#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.