Session 31

The Succulent Juices stepped out of the portal into utter pandemonium.

The bright white sands of the beach were a hive of violent activity as perhaps a score of sodden people struggled toward shore ahead of a writhing mass of enormous tentacles rising from the roiling water. Further out in the bay, what remained of a large ship – its middle crushed by some tremendous force – sank into the clear turquoise depths.

As the group tried to make sense of the chaos, one hapless figure was snared by a tentacle, lifted amid terrified screams, and then dragged below the surface. Another sailor flailed wildly as a different tentacle slammed down, sending up a cloud of sand and foam. He barely managed to roll clear before yet another appendage groped toward his prone form.

“We have to help them!” Brabara yelled, sprinting down to the water’s edge.

She saw a tentacle rise over one of the struggling sailors – a woman with long braids adorned with colourful beads. Brabara stepped forward and brought her glaive down on the thick, leathery flesh, carving deep chunks from it. The tentacle recoiled, giving the woman time to scramble up the beach and away.

Another sailor was not so fortunate. A tentacle seized him and lifted the screaming man high overhead. It drew back, then hurled the unfortunate victim straight at Brabara. His flailing body flew with incredible speed and struck her armoured chest with such force that his bones broke against her, knocking her onto her back several paces up the beach.

Seknafret stepped closer, focusing her power on the unseen creature at the centre of the roiling mass. She extended a hand and pointed. A heartbeat later, a loud popping sound echoed across the cove, and the tentacles vanished. The sea rushed back sharply to fill the void the massive creature had left.

“I can’t keep it away for long!” Seknafret called to the fleeing sailors. “Run clear while you can!”

The survivors needed no encouragement. Some bolted blindly from the water’s edge, caring for no one but themselves, while others turned back to help injured companions put distance between them and the surf.

Steep limestone cliffs hemmed in the cove, preventing escape along the beach, but around a rocky bluff, tall palms waved gently in the breeze. The four companions followed the sailors around the bluff while Seknafret maintained her banishment.

The long, wide beach beyond was bordered by thick jungle, and the sailors disappeared into the canopy where the tentacles could not reach them.

After a minute, Seknafret’s spell ended. A loud splash marked the gargantuan beast’s return. It flailed its tentacles for a few frantic moments, but with no prey in sight it soon gave up and slid back into the depths.

When the danger had passed, the surviving sailors emerged from the trees and began salvaging what they could from the crates of supplies that had washed ashore from their now‑sunken ship.

One survivor, a dark‑skinned woman dressed in colourful clothes, approached them with a welcoming expression.

“Thank you for saving my crew,” she said. “I am Laysa, Captain of The Crested Wave.” She paused. “Or at least I was, until today. I bid you welcome.”

Ebyn inclined his head politely, though his gaze lingered on her a heartbeat longer than usual, a rare crack in his otherwise measured composure.

“Well met, Laysa,” Seknafret said. “I am Seknafret, and these are my companions: Ebyn, Brabara, and Xalen. Are any of your people injured? I would like to heal them, if I may.”

Laysa nodded. “A few broken bones and a gash or two. It would have been far worse if you hadn’t shown up when you did.” Her eyes narrowed. “Actually… how did you come to be here?”

“A portal,” Seknafret explained. “We seek an ancient tomb somewhere on the island.”

Laysa nodded slowly. “The Tomb of Wayward Souls. I know it. We had hoped to explore the place ourselves, but after what happened today, I must rethink my plans.”

“The injured?” Seknafret prompted.

“Of course.” Laysa turned and whistled. Several crew members looked up, and she signalled for them to approach. Two men, an elf and an orc by appearance, stepped forward.

“This is Talo,” she said, pointing to the elf, “and this is Vogren,” she added, indicating the orc. “Both are priests of Celestian, god of stars and wanderers. They can help you with the injured.”

“Elf and orc working together?” Brabara remarked as the two men led Seknafret away. “You have quite the cosmopolitan crew, Captain.”

Laysa shrugged. “As long as you follow orders and do the work, it makes no difference to me what blood you have. The sea doesn’t give a fat fish’s fuck about tribal hatreds, and neither do I.”

“You said you were planning to explore the tomb?” Ebyn asked.

“That’s right. We even hired an archaeologist to help us.” Laysa pointed toward a pale‑skinned, dark‑haired female elf picking through the flotsam. “That’s Marian, our resident expert on the mad wizard who built this place a few hundred years back.”

“May we speak with her?” Ebyn asked.

“Be my guest,” Laysa said. “But be warned, she can get a bit excitable about this sort of thing. She’s liable to talk your ears off.”

Brabara chuckled and shot Ebyn a sideways look. “We’ve got one of those too. What’s your interest in this tomb? Fame? Fortune?”

“Reparations,” Laysa said simply. “I was born on this island. When the mad wizard came to build his tomb, he all but wiped out the native population, taking many as slaves for its construction and killing any who tried to recover their loved ones. He stripped the tribes of anything they considered valuable to adorn his creation.”

The heat in her words was palpable.

“I was raised on tales of his cruelty. By the time I was old enough to make my own way, I swore I’d return and recover the lost artifacts of my people.” She glanced back at the bedraggled remnants of her crew. “This morning, I thought I was on the cusp of fulfilling that vow. Now… I’m no longer certain.”

“These artifacts,” Ebyn said. “What are they?”

Laysa tapped her breast. “I have a list. Much of it wouldn’t seem valuable to anyone else, but to my people, they mean a great deal.”

Ebyn extended a hand. “May I see it?”

Laysa reached under her coat and produced an oil‑skinned scroll case. “Here you go.”

Ebyn opened it. The seal had held well despite its time in the water, and the parchment inside was only slightly damaged. He scanned the list, nodded once – apparently satisfied – then rolled it up and handed it back.

“We can recover these items for you,” he said.

“You can?” Laysa straightened.

“We can?” Xalen echoed, raising an eyebrow at Ebyn.

“Of course,” Ebyn continued. “We have our own goals inside the tomb. We can certainly keep an eye out for anything on your list and bring it out if we come across it.”

“I can pay you,” Laysa said. “Quite handsomely for each one you return.”

Ebyn smiled. “Naturally, any payment you provide will be gladly accepted.”

“Thank you, friends.” Laysa beamed. “Your chance arrival has turned a tragic day into one filled with hope.”

“Quite,” said Ebyn. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to show me to the archaeologist.”

---

Ebyn, Brabara, and Xalen listened as Marian explained what she knew about Acererak and the elaborate, trap‑filled tombs he had constructed across the Flanaess. Most of what she said they already knew, either from Mordenkainen or from their own shared nightmares, but here and there she revealed a new detail.

Xalen noticed Brabara’s eyes glazing over, and even Ebyn seemed only half‑engaged. Laysa’s warning had proved accurate: Marian could indeed talk their ears off.

The only reason Xalen kept listening instead of going to help Seknafret tend the wounded was the curiously large black feather woven into Marian’s hair. He waited for a pause in the archaeologist’s excited monologue so he could ask about it.

He had been waiting a long time.

“That feather in your hair,” he blurted at last. It was clear she would never stop unless he simply cut in. “Where did you get it?”

Marian stopped mid‑sentence and touched the feather. “I’ve had it all my life,” she said after a confused pause. “Why do you ask?”

Xalen looked at her – really looked. Her skin tone, her hair, even her age… it all lined up. He decided to take a chance. “Are you, perhaps, an orphan?”

She gasped. “How could you know that?” Her eyes narrowed, darting from Xalen to Ebyn to Brabara. “What is going on here?”

Brabara raised her hands, palms out. “Don’t ask me,” she said, stepping back to give the young elf some space.

Ebyn turned to Xalen. “Surely you must be joking? The odds of this must be astronomical.”

“Oh,” Brabara murmured a moment later, finally catching up.

Marian rounded on Ebyn. “Odds of what? What are you talking about?”

Xalen reached into his pouch and withdrew the Barovian raven’s feather, the silver key, and the now‑empty vial. He held them out for Marian to see.

Her eyes widened. “Where did you get those?” she whispered, one hand rising to touch something hanging beneath her collar.

“My parents gave them to me,” Xalen said. “Wrapped in my swaddling, just before they sent me away with Vistani travellers.” He met her gaze. “Just before they sent me, and my twin sister, away.”

Marian’s breath caught. “You’re telling me… you’re my brother? My twin brother?”

“Oh, come on,” Ebyn said. “This must be some kind of ruse. A gambit by our enemies to undermine us. You cannot be buying into this ridiculous fantasy, Xalen.”

While he spoke, Marian unclasped her necklace and drew out a silver key and vial identical to Xalen’s – except hers still held a small amount of blood.

“I knew these items, along with this feather, were found in my swaddling,” she said, anguish and hope warring in her eyes. “I always assumed they were connected to my heritage, but…”

She took a deep breath, then nodded as if making a decision. “In truth, I never dug into my past because it frightened me. As soon as I was old enough, the nurses sent me to study with the worshippers of Nerull.”

“Who is that?” Ebyn asked.

Marian stared at him.

“We’re not from around here,” Xalen explained.

“Nerull is the god of death, darkness, and the underworld,” Marian said. “Among other things.”

“Why would the nurses send you to a place like that?” Brabara asked.

Marian shrugged. “One of the priests later told me the blood in this vial marked me as one of Nerull’s chosen, and they didn’t want to risk drawing the fell god’s ire.” She shuddered. “I stayed for a time and learned about necromancy and the undead. That’s where I first became interested in Acererak and his tombs.”

At her words, the box at Ebyn’s side clicked, another secret added to its horde. “Marian Xavere was an initiate of Nerull.”

Marian continued. “I left the first chance I got, once they showed me what they consider the ‘true faith.’” She swallowed. “Wholesale death and murder were not things I wanted any part of. No matter what the nurses believed.”

“Since then, my life has been uneventful,” she said, fidgeting with the vial and key. “I do research when hired and pursue my own interests with the coin I earn. It’s not exciting, but I’m content.”

“May I see them?” Xalen asked, his hands trembling slightly.

Marian handed over the vial and key. Xalen turned them over carefully. The vial was an exact match for his, save that hers still held the blood he had expended to receive the vision in Barovia. The silver key was similar as well, the teeth matched, so it would likely open the same lock, but the inscription differed.

Xaneel Ad Vartu Eld Ranik Estari.

Xalen activated the magic of his helm, and the meaning revealed itself. “From violence will come rebirth,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” Marian asked.

“The inscription,” Xalen said. “It’s written in the Dusk Elf dialect. Your key reads, ‘From violence will come rebirth.’”

He handed her his own key. “Mine says, ‘From despair will come hope.’ My foster father used the letters to give me my name, Xalen.”

Marian laughed softly. “Me too. My patronymic, Xavere. So, I’d know where I came from.”

Brabara noticed Ebyn staring at her. “What?” she said. “I’m not crying… You’re crying.”

“Don’t tell me you believe this fantasy too,” Ebyn muttered.

Brabara didn’t answer. Instead, she gently ushered him away. “Let’s give these two some space. And if you’re not convinced, maybe consult your auguries or whatever to ease your mind.”

Ebyn allowed himself to be led off.

Xalen returned Marian’s vial and key, then sat beside her. “There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

---

Once Seknafret had done what she could for the injured sailors, and rested for an hour to recover her strength, the group left the survivors’ makeshift camp and cut their way into the thick jungle.

Laysa had said the tomb lay only a couple of miles inland and had provided a crude map to guide them.

They had been travelling for about an hour when Brabara spoke. “Hey, Ebyn,” she called over her shoulder as she hacked through the undergrowth. “I meant to ask earlier, but I forgot, why did you agree to recover the artifacts for Laysa?”

“At first I wanted to know if the rod piece was on her list,” he replied. “It wasn’t. After that, I simply said what I imagined she’d want to hear.”

“Sounds about right,” Xalen muttered.

Ebyn rolled his eyes. “Then she mentioned payment, and I remembered we spent most of our money last time in Sigil. Extra funds would be welcome. Research doesn’t come cheap these days.”

“Simulacrums, you mean,” Brabara scoffed.

“Whatever the case, we need gold, and Laysa was prepared to pay. It seemed prudent to accept. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” Brabara said. “I’m glad we can do something good for her and her people.”

“But what was all that business with Ebyn’s Excruciatingly Expensive Estate?” Xalen asked. “I reckon those folk would’ve been happy sleeping on a bit of canvas strung between two trees.”

Ebyn shrugged. “You may be right, but after what they’d endured, I thought the captain and her crew deserved a little comfort for one night at least.”

“And, it had nothing at all to do with the fact that Laysa is an attractive woman?” Xalen said with a wink.

Ebyn’s hand hesitated mid‑stride as he pushed a branch aside – the smallest hitch in his normally precise movements. He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to hide it.

“Of course not,” he said, cheeks colouring. “It was just… you know, the right thing to do.”

“What is it with you and ship’s captains?” Brabara chimed in. “You were besotted with that captain in the Astral Plane too… What was her name again?”

“Indra,” Ebyn said, then immediately cursed under his breath.

Brabara beamed. “Indra, yes! You were pretty taken with her, and now it seems you’ve got captain’s fever again.”

“This is all very interesting,” Ebyn said, swatting a mosquito at his neck, “but we have a madman’s tomb to reach.” He gestured at the dense foliage ahead. “Brabara, if you don’t mind.”

Brabara laughed, then turned and began cutting a fresh swathe through the jungle, whistling a tuneless melody as she went.