Chaos Bleeds

Fate's Cruelty

The room is dark and smells too sweetly of clove, cinnamon, and honey. The silk sheets are cool against her skin, and as she blinks the sleep from her eyes, she can only faintly make out the glow of the garden outside her window.

A window she had left open. A dangerous thing to do in the City of Shadows. Minarethil is full of daggers seeking throats.

She slinks out from under the sheets and stalks across the cold marble floors, reaching for the pane of glass.

Her skin is gray… She freezes with her palm still reaching for the window. Why is her skin gray?

Why is she in some unknown room, for that matter? No. It's not unfamiliar. It's her bedchamber, same as she's had since she was born.

She steps away from the window, impossible knowledge coming to her too quickly. Knowledge that feels so familiar and so foreign at the same time. Impossible, terrifying knowledge.

There was a truck. It came at her. It was out of control—the driver’s wide and frantic eyes stared into her own eyes as her Subaru swerved too late, too slowly.

Then, she was under the truck. Crushed below it, unable to scream, unable to cry, only able to glance to her side to take one last look at Aislinn before everything went dark.

But she’s not in a hospital. She’s, somehow, in Minarethil; City of Shadows. Home to the Dusk Elves, ruled by the Matriarch of House Barlok. Home to the worshipers of the Dark Dancer, Katta. Primordial Goddess of the Endless Dark.

She is not in Earth… She’s in the Forsaken Realms. The world of her favorite TTRPG. A world she’s written for; a secondary character for the module she’d been contracted to write; a story she’d been hashing out with her friends in their private campaign. She is the author of her own existence; the author of her ultimate fate.

She is Thellia Barlok; noble, sadistic, and cruel. A villainess tricked into siding with the major antagonist and ultimate evil. One fated to die at the hands of the intended heroes—be they the friends of Amara Johnson as she works out the details for the story or any other players who decide to purchase “Dark Descent; Chaos Bleeds” module in the future.

She sighs. “If I survive this.”

Another thought hits her, though. It doesn’t matter if she survives this; she has no idea how to get home. If that’s even possible.

Get home? No, this is home. This has always been home. There is nowhere else she would want to be. Here, she is a wealthy, powerful, and strong noble born into the ruling house.

And then the worst thought of all comes to her.

Aislinn. Is she alive? She hadn’t looked alive when Amara last saw her. Her eyes had been lifeless, and the blood... Too much of it.

But if Amara had ended up here, maybe Aislinn is here, too.

And if she is, she’s likely here as Dame Kelodossia. A Dawn Elf Paladin who had sworn an oath of eternal light in the name of the goddess Alyndra.

Someone who would never, ever even speak with a Dusk Elf willingly.

And someone who is already hopelessly in love with a Wild Elf ranger. The same ranger that Thellia is responsible for torturing for years.

But maybe, if Aislinn is here, maybe she, too remembers their life together. Surely, surely, if she is here, she will remember Amara, and she will know immediately…

Amara… Thellia… she falls to her knees. No. It doesn’t matter if Aislinn remembers. Amara is the villainess. She must die. Amara had made sure when she plotted out this scenario that Thellia’s death was required to advance the plot. There is no defeating Tollith the Devourer without first killing Thellia.

And Tollith the Devourer is intended to be the Forsaken Realm’s most evil and destructive villain to date.

Of course, from the few emails already exchanged with Warlocks of the Seas, his defeat in this module is only temporary. He is supposed to make his return in a video game scheduled for 2032. Still six years away and only in early development, but still. This module is supposed to set the tone that this guy is bad. And not defeating him—even though temporary—in this module is meant to be a Realms-shattering event.

“I just died on Earth. I didn’t even like Earth. I have the chance to live in a world I actually like; one I’ve been helping to create! I don’t want to die here, too.” She closes the window and draws the curtains. “Why did I have to be reborn as a Dusk Elf though? I would have settled for a gnome! A dwarf! Even a human would have been better than this. I can’t survive here. I’m a game master, not a role player. I can’t act my way into being a half-way descent Dusk Elf; not enough to survive in Minarethil!” She collapses back into the bed and sprawls out, arms wide as she frowns at the velvet canopy over the bed.

“My lady? My lady, I apologize for waking you…” A soft voice calls to her from the other side of the thick wooden doors.

“You may enter,” she calls back, sitting up and arranging her nightgown around herself to be less revealing. She is a noble, after all. She hopes she can convince the servant of that, as well.

“My lady, I was sent to inform you that a spy has been captured. She was caught lurking in the gardens. We have taken her to the dungeons. Your mother has been informed but requests that you have the honor of the first interrogation.”

“Oh…” She turns around, hoping to hide her shock from the servant. She cannot show weakness; not here. Not now. Not if she wants to have any chance of reuniting with Aislinn and… No. She can’t allow her thoughts to go there yet. “Interrogation. Yes. Of course. I will be right there.”

“Yes, my lady.” The servant leaves, the door clicking shut almost silently behind her.

Dusk Elf interrogations are usually violent and bloody. A Dusk Elf does not shy away from gore and brutality, and many Dusk Elf warriors wear the blood of their enemies as badges of honor. But the Matriarchs of the City of Shadows and their noble daughters still prefer that the blood spatter less expensive fabrics.

She removes the silk nightgown and dons a simple leather tunic and cotton breeches, pulling her cool silver hair into a messy bun before descending to the dungeons.

There is only one inhabitant in all of the cells. A Wild Elf ranger with sun-kissed skin and dark brown hair that still shines in the torchlight.

Shayn of the Alosin Forest.

Amara—Thellia—approaches the captured elf confidently, even if it’s just an act. She cannot show weakness, not here. Not before the guards.

But unless fate has been more than cruel, Erika is surely still alive. It cannot possibly be her friend staring back at her from behind emerald eyes.

“Ah, the Night b***h. Just who I was here to see.” Shayn spits out the words like venom. “Very convenient that they sent you here to see me.”

Even if it’s not her friend, she cannot fathom spending the next five years torturing the person before her. So this is about seven years before the start of the campaign. Even if Aislinn is here, I won’t be seeing her soon. Seven years. I have seven years to make a plan.

“What’s the matter, witch? I heard you like pretty women. Am I too beautiful for you? Have I stunned you silent?” The ranger continues to mock her. Amara—Thellia—is tempted to reach through the bars and slap her just to make her shut up. No. Just Thellia wants that.

But are they even separate entities? Amara isn’t sure. She has all the knowledge Thellia has. But is that because Thellia is her creation—a character she crafted—or because she is her now? To her knowledge, she’s never been reborn in another world before, so she’s not exactly sure what she should be expecting.

But she also feels like she's Thellia and always has been; four hundred odd years of surviving. And all the feelings that come with Amara's memories don't fit in.

Focus. Focus! Just get through this interrogration first.

“I have little to say to you. People usually don’t speak to bugs.” She hopes that’s enough to convince the guards. “But since you wish to speak to me, I suppose I can grant you a private audience. Guards. Secure her and then leave us.”

Shayn’s lower lip quivers slightly and she swallows, her golden skin losing its sparkle and going pale.