Madam Eva and the Tarokka

Weapons raised, the Vistani edged closer to Team Ramrod. At the last moment, a familiar voice called out. “At ease my friends. These are my guests.”

All eyes turned to a tall, ropy man with tied-back black hair and a pointed goatee. Like the others, he was dressed in bright colors — reds and blues and purples and greens. Dare recognized him immediately.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” Dare said.

The man simply nodded and turned back to his friends. “Let us toast these fine fellows — the ones we have to thank for our drink this lovely day.”

The weapons were immediately lowered. Everyone grabbed their cups and lifted them high.

“To…” the man paused. “What do you call yourselves?”

“Um, Team Ramrod,” Dare said.

The man’s arm lowered ever so slightly. “Really?”

Lilvari sighed. “Yep. Really.”

“To Team Ramrod,” the man said.

“To Team Ramrod!” cheered the Vistani.

“So good of you to come,” the man said to Dare as everyone returned to the fire. “You wish to speak to Madam Eva, yes?”

“Yes. But first, can we uh… get some of that wine?”

“Of course!” He put an arm around Dare’s shoulders and led him and the rest of the party towards the festivities. There, they were given places to sit and cups brimming with red wine. It wasn’t until several cups later that Mystic elbowed Dare. It took a few tries to get his attention.

“Don’t you think we should talk to their leader before you’re too drunk to remember anything she says?” Mystic asked.

Dare examined her closely through half-glazed eyes. She was about to repeat herself when he smiled and said, “You’re always thinking. You know that?”

“Somebody has to,” Mystic said under her breath.

They found their host, and he brought them towards the edge of camp, to a small stream. A large tent stood nearby.

“Stanimir, you brought guests,” croaked an old withered voice from within.

“Yes, Madam Eva,” Stanimir replied. He grabbed Dare’s shoulder and gave it a friendly, yet hearty, shake. “This is the one I told you about, the one who is searching for his sister.”

“Ah,” she said. “Come. Please.”

Team Ramrod looked at each other. Dare shrugged and headed in. The others followed. Stanimir waited outside. A table covered in black satin bisected the front area of the tent. On top was a glowing crystal ball. From the shadows emerged an old, hunched-over woman. She wore a purple scarf over her long, gray hair and like the others, was adorned with all sorts of jewelry — necklaces upon necklaces hung from her neck, countless bracelets ringed her bony arms and she had rings on every finger.

“Welcome, welcome. I am Madam Eva,” she said. Team Ramrod introduced themselves in turn.

“So is it true?” Dare asked. “Can you tell me where I can find my sister?”

“Me? No. I can not,” she replied, “but the Tarokka… the Tarokka will tell us.” With that, she headed deeper into the tent and returned a moment later with a small chest made of cedar. She placed it on the table and motioned for Dare to sit. There was only one chair on that side of the table. Dare sat in it and watched as she opened the box. Inside was something wrapped in fine silk. She took her time unwrapping it in a most delicate fashion.

When she was done, Dare saw a deck of oversized cards. At first glance, they seemed to be dirty – smudged with something brown and rusty-looking.

She took a seat across from Dare. “Give me your hand,” she said. Dare did as he was told. She held it gently, palm up and before he could react, cut across his palm with a sharp, ruby red fingernail.

“Ouch! What the–“

“Shhh,” she said as she squeezed his hand. “It’s necessary.” A line of blood rose from his wound and began dribbling down his wrist. Madam Eva rubbed her hands in the blood. When both were sufficiently coated, she picked up the deck and placed four cards in front of him, face down.

“Now,” she said, “let us learn together.” The crystal orb flickered as she turned the first card. She trailed her blood-stained finger down its front, over the picture of a sad-looking woman wearing a dark veil. The mirror behind the woman was cracked down the center. “The Broken One,” Madam Eva said. “Defeat. Failure. Despair… the loss of something or someone important, without which one feels incomplete.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “The loss of your sister, perhaps.”

Dare didn’t like the feeling he got inside. It was like she not only cut into his palm but cut into his soul. He resisted the urge to pull his hand away.

“Ah ha,” she said as she flipped over the second card. “The Darklord. Notice that it’s upside down. The Darklord represents a single, powerful individual, one whose goals have enormous and far-reaching consequences. The fact that it’s upside down, to me, denotes one place: Darkon — a domain without a dark lord. Your sister… she’s there.”

After flipping over the next blood-smeared card, she said, “The two of stars. The Diviner. This card means the pursuit of knowledge tempered by wisdom, truth and honesty.” Madam Eva closed her eyes. It was was several moments before she spoke. “Doctor Ingrid van Richten. Seek her out in Darkon. You’ll find that your goals are aligned. She will help you.”

The last card she flipped over was that of the Tax Collector, only it was upside down as well. “This one represents corruption. Given the cards so far, I’d say your sister’s being has been corrupted — fouled by others in her society. She must belong to a coven, for what other society matters to a hag? Be wary, for they will fight dearly for her.”

Dare had never mentioned to Madam Eva that his sister was now a hag. Did Stanimir? Or was it something she learned from her cards.

His reading complete, Dare slowly stood.

“Does anyone else care to have their fortunes told?”

They did. All of them. One by one they took the chair in front of Madam Eva, letting the old Vistana spill their blood and read their fortunes with her ever-reddening Tarokka cards.

Madam Eva’s readings hit eerily close to home for all of them. She knew where to find Nazzeth’s brother, was aware of the grave danger Mystic’s lost flute posed, and for Lilvari — well, Madam Eva’s reading sent a chill racing down her neck.

“Nine of Glyphs,” Madam Eva said after turning Lilvari’s third card. “The Traitor. It means you’ve been betrayed by someone close, someone trusted, though the card does not speak of who.”

The next card drew a gasp from Madam Eva. It was the Darklord card again, just as she’d flipped over for Dare. Unlike Dare’s card however, this card was right-side up. “I sense that where I am to send you,” Madam Eva said, “it… it may be for you just as much as Dare.”

“What do you mean?” Lilvari asked.

“The one who ruled, Darklord Azalin Rex, is gone, and there are three who vie to be his successor. If you were to become the fourth, the cards tell me that Darkon may be yours.”

There was a collective silence throughout the room as all eyes turned to Lilvari.

“I will prepare to send you on your way,” Madam Eva said at last, breaking the silence. “It may take some time. So please sit by our fire. Share in our food.” she offered them a meager smile as she set to putting her cards away.

The Shroud

Team Ramrod met Stanimir outside and accompanied him back to the fire. Daylight was waning, and they spent their time listening to music and stories. Eventually, as the hour grew late and the sky dark, the Vistani retired back to their tents and wagons in ones and twos. Soon there were only a handful remaining — Stanimir being one of them. At long last, he stood as well. “I’m off to my wagon. I’d offer you a spot somewhere, but we don’t–“

“We’ll be fine,” Lilvari said. “We have our bedrolls. Thank you though.”

He bowed and bid them good night. Shortly after, the last of the Vistani headed to their tents — all but one. This one staggered down the path towards the edge of the woods where he took a seat on a large rock.

Lilvari watched him. “You know, taking watch for ourselves might not be a bad idea.”

When no one responded, she turned to face them. They were in the process of getting comfortable in their bedrolls. “I guess I’ll go first then.”

She stood and ‘accidentally’ kicked Dare as she walked by.

She took the same path as the Vistana but in the opposite direction towards the stream, passing between two barrel wagons on the way. Once near the water’s edge, she found a rotted log to sit upon to take her watch.

The hours passed quietly, though towards the end of her watch, she noticed a low mist creeping over the stream. By the time she headed back to camp, the mist had breached the water’s edge and was lightly swirling about her feet. She roused Nazzeth, and he took watch by the stream as well.

All through his watch, the mist continued to thicken until Nazzeth couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of him. The best he could do was listen for threats, but soon the mist even blanketed the sounds. He was glad when his watch was done.

On his way back to camp, the mist was so thick that Nazzeth couldn’t see the barrel wagons he’d passed earlier. As he reached the low-burning fire, however, he wondered if maybe the wagons hadn’t been there at all. He held his breath and listened. Aside from Dare’s snoring, he heard not a sound and saw not one tent or wagon or other signs of life other than his party.

“Dare?” he said, kneeling next to him. “I think we have a problem.”

Dare grumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘piss off’, then rolled over. Suddenly there was a loud sound from somewhere in the distance — a CRACK as if a tree had been snapped in half. Nazzeth stood, alarmed. He kept listening. For a moment, he heard nothing but his own heavy breathing, but then it came again — closer this time and accompanied by the thunderous sound of footsteps.

“Umm… guys?”

“My turn for watch?” Mystic asked, half asleep.

More snapping sounds. More footsteps — all getting nearer and not just from one source. Mystic sat up quickly. “What’s that?”

“I think that’s our cue to get out of here,” replied Nazzeth.

Together, he and Mystic roused the rest of the party, though they couldn’t convince Dare to leave his bedroll. “It’s probably just two drunk Vistani getting it on or something,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” said Mystic. “I think we’re on our own.”

A low growl permeated the fog.

That got Dare’s attention. He wriggled out of his bedroll, and as he did, a dull pain bit into his hip. He checked his pocket and pulled out a strange gold coin. Etched on one side was a gaunt wizard’s face. “I don’t remember putting this in there,” he said. He watched as Lilvari reached into her pocket. She pulled out an identical coin. So did Nazzeth, Mystic and Mercarri. “What is this?”

Nazzeth recognized the etching. It was Azalin Rex, the Darklord of Darkon. “I think this means we’re in Darkon,” he said, somewhat subdued. Before he could explain further, the ground shook beneath them. The sound of throaty growls and snapping branches drew closer. “We have to get out of here.”

“Which way?” yelled Mercarri.

As if in answer, a bell rang out from somewhere to the south. Faintly over it they heard a man’s voice. “The Shroud! It comes! Hurry to me!”

The sounds of the bell and the man were coming from the opposite direction of the unspeakable horrors so it took little effort to come to a consensus. Team Ramrod ran blindly through the heavy mist towards the bell, but the monstrous footfalls and growls were gaining. “Come on,” Nazzeth shouted. “We have to hurry.”

Soon they saw several small, fiery motes floating in the distance. After a few dozen yards more, they were able to discern that the motes were torches being carried by others running in the same direction. As Team Ramrod drew closer still, small houses veiled by the mist came into view. It was a village. Everyone was running towards what looked to be a church at the edge of town. It was a small building with a sagging roof and crooked bell tower. The mist had not yet reached it.

“Hurry,” said a small-statured man at its front entrance. “The Shroud is almost upon us!”

Team Ramrod rushed inside. There they saw a dozen or so villagers huddled together near the center of the room. There were men and women alike, all rail thin and dressed in rags. A few children clung to them in fear, but most were in the corner near a gold-scaled dragonborn who was dressed in white clergy robes. She and the children had their eyes closed as they prayed.

“Who are you?” came a gruff voice from behind. Lilvari turned to see two orcs at the door. One wore a hooded cloak and carried a scepter. The other held a longsword and shield. The one with the sword brandished it at her ever-so-slightly. “I said who–“

The orc’s question was interrupted by a cry from somewhere outside. The orcs turned towards the door.

“It’s Misca,” said the short man. “By the gods, she’ll never make it.”

“We’ll see about that,” said the orc with the longsword. “Azza, come!”

The orcs ran towards the mist. Lilvari, peered out. The mist — or The Shroud, as this old man referred to it — had stopped about fifty feet shy of the church. Barely visible inside the grey, swirling cloud was a young girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen. She was running towards them, but she wasn’t alone in The Shroud. Something at least twenty feet tall and just as wide was lumbering after her, and it was gaining. The orcs were almost to her, but it’d be close.

“Stop!” Lilvari called out. “I can teleport her to safety.”

The orcs didn’t listen. “We take care of our own,” one of them shouted as they raced to the edge of The Shroud. Just then, a wretched sound escaped the monster — a cross between a whimper and a choked scream, but it wasn’t from the orcs attacking. It was the monster launching an attack of its own. A wave of black energy poured from its mouth, splashing over both orcs, bringing the one with the sword to his knees. Thankfully it just missed the girl who was still hurrying in Lilvari’s direction. Within a few moments, the girl was safely inside.

There was a flash from behind. Lilvari turned to see that Mystic had transformed into dozens of bright stars — her starry form. Lilvari gave her a nod and rushed outside. Mystic followed and cast Moonbeam. The Shroud lit up from the spell’s light, and it was the first time they got a good look at what they were dealing with.

“What the hell is that?” Mystic said, voice trembling. The creature in The Shroud looked in their direction from empty sockets. It’s mouth was large and full of razor sharp teeth, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Rotted skin hung from its massive bones in grotesque clumps. It’s innards dangled from it’s belly.

“Eww,” said Dare. “Fucking gross. Mystic, can you maybe turn down the lights?”

“It’ doesn’t really work that way,” she replied.

The creature bellowed in pain as its skin continued to burn. Hundreds of maggots that had been crawling over and though its guts sizzled and popped from the heat.

With their newfound light source, Team Ramrod could also see that the creature wasn’t alone. Trundling slowly behind it were two undead.

“Well, it’s about to get a lot brighter,” Nazzeth said. He pointed towards the massive creature and uttered a few arcane words. A small spark left his finger and floated towards The Shroud. It pivoted around the monster, and when it reached a spot equidistant between it and the undead, the spark detonated. The monster erupted into flames, it’s skin melting and dripping. The blast damaged the undead as well — ripping an arm off one and the head off the other. Still, the undead walked towards them while their lost extremities writhed on the ground.

The orcs were dazed but not out. They fought the monster in close quarters while Dare climbed the bell tower and began firing off shots with his crossbow. At the same time, Mercarri conjured Shit Hammer directly above the creature. The hammer slammed against it’s jaw, splattering shit not only over the monster but the orcs as well. Their groans could be heard from the church about fifty feet away.

As the creature looked up to swat at the hammer, Dare loosed a crossbow bolt at its face. It pierced the creature right between its empty eye sockets. Mid swing, the creature stilled and fell backwards with a jarring crash. Cheers rang out from the church. All that were left were the two undead. Lilvari destroyed them with well-timed blasts of eldritch energy, and then it was over. Nothing else emerged from The Shroud. Now to find out what the hell was going on.

Welcome to Darkon

Team Ramrod already knew that they were in Darkon. The man who led them to the church, Newl Yartoven, told them that they were in a small village located at the northern edge called Bartov — a very small village. Gesturing behind him to the mass of people, Newl added, “we’re all that’s left.”

Now that Team Ramrod had time to look around, they could see that the church’s wooden floor had been cleared of pews. Bedrolls and blankets lay in their place. What was left of the shattered pews had been nailed across the broken windows.

When Team Ramrod asked about The Shroud, Newl explained that its arrival coincided with the disappearance of the Dark Lord Azalin Rex about a year ago. Then he went to the door and pointed at the sky. “And, it coincided with that.”

Floating hundreds if not thousands of feet above was what could only be described as a gouge in the sky — a gouge filled with light.

“There it hangs, day and night. No one knows what it is, only that since it’s arrival, so arrived The Shroud. The Shroud, filled with monsters, swells each night and encroaches upon the land, making its way deeper and deeper each time. I fear it’s only a matter of time before Bartov is swallowed completely. It’s why our Burgonmaster headed west.”

“What’s a… burger master?” Dare asked.

“Burgonmaster,” Newl corrected him. “It means leader.” Newl told them that Burgonmaster Ivlack Porsky headed out to Nevuchar Springs, a large town on the eastern edge of Darkon, more than three weeks ago. The trek should have taken no more than a day.

“When the supplies and guards stopped coming, Ivlack decided to see what could be done. Now, we’re left with no protection, little supplies and no Burgonmaster. We have enough food for another few weeks at best.”

Newl then asked Team Ramrod how they came to find themselves in Bartov. They told him that the Vistani helped them get here. “We’re looking for someone named Doctor Ingrid van Richten,” Dare said. “Do you know her?”

Newl didn’t, but a sickly man, a former adventurer named Donovan Heart, did. From him, Dare found out that Ingrid van Richten died several years ago.”

At Dare’s look of dismay, Donovan added, “But her ghost still can be found in the city of Rivalis. It’s about a ten day’s journey from here. ”

He suggested that they head south to a town called Maykle. “On foot, you can reach it in a day. You may be able to procure some horses there for the rest of your journey. A road runs through the town east and west, cutting through the belly of Darkon. To the east is Nevuchar Springs. Head west, and you’ll eventually find yourself in Rivalis.”

Team Ramrod decided to do just that, just not yet. “Do you mind if we stay the night?” Lilvari asked.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish,” replied Newl.

Before turning in, Team Ramrod discussed their next steps. They’d go to Maykle to see about horses, but then, instead of heading west for Rivalis, they’d head east to Nevuchar Springs. Bartov needed their help.