I approached the robed figure cautiously, not knowing if he was friendly or hostile.

“Hello,” I called out hesitantly.

The figure didn’t move or respond in any way.

“Uh, Master of the Realms?” I asked, feeling foolish.

Still no response.

“Veritas, do you have any suggestions?”

Something about this situation seems familiar to me. I...I don’t know. It has something to do with the cups.

I slowly crept to within twenty feet or so of this ‘Master,’ and he still did nothing. At Veritas’s statement, I examined the cups more closely. They looked exquisitely made and valuable. It occurred to me that it had been a while since I had taken the time to eat or drink anything. Oddly, every single cup appeared to have water in it. Suddenly, my thirst felt overpowering.

I reached down to grasp a goblet when a sonorous voice pronounced, “Beware, the cups may grant life or death. You must choose wisely.”

My hand froze.

Looking up, I saw that the figure had stood. The chair he had been using had disappeared.

“Uh, you’re the Master of the Realms?”

“I have been known by that title.”

The voice was deep and calm. Though he didn’t speak loudly, his words echoed all around us, as if the cave was having difficulty containing his speech.

“Then are you some kind of guardian or something? Is this another test?”

The Master answered, “Everything is a test. Life is a test.”

The robed figure leaned forward, resting his hands on the table just with his fingertips. His robe was gray, and I couldn’t see within the darkness of his cowl. His hands barely peeked out from the voluminous sleeves, and the robe fell all the way to the ground, obscuring his feet.

I waited, but he said nothing more.

“Uh, can you explain this test to me? You said the choice can mean life or death?”

The Master took his hands off the table and stood up straight. He towered over me, at least seven feet tall. His robe was smooth and spotless, a clean gray throughout. Ugh. Gray again.

“Adventurer, you have come to the Table of the Humble King. On His Table can be found His Cup,” the being announced firmly.

Then, with a sweep of his long arm, the Master explained, “Choose the Cup of the King, and you will be saved. Choose...poorly, and the result will not be pleasant.”

I let my gaze roam down the vast table. The Master stood stock still, betraying no impatience even in his body language. I began to number the cups but lost count somewhere around two hundred.

“So...this is a lot of cups to choose from. Does the King have many cups?”

“No,” came the stolid reply. “He has but one.”

Damn it! This sounds so familiar to me! But I don’t think I watched this one.”

“Watched? What do you mean?”

I think these riddles we’re dealing with come from…uh...stories that were told in my homeland.

“But you said watched. Was this some kind of puppet show or mummery?”

Something like an amused snort sounded in my mind.

I’m not sure that "puppet show" would be the best way to describe it.

“Are there any hints you can give me?” I inquired of the being at the head of the table. Thus far he had not been unfriendly, so I thought he might be willing to help.

The Master moved his chin at me, and somehow I understood that he was pointing at Veritas.

“Is your helpmeet no longer able to aid you?”

“Helpmeet? Uh, she’s a sword.”

He chuckled. “Veritas is much more flexible than that. She can be any weapon she chooses. When last I saw her, she was in the possession of a mage who switched her form back and forth, using her as either a rod or a staff depending on his needs.”

I looked down at Veritas. Any weapon?

He speaks the truth. I can be any weapon you need. However, after seeing your aptitude for swordplay, I deemed that remaining a sword was the best option.

“Okay. Do you have any idea who this being is?”

I have a suspicion, but I don’t want to say unless I’m sure. Considering the fact that Joshua was the keeper of the door to the Gate, the guardian of the Gate itself is sure to be even more powerful than Joshua. Fighting is not an option.

“Okay, I agree with that. This guy can probably squish me like a bug.”

Yes. Without a doubt.

“On that optimistic note, let’s take a look at these cups.”

I reached for the nearest cup. It was extremely large, more like a chalice than a cup, and precious jewels coated it thickly, almost like a layer of paint. My eye was caught by another cup, very similar to the one I was about to grab. They looked almost identical. Was it one of these two? If so, how could I know which one?

“Is there a time limit?” I asked nervously.

The Master pronounced, “No.”

I walked carefully down the length of the table, trying to figure out which among this multitude of cups was appropriate for a king.

The being spoke, “Is your helpmeet unable to assist you in this decision?”

“I’m afraid not,” I answered. “She can’t remember much about...whatever this is.”

I’m sorry, Paol. I feel like I should know the answer, but I don’t.

“Hmmm,” the being murmured before raising a hand.

“Do you know who I am, Veritas?” he asked softly.

I’m not sure.

“I’m sorry, little one, for what has befallen you. Do not fear, your suffering will be eased.”

All the while I was walking back up the table on the opposite side, closely examining cup after cup after cup. This was crazy! How was I supposed to pick this mystery cup out from the hundreds before me? A feeling of dread began to grow in my stomach.

“How am I supposed to do this? You can’t give me any other hints?” I beseeched desperately.

“I already have,” he replied.

“What? You already have? What are you talking about? You haven’t told me anything!”

I received no response this time. I waited a while longer, but he was as still as a statue again. What was he talking about? What hint did he mean? I racked my brain, trying to remember everything he had said. All the while my eyes roamed this way and that over cups and chalices and goblets and grails and…

Wait. A cup about a third of the way down caught my eye. Something about it bothered me. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first and then I realized that unlike all the other cups on the table, this one didn’t shine.

The Humble King. Humble! A humble king...wouldn’t need to drink from something made of gold or silver or jewels.

I hurried over to the cup. It was cracked and weathered, made of some kind of common clay. No symbols or images adorned it. It looked so ordinary--not special at all. One edge of the lip was chipped, but the bowl of the cup felt smooth in my hand. A small puddle of water sloshed around inside when I lifted it.

Are you sure? I’m sorry, but I can’t help you here. This story sounds familiar to me, but that’s as far as my memory goes.

I pondered uncertainly, lips pursed in thought. Was this the one? Would a king really drink from such a frail item? It felt as if it would shatter if I dropped it.

“How do I make my selection?”

My voice quavered.

“Take a sip,” came the sepulchral tone.

“And if I've picked the wrong cup?”

“Death.”

Of course. What else could it have been? I closed my eyes and then, before I could change my mind, I lifted the clay cup to my lips, tipped it, and swallowed.

Immediately, I opened my eyes and looked over to the Master.

“You have chosen…”

He paused and said nothing for so long that my heart began hammering in my chest. Was I wrong? Was my heart about to explode and kill me? Was…

“Wisely.”

My shoulders sagged in relief. All of a sudden, words popped up before my eyes. Again!

You have partaken of the Water of Life. You are granted six attribute points and four skill points to distribute. Choose wisely as your decisions are irreversible.

Wow! Maybe I should drink the rest of it!

Just before I could follow through on that thought, the Master of the Realms commanded, “Bring the cup to me.”

Reluctantly, I walked over and handed it to him. He accepted it and then told me, “Bow your head.”

I hesitated. What was this for?

Do it, Paol. The Master is not someone to defy.

“Do you know who he is for sure?”

His title is Master of the Realms. Not Realm singular. Realms.

Not sure what she was getting at but understanding that this was not the time to make a scene, I bent my neck. Cool liquid dripped down onto my head. Surprised, I jerked back, but he had already emptied everything inside the cup onto me. The water--or whatever it was--dripped down my face and neck and then seemed to evaporate almost instantaneously.

Something blinked in my vision, and I focused on it. I watched my Spirit attribute begin to rise.

85...90...94...97...99

My Spirit had just gone up fifteen points. What did that mean?

“I can grant you one last boon. Where would you like to go?”

I stammered, “Uh, are you going to point me to the Gate?”

He chuckled.

“I am the only Gate you need, and I can send you anywhere.”

Paravel! Have him send us to Paravel!

“Paravel,” I answered. “That’s where we need to go.”

The Master reached over and laid a finger on Veritas.

“You have been given a great gift. Be true to her and she will serve you well.”

I frowned. What did he mean by that?

The robed figure’s hand came up and touched me lightly over my heart. Suddenly, everything went dark for a moment...or an hour...or a day...I couldn’t tell for sure...and then…

I felt the brush of wind against my skin and the warmth of the sun shining down upon me. We were free! My feet rested on dirt, and the sky above me shone a deep azure. No more gray! I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh air.

Paol!

My eyes shot open. What was I hearing? Shouts and the clash of metal on metal sounded from behind me. I spun around to find myself overlooking a battlefield.

Knights in full armor galloped across the field on barding-covered warhorses, swords gleaming in the sunlight before slashing down. Soldiers carrying large shields stood in an ordered line with spearmen behind them. Further back were archers and unarmored men in tunics and pants.

Crashing against the shield wall was a horde of orcs, just as green and ugly as I remembered them. They heaved themselves forcefully against the defensive line, but the soldiers held, and their fellows behind them lunged with their spears between their comrades’ shields to pierce monster bodies and repel the attack.

Other orcs rode huge slavering wolves, laying about themselves with evil-looking maces. Ten feet away, one of these wolf riders saw me standing uncertainly at the edge of the battle and whirled his beast around. He wore that awful leather orc armor that I remembered and had sworn I would never wear again. His mace had blood and brains on it, and though it looked massive and heavy, he held it with ease in one hand.

With a snarl of hatred, he urged his mount forward and roared at me in challenge.