Session 14 —
A New Blade Drawn
Valinport did not slow after the ball.
It sharpened.
Corwin Thorne was absent, off doing what Corwin always did—circling problems from strange angles and collecting trouble like loose change.
Leda Gebhart spent the afternoon in quiet, tense conversation with Lady Serina Kael, every word layered with implication. Duty, expectation, and power hung in the air between them.
Zel Cunningham went alone to the graveyard.
She tried to still her thoughts. To quiet the voices. To breathe among the stones and names. But peace did not come. The dead offered no comfort—only echoes.
So Zel left.
She sought out Torvold Alric instead.
They agreed to meet for dinner.
That evening, Mol Potts arrived with his backpack—and the flesh dagger still tucked inside it, a detail no one liked to think about too long.
Corwin went first to The Portly Weasel, ordered an ale, and drank alone. He did not stay long. He wasn’t welcome there anymore. Someone from his past—likely Reef Marnel or one of his associates—had made sure of that.
The rest of the party gathered at the Inn of the Weary Traveler, which was packed to the rafters. A drum circle had taken over the common room, pounding out a rhythm that felt less like music and more like a challenge.
Leda arrived in a dress, drawing looks she pretended not to notice.
Dinner was served—stews, fish-heavy fare, inverted shepherd’s pies. The drums grew louder. Wilder. At Zel’s pointed request, the dwarves finally smashed the instruments, restoring something resembling order.
Corwin arrived just after.
He asked why no one had been at the Portly Weasel.
No one answered.
They retreated to their apartment to speak privately.
Leda caught everyone up on her conversation with Lady Kael. Invitations were discussed—specifically one from Lady Merissa Veylin, inviting the group to dinner. The walls felt closer as the implications settled in.
Corwin realized, too late, that too much had been shared with Torvold.
A careless remark from Corwin struck a nerve.
Torvold left.
Zel followed him.
They wandered until they found a park bench and sat beneath the open sky. Zel apologized. She asked for stories about Gideon—about the man he had been before everything went wrong.
Torvold spoke.
Gideon had talked about Zel. Fondly. With pride.
Torvold admitted he could not replace Gideon—but he would help.
Elsewhere, Mol and Leda urged Corwin to trust Torvold.
That was when the window exploded inward.
A pale figure crashed through the glass—fangs bared, eyes sunken, an Infernal Empire sigil stitched into its black cloak.
Then another followed.
Steel was drawn.
The Fight
The first undead demanded the shard—from Zel. It moved with terrifying intent, stabbing at her, drawing blood. Corwin struck back. Leda shifted into a wolf, teeth flashing. Torvold charged, shield raised. Mol hurled alchemist’s fire, splashing everyone nearby in flame and pain.
The second undead entered as the first fell—bitten apart by Leda even as it lashed out in death.
The fight spilled out the window.
Torvold shoved the remaining creature into the street below and leapt after it. Acid rained down from Mol’s vials. The undead stabbed Torvold again and again.
Zel struck it with vitality magic.
Torvold answered with steel.
Corwin ended it.
The creature collapsed into ash.
Torvold apologized—for falling out the window.
No one laughed.
Zel and Torvold spoke quietly afterward, about the Crown of Iron and the scales that now haunted her. She balanced them again, deliberately.
It unsettled Torvold deeply.
The next day, they attended services at the Temple of the Father.
The King was absent.
High Priest Tomor preached loyalty—to crown and faith alike.
Zel encountered Calen Veylin and his father, High Seeker Oliver Veylin, who questioned her sharply about the party. Zel answered carefully. Corwin distracted himself. Mol picked flowers. Leda spoke with her mother, Ophelia Gebhart (Mayor), who promptly invited herself to dinner with the Veylins.
Mol spoke with Mayor Renfield Willowbee, who confided a new problem.
A member of the Beggar’s Union—Elroc—had been taken to the Blacktower. He was addicted to Blue Lotus, a narcotic that stained lips blue and arrived from outside the city. Mol knew the drug. Ingested. Dangerous.
Renfield wanted answers.
Torvold reconnected with old comrades. The news was grim—borders closing, mercenaries being paid to stay put, no sign of the Infernal Empire but plenty of its shadows.
Lord Arlo Santos appeared, interrupting the conversation with blunt certainty.
Valinport was standing on the edge of something terrible.
Corwin, as ever, couldn’t resist poking Zel about Calen.
The blade had been drawn.
And it would not be sheathed anytime soon.
Next Session Reminders
- The Infernal Empire is actively hunting the shard
- Torvold has stepped into Gideon’s shadow—carefully
- Blue Lotus and the Beggar’s Union need investigation
- Lady Kael and the Veylins are tightening their grip
- Trouble is coming to Valinport, whether it’s invited or not