The Cemetery's New Master

The cemetery stood in a corner of the city, near one of the better neighborhoods in the Lower City. That let Ferrara and the others travel alongside Aaron for a while longer.

Once they had confirmed that everything was settled, Ferrara, the veteran Elite warrior, took a large square box from the carriage.

The box was finely made, carved from pearwood and fitted with a small lock.

"This is our gift of thanks for the journey. Please accept it, Lord Viscount."

Aaron raised a hand to show that he was holding the War Wizard apprentice's urn. Eleanor took the large box for him.

Miss Cleric discreetly weighed it in her hands. It was light, and she could not tell what was inside.

"And this is a special token of our gratitude." Ferrara drew an even more exquisite little box from his clothes. He handed the gilded box to Aaron with visible reluctance. "Please keep it safe."

"Thank you." Aaron had a hand free this time. He took the little box with it and tucked it inside his coat.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Ferrara asked with a strange, teasing smile.

"What would you weigh three times on a scale, with every curtain drawn tight so not a glimpse got out?" Aaron smiled easily. "If you meant to deceive me, would you need to be so careful? Trading on the road isn't easy, Mr. Ferrara."

"You really are observant!" Ferrara's teasing expression vanished. The mercenary leader straightened his face, his eyes full of admiration. "I hope we'll have another chance to work together, honored Viscount Salian!"

"We will. I doubt this will be your last trading trip to Cormyr." Aaron nodded. The viscount had caught what the mercenary leader had left unsaid.

"If the current tensions ease, we'd be happy to return to Cormyr. When we do, we hope you'll lend us a hand, Lord Viscount." Montero stepped forward. "You've won over this whole band of mercenaries who live by the sword."

"We'll talk when you return. Send someone to the Sallyan Residence at number eighteen, Three Crowns, in the Upper City."

"May Tymora bless you, our lord viscount. Thank you for helping us."

“May the Lady of Silver's Radiance shine upon your path.”

Ferrara and the others departed, leaving Miss Cleric and the viscount behind.

"We should go too."

The road to the cemetery was somewhat muddy. This was no wealthy district, so it never received the best upkeep. Rain had fallen on Suzail the night before, and the Lower City's cleaners were not particularly diligent. Some areas still had not been cleaned.

"Guess what the mercenaries gave us." Aaron glanced at the large box in Eleanor's hands.

“Hmm... spices?” Miss Cleric could barely feel its weight in her arms.

"Correct!" Aaron nodded, then asked half-jokingly, "No cheating, Miss Eleanor. You smelled the spices already, didn't you?"

There was always a touch of magic in the words of someone with Extraordinary Charisma. Miss Cleric nodded before she could help herself. She had indeed smelled the spices.

"Nutmeg, cardamom, black pepper, Sichuan pepper, chili, cinnamon, raw sugarcane, cloves, bay leaves, fennel." She opened the box, sniffed with her little nose, and stuck out her tongue. "A good deal, Lord Viscount."

"Hey, that little nose of yours is sharp." Aaron took out the small box Ferrara and the others had treasured so much. "Then guess what's in here. If you get it right, I'll give you the big box."

“I don't want it!” Miss Cleric's little flash of pride deflated at his offer.

At least give me a hint!

How many poor people at the city gate could this whole box of spices save?

"It's saffron." Aaron gently opened the little box, revealing a small pinch of thin, deep-red strands. "Even this tiny amount is worth more than three times its weight in gold."

"That's why they call it blood gold. You can even use it as currency in the Hells!"

"If I hadn't brought enough money today, I would have paid with this." The smile slowly faded from Aaron's face. "Times have changed. Who knows what the cemetery is like now?"

“So the big box is yours, Miss Eleanor. Do whatever you like with it.” Aaron gently patted Miss Cleric's shoulder. “Whatever happens, please join me for dinner at home tonight. Accept my hospitality, have a good bath, and report to the Church tomorrow. All right?”

After hearing Aaron's terms, Miss Cleric pressed her lips together. She rested both hands against her lower abdomen, her fingers twisting tightly around one another.

Again!

This man was always so good at using words to take control of a conversation. He always used the Lady of Silver's grace to bind her. He always began with something she could not refuse, then gradually pressed against her boundaries.

And still, she could not fend off his advances.

Lady of Silver above, my goddess, why did you pair me with the one man I couldn't resist?

Faced with a whole box of spices that could save at least a hundred poor patients, Miss Cleric yielded again.

Just as planned!

A deep rush of pleasure shot from Aaron's stomach straight to his head.

That felt good!

He had worked it out. The original Aaron Salian had secretly loved Miss Cleric, so whenever he flirted with her, Slaanesh's power stirred.

Perhaps he could give Miss Cleric Slaanesh's Gift. She was sure to like it!

But the saffron in his hand also brought something else to mind. The Lady of Wealth adored saffron. Besides being a spice, it was an excellent dye that could turn clothing her favorite shade of gold. Donate saffron to her Church, and Divine Magic, money, and blessings could all be yours.

Yet the Lady of Wealth had disappeared before the Time of Troubles began, and her whereabouts remained unknown.

Perhaps that was one reason Ferrara and the others were smuggling this "blood gold."

So where had the Lady of Wealth gone? The Lady of Joy was carrying out all her divine duties now.

He did not know. For now, such matters were far beyond him.

The cemetery had once been peaceful, a quiet, tranquil stretch of land. Clerics and temple guards had long protected it, allowing the dead to rest.

The cemetery had once belonged to Myrkul, the Bone Lord, one of the Dead Three. He was a Greater Deity of neutral evil alignment.

People had always regarded the god of the dead with both reverence and fear. After all, death came for nearly everyone. Myrkul's Clerics often warned the living that anyone who failed to honor him and pay enough "skull money" would meet a grim fate after death.

The Bone Lord's Clerics were not entirely wrong. Without the god of the dead to watch over them, corpses dumped in a potter's field would be stripped bare by scavengers within a day or two. Vultures, wild dogs, and jackals relished such meals. Necromancers even made regular visits to find "suitable" subjects for their experiments. No one wanted that fate for their body.

People disliked the Bone Lord's greed and his steep skull money, but at least he let the dead rest.

Then, during the Time of Troubles two years ago, all three of the Dead Three fell. Their powers passed to Cyric, the Dark Sun Prince, and Myrkul's Clerics collectively turned to worship him.

Aaron did not know what the cemetery was like now.

The cemetery temple had indeed changed. Cyric's Holy Symbol had replaced Myrkul's, adding a ring of purple sunbursts around the skull.

A Cleric in gray robes and a skull mask appeared.

Aaron and Eleanor both bowed their heads in respect.

No one could face death without reverence.

"Have you come to place those ashes in the cemetery?" The cemetery Cleric knew why visitors came.

"Yes." Aaron held Hicks's urn.

He still remembered the War Wizard apprentice desperately shouting for him to flee, then fighting a hopeless battle against a band of Orcs.

"This is an offering. Please accept it, so my friend can rest in peace." Aaron took out two Golden Lions and respectfully placed them in the cemetery Cleric's hand.

To his surprise, the Cleric gave him a long look and shook his head. "That isn't enough, child."

Not enough? Aaron and Eleanor both stared at him, mouths open.

Two gold coins were the standard skull money throughout the Realms. How could it not be enough?

A poorer commoner could have ashes buried in the cemetery's communal grounds for just two silver coins!

What was Cyric trying to do?

"The new god of the dead has issued a divine decree. The offering for anyone buried here is now five gold coins." The gray-robed Cleric pointed somewhat awkwardly toward the headstones nearby. "If you want a headstone, it's fifteen."

"Another fifty gold coins for a eulogy and ceremony?" A muscle twitched in Aaron's face.

"Oh, you want the 'Dark Sun Deluxe Package'?" the gray-robed Cleric said quickly. "We can arrange the ceremony at once."

Aaron and Eleanor exchanged a look. The helplessness in each other's eyes was plain.

As the current holder of the god of the dead's portfolio, Cyric certainly ran things differently from Myrkul.

Aaron did not argue. He had only five gold coins on him, so, as he had anticipated, he used a tiny amount of saffron to cover the fifteen-gold fee and had a headstone made for Hicks.

When Aaron paid the extra cost without a word of protest, the gray-robed Cleric's expression softened. He sighed faintly. "He must truly have been a good friend of yours."

"That bastard was never my good friend," Aaron said with a cold laugh. "He stole my snacks when we were little, swiped my toys, and went around telling everyone my business. Every time I saw him, I wondered why that bitch-born bastard wasn't dead yet!"

The gray-robed Cleric stared at him.

Hicks was buried in an inconspicuous corner of the cemetery. His headstone was plain.

He had never been anyone important.

Aaron and Eleanor stood before the grave.

"But... he died in my place." Aaron's voice grew low. He pressed his lips together, took the mead Hicks had loved most from Eleanor, and poured it over the headstone.

"You were never anyone important. Just an ordinary War Wizard apprentice."

"You didn't come from some great family, Hicks. You moved from place to place and never had a home of your own."

"You were just an ordinary War Wizard apprentice. My childhood playmate. My enemy. Every time I saw you, I wanted to slap you. When I learned I'd been assigned to a mission with you, I nearly threw up."

"You shouldn't have died in my place. They were after me."

"If you knew the truth, you'd be furious, wouldn't you?"

"Hahahaha!" Aaron laughed aloud. As he laughed, his eyes gradually reddened.

"Rest in peace, the man who saved my life. Enjoy your long sleep."

"That man is still alive. I'll deal with him. I promise."

Aaron tipped the last mouthful of mead into his mouth. Without looking back, he turned and left.

Eleanor hurried after him. Perhaps something had come to mind, for her eyes were red too. "He was a brave War Wizard."

"Brave, my ass!" Aaron's voice was still a little thick. He laughed as he cursed. "If he'd really been brave, he wouldn't have prepared only Web and Mirror Image for his second-circle spells! Neither could get him out, and neither dealt enough damage!"

"That bastard's plan was to hold them with Web, protect himself with Mirror Image, and leave the rest to us." Aaron's steps slowed. "But... yes. Like you said, there was nothing wrong with a Mage preparing spells that way."

Eleanor did not know what to say to that.

Aaron gathered himself and spoke first.

"They say a person dies three times."

"The first death comes when the body stops functioning. Their flesh has died."

"The second comes with the funeral. They have died in the eyes of society."

"The third comes when they are forgotten completely. When every book that holds their story, every painting of their likeness, and every person who remembers them has vanished from the world—that is the death of the spirit."

"So some people live, yet are already dead."

"And some die, yet live on."

"Because they remain in stories, in books, in poems, in legends, in murals."

"And most importantly... in the annals of history! In people's hearts!"

Aaron's words struck Miss Cleric's chest like a thunderbolt, lightning flashing and thunder roaring within her.

Yes. She was still alive, too. In my heart!

There was still hope. There would always be hope!

Miss Cleric gently rubbed her chest. A new flame seemed to burn in her heart.

That flame was called hope!

Slaanesh's Gift effect: Charisma +2, Dexterity +1. A mortal who has received Slaanesh's Gift has advantage on saving throws against all enchantment spells.

This effect cannot raise the recipient's attributes above 20.