David Wise - Tales of Ravenloft

October 3rd From the Journal of Julio, Master Thief of Hazlan

Cordova is dead.

Only great effort enables me to write in this journal today. I keep telling myself that by writing down what has happened, I will be able to make sense of it.

After a great deal of thought, I decided that I would use this new power of invisibility to rid myself of that worthless Cordova. For years now I have put up with his ridiculous boasting. How many times have I dreamt of drawing my knife across his fat throat?

Of course, Julio is a thief, not a murderer. I have never seriously considered taking the life of another. But now, with the power of Hazlik's lens, there was no chance that I would be caught. Why shouldn't I do it? I thought long and hard about the prospect. In the end, it was not a difficult decision. Cordova would die.

By the time I left my home, the storm had stopped. The cobblestones were slick, and the deep puddles held the rippling reflections of amber street lamps. To the east I could see only the faintest glow of the coming sunrise. There was a sharp chill in the autumn air, and my breath curled into small clouds that drifted slowly away into the night.

I moved quickly through the streets. Twice I stopped to pull the lens out from under my clothes and examine it. I told myself that this was only a precaution, but perhaps I hoped that the flickering traces of lightning around it would be gone, that its power had faded away. No matter, the azure fire had not dimmed. Indeed, it burned brighter than ever. By the time I reached Cordova's house, I was confident of my invisibility.

Slipping into Cordova's home was not difficult. After all, he was a forger and confidence man by trade, not a burglar. His locks and safeguards were easily defeated. Once inside, I made my way quickly through the garishly decorated rooms until I came upon my enemy sleeping in an ornate bed.

The room was dark, for the gradually brightening sky outside could not penetrate the thick curtains that hung across the window. Cordova's snoring was so loud that I almost feared that it would shake the foundations of the building and bring the place crashing down. Even in sleep he was vulgar.

I looked around the room and saw a lamp resting beside the bed. Stepping without a sound across the wooden floor, I lifted the glass from the lantern and drew out a match. I lit the match and then the lantern, filling the room with an even yellow light. I placed the glowing lamp on the table again, making sure that it cracked against the wood with a loud report. At first, Cordova did not appear to notice. Then, something must have registered in his deficient brain, and his snoring sputtered out. With a shock, he sat up and gasped for air.

"Who is there?" he cried.

I said nothing. It was satisfying to watch his head swing back and forth as he frantically looked around the room for some sign an intruder. His eyes were wide with fear, and rivulets of sweat seemed to have suddenly burst from his brow. As I slipped my knife from its scabbard, I saw in his bloated face the look that cattle must have when they know that the butcher's knife is coming for them.

I struck quickly. My blade sank deep into his chest, and as I withdrew it a wash of blood began to pool on the front of his white nightshirt. He did not cry out in pain, but gasped in surprise. His hands clutched at the wound and came away soaked with crimson. Twice more my dagger bit into him, and at last he fell back in his bed. Blood spread out from the wounds, staining the blankets and pillows.

As his life trickled away, I decided that it was time to show myself. He must not be allowed to die without knowing that it was I, Julio, who had sealed his fate. I removed the shimmering lens and placed it on the table, beside the lamp.

Then, something curious happened. Cordova, though he looked right at me, asked again to know who it was that had attacked him. He could not see me! But how could that be? I had removed the crystal. I must be visible. Perhaps his eyes had grown dim with the loss of blood! Bending low over the dying man, I grabbed his shirt and dragged his face toward mine.

"It is I!" I shouted," Julio!"

There was still no sign of recognition in his eyes. The old fool hadn't seen me, and now he was unable to hear me as well. I dropped his almost lifeless body back onto the bed. This could not be! I would not be cheated of this moment! Cordova must know who had killed him. There must be some way that I could make my presence known to him.

Frantically I began to look around the room. Ah! I found it! Hidden away in the drawer of the table beside the bed was a stick of writing charcoal and several sheets of paper. I snatched out the stylus and one of the sheets, quickly writing down what I had said before, that it was Julio who had killed him. With satisfaction, I spun about and thrust the paper into his face.

He was dead.

Infuriated, I crushed the paper into a ball and hurled it across the room. Red rage swept through my soul, and I howled at the indignity. This could not be! I had finally rid myself, no, the world, of this offensive creature, and the fool had died ignorant of the hand that had killed him.

It took several seconds for my rage to pass. Suddenly, however, I saw clearly what had happened. I turned to look at the pendant, which seemed almost to mock me as it sparked and flashed. If removing it from my neck did not lift the magical aura from me, what would? The idea of being permanently invisible certainly did not appeal to me. But, no, it was worse than that. I was not only unseen, I was unheard.

I grabbed up the offensive lens and raced out of the building. My heart pounded in my ears, and the blood in my veins seemed to burn. When I reached my home, I burst in, slammed the door behind me, and bolted it in place.

October 4th From the Journal of Julio, Master Thief of Hazlan

This is madness.

I do not know how much longer I will be able to write in this journal. My hands are shaking so badly now that I can hardly read my own words. How can I describe what is happening to me? With every passing second, my grip on sanity seems harder to maintain. Still, the world must know what has happened.

After my encounter with Cordova, I returned home and locked myself in. I quickly transcribed my experiences into this book and then fell upon my bed. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Fear such as I have never known tore at my soul. Finally, I slipped into an exhausted slumber and slept for several hours.

When I awoke, the sun was setting in the west and a dark purple sky spread itself outside my window. Things seemed calmer now, and I was able to organize my thinking. As I knew little of the dark powers of sorcery, I decided that I must seek help. This done, however, I had no idea where to go. I knew no wizards or enchanters. After lengthy consideration, I resolved to seek out my fellows in the Thieves'Guild. Certainly there must be someone among that body who understood the weaving of spells and might be counted on to provide wise counsel. Slipping the shimmering lens into my pocket, I stepped out into the street.

While I expected the hall to be well occupied on this brisk evening, I had no idea that it would be as populated as it was. As I slipped inside through one of a dozen concealed entrances, I saw nearly every rogue in the city, from the lowest of the street thugs to the most dignified of confidence men. The great hall was packed.

I moved into the press of people, little caring if I bumped against those who could not see me. At the moment, stealth was not the object of my endeavor. If someone noticed me, so much the better. Indeed, I still had not considered what I would do to attract the attention of my peers or to explain my plight to them.