The Ballad of Raphael Crone-Barterer

This was a song originally penned by the bard Ambrose Felurian, detailing the Guild's very first encounter with the hag Hexana. Among the party, a tiefling called Raphael; long before he betrayed the Guild and became a vampire. The song was widely popular around the Ridings for a time. Until the whole vampire thing, obviously. Vampirism and murder aside, the thing Ambrose never really forgave Raphael for was tanking one of his greatest hits overnight.

### His Bloodline’s Forfeit

By Ambrose Felurian.

*This tale of murk and blood and dread,*

*A most macabre lament.*

*Her whisp’ring lake, the restless dead,*

*And priceless prices spent.*

Our summons from Leodis came,

To seek what had been taken,

The children, pieces in her game;

Whom all feared were forsaken.

We journeyed forth with spirits high,

Unburdened, unaware.

Presumed our victory was nigh,

Then stepped into her lair.

The lake was still, its breath was held.

A ghostly light below.

Our grim-faced guide, he warned us well;

“Look not toward the glow.”

But though we tried, we could not keep

Our fretful eyes averted.

The waters churned, the lake did shriek,

Its denizens alerted.

We hunkered down with covered eyes,

Our guide bade us be still;

Around us, ghastly groans and sighs

Of spectres cold and shrill.

Their fingernails upon our hull,

Their breath upon our necks,

We dared not look, but Raphael

Could not resist the urge to check.

The dead took hold with icy grasp

To drag him o’er the side

We held him tight, in friendship’s clasp

To keep him from that ghostly tide.

Through water roiling we held fast,

Until they left us be,

We reached the far-flung bank at last,

And quickly fled that haunted quay.

We made our camp, away from shore;

Our half-elf guide stood sentry.

But restless dead had more in store,

Through him, they made their entry.

He struck us while we all slept sound,

Though we soon overcame him,

A ghostly thread was what we found,

Through which the lake did drain him.

Quick-thinking, Raphael stepped forth,

With shadowed blade, he sliced it through.

We fled, again, for all our worth;

Until the dead could not pursue.

But safety there would not be found,

For as we stopped, she did approach.

With vines, and roots, and churning ground,

Demanded why we dared encroach?

Her nose was hooked, her chin was long,

With snake-slit eyes and colour green,

She boasted that the lake’s foul song,

Did serve her appetite, obscene.

She snared us in her tendril grasp,

Whilst brandishing a bloodied spine,

And in a cackling, viscous rasp,

Asked why, on us, she should not dine?

Then Tak, the rogue with elfin wit,

Did offer up a quid-pro-quo,

If we could name a price that fit,

Would she then let the children go?

The crone’s mouth split a gruesome grin,

And told us she delights in pain,

Our terms would thus be foul and grim,

Her glee could barely be contained.

Twas coin and work that we first offered,

But her dark needs desired more.

My priceless violin, then proffered,

Was nowhere near a worthy score.

Instead, she asked to take my hands,

That I might never play again.

The rogue, to meet her foul demands,

Her archer’s arms, she did bargain.

The warlock, to his patron pled,

For some way out of this dread plight.

The hag did hear; then shrugged, and said,

Perhaps your pact will meet my rite?

Then Raphael, of tiefling folk

Did offer up a price most steep,

Free the children from her yoke,

And his inheritance, she’d keep.

His bloodine was the price he’d pay,

Demonic ancestry, she took.

She snapped her wicked gaze his way,

“The deal is struck”, his hand she shook.

First his skin, blue colour drained,

And flowed to her through taloned grip;

Then curling horns, the hag did gain,

And all his demon traits, were stripped.

She cackled and, the bargain met,

Transported us back o’er lake,

But Raphael would not forget,

The lineage that she did take.

His sacrifice was not in vain,

For all the children, safe at last.

But still, the frightful hag remains

Within her lair, her hunger vast.

*This tale of murk and blood and dread,*

*A most macabre lament.*

*Her whisp’ring lake, the restless dead,*

*And priceless prices spent.*