in, hop out,” Porridge says. “Whassever in there, wont’ have time to know we’re there. Jus’ like any other doorway. Hop in, hop out. Coupla seconds inside, come out again. Don’ worry. Ferny, he dinnit cmout again ‘cause he stayed in too long. In, out. In, out.”
“I don’t know if we should be doing this,” says Crows. “Thisss really... I dunno.”
“Come on,” urges Morningstar. “Go in, come out. In, out. In, out. No one knows we’re coming. We’ll be famous. Famous!”
“All right,” says Crows. “Famousest of the whole town then.”
They look at the Black Door in the light of Tom’s torch. There’s no reflection, no sparkling, just a matte black painting hanging in the air..
“When I say tree, we all runnan jump,” says Morningstar. “Remember, right in, right out. One! Two...”
“No no no no no!” says Crows. “Wait, wait! We could get killed doing this.”
“No, it’ll be fiiiiinne,” says Tom, emboldened by Morningstar’s confidence. “Everyone elswennin, thinking they would look around, essplore. We’re just jumpin in, jumpin out, like Porridge says.”
“Here we go,” says Porridge. One! Two! Three!”
Morningstar sees the other two jumping in, one on either side of him. She experiences the memory of being pulled through a Way, so familiar to her, so unexpected to Porridge.
She arrives...somewhere. She feels like he’s standing on something solid, but far away, as if she’s on a stone floor in huge padded shoes. It is more than just pitch dark. There’s no light, no sound, no sensory input of any kind. It is utterly not what she expected.
Some number of seconds have passed, maybe one or two, maybe more, and there’s great confusion in her memory. “Right!” she thinks in a panic. “Jump back out!”
Morningstar feels like a curtain of ropes is in the way, and that she’s pushing her way through it, even though the feeling of them is dulled to almost nothing. And as she does so, she gets a feeling, or the memory of a feeling, of a presence. Something unspeakably horrible is there in the darkness with her, and Morningstar’s body shudders with the remembrance of it. It’s incomprehensible, and she knows that it will devour her, and she’ll never understand why. She panics. She thinks she has turned around and is pushing toward where the Door must be, but there’s no way to tell if she’s even facing the right way. Her last memory will be one of hideous oblivion...
She pushes through the ropes, and once more there is the sucking void of the space between Ways, and then he is stumbling out onto the hard ground, sobbing and retching and clutching the earth like it’s his own mother come to embrace him.
...to be continued...
Last edited:
Given that I was literally falling asleep as I posted last night, I'll be amazed if that's the only typo.
