Here’s a little epilogue for the B/X campaign I sent to all my players. Yeah, it’s a cheesy dream sequence. So sue me. 🙂
Mavin = The Thief
Chiss = Cleric of Loth
Sister Francine = Cleric of Death
Horazak = Magic-user
Dead guards lay all about Mavin, cut down, eviscerated even, by the mighty Sword of Fighting. “Quick,”said the enchanted blade, “through the portal.”
“Wait,” said Mavin. “Who killed all these people? Where’s the rest of the group?”
“They await you through the portal,” replied the ever cheery blade.
“Portal?…” murmured Mavin, as he stepped through. For some reason a vision of a portal, black and radiant at once, danced on the edge of memory, elusive.
Then he was confronted by a familiar face. “Did you do it? Is the dark blade destroyed?” queried the High Priest. Then it hit Mavin like a lightning bolt. Blackrazor. The Anvil. His friends…?
“Where are your companions?” asked the High Priest, suddenly suspicious. “Is Blackrazor destroyed?”
“NO OLD FOOL!,” screamed the Sword of Fighting. “I yet live, at the instance of your demise!”
“GUARDS!” screamed the High Priest. “Sound the ala..urggh,”he gurgled, eyes bulging at the sight of the Sword of Fighting’s starry black blade sticking through his throat. Blood ran from the old man’s throat, coating the blade, pommel and, inevitably, Mavin’s quivering hand.
Mavin stared transfixed, as if in a dream. Distantly, he wondered how the Sword of Fighting’s blade became like that of Blackrazor’s, but then it was clear. It wasn’t the Sword of Fighting. It was Blackrazor all along. When exactly had the vile sword tricked him? Was it when he made the bargain with the black blade that forever sold his soul to darkness? When he stabbed Chiss in the back, was it with the Sword of Fighting, or was he really wielding Blackrazor? The irony struck him then; though he wielded Blackrazor, it was he who was truly in the sword’s grip.
“I keep my promises, thief. Too bad none of your friends were as smart as you,” spoke Blackrazor, directly to Mavin’s mind. Yes, Mavin recalled, Blackrazor was telepathic, whereas the Sword of Fighting had always spoken out loud. That should have been a clue, a warning.
“But the temple,” stammered Mavin. “The Order of the Frog. All those people we met…and killed. We were gone for months. How can it be?”
“The Anvil is like nothing your puny mortal mind can comprehend. It was a mistake to bring me here. You never had a chance. But come, the priests of the Anvil are alerted. They must be dealt with, along with the Halfling, and then the world to conquer. I promised you unlimited power thief, and you shall have it.”
“But my friends?” asked Mavin. But, of course, he knew. Chiss, cut nearly in twain by that first vicious slash from behind. Then the others, in turn, trapped within Blackrazor’s powerful illusion. Sister Francine, drowned not in a pool of clear water by mischievous nymphs, but rather in her own blood after Blackrazor pierced her lungs. And Horazak, the most dangerous of them all, tricked into self-immolation by the cunning sword. The Halfling alone escape, though perhaps not for overly long.
“What are they compared to the world?” replied Blackrazor, soothingly. “Come, my pet.”
“Yes…master,” replied Mavin, hoarsely. By all the gods, what had he done?