11th of Erastus, AR 4719 in the contemptible human calendar
Yarzoth would have ground her teeth in frustration; but, lacking molars, that would only have meant lacerating her own gums with the needle-like fangs that lined her mouth. She settled for incinerating a nearby beetle with a gout of arcane fire.
Obviously, one couldn’t trust warmbloods. Still, the pact struck between her and Balthus had worked out well, and this Zagor was an old acquaintance whose goals seemed to align with her own. They both sought the ancient temple on that abandoned island, and each for reasons of their own. She had no interest in pillaging it for vampiric lore, or whatever relics the necromancer was truly after; the information said to be inscribed on its walls would suffice.
Everything was in hand – the captain under her sway, the vessel diverting course to the island in spite of the crew’s protestations. Then the shipwreck happened. She still wasn’t sure quite what Zagor had done, but no mage worth their salt would fail to notice the blare of summoning magic within his cabin. Thanks to a few tricks of her own, she’d escaped before the vessel was torn apart on the rocks and made a safe landing. Perhaps it was paranoia, but she had to wonder: had he called that storm in the first place?
As if that weren’t bad enough, the only human she’d managed to bring along had quickly fallen prey to fever. Perhaps trading the delirious man to the locals for information had been a mistake, but he wasn’t precisely a lot of use at the time. Thus, days of trudging through the wilderness in search of the temple, devoid of the lackeys who should have been present to fetch, carry, and handle the local wildlife. At least the island had plenty of cute snakes to play with when she was feeling down. The endless spiders and mosquitoes were less welcome; thank the gods for scales!
Had she not persevered, though? Scoured this pestilent place for the few traces that led her to the old temple? The inscriptions proved just as she’d hoped, and it looked like the leaves were finally falling in her favour. When the sound of approaching feet heralded her old ally’s approach, she’d been feeling large-minded enough to greet Zagor without actual hostility. The storm had probably just been a coincidence. If he’d survived this far, they could both get what they needed, then combine efforts to get off this rock and back to solid ground.
In truth, he hadn’t even deigned to come in person. A band of his undead servants traipsed into the temple, and promptly attacked her. While she’d managed to give them the slip, hiding from a handful of measly opponents was deeply embarrassing and severely wounded her pride. And Zagor was to blame; there was no question of that. By the time she dared emerge from her hiding-place, the mighty necromantic aura of the island was already weakening, and the perpetual river of blood had run dry. Or had he drunk it? Undoubtedly, he’d come here to plunder some hidden relic of the Vampire Queen, feast on the deathly energies that kept this island overflowing with ghosts, or some such megalomaniacal plan that he’d somehow accomplished.
Why had he felt the need to turn on her? Was it merely a wish to keep his secret? Or did he, after all, have a longer game in mind? A slow, gut-wrenching dread had begun creeping through her over the past few days. If the necromancer, Zagor, had successfully wrest the lingering power from this ancient place and learned the path to lost Ilmurea… was it possible, in some blasphemous madness, that he sought to usurp the deathless power of a god who lingered on the brink of death?
Well. His mistake. She’d genuinely had no intention of betraying the filthy hairskin, but now Yarzoth was angry. And the vengeance of the serpent-kind is not to be taken lightly.
Note: I've decided to start adding in a few notes like this as I work through and release episodes. For those that relate to specific events in the campaign, I'll backdate them as I have here, so they fit in with the podcast episodes. Hope that's not too confusing.
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