#115 - Ingression and Reflection

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

After we slew our undead assailants, Bale led us to the door of the Blue Wraith's chambers. Cypher inspected it and informed us that it was safe to open. Magnus wasted no time in rushing in to see if a bed might be found. He got a few steps into the first chamber before Bale loosed a warning, "Be careful, you fool, there may be traps."


In an uncharacteristic display of restraint, Magnus halted in his tracks and allowed Cypher to assess the path ahead. He did not do so successfully. As he advanced, we heard a quiet sound of stone sliding. Almost immediately afterwards, a series of clicks and whirrs emanated from within the room followed by the loud thud of Magnus hitting the floor. Wynn raced to the door and dragged Magnus from the room. A number of sleek darts had shot through the chamber, and two of them were protruding from Magnus’s back. Undoubtedly they were poisoned, else he may not have even noticed them.


I would not allow Magnus to die such an ignominious death. I placed my hands upon his tattooed and calloused skin and called upon the magics taught to me by the Gatekeepers. A faint green mist formed about my hands and coalesced on his back, it then seeped into his body and his wounds closed, pushing out the darts and purging some of the poison.

Cypher continued his work. I'm not sure he even noticed that the trap he’d sprung had felled Magnus. He certainly showed no concern for the enormous human. After a few minutes he declared that the area was clear, but we should avoid the pressure plate, as he was not sure whether it would trigger the trap again. He did take greater pains to point out the affected area.

We all filed into the antechamber, except for Bale and Clarion who remained outside as sentries. On one end was a well-wrought door made of wood with iron bands and an intricate looking lock that Cypher was inspecting. The rest of the chamber was unadorned and seemed quite plain. I was definitely not comfortable with Bale being outside the door. Did he know that there were more traps and was keeping himself out of harm's way?

Cypher attempted to pick the lock, but gave up after a few minutes, informing us that magic was helping to secure the door and had made the lock itself exceedingly resistant to picking. He then began to rummage through his pack. If only Aleae had been here, her knowledge of magic was quite astounding alas; she had vanished into her wand after the last skirmish. I am still not sure if that is a function of the Wand of Wonder, or of Aleae herself.

In a flash of inspiration, I surmised that perhaps the Blue Wraith's ring might allow us to gain passage. I moved up to the door and touched the ring to the lock, but the only thing I gained was Cypher's attention. He snatched at the ring, but I was quicker. These warforged can be quite rude, although I did let him examine it when he asked.

Meanwhile, Bale took a suspicious black powder from his belt pouch and began to scribe a circle on the floor while chanting. I have seen these black magics in the past. It is the way one calls upon a fiend. I quickly scatted the powder and confronted him. He hastily backpedaled and attempted to convince me that he was merely trying to divine whether we would be safe resting here or not.

I allowed him to continue, but kept a close eye on his ritual; I don't think the others are aware of the powers that he is playing with. When he had completed his ritual, he told us that this was not a safe place for a rest. I suspect he has not told us the whole truth.

Seeing the door as an obstacle to his finding a bed, Magnus confidently strode up and attempted to break it down. Cypher, finishing his rummaging, produced a crowbar and the strongest among us—Clarion, Wynn, and Magnus—took turns attempting to force the door. When they had exhausted themselves trying, I took a few attempts. With no progress, Arafin turned to Bale and commanded him to try next.

Truly, Bale looked indignant. I have seen that look once before when my father was informed that he would have to wash his own laundry because the slave who would have normally done it had been whipped to death for oversleeping. Suffice to say that the messenger in that instance had not been spared.

A sweat began to break on Bale's brow before he even began his first attempt. He simply could not believe his predicament, and yet, he strode to the door and worked himself to exhaustion with every ounce of his strength on the crowbar, not that it did any good. This was a drow accustomed to solving his problems with dark magic, not the strength of his arms.

Not that any of us were more successful. We were about to give up and take our chances by resting before the door when the iron dog—I think Cypher calls it Rungo—moved towards the door. She wedged her metal claws into the crack between the frame and the door and heaved, cracking the wood around the hinges. At last, we were through! On the other side was another suit of animated armor, which we wasted no time defeating.

The Blue Wraith's chambers were rather small and spartan. There was a bed in the corner, which Magnus nearly broke when he dove onto it heedless of any threat. On one wall was a tall mirror firmly attached to the wall. Opposite the mirror was a sizeable wardrobe and some water barrels. Off to one side was a simple table with a large tome opened upon it.

We set about checking and securing the area. Wynn inspected the mirror and quickly tried to pry it from the wall, while Cypher went to the book. I went towards the wardrobe and Clarion began to call upon his divine senses for assistance. Bale prepared to create a safe place for us to rest by conjuring an extradimensionally-protected dome like the one we had used the previous day.

The wardrobe was filled with many very high quality ornate robes and cloaks, but one stood out. It was very heavy and appeared to be crafted from a black leathery substance that reminded me of the skin of a giant bat, complete with bony claws that formed a clasp. I fastened it to my pack so that we could inspect it later and began to check the walls for secret passages—we did not want to be surprised while we rested.

As Bale began his magic, a shimmer appeared in the air and a hemisphere began to emerge. We gathered within it, except for Arafin who would not fit. Once inside, we debated how long to rest for. Bale was adamant that we could not afford to rest for long, because the “Cauldron” he referred to was soon to release its evil upon Sharn. We were clearly in no position to defeat the keepers of the Cauldron as we were all completely depleted of our resources. After all arguments were heard, we decided that the best course of action would be to rest for an hour and regain some strength, then scout out the Cauldron and its protectors. Only when we knew what were up against could be determine our chances of success. We also knew that our current position was not safe and wanted to be moving onward.

As we rested, I meditated on recent events.

The last 40 years had been peaceful for me. I lived in harmony with nature. I watched the flowers bloom each spring. I harvested herbs when they ripened. I saw the saplings emerge and grow year by year. I followed the seasons like a bear, hibernating in the winters, emerging in the springs, roaming in the summers and gathering in the autumns. I shared adventures and exciting times with my adopted father Iowerth, but the pace of things had been relaxed. Perhaps the incredible pace of this last week is nature's way of maintaining balance.

Three days ago, I was perched around a campfire with Duran and Ket. We were attempting to learn whether the prophetic words of the Phiarlan fortune-teller from the Carnival of Shadows, "Beneath the keep and its shattered throne," had indeed referred to Glyphstone Keep.

Two days ago, I battled the druids of the Children of Winter after hearing only stories about them—and I watched helplessly as Ket was slaughtered by one of their number. Moments later, the ceiling collapsed and everything turned black.

Yesterday, I awoke in a most foul place where Duran was being consumed by the vile naga Hothyr. I fled from one battle to another and met my new companions as they were engaged in battle with a pair of smaller nagas and their minions. After helping them to win the day, I joined forces with them.

Today, we avenged Duran by killing Hothyr. We also discovered that aberrations like the grells had risen close to the surface world. We were nearly devoured by a purple worm and then were then nearly slain by the Blue Wraith.

Now, we are finally allowed a quiet moment.

Since leaving my homeland and setting upon the path of the druids, I have learned much about the ways of nature. The laws of Eberron are the laws of balance. The warm, sunny side of the tree is but a step away from the cool, shady side. The bat, while active all night, sleeps all day. There is a moment of calm that precedes the chaos of the storm.

Has the storm passed or are we merely in the eye?

Even things that seem bad contain good. The fire that decimates the forest opens up a window to the sun through the canopy of the forest, which allows the saplings at the floor to grow. The decaying carcasses of beasts create fertile soil for plants to thrive in. Intense pain precedes the birth of a child.

In my travels, I have only found one exception: the dark elves in the land of my birth. My father's people did not treat me well as a child. My earliest memories are of older drow children tormenting me. To say my torment was merciless would be redundant. All of the drow I have known have been evil. Beings that take pleasure in learning exactly how much skin can be removed from a victim before he dies, so that they can make sure to prolong his agony as long as possible.

I have often attempted to reconcile the dilemma of my father's people. How can the drow be comprised wholly of evil? Mustn't there be some sliver of good within them, owing to their origins in the distant past? Perhaps the memory of their origin is too far past, perhaps the inner joy of what it means to be elf-kind is hidden so deeply that it cannot be seen from the outside, much like the lustrous crystals that can be found within a geode. Or perhaps, their hearts are as jet-black as their skin.

Bale may be the answer to this dilemma. Only time will tell. Is he the exception that proves the rule? Which rule is he proving? Are all drow as evil as I know them to be or is he illustrating nature in all of its variation? I am not sure that Vvaraak herself, in her age-old wisdom, would have known the answer. For now, I do not trust him and he has given us more reasons to be wary than trusting, but I will give him a chance to prove himself, for that is the nature of a good man.

#114 - The Traitor

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 24th, 999 YK

The Blue Wraith was still wreathed in fire when I regained consciousness. Frustrated, knowing I couldn’t withstand the backlash of striking him again, I retreated. We’d have to end this at range. Arafin appeared next to me, as suddenly as she had during the fight with Hothyr. Then she had pointed me at the other naga through the murky water, but this time instead of direction she had healing so I could approach and end this fight quickly.

It was an idealistic thought. We crowded around the Wraith, then recognized our error and spread out before he could summon another fireball. The wizard shrugged off arrows, turned blades and ignored magic missiles until, unexpectedly, one of the drow’s eldritch blasts passed through him and scorched the stone walls. While I was still marveling about the wizard’s resilience, Aleae and Magnus nearly simultaneously announced that this Wraith was—or had now become—just an illusion.

I turned my back to it and listened. Among the scuffle of feet and labored breath, I heard matching breathes on the other side of the room. We pursued the fleeing wizard but we had to work our way around the pit. When he reappeared again, a good forty feet away across the gap, it was behind a bead of fire. Many of us were blasted by the heat but none of us went down. Arafin was the first to race towards him, but she stopped short and spat acidic venom at him like a spitting cobra—a customary naga attack.


The venom hit the Blue Wraith in the face. I wasn’t sure what happened next—was it a spell going wrong or the wizard’s devilish benefactor abandoning him? At first I thought the wizard's fire shield had returned, but this time he screamed in agony and collapsed, a new, nonprotective fire eating at his flesh with magical voraciousness.

Cypher and Izzeth reached the Wraith first. Realizing that the fire might consumer any valuables, Izzeth threw a blanket over the burning form. When he drew it away, the fire had been extinguished, but it sprang up again! Without waiting for the wizard to finish burning and squirming both warforged and half-drow fumbled for the wizard's possessions. The fire scorched them both, despite their precautions. This wizard was taking too long to die, and I remained suspicious even as bones, visible through bubbling flesh, began to blacken and crumble.

Magnus came running by us and I told him what I already knew—Simel was dead. Without missing a beat the Seren barbarian began to strip Simel’s body of gear, only saying that he had died well. Huh. And people say we Karrns are disrespectful of the dead.

I can’t point fingers, though. What I had to do was no better. I left the Wraith and sawed Simel’s head off with the Fang to prevent the vampire Trazzen from raising him as an enemy. Burning would have been more effective, but I had neither the time nor inclination to convince one of the casters to do the grisly work. What kind of a Karrn was I to adopt these tactics long-favored by our enemies? Magnus clearly approved, and I was grateful that he didn’t want to add Simel’s head to his growing collection of skulls. I ought to have said a few words before, or after, but it felt wrong. I wish I could say it was the first time I’ve used this partisan on a slain ally.

In the meantime the Blue Wraith burned himself out. Aleae warned us that we had little time until the corpse-elemental reappeared from…wherever she had sent it. Why she couldn’t just keep it there I didn’t understand. We readied ourselves, Cypher with a strange rod he used to control its movement, and Izzeth preparing his beam of radiant moonlight. In short work we took it down, even as it seized Magnus and lifted him into the air.

While we were coming to grips with the end of this long, hard, and costly fight, the drow urged us to continue moving.

We collectively rounded on him.

I still don’t know why we didn’t kill him on the spot. Exhaustion, maybe. Or the infectious, genuine alarm in his voice. He claimed to have turned traitor on Katashka, the rakshasa raja who we had heard about, and who Trazzen served—Trazzen, who had I never heard of until two days ago but whose name had become synonymous with the perils since I reached the vicinity of Glyphstone Keep. Given the disturbing powers he exhibited during the battle, it is easy to believe he may derive his magic from this demon lord.

The drow said he had been bound to kill one of our number, and of the seven of us had picked Simel out of spite: Katashka had wanted him to survive. That bastard seemed to think he had done us a favor. We weren’t buying it, but the drow had greater concerns. He had knowledge of Katashka’s machinations here in Glyphstone. Its servants had concocted some sort of blight from a device he called the Rumdhal Cauldron. One "batch" brewed from this vile cauldron had already been sent out somewhere, and others were in the making. He said that the next one would be bound for Sharn, and other for somewhere in Breland near the Aundairian border. He did not elaborate on the nature of this blight, but from his speech it sounded like a plague of some sort. Given that it was the dream of a demon lord, it was not likely to be a mere disease.

We had mere hours before the next batch from the Cauldron was ready to go out, but between the Cauldron and us lay two upper floors of the Glyphstone dungeons, a small army of gnolls and Arafin’s turned, undead mate who would rival Hothyr in strength and magical prowess. We had no choice but to believe this dark elf's information. We already knew that something malevolent was at work here due to interferences of Katashka’s minions, and now we had a timeline to match. As much as we needed to prevent the Cauldron from releasing even one more wave of blight, we desperately needed to rest.

The drow offered to take us to the Blue Wraith’s chambers, a possible place of temporal safety, and mentioned something about his own. So he was a native here. I wondered how long he had been working for Katashka? Was he a recent recruit or a plant? We barely got a name out of him. He said that until he earned his true name back, we could call him “Bale.” Looking at him in the aftermath of the battle, I wondered if my weariness was affecting my memory. I could have sworn he had two black eyes. But now one of them was a vivid red.

Evidently the teleportation by which I had arrived had brought me into the "natural" caverns far Glyphstone Keep. Bale was now leading us up the bank of the stairs into the goblin-carved dungeons of the keep itself. My new companions—save for Izzeth, who had arrived in a similar to manner as mine—had traversed some of these dungeons before.

As went ventured on, Aleae and I shared the second rank behind Bale, intending to watch for betrayal. Magnus had already affixed Simel’s darkvision goggles to his face and passed me his everburning torch, but the drow insisted that we march in darkness, expressing both surprise and disbelief that we had survived this long openly carrying light.

I took Aleae’s elbow, Clarion took Izzeth’s. The warforged complained about the marching order—it was clear that he and the elven sorceress had a history of some kind, and I don’t think he trusts me yet. At least he finds the drow even more untrustworthy. Ours has been an adventure of common enemies, it seems. Cypher had his iron defender Rungo guide him. That made three who were blind and three who could see, plus one homunculus and Bale.

I was so focused on straining my senses for signs of danger that I couldn’t follow our path up the stairs and into the maze of halls and chambers. We tried to walk in silence, but even I was all too aware of the noise we made, echoing off smooth walls and high ceilings.

Eventually, as we neared a wide, many-columned hall, slow dragging sounds issued from the darkness ahead. Aleae whispered that it was an undead guardian—they had seen its like here before. I couldn’t tell more than the direction—how far away was it? Could it see us, or hear us? Accompanied only by a swish of cloth, Bale moved out of my range of perception. Was this the trap we had expected from him? I was tempted to pull out the torch, but decided to rely on those of my companions who could see in darkness.

Lights began to appear as the battle unfolded—first Clarion’s dancing lights, then Izzeth’s moonbeam, and finally Cypher unveiling Rungo, whose eyes shone like lanterns. We faced three human zombies a giant skeletal minotaur wielding a battleaxe with a head as large as Rungo. Its massive size afforded it no protection: with a single shove Clarion heaved it to the ground and it vanished under blows.

It was over quickly, but the noise announced our passage down the long chamber. Whatever limited confidence we had in being unseen and unheard was gone, and we had no idea how much farther Bale would take until we were safe. If that truly was his plan.