The Gloam

I went to a dimly lit shop tucked between buildings that shouldn’t have room for it. I entered through an unmarked door, the wood aged and cracked, yet the handle was polished smooth from years of use. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of incense, something metallic, something sweet.

A single, robed figure sat at a low table, their face obscured by shadow and candlelight. They gestured to two bowls waiting for his offering.

I put five gold pieces in one bowl and poured the blood into the other one. The Gloam mixed in a fine powder with the blood. The liquid foamed briefly before drying into a red dust. With a silver spoon, they sprinkled the dust into a small incense brazier. As the embers flared, the Gloam inhaled deeply, then exhaled a slow, curling cloud of smoke that thickened the air, adding to the gloom.

They picked up a slate and stick of chalk. The pure white chalk moved across the dark slates surface leaving the single word, “Ask.”

I said, “I want to know about the idol of Vorthis.”

“Beware of its prisoner and the idol’s Crystal Brain,” was written. As soon as the message was written it was erased.

I asked, “Why twist each wish?”

The message was, “It weakens the bonds, but the crystal brain will open the door

The Gloam’s eyes fluttered and I knew he had one more question.

“How long until the prisoner is freed?”

The message was, “Very soon.”

The Gloam looked at me with piercing eyes before putting the slate down.

I went back home to think. The idol was a prison, one that held a powerful enough entity to both grant a wish and twist it in such a way that it weakened its bonds. If such a being, trapped for centuries, were freed, it would spill its vengeance on the world like a spoiled, bratty child throwing a fit.

I sat in my study, considering the situation. The Baroness’s family had held the idol for a long time. They knew it would grant a wish, but always at a price. The dark Lord Nox had taken the idol, killing the Baron to claim it. He seemed to believe that freeing the prisoner would benefit him somehow. The Baroness held the key, and now everything was coming to a head.

The world already had enough magical conflict, but an angry god loose in the city would change everything. For all its flaws, I liked the world the way it was. I needed to do something to keep it from falling into total chaos, but what?

Jarvis rang the dinner bell, and Chance made his way to the dining room. As he entered, the rich aroma of roasted meat filled the air, smoky, charred at the edges, with a glaze of spices that carried a hint of heat. The scent was deep and inviting, the kind that let the orc side of him be free for a while. It spoke to something instinctual, something that didn’t care about courtly manners or careful planning, just the simple pleasure of a good meal.

When I sat down, Jarvis placed a heavy wooden plate before him. A rack of ribs, glistening with sauce, sent up wisps of steam. The first bite melted on his tongue, savory, with just enough spice to tingle at the edges of his mouth. The slow-cooked meat practically fell off the bone, leaving behind a deep, smoky aftertaste.

Jarvis poured me a full tankard of ale, its frothy head spilling slightly over the rim. Chance took a sip, the cool bitterness cutting through the richness of the meal. It was smooth, with an earthy undertone and a faint trace of honey—strong, but not harsh. I leaned back in my chair, savoring the contrast of flavors, letting the warmth of the food settle in my stomach.

Still, as good as the meal was, my thoughts kept circling back to the Baroness. Everything seemed to swirl around her. I needed to see her tonight.

After dinner, I cleaned up and put on clothes more refined for a visit to a member of the court. I hated being in a monkey suit, the stiff fabric pressing against my neck, but at least I didn’t have to do it often.