#43 - Betrayals and Bounties

Excerpt from the Cypher's Codex: The Scrawlings of a Warforged Scholar

Our time in the city of Graywall was coming to an end. The medusa cleric Zerasha warned us that to stay would be dangerous. The first night of Long Shadows had passed, but two more darkening days lay before us. We had resupplied, built, repaired, fought, and learned many things. It was time to move on.

We had grown in number but had lost individuals. The Cyran cleric Kard had proven himself worthy on the battlefield of the Arena and seemed to be in need of a platoon for the next stage of his journey. Additionally, I have much interest in learning more about him and his connection to the downed warforged Claviger; it presents a puzzle to me, and I will need to keep him around to solve it.

Grapnel continued to follow us, with the body of his former Karrn captain slung over his shoulder at all times. I sympathize with my brother; he has yet to understand free will and its right to all warforged. He seems to have no notion but to follow us and our desires so we will continue to travel with him. Perhaps in time he will develop an understanding of the freedoms that are unequivocally his.

Xoma had slipped away into the night after only some cryptic words, presumably venturing further into the lands of Droaam. I will miss his alliance as our quests take us in different directions. I hope I was able to teach him enough of the language of the dar (Goblin) to survive a conversation.

As a group we decided to make for Sharn via House Orien caravan. At the Orien station in Calabas we made arrangements for passage on the secure, and far more expensive, faster, and dragonmarked heir-conducted caravan. Each member of the party had to pay 30 gold pieces, and I paid for Grapnel's passage since he had no money. He seemed quite intent on returning his former master’s body to "Karrnathi soil," so we pooled our galifars and commissioned a simple but secure wooden casket for the body of his captain. Zerasha used a divine ritual to preserve the human's otherwise decomposing body, saying the effects would last for exactly seven days. It was quite costly to stow the casket, at 120 gold pieces, to get it to the next major city in Breland, Galethspyre, but it seemed a small sum to offer to our new warforged friend. Grapnel thinks that he is indebted to us now, and despite the fact that we do not see it quite so severely, for the time being we are not trying to convince him otherwise. He cannot yet grasp the differences between companionship and servitude.

The caravan was not set to leave until later in the day, so Magnus, Rendar, and I set off to say farewell to the couple who owns the House of the Nine, the inn and religious house where we we'd been staying. I have learned of most creatures’ desire to part company in an oddly celebrated way, although I have yet to fully understand the need for such fanfare. I did, however, agree that we should apprise them of our departure, as they were holding our rooms for our return from the Arena.

To our surprise, we found the woman had been assaulted and the home disturbed. Leaking ocular fluid, she relayed a message that her husband was being held by the former Brelish General Darveshek, and he demanded our presence in order to release the man. The situation was quite disturbing, but we left Grapnel at the House to keep watch, as we had been instructed to come alone to an abandoned tavern some distance down the road.  

I should mention that my newest companion: a homunculus crafted under standard Iron Defender specifications. I have named it Rungo. I infused a fragment of my own creation energies, and through this a bond-matrix has manifested. It is not a warforged, lacking any will of its own, but it follows my every command without thought to consequence. This bond that we have is quite new and unknown to me, and I wasn’t always aware of Rungo’s presence nearby. However, when we arrived at the abandoned tavern, I remembered the iron defender and sent him around both sides of the building for reconnaissance. It found no alternative entrances.  

The situation was less than ideal.  General Darveshek was previously an ally, or at least had proposed to be. We had fought in the Arena to satisfy his needs and we had been successful. I expected that we were to be compensated for our triumph, yet instead we found ourselves forced under duress into an unfavorable tactical scenario.

Without much alternative, however, I went to the door, with Rungo close beside, and banged loudly to gain entry. The door was opened a bit but no one made their presence known, so I slammed it open and sent the iron defender inside to harass whoever was concealed behind it. There being no chance of surprise, the only tactical advantage left to us was to project force, so we all advanced, showing no reticence. 

There were several men, humans and dwarves, armed and ready for a fight. The general was there in full battle armor. At the far end, the unfortunate innkeeper was bound to a weapons rack beside a table full of torture implements, along with a rough-looking man who I deemed quite capable of inflicting considerable harm to the man's body. General Darveshek began talking to me. I demanded to understand the reason for this situation and he obliged.

Governor Trazzen had placed a considerable bounty on our persons—1,000 gold per head, or 10,000 for our entire group—and Darveshek had lured us here to collect. He deemed it more advantageous to receive this bounty than to continue an alliance with us. He threatened to kill the innkeeper if we did not put down our weapons and surrender ourselves. I calculated the time it would take for me to get to the torturer; I was not quite fast enough to neutralize him. However, Rungo could get there almost in time to make a difference. While my companions made motions that suggested disarming themselves as the general demanded, I told Darveshek that I could not remove my armbow, as it was a part of my armor. He did not seem pleased with this, and set his brute to slash the innocent man. I immediately loosed a bolt and sent Rungo to tear at the torturer, but the damage had been done. The torturer didn't slash the other's throat, but he did deliver what could quickly become a fatal stomach wound.

The ensuing battle was quite ferocious. Once I reached the far end of the room, I was able to use the healing eternal wand to stabilize the innkeeper before he was completely disabled. As we fought these men, I determined them to all be Brelish by their accents. This disturbed me quite a bit, to be fighting against former Brelish soldiers. But equally disturbing was the general’s betrayal; I was horrified that Brelish could have become so menacing. 

I had intended to take this man alive, to take him as my prisoner into Breland, but my anger swelled inside of me when Darveshek nearly destroyed my iron defender with a single swing of his sword.  I manipulated the arcane energies within myself to conjure a force greater than any other I had ever managed before. I focused it into five perfect spheres of energy and sent them shooting forth from my fingers on a direct path to the target of my wrath. As expected from such beautiful arrangements of arcane forces, all five missiles struck General Darveshek in the head and shoulders, instantly disabling him beyond repair.

Although I would have liked to have brought him to justice in Breland, disgraced General Darvishek’s demise suited me, too. I may yet return to my homeland with his head; perhaps there are other, more affluent individuals who would be happy with that end to his tale as well.

#42 - The Carrion Pit

As written by Kard Gelan, Cyran cleric of the Sovereign Host

As the dust settled from the Bone Storm raging around the edges of the blood-soaked sand arena, a calm descended across the crowd and then me. The dwarven cleric, covered from head to toe in thick armor plating, with a peculiar looking peg-leg, revived the fallen shape of the changeling woman, Seera, who had been struck down by the barbarian towards the end of the battle. I say changeling, because she had blurred and reshaped her form with ease during the fight, but she did appear human now. As she rose, the half-orc among this group-his name as Rendar-approached her, seemingly intent on calming her.

Magnus, the barbarian whom I had revived myself after the final clash with the Oni and its flame-spewing hounds, spoke with a large halberd-wielding warforged that stood solemnly by the fallen warrior he'd entered the arena with. The feral-looking dark elf sorcerer, Xoma, still seemed to hover and flicker with magic, soaking up the crowds' remaining jeers and applause in equal measure with a look of adulation on his face; clearly this one WAS a follower of the Shadow.

At the time, none of this was of interest to me, only my conversation with the dead had my full attention. The slain orc, Dreggis, spoke several truths as I knelt over him and prayed to Boldrei and the powers of the Host to rouse his spirit. I was taught that the soul departs for Dolurrh in death, and that with necromantic spells such as this one-which I had never had to use before-only the lingering animus of the corpse is coaxed to responds. The truth is likely murkier, but the gods' power is unquestionable.

Symbol of Boldrei, the
Sovereign of Home and Hearth

When I had questioned Dreggis, the other, slightly smaller warforged approached the corpse and myself. It was either fascination or confusion that must have piqued its interest, but I hadn't noticed its approach. My last question to the dead orc produced a sliver of information about another warforged: the gurgling corpse spat out the name 'Claviger.' The warforged that approached me then was known as Cypher as I would discover later on. It appeared next to me, demanding the corpse of Dreggis to speak more of this Claviger.

I rose up from the deceased orc and asked Cypher, "Why do you speak to a dead body?", a slight hint of amusement in my tone. Clearly the warforged had not understood that I had cast a spell on the recently departed in order to extract the information I needed.

"What do you know of Claviger?" Cypher asked with a hint of urgency, if that was possible, in its monotone voice.

"How do YOU know about Claviger?" I reply, eyeing it in response.

It turned away and moved towards Grapnel, the larger warforged, and began to speak with it. After a moment, Grapnel reached down and hefted the body of its fallen commander across its shoulders, and followed Cypher like some lost pup. We all began to collect ourselves up, when the harpy that had introduced us all to the crowds informed all that the battle was over, and that we were to leave when ready, heading towards the way we had entered.

The changeling woman, still in human guise, nodded in my direction-a sign of respect perhaps, for we had briefly fought side by side and exchanged no blows with one another. She glared at Magnus, then left swiftly into the tunnel exit. As we filed out of the arena the barbarian, Magnus, says over his shoulder to me, "You may want to head with us."

I nodded, their grouping being quite clear to me now; the warforged Cypher, the dark elf Xoma, the half-orc (and dragonmarked heir, I would soon realize) Rendar, the barbarian Magnus, and the Onatar cleric Doongul all clearly owing allegiance to one another as they walked in file. Safety in numbers, perhaps, a peculiar feeling to a man such as myself so used to walking the road alone, but certainly an advantage in this city of monsters and the dispossessed.

As we enter an archway that we had passed through to reach the arena, yet another woman appeared. This one the others called Drix, and though she appeared as a half-elf woman, she was allegedly a changeling as well. So many nonhumans in this city...

Drix looked agitated. "Hurry! You must hurry!" she exclaimed, then rattled off something about "the governor" being after us. After THEM, to be clear. I was not one of them....yet?

The looks on the faces of those in the party went from ones of relief to dismay. A general grumbling came from Doongul, Xoma and Magnus, with the barbarian turning to me and saying jovially "Come, cleric, we may need of your help again." Warily I followed them, and they in turn followed Drix blindly through this maze of dark tunnels beneath the Arena. Then down a spiral staircase. The dwarf, dark elf, half-orc, and barbarian walked behind Drix, and the two warforged follow behind me. As we descended, Drix seemed to grow impatient and moved ahead of the group more quickly than we could follow.

When we finally reached the bottom, we entered a small stone-walled room, barely a few feet wide and deep with no apparent exit. A dead end, surely? Then all of a sudden Drix appeared through the wall ahead of us, a blue-white shimmer of translucent magic flaring around her as she entered the room.

"Hurry! Through the wall, quickly!" With that, she passed back through the wall, leaving us all a little bewildered as to our destination-can it truly be that concealed? Mere illusion? Although I'm sure we all felt uneasy about it, we passed one by one through the wall. My new companions, while unhappy about this, had clearly been through this sort of thing before. As soon as one person would pass through, no sound could be heard of them. Rendar, Magnus, Doongul and Xoma all passed through the illusory wall, bracing themselves for whatever was on the other side. I took a deep breath and followed them through.

Surprise was not the word I would use for the slick slide-like tunnel I stepped into. I immediately lost my balance and slipped down the inclined passageway, yelling a curse at my bad luck, as I once again fell hard on my backside; an unfortunate repetitive plight that has stuck with me the moment I entered that damned Arena.

As I slid rapidly down the tunnel-or chute!-I heard the sounds of the two warforged's surprised and analytical ramblings fade away. The experience was sickeningly disorientating, a ride through the darkness to whatever Khyber pit we were doomed for. Then a faint light appeared, as if to herald the end of the surprising trip...and I launched from a chute and into a massive mound of vile-smelling detritus of some form. The others were all here and, apart from Xoma still smiling as ever, merely nursing bruises or scrapes from the ride down. I landed unceremoniously, but nonetheless safely with a strange wet crunching noise. I stood up, and as I look about the gloom, the dwarf Doongul creates a blaze of firelight with his warhammer, dispelling much of the gloom.

We appeared to be in a stone-walled, dirty room arching up and away into the black. A platform ringed the inside of the room about fifty feet above us, with several small, skulking figures whispering to one another conspiratorially. The three figures approach the lip of the platform edge in surprise at the sudden illumination of the room and they stared down at us.

Kobolds. It was at this point that I glanced down at the detritus I found myself in, almost knee deep in. It was carrion, corpses, mostly bones, that I could only presume came from the Arena above us. Xoma and Magnus spoke to the Kobolds in a language I dod not understand, and the barking, yipping little humanoids reply to them. I looked at Magnus, and he caught my questioning look and said, "They say we should not be here. They say only the dead should be here." Delightful.

Cypher appeared as these solemn words were spoken, the warforged appearing from the chute with a practical grace and landing more or less on its feet.

"What is the situation?" it asks the group, undeterred by the bodily remains heaped around its legs.

"Oh, the usual!" yelled Magnus.

Then the figure of Drix appeared on the walkway high above us. She approached one of the kobolds and sent it screaming down into the pit with us with a vicious kick. My new companions started angrily-evidently she had betrayed them. Or...not...?

Her form twisted and blurred and became that of the human girl from the Arena, who fought beside me. The changeling. The...whatever she was. Seera was the only name we had for this one. Evidently NOT Drix. I was already confused enough before this point.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cypher directed to Seera with a cocking of its head.

Xoma, Magnus, and myself begin to scale the dirty walls of the pit, with Cypher wading towards the wall to join us in our ascent. As Xoma began to climb, he spat out a gobbet of what must have been acid or poison. Nasty spells, that one had. The corrosive spittle struck Seera, and she screamed in pain, clearly dazed and somewhat blinded by it.

Seera hissed in anger and her body changed AGAIN. Sprouting suddenly from her back was a pair of black, flapping leathery wings. She jumped from the edge and flew awkwardly, blindly, across the room to the walkway at the opposite end. Cypher begins its climb up as Rendar and Doongul waded through the carrion, Rendar readying his longbow and taking aim at Seera on the other side of the platform.

Suddenly the mound of old corpses itself begin to tremble, and the kobolds yipped and skittered away from Seera. The center of the pit of bones heaved as a gigantic multi-tentacled scaverous creature burst forth from the mass of bones. I was already climbing by then, and wasn't too keen on getting a better look over my shoulder, but I saw it soon enough.

I later learned it was called an otyugh, a creature of the depths, that lived and fed on refuse.

An otyugh!

The beast roared, a massive slash of a mouth widening to reveal an orifice full of jagged and yellowed teeth, necrotic flesh, and broken bone gummed in between the terrible fangs. The smell was not lost on me. Indeed, I find myself paralyzed by its presence. The shock of its appearance, as much as the smell, held me fast to the wall whilst Xoma and Magnus pulled themselves up over the ridge. The monster swung its maw towards Doongul and lunged with its massive teeth, warping the shield the dwarf raised in time to prevent an eviscerating bite that would have killed him instantly. Its tentacles swiped at him and Cypher, with only the one directed at the warforged making contact, knocking him from his short climb up the wall and landing prone with a splash of filthy refuse and other more unpleasant waste. In response to the feral attack by the creature, Doongul swungs his warhammer, connecting with the flesh of the beast, while Rendar turns his attention to the monster as well, loosing an arrow into its hide. The kobolds, clearly believing this to be no longer their business, scurried around the inside of the ledge skittering past Magnus as he readied a spear and hurled it at the beast, just missing the thrashing otyugh.

The dark elf, however I notice, still had his gaze firmly affixed on Seera and he spat another glob of poison as he found his way up to the ledge. The shot went wide, and she sneered at the elf, the poison having worn off slightly but still leaving a dull purple marking around its contact point. She turned around and sauntered through a darkened passageway at one of the corners on the chamber. I continued to climb as much as my aching muscles will allow me, trying not to grab the attention of the otyugh, which bit down on Doongul's shield once more as the dwarf attempted to thwart the gnashing attack. Cypher, however, was not as fortunate as he, and as it began to raise itself, it was caught up by the monster's spiked tentacles and was hauled bodily away and swung around like some kind of toy. Even as the warforged found itself locked in a mortal embrace with this foul creature, it clinically called to Xoma, "Is acid or fire useful?"

The dark elf replied, "Sure!" much to my amusement, I must admit.

Doongul's expression when being
attacked by an otyugh.

A second tentacle struck Doongul, staggering him back a step, but he retorted with a wide arcing swing at the base of one of its tentacles, forcing it to release Cypher. Rendar slung his bow around his torso and drews his short sword and scimitar, charging at the beast from the other side of Doongul and cutting at the otyugh's hide. It barely noticed the attack. Finally the kobolds reached the darkened passageway Seera had retreated through.

The conflict below me was interrupted by the sudden and violent appearance Grapnel flying out of the entry chute and colliding bodily with the monsters side, off-balancing it for a brief second. It was at this point that the fates decided that once more my own poor sense of balance would blight me again. I felt the grip under my hand as I attempt to hoist myself up a few more feet, then felt my body being pulled inexorably downwards by my weighty armor. I am ashamed to admit as a cleric of the Sovereign Host that I uttered a profanity unbecoming of my role in the clergy. I believe, however, the gods will forgive me, as my luck throughout the day's events had never favored my dexterity. I slammed into the moist pile of carrion below, feeling my back bruise as I collided with body parts, discarded, rusted armor, and bare bones.

Xoma crossed a gap over the ledge and headed towards Magnus in an attempt to support the group against the otyugh below. The combat was continuing with Rendar, Doongul and Cypher being lashed by tentacles and teeth, only Doongul being unharmed as he raised his shield in time to fend off the blow. Cypher dived in under the beast's guard and grasped one of its tentacles at the base, sending an arc of magic energy crackling through its body causing it to roar in pain. Doongul began his own climb of the wall, his armor battered, and a trickle of blood running from a crack in his helm. Rendar and Grapnel pulled the beast's attention away from the wounded dwarf cleric. Grapnel's halberd bit deep into the monsters flank, blood spraying across his armored body, and Rendar cut deep gouges into its flanks also. Enraged by the pain dealt to it, the creature struck out at the half-orc.

Doongul's expression when not
being attacked by an otyugh..

The head of one of the kobold's rolls out of the dark exit that Seera had left by, my assumption being that they had gotten to close to the shapeshifting female as she made her way out of the pit room. Now that I recall though, I remember hearing a chinking sound, like that of mail and plate. At the time I had dismissed the sound, and turned my concentration on venting the anger from my fall by exacting some form of righteous fury against the otyugh. Fresh cadavers slid out from the chute opposite the one we'd come in on—in a twist of irony, the body of Dreggis amongst them.

The connection was clear, the otyugh was not an unwelcome guest of the city; it was a necessity. This monster would consume the bodies of the dead sent from the sands of the Arena, meaning there was no need to waste time or money on disposing of the corpses. Even I had to admit the logic was sound, if somewhat barbaric. Today, however, its easy meal was fighting back.

Doongul was pulled to the top by Magnus, the barbarian panting and heaving; clearly the battle above had taken its toll on even his resilient physique and the cleric passed a healing prayer across his wounds, deep cuts and dark bruises sealing and clearing respectively in a soft golden light. The otyugh below roared, Cypher and Rendar swinging their weapons at it, and loomed over the warforged, engulfing the unfortunate victim in its maw. A noise like muffled lightning issued from the monster's mouth, arcs of blue energy passing between its teeth being jammed open by Cypher's lower half. Clearly the warforged had no intention of being eaten whole as it shocking grasped the inside of the beast's mouth. Finally I made it to the monster myself, feeling a surging moment of justification as I swung my warhammer double-handed into it's huge, stumpy legs. I hear a resounding crack as the head of the heirloom weapon snaps the bone: it toppled and slumped to its side into the cadavers and black filth with a groaning death howl.

Finally the sloshing of the waters around our legs subsided and Rendar began to help Cypher out of the dead creature's jaws. The warforged healed himself with a flare of artificer magic, armor rebinding and dents pushing out and becoming pristine again. We began to climb a rope handed down by Magnus to Doongul earlier, and as we made our way to the ledge, Xoma called out to us from near the exit where Seera had escaped.

"Skeletons! They are coming from the entrance to your left, Magnus!"

I realize that there were in fact two stone- walled dark exits at either corner of the stone platform, their archways highlighted by Doonguls's forgelight. I turned my attention to the direction Xoma referred to, and could barely make out the gaunt figures heading towards us. The only indication of them being skeletons was the noise of bone on bone scraping against the cobbled flagstones of the tunnel. I assumed the dark elf had been able to see them far better than I—his kind could see perfectly well in the dark. And yet the noise was intermingled with the chinking noise of armor again. Louder this time, and the direction being more discernible. I turned my head, and the world slowed. Even as Xoma had passed a pair of healing potions to the weary Magnus, even as Rendar, Cypher and Doongul had finally helped heave the blood-covered form of Grapnel over the platforms ledge, we all turned our heads at the form of an adversary not long since thought defeated.


The hobgoblin warrior, an undead—some sort of vampire, now no longer in mist form, but in the great regal crested heavy armor, flanked by two muscular, feral looking ghouls. He sported a face like thunder and the deep dent still clearly visible in its breast plate, what should have been a mortal wound for most beings, seemed to merely infuriate the undead creature. It smirked at Rendar, and the half-orc stiffened, remembering what had happened in the Arena. As if to emphasize the severity of the situation, eight clattering reanimated skeletons entered through the other tunnel, fixing their sightless gaze upon us, readying rusted swords and splintered bows.

"What do you want?!", Xoma yelled, demanded, clearly frustrated at the vampire.

The undead creature smiled, his long canines protruding from under his cold blue lips. "Your demise!" he hissed.

The vampire began to advance towards us, but now a new noise had caught my attention, a popping noise. I turn my head back to the skeletons standing across from us in front of the other entrance. The popping got louder in a fraction of a moment and the skeletons begin to explode, their their joints broke apart, their long-dead bones hurling against the walls and down into the corpse pit. Grapnel, somehow still in possession of his master's limp, cold body uttered a simple statement and yet profoundly understood by us all.

"I am confused."

Finally the last skeleton detonated in a shower of bones, its sword clattering to the stone platform. The figure that emerged from the tunnel behind had its with arms—and tentacles—outstretched might well have been the most deadly creature in all of Eberron. So much was the potential violence and damage this newcomer could bring to the fray that even the vampire stopped in its path, its look of utter assuredness turned to sour defeat and fear.

The mind flayer—a creature of Xoriat—lowered its long alien hands to its side even as the tendrils of its head writhed, and it stared side long at the vampire while the rest of us stood frozen. Unflinching at first, the undead hobgoblin returned the fixed gaze. A battle of wills appeared to take place between the two powerful creatures, but after a short while the vampire began to shake, its lips parting to revealing clenched teeth. The mental barrage it must have been undergoing would probably make it explode like the skeletons as well! Seemingly knowing this as well, the vampire exploded violently into its mist form retreated down through the tunnel it had come from. The ghouls, cowering, shared a bewildered look with one another before their softer parts detonated inside them, leaking blook from every orifice.

We all turned to the mind flayer, unsure of whether or not we were next to suffer the wrath of its potent psychic prowess. I even found myself reciting an ancient healing prayer as if it would help in this situation, we were as kindling to the mind of this creature, and if it so willed, we would be helpless to defend ourselves against its power. I was only  half-conscious of bowing before it. After a moment of uneasy silence, a voice seemed to invade my mind.

The exit, is this way.

The cold, slimy caress of the words passed through my mind, and clearly everyone else's as they winced at the psychic intrusion. The only physical indication of the mind flayer's intentions—that I now recognized to be the one who had resided over the Arena games—was in its calm turning and walking out of the room through the passageway the skeletons had arrived from. The feeling of dread swept from my body as it showed us the way out, and we all began to walk after the mind flayer, exhausted and not a little too confused at the past events.

A few minutes and several winding passageways later, we found ourselves in the exit tunnels of the Arena compound, not far from where we had been misled by the shapeshifting Seera—whatever she was. Silently I swore to myself that if I crossed paths with her again, I would not hesitate to break her neck for her wicked misdirections. The real Drix, a far more personable woman, met with us there, looking confused as to our accompanying the mind flayer, and as we approach her it simply left us behind, flanked by two large war trolls. As if—after seeing what it could do by itself—the mind flayer actually needed them.

Drix and several others—servants of the Shadow—escorted us to a small obsidian tower further into the city where I had not ventured before.

What followed I can still barely recall. Through pain and darkness, I had met new companions, been betrayed by supernatural beings, and then met with reverant medusas! I have come a long way from Cyre...and I had thought my road already strange!

From the Arena we, as the victors, had been given 4,000 galifars—more gold than I'd ever seen in one place. I stood quietly off to the side as my new companions spoke with these strange beings. A black-scaled medusa named Zerasha was their leader and high priestess. She cast her eyes to the floor whenever she spoke to us—leveling her petrifying gaze safely away—while the eyes of her serpents fixed on us. Food and healing prayers were provided to us, in the name of the Shadow. Clearly these adventurers had made something akin to friends with such monsters, or perhaps they were working associates, within this city of monsters and the dispossessed, and they readily now considered me a part of this motley group after the Arena battle. This was likely due in part to our common—and as yet unresolved—discussion of a warforged named Claviger.

I overheard something about a goblin named Trugg being reawakened from some curse, much to the relief of the group. As well as suggestion, on the part of Drix and Zerasha, that we should all leave the city with the coming dawn. It appeared unwise for our collective kind to be out in the streets of Graywall during the remaining days, and that even Calabas, the small human sector of Graywall, would be barred to us in case of untoward violence towards them due to our presence. Of course I know of these holy days, but did not make it known that I am so informed. I cannot be entirely sure of the dissuasion of my new counterparts, and how they would approach my...beliefs, even if one of their party is clearly a follower of the Shadow.

Partly I understood: It was only the first day of Long Shadows, the three-day holy day devoted to the powers of darkness and of course the eponymous Sovereign of Magic and Mayhem himself. Even back home in better days, before the Day of Mourning, Long Shadows was a time for staying indoors, for lighting fires at the hearth, for keeping close to those you loved. I wouldn't have imagined in my youth of venturing into Droaam, the land of monsters, during the nights of Long Shadows. Yet here I am.

Zerasha also explained that a hobgoblin warlord calling himself Governor Trazzen had presented himself to many in Graywall this night, and that he had placed a bounty on our heads. It seemed clear that Trazzen was the vampire in ancient Dhakaani armor who had appeared in the Arena, and then in the tunnels below it. For whatever reason, he hates my new companions. This bears further explanation, if I am to remain in their company for reasons of my own.

Collectively we spoke of a plan too leave during the daylight hours after a short period of rest and readying. They planned on heading out southeast into Breland on the Orien trade roads. The only one who did not agree to this plan of action was the dark elf Xoma. He mentioned vaguely that his time with the party was at an end and spoke matter-of-factly about being marked by a great winged black beast of some kind. He reassured the others that the threat posed to him would be more suitably dealt with alone, and that it would only get in our way. Something in his eyes spoke a greater truth, maybe this was no real end for him, and as much as it was a self-sacrificial move for him he had also been chosen for something greater. Whether my suspicion's on the matter were right or not, I would not know as he left shortly before we all awoke the next morning, leaving a purse of 250 galifars for the group to add to their funds but little else.

I do not know what is to become of Grapnel. The large warforged has followed the others without a thought and still carries the body of his slain commander—slain by these very adventurers. I am confused, indeed.

Also, Cypher appears to have a companion of his own: an iron defender, an animate construct like himself, bristling with spikes and metal teeth. It is remarkably quiet for a large piece of metal, moving with the grace of a hunting dog. I have glimpsed only one or two of these things in my days, always in the company of an artificer.

So this is where my travels have led me to thus far: the inclusion into this group may be of great assistance to me in my quest to right the wrongs that have been done and, maybe, I can be blessed by Boldrei in the finding of a new family. Time will tell, I suppose.