#45 - Dancing Lights and Dancing Shadows

Journal of Clarion Tritone, Champion of Dol Arrah, Vassal of the Sovereign Host - Zarantyr 4th, 999 YK 

The last days of our travels before we were to arrive at Galethspyre were uneventful. Marching with Aleae brought back many memories from the Last War. This was the first time since reawakening in Rekkenmark (from where I traveled to Arcanix–the place I have since called my “home”) that I would march on foreign soil. As much as I am now an instrument of my beloved Dol Arrah and however much I work on myself to be a beacon of light for the Sovereign Host, I feel compelled to imagine how I may best reclaim former enemy territories or how I could develop defenses against their inevitable invasion. I struggle with this. At any moment I expected—and a small part of me even hoped—that I would hear the sound of the great drums or trumpets of war and I would find myself amongst my comrades crossing blades with the enemy. As much as I care for my esteemed Aundair, the armies I wish to vanquish today are no longer those of other nations, but the untold numbers of undead, fiends, demons and other aberrations that lurk beyond obvious sight, gorging their disgusting appetites on these lands.

The crowds filling the streets, as we entered Galethspyre, were equally refreshing and overwhelming to our senses, who had experienced relative tranquility for weeks. Arriving at the city center I happened upon a recent issue of the Korranberg Chronicle. In one of the stories, “SURVIVORS OF THE BOOKMARK MYSTERY OFFER MYSTIFYING CLUES,” one detail caught attention:

The airship itself has been confirmed by the survivors as the Sky Talon, a private vessel whose owner, an Aundairian noble named Reltran ir’Harran, was counted among the captives but may have been complicit in the cult’s activities. Ir’Harran, a member of the Arcane Congress, is now in custody but was described as being “in a state of great delusion” at the time of his arrest. When the healers have finished attending him, ir’Harran and the Korranberg’s Aundairian diplomats will be questioned by the Council of Nine.

Once I read the article I gave it over to Aleae, who had, up until then, been taking in the change of our environment. I could tell that she quickly understood the relevance of these events to our mission.

Aleae was still reading and I was surveying our surroundings as we were approached by a highly unusual group of adventurers. One of them, a warforged by the name of Cypher, appeared particularly curious about our appearance and asked whether he could examine my back which consists of an array of pipes that can expanded into a fan, that he appeared to never have seen before. I was not quite comfortable letting him do this before we were better acquainted. Magnus was most intriguing to me, for he bore draconic markings on his skin on his dermal layer. Bits of red-hued reptilian scales were even integrated into his skin in curiously invasive ways. I had not seen such detail in a human before.

My understanding of the positive effects nourishment has on heterotrophs easily led to me agreeing to continue our conversation at a local inn, the Golden Chalice.

Our conversations at the Golden Chalice were equally polite and cautious. The fact that we should find ourselves in the company of the very group of adventurers that had been, as we soon discovered, at the core of the events that were obviously responsible for the sudden departure of my dear friend Major Killian ir’Vanatar, was either a sign that these individuals had somehow acquired knowledge of our mission and this apparent chance meeting had been well orchestrated, or, the gods—in their most celestial wisdom—have skillfully interwoven our paths for a higher purpose. Either way, friends or foes, Aleae and I felt it best to keep an eye on them, either to learn that we are to join forces or to understand their place in these affairs and how best to thwart their interference.

The late arrival of Kard, a fellow Vassal of the Sovereign Host, eased some of my suspicions. Although this human male appeared to be harboring much turmoil and unrest, I concluded that he must have good in his heart if he is able to draw strength from their powers. He reminded me of Varen, a young sorcerer who had spent a few weeks with us at my post near the village of Arcanix. Over the course of the past year my post had grown into a small, ever-changing camp composed of many young travelers most of whom possessed skills in magic, the visual, and the aural arts. Varen, to me, clearly possessed the marks of a great hero. For months, he sought to study with the masters of magic in the Floating Towers above Arcanix, but with no success. Perhaps it was the deep sadness upon him—the origin of which he would never share—that pushed others away... Varen soon grew restless and left for the Eldeen Reaches seeking to study with the druids. Once I learned that Kard was from the wasted lands of Cyre his apparent pain, unrest, and somewhat unkempt appearance made sense. Kard struck me as somewhat of a larger version of Varen.

Cypher, a very unusual and rather small warforged, was the most talkative. Perhaps the most talkative of my kind I’ve ever encountered. He clearly possesses an inquisitive mind and professed that he has the skills of an artificer—an art for which I have long had the utmost respect. The unfortunate Karrn artificer who Killian paid to repair me after the war would probably disagree, as I initially attempted to add him to the ranks of their forsaken undead army once I awoke, believing to have found myself in enemy hands. But then again, most who stand on Karrnathi soil are unfortunate. Cypher gave a rather detailed description of what they endured on the airship ride that marked the beginning of their adventures and how they had dealt with their assailants. I would often encourage him to provide me with detailed descriptions of their tactical positions and maneuvers which he was all too happy to provide. A hero often shows his true stature when he describes the battles in which he fought. It became clear that Cypher has a most wondrous mind, for much of what he described seemed most unusual, yet it made me worry less about our new companions’ motives; if he was trying to intentionally mask the truth, he would not have fabricated such improbable courses of events.

From Arcanix to Galethspyre
(click to enlarge)

Aleae, this unusual elven creature from the plane of Thelanis—whose company I have enjoyed over the last few weeks on our travels through Aundairian then Brelish countryside—expressed her distrust for Myrcose, a traveler apparently temporarily accompanying the other adventurers, quite openly. I had to agree that the presence of his gnoll companion was rather unsettling, but I was not unhappy to meet a fellow Aundairian on—as a significant part of me still considered it—enemy territory. As it turned out, he had been to Arcanix recently and it sure seemed as if he was interested to learn more about all of us. He said that he was a collector of stories. Since I consider myself as much of an instrument of the gods as a collector of stories, I was intrigued to learn more. Unfortunately, we did not have the chance to speak much for I was mostly engaged listening to Cypher.

Most of us decided to explore the grounds of the Winter Festival together. Myrcose excused himself, explaining that he was travel weary. He seemed a bit too eager to discover when we would be leaving Galethspyre but maybe he just wished to meet us later.

We made our way to the festival grounds. One could not miss the spectacle of light and color that filled the air around the carnival and we headed towards the main entrance. We learned that we were very fortunate, for a House Phiarlan carnival was in attendance. Not just any but the Carnival of Shadows itself, the house’s most elite traveling entertainers—or spies and assassins if one believed the rumors. It was the 4th day of the seven-day Winter Festival, as they call it in Breland. In Aundair this would be called Wintertide, celebrating the beginning of a new year. None of the major events of the festival were happening that day—they were to come on the last two days of the celebrations.

Cypher was taken with the elven juggler who entertained those waiting in line at the Carnival’s entrance. He approached the elf and grabbed one of the balls, infused it with artificer’s light, and then returned it to the juggler. The juggler used the glowing ball for a moment, even bounced it off Cypher’s forehead before disappearing it from his hands and adding another to the count. I decided to enhance his performance by supplementing them with a set of glowing spheres.

Weapons were not allowed on the carnival grounds so we placed them in the care of the stern-looking dwarf who manned a House Kundarak security tent. I was able to retain possession of the Dragonhawk Banner for I had vowed to never let it out of my sight.

We were greeted by a very tall, imposing elf magician in a long, mustard-yellow coat and a tall top hat. He seemed to be very old, which meant that he must have seen many centuries—though he looked no older than forty by human standards—and greeted us all personally. He hinted to Magnus that other Seren Islanders had come to the Carnival before, and this news set the human’s eyes aglow. It appeared that it had been some time since he had last set eyes on one of his own countrymen.

The first thing we saw once we entered was a large booth displaying various prizes that could be purchased with “Shadow Pieces.” These coins can be acquired by successfully completing specific challenges on the carnival grounds. The sign above the booth labeled them as “The true currency of Khorvaire!” Prizes ranged from one shadow piece to as many as fifteen for exceptional prices such as a Pouch of Holding or a suite of shiftweave clothing. In addition, those who earned at least ten Shadow Coins would also be invited to “dinner” with the festival’s guest of honor: the King’s Protector, a warforged named Three who, as Cypher explained to me, was well known for his noble deeds, friendship to King Boranel, and was a fellow Vassal of Dol Arrah. Evidently a mystery guest from Boranel’s court would also in attendance. I became very interested in attending this meeting—though I suppose warforged would merely watch as others partook of sustenance. I have learned that many social interactions among non-warforged revolve around food.

As we were discussing where to go first, we found ourselves followed and imitated by a few performers. They mirrored our movements. Cypher commanded his Iron Defender chase around them in jest and we decided on our first station: the Strongman Contest.

Before we could reach it, we were halted by two performers—elf mimes of Phiarlan, as all the elves present seemed to be—as they enacted a silent battle of two spellcasting mages. I was inspired by the festive mood and began playing “The Eternal Struggle for the Fiery Chalice.” As a third mime appeared, he pretended to cast a spell upon me, to which I acted as if I had been hit, but was making a miraculous recovery. After a short triumph, the performer acted dismayed at the obvious ineffectiveness of his powers and we continued to make our way to the tall, narrow pyramid that was at the heart of the Strongman Contest.

“With the Might of Giants, We March” seemed an appropriate piece to play while at the Strongman Contest and Magnus, the first to attempt this challenge, seemed invigorated by it. As he hit the small platform at the bottom of the device which was the target of his blow the great shadow of a mighty troll appeared against the backdrop of the pyramid. Twice it appeared as a result of the barbarian’s strength. The crowd gasped with excitement. His blow did not reach the very top of the pyramid, yet it was still worth a shadow piece each. The elven master of ceremonies bruskly asked me to stop playing my music at this point as he was apparently aware of the magic that would sometimes weave itself into my play and could provide an unfair advantage. I understood and focused my attention on the mallet I would soon wield, which appeared to initially resist once grasped before my hands could hold it steady. Obviously the gods wished to use this opportunity to teach me humility and the only shadow image my two blows would conjure up were tiny goblins, which were laughing at me—along with a crowd that had obviously not expected this outcome. I joined in with a set of sounds and body language that I had learned could mimic heterotrophs’ expression of laughter well and thanked the gods for their lesson. All of us tried the challenge, yet only Cypher was able to land another glorious hit, and as a Brelish warforged he was sure to receive the favor of the crowd in response to which he exclaimed “For Breland!” The crowd was cheering uncontrollably and I doubt anyone noticed how I involuntarily twitched, looking to grasp for the sword I placed in House Kundarak’s care and readying myself to meet this challenge. Breland and Aundair were at times allies, and at times enemies, during the Last War. Most do not forget this.

While exploring our options for the next contest a group of children in warforged costumes ran past us. I have always enjoyed the company of the young who are so often surprised to hear that I have lived fewer years than they have. When we came across a vendor of treats I purchased thirty “sweetcicles”—frozen icicles of flavorful water—and distributed them amongst the children. Aleae was so kind as to keep them cold with her magic until they had all been claimed.

The Mark of Making

A few of the children we came across bore vivid paintings of dragonmarks on their skin. Cypher became very intrigued and wished to bear the Mark of Making across the right side of his face. I hold the depictions of countless quests and accomplishments of great heroes and battles upon my composite plating, so I understand the appeal. I did not wish for a dragonmark symbol myself for I did not wish for Dol Arrah to read this as an act of pretense and hold me in disfavor.

For a moment I wondered if my senses were tricked for there she was: Aundair’s sweet Queen Aurala! Her blond hair and flowing gown were dancing in the wind and she came walking down a path between the tents. What was she doing here? Where were her servants and, more importantly, her bodyguards? Before I could step forward to offer my services though, I realized that it was merely another elven entertainer imitating our beloved and formidable queen. She was quickly joined by three more entertainers representing the royal leaders of the other nations and they engaged in mock combat. I probably stared at the scowling and brooding elf representing King Kaius III of Karrn for an uncomfortably long time, but I could not stop wondering what blows would most easily place an end to his wretched existence.

The Shot in the Dark challenge proved exceptionally difficult and none of us succeeded.

Cypher and Grapnel almost hit the target but it still missed the small moving target in the distance.

The air around us became filled with a set of magical crystal bubbles, created by an elven woman, Cypher’s immediate investigation discovered that they would shatter into harmless shards once touched.

To our great surprise Kard and I overheard kids talk about the infamous Six Stones game. I had heard of this: it is a horrible game for desperate souls played by the wicked in the monstrous realm of Droaam. Seven players hope to evade the glare of a basilisk or the touch of a cockatrice so that they may be the one staring upon the statues of their rivals. Obviously the gods must have wished for us to investigate.

What we discovered was somewhat of a relief, for it was indeed a harmless recreation of the game for the amusement of children involving an enchanted chicken and a few minor spells to give the children the illusion of being incapacitated.

It was here that I took much closer note of Grapnel and Rendar, the other enormous, very tortured-seeming warforged and the somewhat noble-seeming half-orc in our group. Grapnel had previously struck me as unusually confused by the most simple concepts and I could not help but wonder whether he had, just like me once, been only recently awakened after having fallen in the Last War. He was from Karrnath, and it is well known that our kind are treated poorly there.

Something about the game seemed to stir Grapnel’s mind and he appeared confused as to why these children would engage in such an activity. Cypher, who acted as sort of guide to the less fortunate warforged, explained to him how children use such experiences for growth. As the subject quickly switched to childhood as a weakness and the obvious superiority of warforged, Render somewhat tersely stepped in to assure Cypher that childhood could not be seen as a weakness and pointed out the faults in the warforged thinking. I preferred to stay out of this conversation.

It was then that I became aware of a small vessel passing us overhead which I indicated to Aleae, who responds with a series of—for her uncharacteristically rude sounding—crackling noises. From our past discussions of how we would make our journey south I could only assume that she was expressing her disgust for the use of elementals for these machines in one of the many exotic languages she was able to speak.

We carried on to the next challenge which was to test our cunning in battle and as it turned out tested our humility and sense of humor as well. In a small arena a halfling, obviously a great warrior from the Talenta Plains, was sitting astride a clawfoot dinosaur mount where he was swinging his weapon—a sharash—looking for a challenger to withstand the combined attacks of him and his mount for thirty seconds. To not fall to the ground, while not being able to fight back.

Aleae felt intrigued by this task and her assessment that her fey cunning would serve her well in this arena was true and she was able to withstand the ferocious attacks the longest out of us all. If she had been able to use her magic—it took great convincing for her to accept that this would not be permissible—I am sure the thirty seconds would have passed without the clawfoot or its rider ever knowing where she had set foot on the ground. She opened her valiant fight with a great battle cry in the Draconic tongue to intimidate her opponent; to great effect, it prompted all of our heroes except for Grapnel to begin the battle with a cry of battle. She skillfully danced her way around the onslaught of the clawfoot’s tail and the rider’s war scythe. In round three she produced a sack of flour, the contents of which she blew in the direction of her attackers, which momentarily incapacitated the clawfoot and stirred the anger of the halfling. She withstood his first attack but in round 4, the halfling once rejoined by his companion, her legs gave way to the clawfoot’s sweeping tail and she gracefully landed flat on the ground.

I volunteered next to test my abilities at this rider from the Talenta Plains and once he cleaned the flour from his cherished steed’s face we were measuring each other from opposite ends of the arena. Knowing that his skillful attacks would not be endured easily I sought to garner strength and intimidate my opponents with a mighty battle cry. I extended the instruments on my back to their full size and accompanied by the play of a thunderous, deep accord I prompted them prepare to see me withstand their attacks in the tongue of dragons. It seemed to work, mount and rider where were both hesitating. A little proud of myself, yet for a moment distracted by thoughts of whether the halfling was lonely so far from his people, Dol Arrah was wise to show me that such pride often comes before the fall, which followed immediately after the halfling had regained his confidence and unhinged my legs from the ground. Our companions all attempted the challenge, but all failed swiftly.

Cypher spent a while convincing Grapnel that he should attempt his luck at the challenge and it took a great deal to convince him that it was not appropriate to fight back in any way. The speed with which this giant warforged was felled to the ground by the first swoosh of the halfling’s sharash was surprising and might have caused him to doubt the wisdom in Cypher’s words.

While none of us had been victorious against the halfling on his clawfoot we were in good spirits and had attracted a small following of carnival-goers that apparently enjoyed our company or felt that we were at least entertaining to watch. As we marched to find our next challenge I played “The Dance of the Twelve Dragons,” a joyous tune in twelve verses. Cypher set an item in his hand aglow, raising it high as he was leading the way and I created an image of light in the form of a small child running ahead of our group.

We happened upon an elven lady, clad in garb that evoked images of a red dragon. She seemed to make a deep impression on Magnus who was clearly partial towards the likeness of dragons, especially red. She would spew fire in various shapes and directions. Unimpressed, Aleae pointed out that that this lady’s creations were “cute” yet nothing special, and that Aleae herself could do much better in her sleep if she ever decided to have any.

A vendor passed us by selling a special kind of flower that would only last this night—a winter rose. Its purpose was seemingly to create stronger bond between lovers. The flowers sparkled most unusual white bluish and seemed almost crystalline. He said that they had been “cultivated by elementalists of Sharn” and that their creation was only possible since the Plane of Ice, Risia, was coterminous with Eberron. Aleae and Cypher both immediately bought one, presumably to learn more about them. Magnus decided to buy quite a few of the flowers, and stuck them in his backpack. Cypher noticed how Aleae would study the flower in her hand and asked whether she was seeing anything interesting, to which she responded with a casual, slightly bored or absent-minded yet not unfriendly “Yes.” They left it at that.

Magnus became restless once he made out what he believed to be a pair of warriors from the Seren Islands, his homeland, as they appeared to be setting up a challenge. As eager as he seemed to draw closer to them he agreed to accompany us into another attraction that promised the possibility of more shadow pieces: the Arbor of Abominations which stood right before us in the form of a large, dark tent. An elf wearing a skull-like visage—reminding me uncomfortably of the bone knights of Karrnath—was warning all passersby of the terrible horrors that would await them should they dare to step inside. "Beware!” he called out. “What lies within none of you can tolerate. You, sir! Turn away! You must not enter a place so vile! You, miss! Look not here, lest your delicate constitution render you helpless upon the floor! We cannot be responsible for the visceral storm that would surely ensue within you should you cast your eyes on the monsters that lurk within this den of disfigurement, this gallery of the grotesque. The Mockery himself has not the stomach for it!”

The elf promised a shadow piece to anyone who could withstand the terrors that would await them in the final room of the exhibition.

As we entered we were met by another, darkly cowled elf who introduced himself as Lovis, Curator of the Damned, who said that he would be our guide through the exhibits. I spoke a short prayer and asked Dol Arrah for her favor to open my senses to the divine so that I might discover whether we were to behold a series of mere illusions or whether there were true aberrations present. I detected a slight erratic flicker of signals, something dark definitely appeared present, but I could not make any real sense of my impressions.

The dreaded Mordain
the Flesh Weaver

The first lost soul we were introduced to was referred to as Master X. Our guide explained that he had once studied with Mordain the Fleshweaver, an infamous wizard of House Phiarlan (and of the Twelve) who had at some point in time left for the Shadow Marshes where he surrendered his life to the powers of Xoriat and established a domain of madness. Master X had supposedly seen the error in his ways and escaped the clutches of his master, yet he had paid a dear price: his identity. At first there was not much unusual about the figure before us except for a mask it was holding in front of his face. Once Master X dropped his mask there was no face in its place, all that could be seen was a smooth, otherworldly nothingness. The same was true for his arm which he now revealed from under his cloak. Cypher examined it closely and said that he believed that he had somehow seen himself as a reflection in the flesh-toned nothingness.

It appeared as if the situation had strung a strange note with Aleae for she decided to temporarily redecorate the mask that Master X wore with a more joyous motif, a depiction that included very thick lipstick and makeup. She did not seem to do this out of mockery or mischief. I believe that she felt that it would make us all feel better about the situation, including Master X.

As we entered the next room the sign read “The Man in Marble.” The sign was very literal for in front of us stood a warrior who, if it was not for the fact that he began to move and address us, could have been a beautiful marble statue. Our guide explained that it was unknown how this man had been turned to living stone. They were speculating whether the Medusa Queen Sheshka herself had created him or whether the circumstances of his state were related to the continent of Xen’drik. Whether the secrets to his existence were hidden in ancient texts of the giants, related to the texts that had carried the knowledge that had lead to the creation of the warforged.

Aleae was most intrigued, as she often would when the subject turned to elementals or other primordial beings. She quickly erupted into a series of sounds similar to what I had heard earlier when she became aware of the airship above us, which rung most unnatural coming from a creature so fair and it could only mean that she was now speaking in one of the languages of the elements. The man of stone obviously understood her and responded with very similar sounds. This most unusual exchange lasted for about a minute after which I heard Aleae’s voice in my head, telling me that this man had once been a real man but did not know when and how he was changed to stone and that he might be held in captivity here and that there was a possibility that we would have to set him free. I began assessing our tactical position and was preparing to explain to Aleae how I saw absolutely no chance that we could succeed at setting this man free but that I would be happy to perish trying if our mission was just. When she spoke again in my mind, saying that the man believed that the House of the Hydra could provide him with the answers he was looking for and that we should just let him be and move on.

We were next introduced to the Twice-Marked Woman, a refined, yet slightly haunted looking young human who bore both the Mark of Passage and the Mark of Sentinel. Certainly this was an anomaly. Lovis said that she was the only one of her kind. Great wars had been fought over aberrant dragonmarks, marks that occurred when members of separate dragonmarked houses had offspring together so the sight of this woman had to be very troubling to those who feared or cared about aberrant marks. While I had heard of this I did not understand their greater significance or why they seemed the cause of such fear. Cypher asked her whether she possessed the powers associated with both marks in response to which she disappeared and reappeared standing behind us—teleportation is a signature power of the Mark of Passage.

“The Mourning Twins” were possibly the most haunting sight, except maybe for what was yet awaiting us in the last room. An unusually-shaped, hooded figure sat before us. Lovis explained: “The only survivor of the Mourning. Two brothers, one whose sacrifice allowed the other to linger and grow strong again. One of the twins had used his powers to keep the other alive.” Once the figure lifted the hood we discovered at what price he had done so. The two were partially merged with one another. One was able to speak yet the other twin, its head sticking out from the shoulder of the more fortunate twin was motion- and expressionless. Kard was exceptionally curious to hear from this “survivor” of the unnatural destruction of his homeland. In response they—or perhaps he, I could not be sure—inquired as to whether Kard had any theories regarding who was responsible for the Mourning and an obviously emotionally-moved Kard replied that he indeed had theories but felt like it was inappropriate to speak of them at this point. Based on the reactions of those who passed by the twins he said that they had made a list of the likely culprits themselves. Kard wished to hear who was on this list but they replied that they could not share it with him now, that he should return the next day to see them and that they would provide him with their list. Kard appeared to have every intention to return the next day.

The next unhappy soul we were to see was “The Unobservable Man.” According to our guide’s description he was a harmless creature that had crawled out of a chasm to Khyber. His form, though, was so hideous when he emerged from the depth that sorcerers cast a spell of permanent invisibility on him for his own sake and that of everyone who might behold his unspeakably horrific shape. Aleae’s curiosity took the best of her and she decided to cast a series of harmless sparks around him to discover his shape and learn more about his nature. Unearthly shrieking filled our ears and stomps made it clear that who or whatever we were in the presence of did not appreciate Aleae’s gesture. For a moment we were not sure if this was the beginning of a battle, but the growls and grunts abated shortly. Our guide calmly but sternly requested that we should abstain from provoking, as he referred to them, “the acts.”

We were now lead into a larger room, and it appeared as if we might have reached the final station of our journey through this house of unhappy souls. What we saw was a giant glass tank of sorts filled with what can only be described as a giant, ever-changing chaotic ooze. Tentacles, mouths, eyes, anything would appear and disappear in this intangible shape. The sign bore the befitting title: “Madness Cubed.”

Lovis informed us that we were looking at a most incredible creature that had ever emerged from the darkest depth of Khyber via the Black Pit, a chasm in the northern parts of Breland. Luckily, he said, it was captured immediately as it arose for it would have surely consumed the world if it had been allowed to roam freely. There was a small, closed glass vestibule attached to the glass tank. We were told that this was where we could, if we so dared, enter and attempt to withstand the sound of the gibbering creature….to receive a shadow coin. Cypher entered first, together with Rungo. We were instructed to brace ourselves and for those who had them, to hold our ears whenever the door would open. Once the door to the room shut behind Cypher we saw him crumble under an invisible force. He first leaned against the far wall and then fell to the ground. It took him a moment before he was able to muster enough strength to get up and leave the room. He did not speak and was obviously in great distress. This appeared to intrigue Aleae who now stepped up and entered the room. She was also incapable of withstanding the unseen onslaught and could not help but scream. I tried to help steady her as she made her way out of the room, seemingly a broken woman, but she refused to let anyone near her.

As I attempted to console Aleae, Kard stepped into the room and stood there, strong, barely moving. He cringed only slightly, but whatever had befallen the others did not seem to break his spirit. This gave me great confidence that I would carry the same strength in me that had given my fellow Vassal his resolve. 

A handsome gibbering mouther!

I was wrong, so wrong, I was brought to my knees. Dol Arrah must have foreseen a different lesson for me. I was overcome with negative emotions and would hear the most horrible sounds screaming and howling at me in otherworldly languages. I felt as if all my beliefs were ripped from me, all things I had come to accept as certainties were fading away and were replaced with the most unspeakable of ideas. I saw my comrades in the war dying all around me, all my dear friends, all of those I had lead to battle as Sergeant in the Aundairian Army. And it was all my fault: I had lead them to their death. I was responsible for them, and Killian, my dear friend Killian, he had betrayed us all. He had sold us out to Karrnath, had lead us all into a trap. And Dol Arrah, she cared for no one, she just cared about herself and making us all suffer, she had an unknown mighty allegiance with the Dark Six or even the realm of Xoriat itself. Even Mother would have rather had me destroyed, and rightfully so, it had all been my fault, I was the source of all evil. I knew nothing anymore and did not know how I would awake from these visions.

Somehow I managed to step from the horrible gibbering and the dark thoughts, but it would take time for the thoughts and memories to melt away.

#44 - National Borders and Outer Planes

Excerpt from the Cypher's Codex: The Scrawlings of a Warforged Scholar

Combat with General Darveshek ended abruptly after I disabled him with my arcane missile barrage. The only remaining Brelish traitor was the dwarf who had run up the stairs. I sent Rendar after him while I created an alchemical healing admixture in one of my empty ink vials and revived the badly damaged Magnus. I also worked to reverse some of the damage dealt to my iron defender Rungo, and would later repair the life-matrix that sustains it. Rendar was unable to stop the dwarf from climbing out of the second-story window and was not in a fit state to follow so we had to let him go.

House Tharashk agents soon showed up to deal with the commotion we had caused. Rendar explained our situation to his Tharashk Inquisitive contact, Jana Velderan d’Tharashk—a human among half-orcs—and she cleared us of any further trouble. I told Rendar of my desire to take the traitorous remains of Darveshek back to Breland to justice at the hands of the glorious Army of Breland. I thought this would be a simple request but I am glad I had the forethought to ask Rendar; he spoke of the matter to Jana using cryptic phrases and she acquiesced. I later learned from Rendar that there are many statutes and codes that apply to the act of claiming a person for bounty, and he had used appropriate terminology to enable me to carry out my task. Lately I have been studying the way thieves and soldiers are able to communicate secretly using code, and the language of bounty hunters is not so dissimilar.

I arranged for Darveshek’s body to be packed in a wooden coffin and shipped with us on the caravan, just as we had done for Grapnel’s former captain. Kard was willing to study the divine magic used to preserve a corpse, the same ritual the priestess Zerasha had used on the dead Karrn, and was able to preserve Darveshek later the next day. 


As our caravan was leaving the city, the young medusa Sa-Jira had a private conversation with Rendar—potentially of an illicit nature based on the sexual overtones in Magnus’s confrontation of him after the meeting. But that might have simply been Magnus. I have knowledge base for interpreting this sort of social interaction among non-warforged. Sa-Jira spoke some words to Rendar and passed him a pair of potion vials as a parting gift. I do not know what she said; Rendar did not impart her words to us.

Grapnel initially walked alongside our caravan, much to the dismay of my friends. When prompted to enter the wagon we had secured, Grapnel explained to us that he did not require rest in order to travel. My companions still do not understand the warforged physiology, but I was able to ease all parties using a bit of trickery. I gave an overly complex lecture on the nature of the arcane power held in the Mark of Passage and some elementary magebreeding principles. I do not believe anyone, certainly not Grapnel, was able to fully comprehend my analysis, but the point was clear: Grapnel would not be able to match the speed with which we would be traveling. He acquiesced enough to jump up and he hung off the back of the wagon with one hand and one foot on the vehicle's outer edge. This still made my companions uncomfortable, so I negotiated with Grapnel to join us inside the wagon, but allowed him to maintain a defensive watch of the outside world. Naturally, he was too tall to stand fully so he remained bent at several joints. Magnus felt that he must be very uncomfortable, and demanded that he sit with us, but I told Magnus to leave Grapnel to his task, assuring him that a warforged cannot experience the sort of discomfort that a human’s muscle tissue would feel in the same position.

A fascinating man rode in the wagon behind and adjoining ours. We struck up a conversation with him very early in the trip. Myrcose was a human male of particularly symmetric and flawless features and I noted his nuanced Aundairian accent. I recall us being very protective and cautious at first, having been impacted greatly by our ordeals in Graywall, but Myrcose was a pleasant and smooth-talking man, and after several hours we treated him as a friend. He said he was a collector of stories. I was intrigued by his professional claim, and prodded him with great effort to understand what seemed to me like a strange job. At first I thought that he might steal memories like the hag Xoma met in Graywall but Myrcose patiently explained it to me; stories are just one way of storing information, and a collector of stories is much like a spy trading information.  

After the first day of travel, we camped at the side of the road just outside the Brelish border. There were a set of six massive likenesses carved into the nearby mountains. Myrcose identified them as the Six Kings, ancient hobgoblin warlords from the Dhakaani Empire. The next day we passed through the Brelish border guard checkpoint. Everyone’s identity papers worked without incident. When I handed over my papers, I gave the officer a salute, which he returned in kind after noting my service record. A guardsman had some concern over our cargo but I was able to convince him that the bodies were in my care, that I intended to bring the fugitives to justice through official channels. He accepted my explanation and wished me luck on my journey.


I noticed a commotion near Grapnel and just then realized that he might not have any papers, having traveled as a servant of those slavers. I came over to the captain in charge and explained that Grapnel was in my care for now, that I had recently liberated him from the wrongful servitude of a group of barbarous Karrns. The captain relaxed his position and shared an expletive aimed at Grapnel's former masters. Grapnel asked me once again if the war was really over–this time I think he truly was ready to believe it. I couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate moment for Grapnel to speak his mind, because the Brelish captain gave Grapnel a look of dismay, and promptly sent him on his way. He then took me aside and reminded me to appropriate some papers for the large warforged once we reached Galethspyre. This has even been marked on my own papers.

The second day of travel also marked the 28th of Vult, the last day of the year 998 YK, and the third and final day of Long Shadows. The night the sky was perfectly clear, with four of Eberron's moons full and bright, and even the Ring of Siberys clearly visible over the southern horizon. 

In my studies of the planar geometries I learned that Risia, the Plane of Ice, becomes coterminous with Eberron in the last year of the century. The scholars believe that this causes places of cold to become colder, and places of extreme cold to become dangerous. So it was quite appropriate that almost right at midnight a light snow started falling as the year 999 YK began. I shared my knowledge of Risia’s movements with Myrcose and Grapnel, the former taking detailed notes while the latter made no sign of acknowledgement whatsoever.

Over the course of our journey, we also passed briefly through the town of Ardev, and within sight of a distant castle on the plains mounted atop a hill. I later learned this was Castle Arakhain, the personal estate of King Boranel's family. While he governs from Brokenblade Castle in the capital city of Wroat, Arakhain is the ancestral estate of Wroan, the princess of Galifar from long ago.

After seven days of travel, we arrived at our destination, the Brelish city of Galethspyre. As we were arriving, we noticed a large fair set up outside the city in celebration of the new year and the season itself. Known simply as the Winter Festival, it is observed in many communities across Breland but in Galethspyre is a grander gathering than most. People come from far and wide to attend the festivities here. I had never considered it before, yet here we were, happening upon it. I believe even House Phiarlan has a standing involvement with Galethspyre.

One feature of interest to me is the one that gives the city its name, which I spied from a great distance even though it was getting dark: Jutting from the bedrock near the river itself, hundreds of feet high, was a tall spire of blue rock. It did not look Dhakaani in origin, yet I believe its existence predates the nation of Breland, perhaps even Princess Wroan's rule and the kingdom of Galifar itself.

We made plans to get settled in a local tavern, the Golden Chalice, and we included Myrcose in those plans, and then would set off to explore the carnival.

In the town square where we gathered our belongings (after securing are human cargo), I noticed a pair of unusual travelers: another warforged and an elf.

The warforged appeared to have great pipes built into an obvious mithral frame, unlike any construct I had previously seen. Even the composite plating was unusual, in both shape and design, for it appeared to be painted or embossed with stylized figures. I approached the pair and asked the warforged if I could inspect his outstanding frame, but his companion was quite taken aback by my request.


I looked at her, the elf woman, and listened to the way she spoke, and concluded with some interest that she was not just an elf but a "high elf"—an eladrin, a fey creature not of Eberron but of Thelanis, the Feywild. Though not many know this, the eladrin are the planar ancestors of Eberron's elves.

A fey, progenitor species of elf and a warforged of atypical design, traveling together. What a delight! Two new and fascinating creatures to study!  

#43 - Betrayals and Bounties

Excerpt from the Cypher's Codex: The Scrawlings of a Warforged Scholar

Our time in the city of Graywall was coming to an end. The medusa cleric Zerasha warned us that to stay would be dangerous. The first night of Long Shadows had passed, but two more darkening days lay before us. We had resupplied, built, repaired, fought, and learned many things. It was time to move on.

We had grown in number but had lost individuals. The Cyran cleric Kard had proven himself worthy on the battlefield of the Arena and seemed to be in need of a platoon for the next stage of his journey. Additionally, I have much interest in learning more about him and his connection to the downed warforged Claviger; it presents a puzzle to me, and I will need to keep him around to solve it.

Grapnel continued to follow us, with the body of his former Karrn captain slung over his shoulder at all times. I sympathize with my brother; he has yet to understand free will and its right to all warforged. He seems to have no notion but to follow us and our desires so we will continue to travel with him. Perhaps in time he will develop an understanding of the freedoms that are unequivocally his.

Xoma had slipped away into the night after only some cryptic words, presumably venturing further into the lands of Droaam. I will miss his alliance as our quests take us in different directions. I hope I was able to teach him enough of the language of the dar (Goblin) to survive a conversation.

As a group we decided to make for Sharn via House Orien caravan. At the Orien station in Calabas we made arrangements for passage on the secure, and far more expensive, faster, and dragonmarked heir-conducted caravan. Each member of the party had to pay 30 gold pieces, and I paid for Grapnel's passage since he had no money. He seemed quite intent on returning his former master’s body to "Karrnathi soil," so we pooled our galifars and commissioned a simple but secure wooden casket for the body of his captain. Zerasha used a divine ritual to preserve the human's otherwise decomposing body, saying the effects would last for exactly seven days. It was quite costly to stow the casket, at 120 gold pieces, to get it to the next major city in Breland, Galethspyre, but it seemed a small sum to offer to our new warforged friend. Grapnel thinks that he is indebted to us now, and despite the fact that we do not see it quite so severely, for the time being we are not trying to convince him otherwise. He cannot yet grasp the differences between companionship and servitude.

The caravan was not set to leave until later in the day, so Magnus, Rendar, and I set off to say farewell to the couple who owns the House of the Nine, the inn and religious house where we we'd been staying. I have learned of most creatures’ desire to part company in an oddly celebrated way, although I have yet to fully understand the need for such fanfare. I did, however, agree that we should apprise them of our departure, as they were holding our rooms for our return from the Arena.

To our surprise, we found the woman had been assaulted and the home disturbed. Leaking ocular fluid, she relayed a message that her husband was being held by the former Brelish General Darveshek, and he demanded our presence in order to release the man. The situation was quite disturbing, but we left Grapnel at the House to keep watch, as we had been instructed to come alone to an abandoned tavern some distance down the road.  

I should mention that my newest companion: a homunculus crafted under standard Iron Defender specifications. I have named it Rungo. I infused a fragment of my own creation energies, and through this a bond-matrix has manifested. It is not a warforged, lacking any will of its own, but it follows my every command without thought to consequence. This bond that we have is quite new and unknown to me, and I wasn’t always aware of Rungo’s presence nearby. However, when we arrived at the abandoned tavern, I remembered the iron defender and sent him around both sides of the building for reconnaissance. It found no alternative entrances.  

The situation was less than ideal.  General Darveshek was previously an ally, or at least had proposed to be. We had fought in the Arena to satisfy his needs and we had been successful. I expected that we were to be compensated for our triumph, yet instead we found ourselves forced under duress into an unfavorable tactical scenario.

Without much alternative, however, I went to the door, with Rungo close beside, and banged loudly to gain entry. The door was opened a bit but no one made their presence known, so I slammed it open and sent the iron defender inside to harass whoever was concealed behind it. There being no chance of surprise, the only tactical advantage left to us was to project force, so we all advanced, showing no reticence. 

There were several men, humans and dwarves, armed and ready for a fight. The general was there in full battle armor. At the far end, the unfortunate innkeeper was bound to a weapons rack beside a table full of torture implements, along with a rough-looking man who I deemed quite capable of inflicting considerable harm to the man's body. General Darveshek began talking to me. I demanded to understand the reason for this situation and he obliged.

Governor Trazzen had placed a considerable bounty on our persons—1,000 gold per head, or 10,000 for our entire group—and Darveshek had lured us here to collect. He deemed it more advantageous to receive this bounty than to continue an alliance with us. He threatened to kill the innkeeper if we did not put down our weapons and surrender ourselves. I calculated the time it would take for me to get to the torturer; I was not quite fast enough to neutralize him. However, Rungo could get there almost in time to make a difference. While my companions made motions that suggested disarming themselves as the general demanded, I told Darveshek that I could not remove my armbow, as it was a part of my armor. He did not seem pleased with this, and set his brute to slash the innocent man. I immediately loosed a bolt and sent Rungo to tear at the torturer, but the damage had been done. The torturer didn't slash the other's throat, but he did deliver what could quickly become a fatal stomach wound.

The ensuing battle was quite ferocious. Once I reached the far end of the room, I was able to use the healing eternal wand to stabilize the innkeeper before he was completely disabled. As we fought these men, I determined them to all be Brelish by their accents. This disturbed me quite a bit, to be fighting against former Brelish soldiers. But equally disturbing was the general’s betrayal; I was horrified that Brelish could have become so menacing. 

I had intended to take this man alive, to take him as my prisoner into Breland, but my anger swelled inside of me when Darveshek nearly destroyed my iron defender with a single swing of his sword.  I manipulated the arcane energies within myself to conjure a force greater than any other I had ever managed before. I focused it into five perfect spheres of energy and sent them shooting forth from my fingers on a direct path to the target of my wrath. As expected from such beautiful arrangements of arcane forces, all five missiles struck General Darveshek in the head and shoulders, instantly disabling him beyond repair.

Although I would have liked to have brought him to justice in Breland, disgraced General Darvishek’s demise suited me, too. I may yet return to my homeland with his head; perhaps there are other, more affluent individuals who would be happy with that end to his tale as well.

#42 - The Carrion Pit

As written by Kard Gelan, Cyran cleric of the Sovereign Host

As the dust settled from the Bone Storm raging around the edges of the blood-soaked sand arena, a calm descended across the crowd and then me. The dwarven cleric, covered from head to toe in thick armor plating, with a peculiar looking peg-leg, revived the fallen shape of the changeling woman, Seera, who had been struck down by the barbarian towards the end of the battle. I say changeling, because she had blurred and reshaped her form with ease during the fight, but she did appear human now. As she rose, the half-orc among this group-his name as Rendar-approached her, seemingly intent on calming her.

Magnus, the barbarian whom I had revived myself after the final clash with the Oni and its flame-spewing hounds, spoke with a large halberd-wielding warforged that stood solemnly by the fallen warrior he'd entered the arena with. The feral-looking dark elf sorcerer, Xoma, still seemed to hover and flicker with magic, soaking up the crowds' remaining jeers and applause in equal measure with a look of adulation on his face; clearly this one WAS a follower of the Shadow.

At the time, none of this was of interest to me, only my conversation with the dead had my full attention. The slain orc, Dreggis, spoke several truths as I knelt over him and prayed to Boldrei and the powers of the Host to rouse his spirit. I was taught that the soul departs for Dolurrh in death, and that with necromantic spells such as this one-which I had never had to use before-only the lingering animus of the corpse is coaxed to responds. The truth is likely murkier, but the gods' power is unquestionable.

Symbol of Boldrei, the
Sovereign of Home and Hearth

When I had questioned Dreggis, the other, slightly smaller warforged approached the corpse and myself. It was either fascination or confusion that must have piqued its interest, but I hadn't noticed its approach. My last question to the dead orc produced a sliver of information about another warforged: the gurgling corpse spat out the name 'Claviger.' The warforged that approached me then was known as Cypher as I would discover later on. It appeared next to me, demanding the corpse of Dreggis to speak more of this Claviger.

I rose up from the deceased orc and asked Cypher, "Why do you speak to a dead body?", a slight hint of amusement in my tone. Clearly the warforged had not understood that I had cast a spell on the recently departed in order to extract the information I needed.

"What do you know of Claviger?" Cypher asked with a hint of urgency, if that was possible, in its monotone voice.

"How do YOU know about Claviger?" I reply, eyeing it in response.

It turned away and moved towards Grapnel, the larger warforged, and began to speak with it. After a moment, Grapnel reached down and hefted the body of its fallen commander across its shoulders, and followed Cypher like some lost pup. We all began to collect ourselves up, when the harpy that had introduced us all to the crowds informed all that the battle was over, and that we were to leave when ready, heading towards the way we had entered.

The changeling woman, still in human guise, nodded in my direction-a sign of respect perhaps, for we had briefly fought side by side and exchanged no blows with one another. She glared at Magnus, then left swiftly into the tunnel exit. As we filed out of the arena the barbarian, Magnus, says over his shoulder to me, "You may want to head with us."

I nodded, their grouping being quite clear to me now; the warforged Cypher, the dark elf Xoma, the half-orc (and dragonmarked heir, I would soon realize) Rendar, the barbarian Magnus, and the Onatar cleric Doongul all clearly owing allegiance to one another as they walked in file. Safety in numbers, perhaps, a peculiar feeling to a man such as myself so used to walking the road alone, but certainly an advantage in this city of monsters and the dispossessed.

As we enter an archway that we had passed through to reach the arena, yet another woman appeared. This one the others called Drix, and though she appeared as a half-elf woman, she was allegedly a changeling as well. So many nonhumans in this city...

Drix looked agitated. "Hurry! You must hurry!" she exclaimed, then rattled off something about "the governor" being after us. After THEM, to be clear. I was not one of them....yet?

The looks on the faces of those in the party went from ones of relief to dismay. A general grumbling came from Doongul, Xoma and Magnus, with the barbarian turning to me and saying jovially "Come, cleric, we may need of your help again." Warily I followed them, and they in turn followed Drix blindly through this maze of dark tunnels beneath the Arena. Then down a spiral staircase. The dwarf, dark elf, half-orc, and barbarian walked behind Drix, and the two warforged follow behind me. As we descended, Drix seemed to grow impatient and moved ahead of the group more quickly than we could follow.

When we finally reached the bottom, we entered a small stone-walled room, barely a few feet wide and deep with no apparent exit. A dead end, surely? Then all of a sudden Drix appeared through the wall ahead of us, a blue-white shimmer of translucent magic flaring around her as she entered the room.

"Hurry! Through the wall, quickly!" With that, she passed back through the wall, leaving us all a little bewildered as to our destination-can it truly be that concealed? Mere illusion? Although I'm sure we all felt uneasy about it, we passed one by one through the wall. My new companions, while unhappy about this, had clearly been through this sort of thing before. As soon as one person would pass through, no sound could be heard of them. Rendar, Magnus, Doongul and Xoma all passed through the illusory wall, bracing themselves for whatever was on the other side. I took a deep breath and followed them through.

Surprise was not the word I would use for the slick slide-like tunnel I stepped into. I immediately lost my balance and slipped down the inclined passageway, yelling a curse at my bad luck, as I once again fell hard on my backside; an unfortunate repetitive plight that has stuck with me the moment I entered that damned Arena.

As I slid rapidly down the tunnel-or chute!-I heard the sounds of the two warforged's surprised and analytical ramblings fade away. The experience was sickeningly disorientating, a ride through the darkness to whatever Khyber pit we were doomed for. Then a faint light appeared, as if to herald the end of the surprising trip...and I launched from a chute and into a massive mound of vile-smelling detritus of some form. The others were all here and, apart from Xoma still smiling as ever, merely nursing bruises or scrapes from the ride down. I landed unceremoniously, but nonetheless safely with a strange wet crunching noise. I stood up, and as I look about the gloom, the dwarf Doongul creates a blaze of firelight with his warhammer, dispelling much of the gloom.

We appeared to be in a stone-walled, dirty room arching up and away into the black. A platform ringed the inside of the room about fifty feet above us, with several small, skulking figures whispering to one another conspiratorially. The three figures approach the lip of the platform edge in surprise at the sudden illumination of the room and they stared down at us.

Kobolds. It was at this point that I glanced down at the detritus I found myself in, almost knee deep in. It was carrion, corpses, mostly bones, that I could only presume came from the Arena above us. Xoma and Magnus spoke to the Kobolds in a language I dod not understand, and the barking, yipping little humanoids reply to them. I looked at Magnus, and he caught my questioning look and said, "They say we should not be here. They say only the dead should be here." Delightful.

Cypher appeared as these solemn words were spoken, the warforged appearing from the chute with a practical grace and landing more or less on its feet.

"What is the situation?" it asks the group, undeterred by the bodily remains heaped around its legs.

"Oh, the usual!" yelled Magnus.

Then the figure of Drix appeared on the walkway high above us. She approached one of the kobolds and sent it screaming down into the pit with us with a vicious kick. My new companions started angrily-evidently she had betrayed them. Or...not...?

Her form twisted and blurred and became that of the human girl from the Arena, who fought beside me. The changeling. The...whatever she was. Seera was the only name we had for this one. Evidently NOT Drix. I was already confused enough before this point.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cypher directed to Seera with a cocking of its head.

Xoma, Magnus, and myself begin to scale the dirty walls of the pit, with Cypher wading towards the wall to join us in our ascent. As Xoma began to climb, he spat out a gobbet of what must have been acid or poison. Nasty spells, that one had. The corrosive spittle struck Seera, and she screamed in pain, clearly dazed and somewhat blinded by it.

Seera hissed in anger and her body changed AGAIN. Sprouting suddenly from her back was a pair of black, flapping leathery wings. She jumped from the edge and flew awkwardly, blindly, across the room to the walkway at the opposite end. Cypher begins its climb up as Rendar and Doongul waded through the carrion, Rendar readying his longbow and taking aim at Seera on the other side of the platform.

Suddenly the mound of old corpses itself begin to tremble, and the kobolds yipped and skittered away from Seera. The center of the pit of bones heaved as a gigantic multi-tentacled scaverous creature burst forth from the mass of bones. I was already climbing by then, and wasn't too keen on getting a better look over my shoulder, but I saw it soon enough.

I later learned it was called an otyugh, a creature of the depths, that lived and fed on refuse.

An otyugh!

The beast roared, a massive slash of a mouth widening to reveal an orifice full of jagged and yellowed teeth, necrotic flesh, and broken bone gummed in between the terrible fangs. The smell was not lost on me. Indeed, I find myself paralyzed by its presence. The shock of its appearance, as much as the smell, held me fast to the wall whilst Xoma and Magnus pulled themselves up over the ridge. The monster swung its maw towards Doongul and lunged with its massive teeth, warping the shield the dwarf raised in time to prevent an eviscerating bite that would have killed him instantly. Its tentacles swiped at him and Cypher, with only the one directed at the warforged making contact, knocking him from his short climb up the wall and landing prone with a splash of filthy refuse and other more unpleasant waste. In response to the feral attack by the creature, Doongul swungs his warhammer, connecting with the flesh of the beast, while Rendar turns his attention to the monster as well, loosing an arrow into its hide. The kobolds, clearly believing this to be no longer their business, scurried around the inside of the ledge skittering past Magnus as he readied a spear and hurled it at the beast, just missing the thrashing otyugh.

The dark elf, however I notice, still had his gaze firmly affixed on Seera and he spat another glob of poison as he found his way up to the ledge. The shot went wide, and she sneered at the elf, the poison having worn off slightly but still leaving a dull purple marking around its contact point. She turned around and sauntered through a darkened passageway at one of the corners on the chamber. I continued to climb as much as my aching muscles will allow me, trying not to grab the attention of the otyugh, which bit down on Doongul's shield once more as the dwarf attempted to thwart the gnashing attack. Cypher, however, was not as fortunate as he, and as it began to raise itself, it was caught up by the monster's spiked tentacles and was hauled bodily away and swung around like some kind of toy. Even as the warforged found itself locked in a mortal embrace with this foul creature, it clinically called to Xoma, "Is acid or fire useful?"

The dark elf replied, "Sure!" much to my amusement, I must admit.

Doongul's expression when being
attacked by an otyugh.

A second tentacle struck Doongul, staggering him back a step, but he retorted with a wide arcing swing at the base of one of its tentacles, forcing it to release Cypher. Rendar slung his bow around his torso and drews his short sword and scimitar, charging at the beast from the other side of Doongul and cutting at the otyugh's hide. It barely noticed the attack. Finally the kobolds reached the darkened passageway Seera had retreated through.

The conflict below me was interrupted by the sudden and violent appearance Grapnel flying out of the entry chute and colliding bodily with the monsters side, off-balancing it for a brief second. It was at this point that the fates decided that once more my own poor sense of balance would blight me again. I felt the grip under my hand as I attempt to hoist myself up a few more feet, then felt my body being pulled inexorably downwards by my weighty armor. I am ashamed to admit as a cleric of the Sovereign Host that I uttered a profanity unbecoming of my role in the clergy. I believe, however, the gods will forgive me, as my luck throughout the day's events had never favored my dexterity. I slammed into the moist pile of carrion below, feeling my back bruise as I collided with body parts, discarded, rusted armor, and bare bones.

Xoma crossed a gap over the ledge and headed towards Magnus in an attempt to support the group against the otyugh below. The combat was continuing with Rendar, Doongul and Cypher being lashed by tentacles and teeth, only Doongul being unharmed as he raised his shield in time to fend off the blow. Cypher dived in under the beast's guard and grasped one of its tentacles at the base, sending an arc of magic energy crackling through its body causing it to roar in pain. Doongul began his own climb of the wall, his armor battered, and a trickle of blood running from a crack in his helm. Rendar and Grapnel pulled the beast's attention away from the wounded dwarf cleric. Grapnel's halberd bit deep into the monsters flank, blood spraying across his armored body, and Rendar cut deep gouges into its flanks also. Enraged by the pain dealt to it, the creature struck out at the half-orc.

Doongul's expression when not
being attacked by an otyugh..

The head of one of the kobold's rolls out of the dark exit that Seera had left by, my assumption being that they had gotten to close to the shapeshifting female as she made her way out of the pit room. Now that I recall though, I remember hearing a chinking sound, like that of mail and plate. At the time I had dismissed the sound, and turned my concentration on venting the anger from my fall by exacting some form of righteous fury against the otyugh. Fresh cadavers slid out from the chute opposite the one we'd come in on—in a twist of irony, the body of Dreggis amongst them.

The connection was clear, the otyugh was not an unwelcome guest of the city; it was a necessity. This monster would consume the bodies of the dead sent from the sands of the Arena, meaning there was no need to waste time or money on disposing of the corpses. Even I had to admit the logic was sound, if somewhat barbaric. Today, however, its easy meal was fighting back.

Doongul was pulled to the top by Magnus, the barbarian panting and heaving; clearly the battle above had taken its toll on even his resilient physique and the cleric passed a healing prayer across his wounds, deep cuts and dark bruises sealing and clearing respectively in a soft golden light. The otyugh below roared, Cypher and Rendar swinging their weapons at it, and loomed over the warforged, engulfing the unfortunate victim in its maw. A noise like muffled lightning issued from the monster's mouth, arcs of blue energy passing between its teeth being jammed open by Cypher's lower half. Clearly the warforged had no intention of being eaten whole as it shocking grasped the inside of the beast's mouth. Finally I made it to the monster myself, feeling a surging moment of justification as I swung my warhammer double-handed into it's huge, stumpy legs. I hear a resounding crack as the head of the heirloom weapon snaps the bone: it toppled and slumped to its side into the cadavers and black filth with a groaning death howl.

Finally the sloshing of the waters around our legs subsided and Rendar began to help Cypher out of the dead creature's jaws. The warforged healed himself with a flare of artificer magic, armor rebinding and dents pushing out and becoming pristine again. We began to climb a rope handed down by Magnus to Doongul earlier, and as we made our way to the ledge, Xoma called out to us from near the exit where Seera had escaped.

"Skeletons! They are coming from the entrance to your left, Magnus!"

I realize that there were in fact two stone- walled dark exits at either corner of the stone platform, their archways highlighted by Doonguls's forgelight. I turned my attention to the direction Xoma referred to, and could barely make out the gaunt figures heading towards us. The only indication of them being skeletons was the noise of bone on bone scraping against the cobbled flagstones of the tunnel. I assumed the dark elf had been able to see them far better than I—his kind could see perfectly well in the dark. And yet the noise was intermingled with the chinking noise of armor again. Louder this time, and the direction being more discernible. I turned my head, and the world slowed. Even as Xoma had passed a pair of healing potions to the weary Magnus, even as Rendar, Cypher and Doongul had finally helped heave the blood-covered form of Grapnel over the platforms ledge, we all turned our heads at the form of an adversary not long since thought defeated.


The hobgoblin warrior, an undead—some sort of vampire, now no longer in mist form, but in the great regal crested heavy armor, flanked by two muscular, feral looking ghouls. He sported a face like thunder and the deep dent still clearly visible in its breast plate, what should have been a mortal wound for most beings, seemed to merely infuriate the undead creature. It smirked at Rendar, and the half-orc stiffened, remembering what had happened in the Arena. As if to emphasize the severity of the situation, eight clattering reanimated skeletons entered through the other tunnel, fixing their sightless gaze upon us, readying rusted swords and splintered bows.

"What do you want?!", Xoma yelled, demanded, clearly frustrated at the vampire.

The undead creature smiled, his long canines protruding from under his cold blue lips. "Your demise!" he hissed.

The vampire began to advance towards us, but now a new noise had caught my attention, a popping noise. I turn my head back to the skeletons standing across from us in front of the other entrance. The popping got louder in a fraction of a moment and the skeletons begin to explode, their their joints broke apart, their long-dead bones hurling against the walls and down into the corpse pit. Grapnel, somehow still in possession of his master's limp, cold body uttered a simple statement and yet profoundly understood by us all.

"I am confused."

Finally the last skeleton detonated in a shower of bones, its sword clattering to the stone platform. The figure that emerged from the tunnel behind had its with arms—and tentacles—outstretched might well have been the most deadly creature in all of Eberron. So much was the potential violence and damage this newcomer could bring to the fray that even the vampire stopped in its path, its look of utter assuredness turned to sour defeat and fear.

The mind flayer—a creature of Xoriat—lowered its long alien hands to its side even as the tendrils of its head writhed, and it stared side long at the vampire while the rest of us stood frozen. Unflinching at first, the undead hobgoblin returned the fixed gaze. A battle of wills appeared to take place between the two powerful creatures, but after a short while the vampire began to shake, its lips parting to revealing clenched teeth. The mental barrage it must have been undergoing would probably make it explode like the skeletons as well! Seemingly knowing this as well, the vampire exploded violently into its mist form retreated down through the tunnel it had come from. The ghouls, cowering, shared a bewildered look with one another before their softer parts detonated inside them, leaking blook from every orifice.

We all turned to the mind flayer, unsure of whether or not we were next to suffer the wrath of its potent psychic prowess. I even found myself reciting an ancient healing prayer as if it would help in this situation, we were as kindling to the mind of this creature, and if it so willed, we would be helpless to defend ourselves against its power. I was only  half-conscious of bowing before it. After a moment of uneasy silence, a voice seemed to invade my mind.

The exit, is this way.

The cold, slimy caress of the words passed through my mind, and clearly everyone else's as they winced at the psychic intrusion. The only physical indication of the mind flayer's intentions—that I now recognized to be the one who had resided over the Arena games—was in its calm turning and walking out of the room through the passageway the skeletons had arrived from. The feeling of dread swept from my body as it showed us the way out, and we all began to walk after the mind flayer, exhausted and not a little too confused at the past events.

A few minutes and several winding passageways later, we found ourselves in the exit tunnels of the Arena compound, not far from where we had been misled by the shapeshifting Seera—whatever she was. Silently I swore to myself that if I crossed paths with her again, I would not hesitate to break her neck for her wicked misdirections. The real Drix, a far more personable woman, met with us there, looking confused as to our accompanying the mind flayer, and as we approach her it simply left us behind, flanked by two large war trolls. As if—after seeing what it could do by itself—the mind flayer actually needed them.

Drix and several others—servants of the Shadow—escorted us to a small obsidian tower further into the city where I had not ventured before.

What followed I can still barely recall. Through pain and darkness, I had met new companions, been betrayed by supernatural beings, and then met with reverant medusas! I have come a long way from Cyre...and I had thought my road already strange!

From the Arena we, as the victors, had been given 4,000 galifars—more gold than I'd ever seen in one place. I stood quietly off to the side as my new companions spoke with these strange beings. A black-scaled medusa named Zerasha was their leader and high priestess. She cast her eyes to the floor whenever she spoke to us—leveling her petrifying gaze safely away—while the eyes of her serpents fixed on us. Food and healing prayers were provided to us, in the name of the Shadow. Clearly these adventurers had made something akin to friends with such monsters, or perhaps they were working associates, within this city of monsters and the dispossessed, and they readily now considered me a part of this motley group after the Arena battle. This was likely due in part to our common—and as yet unresolved—discussion of a warforged named Claviger.

I overheard something about a goblin named Trugg being reawakened from some curse, much to the relief of the group. As well as suggestion, on the part of Drix and Zerasha, that we should all leave the city with the coming dawn. It appeared unwise for our collective kind to be out in the streets of Graywall during the remaining days, and that even Calabas, the small human sector of Graywall, would be barred to us in case of untoward violence towards them due to our presence. Of course I know of these holy days, but did not make it known that I am so informed. I cannot be entirely sure of the dissuasion of my new counterparts, and how they would approach my...beliefs, even if one of their party is clearly a follower of the Shadow.

Partly I understood: It was only the first day of Long Shadows, the three-day holy day devoted to the powers of darkness and of course the eponymous Sovereign of Magic and Mayhem himself. Even back home in better days, before the Day of Mourning, Long Shadows was a time for staying indoors, for lighting fires at the hearth, for keeping close to those you loved. I wouldn't have imagined in my youth of venturing into Droaam, the land of monsters, during the nights of Long Shadows. Yet here I am.

Zerasha also explained that a hobgoblin warlord calling himself Governor Trazzen had presented himself to many in Graywall this night, and that he had placed a bounty on our heads. It seemed clear that Trazzen was the vampire in ancient Dhakaani armor who had appeared in the Arena, and then in the tunnels below it. For whatever reason, he hates my new companions. This bears further explanation, if I am to remain in their company for reasons of my own.

Collectively we spoke of a plan too leave during the daylight hours after a short period of rest and readying. They planned on heading out southeast into Breland on the Orien trade roads. The only one who did not agree to this plan of action was the dark elf Xoma. He mentioned vaguely that his time with the party was at an end and spoke matter-of-factly about being marked by a great winged black beast of some kind. He reassured the others that the threat posed to him would be more suitably dealt with alone, and that it would only get in our way. Something in his eyes spoke a greater truth, maybe this was no real end for him, and as much as it was a self-sacrificial move for him he had also been chosen for something greater. Whether my suspicion's on the matter were right or not, I would not know as he left shortly before we all awoke the next morning, leaving a purse of 250 galifars for the group to add to their funds but little else.

I do not know what is to become of Grapnel. The large warforged has followed the others without a thought and still carries the body of his slain commander—slain by these very adventurers. I am confused, indeed.

Also, Cypher appears to have a companion of his own: an iron defender, an animate construct like himself, bristling with spikes and metal teeth. It is remarkably quiet for a large piece of metal, moving with the grace of a hunting dog. I have glimpsed only one or two of these things in my days, always in the company of an artificer.

So this is where my travels have led me to thus far: the inclusion into this group may be of great assistance to me in my quest to right the wrongs that have been done and, maybe, I can be blessed by Boldrei in the finding of a new family. Time will tell, I suppose.

#41 - The Bone Storm

As told by Rendar d'Torrn, a bounty hunter of House Tharashk

Drix's half-elf "Drivinia" form

And so we waited and tended to our wounds.  Drix, back in her half-elven form, came into our room to bestow healing blessings from the Shadow, which only I needed and accepted.  She also brought our weapons, which for this fight we were allowed to use.  I set about slinging my bow, swords, and clipping axes and hamers to my belt while she explained the scale of what we would be joining next: the Bonestorm.  Many combatants, all fighting each other to win.  It would be in our best interest to let these others fight amongst themselves.  Winning would be nice, but it was not our goal. Defeating—ideally, killing—the oni who had taken Trug’s soul was our chief goal. 

Drix asked us what names we would provide, for announcing and wagers.  While Doongal, Magnus and I gave simple titles and names, Xoma and Cypher seemed to want to outdo each other with grandiose names. Xoma gave his title as "Xoma, Lord of the Vulkoor of Xen’drik, Slayer of Fireshazz the Troll, Slayer of Vegg the Flesh-Cutter." While Cypher was "Cypher, First Sergeant, Brelish Engineers Brigade, Retired, Master Manipulator of the Mystic Matrix."

Drix left, and we began the procession to the arena.  One after another we entered the arena, Magnus first.  He struck claim to a corner of the floor, enough for us to see most everything happening.  We stood by him, for blessings from Doongul and infusions from Cypher and his Mystical Matrixes or what have you. Fire spewed from an open pit and massive braziers lit the corners.

On a column in the center of the arena was a harpy in finer attire than most. She announced those who entered, of whom we had a good view.  It seemed a never-ending stream of creatures came to participate with names and titles as endless: a goblin trio, a hobgoblin sorcerer, another hobgoblin, an orc warrior, an ogre, and then the "Mockery’s Avenger," Zurin Souldrinker. Tall, green-hued skin, he resembled the other ogre mage we'd met only vaguely—not as powerfully built, but three times as sinister.

After him a half-orc, a sickly armored human (perhaps a prisoner, desperate for his freedom?)/ Then in came another old friend—the Karrn keeper of Grapnel the Warforged.  It seemed we were in for a bit of a grudge match in more ways than one! The monstrous crowds murmured, cheered, and roared at different times.

Then another human entered, in priestly robes.  He was a strange sight to see, weapons in each hand—a gleaming warhammer, and a well-worn axe—with the symbol of the Sovereign Host on his armor, but damaged.  Any thoughts on him not belonging vanished as a wind whipped at the hem of his robes and kicked up dust. He stood by the pillar with the harpy on it, glaring at the orc. The entire battle, he was fixated on that orc! 

Next in was Grapnel, who took his familiar place by the Karrn.  The final two combatants were a dagger-wielding woman ("Seera Arees, the Deceiver of Sharn") and a drow in simple robes—the first drow we've seen since Xoma!  The harpy then said there was only one rule—do not leave the arena. To leave is to forfeit your possessions.  I had no intention of giving anyone the pleasure of my blades, unless it was running them through!

The harpy announcer called out, “Welcome, residents of Graywall...to the Bone Storm!” She sung out in a lovely, powerful voice. The crowds roared their elation. “There is but a single rule: If you exit the arena, you have lost, and you surrender all your possessions to Salan immediately. It is the only way to exit with your life.” Salan appeared to be a lycanthrope, a dark-furred rat-like humanoid in black leather armor and a bow in hand. “The Storm ends when all but one remains, or when Xorchyllic deems it ended.”

The harpy then flew off, and the pillar began to descend, then slid into the rock, revealing a pit of spikes in the center. While no one moved yet, perhaps awaiting a signal, Cypher bestowed magical infusions to my sword and armor, and to Magnus’s dragon-bone weapon and himself, while Doongul bestowed the power of Onatar on us. The other combatants began shifting positions, and so it was time to act!  Wisely the human cleric—"Kard of Cyre" they'd named him—moved from between us and Zurin Souldrinker and went for the goblin trio, skirting around whatever was in the pit.  He delivered a crushing blow to the chest of one of the goblins.

I stepped forward from the group, now with a clear shot at the oni.  He was huge, towering over me, and as much as I wanted him dead, I also wanted to not fall into the spiked pit. I chucked a hand axe at him, hoping to goad him into a reckless charge. But the oni had a powerful magic—my axe hit true, but in the blink of an eye the oni and swapped places with the hobgoblin, which my axe hit instead. Glad I didn’t charge, I stepped back, waiting.

Doongul called on the power of his god’s thunder to smite the oni.  One of the goblins was killed in the blast, but Zurin took a hit as well.  Magnus moved to fight our foe after chucking a spear, while my new hobgoblin friend charged me.

It was decending into a brawl, with Kard sparring with the goblins daggers, and Grapnel and his Karrn commander teaming up on whoever they could.  A flaming sphere materialized near Kard, who was probably regretting standing in the midst of the fray. 

The hobgoblin who charged me would regret that—with a swing of my longsword I cut him nearly in twain. The byeshk scimitar did the rest of the job in a second swing.  Then I was aware of an arrow, slick with some sort of poison bouncing off my armor as Cypher’s overcharged frost ray shot wildly. Fortunately it fizzled before hitting the crowd! 

Xoma set to duel with his fellow drow—a monk of the Mockery!?—while the sickly human warrior tried to hit me with his sword. I had hoped to leave him alone—he was possibly a mistreated prisoner—but he left me with little choice. I struck him down with strikes from both my swords, to see Magnus again on his feet against Zurin. The oni then enveloped Magnus, Doongul, Cypher and myself in a strange green cloud, which he'd spew from his open mouth.  Cypher and I withstood it, but Magnus and Doongul dropped, seeming unconscious. This did not feel like poison, but it was certainly debilitating. 

Sounds of combat continued all around us. Kard was pushing the hobgoblin sorcerer off into a corner with the woman, having a measure of success though the sorcerer had sent the human slipping to the ground more than once with a grease spell—an old trick of Halbazar's....  Meanwhile, Xoma seemed a blur around the arena, often seeming to fade in and out of existence on the power of one of his spells. Fortunately, Doongul and Magnus were not out for long, they woke just in time for the oni to transform into a noxious green cloud and pass over Magnus and I and away from us.

I was then parrying a blow from our Karrn friend, who was bidding Grapnel to aid him. Grapnel moved to flank me but did not attack—perhaps we were getting through to him after all. My final words to the Karrn were “Fight your own battles,” while Magnus crushed him with a blow from the dragon-bone mace.  Grapnel seemed to be worried, perhaps uncertain, as his commander went crashing to the ground. Maybe for the first time he considered a choice his own to make?

But we weren't done. Zurin Souldrinker rematerialized from his cloud form as Xoma blinked back into existence. Xoma quickly maneuvered so that with a single spell, he knocked the oni  out over the edge of the arena. He vanished into the currents of powder. Just then Kard killed the hobgoblin mage he had been squaring off with.  It seemed all was under control, until a vapor rose up from the shriveling corpse of the sickly man. It quickly became a tall figure in ornate Dhakaani armor. Cypher was quick to fire a ray of frost at this figure, which seemed to be our vampire, hobgoblin friend from underground—the one who'd followed us from those Khyber-like depths beneath Paluur Draal.  At this time, a medusa walked up the entrance tunnel and tossed a white object over the fire toward the pit, saying simple “the prize.” It appeared to be some sort of ivory wand. I didn't really pay attention to it beyond that moment.

Unfortunately I was in no position deal with either the "prize" or the vampire with an ogre in my face.  I implored Grapnel to help, careful to ask and not order him.  I then move to work with Magnus on taking down the Ogre but before I have a chance a cold wind slashes at me. I parry while the figure in the goblin armor glares intently at me, glowing red eyes focused on me.

Magnus was quick to bring down the ogre, before Grapnel was even able to swing. Instead Grapnel then stepped back, pointed his weapon at the vampire and asked, “Who is this?” My tongue was quick with the response “An enemy,” and began to shuffle the byeshk scimitar to my right hand to properly swing at this creature.

But my mind began to slow. Looking into the eyes of the vampire, I am sorry to say, somehow convinced me that this foul, undead creature was a trust worthyindividual. Somehow...I had been wrong about him. He reached his scimitar out and said, “Trade with me.” I simply could not come up with a good reason why not … it would be like Magnus asking for my sword. Clearly he needed it or he wouldn’t be asking, and I still had the longsword Cypher infused for me. So I traded.

But if only that were the end of it! I actively tried to hold back others that would harm the vampire. I tried to grapple Magnus to keep him away, I asked why we were attacking this noble warrior...I was thoroughly confused. Magnus turned his rage on the Dhakaani vampire. A fearsome blow from his dragon-bone maul caved in a portion of the plate armor and wounded the vampire, though it was clear he had regenerative powers. By the time I snapped out of it, it was too late—the vampire transformed into mist, and floated off the arena's edge and away…still with my byeshk scimitar. Doongul ran forward and called on Onatar to turn it back further, and the divine power seemed to disperse the mist. What became of it then none of us knew. Fortunately, my confusion regarding the vampire washed away soon after.

But Magnus was still angry, so he waded back into what remained of the fray. I looked toward where the "prize" had been tossed just in time to see a drow female—was this the woman, the "Deceiver of Sharn"—fall from a blow from the barbarian's great maul. It might have been an illusion, she seemed able to change forms at least as easily as a changeling. At this time, she could have been Xoma's twin sister. Exotic and beautiful, with long white hair. But now she was crumpled to the ground.

I also saw the lower half of the orc—the one Kard was fixated on—with his upper half obscured by a sphere of magical darkness, the origin of which I assume was Xoma. Cypher and Doongul had been fighting the orc, with Kard coming in from behind, and soon the orc dropped to the ground. Kard, heeding nothing else in the arena, kneeled on the dying warrior's chest, said something I took to be quite serious, then killed him savagely, sinking his hand axe deep in the orc's head.

I saw the human cleric then enact a spell, not anything I'd seen before, and it seemed he then began to speak to the orc's corpse...

Then the mind flayer, Xorchyllic—the ruler of this city—spoke a command which it seemed everyone could hear in their minds: One more must die. All who remained now were our group, the warrior-priest Kard, and the warforged Grapnel. It was apparent that an ally might have to go down now in order to end this fight.

Magnus, still in his rage, decided for us. He moved right over to Grapnel and dented his frame badly with a mighty swing of his maul. I can only imagine that Grapnel's confusion was as great as that wound. His master had fallen and we had been sympathetic to him, had tried to ally with him, and now Magnus had made him an opponent again.

Just then a green vapor rose from the sides of the arena and took shape. It seemed Zurin Souldrinker, was not finished yet! As the oni reformed, he looked up to the mind flayer and said “Just one more? How about six?” Clearly we were the six Zurin had in mind. With a foul prayer to the Mockery, he even summoned a pair of massive, ugly dogs who barked fire from their gullets. Hell hounds!

Battle was renewed. Kard reluctantly set aside his "conversation" with the dead orc—what was that all about?—and helped us against a common foe. Even Grapnel lent us his aid, wielding a halberd to good effect. We wounded Zurin Souldrinker repeatedly and slew the two hell hounds, who barked fire, as quickly as possible. Though he regenerated his wounds almost as swiftly as the vampire had, it was clear we were wearing him down.

Zurin belched another sleep-inducing cloud over us, and Magnus dropped like a rag doll. The oni loomed over him and started to breath in disturbingly...energy from Magnus's unconscious form seemed to leech up and out of him.

Grapnel regarded the helpless form of the barbarian, raised his weapon, but moved away from him and turned his attention fully on the oni. At last, before Zurin could drink Magnus's soul, we brought him down with spells and blades. As the oni died, disturbing screams and strange smokes roiled from his body, dispersing in the air. We could only hope Trug's was in there somewhere, and had been freed.

Waiting for no one, Kard immediately turned back to the dead orc and resumed his...interrogation. Only later could I piece together what was spoken. The human had enacted a divine spell to speak with the dead, and he'd been seeking information from the orc.

These were the orc's answers, spoken from a damaged, freshly-dead throat. I did not hear all the questions, but I was able to piece together the orc's answers.

• “I was ordered to transport a unique construct to Eston.”
• “Heldran d’Cannith."
• “I do not know.”
• “The construct was designed by Baron Merrix; its purpose I do not know.”
• "I was dismissed. My commander said I would not be able to find the warforged Claviger.”

Whatever any of that meant—and whatever the cleric's questions had been about—we were all left standing, exhausted but seemingly victorious. The crowds, while largely dismayed by our survival and the defeat of many monsters, seemed to have been entertained and were somewhat satisfied.

Now what?

#40 - Blood and Sand (and Blood)

As told by Magnus of the Island of Seren.

These Arena fights reminded me of the fireside brawls on Seren.

Everybody knows who will fight, there are some loose rules and then a good bashing where killing is the second best outcome. I hadn’t really thought there would be prize money though. I guess city people do everything for money, it’s hard to eat fame.

Anyway, we were all slated to get into the Graywall Arena and fight, our goal was to win the favor of some Brelish ex-general named Darveshek. The way to impress him and earn his favor was to kill a fire-resistant troll. Come to think of it, that would impress most folks anywhere. The Arena was to have some other monsters to make it interesting—well, the fight was called the Giant's Ring. The crowds were jaded and needed a lot to keep them happy. We went through the ritual of getting rid of our extra stuff. The rules said no weapons but there was some system of getting weapons into the ring to keep it bloody. We left our weapons out, but kept them with the medusas for the next fight in the same night, where we could bring our stuff in. We did drink some potions to boost us up a bit for the fight, and Cypher used some artificer trick to summon one of his wands for use in the Arena, to get it past the checkpoint.

We made it into the ring. There was a troll to be sure, big and sorta funny looking, too knotty and red to match up with what I had heard. There were two ogres and a gnoll, which was fine by me. Then a minotaur and a hill giant which looked like fun, assuming I could get a weapon. Luckily, there was a pile of weapons in the center of the arena floor.

The mind flayer who governed the city was also in attendance—a tall figure, man-shaped but absolutely not a man. Head like a giant squid of the Dragonreach. Snaking tentacles. Creepy.

In the first few minutes of the fight, the pile of weapons on the floor started to rise up on a pillar, out of reach—though Rendar started to climb to get them, aided by a potion Cypher had brewed that gave him as fit as a Seren. The troll got into an alcove on the arena wall, and then arena workers on the sides tossed him a greatsword. This could get ugly. But first the troll lops off an ogre’s head. Good one!

Cypher cleverly bopped over to the other alcove and someone hands him a military pick—a gift from the general, we think—which even more cleverly, he handed to me. I flew into a rage and killed the other ogre, stepping right over his corpse to get at the crazy troll.

While all this goes on, Xoma souped himself up somehow and I couldn't actually see him clearly anymore—some wizard's spell of blurring. Doongul found with some experimentation that the chains suspended above the arena floor could teleport the puller to one of the other three chains. Good to know!


Cypher zipped a bolt from his arm-bow into the minotaur’s neck just as the beast receives a battleaxe from the crowd, then the minotaur whirls to join the fight. Rendar had gotten up to the weapons—now 50 feet up—and tossed a shield and morningstar to Doongul. (Good way to keep the dwarf alive!). Rendar kept a throwing axe and longsword for himself.

I wound up and bashed the troll on the shoulder, and it was a perfect swing....and the military pick I'd been given burned with magic fire when I swung it. The result was a troll arm on the floor wriggling about. That could slow that two-handed greatsword down! It would me, too.

The minotaur roared and tried to hit Xoma and misses (the elf was blurry and hard to see). Then the hill giant popped Cypher with a thrown rock, denting him up bad. The gnoll misfired at Rendar who was now armed and trying to climb down the pillar with a longsword tucked through his belt. Something teeny hit me in the back—a sling stone?

Xoma zapped the minotaur with his electric grasp and then zipped away while the minotaur was stunned. Cypher disappeared from sight; good idea considering how that thrown rock smashed him up good. Somehow, a goblin flew out from the crowd in the stands above and smashed bodily into the pillar, bones breaking, only to crumble to the arena floor. I had no idea what that was about, but I later learned that the goblin had slung the stone into me, and I guess that was his punishment.

The troll tore into me with teeth and claws (the arm on the ground actually attacked me, too). I mashed him with the pick again. I was pretty sure I was gaining on his regenerating, but his wounds closed up fast.
The minotaur charged Xoma with head down, intending to gore him, big, fast and scary.  Xoma wiggled his fingers and muttered and the minotaur seemed to smash into an invisible wall, breaking one of his horns. It is hard to kill Xoma.

The giant flung a stone at the gnoll, missing wildly. The gnoll shot at Rendar, but he missed also. Xoma did his thunder spell and the minotaur started to look tattered. Then shocked him again and scooted away. Rendar was halfway down the pillar now.

The troll came after me again (his arm was growing back, fast!) He made contact but I was so fired up and sweaty, his attacks didn't hurt too much. When I made another perfect swing, his other arm came off and started wriggling around in the sand. I was really starting to like this pick thing.

The minotaur charged Xoma again, swinging his ax and missing, busting the thing into the stone floor. I was starting to think Xoma might kill this guy single-handedly. The hill giant had gotten into the alcove and someone from the stands tossed him a big, metal-banded club. This was bad news for us.

The gnoll moved around and shot Rendar, who was up on the pillar still. Xoma stepped up to the minotaur again and gave him another shock. The minotaur seemed done-in and dropped to his knees. Xoma gave him a push and the big guy drops. I couldn't hear the crowd roaring, but they were.

Doongul pivoted and blasted the troll with his magic thunder. Something changed the glow on the found morning star to another color/sheen as Cypher appeared next to Doongul. Rendar hopped down from the pillar and made an off-handed throw at the troll with his found hand ax, it sailed by.

The regenerating troll yelled to the hill giant “KILL this one!” Meaning me, fun. I swung at him and missed and the giant swungs at me and missed. The gnoll shots at Xoma, missed, and Xoma shot back with some poison missile spell. Doongul ripped into the troll with his glowing morning star, leaving a nasty, messy wound with some eroding power. That gash didn't seem to be growing back.

Cypher zipped a bolt at the gnoll, sending him stumbling. Rendar smashed the troll's armor with his sword, spreading frost where it hit. The troll used its nasty mouth to grab one of the teleporting chains, then vanished, reappearing over by Xoma.

I smashed the hill giant in the belly with another sweet swing of the pick, leaving a nasty bleeding wound. He smashed me with his maul and the pain of that hit penetrated my rage. Then an arrow hit me in the back—the gnoll's work. I was starting to weaken.

Xoma stepped quickly away from the troll, dodges his chomp, then turned and blasted him with a spell he had prepped special for him. It hurt, but didn't seem like Xoma’s usual killer stuff. Doongul fired his new spring-foot but he seemed to trip and landed upended in the sand.

Cypher zipped another bolt into the gnoll, and all those shots had to be hurting him by then. Rendar swungs in to flank the hill giant with me and frosts him up good with the sword.

The troll screamed, “I will not be slain by a damned DROW!” and gnashes at Xoma with his fang-filled mouth, missing. That spell of Xoma’s seemed to get going now and the troll’s flesh starts to melt from his bones and then he sort of bursted into flame. I'm not sure if it was Xoma's spell or the troll's own messed-up body, but the explosion of fiery blood scorched Cypher and Xoma both. And yes, he was killed by a damned Drow.  Hah!

I mashed the giant, who screams and smashes me back. I was truly hurting now, and then the gods-damned gnoll shot me again. Xoma pivoted and popped another poison missile into the hyena-headed archer. I felt one of Doongul’s healing spells fixing me up.

Cypher shot the gnoll again, forcing him to move about. Rendar sliced into the hill giant, leaving a vicious frozen gash. The hill giant roars and that was when I slammed the pick into him again. He fell like a big tree and Rendar had to leap away to avoid being klonked with the giant’s unconscious head.

A strong voice in my head said CEASE!

Since the big foes were down, the rage recedes and so I stepped aside to cool off. The gnoll, ragged and bleeding, leaned against the rim of the arena floor, gasping for breath. Rendar gathered his thrown axe and Xoma moved over to join us. Cypher, ignoring the magical voice that I think we all could hear, reached down and does one of those energy grasps on one of the wiggling troll arms. He was suddenly picked up and hurled against the central pillar and pinned there by some unseen force and then dropped to the sandy floor. It seemed to me that when a mind flayer says “cease,” you should cease.

The pillar dropped to our level and kept going down into the ground. Xoma went over to check it out and Cypher joined him. The head-voice asked, Do you fight as a team?

I think “yes." After a minute, the pillar came up again with a bag and a chest. Xoma looked at us and pulled the chest open—full of gold.

We dropped the weapons when instructed. An ogre dragged our reward-chest off to the side. The gnoll took the bag and seemed pleased with it after peering inside. We were lead to some chambers to re-unite with Drix. We rested for a while, bandaged ourselves, and shared notes a bit. Again, the sense of becoming empowered flows over us. We have become stronger.

I think we are getting the hang of this arena stuff….