John Shirley - Untold Adventures: A Dungeons & Dragons Anthology

B ORN OF THE L IQUID A BYSS, THE WORLD KNOWS A NEW AFFLICTION

Trace the plagues inception with James Wyatts fivepart prelude novella, The Gates of Madness, available as a free eBook at www.wizards.com/dnd/novels.aspx

T HEN JOIN A CAST OF UNCOMMON HEROES AS THEY RUSH TO UNCOVER THE EXTENT OF THIS OTHERWORLDLY EVIL.

Dungeons & Dragons
Untold Adventures
2011 Wizards of the Coast LLC

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Cover art by Android Jones

eISBN: 978-0-7869-5934-1

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v3.1

It was daylight outside the Nentir Inn, but in this windowless garret it might have been night. The dying warlocks chamber was lit by a single feeble lamp dangling from the darkened ceiling; it swayed slightly, though there was no reason it should.

A slender young steward in close-fitting black garments, Gnarl stood just inside the doorway, an empty tray in his hands, wondering what exactly the warlock wanted. He had refused all service but a little broth and wine. The shadows darkening the chamber seemed to have substance, and personality, as if theyd gathered in the room to observe the tieflings decline. He was, after all, no ordinary tieflingSernos was quite a famous worker of magic.

Come closer, young man, said the warlock hoarsely, shifting on the small bed in the corner of the dank, shadowy room. And close the door. I have a mission for you The tieflings rasping voice reminded Gnarl of the filing of old swords. Seeing Gnarls hesitation, the warlock scowled, the glow of his crimson eyes quickening like embers blown on a cold night. Trying to prop himself up on his pillows, Sernos gave an agonized grunt and pushed back his hood. Gnarl saw that the tieflings head was crowned by horns; his elongated features, always the color of a sunburn, were both noble and infernal.

Reluctantly, Gnarl closed the door and took a step into the room. He feared a malediction should he refuse to approach. May I fetch you a tonic? Gnarl suggested. For your injuries Perhaps a soothing solution of the poppy?

Trying to put me to sleep, boyso some assassin can slit my throat? grated the warlock, eyes narrowing to fiery slits. Has someone paid you to drug me?

Gnarl licked his lips. I am thinly paid, and all gold is welcome, but I wouldnt take a pot of it to poison a warlock. My papa did not raise a poltroon. I have no wish to be magicked into the Abyss.

Its curious you should mention the Abyss, growled the warlock, grimacing in pain as he shifted again. The wretch who passes for a healer to this inn mentioned you might moonlight as something of a thief. Is thishe paused to take a shuddering breathis this indeed the case?

Gnarl cleared his throat. I prefer the term retrieval specialist. I have sometimes journeyed out and about to cull special objects for guests of the innwithout the knowledge of our proprietor. I re-appropriate. But never from anyone within these walls.

The proprietorah, Zemoar! said the warlock, glancing toward the door. I am especially concerned you do not tell Zemoar about this. I mistrust elves, and half-elves. If you wish to undertake this quest for me, say nothing to anyone about itexcept to those who might accompany you.

Gnarl bowedslightly. He didnt like the sound of the term quest. It implied long distances and unknown dangers. Truth be told, Gnarl was not half so good a thief as he supposed himself. But admitting failure was becoming painful to him. He had failed at being an apprentice to his uncle, a low-level wizard, though hed gotten something of an education. He had earned only a pocketful of gold as a retrieval specialisthe could not afford to quit his day job. Still

Quests are risky, Gnarl said. Thats on one side of the scales. What enticements on the other? What balances my risk?

Wealth! the tiefling hissed. Wealth and land; shining castles and supple maidens to grace them. All can be yours, boy, if you undertake the task I set for you. The journey entails a trifling risk or two, but if you do as I say, you shall have your just desserts, and I shall have my own hearts desire. You will no longer concern yourself with pouring pots of ale for belching merchants andinevitablyemptying pots of piss!

Despite persistent rumors to the contrary, Gnarl was not entirely without common sense. It was true that one balmy evening he had borrowed a fine, silken costume from a snoring grandee at the inn and disguised himself for entry into the masquerade at the Kamroth Estate. Hed intended to try his hand, as it were, at pick-pocketing the celebrantsbut he was sidetracked by Armos Kamroths drunken mistress. He narrowly escaped from Telias clutching handsand the mailed fists of the enraged Kamrothbut the getaway entailed Gnarl sprinting through the cobbled streets naked from the waist down. His harlequinade mask protected his identity until a couple of milkmaids recognized other distinctive features. His reputation as a slick operator had suffered grievously.