#120 - Deliberations, Dire Bats, and Dryads

From the journal of Diva’un Mur'ss, last of House Zaughym, Bale of Nightfall, Drinker of the Blood of Erebus the Thrice Unforgiven, Bringer of Darkness / Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

The lack of leadership this "Winter Coalition" suffers has suited me well.  I cannot yet envisage a future where I could unquestioningly accept an order from any of them. Now, however, with a battle before us that, at best, will leave us fewer in number, I see the disadvantage of not speaking in one voice. While a good argument can have all of the beauty of a well-planned assassination, this felt more like a brawl. Many of them have depleted their reserves beyond their ability to contribute to the battle to come.

Durag: "I am the night."

Even so, the question of resting and preparing fully for the battle versus attempting to send out a message to other authorities but risking failing before we begin fully occupied well over an hour. Magnus, having said his piece early on, snored loudly. I, willing to pursue either course and with energies still at my command, had begun the ritual to summon Durag back to this plane. Wynn expressed her opinion, but also seemed willing to let those most in need of rest have their debate.

While this democracy lumbered, Aleae asked Opal to invisibly scout the entrance through which the group had entered Glyphstone. After cheerfully completing her task, she reported back, in her sing-song voice, that the way out was now blocked by a wall of thorns and that "nasty, smelly, nasty, bat-things hung from the ceiling. Nasty ones."

I have no idea how Aleae tolerates its cloying sweetness. Yet she comes from a plane where there are many more such frivolous beasts.

In the end, Cypher was unwilling to risk not sending word out to the Brelish crown. This was not surprising. The odd warforged is one of three Last War veterans in this party; Clarion once served in the Aundairian army, and Wynn acts as though she is still part of Karrnath's military. I know only the fundamental politics and history of this land, though, having studied far more important things during my years. The "last war" will not be the last.

Clarion, with his preternaturally perfect script, penned a short letter on behalf of Cypher that the iron defender named Rungo would attempt to safely carry out of the Glyphstone Keep. The chances were not good, but then the loss of a homonculus was no true loss. The message was:

Wir, 25th of Zarantyr, 999 YK  —  
Urgent Message - Post-At-Once
To: Three, the King's Protector
From: Cypher, First Sergeant, Brelish Engineers Brigade, Retired

     We have reconnoitered and made contact with the enemy within Glyphstone Keep and discovered a plot of grave consequence against Breland and Khorvaire. Imminently, Governor Trazzen intends to unleash a vile substance upon Sharn that will have devastating results. Suggest beginning immediate evacuations of the city and remove the King and his family far from Sharn and Wroat. The substance, which has been named the Mire of True Hunger, may have already been unleashed once upon another area of Breland, and there are future plans to set it upon Aundair and Wroat as well. We intend to defeat the Governor's plans but request immediate military assistance to cleanse Glyphstone in case we are unsuccessful in our mission.
     Included here are maps of an entrance to the Keep and its initial underground floor plan.
As proof of the providence of this message, the iron defender Rungo is carrying something that the elves of House Phiarlan created just for you when we met at that dinner in Galethspyre.

For King and Country,

Cypher

Rungo rushed to the barrier of briars. Cypher communicated to us the disjointed thoughts of his homonculus as it worked its way passed the unnatural thorns and suffered an attack on the other side. With that, Cypher suddenly passed out, ending the ongoing debate and his narration of Rungo's progress. Some hurried repair restored him to consciousness and we learned that Rungo was now running and being chased. The attack on Rungo had injured Cypher, but Rungo had survived. Strictly speaking, this was because the warforged and his homonculus had imbibed something he'd called the Philter of Sacrifice, one of many items from the cabinet of curiosities he wears on his back. I was surprised to discover that warforged could even ingest potions.

With one message to the outside world dispatched, rest and preparation began for those who were not already asleep or in a trance-like state. I finished a circle of protection to ensure we finished our rest uninterrupted and began to meditate.

Aleae communed with Opal, slowly repeating our plight in the hope that the fey creature would bring us aid once its indenture had ended and it returned to its plane. Unfortunately the creature seemed not to comprehend the complex nature of the evil at hand nor could it fit the implications of the Rumdhal Cauldron into its very small mind. It chirped hope that Aleae would call on her again with the Wand of Wonder and it evaporated in a sweet-smelling cloud.

Some nine or ten hours after rescuing Irakas we assured her of our intent to return shortly and left her with her giant metal guardian while we made another attempt to alert the outside world to the perversities that were growing in power in Glyphstone Keep. I was not given the details of this second attempt, but it once again involved Cypher and some warforged device he carried.

At this point, Clarion enacted a spell I did not realize he possessed and conjured a steed from the air itself. His variety of magic is certainly new to me, so I observed with interest. The horse that appeared was a mare, as large as the largest warhorse I'd ever seen—certainly large enough to bear the warforged's unforgiving weight. Her color was blue-green, somewhat like a magebred beast, but the hues were veined like a rough-cut gemstone. Clarion called her Amatrix, and I had the distinct impression that he did not give her this name but it was one that came with her.

I know of the Abyssal realms where Durag originated from. Whence comes this steed?

As I understood it, the final messenger—a small metal sphere that fit in some cavity in  warforged's chest cavity—possessed the ability to convey itself in flight to another, designated warforged. Cypher spoke of Three, a warforged in the Brelish royal court who is close in counsel to the king. Although the final messenger could not transmit a lengthy message, a short one sufficed, along with some imagery associated with the warforged ejecting it. As Clarion suggested, the wording for this messenger was such:

Attacking Trazzen, Rumdhal Cauldron sending Mire of True Hunger to Unknown, Sharn, Aundair, Wroat, outcome uncertain. Prepare for impact. Send reinforcements. Angel Talor must prevail.

We made directly for the thorn-walled entrance Opal had described to us and, expecting as much, were not disappointed when two dire bats screeched, dropped down from dark perches, and flew towards us. Clarion, atop his new steed, charged them. I have witnessed many battles in subterranean passages, but this one was particularly striking in its irregularity: a small golem charging down a stone corridor on an aquamarine horse

The thunder of his mount's hooves in the enclosed corridor presaged the mighty impact as it reared up and struck one of the bats from the very air. There was a crunch as it stomped the skull of the fallen creature and Clarion struck the second bat with his steel-shod quarterstaff, injuring it.  A third bat entered the fray and Magnus let loose two arrows from a newly-acquired bow. Arrows in name only as the shafts burned like bolts of flame that unerringly struck a bat.  The bow seemed to vibrate with the violence, as if something wanted to escape.

Izzeth and I cast damaging spells at range and Cypher, who intended to release his final messenger once on the other side, began to immediately work his way through the thick tangle of thorns. The bats were no great obstacle and I was able to dispatch one of them, drawing on its life to bolster my own.

My hunger quieted for another day as its wasted life was put to good use.

We could hear a struggle past the magically aggressive vegetation and Cypher burst back through, trailing vines and thorns.

Cypher called out a warning that more enemies may be coming. His words suggested a plant-like woman and he also cited the presence of a large beetled.

A moment later, a dryad emerged effortlessly from the brown and green wall, looked us over, and began to scream an alarm. I have never looked upon a dryad before—as an afterthought, I thought quite lovely. But also probably a threat. It was strange to see such a gentle creature in the service of our enemies, but I remembered that Frost, an elvish druid, was one of Trazzen's cohorts. She herself is no gentle elfmaid, but a violent spellcaster with enigmatic powers of her own. Where most druids treat nature with respect and call upon it only to protect it, Frost and the Children of Winter weaponize it.

Izzeth and I both attempted to quiet the tree spirit with placating words as we backed away.  I was aware that we were the only ones who reacted thusly, but our reasons were obviously not mutual.

While the druid's connection to nature obviously motivated him, I would keep my reasons to myself.
Perhaps one of us would have gotten through to her, but Aleae was having none of it. A blast of ice arced from Aleae's palms striking the dryad, then Aleae ducked into cover. The dryad's reply was scream the words, "Look at me!" All of the men in our party where compelled to look at her.

Eyes locked on her, we felt a wave of compulsion—of desire, of reflection, but also of pain—yet none of us succumbed fully to her enchantment. My eyes stung from the magic, but nothing more. It will be a waste to end such a regal creature, but if it costs the lives of a thousand innocents, Katashka must be disappointed.

#119 - DM's Addendum

The PCs had saved Irakas from death—or possibly capture, as they had found her unconscious but not slain outright. Her two remaining countrymen could not be saved.

Grateful to be alive, impressed by the PCs' actions, Irakas was nevertheless beyond exhausted. With the Emperor's Key back in her possession and now with the Scepter of Glyphstone in hand, she believed they could safely hole up and keep enemies further at bay. It was clear enough that the Scepter gave her full command of the bronze golem now.

Guiding them back to the hidden chamber beneath the throne where they rested once before, Irakas told them what had transpired since they had left her. She was, meanwhile, a little wary of Izzeth, extremely guarded about Bale, but was instantly accepting of Wynn's presence.

Within a few hours of the PCs' departure, the "green pretender knights" (Irakas's favorite term for the agents of the Emerald Claw) came and confronted her. They tried to bargain with her and asked her to relinquish the throne. She denied them. They left.

A few hours later, they returned and this time threatened her. When she refused, they loosed crossbow bolts at her and her guards. The attacks were foiled, but the attack prompted the golem to act. It slew one before they retreated.

Hours passed. The next morning, the Blood of Vol cleric came to the throne room with an entourage of knights and the shambling remains of several goblins, hobgoblins, and even a bugbear. He explained that they were taking the dar (general term for goblinoids in the Goblin tongue), slaying them, and raising them to serve the "new master of Glyphstone Keep," Lord Trazzen. They would cease doing so if Irakas gave up the throne and met with Trazzen to form a truce. She refused to negotiate. They departed.

Several hours later the golem sprang into motion, detecting something she could not see. Then she saw a figure appear, who then moved back away from the golem's reach. A pale-skinned hobgoblin in ancient Dhakaani armor. She understood this was the Trazzen of legend, the Governor of Paluur who made a pact with demons long ago ostensibly to save his city from the invasion of Xoriat but who became a vampire instead and fed upon his own people. She was terrified of him but refused to give in to him. They spoke calmly, one hobgoblin to another, but his offer was the same: If she agreed to work with him, he would share ownership of Glyphstone with her and eventually give it to her wholly when his work was finished. He spoke of Breland and all the "stolen lands" taken back from humankind, of Darguun rising up again from the ashes of Dhakaani, of a new age where all enemies of the dar would be slain or transformed. Irakas refused him. Calmly, he departed, but not before pulling back the curtain to reveal a disturbing number of allies and undead minions. She was most sickened by sight of the dolgaunts and dolgrims—former dar twisted by Xoriat's madness long ago. That Trazzen would allow such abominations to walk within Glyphstone's halls revealed his depravity. He may not have created them, but he abides them.

Many more hours passed. Another figure appeared: a hobgoblin who appeared to be her own father. Refusing to believe it, she refused to even speak with the apparition. Then the illusion fell away to reveal a rakshasa in its true form—that of a humanoid with tiger-like features. The fiend did not give his name, though she didn't believe this was Avashad, the rakshasa lord whom the PCs had named as their primary enemy. Perhaps it was one of his servants.

The fiend didn't bother speaking with her further, but he did perform some manner of short ritual. Irakas's guards loosed their crossbow bolts at the rakshasa, hoping to at least interrupt him, but they rebounded without harming him at all. When he finished, the fiend approached the pyramid and started walking up the stairs towards Irakas and the throne. The golem didn't move to defend her. When he had demonstrated this, the rakshasa stopped, laughed, and turned away. He left without further action. But ever since, the golem had been unresponsive.

Finally, a few hours later the Blood of Vol cleric and the Emerald Claw knights arrived and attacked —and the golem did not defend. That is when the PCs arrived, though too late to prevent the death of her countrymen.

Irakas requested some time with the Scepter they had recovered. Afterwards, and nearly at the point of collapse, she explained that if properly rested she would be able to use its power to effect the following:

• Command goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears should any be encountered within Glyphstone's halls. This could not extend beyond death.
• Command the golem, not only to defend to but exit the throne room and fights as needed. She can even instruct it to obey the commands of her allies.
• Grant each nongoblinoid ally (such as the PCs!) with one of the following enhancements for 10 minutes:
• The might of a bugbear (Strength 17, +3 mod) and darkvision 60 ft.
• The agility of a goblin spy (Dexterity 17, +3 mod), a bonus action that can only be used to Disengage, and darkvision 60 ft.
• The valor of a hobgoblin (+1 on Wis saving throws), an additional 1d6 extra damage made with weapon attacks against enemies within 5 ft. of another ally, and darkvision 60 ft.
• Teleport anyone from the throne room to anywhere else within one of the four levels of Glyphstone Keep below ground—but only where the chambers are intact. Such as the very chamber where the Rumdhal Cauldron is housed (and guarded).
• Sense the presence of all living creatures within Glyphstone Keep, both above ground and below.
• Lock or unlock any doors within Glyphstone Keep, even remotely.

Lastly, she has become aware of an aberration that was trapped in stasis by Glyphstone's rulers just before the famous siege that ended its reign. Known as a spectator, it is a beholder-kin but one that could not be commanded by its original masters. Irakas believes with the Scepter she can release it, bargain with it, and possibly even gain its assistance.

Irakas knew nothing of the Rumdhal Cauldron so she cannot speak to its status. She has not the strength or magical resources to fight yet. If the PCs are willing to rest (long rest), she will help in ousting their enemies. She suggests that the golem is powerful enough to help destroy the Rumdhal Cauldron. Only magical weapons can harm the golem, it is resistant or impervious to most other forms of magic.

Of course, waiting means uncertainty. According to the oni Sarrel, the batch of sludge—which they call the Mire of True Hunger—that is being brewed intended to be sent to the city of Sharn isn't finished. He seemed to think it would take some time, but he could not be sure.

The PCs must decide what to do next.

Additional thoughts and questions for them:

• Will Aleae explain anything to Opal, the faerie dragon she conjured with the Wand of Wonder? The little dragon knows next to nothing about politics and geography of Eberron. She does, however, dislike evil and "mean things."
• Irakas does not know the state of the entrance by which the party first entered, except to say that she cannot imagine it would go unguarded all this time.
• The only places where Cypher could try and loose the final messenger would be the way they came (if it is accessible) or the surface-level area where the PCs had met Elidac and his wizard companions. 
• Irakas has no knowledge of Elidac at all, only what the PCs tell her of him. She remembers the legend of his coming here but nothing more. She is certainly interested to know more.
• Irakas has no knowledge of the goblinoids outside the Glyphstone Keep. Even with the Scepter she will only be able to detect those within the halls.
• Irakas does not know why Trazzen has not tried harder to remove her. She suspects that though he is a hobgoblin like her, only a living heir of Dhakaan can access the power of the throne and thereby the keep itself. She thinks he simply wishes to use his powers of domination to make a puppet of her. She seemed to be resistant to that while on the throne and/or in possession of the Emperor's Key.
• It was roughly a day ago that Trazzen came to confront her. When he departed and she saw some of his minions, she saw nearly forty undead creatures—most of them were ghouls, a mixture of human and hobgoblin—a half dozen dolgaunts, and a score of gnolls. She knew more had laired below. 
• She knows very little about rakshasas, but seems to fear them more than all the rest.

According to what Bale has already explained, the Rumdhal Cauldron has been the project that Trazzen has overseen—he was given this task by the rakshasa. Once the Cauldron is ready (and is has been now for a short time), batches of this substance they call the Mire of True Hunger take time to brew. Already the first batch has been sent out somewhere, Bale does not know where. The second batch is the one intended for Sharn, and the question remains: how long before that one is ready? Bale has no idea how how Avashad's minions intend to transport the Mire. The third batch is intended for some point in northern Breland near the Aundairian border. The fourth batch is intended for Wroat itself.

Izzeth is not aware of any seals made in Glyphstone by the Gatekeepers. The aberrations that they've encountered are concerning but do not appear to be in great numbers. When Glyphstone was under siege by the armies of the daelkyr Belashyrra, the hobgoblins rigged many traps of their own. As they secreted away as many of their people as they could, the rest of the hobgoblins sacrificed themselves, allowed the monsters to enter the keep, and then unleashed their traps. Many were simply crushed to death by collapsed halls (especially in the upper portions of the keep), while much of the dungeon level was maintained. Others might have just been buried alive, and it seems some might have just been trapped in some kind of stasis. According to Irakas, the spectator is one of these.

Izzeth's Gatekeeper lore provides him with some limited knowledge of spectators. They are a species of lesser beholder native to the plane of Xoriat, but when they came to Eberron their masters' dominion over them simply dissolved. They are curious creatures known to be less malevolent by far than their cousins. Some spectators were still persuaded to join the invasion against the people of Khorvaire, but some simply wandered off and made their own lairs. Specators are aberrations, alien to this world, but even the Gatekeepers know they are not as a whole considered a great threat. One theory among the druids is that the influence of Eberron herself might have counter-corrupted them and made them more like terrestrial creatures. Specators are fairly intelligent, possess eye rays and the ability to reflect magic, and have a proclivity to protect things. Preferably treasure of some kind. There are old stories that even Clarion, Cypher, Aleae, and Bale have heard of wizards of "befriending" little beholder-kins and coercing them to guard their valuables. Such stories might have been referring to spectators.

Wynn knows the most about vampire lore simply because the undead have become part of Karrnathi folklore. Mostly it is skeletons and zombies they know about, but it's an open secret that more powerful, intelligent forms of undead can be found within the ranks of the Blood of Vol cult, vampires among them. 

• She knows that sunlight can make a vampire extremely vulnerable—and if exposed to it directly for long enough it can even kill them. 
• Running water is said to be able to harm vampires like acid.
• A wooden stake can paralyze (but not kill) a vampire.
• If "slain" by normal means a vampire will simply dissolve into mist and retreat, likely to seek out its resting place.
• A vampire has a resting place—traditionally a crypt of some kind where earth from its native land surrounds it. If the vampire is denied access to this resting place for long enough, it will be destroyed. Even if it reaches it, it is vulnerable for a short time until it regenerates its form.

Bale is able to describe and sketch out the layout of the chamber where the Cauldron resides, and where he saw some of its guardians—but there is no guarantee that it will all be the same when going there now. He knows of some nearby rooms where he believes Trazzen may have chosen to reside while overseeing the project.

• The only constant guards is the "bone naga," the creature that is almost certainly what Arafin's mate has become—a fully skeletal creature. It typically remains coiled in one corner and does not slither about as a living naga would. Whether it is intelligent or mindless, he does not know.
• Boneclaws he knows are among Katashka's favorite form of guard. They are horrific ogre-sized creatures formed by some variety of ogre stock and tortured into an undead state. Their deadly claws have an unnatural reach. Magnus and Cypher have faced some of them before (it is likely Wolaf and Claviger were slain by such). Bale only saw two of them guarding the Cauldron.
• Somewhere due south of the Cauldron are a series of chambers where Bale was not shown, but he knows that various undead creatures have been housed there—to keep them separate from the gnolls to avoid any conflicts between them. Mostly these are zombies and ghouls, likely of considerable number.

Click to see full size

The Rumdhal Cauldron itself is a construction of stone more resembling a stylized stone pillar than a traditional soup cauldron. It is a cylinder approximately fifteen feet in diameter carved with ancient Abyssal runes and is something of a puzzle box, for parts of it slide apart. Although it is made of stone, it is an ancient magical device that predates the Dhakaani Empire itself. Mere attempts to smash it may not succeed, but anyone with knowledge of magic can attempt to examine it to determine weaknesses. 

#119 - A Matter of Allegiance

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 24th, 999 YK

I struggled for words to describe the things we faced. I thought I had seen enough corrupted horrors during the Last War, but even the Mournland-twisted monstrosities that emerged from the dying Cyre hadn’t been this deliberate in form and function. That purposefulness was more unsettling than any accidental corruption of nature.

Bear-Izzeth loomed over one of the tall, pale creatures as it clung to the crumbling edge with its thin arms and shoulder-tentacles. It resisted Bale’s attempts to blast it over the side then, without any compulsion to do so, dropped out of sight in a controlled fall. It was running for reinforcements.

Only the “beholderling” (for it was diminutive compared to the only similar creature I had heard of before) remained. I heard a dissonant crash as Clarion fell, then a more muted but still weighty thump from Magnus. Even though we still wore guises of animate armor, we had all gotten used to identifying each other by our unique sounds and gaits. When I rounded the corner, the beholderling had floated out of sight, possibly to escort the tentacle creature to its masters.

I had seen magically-induced sleep before, so I awoke Magnus quickly as Cypher got Clarion back on his feet with artificer's magic. We ran for the stairs before any one of the hundreds of enemies below could gain on us. Nothing further barred our way to the stairs.

The top floor of Glyphstone keep was overwhelming by how much I couldn’t see. The light from my torch illuminated little more than a few side-doors along a wall that stretched far beyond its range. We had escaped the background roar from the gnoll camp and each footfall was swallowed up by the massive space with barely an echo.

Cypher led us along one wall for a ways, then we stopped and gathered together, letting Cypher’s homunculus and Aleae scout ahead. They reported a wall of blackness that separated us from the throne room, and sounds of battle on the other side. From their talk, this curtain of darkness had previously been a physical curtain hanging from the ceiling.

Cypher ordered his homunculus into the darkness then produced a sketch-like map of this level—the Great Hall, or top-most level of the dungeons of Glyphstone. The homonculus reported to Cypher that a battle had just ended, and now more than half a dozen foes in the throne room where we were headed, some “without skin.” Not long ago I would have immediately concluded skeletons or warforged, but that intuition wouldn’t help here. Now I had to factor in foes with carapaces, scales, stone, or metal. Worse, Cypher reported that our allies—the hobgoblin Irakas and her comrades—lay fallen.

If Irakas was slain, we had already failed. But if she still lived, we had only a moment to think while our enemies felt safe. After the briefest of discussions, we separated. Aleae, carrying the Scepter of Glyphstone, and Cypher would sneak around the side and try to reach the throne unseen. The rest of us would go directly to Irakas’s aid.

Bale moved apart from the rest of us and shrouded himself in magical darkness. Magnus, Clarion, and I passed first through the curtain of darkness. As we did so, the curtain stripped the illusions from us so we appeared as ourselves again. We didn’t need them anymore, and our natural forms would be more imposing than identical suits of armor. Bear-Izzeth, who hadn’t been able to add more than a growl to our discussion, had his own plan and ran parallel to the curtain without passing through.

The throne room was even larger than the chamber we left, lit by a sourceless violet-tinged glow. Parallel to the left- and right-hand walls were tall rows of heavy stone seats, like stands at a colosseum. A huge bronze statue shaped like a hobgoblin in ancient armor stood before a set of stairs leading up to the throne. The rest was an open field well-suited for pitched battle.

Our foes stood around the base of the stairs and the statue. I immediately recognized our opponents as knight of the Order of the Emerald Claw, supported by a pair of skeletons and one true Karrnathi zombie. It was far from home and grossly misused fighting for them.

Though they were founded in my homeland, no self-respecting Karrn would show the Emerald Claw any support. Even in their heyday during the Last War they were an insubordinate order, and survived disbandment by retreating underground to hide amongst other cults and terrorist groups, gathering allies to further their nefarious ends. Seeing them in Breland was an unpleasant surprise, but shed some light on the dire situation here.

We were far off, and our foes carelessly distracted by their recent victory that they first noticed us when a rain of arrows from Magnus and Clarion struck their cleric. That one would be a Blood of Vol priest, and likely the necromancer commanding the zombie. I’ve known more than a few decent Seekers (as the followers of the Blood of Vol call themselves, as in "Seekers of the Blood"), so I wouldn’t have held that against him if it wasn’t for his irrevocably damning allegiance to the Emerald Claw. That zombie of his would be a nasty threat: heavily armored, slow, but extremely tough. I’ve never had to fight against one before, and did not look forward to it.

The cleric straightened from over a fallen hobgoblin, holding a circular, bronze amulet he had removed from her. Though she lay crumbled at the bottom of the steps and wore only leather armor, blood did not pool beneath her as it did her two compatriots. Where she might yet live, they were clearly dead. I had little doubt this female was Irakas, and the item taken from her body probably had some connection to Glyphstone.

The cleric gestured with his mace as he turned to face us. I felt the column of fire he summoned behind me and heard Magnus return defiant threats as it fell over him. He we rushed them closer together, I have no doubt the fire would have blasted me as well.

Then an ice storm took them by surprise. Hail blasted one skeleton to pieces and hammered the zombie and crossbowmen. The cleric weathered it well, but now realized the three of us weren’t the only foes in the throne room.

Behind him, Irakas rose unsteadily to her feet, severely wounded but determined to fight. For a moment it looked like she was going to jump on the cleric’s back heedless of safety and strategy, but then reconsidered and grabbed a weapon off the body of a dead Emerald Claw knight.

As a soldier tasked with saving her, I’d have wanted her to retreat: she had allies approaching, and if we lost her, Glyphstone would lose its rightful ruler and we’d never be able to stop Trazzen from unleashing his plans on Breland. But as a subject of a different crown, I have respect for a ruler that will take to the field personally for her holding.

My great-grandmother Syardis had faced this situation before. My father told the story often: the battle at White Arch Bridge when she had saved the life of Kaius I himself from Aundarian assassins, and for her deeds he gifted her the Risian Fang. My years in the Last War hadn’t been a time for heroics, but I had the chance to live up to her legacy now. Even if Irakas wasn’t my queen, she was needed here.

As I approached, one of the Emerald Claw knights turned his heavy crossbow on me. I readied to dodge the bolt, but he swung it around and fired towards the back of the throne room–Cypher or Aleae must be close.

The White Arch Bridge

The cleric gained the high ground on the stairs. I alone was nearly there, as the others were slowed firing on our foes from a distance. The cleric intoned a spell and pointed his mace first at Irakas, then me. The hobgoblin woman froze in the thrall of his spell, but it washed over me without effect. In the next moment I was up the stairs, the cleric down under the Fang’s blade, his blood smeared across the steps as I shoved him even further up them and away from the hobgoblin queen.

Cypher ran up from behind me with Simel’s rapier drawn, moving farther up the stairs and pinning the cleric between us. The maneuver reminded me that although the warforged is an artificer and a curious one at that, he was also a soldier of Breland and understood battlefield tactics.

I stabbed through the Seeker cleric as he began to rise, midway through another of his incantations. His limbs went slack and a moment later he was only dead weight dragging down my partisan. Irakas appeared alongside us, and snatched the disc on a necklace from his hand even before he hit the ground.

But instead of relief or elation, I felt dread that quickly mutated into horror. I had just killed a Karrn cleric for a hobgoblin of Darguun to aid Breland, and I had used my great-grandmother’s own weapon for it. What more could I do to shame Syardis’s legacy?

Irakas began to speak to me in her goblin language, a greeting, honoring tone of voice I could recognize but was unable to react to. I knew what I had to do. The cleric’s body slid off the end of the Fang, and I opened my forearm along its blade. The edge cut like a shard of ice. Sudden cold bit down to my bone, breaking the unnatural compulsion to end my life. Irakas halted her speaking and a look of confusion passed over her face. I yanked the Fang out and blood that felt scalding hot in contrast ran down my arm.

I felt sick and dizzy. Though the wound wouldn’t kill me, the manner of it left an unnatural ache. Not knowing if Irakas could understand me, I told her Aleae had the Scepter of  Glyphstone and pointed toward the far corner where she and Cypher had been. Blood sprayed off my fingertips.

Embarrassed, I retreated down the stairs to help mop up the battle. The cleric’s spell had played on my loyalties, corrupting them. The knights of the Emerald Claw were not my countrymen, and helping Breland would maintain the peace between our nations. Only good could come of stopping Trazzen. Yet it had been very easy for the man's magic to overcome that common sense. It was hard to shake some of the old patterns of thinking that had kept us soldiers sane during the war.

There was little more to help with. Corpses of the Emerald Claw lay as still as Irakas’s fallen comrades. A few scattered bones was all that remained of the skeletons, and the true zombie a charred shell of armor. That I neither noticed nor thought about the rest of the battle meant I did trust my allies, and they proved that trust. We won here.

All that remained was to put the scepter in Irakas’s hands. Where was Aleae?