Gary Gygax - City of Hawks

“I have left this for you, Prince Gord, against your return. That you are seeing and hearing this means you have triumphed, and your victory is mine! I thank you most sincerely. And I name you Prince of Shadows, Duke of Shades, and evil ones must now bend their knee to me and you and all my other noble vassals. Yet you are no actual vassal; the title is but meant to honor you.

“When you laid low the duskdrake, the shock of that malign one’s parting was felt throughout all the realm. Then I grew hopeful, for one able to deal with that fell creature might indeed find and slay Imprimus before Snuffdark’s lifting. Because of this renewed hope, and knowing that your sword’s potent talisman was destroyed in the annihilation of the duskdrake, I sought out the best prize in my treasury. In the shadows they are greatest, but even in sun or midnight blackness they are most potent.”

As the illusion uttered those words, a flat, metallic gonging sounded, and a small case appeared before Gord. He looked inside and found it full of little, round seeds. “They are shadow seeds, Gord,” the phantasm said. “Use them to create a thicket of umbral sort. Each curtain lasts but an hour, but a pinch of the stuff suffices.”

It was a splendid gift, especially for one who practiced the craft of thievery. Gord smiled slightly as he tucked the parcel carefully into his tunic’s inner pocket. The image of Shadowking was still before him, but now the phantasmal voice had paused as though waiting for a response.

Gord did not mean to sound unappreciative of the gift, but there was really only one thing on his mind, and it was that question that he blurted out: “How am I to escape from here?” Then, remembering that he spoke to naught but an illusion, the young man sighed and hung his head in weary dejection.

“By my dweomered sight, noble Gord,” the phantasm went on, “I saw you at the end. At the lich-fiend’s death, my forces surged, and before my eyes you recovered something which was bestowed to you by your sire when you were but an infant, a babe too young to know. The nine black sapphires in that necklace are your means of returning to your world, prince. This, then, is my…”

Gord was dumbfounded. Had the illusion actually heard his plea? He opened his mouth to say something, but the phantasm of the king did not pause to give him a chance.

“…final gift to you. Free the ebon stars from their prisoning metal. As there are nine dispositions, nine and ninety principal states of existence, so too there are nine gems in your inheritance. Place eight circling one, think of your own place, and there you shall be. Ere you do this, Gord, there is one caution I must give you. As the power of the nine stones grants you leave to pass on to where you Will, the sapphires will return to their origin, that place which was the home of your sire, and they will be gone from your ken until you yourself again find them.

“The choice is yours. Keep the stones, stay in Shadowrealm as a prince, my foster son, and in time you will come to the knowledge you seek regarding your origin. Then you will be a great Lord of Shadow, and you will be free to journey to many places, even the realm of your ancestors, but no more will you be human.

“If you use the powers bound up in those dark sapphires, then you lose them for a time at least, perhaps forever. As a mortal man you are subject to the hazards of whatever fate lies in store, but you will be flesh and blood again, in your own world.

“Whichever course you decide upon, you must act quickly, for not even I can halt destiny. If you stay too much longer in Shadowrealm, you will be bound to this place as though you were a native of it. Exactly how much time you have left to decide, no one can know precisely-but I do know that the time for final decision draws nigh. Decide what you will, and may fortune smile upon you either way. Prince Gord!”

The illusion vanished, and the young adventurer was left terribly alone. What was his decision to be? If he stayed, he would be a mighty lord of this place, a walker of planes, and as Shadowking stated, eventually brought to full knowledge of his ancestors. That portended great things.

To counter that, however, was the longing he had for the solid world, the bright sunlight and vivid colors of Oerth. He had no love for Greyhawk, a place of raptors, a city of hawks, but still it was his home. He had few friends, but those he had were cherished and dear to him.

And something else there was to consider too… As he thought about his friend Gellor, the words of the one-eyed man came to mind again. He had said that Gord might be a key figure in a struggle for the world-nay, even more than that! A struggle that pitted the malign against all that was right, a war that would affect not just his world but the many states of the multiverse-Shadowrealm included. Further, the master of all shadows had told him that should fate allow, Gord would someday come to his heritage… but perhaps, only perhaps.

The young man set down the crystal blade upon the strangely shaped table in the Vault of Veils. It was a weapon that Shadowking would find good use for against the gloams and other evil ones who forced their way into his land. So much had been granted to Gord by the ruler of this place that it was a small thing to give in return.

“Now I do what I must do,” he said, using his dagger point to prize the sapphires from the necklace and casting the metal and diamonds aside. “I am who I am, and will remain a mortal man.”

The circle of eight gems began to glow as the ninth was placed in the center of their midst. A second later Gord had vanished from the plane of shadow, and the gems too went to wherever they had come from.

“Have a flagon of ale with us, mate!”

The invitation was called from a nearby table, a place where a half-dozen brown and hard-bitten soldiers sat. The speaker was a big, burly mercenary with a missing ear and a gap-toothed smile.

Even as he heard the man speaking, Gord swept up the sprinkling of coins before him and stood. “Sorry, comrade. There’s a little wench nearby whose heart would be broken if I didn’t come as I’ve promised…,” The young thief allowed the double entendre to sink in; then he continued as the warriors vented lusty laughter and began shooting back bawdy jibes at him. “Nay, nay, look for your own ladies, my boys! I thank you for the offer of ale, though, friend,” Gord added, speaking to the one who was undoubtedly the captain of this little band of sell-swords. “Another time, perhaps…,”

The pale, hard eyes of the burly mercenary crinkled at the corners as he looked up at the young fellow and smiled broadly. His eyes were as empty and distant as ever when he did so. The pale, blue orbs looked into the hard, gray eyes of the small, dark young man and saw kinship there. “Of course. The world is small and the fields too few. Keep your weapon ready until then!”

“As always!” Gord responded. A barmaid was near, and as he spoke he dropped the handful of coins on the wooden tray she bore. “Here, lass. A round for my comrades there, and the rest Is for you!” Then he left the noisy crowd in the tavern, striding out into the night of Greyhawk.

The sounds faded away quickly, but the impact remained. It bothered Gord at the same time it pleased him. The recognition of brave men, the acceptance of him as one of them, was gratifying. Still, Gord wished to think of himself as a young and carefree rogue-and a bit of a dandy and a ladies’ man too. He played hard at that, with an outward attitude of derring-do and devils-may-care, but professional soldiers, who knew what to look for, saw him otherwise. Too many times had he faced dragon and demon. Dungeon darkness and the threat of death, or living death in shadow, had placed their marks on Gord.