#131 - Resurfacing

From the Annals of the Gatekeeper Izzeth, Druid of Dagger Wood 

Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

Plunged into darkness, my mind was swimming.
I had just let the mantle of earth slip off of my shoulders so that I could save Irakas from the assault of the oni. As an elemental, I had a new, profound connection to the earth of this place. A yearning to sink into the ground in the same way that one's foot dips into a cool lake on a hot summer day. More than that, I was able to "see" through the earth. Every creatures' steps upon the ground reverberated into my rock mind and allowed me to discern their location. I knew that there was a group approaching from the main chamber (although I did not know who they were).

I felt Irakas fall to the ground under the oni's spell. I knew from the tremendous clash that Clarion was also incapacitated. I knew precisely where each of my colleagues were, as well as where the vile vampire Trazzen stood. As soon as I reverted from my earthen form, all of my senses were gone. I cannot wait to try this again, only next time, someplace more natural where my elemental sensibilities are not inhibited by the workings of the Dhakaani.

From within the darkness, I could hear the golem once again awaken and level its mighty glaive onto Trazzen, then I immediately heard the sounds of rats, scores of them based on the din of their scrabbling claws and high-pitched squeaks. I can only guess as to what transpired, as the magical darkness that Bale produces is quite complete. Based on the sounds, Magnus slew some of the rats and then moved, presumably out of the darkness. Bale seemed to skewer some of the rodents as well.

Across the room, the oni's booming voice sounded, "return my jug." I thought I heard Aleae respond sarcastically, but the sound was merely a whisper, what I definitely did hear was the sound of ceramic grating on stone as something ceramic—the oni's jug, I assumed—rolled across the floor. There was also the sound of armored footsteps from the area near the cauldron. I suspect that Trazzen's vampiric minion was once more ambulatory. I moved out of the darkness so that I could best assess our current situation.

As soon as I stepped out, I wondered if it was a mistake. A gigantic mound of rats seemed to be working its way—no, fleeing—out of the chamber, but its progress was suddenly halted by a tiger-headed fiend and his attendants. Magnus was standing by the mound covered in bits of gore and rat fur.

The rakshasa spoke a word that was foreign to my ears and yet immediately recognizable. He had commanded the rats to halt. Sensing my opportunity, I called the light of the moon to shine down upon them where they had frozen in place. I knew that slaying them one by one would take far too long. I also revived Clarion with a quick healing spell—although it would not be as effective as one cast upon a living creature, it would still restore him to consciousness.

Looking behind me, I could see Bale's sphere of darkness move towards the cauldron, he must have been engaging Trazzen's minion. The oni stood still. He seemed to be appraising the situation to see what would happen next, satisfied now that he had retrieved his jug.

What happened next is difficult to describe.

The sun as it rises does not immediately warm the rocks that it shines upon; rather it takes some time for the heat to penetrate beyond the surface layer. The light of my moonbeam is the same. If enemies are mobile, they may escape its powerful gaze, but the mound of rats seemed fixed in place by the rakshasa's glare. When the moonbeam's radiance intensified, the rats began to smoke and sizzle, much the same as an ant held beneath the gaze of a spyglass. Their teeming bodies shriveled and then the entire mass transformed in front of our eyes back into Trazzen, but no longer the hearty and hale foe who drank from the necks of my companions. Instead, his gaunt figure began to wither and scorch. Tendrils of smoke rose up from his skin, swirling within his ancient bronze armor and escaping towards the unseen sky. His eyes lost their shine and within moments he was nothing but a dark ash. His armor and scimitar fell to the ground with a resounding report.

“This chamber reeks of failure," the rakshasa said, looking upon the ruin of this chamber. It was clear to all of us, without a word, that this fiend was an enemy, but we were not prepared to fight him and he seemed uninterested in fighting us. With

With a word he banished my moonbeam and he and his undead retinue advanced into the chamber of the cauldron. We, wisely, stepped aside to allow him passage. While we were clearly in no state to pose anything approaching a threat to the rakshasa and his followers, he seemed apprehensive, as though he was not sure that he could defeat us.

"I am quite certain you are the victors here," the creature went on as he walked about the room, surveying it. My associates and I will respectfully yield this piece of broken rock to you." He was referring to all of Glyphstone Keep, it seemed. The words that followed were a blur to me, but his smug countenance was not. He seemed almost amused that we had bested his agent and disturbed his plans.

I missed much of what he said, as I was concerned with the health of my companions. I was vaguely aware that he was warning us, telling us to walk away and live. To interfere no more than we already had in whatever he and his masters planned.

Meanwhile, I cast a mass healing to at least prepare us somewhat for what was to happen next and I fixed my eyes upon the byeshk scimitar that was once in Trazzen's hands. I would not allow this weapon to fall into evil hands again.

After making sure that all of my companions would live, I returned my focus to the rakshasa, and I found he was conversing with Bale. Asking Bale if he would return to the service of Katashka and he even mentioned someone else by name, a master. "He will be displeased to hear what his pupil has wrought here," is the last of what I caught. "I will bear a message to him on your behalf. Think carefully: What do you wish it to be?"

Bale's answer was that his master would be the next to fall. He declined, and I supposed that meant we were his chosen companions going forward. Can he be trusted?

Meanwhile, Magnus had claimed the still-smoldering skull of the hobgoblin vampire that had been Trazzen. It was only a matter of time before it adorned the human's belt, I suppose.

After the rakshasa departed, we returned briefly to the halls above us, returning the golem to its original location and discussing what had happened with Irakas. Then we left to foul confines of these dungeons, and passed through a long tunnel out into the open of the night. At last!

What a relief not to be surrounded by all of that stone! Breathing in the cool night air, with its aroma of damp earth, I could tell it had rained while we had been underground. I always feel strongest when I can breathe the air that has been cleansed by the trees. We took a quick survey of the land around us and saw that there were no threats, so we let down our guard and sat for a moment.

We knew that Elidac would find us out here, and sure enough, moments later a gargoyle alit beside us. It waited but a moment before taking flight again, presumably to inform Elidac that we were ready to head on towards the lightning rail.

While we waited I sensed a shift in the glen, a pause in the song of the crickets. I felt as though we were being watched, although I did not feel any ill will. Looking around, I noticed an extremely large creature about a dozen yards from us. At nearly three times our height, it was massive. It had stone grey skin and black, sunken eyes that seems like bottomless wells. The club that he bore was taller than I was. I knew with certainty that this was a stone giant. I know that they are generally peaceful and reclusive, yet this one seems to have sought us out. They are also found almost exclusively in Xen'drik. This one was far from home.

But then I understood that.

He spoke to my companions, having clearly met them previously. He offered us water to clean ourselves and instructed us to make our camp and to take our rest while Elidac completed his preparations to teleport us to the lightning rail so that we might stop the Mire from reaching Sharn. He left to get our water and returned a short time later with a female companion. She was at least 15 feet tall and had a way about her that made me suspect that, like myself, she followed the ways of the nature of Eberron. She conjured water into great bowls of shaped stone and we cleaned ourselves as best as we could.

As we rested, I sat with the purple scimitar that I had taken from Trazzen's remains. It is made from the same metal as my scythe, byeshk. This fine blade is quite heavy, such that I think it can be wielded with two hands if need be. Inscribed on the blade near the guard are some characters that are not readily familiar, but as I focused on it they revealed themselves to me. The runes were Goblin, but very, very old. Vaarza’Gresh, or “Razor of Giants, is the blade's name. It was made to kill giants, providing its wielder with great advantage against them. This is most curious, since I do not recall hearing stories of the Dhakaani goblins battling giants. The Age of Giants preceded the Age of Monsters; they did not overlap. By the time the goblinoids rose to power in Khorvaire, the giants had already fallen from their great dominion.

Also, being byeshk, this weapon retains its power against aberrations and it can warn its owner as to the presence of such creatures.

The others were pondering the nature of a small stone found in Trazzen's armor. I was able to inform them that it was an ioun stone and showed them the stone that belonged to my mother. I took my stone and threw it upward and they were suitably impressed when it began to glow and orbit around my head. I explained that there are many types of stones and that they each convey different advantages to their owners.

Tonight we rest, but tomorrow, at dawn if not before, our adventure continues. We must stop the Mire of True Hunger from fulfilling its intended purpose.

#130 - The Fate of One Vampire

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

The frightening thing about being charmed wasn’t the unnatural loyalty I held toward Trazzen, it was how inexplicably suicidal my behavior became. Convinced that none of my allies would strike me—though they fought each other with deadly ferocity—I waded in and out of flying weapons and spells without concern for my well being. After Trazzen struck Irakas down, I crouched beside her in the midst of the melee and patched up her wounds.

My clumsy attempt at battlefield medicine completed, I wrested the Scepter of Glyphstone from the hobgoblin's grip. For safekeeping, my addled mind reasoned. If someone healed Irakas into consciousness, she would immediately reactivate the golem and turn the battle back in our favor, and therefore out of Trazzen’s.

The vampire’s new orders for me were to stop “the warforged,” clearly meaning Clarion, who stood before him blazing with radiance. He swung again at Irakas’s still-prone form with his byeshk scimitar, impossible to miss. I flinched as her blood sprayed across me at point-blank range. I couldn’t muster so much as annoyance at Trazzen, only general frustration and confusion at the whole situation.

For the second time Bale appeared out of seeming nowhere and stabilized her with a spell, drawing Trazzen’s ire. As I dragged Irakas back, Trazzen rounded on his former ally.

I was obligated to prevent Clarion from continuing his assault on Trazzen and his allies. Rather than try to convince the paladin that the vampire was an ally—even charmed I knew that was ridiculous—I asked him to aid me in securing Irakas’s safety instead of fighting.

Before Clarion could respond, the frenzied vrock he battled spewed toxic spores and lunged at me with its beak. The jolt of pain, combined with Clarion’s rallying divine aura, broke through the charm.

On the far side the Cauldron, Trazzen snarled something in Goblin at Bale that was incomprehensible to me, though it carried an unnatural force of will. I hoped the drow hadn’t been turned in my place; he was threat enough when he wasn’t enthusiastic about the vampire’s cause.

Farther off lightning crackled as Aleae engaged with something unknown, dangerous enough to frighten her into using the single spell scroll the Cyran wizard had given her.

While I reoriented my thoughts to the correct side of this conflict, Clarion healed Irakas just enough for her to awake. She scrambled upright and snatched the scepter out of my hands. At a Goblin command, the golem resumed striking the Cauldron. I warned the grievously injured hobgoblin to stay close to me. After Trazzen’s repeated insistence that I deal with her and remove the golem, I was now determined to keep her alive and the golem fighting.

I moved to stand beside Magnus and batter down the last pair of ghouls. In the corner where Clarion fought, a hollow sound preceded a final spray of brains and gore from the vulture-headed demon. On the edge of the dais, the golem topped the cauldron onto its side, spilling dark red smoke.

Trazzen skirted the fallen Cauldron but couldn’t clear the dais, blocked by me and Magnus. More fresh blood coated his mouth. He kept glancing at Irakas between sizing us up, deciding who looked weaker. I thought it would be me, and mustered whatever mental defense I could against more magic, but he lunged for Magnus and attempted to add more holes to his already ruined throat. It actually looked personal—these two combatants have some history.

A massive stone arm reached from behind and above us—Izzeth still occupying an earth elemental form—and grabbed Trazzen. Magnus pulled free of his grip and the vampire turned his attacks against Izzeth directly, attempting to cut him free of his elemental form.

My counterattack was interrupted when we were plunged into darkness that seemed to make the rhythmic clanging of the golem striking the Cauldron even louder. Steps away from a dangling, enraged vampire and a wildly swinging barbarian, if I struck blindly I could easily hit Magnus or Izzeth. Instead it was the perfect opportunity to remove Irakas from the fray and let those who could navigate the darkness handle the undead.

When we reached light I told Irakas to order the golem off the Cauldron and focus on our active opposition. She was obviously angered at having her decisions questioned—and I had been less than tactful—but didn’t argue or hesitate, and spoke more commands in the Goblin tongue.

We were pressed into the far corner of the room and the sounds emerging from the darkness were horrific. Irakas led the way down from the knot of fighting on the dais and we finally sighted Aleae’s opposition. An oni, near twin to the one we had met on the lower stairwell, who had warned us that the next time we saw “him” it would be his evil brother. We had been warned to not kill this one and it seemed that wasn’t likely at the moment, as he wielded an impressive glaive nearly as tall as the golem and simultaneously hounded Aleae with a glowing, grasping spectral hand. He repeatedly she return to him his "jug"—so this was another bit of history as well.

I asked Irakas if she knew anything about him, and was told that for all intents and purposes it was an enemy. She ran at him, cast a spell, and got cut down for the third time that minute. I decided that I might have set myself an impossible task by trying to keep her alive.

Perhaps it was lingering confusion from the charm, or that I had spent the better part of this conflict avoiding hostilities, but I couldn’t muster Irakas’s quick aggression against the oni. It wasn’t an ally of Trazzen’s, and his brother had assisted us earlier. I decided to press my luck.

Approaching slowly, I told him that I wouldn’t attack if he didn’t kill Irakas. I didn’t receive a reply, but was able to set aside my weapon to patch her up once more. The oni remained intent on Aleae, at least.

Along the opposite wall a cloud of mist fled out of the darkness, pursued and surrounded by Magnus, Izzeth, and Bale. Trazzen couldn’t outrun them as mist, yet abandoning the chamber would concede our victory over the Cauldron. He had no allies remaining.

With Irakas revived once more by the healing power of Bale—or was it someone else?—Irakas ordered the golem to attack Trazzan directly. When it did, the bronze statue's own massive glaive sheared through the vampire's armor and into his body. Blood—much of it very likely Magnus's—showered the floor, and my allies continued to harrass him with their weapons.

Someone struck a blow, and at first it seemed that Trazzen dissolved into his retreating mist once again. But instead of remaining vapor, a small horde of rats boiled out of his transformation. They weren't healthy rats, either—they were withered, mangy, skeletal, perhaps even undead. Was this Trazzen's end or a new manifestation?

#129 - The Battle Against Trazzen (continued...)

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

The battle against Trazzen and his allies continued.

Wynn shook herself free of Arafin's spell of holding, but remained charmed by Trazzen himself. She pursued the battle as it advanced into the chamber where the Cauldron itself remained.

While Clarion continued his fight against the vrock, Aleae slipped past it and entered the Cauldron chamber. Still invisible, she saw that the Cauldron of Rhumdal had been righted again by another vrock, a minotaur skeleton, and hulking pair of sludge-covered hobgoblin ghouls that appeared to be newly made by the Mire. In addition, three other ghouls lurked at the edge of the chamber.

Bale soon joined Clarion and the two began to push and blast the vrock out of the hallway and into the chamber. There, Bale used his sphere of darkness to challenge the ghouls that advanced on them.

Aleae made a daring run for the Cauldron itself, while invisible, and climbed its skull-carved rim. At the top, she dropped the red pearl that Elidac had given her—which he said could disrupt its power for a long time. Although she did this, Trazzen homed in on her and attacked. Although she could not be seen, the vampire lord could hear and scent her and after failing to grasp her for the first few seconds, he managed at last to take hold—and he sank his teeth into her shoulder, draining her blood. She broke free and scrambled away, still invisible, avoiding the use of magic that would break the spell.

Meanwhile, Irakas was revived but remained badly wounded. Gaining her feet, she commanded the golem forward again and the pair of them led the charge into the Cauldron chamber. Soon everyone had arrived.

When the golem entered the room, Trazzen gave up his pursuit of the invisible elf and went to engage it directly. He seemed one of the few effectively able to wound the animate bronze statue, using his byshek scimitar. Magnus and Izzeth clashed again, trading blows, bites, and grasping hands. The vampire lord drank of the barbarian's blood and Magnus continued to punish him for it. Both human and undead hobgoblin weakened, but Trazzen commanded Wynn—who was still enthralled by his vampiric power—and quickly accepted her blood to help heal him.

When Irakas used her magic to teleport across the room, Trazzen turned away from Magnus and sought her out—he understood that she was the only one who could command the golem. If she was slain, the golem would stop.

Magnus, Izzeth in his adopted earth elemental form, Arafin, and Wynn—in her own somewhat enthralled way—moved towards the column. Whether the battle would reach its conclusion, or be further scattered, remained to be seen.

#128 - The Battle Against Trazzen

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

As the rest of us readied to return underground, Cypher conversed privately with Elidac. The Brelish warforged couldn’t in good conscience remain with Sharn at risk. Instead, he would take the wizard’s offer of a winged beast—a griffin—to intercept the lightning rail and do anything he could to stall its progress or disrupt the Mire of True Hunger alone. It was beyond risky but provided an unexpected benefit: Cypher’s presence at our destination would significantly improve Elidac’s accuracy with the teleportation spell for the rest of us. We wished him good luck.

I had few preparations to make and waited for the others, Fang ready in one hand, in the other hand a potion Garrek had given me with instructions to drink it as soon as we passed though the arcane gate. Bale cloaked himself in the guise of a gnoll, then hid that illusion beneath his habitual darkness. Magnus and I would enter under its cover, followed by Izzeth. Clarion assisted Aleae mounting behind him on his massive warhorse (the creature wasn’t skittish despite the increasingly crowded floating platform). Once astride, she turned herself invisible with a spell scroll.

The instant the gateway opened we charged through. A shiver passed through me. That hadn’t happened the last time. Our destination sounded wrong—not silent but too quiet for the battle we were expecting. I cursed Bale’s darkness, couldn’t deviate from the plan without knowing what we faced, and couldn’t stop moving or be crushed by the warhorse behind me. I drank Garrek’s potion and sought the edge of the sphere of darkness. Three illusionary replicas of myself appeared, weaving around me and beguiling any who would attack me. So is this what it feels like to be a wizard? In a pitched battle, this would only buy me seconds. But sometimes that mattered.

We hadn’t emerged beside Irakas and the golem as planned. The gateway opened on the far side of the battleground, opposite the Cauldron’s chamber by the stairs. I spotted the tall bronze golem immediately, towering dented and unmoving above a crowd of undead that ringed it at a ten-pace distance. Its glave was caked with blood. I couldn’t see Irakas, but heard an eerie singing. "Dirgesinger," the hobgoblin had named herself. It was the only explanation I had for the inability of the undead to overwhelm their position.

I started to move in, only then noticing an unfamiliar presence between us and the stalled battle. It was a tall figure with the head of a tiger and robed like a caster. Backwards hands. A name dredged itself up from the depths of my memory. Rakshasa. Little knowledge came with that name except that they were some sort of fiend or lesser demon…and that “lesser” was still powerful enough to single-handedly rout our attempt at reinforcement.

Yet the rakshasa ignored both us and the battle behind him. He began to walk away. Bale would later relate his theory that the rakshasa had "repositioned" our arcane gate.

Magnus charged past the tiger-headed fiend and crushed a ghoul not a dozen steps away from the rakshasa. Still the demon ignored him. More cautiously, I gave the creature a wide berth and kept it in the corner of my eye as much as possible.

Izzeth now, apparently!

Finally, I spotted Irakas kneeling beside the golem. In front of him was Trazzen himself, still in his elaborate plate armor, wielding that purple-hued scimitar. And he merely stared at Irakas. Trazzen’s lieutenants around him, surrounding her, some of them fidgeting and eager for her song to falter. Given the hobgoblin's obvious injuries, it wasn’t going to be long, and the golem appeared inert. She held a sword in one hand and the Sceptre of Glyphstone in the other, and I had the impression she was using the latter like a wizard might use a staff to channel his power.

Clarion and Aleae charged outward away from the rakshasa and undead, skirting mounds of gnoll corpses and made for the Cauldron with the red pearl. The few ghouls who noticed them scrabbled ineffectually at the horse.

Between Izzeth’s ice storm and the continual chaos of the darkness, we cleaved a path through the undead. The sphere spewed flaming arrows and eldritch blasts without warning, in between revealing Magnus’s mace or the arm of an earth elemental right before it connected with hapless undead. I have to accept the unexpected abilities of my new companions—such as Izzeth becoming an earth elemental!—without much pause. Unwilling or unable to fight the elemental, the ghouls and shrouded shade surrounded me instead.

Trazzen completed the flank, blocking my path to Irakas, who had ceased singing and struggled against the vampire spawn. With his resting place destroyed, the vampire wouldn’t heal from the injuries we inflicted this time, though he appeared fresh and uninjured. I barely dodged his openhanded blow. The illusionary mirror images from Garrek’s potion were long since gone and the shade’s necrotic touch was already wearing me down. I ignored the lesser undead and struck Trazzen, then used the Fang’s magic to teleport out of the trap.

My escape didn’t go unnoticed. Trazzen pursued me with frightening speed, but rather than attacking, ran past me. He spoke my name again, and again I was unable to resist the magic behind it. I was, once more, his ally.

“Stop the golem,” he said, looking at me over his should only for a moment. He turned and vanished back towards the Cauldron to intercept Clarion and Aleae.

My thoughts warred. I still wanted to defend Irakas, though she directed the golem. I wouldn’t hurt her. Couldn’t. I reached out to take the scepter.

A fierce spitting hiss came from behind me, and suddenly I was paralyzed. Arafin, that traitor! Didn’t she understand that she was going to get us all killed trying to hinder me?

One of the vampire spawn struck Irakas down. The golem was stopped, but at the cost of my ally. I struggled to throw off the spell as Irakas continued to bleed out at my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a blur of matted fur, then a lone gnoll leapt into the middle of the melee. There were no living gnolls here—the golem had broken their siege against its advance—except Bale, disguised. He stopped Irakas’s bleeding with a touch and snatched up the scepter.

I threw my mind against Arafin’s paralyzing spell before Bale could figure out how to reactivate the golem. I failed to break free, but one of the vampire spawn grabbed him before he could retreat. Under the illusion it looked like it grabbed the gnoll by the scruff and yanked him back over Irakas’ body. I was about to watch my allies slaughter each other, and was unable to do anything to stop it.

And little did I know, around the corner, Clarion and Aleae had been stopped short by a demon.

#127 - Secrets, Threats, Decisions

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

Cypher opened The Book of Inquiry and read us the instructions. Bored or curious, we had a couple hours to spare while we rested and prepared to return to the battle, so all but Arafin agreed to participate. There seemed to be little risk except from inciting the ire of the others if one failed to answer truthfully.

Cypher turned to the first page and asked me the question written there: If you could safely take a holiday through any of the Five Nations, which would you choose and why?

The book showed its age. I’d never put much thought to leisure travel. Until a few years ago I assumed I would only cross another nation’s borders as part of a campaign. None of the supposed sights of Khorvaire greatly interested me. I might have once considered pre-Mourning Cyre…but given a certain interpretation of the question, it wasn’t necessarily ruled out. Guaranteed safety traversing the Mournland would be a unique opportunity.

I asked Izzeth: What do you fear most and why do you fear it?

With a little reluctance but no shame, Izzeth said that he was afraid he would never learn about his mother’s family. They were his non-drow ancestors, presumably human, although he didn’t sound certain. Even ignorant as I am of drow, their reputation runs more along the lines of Bale. Yet Izzeth, despite being raised among them without any knowledge of his other relations, developed a connection to life, light, and nature, and views his dark elven kin with open hostility. I wondered how anyone raised among drow could have discovered the druidic arts.

Izzeth asked Magnus: Would you forgo any possibility of romantic companionship for the remainder of your life in exchange for unaccountable wealth?

Magnus laughed. Not a chance.

Magnus asked Cypher: Which would you rather achieve: great political power or great arcane knowledge?

The warforged’s response came instantly: arcane knowledge.

Cypher asked Bale: What person, entity, or ideal would you be the quickest to die for?

Bale would die for the chance to kill Katashka, the alleged demon lord whom he betrayed—or betrayed him? He said he had fulfilled his end of the bargain by killing Simel in the lower levels of Glyphstone, but hadn’t specified what part of the bargain Katashka denied him. Bale’s gifted powers hadn’t diminished since the sundering of their pact, so I suspected something deeper drove them apart.

Bale asked Clarion: If you could traverse time and begin again at a different point in your past, how far back would you select, and why?

This question troubled Clarion. He expressed concern that he had needed to make those choices—he didn’t specify which ones, but I remembered the gory images we were shown in the lower levels—to guide him here. He is apparently content as he is now, no self-doubt, no fear or uncertainty of purpose, even the claws of regret couldn’t get a true hold on him. I’m not sure why that irritates me so much. But given the insistence of the question, he said he would choose to go back to the time he awoke on the frozen forest in northern Karrnath, hoping that it would have led him to Dol Arrah sooner.

Clarion asked Aleae: Would you forgive your greatest enemy if he or she were to cease all offenses and apologize to you and any others he or she has wronged?

Aleae drew a strong distinction between an apology and righting wrongs. She didn’t specify an individual, but for the time she spent mulling over the question there was a hard look in her eye implying she had someone in mind. I hoped it wasn’t one of us. Eventually she said she’d outwardly accept the apology, but couldn’t in her heart.

Aleae asked Izzeth: If there was one tool or amenity you could give to the primitive dark elves of Xen’drick, what would it be?

So, the eladrin asks the half-drow how he would “fix” his people. Izzeth took great offence that the gnomes called the drow primitive, and rambled for a time about the differences between country drow and city drow, making his own origin quite clear. What was also clear was that the rant was a cover so he could think. He decided on some kind of sun covering, so the drow could freely travel aboveground and experience nature. He tried to emphasize the purpose of this gift, the value of fostering a connection to the outdoors, but it fell on deaf ears as most of us laughed at the image of a posse of drow strolling woodland paths under parasols.

Izzeth asked Bale: If you could gain firsthand knowledge of one age of history – the Age of Dragons, the Age of Demons, the Age of Giants, or the Age of Monsters – which would it be and why?

Bale’s answer was quick and, to him, obvious. He would travel to the Age of Demons to learn Katashka’s weakness. He insisted that all our vulnerabilities are hidden in our origins. I reflected on my own past, and it seemed to be true. To a certain extent it was my origin, at least my upbringing, that sent me on this foolhardy quest to Glyphstone. I wondered how it easy it would be for someone to use my past to destroy me.

I didn’t have long to wonder, because Bale asked me: If a latent dragonmark suddenly manifested upon you, which would you like it to be?

I knew the “right” answer for a soldier was House Deneith, the Mark of the Sentinel, and it may have been my honest answer eight or ten years ago. Not now. I admitted to being drawn to House Orien, the Mark of Passage. Freedom of movement was a mental release as much as physical. At the very least it would have helped me get here with less trouble or take better advantage of the Fang’s magic. Those were the practical justifications, but the book demanded truth, so I admitted I would be glad to separate myself from the hierarchy I had been trained in.

The Mark of Passage

I asked Cypher: If you could ensure the safety of all your loved ones for twenty years by gaining the indefinite enmity and awareness of an archdevil, would you do it?

I was curious how a warforged would respond to or interpret the question. He considered, then said he would be willing but it was irrelevant because he doesn’t have any loved ones to protect.

Ouch. Nice going, Wynn.

Cypher asked Clarion: If you were transported to Thelanis, the Faerie Court, and were granted your heart’s desire by an eladrin queen, what would that individual look like?

I think Cypher asked Clarion because of the question I had asked him. He was looking for guidance. How should a warforged love? Clarion described Dol Arrah in her red dragon form, drawing on his bardic talents and describing an image that failed to impress no one (except perhaps Cypher, his expression was unreadable). I interpreted the unspoken answer to Cypher’s question: a warforged could love a god or an ideal. Not a person.

Clarion asked Aleae: If you were transformed by a hag into one of another race and cursed to remain this way, which race would you choose and why?

The eladrin looked like even considering the possibility was curse enough. She agonized over the choice. Magnus pitched us humans at her—fun, fragile, short-lived, and dirty. A dozen expressions from horror to disgust to resignation crossed her face before she settled on the choice of a gnome, so she could use their natural talents to learn. The writers of this book would have been pleased.

Aleae asked Magnus: If you possessed the power to do so, would you choose to end the war ten years from now or spare the lives of all your countrymen for its remaining duration—however long that may be?

I wondered at first if Magnus understood the question. Though his land was riddled with infighting tribes, that was a poor shadow of the Last War. He said he would end the war in ten years for all rather than spare his people, but said it slowly as if testing the words. I wondered if this was where the game would end, but nothing happened. He had come to learn that truth by saying it.

Magnus asked me: If you were required to choose one of the companions gathered here in order to save the rest, who would it be? It cannot be yourself.

That was hardly a choice: Bale. Under most circumstances I’d be embarrassed how little thought that took. But not only did he agree (ever coldly practical), but the others all shrugged or nodded. That drow had lingering stains on his soul.

I asked Aleae: Is it your desire to bring any offspring into this world?

In my mind “this world” meant Eberron, not Faerie. I had learned that she was committed to discovering and reversing whatever trapped her people here. She was long-lived enough, but would she consider pursing a family in Eberron a type of failure? She said yes…she would like to bring her children to visit Eberron, but not to reside. Clever, implying (and clearly believing) that she wouldn’t be stuck here forever. The book accepted that interpretation.

The book closed. While we had been assured it was safe, you never knew when something was cursed or would backfire. At least if our answers were forced into reality, I’d be able to teleport to safety after sacrificing Bale on his parasol.

Instead of any unlikely transformations, however, we simply felt rejuvenated. Not a reckless energy, but healthier. Our wounds hurt less, the mental stress at being embroiled in days of conflict lifted.

Near the conclusion of our rest I spied movement from the distant ledge where the wizards were gathered. A figure mounted on a griffin approached our platform, one I recognized at a distance even after so long.

I stood and went to meet Garrek.

“Captain Dennavar” he greeted me, formal and distant for the benefit of the others.

I couldn’t keep up such a charade. I embraced my uncle. “Eight years and you couldn’t send one letter?” Apparently not. Whatever kept him here was too sensitive for any message.

I had to ask if he really had committed treason before fleeing Karrnath, even knowing the answer. He admitted that he had, but said “the word means less to me now than it once did.”

Whatever that meant. Yet he assured me that it wasn’t the interference of the other wizards that caused him to turn on the troops of the Onyx Skull. It was a decision he made under his own volition. Surprisingly, that brought relief. He wasn’t manipulated. As painful as it was to think of my uncle as a traitor, he was always the one with the conscience. Overhearing years of arguments between him and my grandfather had long since convinced me of that.

I suspected what his answer would be, but dutifully passed along my message that he could freely return to Karrnath.

“On whose authority?”

“The highest.” Some things I wasn’t comfortable admitting in front of the others.

Garrek was suitably impressed but unsurprisingly declined. His work here was essential, but he refused to tell me anything about it. Said it was dangerous to know. Was it a lack of trust or a desire to protect me? Neither was a satisfying answer, but I wasn’t going to get the information out of him.

He said it was acceptable to tell the rest of the family that he was alive. But specifying just “the family” made me pause. I asked if he needed me to deny finding him to everyone else, including the one who gave me the lead I needed to locate him.

He understood the significance of the question. So he asked me, not in so many words, if I was capable of keeping his location a secret from Kaius ir'Wynarn. The king’s message had summoned me as the heir of Syardis, not as Garrek's niece. Acknowledging the service my great grandmother had performed for the crown carried significant weight. Would I lie to the king for my treasonous uncle?

It was an uncomfortable answer, but Garrek is the only person, living, dead, or divine, who could have asked it of me. I idolize my ancestor Syardis. I respect Vorick. I love my father. But I trust Garrek . I agreed, and when I did a little knot of dread appeared deep in the back of my mind. The realization would come to me hours later, long after I said goodbye to Garrek.

If I truly wanted to protect his secret, I couldn’t allow myself to face my king. Even with Garrek's blessing, it was unwise to spread the secret to the family, and I wasn’t a good enough liar to convince any them I had failed. I couldn’t return home.

Still ignorant of this, I asked Garrek if there was anything I could do. By now he had to know he could ask anything. But he said there was nothing I could do, lacking any arcane talent. But he said he believed I had ended up here for a purpose beyond finding him—which I though was absurd, but he repeated that it was no coincidence I arrived here now. He advised me to fulfill the quest I had become involved with, that although I had survived one war, there was another I had to join.

I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but I agreed to see it through. Even without his insistence, I had not intended to abandon this group immediately after achieving my goal in Glyphstone—I am not that much of a mercenary or ingrate—but that agreement stretched beyond the immediate goals of Irakas and her golem, Trazzen and his Cauldron.

Then Garrek asked the others if we had questions he could pose to Elidac. Though we disagreed on priority, we wanted information on how to stop the Cauldron, the location of the missing batches of the Mire of True Hunger, and knowledge about a cure, if one existed.

Garrek left with our questions. It was painful to see him go. Eight years of worry and searching, and in five minutes he had refused all of my questions and rejected my help. It was far from what I had expected.

Yet I was comfortable with what I had seen and heard, changed though he was. Garrek had become the man he couldn’t have been in Karrnath during the Last War. I missed the old Garrek, but for all his humor and companionship in my youth, the occasional dark moods and more frequent arguments with my grandfather were the result of a spiritual (moral?) pain. I didn’t see that in him now.

Elidac brought our answers. I lingered in the back, trying to stifle the resentment: Garrek answers to that Brelish? My uncle wouldn’t see it that way, of course, but I couldn’t quite get past it.

Elidac had located one of the Mires, bound for Sharn. It was on a lightning rail three hours into a fifteen hour journey. He could give us mounts to catch up with it, or in a few hours could ready a teleportation spell that would have us meet it closer to its destination—thereby giving us time to finish our business here.

For the Cauldron he gave Aleae a small red orb that could disrupt its magic. Destroying it was impossible—it was too old and too powerful—but the orb was enough to hinder it for centuries. For our purposes that was long enough.

As for a cure, there was none. If it leaked from its container it couldn’t be purified, and the monsters it created were permanent. If the Mire was released we’d have to kill everyone it touched before it spread. If it reached Sharn it would be near impossible to contain.

Cypher insisted we leave immediately to intercept it. The rest of us disagreed. Irakas was waiting for us. She and the golem were expecting us at the Cauldron. We couldn’t abandon her to the gnoll army, the harpies, Trazzen. And disrupting the Cauldron was essential.

After a few minutes discussing tactics and preparing for combat, we were ready to return through the Arcane Gate, to join the golem and pave its way to the Cauldron.

#126 - Reprieve

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

The battle raged on, but diminished to mostly one front. Bale continued to bait and sling his dark eldritch blasts at the gnolls who disengaged from whatever it was that was occupying them at large. Hidden within a sphere of darkness, he pulled both Magnus and Clarion along as they fought against the gnolls with equal parts advantage and frustration.

Cypher soon reappeared, stepping out of the portal that Aleae had been eyeing. He called to his companions, trying to rally them into a retreat and insisting that he had reconnecting with Elidac and the other wizards. Some sort of reprieve was being offered, if only they would follow him into the portal.

This took some time. Bale was reluctant to lose his strategic engagements, but the truth was that more and more enemies were coming—gnolls continued to approach. Harpies began to arrive and with their luring songs they even ensnared, briefly, both Cypher and Aleae. The eladrin was pulled back from exposing herself to the gnolls' attacks by the serpentine coils of Arafin, while Cypher suffered injuries for his temporary trance.

Magnus, Clarion, and Bale made corpses of many gnolls, and even a handful of their pet hyenas, while Cypher and Wynn did what they could to hurry the group into its retreat. A scimitar-wielding harpy, one the party had fought earlier but did not slay, even joined the fray.

Eventually the party did retreat in full, and one by one stepped through the mist portal that had sprung out of nowhere. An Arcane Gate, it brought each of the PCs through inter-dimensional space....

....to a floating chunk of rock high above the ground near the wizards' citadel, which itself floated in the interior of Glyphstone Keep's above-ground levels. It was a cavernous, outdoor-seeming space enclosed by the walls of the fortress but open, in parts, to the night sky. Stars winked through the gaps in the vault, while the Lharvion, the Eye—a dull white moon slitted with black—shone upon them. The rock they had landed upon was smooth at its top and had plenty of space to fit everyone—even Arafin, who coiled up and looked uneasy in such an open space.

The party was still uncertain about withdrawing from the battle, though their wounds were glad for this moment to regroup. One hundred feet away, they could see another raised platform illuminated by magelights, and could see figures moving around there. Elidac and his wizards.

A woman floated over to them, carried on currents of magic through the open air. It was Charise, the Cyran, who was also one of the powerful wizards residing up here in Glyphstone's above-ground remains. The party—discounting Wynn, Izzeth, and Bale who were both newcomers—had last seen Charise and the others of Elidac's conclave, several days before when they had been sent off to seek out Talor "the Justicator." She was middle-aged, short of hair, and her attire was more akin to a swashbuckler's than a traditional wizard's robes, and she wore a half-mask for reasons unknown. Those who remembered her recalled that hers was the "memory" scene that took place in one of Cannith's secret forgeholds.

Quickly, Charise explained that it was the disturbing of the Cauldron—and the energies surrounding it—that had triggered their awareness of the party. More importantly, Charise said that her cohort, the wizard Garrek, had requested interference on their behalf. When she first opened the Arcane Gate, she had beckoned Cypher through it and asked him, "Is it true that there is a Captain Dennavar among them?" When he didn't know how to respond, she clarified: "Captain Wynn Dennavar."

To this he confirmed, and so Charise had said, "Elidac has granted permission to afford you temporary sanctuary—we will return you again, when ready. Hurry, gather you companions.”

And so now they were all here, standing, fidgeting, or pacing around this large floating rock. With a gesture, a dome of energy encircled most of the it. "Elidac has been enspelled this space with an arcane matrix that delays time itself," she explained. "For every hour that passes within, only a  minute will pass without. If you choose to rest, you may do so here. When you are ready, no longer than three hours from now, we can return you to a place of your choosing."

The party had questions, of course, and Wynn was insistent upon seeing the wizard Garrek, but Charise waved it all away for now. "I will speak with Elidac and tell you what we learn."

She gave them a handful of "spare" scrolls for their use, and a curious book. Concerning the latter, she said, “This book offers requires a little bit of risk, but from what I understand, can provide some benefit—even in so short a time as now. It will do you no harm. But it’s from Zilargo.” She winked, then left them to it.

As Charise floated away from the rock, allowing them to take what rest they wanted, a couple of figures appeared across the distance, standing at the edge of their own platform. Backlit by magelights, they were robed man. Wynn stood and watched them, clearly anxious to make contact. One of the figures waved sadly, then turned away.

Cypher looked at the book Charise had given them. Its title was The Book of Inquiry: Trust, and the Examination of Remunerative Truths and Gainful Slights. He found that it would not open in the middle, only to the very first page. Within was an inscription: "Property of the Library of Korranberg. 972 Year of the Kingdom."

If the date was accurate, the book was created 27 years ago, long before the destruction of Cyre or the end of the Last War. In 972 YK, even the warforged were new to the world. What was a book owned from the Library of Korranberg doing here? These wizards had certainly accumulated strange treasures, and has unknowable resources.

Beneath the label was the following text.

"The instructions are simple. Turn the page and a question will appear. It must be asked of one of your companions and answered truthfully. They, in turn, must turn to the following page and ask the next question of another companion, until all of them have been answered and every companion has answered at least twice, if possible. Any lie spoken or question declined will render this examination a failed one. Acquiescence, however, may reward you. Think carefully. Do not answer in haste, only in truth."

In smaller text was written at the bottom of the instructions page:

"It is the author’s personal advice that this book be reserved only for the most amiable of dinner parties."

#125 - Attrition

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

We dispatched the skeletons and ghouls and piled the corpses in one of the hallways leading out to the gnoll camp. Izzeth laid the remains of Arafin's mate there with her blessing.

I checked in on the activities around Trazzen's lair. We had to destroy the soil from his homeland that allowed him to recover his strength. That I, as a mundane human, could be foiled by the inability to destroy a few cubic feet of earth was frustrating enough. That my magically inclined companions were equally bemused was even worse. As I left, Aleae set to destroying the sarcophogi with her telekinetic magic.

In the chaos following our dispersal when Trazzen fled, Cypher had gone missing. Where could he have wandered to? We were surrounded—undead behind, gnolls ahead, and harpies above. Aleae called Arafin over to inspect a strange circular portal that had appeared in one of the recessed walls on the approach the gnoll camp, inaccessible from our side. Cypher might have passed through it, but we couldn't follow.

The commotion in the gnoll camp was growing louder. In an unlikely alliance, Bale and Clarion agreed to distract their rear guard to support Irakas and the golem. Izzeth and Magnus remained in the Cauldron's chamber to watch the undead and alert us to any ambush from behind.

I kept to the middle in the hallway by the lair, ready to join wherever the fight worsened. In Trazzen's lair, Aleae started flinging acid around. The caustic smell made my eyes water, but appeared to have some effect on the soil.

As the distant barking of the gnolls increased, Arafin warned me about danger coming from the door at the narrow end of the hall. I moved over and listened for whatever her keener ears had caught.

I heard an inhuman voice that I recognized as the leader of the dolgaunts, the one with the beholder's eye fused to his chest. He was calling out for the leader of the harpies. From our brief time in this area and Bale's map, I knew that our rearguard's line of sight to them was broken by the mound of undead, but a banner couldn't have announced our presence more.

I braced against the door just before the dolgaunt slammed into it. The door rattled in the frame. It wasn't going to hold out long. I gestured to Arafin and Aleae that we were about to engage the enemy.

Bale and Clarion continued to harry the gnolls, who had been alerted to our presence at last. The warlock and paladin had found some way to work effectively together, and the audible yelps were full of pain and frustration. I could even hear the barking laughs of their hyena pets!

The door broke off its hinges under the dolgaunt's second charge, and a ray of fire seared it as I stepped back to the entrance of the narrow hallway. I didn't recall this dolgaunt being a caster; he had brought allies. The hall was narrow enough that only the dolgaunt could enter. Immediately his shoulder-tentacles wrapped around me, preventing any further retreat. As long as I continued to block the entrance and give Aleae time to finish her task and retreat, I wasn't intending to move.

Izzeth rejoined us, having heard the door or seen movement through the wall of undead. He cast a spell and grasping vines materialized beneath the dolgaunt and back through the hallway, snaring him and his ally.

The dolgaunt was easy to hit entangled by the vines, but he had healed and rested since our last encounter. He tried to stun me with well-placed blows, barely turned by my damaged armor. If I ever caught up to Garrick and made it out of here my first task would be to have it repaired. Each day down here that possibility seemed to grow more distant.

A ray of frost shone over my shoulder, making the very air around it suddenly cold. It glanced off the horrid, independent eye in the center of the dolgaunt's chest and it rebounded, nearly hitting me. Light cascaded through the doorway as the pile of undead caught fire—that had to be Magnus's doing. The corridor flooded with the unpleasant mix of burning, rotting flesh and plenty of oil. Yes, definitely Magnus.


Izzeth tried to close with the dolgaunt with his purple, byeshk hand-scythe. The dolgaunt's attention was fixed on it with alarm, even as his tentacles dug into my skin and drained my strength.

Tight quarters had been a fine idea when I was stalling for time, but now it was benefiting our enemy. Arafin reached her considerably larger body around me, coiling as if to constrict me, but she dragged me back to break the dolgaunt's grip instead. Once freed, I dove back in and grabbed the creature as it struggled free of the entangling vines. I dragged it out of the hall into the open space where Izzeth sliced into it. I ducked as another ray of frost flew past, but this time struck and froze the dolgaunt's head in ice.

I dropped the corpse and quickly donned my shield—Simel's old shield. This was turning into a battle of attrition, and I needed to outlast rather than outfight.

Izzeth warned me about the creature through the door and around the corner, the floating gauth, but I could hear the heavy footfalls of Clarion close by.

The gnolls still barked, the hyenas laughed their eerie laugh. The undead continued to burn. Irakas and the golem still hadn't arrived and Cypher hadn't returned from whatever demiplane had apparently swallowed him up.

And worse, there were still enemies unaccouted for.

#124 - Upsetting the Cauldron

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

Trazzen worked his gaze on me again, and this time I couldn’t resist it. Why would I resist it? Why were we resisting anything? The confusion was brief, then I became irrationally convinced that was all a misunderstanding, and a dangerous one for us all. “Us” including my newfound ally: the vampire lord himself. I was convinced that we needed to stop this fight against Trazzen. The compulsion he placed on me couldn’t turn me against my allies, but I was utterly convinced that I had to stop them from doing something we’d regret.

I turned my back to Trazzen—some inner part of me shouted a desperate warning, but was ignored—and sought Clarion. We had no leader, but it’s hard to heed the call of a paladin if I could convince him to lay down arms. I snatched the steel-shod quarterstaff from Clarion’s hand and told him, “We’re going about this all wrong. This has to stop.”

His expression, naturally, didn’t change. “You’re right. We need to take this fight to him.” A deliberate misinterpretation—I suspect that he was aware of the magic’s hold me. He turned from the lesser undead and set off for Trazzen. But I caught his arm and held him back. A half-ton of wood, steel, and stone. If I hadn’t been dazed by the charm, I would have been astounded by my own strength. Or stupidity.

Before Clarion could react, Izzeth interrupted and lifted the charm from me with a spell. I released Clarion. Dwarfed in his shadow, even armed and armored, I felt distressingly reminded how dangerous warforged can be at close quarters.

This fight was rapidly devolving on too many fronts. Bale struggled to guard the far door while blasting skeletons back into his writhing darkness. Aleae was taking shelter behind the slain dragon, likely out of spells. And when I turned back around, Magnus was hanging in Trazzen’s grip and beginning to turn blue. Despite his already considerable size, the vampire would be far stronger than any hobgoblin.

Clarion’s declaration had at least turned our attention toward the most pressing threat—even as the bony coils of the undead naga arose again to rejoin the battle. Cypher worked an infusion and Trazzen’s metal armor began to hiss. Izzeth added his own magic to it, and the bronze metal began to glow brightly, scorching Magnus through the gauntlet around his throat, but charring the vampire even more.

Trazzen made a swift tactical decision. Not lingering to be cooked in his own armor, he released Magnus and both he and his armor dissolved into mist, which flowed away across the floor. Arrows from Magnus’s fire bow simply passed through it. Trazzen escaped, but left us unattended with the Cauldron.

That's totally a vampire in mistform.

We finished off the hideous longfingers and other undead, and hurried to seize the chamber. Knowing little about the Cauldron and its magics, I instead assisted Bale in securing the side door, behind which we could hear clawing and pounding from more of the Cauldron’s creations.

Aleae and Cypher dove into the notes and ingredients behind the Cauldron. I heard glass clinking and papers rusting, then the cracking of stone as snake-Izzeth crushed the huge stone barrels that appear to be used for transporting the Mire, rendering them useless. Cypher had spied labels upon each that presumably indicated their eventual destinations: Xandrar (a town in northern Breland), Wroat

(Breland's capital city), and one simply labeled Spare.  There were none labeled Sharn.

Cypher announced his discovery first. In order to disrupt the Cauldron’s progress, we needed to throw in a powerful magical or religious item. Magnus clambered up the Cauldron, standing on the ring of skulls, and threw in his fire elemental bow. We heard it strike the thick sludge within, and there was a sucking sound as it sank. Nothing happened.

We had no religious artifacts. Clarion couldn’t imbue an object with sufficient power to disrupt a powerful creation like the Cauldron, and Cypher claimed that the weapon of the Silver Flame he carried wouldn’t work unless someone attuned to it. We didn’t have an hour to spare.

So, it became the work of us grunts again. With a little nudging, Aleae and Cypher deigned to join me, Magnus, Izzeth, and Clarion in tipping the Cauldron off the dais. As we strained and heaved, we heard Bale beginning to fire eldritch blasts through the crumbling door at the foes beyond.

Finally, the Cauldron toppled over, spilling a fair amount of the black Mire upon the ground, where it pooled and fumed. The mere smell of it made my eyes sting and my stomach sour. I shudder to think of its effect on bare skin. Both Cypher and Aleae remained in place as we backed off—paralyzed by its toxins for a short time and had to be carried away to recover.

It was a failure, in the end. We didn’t destroy the Cauldron, nor Trazzen. But we had stalled him, and it was not yet time for a tactical retreat. Bale indicated the back of the chamber, where he suspected Trazzen’s lair was, and we hurried to secure the area and find what else we could vandalize before Irakas arrived, if she hadn’t been waylayed. It was too risky to venture out into the larger open floor with the gnolls and harpies to look for her.

Cypher worked on the lock of a plain door, while Aleae and Clarion checked for entrances hidden in the walls. Izzeth slithered further into the hall, hidden low to the ground. Before long, I heard the sounds of combat behind us—the undead had finally forced their way through the door and into the chamber.

I returned to the chamber to fight more undead—ghouls, mostly, heralded by a horrible stench—and discovered that Arafin had rejoined us. She looked somewhat worse for wear—though I couldn’t speak for our own appearances after the long fight—and was coiled around the skeleton of the bone naga. Her mate.

There was little time for her grief. As we fought the ghouls and skeletons around the fallen Cauldron, we exchanged brief reports of our activities. Arafin had lain low, possibly amidst the gnoll camp, and took the opportunity to approach the Cauldron upon hearing the commotion we made.

From the back of the chamber where the others were, I only heard snatches of sound, a spell unleashed, the pounding of heavy running warforged feet, all over the background chaos from the gnoll camp, which was growing ever louder. Whatever was occurring out there was coming to a head, and soon.

It was my hope that at least Cypher, Izzeth, Clarion, and Aleae had found Trazzen's resting place. If we could deny him that shelter, there was a greater chance of defeating him!

#123 - Battle for the Cauldron

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

We made our final preparations to assault the Cauldron. Standing before the throne, Scepter in hand, Irakas merely pressed her strong hand to our shoulders and we felt its powers flow into us. One at at time, she bestowed temporary blessings. We could choose "might of the bugbear," "agility of a goblin spy," or "valor of a hobgoblin." Immediately the throne room brightened: it granted me night vision in addition to some resistance against Trazzen’s vampiric mind-control.

Aleae cast Clairvoyance to observe the Cauldron’s chamber directly. We gathered around her and tried to imagine the scene she sketched onto the floor and as she described. From the passages leading to the gnoll camp the chamber sloped downward until the Cauldron, sitting on a stage-like dais in the far corner. She marked four cloaked undead, two long-fingered undead monstrosities, one skeletal naga, and one shadowy dragon on the map, but no Trazzen. I expected he would come running once he became aware of our assault, but we had a little time in which we could eliminate his allies.

Aleae also reported four goblinoid slaves chained up in the room with the Cauldron. While others prepared spells, I gathered a few simple weapons into a bundle to carry with me. Escape wasn’t an option for these slaves; they’d never make past the gnoll camp, but they at least deserved the chance to die with a weapon in hand.

The major complication was that Irakas could only teleport us individually. Aleae, as our eye-on-the-sky, had to go last. The first of us to land would be able to unleash an attack indiscriminately, making it an ideal choice for one of the casters, but would also take the brunt of our enemy’s counterattack while reinforcements trickled in. Magnus was the obvious choice and he was eager to lead the charge, if it could be called such.

Once we had our orders, we didn’t stall. We didn’t know how much time we had until the next batch of the Mire of True Hunger would be completed, or when Trazzen would return. Magnus indicated to Irakas where he wanted to land, and a moment later vanished. A tense silence followed in the throne room, broken only by the background rumble from the camp below. I hoped they would remain unaware of what was now starting in the Cauldron room.

I could only piece together the early moments of the battle from Aleae’s in-the-moment recounting, and by observing the destruction that was left afterward:

Magnus appears near the center of the chamber and summoned an Ice Storm with his mace. Mass confusion as hail rained and coated the ground in a sheet of ice. The falling chunks of ice struck the shadow dragonand one of the tall, long-clawed monsters, and it extinguished the only source of light in the chamber, All heads swiveled his direction, and it was clear we would have to rely upon our temporary darkvision.

The shadow dragon—which Magnus would later identify as having once been a blue dragon—sprang back and spat "shadow" lightning, killing the the four slaves. They were two goblins, one hobgoblin, and one bugbear, and now all four were instantly slain.

So much for that plan. I set down my bundle of weapons.

Bale, cloaked in a sphere of darkness, appeared along the raised dais and rains his eldritch blasts on the shroud-cloaked, sword-wielding skeletons there. Below, murky shadows rose from the bodies of the slain goblinoids and flow across the rubble toward Magnus.

Clarion and his steed Amatrix landed together in a glowing thunder of stone and metal. The naga shied away from him and turned a spell of helplessness on Magnus. The dragon and the shadows converged on him while he was vulnerable. He was locked in paralyzed rage for a few seconds, but Magnus snapped out of it right as Izzeth appeared and cast his own Ice Storm, pushing the skirmishes toward the edges of the chamber instead of the vulnerable middle.

Finally, Irakas turned to me. I indicated a spot on the outdated map I estimate is outside the ice. When I landed, shards of stone and melting ice scattered underfoot. The chamber’s size exceeded the tiny map I had studied; even with darkvision I couldn’t see from one end to the other. With casters both before and behind me who needed space to cast, I stuck near one of the sides by the camp exits and engaged one of the skeletons lingering outside Clarion’s protective aura.

The shadow dragon, wounded now by several blows of Magnus's mace, spat another bolt of dark energy across the chamber. It passed through both Magnus, Clarion, and Amatrix, gravely wounding all three. The damage to Amatrix was greatest, and the summoned steed vanished under its power.

I heard more than saw Cypher appear and immediately tangle with one of the longfingers. On the edge of my vision, the shadow dragon buckled under Magnus’s assault. The thud echoed over the battle noise. With the dragon gone it felt like the tide was turning in our favor, until Izzeth called out and drew our attention to one of the entrances near the gnoll camp.

At first I only saw two translucent, armored hobgoblins, different from the shadows but looked substantial enough to pose a threat, and then the figure they preceded. Trazzen and his honor guard had arrived. After hearing about our foe—my adopted enemy of only the past few days, like an enemy general I had never met—I was finally able to place an image to the name: a muscular form in bronze, baroque plate mail armor, carrying a purple-hued scimitar the same color as Izzeth’s sickle. Byeshk, meant for slaying aberrations, but still deadly for us mortals.

According to what I'd heard, Trazzen was once a leader of his people, a governor of an entire city, and a foe to the monstrous armies of aberrations who had invaded the world in his day. But according to these same stories, in order to gain the power to save the city, he made a pact with dark powers—the demon lord named Katashka, it now seems—and became a greater thread to his people. A vampire, he dined upon his own countrymen and his city fell. In Karrnath or any respectable land, he would have been the worst sort of treasonist. It would be an honor to slay him on behalf of all he'd betrayed.

Trazzen approached the field of battle with casual arrogance and surveyed the room. As his gaze passed over me, I felt cruel pressure on my mind, and even with Irakas’s blessing I could barely manage to resist whatever compulsion that gaze carried. And yet I did.

Then a glint of flame flew between his guards and a fireball erupted around them, and before the light cleared from my eyes—a second explosion followed. Aleae had joined us, completing our reinforcements. The flames burned one of the long-fingered undead greatly, one of the ghostly honor guard wavered, but Trazzen himself was only barely scorched.

Irakas would only now be setting out on her part of the plan: marching the golem down through the gnoll camp to join us in destroying the Cauldron. As the fireball’s wisps faded and the hobgoblin guards broke apart amidst smoke, a horrific, writhing darkness that could only be one of Bale’s magics engulfed the same space.

An instant later, and preceded only by a dark blur, Trazzen reappeared well outside the writhing darkness. Wisps of darkness, clinging to his armor, curled and faded, separated from their creator spell. The assault had left little visible damage.

“You have troubled me enough,,” the vampire lord said aloud, a dark fury overtaking him, “I don’t care what he says. You will all be slain!”

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