Oh my goshhh, this is such a cool idea! This is why you were an easy choice for me; I appreciate the time and effort you put into enriching the CoE community. I'll be shocked if you don't win that Duchy. You've got the best campaign I've seen by far, too! Best of luck!

Percurio's Riddle

A short story dedicated to Flemmi's support

Berhans Kiefer knelt down near our campfire.

While the lot of us unpacked the spare supplies we kept for our return journey from the Immortal Vault, Berhans seemed to keep in his possession just one treasure: an immensely heavy stone tablet he lugged when our party was in motion hunched and straining—and, whilst camp was set, the stone tablet was an item upon which Berhans sat.

So heavy was his treasure, it was difficult for Berhans to keep much of anything else in the way of adventuring supplies—thus, for all other challenges to survive our journey to Vivecta, Berhans struggled.

Frequently, satiating hunger would be an issue for Berhans, and in answer he foraged for his own food. He slogged for berries, and he picked at roadside mushrooms, but when the smell of a pork shank lifted the noses of us in camp—Berhans would sake the flora diet and attempt to persuade our Brudvir cook to share his meal.

Naturally possessive of his feast, and meat being sometimes rare to acquire in our travel, the Brudvir cook would only deign to share at the cost of a very good story, so when Berhans was hungry, so poorly supplied with rations, and the berries and pickings scarce that evening, Berhans felt he could test his luck at asking the cook for a bite—or, just a wedge of those glistening and savory masses in the campfire skillet.

“What’s this?” Berhans asked with telling curiosity.

“I’ve heard all your stories, Berhans,” replied the Brudvir.

“But,” Berhans scooted, then he passed his hand over the stone treasure beneath him, “have you yet learned what this is?” Berhans patted at the smoothly hewn slab.

The Brudvir pulled the skillet from the fire, allowing the serving of meat to quiet its sizzling, for a calculated cool and retention of its juices. The Brudvir wiped his hands, “No, Berhans. A stone is a stone.”

“This stone, however,” Berhans said, “is an answer.”

“To what?”

“A riddle!”

The Brudvir licked the white of his razored maw, cautious he might be tricked by the carrier of the stone. The Brudvir stared at the pan of food. Then—then, he looked to Berhans who nodded knowingly and slowly, with a smile formed on his lips.

“In Vivecta, where we’re going, there is a gauntlet in Xal Thero.” Berhans said, then adjusted to kneel in the dirt, and angle the slab and show its simple face. “Managed by Percurio himself, the great riddle-man—a true Drasean web-spinner of sorts—Percurio designed a room with 'nine' seats—Each, of which,” Berhans continued, “is styled in the classical make of our eight tribes. When I bought into his new challenge at this gauntlet, Percurio said to me:

‘A Hrothic seat of stone,

a Janoan seat of bone,

a Kypiq chair light as hair,

another made so Neran fair,

sit before Waerd-made bed,

adjacent next To’Resh spread—

With Dras and Brudvir comforts too,

Who sits at the ninth-made pew?’”

The Brudvir interjected, “so a riddle about a room of chairs?”

“That’s right, and when I heard the riddle from Percurio, he allowed me into the room,” said Berhans. “It was just as he described, eight seats made in the style of our tribes, and at the head of the arrangement a ninth and mysterious vacancy. I was allowed to do anything in the room, except take from it. I looked into containers, inspected the walls, and it wasn’t making sense to me until I went to that vacant spot at the head of the rows.”

“What did you find?” the Brudvir asked.

“Oh, nothing that was there—it was what wasn’t there!” Berhans rubbed his hands together. “It wouldn’t be obvious in the riddle’s form, but there in the arrangement, around the vacancy were the Hrothi, Brudvir, Kypiq and Neran seats. Then I noticed the relation of all the other seats—with the Dras and Janoan seats being adjacent one another—and it occured to me ‘Who sits at the ninth-made pew?’ It had to be—”

“Yeah?!” the Brudvir leaned in, over the quiet smoldering of the campfire.

“It had to be the Proto-Neran.” Berhans finished and the Brudvir canted his head.

Flustered, fearful he wouldn’t get his meal, Berhans continued, “W-well, let me explain, to even go to the Kinothian, we learned this sort of thing: We share a history with the Proto-Neran, the tribe that preceded us all. I think it was Percurio’s point to bring to the attention of those attempting the riddle that we are all still connected despite all our differences most obviously shown when our crafts are adjacent one another—so, when I gave my answer to, Percurio he said, ‘Yes.’ and handed me a sum of coin.”

“Then what’s the stone tablet for then?” added the Brudvir.

“This” Berhans cheered, “is a genuine Proto-Neran seat cushion.”

“It looks uncomfortable.”

“It is. Our furniture has come such a long way, hasn't it? Well, I haven’t seen Percurio in over a year, but when I found this, and I’m pretty sure it is what I say it is—I wanted to give it to Percurio so he can complete his clever gauntlet’s room about that riddle.”

“So it is a gift?”

“Eh, yeah!” Berhans affirmed and glanced to the skillet beside the Brudvir.

“Oh well, that was an okay story,” the Brudvir said, “have your pork shank.”

If you enjoyed this story, and would like to explore why I’ve written it, consider visiting this thread on my campaign platform, that describes our goal to create an environment that suits adventurers from all walks of life: Your Choice for an NA-W Duke

If you want to contact Vaku#4884 on Discord, and talk about the story, I invite a chat with you.

If you’re familiar with the Raiders of the Lost Vault event page, and want to donate your ancient coins to “Vaku”—just like Berhans gets his pork shank—I would very much appreciate this support, and would be happy to return my gratitude in the form of yet another story for you.

Ohh, nifty!

Great idea Vaku!

You're putting in a crazy amount of time and effort and are following through on your promises - sounds like a leader to me!

A Necessary Leap

A short story dedicated to Chewychunga’s support

We held Sadine's funeral on the roadside. Me and Chewychunga knew her best. Sadine brought us both into the adventuring trade, and when our party recovered from ambush, returning from the Immortal Vault, we were all too heartbroken to see her go.

She wasn't the spriest for her age—only forty years old. We all knew Sadine was battered from trouble in countless travels. We could see the scars she suffered from serious injuries over years in spritely wanderlust. She faced challenges only a rare few could even imagine. Were it not for her exploration to mountain summits or jungle depths, I just don't believe that of the aristocrats, guild lords, and nobles she knew—that without her they could be so well off. There's a quality about someone that can go unnoticed, especially when they wear bravery so well. It’s common that those who are the least ambitious for renown come to be least appreciated. I don't know the last I thanked her, and I think Chewychunga realized he didn't say all he felt that he should during her life.

While we all knew Sadine, it was Chewy and I, who when the three of us weren't in different corners of the world, we took to testing ourselves in the gauntlets of Vivecta, together. The challenges could scale in peril, and often, it was the gauntlets that were advertised as needing a minimum of three participants, that we not only knew there would be a very good reward at the end, but the cooperative nature of the gauntlet would lead to unique challenges we never found in the wild.

Weslyn was a recently ousted count, who was given an ultimatum to abdicate his lands. When it looked like war would be the outcome of that challenge to his authority, Weslyn was able to resolve to allow a peaceful transition if he could keep well over half his wealth. Weslyn took that wealth to Vivecta to build an elaborate gauntlet.

We heard tale of Weslyn's cruelty and the exploitative sheriffs who put his lands on the verge of civil war, and when he left the business of shaking down peasants for their last coin, he packaged all his cruelty into this dungeon called Skycrawl.

Sadine, Chewy and I entered the place and Weslyn seemed pleased to see us. It was a different type of establishment we were used to. To proceed through Skycrawl, we were offered the opportunity to place bets on our successful retrieval of three colored tokens locked at the ends of three paths. The cooperative nature of the gauntlet was such that one of us would take a skywalk that overlooked two flanking paths that other companions would take. Beyond being assured that the trap features were especially dangerous and that our money was as good as lost to Weslyn, we were given no details of what we could face going forward.

I took the path of the skywalk, and Chewy and Sadine entered either side passage. And meters past the entrance, I saw the formations of multiple levers and switches. Beneath me, and on either flank, the obstacles Chewy and Sadine needed to face looked grim. I began to reconsider our choice of adventure.

Both my companions began their approach down their paths with cautious inspection. I began my approach in the same way, and soon realized I had the least to worry about. Chewy, on the other hand shouted, “Hey! It looks like some kind of spinning axe. I don't see a way around it,” he added.

Sadine stopped her movement when she heard his complaint. “Is there anything you can do about it from up there?!” she called out to me.

I looked over a three-lever arrangement, where one dangled from the squat ceiling, just in reach, and the other pair on either side of it. “I'm going to try something,” I assured the both of them.

I pulled a lever. Sadine screamed.

“What happened?!” Chewy asked. It was so quick and distressing.

I called out to Sadine because, in place of where she stood, the stone floor fell away. I called again.

“I’m okay,” she said, as she hefted herself out of the hole. The lever I pulled sent her falling meters until she could grip the side of the chasm I created.

I asked them if we should continue, and when they agreed we be relentless in our objective, I told them to be wary, that I was pulling another lever.

The rotating axe slowed its cycle, and with that opportunity, Chewy was able to slip past his first trial, and for Sadine, she survived the consequence of my action. Our party continued. I drew back switch after switch, and we noticed patterns and took note of the style of Weslyn’s designs, if ever he thought to sell his booby-trapped architecture to affluent vault builders. Finally we came to the precipice. On pedestals before us, we observed our prizes—the three colored tokens behind bars and before them, an elaborate design to lock them away.

The puzzle was such that, if a multi-armed creature built a lock mechanism with three door latches, it could get through, but missing even a third arm, we would be stuck—Chewy, Sadine, and I all needed to work together to persevere.

The two stepped on platforms that when our weight came upon them, our actions alerted us to the grinding of distant stone. A layer of bars dropped away, but still, there was more to be done. I neared my pressure plate, when I heard Chewy hollar for me to wait. Above him, he described a slot only visible to him from standing exactly on his plate. “Something will drop down from this if you step onto your pressure plate,” he said.

“I see the same thing here,” called out Sadine.

I leaned forward, and angling my view to see above my own pressure plate, I remarked, “It’s different for me, I see nothing.”

“We get crushed, and you proceed. That’s how he designed it! That’s how this whole place is designed, to force us to sacrifice ourselves so just one of us walks away with treasure,” Chewy inferred.

“We turn back then,” I said.

“Are you feeling light-footed, Chewy?!” Sadine asked.

“You both think you can avoid whatever crashes down?” I worried. Our prizes tantalizingly close, I felt they were being cavalier with their lives. “What if you don’t make the it through?”

“Celebrate our grit,” Chewy said.

“...despite our folly!” Sadine finished.

I took a deep breath. I counted down. I stepped forward.

Boulders grated against screaming stone. The last of the bars fell away and our tokens were reachable. Our dives forward were synced, and the slamming of the traps made me shudder before I even touched the ground. I heard Sadine laugh, then Chewy, and the bars return to their closed position. I remember viewing us in the same room, all together, after that treacherous path, and how much closer we became as a result of facing this challenge together.

At Sadine’s roadside funeral. We remembered to celebrate Sadine’s grit. None of who shared in Sadine’s risks, or dealt in common trade, could find folly in our companionship. Every dungeon we delved, gauntlet survived, and odyssey lived, we recognized that it was us who took the perilous leaps that increased the worth of our generation.

If you enjoyed this story, and would like to explore why I’ve written it, consider visiting this thread on my campaign platform, that describes our goal to create an environment that suits adventurers from all walks of life: Your Choice for an NA-W Duke

If you want to contact Vaku#4884 on Discord, and talk about the story, I invite the chat with you.

If you’re familiar with the Raiders of the Lost Vault event page, and want to donate your ancient coins to “Vaku”—increase the worth of our generation—I would very much appreciate this support, and would be happy to return my gratitude in the form of yet another story for you.