Excerpt from the Cypher's Codex: The Scrawlings of a Warforged Scholar
Having defeated the Master Ennen and his animated flesh golem, we decided to explore the rest of the House of the Hand. There were two remaining unexplored egresses from the main chamber. I found nothing but empty monk cells through one door but Doongul, Rendar, and Cyzicus discovered Master Ennen’s cell and a staircase down through the other. The party went to explore down the stairs but I was determined to thoroughly search Ennen’s chamber. I hoped to find some magical trinkets or scrolls that I could use to study the monk and his powers. I had never had the opportunity to study the ascetic disciplines of monks outside of the library. Unfortunately, I found nothing of note in these very bare chambers.
Trug came running into the room excitedly shouting “Cyphiare”; my expertise was required downstairs. I joined my companions in a small antechamber, the strong stench of unwashed ogre flesh in the air. There was a single locked door with a small grated window. Xoma, who can see perfectly in the dark, told us that the room inside was small and cramped with pipes and levers. There was a single, unclad ogre strapped to a chair in the center of the room, possibly restrained by his own half-flayed flesh. We had a long discussion of tactics for how to deal with the ogre. In fact, Magnus and Rendar became so disgusted with the tactical preparations that they headed back up the stairs.
Finally Cyzicus fired an arrow through the window and Doongul instructed Trug to throw his torch through the window so we could assess the damage. he ogre bellowed loudly but remained in the chair; it was clear at this point that he was fettered by his own skin. Xoma fired a magic poison missile at the ogre and it responded by pulling one of the levers out of the floor and hurling it at the door. The bottom of the lever turned out to be a rusty, pitted blade, and the lever-spear struck the door, pointing out through our side by several inches. Cyzicus was able to fire a deadly strike into the ogres throat and Xoma finished the task with another poison missile.
Before picking the lock on the door, I determined that there was a mechanical trap set upon it. Any attempt to bypass the lock without the proper key would cause a blade in the ceiling on the other side of the door to drop on anyone who walked through it. I was able to disable the trap and then unlock the door using my lock picking tools. I inspected the complicated machinery around the disabled ogre. Each of the levers could also be removed and had blades like the one he threw at us. There were many interconnected pipes that attached to the levers and went into the walls. I believed this was the control mechanism for the Grinder in the temple basement and told this to the others. While I inspected the device further, Cyzicus, Xoma, Magnus, and Rendar traveled back to the Grinder to explore it now that the ogre controlling it was disabled, but they found nothing interesting.
We decided this device—used to train evil monks and possibly kill their enemies—needed to be disabled. Despite the lack of arcane magical presence, this device had clearly been built by a master artificer. In order to really disable the Grinder beyond the repair of another artificer, I went to work carefully destroying the inner workings. Doongul lent me divine guidance in my task by the power of Onatar’s forge. I expended my supply of iron spikes and some sealing wax during the efforts. I successfully disabled the vile machine. Doongul set ablaze all of the flesh skins found in Master Ennet’s chambers, as well as the ogre and we returned upstairs.
There was still one ogre unaccounted for, as there were three ogre-sized pallets in the basement control room. The only unexplored section of temple was the vile blood pools near the entrance. No one was interested in swimming into them, so I volunteered. My fragile companions’ need to breathe air certainly gave them a reason to avoid submersion. I didn’t really want to go but I felt it was my duty to make the effort. Rendar made a harness out of fifty feet of rope and he and Magnus lowered me into the pool. The liquid was a crimson, sticky fluid with the consistency of milk; certainly blood had been a vital ingredient, but I suspect other alchemical reagents were involved. Once submerged I could see nothing, even with magical light infused through my dagger. I felt my way along the walls into a passage that would pass me under the floor and deeper into the temple.
However, I began to feel very uncomfortable. Even though I was safely connected to my companions by silken rope, I was reminded of my time inert and immobilized in the dregs of the Brey River. I swam a bit further and the feeling of despair grew stronger. The rope went taught, exhausted of its length, so I gave the signal to return to surface. As I was pulled back, I felt something attacking me from behind. I panicked, already distraught from the feeling of helplessness, and tried to grab at the attacker with a surge of energy, but was unsuccessful. As I emerged from the pool, Xoma cast his final
thunderwave spell, which sent the spiders splattering against the wall.
As I tried to clean myself, and regain my composition, Magnus noticed that the blood pool had stained all of the wood fibers of my body a deep red. He was very intrigued by this change and congratulated me on my new look but I refused to acknowledge him. The trauma today of having twice relived the experience of hopelessness underwater was too much for me to handle. I grabbed my old scholar robes and wrapped them tight around my body, covering my head with the hood.
We finally left the vile temple, rejoined Drivinia, then followed her through the alleys that led us here. The changeling female altered her form again, this time to the old beggar lady-orc and brought us not directly to her temple—the Eye of the Shadow—but to another alley and a secret door. Ushering us into a twisting passage belowground, she told us to go ahead, that she would follow us. Xoma, never fazed by natural darkness, led the way. But then we came upon a curtain of magical darkness which blocked even Doongul's forgelight. Xoma cautiously stepped into the darkness and the others began to follow him, one by one. As Cyzicus walked into the darkness, Drivinia said to him with a smile, “No hard feelings.”
This was more than I could take after the trials I had been through. I turned to her in a rage and angrily grabbed her with both hands. I said, “I have had enough of your tricks. Explain this right now.” She didn’t resist but certainly she was taken aback by my anger. Rendar, the only companion left at this point, carefully flanked her and put his hand on his hilt. Drivinia carefully talked me down, saying she was just a messenger in this affair and she promised to follow us through the darkness. This wasn’t good enough, and I told her to lead the way. After some thought, she accepted her fate and we followed her through the darkness.
It turned out each of had a difference experience beyond that curtain of darkness.
* * *
Cypher's Experience (in his words):
I emerged from darkness to find myself entering a small room with metal walls. My companions were gone. Instead, there were three taller warforged warriors and a badly damaged, human knight with the markings of Thrane and the Silver Flame on his armor. The human was weaponless, held on his knees in before them. The largest warforged of the three—clearly the superior—was holding the human upright. The sergeant told me that he would give me the honor of killing this pitiful human. I asked why and he said that they had retrieved all the information they were going to get out of him.
The situation I was in was very strange. It did not make any logical sense that I was there. I stalled while I tried to figure out what tactical options were available to me. None of the soldiers bore national or organization emblems by which I could identify their allegiance. I made a quick search of the decidedly metal room we were in but could not gain any insight into our location.
I told the commander that I should try to determine whether the knight had any more information of value and I tried to bluff out of him what information they wanted from this human. They insisted they were done with him and he should be discarded. I started to ask where we were and the commander laughed while his soldiers reached for their weapons. At that point, I made the determination that I would not last a moment in a fight with these soldiers—and the human would be no help to me at all. I was still heavily damaged from the Mockery's temple and lacking any infusions to bolster my defenses. I did not know what this human had done to deserve death at the hand of a warforged, but if I were not here to do it, certainly he would not have been saved anyway. Hoping to intimidate the warforged in front of me, I eschewed my dagger and instead grabbed the knight by the head with one hand and infused unrefined energy through the metal and wood of my hand, permanently disabling the human with a jolt of electricity. The commander pulled his hands back with a start and then laughed, the fake hollow laugh warforged make when mimicking the human sentiment of amusement. He said, “Ah, an artificer, I see,” and I replied with a gruff, “Yes, a very skilled one.” He simply turned around and walked out of the room. One of the soldiers told me to follow him and I did.
* * *
Magnus's Experience (in his words):
I walked into darkness as Doongul grabbed my belt. I appeared, alone in a small underground chamber with an opening leading to a cavernous area with torchlight to the left. I stepped over and peeked out the door. I could sense a big one outside the door, some breathing noise, little settling of the great scaled body. A dragon, without doubt. I looked to the torches to add some light and they were obscured by a great paw.
I knelt.
“Do you kneel to any dragon?” he asked in the oldest language of this world.
“I kneel to you.”
“Serve me.”
“Who are you?”
“If I were Garcerix, would you serve me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I serve another.”
“He is dead.”
“Prove your identity.”
A small belch of flame revealed a great, red draconic head. Huge.
“I control you. Serve me.”
“You control my body. No.”
“Serve me or burn.”
“I serve another.”
“Then burn.”
He began to chuff up a flame. I crouched and charged as he belched. I burned, my mace skittering against his scaly hide.
I collapsed from the burning.
I awoke.
* * *
Doongul's Experience (in his words):
The darkness faded and I find myself in a place that reminded me instantly of the Fist of Onatar, a holy site from my homeland and a crucible of the Sovereign's great power. Although I had been there before on pilgrimage, I had never seen the awe of the molten metal of the earth so close. Looking down a ledge precariously placed, I felt strangely at peace seeing the greatness of Onatar's forge once again. The heat was unbearable yet in my heart I knew that can not be the truth...
Looking out in desperation I called out to Onatar, peering out to the vastness for a sign. I quickly realized my newfound acolyte, Trug, is across the great pool of magma on a ledge as well. He was afraid and I felt his pain. Trying to focus on a solution, I realized we had been placed in some type of doomed oblivion that only the darkness of the Eye of the Shadow could have created.
I used what spells I had left upon myself and Trug to ease the pain of the heat. I sat and pondered the meaning of this... whether illusion, vision, or something else. With desperation, I called out to Onatar one last time, asking him for guidance, but to no avail. We were trapped but it could not be real. There was no where to go and the prospect of dying at the hand of the Shadow was not an option. My mind was resolved... I would not be taken by a trick of the Dark Six.
Trug told me to ask the Keeper for guidance... The Keeper, that was worrisome. The Keeper is the Sovereign of Death and Decay. I felt torn at the thought of Trug still having faith in a god like that. I called out to the Keeper to show himself... Knowing all to well he would not have helped one such as me, a Vassal and follower of Onatar. Channeling the divinity of Onatar, I stepped to the edge, knowing that if I
was to die it would be on my own terms. I called out to Trug to "have faith in Onatar, he will save you." I stepped forward to my fate, resolved as this is the solution.
I felt myself falling towards the fire, the magma, and my god... embracing all that I know is true.
There was pain, searing pain... A pain I have not felt since I lost my leg.
* * *
Xoma's Experience (in his words):
The inhabitants of Khorvaire must have a lot of time on their hands. I can think of nothing else that explains their preoccupation with mind games that runs so rampant in the religions present here.
Let me explain. I came from a tribe that worshipped the spirit-god Vulkoor, commonly depicted as a fierce male drow with the body of a scorpion. Vulkoor isn’t a “nice” dark elf by any stretch. You wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley in Graywall (or anywhere else). He teaches us to be self-sufficient, to be strong. The strong survive and the weak perish. That is the law of Vulkoor and that is the law of the wild.
I understand that there are faiths in Khorvaire that have more “benevolent” ends. Doongul has never seemed all that interested in proselytizing, so I can’t truly evaluate the tenets of his faith. There is certainly power in Onatar, but I know nothing of the beliefs he espouses.
The Mockery and the Shadow—two gods of the Dark Six—however, seem to never be happy unless they are messing with your head. They aren’t content to steal, kill, rape, or pillage. No, for them, it has to be personal. And not personal on an individual, spiritual level.
They want to get personal with you.
That brings me to my encounter with the Shadow. I know nothing of what my companions experienced when we all walked through the curtain of shadow. I can only surmise that they too experienced some sort of test. I don’t know whether or not the test was supposed to be some sort of manifestation of individual fears, hopes, and challenges. I suspect that it was more what the Shadow—or the minions of that deity—
think are our challenges. If this is the insight the Shadow has into me, I am not impressed.
I was confronted by another drow who looked quite a bit like me, almost identical, but was possessed of entirely different sacred tattoos. His bespoke a focus on necromancy that I found interesting, but also somewhat limited. I would have been content to trade knowledge, but this more unpleasant Xoma clearly had battle on the mind.
He was also stronger than I am. He was not affected by wounds from previous battles and seemed to have his full resources to employ. Also, I think he might have been some sort of vampire, given the fangs and claws he sprouted.
Every time I hit him, I was further wounded. I’m not sure what the symbolism behind that is. I suppose the lesson was meant to be: “When you are faced when an overwhelmingly superior foe who you cannot harm without harming yourself, and who isn’t interested in negotiation, you will lose.”
Of course, that’s no lesson. That’s simply logic. And to further compound the lack of logic, the foe who you cannot defeat is unwilling to consider the possibility of not fighting.
So perhaps the lesson was: “Xoma, sometimes you just lose.”
Of course, that’s a lesson with which I’m quite well acquainted. There’s always someone bigger and scarier in the jungle than you. While it would be foolish to show weakness in the face of others, I never doubt that there are those more powerful than I, and if I faced them, they would destroy me.
* * *
Cyzicus's Experience (in his words):
I found myself in a cavern lit with a purple glow by luminescent fungi, which suggested I had been teleported into Khyber’s subterranean realm. Two eyeless, gray-skinned humanoids of a sort I’d never seen before
shuffled into the cavern, blocking the only visible exit. I noted each creature bore an axe hewn from stone as they raised their snouts to sniff the air. I suspected Drivinia and her fellow Shadow-worshipers had once again led us into danger, so I retreated from the creatures, and shot two arrows at one of them. Both shafts struck their target with some force, but it did not react as much as I'd have thought.
It was then that an unfamiliar voice inside my head asked,
Why do you always attack first?
I disagreed with my unseen questioner, protesting that I usually was both cautious and patient and held back from violence, but I fell silent as a foul creature out of nightmares strode into the cavern. Although I’d never actually seen one before, I immediately recognized the thing as a mind flayer, a vile abomination out of Xoriat.
It spoke telepathically, and I recognized the "voice" of my questioner. I asked it why it had brought me here, but it denied it had done so, and ignored my further questioning. Instead it asked if I would speak with one of its kind without offering violence. For a moment I considered the possibility that none of this was real, all of it simply an illusion created by the Shadow. However, if it were real, my prospects of overcoming the abomination and its servitors were bleak. It seemed best to play along for time and information. “It would be educational,” I replied.
The mind flayer turned and strode out. I waited a moment then spoke to the gray creatures in Common. They also turned and left. As the purple light faded away, I lit my lantern, and stepped out of the cavern into a curtain of darkness.
* * *
Rendar's Experience (in his words):
I found myself alone in a tomb, not far from the surface but clearly underground. Standing before an open sarcophagi, his back to me, was Drazul d'Tharashk. I knew this couldn't be real but now that I've seen him with my own eyes, this certainly looked just like him. Was this another changeling, or a trick of the Shadow's?
Drazul, the excoriate, who had tried to kill me and my companions before, turned and spoke to me. He spoke vaguely of loyalties, and of a "dying house." Specifically, he referred to House Tharashk, the dragonmarked house of "unity," as having its days numbered.
He spoke of choosing sides—the house's, or "the winning side (his)—and he offered me a choice to join with him. Drazul gestured to the open sarcophagus, but I could not see what lay within.
He warned me that if I rejected him, if I walked away, he would hunt me down. He said they were still looking for us. I can only assume he meant himself, and Avashad, or perhaps the knights of the Emerald Claw we'd faced off against in Paluur Draal.
For me, there was no question. My honor would not allow me to join with him. But if he still wanted the Emperor's Key, then perhaps he could be led on a chase of our choosing. So I chose to walk away, and as I did I felt one of his arrows take me in the back of the neck. Then were was darkness once again.
* * *
Again from Cypher's Codex: The Scrawlings of a Warforged Scholar
The party began to awaken in a small, if dimly lit, healing chamber, fully rested and rejuvenated. Even I felt the sensations of awakening, nothing like I have ever felt before. It was like my awareness had been taken away from me and was just returned all of a sudden. I was seated, propped up carefully against the wall. Everybody else was lying on the ground, their wounds expertly bound and armor neatly piled next to them.
The young medusa—who we had not seen since the first day in Graywall—was seated next to Rendar, delicately painting on his arm around his dragonmark with some sort of dye. He looked up at Sa-Jira, and spoke, with what I think may have been a bit of venom in his voice, “Glad to see you are okay.” She responded, “I am glad that you are alive.”
We went through a magic wand interview looking for smuggled magic. The only thing that showed up was Cypher’s bear on his head, which he made glow with some minor artificer magic. He turned it off, but kept wearing the silly thing.
Cypher tumbled out of the lasso, Xoma said something to him and they charged together, each holding an end of the rope, stretched taught between them. The Karrrn dodged but Grapnel was caught in the rope, clotheslined. The crowd seemed to enjoy this. Rendar keeps trying to twist away, but they held him too long enough. He resisted the petrification as long as he could. Grapnel pounded Rendar im the back with a metal fist, trying to break him. Rendar was resolute.
