The last days of our travels before we were to arrive at Galethspyre were uneventful. Marching with Aleae brought back many memories from the Last War. This was the first time since reawakening in Rekkenmark (from where I traveled to Arcanix–the place I have since called my “home”) that I would march on foreign soil. As much as I am now an instrument of my beloved Dol Arrah and however much I work on myself to be a beacon of light for the Sovereign Host, I feel compelled to imagine how I may best reclaim former enemy territories or how I could develop defenses against their inevitable invasion. I struggle with this. At any moment I expected—and a small part of me even hoped—that I would hear the sound of the great drums or trumpets of war and I would find myself amongst my comrades crossing blades with the enemy. As much as I care for my esteemed Aundair, the armies I wish to vanquish today are no longer those of other nations, but the untold numbers of undead, fiends, demons and other aberrations that lurk beyond obvious sight, gorging their disgusting appetites on these lands.
The crowds filling the streets, as we entered Galethspyre, were equally refreshing and overwhelming to our senses, who had experienced relative tranquility for weeks. Arriving at the city center I happened upon a recent issue of the Korranberg Chronicle. In one of the stories, “SURVIVORS OF THE BOOKMARK MYSTERY OFFER MYSTIFYING CLUES,” one detail caught attention:
The airship itself has been confirmed by the survivors as the Sky Talon, a private vessel whose owner, an Aundairian noble named Reltran ir’Harran, was counted among the captives but may have been complicit in the cult’s activities. Ir’Harran, a member of the Arcane Congress, is now in custody but was described as being “in a state of great delusion” at the time of his arrest. When the healers have finished attending him, ir’Harran and the Korranberg’s Aundairian diplomats will be questioned by the Council of Nine.
Once I read the article I gave it over to Aleae, who had, up until then, been taking in the change of our environment. I could tell that she quickly understood the relevance of these events to our mission.
Aleae was still reading and I was surveying our surroundings as we were approached by a highly unusual group of adventurers. One of them, a warforged by the name of Cypher, appeared particularly curious about our appearance and asked whether he could examine my back which consists of an array of pipes that can expanded into a fan, that he appeared to never have seen before. I was not quite comfortable letting him do this before we were better acquainted. Magnus was most intriguing to me, for he bore draconic markings on his skin on his dermal layer. Bits of red-hued reptilian scales were even integrated into his skin in curiously invasive ways. I had not seen such detail in a human before.
My understanding of the positive effects nourishment has on heterotrophs easily led to me agreeing to continue our conversation at a local inn, the Golden Chalice.
Our conversations at the Golden Chalice were equally polite and cautious. The fact that we should find ourselves in the company of the very group of adventurers that had been, as we soon discovered, at the core of the events that were obviously responsible for the sudden departure of my dear friend Major Killian ir’Vanatar, was either a sign that these individuals had somehow acquired knowledge of our mission and this apparent chance meeting had been well orchestrated, or, the gods—in their most celestial wisdom—have skillfully interwoven our paths for a higher purpose. Either way, friends or foes, Aleae and I felt it best to keep an eye on them, either to learn that we are to join forces or to understand their place in these affairs and how best to thwart their interference.
The late arrival of Kard, a fellow Vassal of the Sovereign Host, eased some of my suspicions. Although this human male appeared to be harboring much turmoil and unrest, I concluded that he must have good in his heart if he is able to draw strength from their powers. He reminded me of Varen, a young sorcerer who had spent a few weeks with us at my post near the village of Arcanix. Over the course of the past year my post had grown into a small, ever-changing camp composed of many young travelers most of whom possessed skills in magic, the visual, and the aural arts. Varen, to me, clearly possessed the marks of a great hero. For months, he sought to study with the masters of magic in the Floating Towers above Arcanix, but with no success. Perhaps it was the deep sadness upon him—the origin of which he would never share—that pushed others away... Varen soon grew restless and left for the Eldeen Reaches seeking to study with the druids. Once I learned that Kard was from the wasted lands of Cyre his apparent pain, unrest, and somewhat unkempt appearance made sense. Kard struck me as somewhat of a larger version of Varen.
Cypher, a very unusual and rather small warforged, was the most talkative. Perhaps the most talkative of my kind I’ve ever encountered. He clearly possesses an inquisitive mind and professed that he has the skills of an artificer—an art for which I have long had the utmost respect. The unfortunate Karrn artificer who Killian paid to repair me after the war would probably disagree, as I initially attempted to add him to the ranks of their forsaken undead army once I awoke, believing to have found myself in enemy hands. But then again, most who stand on Karrnathi soil are unfortunate. Cypher gave a rather detailed description of what they endured on the airship ride that marked the beginning of their adventures and how they had dealt with their assailants. I would often encourage him to provide me with detailed descriptions of their tactical positions and maneuvers which he was all too happy to provide. A hero often shows his true stature when he describes the battles in which he fought. It became clear that Cypher has a most wondrous mind, for much of what he described seemed most unusual, yet it made me worry less about our new companions’ motives; if he was trying to intentionally mask the truth, he would not have fabricated such improbable courses of events.
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From Arcanix to Galethspyre
(click to enlarge) |
Aleae, this unusual elven creature from the plane of Thelanis—whose company I have enjoyed over the last few weeks on our travels through Aundairian then Brelish countryside—expressed her distrust for Myrcose, a traveler apparently temporarily accompanying the other adventurers, quite openly. I had to agree that the presence of his gnoll companion was rather unsettling, but I was not unhappy to meet a fellow Aundairian on—as a significant part of me still considered it—enemy territory. As it turned out, he had been to Arcanix recently and it sure seemed as if he was interested to learn more about all of us. He said that he was a collector of stories. Since I consider myself as much of an instrument of the gods as a collector of stories, I was intrigued to learn more. Unfortunately, we did not have the chance to speak much for I was mostly engaged listening to Cypher.
Most of us decided to explore the grounds of the Winter Festival together. Myrcose excused himself, explaining that he was travel weary. He seemed a bit too eager to discover when we would be leaving Galethspyre but maybe he just wished to meet us later.
We made our way to the festival grounds. One could not miss the spectacle of light and color that filled the air around the carnival and we headed towards the main entrance. We learned that we were very fortunate, for a House Phiarlan carnival was in attendance. Not just any but the Carnival of Shadows itself, the house’s most elite traveling entertainers—or spies and assassins if one believed the rumors. It was the 4th day of the seven-day Winter Festival, as they call it in Breland. In Aundair this would be called Wintertide, celebrating the beginning of a new year. None of the major events of the festival were happening that day—they were to come on the last two days of the celebrations.
Cypher was taken with the elven juggler who entertained those waiting in line at the Carnival’s entrance. He approached the elf and grabbed one of the balls, infused it with artificer’s light, and then returned it to the juggler. The juggler used the glowing ball for a moment, even bounced it off Cypher’s forehead before disappearing it from his hands and adding another to the count. I decided to enhance his performance by supplementing them with a set of glowing spheres.
Weapons were not allowed on the carnival grounds so we placed them in the care of the stern-looking dwarf who manned a House Kundarak security tent. I was able to retain possession of the Dragonhawk Banner for I had vowed to never let it out of my sight.
We were greeted by a very tall, imposing elf magician in a long, mustard-yellow coat and a tall top hat. He seemed to be very old, which meant that he must have seen many centuries—though he looked no older than forty by human standards—and greeted us all personally. He hinted to Magnus that other Seren Islanders had come to the Carnival before, and this news set the human’s eyes aglow. It appeared that it had been some time since he had last set eyes on one of his own countrymen.
The first thing we saw once we entered was a large booth displaying various prizes that could be purchased with “Shadow Pieces.” These coins can be acquired by successfully completing specific challenges on the carnival grounds. The sign above the booth labeled them as “The true currency of Khorvaire!” Prizes ranged from one shadow piece to as many as fifteen for exceptional prices such as a Pouch of Holding or a suite of shiftweave clothing. In addition, those who earned at least ten Shadow Coins would also be invited to “dinner” with the festival’s guest of honor: the King’s Protector, a warforged named Three who, as Cypher explained to me, was well known for his noble deeds, friendship to King Boranel, and was a fellow Vassal of Dol Arrah. Evidently a mystery guest from Boranel’s court would also in attendance. I became very interested in attending this meeting—though I suppose warforged would merely watch as others partook of sustenance. I have learned that many social interactions among non-warforged revolve around food.
As we were discussing where to go first, we found ourselves followed and imitated by a few performers. They mirrored our movements. Cypher commanded his Iron Defender chase around them in jest and we decided on our first station: the Strongman Contest.
Before we could reach it, we were halted by two performers—elf mimes of Phiarlan, as all the elves present seemed to be—as they enacted a silent battle of two spellcasting mages. I was inspired by the festive mood and began playing “The Eternal Struggle for the Fiery Chalice.” As a third mime appeared, he pretended to cast a spell upon me, to which I acted as if I had been hit, but was making a miraculous recovery. After a short triumph, the performer acted dismayed at the obvious ineffectiveness of his powers and we continued to make our way to the tall, narrow pyramid that was at the heart of the Strongman Contest.
“With the Might of Giants, We March” seemed an appropriate piece to play while at the Strongman Contest and Magnus, the first to attempt this challenge, seemed invigorated by it. As he hit the small platform at the bottom of the device which was the target of his blow the great shadow of a mighty troll appeared against the backdrop of the pyramid. Twice it appeared as a result of the barbarian’s strength. The crowd gasped with excitement. His blow did not reach the very top of the pyramid, yet it was still worth a shadow piece each. The elven master of ceremonies bruskly asked me to stop playing my music at this point as he was apparently aware of the magic that would sometimes weave itself into my play and could provide an unfair advantage. I understood and focused my attention on the mallet I would soon wield, which appeared to initially resist once grasped before my hands could hold it steady. Obviously the gods wished to use this opportunity to teach me humility and the only shadow image my two blows would conjure up were tiny goblins, which were laughing at me—along with a crowd that had obviously not expected this outcome. I joined in with a set of sounds and body language that I had learned could mimic heterotrophs’ expression of laughter well and thanked the gods for their lesson. All of us tried the challenge, yet only Cypher was able to land another glorious hit, and as a Brelish warforged he was sure to receive the favor of the crowd in response to which he exclaimed “For Breland!” The crowd was cheering uncontrollably and I doubt anyone noticed how I involuntarily twitched, looking to grasp for the sword I placed in House Kundarak’s care and readying myself to meet this challenge. Breland and Aundair were at times allies, and at times enemies, during the Last War. Most do not forget this.
While exploring our options for the next contest a group of children in warforged costumes ran past us. I have always enjoyed the company of the young who are so often surprised to hear that I have lived fewer years than they have. When we came across a vendor of treats I purchased thirty “sweetcicles”—frozen icicles of flavorful water—and distributed them amongst the children. Aleae was so kind as to keep them cold with her magic until they had all been claimed.
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| The Mark of Making |
A few of the children we came across bore vivid paintings of dragonmarks on their skin. Cypher became very intrigued and wished to bear the Mark of Making across the right side of his face. I hold the depictions of countless quests and accomplishments of great heroes and battles upon my composite plating, so I understand the appeal. I did not wish for a dragonmark symbol myself for I did not wish for Dol Arrah to read this as an act of pretense and hold me in disfavor.
For a moment I wondered if my senses were tricked for there she was: Aundair’s sweet Queen Aurala! Her blond hair and flowing gown were dancing in the wind and she came walking down a path between the tents. What was she doing here? Where were her servants and, more importantly, her bodyguards? Before I could step forward to offer my services though, I realized that it was merely another elven entertainer imitating our beloved and formidable queen. She was quickly joined by three more entertainers representing the royal leaders of the other nations and they engaged in mock combat. I probably stared at the scowling and brooding elf representing King Kaius III of Karrn for an uncomfortably long time, but I could not stop wondering what blows would most easily place an end to his wretched existence.
The Shot in the Dark challenge proved exceptionally difficult and none of us succeeded.
Cypher and Grapnel almost hit the target but it still missed the small moving target in the distance.
The air around us became filled with a set of magical crystal bubbles, created by an elven woman, Cypher’s immediate investigation discovered that they would shatter into harmless shards once touched.
To our great surprise Kard and I overheard kids talk about the infamous Six Stones game. I had heard of this: it is a horrible game for desperate souls played by the wicked in the monstrous realm of Droaam. Seven players hope to evade the glare of a basilisk or the touch of a cockatrice so that they may be the one staring upon the statues of their rivals. Obviously the gods must have wished for us to investigate.
What we discovered was somewhat of a relief, for it was indeed a harmless recreation of the game for the amusement of children involving an enchanted chicken and a few minor spells to give the children the illusion of being incapacitated.
It was here that I took much closer note of Grapnel and Rendar, the other enormous, very tortured-seeming warforged and the somewhat noble-seeming half-orc in our group. Grapnel had previously struck me as unusually confused by the most simple concepts and I could not help but wonder whether he had, just like me once, been only recently awakened after having fallen in the Last War. He was from Karrnath, and it is well known that our kind are treated poorly there.
Something about the game seemed to stir Grapnel’s mind and he appeared confused as to why these children would engage in such an activity. Cypher, who acted as sort of guide to the less fortunate warforged, explained to him how children use such experiences for growth. As the subject quickly switched to childhood as a weakness and the obvious superiority of warforged, Render somewhat tersely stepped in to assure Cypher that childhood could not be seen as a weakness and pointed out the faults in the warforged thinking. I preferred to stay out of this conversation.
It was then that I became aware of a small vessel passing us overhead which I indicated to Aleae, who responds with a series of—for her uncharacteristically rude sounding—crackling noises. From our past discussions of how we would make our journey south I could only assume that she was expressing her disgust for the use of elementals for these machines in one of the many exotic languages she was able to speak.
We carried on to the next challenge which was to test our cunning in battle and as it turned out tested our humility and sense of humor as well. In a small arena a halfling, obviously a great warrior from the Talenta Plains, was sitting astride a clawfoot dinosaur mount where he was swinging his weapon—a sharash—looking for a challenger to withstand the combined attacks of him and his mount for thirty seconds. To not fall to the ground, while not being able to fight back.
Aleae felt intrigued by this task and her assessment that her fey cunning would serve her well in this arena was true and she was able to withstand the ferocious attacks the longest out of us all. If she had been able to use her magic—it took great convincing for her to accept that this would not be permissible—I am sure the thirty seconds would have passed without the clawfoot or its rider ever knowing where she had set foot on the ground. She opened her valiant fight with a great battle cry in the Draconic tongue to intimidate her opponent; to great effect, it prompted all of our heroes except for Grapnel to begin the battle with a cry of battle. She skillfully danced her way around the onslaught of the clawfoot’s tail and the rider’s war scythe. In round three she produced a sack of flour, the contents of which she blew in the direction of her attackers, which momentarily incapacitated the clawfoot and stirred the anger of the halfling. She withstood his first attack but in round 4, the halfling once rejoined by his companion, her legs gave way to the clawfoot’s sweeping tail and she gracefully landed flat on the ground.
I volunteered next to test my abilities at this rider from the Talenta Plains and once he cleaned the flour from his cherished steed’s face we were measuring each other from opposite ends of the arena. Knowing that his skillful attacks would not be endured easily I sought to garner strength and intimidate my opponents with a mighty battle cry. I extended the instruments on my back to their full size and accompanied by the play of a thunderous, deep accord I prompted them prepare to see me withstand their attacks in the tongue of dragons. It seemed to work, mount and rider where were both hesitating. A little proud of myself, yet for a moment distracted by thoughts of whether the halfling was lonely so far from his people, Dol Arrah was wise to show me that such pride often comes before the fall, which followed immediately after the halfling had regained his confidence and unhinged my legs from the ground. Our companions all attempted the challenge, but all failed swiftly.
Cypher spent a while convincing Grapnel that he should attempt his luck at the challenge and it took a great deal to convince him that it was not appropriate to fight back in any way. The speed with which this giant warforged was felled to the ground by the first swoosh of the halfling’s sharash was surprising and might have caused him to doubt the wisdom in Cypher’s words.
While none of us had been victorious against the halfling on his clawfoot we were in good spirits and had attracted a small following of carnival-goers that apparently enjoyed our company or felt that we were at least entertaining to watch. As we marched to find our next challenge I played “The Dance of the Twelve Dragons,” a joyous tune in twelve verses. Cypher set an item in his hand aglow, raising it high as he was leading the way and I created an image of light in the form of a small child running ahead of our group.
We happened upon an elven lady, clad in garb that evoked images of a red dragon. She seemed to make a deep impression on Magnus who was clearly partial towards the likeness of dragons, especially red. She would spew fire in various shapes and directions. Unimpressed, Aleae pointed out that that this lady’s creations were “cute” yet nothing special, and that Aleae herself could do much better in her sleep if she ever decided to have any.
A vendor passed us by selling a special kind of flower that would only last this night—a winter rose. Its purpose was seemingly to create stronger bond between lovers. The flowers sparkled most unusual white bluish and seemed almost crystalline. He said that they had been “cultivated by elementalists of Sharn” and that their creation was only possible since the Plane of Ice, Risia, was coterminous with Eberron. Aleae and Cypher both immediately bought one, presumably to learn more about them. Magnus decided to buy quite a few of the flowers, and stuck them in his backpack. Cypher noticed how Aleae would study the flower in her hand and asked whether she was seeing anything interesting, to which she responded with a casual, slightly bored or absent-minded yet not unfriendly “Yes.” They left it at that.
Magnus became restless once he made out what he believed to be a pair of warriors from the Seren Islands, his homeland, as they appeared to be setting up a challenge. As eager as he seemed to draw closer to them he agreed to accompany us into another attraction that promised the possibility of more shadow pieces: the Arbor of Abominations which stood right before us in the form of a large, dark tent. An elf wearing a skull-like visage—reminding me uncomfortably of the bone knights of Karrnath—was warning all passersby of the terrible horrors that would await them should they dare to step inside. "Beware!” he called out. “What lies within none of you can tolerate. You, sir! Turn away! You must not enter a place so vile! You, miss! Look not here, lest your delicate constitution render you helpless upon the floor! We cannot be responsible for the visceral storm that would surely ensue within you should you cast your eyes on the monsters that lurk within this den of disfigurement, this gallery of the grotesque. The Mockery himself has not the stomach for it!”
The elf promised a shadow piece to anyone who could withstand the terrors that would await them in the final room of the exhibition.
As we entered we were met by another, darkly cowled elf who introduced himself as Lovis, Curator of the Damned, who said that he would be our guide through the exhibits. I spoke a short prayer and asked Dol Arrah for her favor to open my senses to the divine so that I might discover whether we were to behold a series of mere illusions or whether there were true aberrations present. I detected a slight erratic flicker of signals, something dark definitely appeared present, but I could not make any real sense of my impressions.
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The dreaded Mordain
the Flesh Weaver |
The first lost soul we were introduced to was referred to as Master X. Our guide explained that he had once studied with Mordain the Fleshweaver, an infamous wizard of House Phiarlan (and of the Twelve) who had at some point in time left for the Shadow Marshes where he surrendered his life to the powers of Xoriat and established a domain of madness. Master X had supposedly seen the error in his ways and escaped the clutches of his master, yet he had paid a dear price: his identity. At first there was not much unusual about the figure before us except for a mask it was holding in front of his face. Once Master X dropped his mask there was no face in its place, all that could be seen was a smooth, otherworldly nothingness. The same was true for his arm which he now revealed from under his cloak. Cypher examined it closely and said that he believed that he had somehow seen himself as a reflection in the flesh-toned nothingness.
It appeared as if the situation had strung a strange note with Aleae for she decided to temporarily redecorate the mask that Master X wore with a more joyous motif, a depiction that included very thick lipstick and makeup. She did not seem to do this out of mockery or mischief. I believe that she felt that it would make us all feel better about the situation, including Master X.
As we entered the next room the sign read “The Man in Marble.” The sign was very literal for in front of us stood a warrior who, if it was not for the fact that he began to move and address us, could have been a beautiful marble statue. Our guide explained that it was unknown how this man had been turned to living stone. They were speculating whether the Medusa Queen Sheshka herself had created him or whether the circumstances of his state were related to the continent of Xen’drik. Whether the secrets to his existence were hidden in ancient texts of the giants, related to the texts that had carried the knowledge that had lead to the creation of the warforged.
Aleae was most intrigued, as she often would when the subject turned to elementals or other primordial beings. She quickly erupted into a series of sounds similar to what I had heard earlier when she became aware of the airship above us, which rung most unnatural coming from a creature so fair and it could only mean that she was now speaking in one of the languages of the elements. The man of stone obviously understood her and responded with very similar sounds. This most unusual exchange lasted for about a minute after which I heard Aleae’s voice in my head, telling me that this man had once been a real man but did not know when and how he was changed to stone and that he might be held in captivity here and that there was a possibility that we would have to set him free. I began assessing our tactical position and was preparing to explain to Aleae how I saw absolutely no chance that we could succeed at setting this man free but that I would be happy to perish trying if our mission was just. When she spoke again in my mind, saying that the man believed that the House of the Hydra could provide him with the answers he was looking for and that we should just let him be and move on.
We were next introduced to the Twice-Marked Woman, a refined, yet slightly haunted looking young human who bore both the Mark of Passage and the Mark of Sentinel. Certainly this was an anomaly. Lovis said that she was the only one of her kind. Great wars had been fought over aberrant dragonmarks, marks that occurred when members of separate dragonmarked houses had offspring together so the sight of this woman had to be very troubling to those who feared or cared about aberrant marks. While I had heard of this I did not understand their greater significance or why they seemed the cause of such fear. Cypher asked her whether she possessed the powers associated with both marks in response to which she disappeared and reappeared standing behind us—teleportation is a signature power of the Mark of Passage.
“The Mourning Twins” were possibly the most haunting sight, except maybe for what was yet awaiting us in the last room. An unusually-shaped, hooded figure sat before us. Lovis explained: “The only survivor of the Mourning. Two brothers, one whose sacrifice allowed the other to linger and grow strong again. One of the twins had used his powers to keep the other alive.” Once the figure lifted the hood we discovered at what price he had done so. The two were partially merged with one another. One was able to speak yet the other twin, its head sticking out from the shoulder of the more fortunate twin was motion- and expressionless. Kard was exceptionally curious to hear from this “survivor” of the unnatural destruction of his homeland. In response they—or perhaps he, I could not be sure—inquired as to whether Kard had any theories regarding who was responsible for the Mourning and an obviously emotionally-moved Kard replied that he indeed had theories but felt like it was inappropriate to speak of them at this point. Based on the reactions of those who passed by the twins he said that they had made a list of the likely culprits themselves. Kard wished to hear who was on this list but they replied that they could not share it with him now, that he should return the next day to see them and that they would provide him with their list. Kard appeared to have every intention to return the next day.
The next unhappy soul we were to see was “The Unobservable Man.” According to our guide’s description he was a harmless creature that had crawled out of a chasm to Khyber. His form, though, was so hideous when he emerged from the depth that sorcerers cast a spell of permanent invisibility on him for his own sake and that of everyone who might behold his unspeakably horrific shape. Aleae’s curiosity took the best of her and she decided to cast a series of harmless sparks around him to discover his shape and learn more about his nature. Unearthly shrieking filled our ears and stomps made it clear that who or whatever we were in the presence of did not appreciate Aleae’s gesture. For a moment we were not sure if this was the beginning of a battle, but the growls and grunts abated shortly. Our guide calmly but sternly requested that we should abstain from provoking, as he referred to them, “the acts.”
We were now lead into a larger room, and it appeared as if we might have reached the final station of our journey through this house of unhappy souls. What we saw was a giant glass tank of sorts filled with what can only be described as a giant, ever-changing chaotic ooze. Tentacles, mouths, eyes, anything would appear and disappear in this intangible shape. The sign bore the befitting title: “Madness Cubed.”
Lovis informed us that we were looking at a most incredible creature that had ever emerged from the darkest depth of Khyber via the Black Pit, a chasm in the northern parts of Breland. Luckily, he said, it was captured immediately as it arose for it would have surely consumed the world if it had been allowed to roam freely. There was a small, closed glass vestibule attached to the glass tank. We were told that this was where we could, if we so dared, enter and attempt to withstand the sound of the gibbering creature….to receive a shadow coin. Cypher entered first, together with Rungo. We were instructed to brace ourselves and for those who had them, to hold our ears whenever the door would open. Once the door to the room shut behind Cypher we saw him crumble under an invisible force. He first leaned against the far wall and then fell to the ground. It took him a moment before he was able to muster enough strength to get up and leave the room. He did not speak and was obviously in great distress. This appeared to intrigue Aleae who now stepped up and entered the room. She was also incapable of withstanding the unseen onslaught and could not help but scream. I tried to help steady her as she made her way out of the room, seemingly a broken woman, but she refused to let anyone near her.
As I attempted to console Aleae, Kard stepped into the room and stood there, strong, barely moving. He cringed only slightly, but whatever had befallen the others did not seem to break his spirit. This gave me great confidence that I would carry the same strength in me that had given my fellow Vassal his resolve.
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| A handsome gibbering mouther! |
I was wrong, so wrong, I was brought to my knees. Dol Arrah must have foreseen a different lesson for me. I was overcome with negative emotions and would hear the most horrible sounds screaming and howling at me in otherworldly languages. I felt as if all my beliefs were ripped from me, all things I had come to accept as certainties were fading away and were replaced with the most unspeakable of ideas. I saw my comrades in the war dying all around me, all my dear friends, all of those I had lead to battle as Sergeant in the Aundairian Army. And it was all my fault: I had lead them to their death. I was responsible for them, and Killian, my dear friend Killian, he had betrayed us all. He had sold us out to Karrnath, had lead us all into a trap. And Dol Arrah, she cared for no one, she just cared about herself and making us all suffer, she had an unknown mighty allegiance with the Dark Six or even the realm of Xoriat itself. Even Mother would have rather had me destroyed, and rightfully so, it had all been my fault, I was the source of all evil. I knew nothing anymore and did not know how I would awake from these visions.
Somehow I managed to step from the horrible gibbering and the dark thoughts, but it would take time for the thoughts and memories to melt away.
But first, we saw another elf woman. Like a Xoma, she was a drow, or appeared to be, and she wore pale scorpion-style armor. On a silver leash she had a dog. Well, perhaps not a dog—a massive hound as black as the night sky above Seren on cloudy nights, it may not be a true canine. Like a hunting dog that had grown too long and had rolled around in shadow mud. Hard to say.
