#127 - Secrets, Threats, Decisions

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

Cypher opened The Book of Inquiry and read us the instructions. Bored or curious, we had a couple hours to spare while we rested and prepared to return to the battle, so all but Arafin agreed to participate. There seemed to be little risk except from inciting the ire of the others if one failed to answer truthfully.

Cypher turned to the first page and asked me the question written there: If you could safely take a holiday through any of the Five Nations, which would you choose and why?

The book showed its age. I’d never put much thought to leisure travel. Until a few years ago I assumed I would only cross another nation’s borders as part of a campaign. None of the supposed sights of Khorvaire greatly interested me. I might have once considered pre-Mourning Cyre…but given a certain interpretation of the question, it wasn’t necessarily ruled out. Guaranteed safety traversing the Mournland would be a unique opportunity.

I asked Izzeth: What do you fear most and why do you fear it?

With a little reluctance but no shame, Izzeth said that he was afraid he would never learn about his mother’s family. They were his non-drow ancestors, presumably human, although he didn’t sound certain. Even ignorant as I am of drow, their reputation runs more along the lines of Bale. Yet Izzeth, despite being raised among them without any knowledge of his other relations, developed a connection to life, light, and nature, and views his dark elven kin with open hostility. I wondered how anyone raised among drow could have discovered the druidic arts.

Izzeth asked Magnus: Would you forgo any possibility of romantic companionship for the remainder of your life in exchange for unaccountable wealth?

Magnus laughed. Not a chance.

Magnus asked Cypher: Which would you rather achieve: great political power or great arcane knowledge?

The warforged’s response came instantly: arcane knowledge.

Cypher asked Bale: What person, entity, or ideal would you be the quickest to die for?

Bale would die for the chance to kill Katashka, the alleged demon lord whom he betrayed—or betrayed him? He said he had fulfilled his end of the bargain by killing Simel in the lower levels of Glyphstone, but hadn’t specified what part of the bargain Katashka denied him. Bale’s gifted powers hadn’t diminished since the sundering of their pact, so I suspected something deeper drove them apart.

Bale asked Clarion: If you could traverse time and begin again at a different point in your past, how far back would you select, and why?

This question troubled Clarion. He expressed concern that he had needed to make those choices—he didn’t specify which ones, but I remembered the gory images we were shown in the lower levels—to guide him here. He is apparently content as he is now, no self-doubt, no fear or uncertainty of purpose, even the claws of regret couldn’t get a true hold on him. I’m not sure why that irritates me so much. But given the insistence of the question, he said he would choose to go back to the time he awoke on the frozen forest in northern Karrnath, hoping that it would have led him to Dol Arrah sooner.

Clarion asked Aleae: Would you forgive your greatest enemy if he or she were to cease all offenses and apologize to you and any others he or she has wronged?

Aleae drew a strong distinction between an apology and righting wrongs. She didn’t specify an individual, but for the time she spent mulling over the question there was a hard look in her eye implying she had someone in mind. I hoped it wasn’t one of us. Eventually she said she’d outwardly accept the apology, but couldn’t in her heart.

Aleae asked Izzeth: If there was one tool or amenity you could give to the primitive dark elves of Xen’drick, what would it be?

So, the eladrin asks the half-drow how he would “fix” his people. Izzeth took great offence that the gnomes called the drow primitive, and rambled for a time about the differences between country drow and city drow, making his own origin quite clear. What was also clear was that the rant was a cover so he could think. He decided on some kind of sun covering, so the drow could freely travel aboveground and experience nature. He tried to emphasize the purpose of this gift, the value of fostering a connection to the outdoors, but it fell on deaf ears as most of us laughed at the image of a posse of drow strolling woodland paths under parasols.

Izzeth asked Bale: If you could gain firsthand knowledge of one age of history – the Age of Dragons, the Age of Demons, the Age of Giants, or the Age of Monsters – which would it be and why?

Bale’s answer was quick and, to him, obvious. He would travel to the Age of Demons to learn Katashka’s weakness. He insisted that all our vulnerabilities are hidden in our origins. I reflected on my own past, and it seemed to be true. To a certain extent it was my origin, at least my upbringing, that sent me on this foolhardy quest to Glyphstone. I wondered how it easy it would be for someone to use my past to destroy me.

I didn’t have long to wonder, because Bale asked me: If a latent dragonmark suddenly manifested upon you, which would you like it to be?

I knew the “right” answer for a soldier was House Deneith, the Mark of the Sentinel, and it may have been my honest answer eight or ten years ago. Not now. I admitted to being drawn to House Orien, the Mark of Passage. Freedom of movement was a mental release as much as physical. At the very least it would have helped me get here with less trouble or take better advantage of the Fang’s magic. Those were the practical justifications, but the book demanded truth, so I admitted I would be glad to separate myself from the hierarchy I had been trained in.

The Mark of Passage

I asked Cypher: If you could ensure the safety of all your loved ones for twenty years by gaining the indefinite enmity and awareness of an archdevil, would you do it?

I was curious how a warforged would respond to or interpret the question. He considered, then said he would be willing but it was irrelevant because he doesn’t have any loved ones to protect.

Ouch. Nice going, Wynn.

Cypher asked Clarion: If you were transported to Thelanis, the Faerie Court, and were granted your heart’s desire by an eladrin queen, what would that individual look like?

I think Cypher asked Clarion because of the question I had asked him. He was looking for guidance. How should a warforged love? Clarion described Dol Arrah in her red dragon form, drawing on his bardic talents and describing an image that failed to impress no one (except perhaps Cypher, his expression was unreadable). I interpreted the unspoken answer to Cypher’s question: a warforged could love a god or an ideal. Not a person.

Clarion asked Aleae: If you were transformed by a hag into one of another race and cursed to remain this way, which race would you choose and why?

The eladrin looked like even considering the possibility was curse enough. She agonized over the choice. Magnus pitched us humans at her—fun, fragile, short-lived, and dirty. A dozen expressions from horror to disgust to resignation crossed her face before she settled on the choice of a gnome, so she could use their natural talents to learn. The writers of this book would have been pleased.

Aleae asked Magnus: If you possessed the power to do so, would you choose to end the war ten years from now or spare the lives of all your countrymen for its remaining duration—however long that may be?

I wondered at first if Magnus understood the question. Though his land was riddled with infighting tribes, that was a poor shadow of the Last War. He said he would end the war in ten years for all rather than spare his people, but said it slowly as if testing the words. I wondered if this was where the game would end, but nothing happened. He had come to learn that truth by saying it.

Magnus asked me: If you were required to choose one of the companions gathered here in order to save the rest, who would it be? It cannot be yourself.

That was hardly a choice: Bale. Under most circumstances I’d be embarrassed how little thought that took. But not only did he agree (ever coldly practical), but the others all shrugged or nodded. That drow had lingering stains on his soul.

I asked Aleae: Is it your desire to bring any offspring into this world?

In my mind “this world” meant Eberron, not Faerie. I had learned that she was committed to discovering and reversing whatever trapped her people here. She was long-lived enough, but would she consider pursing a family in Eberron a type of failure? She said yes…she would like to bring her children to visit Eberron, but not to reside. Clever, implying (and clearly believing) that she wouldn’t be stuck here forever. The book accepted that interpretation.

The book closed. While we had been assured it was safe, you never knew when something was cursed or would backfire. At least if our answers were forced into reality, I’d be able to teleport to safety after sacrificing Bale on his parasol.

Instead of any unlikely transformations, however, we simply felt rejuvenated. Not a reckless energy, but healthier. Our wounds hurt less, the mental stress at being embroiled in days of conflict lifted.

Near the conclusion of our rest I spied movement from the distant ledge where the wizards were gathered. A figure mounted on a griffin approached our platform, one I recognized at a distance even after so long.

I stood and went to meet Garrek.

“Captain Dennavar” he greeted me, formal and distant for the benefit of the others.

I couldn’t keep up such a charade. I embraced my uncle. “Eight years and you couldn’t send one letter?” Apparently not. Whatever kept him here was too sensitive for any message.

I had to ask if he really had committed treason before fleeing Karrnath, even knowing the answer. He admitted that he had, but said “the word means less to me now than it once did.”

Whatever that meant. Yet he assured me that it wasn’t the interference of the other wizards that caused him to turn on the troops of the Onyx Skull. It was a decision he made under his own volition. Surprisingly, that brought relief. He wasn’t manipulated. As painful as it was to think of my uncle as a traitor, he was always the one with the conscience. Overhearing years of arguments between him and my grandfather had long since convinced me of that.

I suspected what his answer would be, but dutifully passed along my message that he could freely return to Karrnath.

“On whose authority?”

“The highest.” Some things I wasn’t comfortable admitting in front of the others.

Garrek was suitably impressed but unsurprisingly declined. His work here was essential, but he refused to tell me anything about it. Said it was dangerous to know. Was it a lack of trust or a desire to protect me? Neither was a satisfying answer, but I wasn’t going to get the information out of him.

He said it was acceptable to tell the rest of the family that he was alive. But specifying just “the family” made me pause. I asked if he needed me to deny finding him to everyone else, including the one who gave me the lead I needed to locate him.

He understood the significance of the question. So he asked me, not in so many words, if I was capable of keeping his location a secret from Kaius ir'Wynarn. The king’s message had summoned me as the heir of Syardis, not as Garrek's niece. Acknowledging the service my great grandmother had performed for the crown carried significant weight. Would I lie to the king for my treasonous uncle?

It was an uncomfortable answer, but Garrek is the only person, living, dead, or divine, who could have asked it of me. I idolize my ancestor Syardis. I respect Vorick. I love my father. But I trust Garrek . I agreed, and when I did a little knot of dread appeared deep in the back of my mind. The realization would come to me hours later, long after I said goodbye to Garrek.

If I truly wanted to protect his secret, I couldn’t allow myself to face my king. Even with Garrek's blessing, it was unwise to spread the secret to the family, and I wasn’t a good enough liar to convince any them I had failed. I couldn’t return home.

Still ignorant of this, I asked Garrek if there was anything I could do. By now he had to know he could ask anything. But he said there was nothing I could do, lacking any arcane talent. But he said he believed I had ended up here for a purpose beyond finding him—which I though was absurd, but he repeated that it was no coincidence I arrived here now. He advised me to fulfill the quest I had become involved with, that although I had survived one war, there was another I had to join.

I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but I agreed to see it through. Even without his insistence, I had not intended to abandon this group immediately after achieving my goal in Glyphstone—I am not that much of a mercenary or ingrate—but that agreement stretched beyond the immediate goals of Irakas and her golem, Trazzen and his Cauldron.

Then Garrek asked the others if we had questions he could pose to Elidac. Though we disagreed on priority, we wanted information on how to stop the Cauldron, the location of the missing batches of the Mire of True Hunger, and knowledge about a cure, if one existed.

Garrek left with our questions. It was painful to see him go. Eight years of worry and searching, and in five minutes he had refused all of my questions and rejected my help. It was far from what I had expected.

Yet I was comfortable with what I had seen and heard, changed though he was. Garrek had become the man he couldn’t have been in Karrnath during the Last War. I missed the old Garrek, but for all his humor and companionship in my youth, the occasional dark moods and more frequent arguments with my grandfather were the result of a spiritual (moral?) pain. I didn’t see that in him now.

Elidac brought our answers. I lingered in the back, trying to stifle the resentment: Garrek answers to that Brelish? My uncle wouldn’t see it that way, of course, but I couldn’t quite get past it.

Elidac had located one of the Mires, bound for Sharn. It was on a lightning rail three hours into a fifteen hour journey. He could give us mounts to catch up with it, or in a few hours could ready a teleportation spell that would have us meet it closer to its destination—thereby giving us time to finish our business here.

For the Cauldron he gave Aleae a small red orb that could disrupt its magic. Destroying it was impossible—it was too old and too powerful—but the orb was enough to hinder it for centuries. For our purposes that was long enough.

As for a cure, there was none. If it leaked from its container it couldn’t be purified, and the monsters it created were permanent. If the Mire was released we’d have to kill everyone it touched before it spread. If it reached Sharn it would be near impossible to contain.

Cypher insisted we leave immediately to intercept it. The rest of us disagreed. Irakas was waiting for us. She and the golem were expecting us at the Cauldron. We couldn’t abandon her to the gnoll army, the harpies, Trazzen. And disrupting the Cauldron was essential.

After a few minutes discussing tactics and preparing for combat, we were ready to return through the Arcane Gate, to join the golem and pave its way to the Cauldron.