#124 - Upsetting the Cauldron

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

Trazzen worked his gaze on me again, and this time I couldn’t resist it. Why would I resist it? Why were we resisting anything? The confusion was brief, then I became irrationally convinced that was all a misunderstanding, and a dangerous one for us all. “Us” including my newfound ally: the vampire lord himself. I was convinced that we needed to stop this fight against Trazzen. The compulsion he placed on me couldn’t turn me against my allies, but I was utterly convinced that I had to stop them from doing something we’d regret.

I turned my back to Trazzen—some inner part of me shouted a desperate warning, but was ignored—and sought Clarion. We had no leader, but it’s hard to heed the call of a paladin if I could convince him to lay down arms. I snatched the steel-shod quarterstaff from Clarion’s hand and told him, “We’re going about this all wrong. This has to stop.”

His expression, naturally, didn’t change. “You’re right. We need to take this fight to him.” A deliberate misinterpretation—I suspect that he was aware of the magic’s hold me. He turned from the lesser undead and set off for Trazzen. But I caught his arm and held him back. A half-ton of wood, steel, and stone. If I hadn’t been dazed by the charm, I would have been astounded by my own strength. Or stupidity.

Before Clarion could react, Izzeth interrupted and lifted the charm from me with a spell. I released Clarion. Dwarfed in his shadow, even armed and armored, I felt distressingly reminded how dangerous warforged can be at close quarters.

This fight was rapidly devolving on too many fronts. Bale struggled to guard the far door while blasting skeletons back into his writhing darkness. Aleae was taking shelter behind the slain dragon, likely out of spells. And when I turned back around, Magnus was hanging in Trazzen’s grip and beginning to turn blue. Despite his already considerable size, the vampire would be far stronger than any hobgoblin.

Clarion’s declaration had at least turned our attention toward the most pressing threat—even as the bony coils of the undead naga arose again to rejoin the battle. Cypher worked an infusion and Trazzen’s metal armor began to hiss. Izzeth added his own magic to it, and the bronze metal began to glow brightly, scorching Magnus through the gauntlet around his throat, but charring the vampire even more.

Trazzen made a swift tactical decision. Not lingering to be cooked in his own armor, he released Magnus and both he and his armor dissolved into mist, which flowed away across the floor. Arrows from Magnus’s fire bow simply passed through it. Trazzen escaped, but left us unattended with the Cauldron.

That's totally a vampire in mistform.

We finished off the hideous longfingers and other undead, and hurried to seize the chamber. Knowing little about the Cauldron and its magics, I instead assisted Bale in securing the side door, behind which we could hear clawing and pounding from more of the Cauldron’s creations.

Aleae and Cypher dove into the notes and ingredients behind the Cauldron. I heard glass clinking and papers rusting, then the cracking of stone as snake-Izzeth crushed the huge stone barrels that appear to be used for transporting the Mire, rendering them useless. Cypher had spied labels upon each that presumably indicated their eventual destinations: Xandrar (a town in northern Breland), Wroat

(Breland's capital city), and one simply labeled Spare.  There were none labeled Sharn.

Cypher announced his discovery first. In order to disrupt the Cauldron’s progress, we needed to throw in a powerful magical or religious item. Magnus clambered up the Cauldron, standing on the ring of skulls, and threw in his fire elemental bow. We heard it strike the thick sludge within, and there was a sucking sound as it sank. Nothing happened.

We had no religious artifacts. Clarion couldn’t imbue an object with sufficient power to disrupt a powerful creation like the Cauldron, and Cypher claimed that the weapon of the Silver Flame he carried wouldn’t work unless someone attuned to it. We didn’t have an hour to spare.

So, it became the work of us grunts again. With a little nudging, Aleae and Cypher deigned to join me, Magnus, Izzeth, and Clarion in tipping the Cauldron off the dais. As we strained and heaved, we heard Bale beginning to fire eldritch blasts through the crumbling door at the foes beyond.

Finally, the Cauldron toppled over, spilling a fair amount of the black Mire upon the ground, where it pooled and fumed. The mere smell of it made my eyes sting and my stomach sour. I shudder to think of its effect on bare skin. Both Cypher and Aleae remained in place as we backed off—paralyzed by its toxins for a short time and had to be carried away to recover.

It was a failure, in the end. We didn’t destroy the Cauldron, nor Trazzen. But we had stalled him, and it was not yet time for a tactical retreat. Bale indicated the back of the chamber, where he suspected Trazzen’s lair was, and we hurried to secure the area and find what else we could vandalize before Irakas arrived, if she hadn’t been waylayed. It was too risky to venture out into the larger open floor with the gnolls and harpies to look for her.

Cypher worked on the lock of a plain door, while Aleae and Clarion checked for entrances hidden in the walls. Izzeth slithered further into the hall, hidden low to the ground. Before long, I heard the sounds of combat behind us—the undead had finally forced their way through the door and into the chamber.

I returned to the chamber to fight more undead—ghouls, mostly, heralded by a horrible stench—and discovered that Arafin had rejoined us. She looked somewhat worse for wear—though I couldn’t speak for our own appearances after the long fight—and was coiled around the skeleton of the bone naga. Her mate.

There was little time for her grief. As we fought the ghouls and skeletons around the fallen Cauldron, we exchanged brief reports of our activities. Arafin had lain low, possibly amidst the gnoll camp, and took the opportunity to approach the Cauldron upon hearing the commotion we made.

From the back of the chamber where the others were, I only heard snatches of sound, a spell unleashed, the pounding of heavy running warforged feet, all over the background chaos from the gnoll camp, which was growing ever louder. Whatever was occurring out there was coming to a head, and soon.

It was my hope that at least Cypher, Izzeth, Clarion, and Aleae had found Trazzen's resting place. If we could deny him that shelter, there was a greater chance of defeating him!

#123 - Battle for the Cauldron

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

We made our final preparations to assault the Cauldron. Standing before the throne, Scepter in hand, Irakas merely pressed her strong hand to our shoulders and we felt its powers flow into us. One at at time, she bestowed temporary blessings. We could choose "might of the bugbear," "agility of a goblin spy," or "valor of a hobgoblin." Immediately the throne room brightened: it granted me night vision in addition to some resistance against Trazzen’s vampiric mind-control.

Aleae cast Clairvoyance to observe the Cauldron’s chamber directly. We gathered around her and tried to imagine the scene she sketched onto the floor and as she described. From the passages leading to the gnoll camp the chamber sloped downward until the Cauldron, sitting on a stage-like dais in the far corner. She marked four cloaked undead, two long-fingered undead monstrosities, one skeletal naga, and one shadowy dragon on the map, but no Trazzen. I expected he would come running once he became aware of our assault, but we had a little time in which we could eliminate his allies.

Aleae also reported four goblinoid slaves chained up in the room with the Cauldron. While others prepared spells, I gathered a few simple weapons into a bundle to carry with me. Escape wasn’t an option for these slaves; they’d never make past the gnoll camp, but they at least deserved the chance to die with a weapon in hand.

The major complication was that Irakas could only teleport us individually. Aleae, as our eye-on-the-sky, had to go last. The first of us to land would be able to unleash an attack indiscriminately, making it an ideal choice for one of the casters, but would also take the brunt of our enemy’s counterattack while reinforcements trickled in. Magnus was the obvious choice and he was eager to lead the charge, if it could be called such.

Once we had our orders, we didn’t stall. We didn’t know how much time we had until the next batch of the Mire of True Hunger would be completed, or when Trazzen would return. Magnus indicated to Irakas where he wanted to land, and a moment later vanished. A tense silence followed in the throne room, broken only by the background rumble from the camp below. I hoped they would remain unaware of what was now starting in the Cauldron room.

I could only piece together the early moments of the battle from Aleae’s in-the-moment recounting, and by observing the destruction that was left afterward:

Magnus appears near the center of the chamber and summoned an Ice Storm with his mace. Mass confusion as hail rained and coated the ground in a sheet of ice. The falling chunks of ice struck the shadow dragonand one of the tall, long-clawed monsters, and it extinguished the only source of light in the chamber, All heads swiveled his direction, and it was clear we would have to rely upon our temporary darkvision.

The shadow dragon—which Magnus would later identify as having once been a blue dragon—sprang back and spat "shadow" lightning, killing the the four slaves. They were two goblins, one hobgoblin, and one bugbear, and now all four were instantly slain.

So much for that plan. I set down my bundle of weapons.

Bale, cloaked in a sphere of darkness, appeared along the raised dais and rains his eldritch blasts on the shroud-cloaked, sword-wielding skeletons there. Below, murky shadows rose from the bodies of the slain goblinoids and flow across the rubble toward Magnus.

Clarion and his steed Amatrix landed together in a glowing thunder of stone and metal. The naga shied away from him and turned a spell of helplessness on Magnus. The dragon and the shadows converged on him while he was vulnerable. He was locked in paralyzed rage for a few seconds, but Magnus snapped out of it right as Izzeth appeared and cast his own Ice Storm, pushing the skirmishes toward the edges of the chamber instead of the vulnerable middle.

Finally, Irakas turned to me. I indicated a spot on the outdated map I estimate is outside the ice. When I landed, shards of stone and melting ice scattered underfoot. The chamber’s size exceeded the tiny map I had studied; even with darkvision I couldn’t see from one end to the other. With casters both before and behind me who needed space to cast, I stuck near one of the sides by the camp exits and engaged one of the skeletons lingering outside Clarion’s protective aura.

The shadow dragon, wounded now by several blows of Magnus's mace, spat another bolt of dark energy across the chamber. It passed through both Magnus, Clarion, and Amatrix, gravely wounding all three. The damage to Amatrix was greatest, and the summoned steed vanished under its power.

I heard more than saw Cypher appear and immediately tangle with one of the longfingers. On the edge of my vision, the shadow dragon buckled under Magnus’s assault. The thud echoed over the battle noise. With the dragon gone it felt like the tide was turning in our favor, until Izzeth called out and drew our attention to one of the entrances near the gnoll camp.

At first I only saw two translucent, armored hobgoblins, different from the shadows but looked substantial enough to pose a threat, and then the figure they preceded. Trazzen and his honor guard had arrived. After hearing about our foe—my adopted enemy of only the past few days, like an enemy general I had never met—I was finally able to place an image to the name: a muscular form in bronze, baroque plate mail armor, carrying a purple-hued scimitar the same color as Izzeth’s sickle. Byeshk, meant for slaying aberrations, but still deadly for us mortals.

According to what I'd heard, Trazzen was once a leader of his people, a governor of an entire city, and a foe to the monstrous armies of aberrations who had invaded the world in his day. But according to these same stories, in order to gain the power to save the city, he made a pact with dark powers—the demon lord named Katashka, it now seems—and became a greater thread to his people. A vampire, he dined upon his own countrymen and his city fell. In Karrnath or any respectable land, he would have been the worst sort of treasonist. It would be an honor to slay him on behalf of all he'd betrayed.

Trazzen approached the field of battle with casual arrogance and surveyed the room. As his gaze passed over me, I felt cruel pressure on my mind, and even with Irakas’s blessing I could barely manage to resist whatever compulsion that gaze carried. And yet I did.

Then a glint of flame flew between his guards and a fireball erupted around them, and before the light cleared from my eyes—a second explosion followed. Aleae had joined us, completing our reinforcements. The flames burned one of the long-fingered undead greatly, one of the ghostly honor guard wavered, but Trazzen himself was only barely scorched.

Irakas would only now be setting out on her part of the plan: marching the golem down through the gnoll camp to join us in destroying the Cauldron. As the fireball’s wisps faded and the hobgoblin guards broke apart amidst smoke, a horrific, writhing darkness that could only be one of Bale’s magics engulfed the same space.

An instant later, and preceded only by a dark blur, Trazzen reappeared well outside the writhing darkness. Wisps of darkness, clinging to his armor, curled and faded, separated from their creator spell. The assault had left little visible damage.

“You have troubled me enough,,” the vampire lord said aloud, a dark fury overtaking him, “I don’t care what he says. You will all be slain!”

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#122 - Consignment and Planning

From the Annals of the Gateekeper Izzeth, Druid of Dagger Wood / Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

The Children of Winter have lost an ally. Frost is returned to Eberron.

Normally, I eschew the ways of my people and do not involve myself in revenge. In fact, if Frost had not sought us out and attacked, I likely would not have hunted her down for her actions, but once she chose to engage us, it was all too easy to draw upon some of my earliest memories and mete out justice. Despite her efforts to heal herself, once her pet was banished and we dispatched the lesser distractions, it took but a single spell to fell her.

When she collapsed to the ground, a dark grey-green mist emerged from her body and enveloped Cypher, Aleae, and Bale. The acrid mist burned their throats and caused fits of coughing, it was clearly some sort of poison. The poison cloud was so thick that I could only make out vague shapes within it. I can only assume that Aleae and Bale found their way to the far side of the mist, because their coughing ceased quickly. Cypher on the other hand, remained within the cloud for a moment longer as he fumbled around to see if there was anything of value on Frost’s body.

Having ended combat, my companions quickly made their way back towards the throne of Glyphone, where the hobgoblin woman awaited—perhaps a bit too quickly. In their haste, they did not even wait for the entire party to regroup. From the far side of the fountain, we faintly detected something approaching, attempting to move with stealth. Gnolls emerged from both sides.

Cypher, Bale, Aleae, and Clarion engaged the gnolls on the right. Aleae leveled her wondrous wand at the gnolls on the right and they were immediately limned in a magical flame of iridescent color, making them very easy to target, even in the near darkness of this chamber.

On the left, three gnolls aimed their bows at Magnus and myself and let loose their arrows. Magnus returned fire, literally, with streams of flame trailing from his arrows back to his bow. The fire reflected in his eyes and from some of the scales sewn into his skin and his grin was truly from ear to ear. Watching each arrow explode into a small fireball delighted him in a way that I cannot fully grasp. He also seemed quite pleased to see me tossing flames at our enemies.

I managed to note that Wynn took out a few of the gnolls before a sphere of darkness appeared and blocked my view of the enemies on the right. I am becoming more familiar with Bale’s methods and I have to admit, they are quite effective—if not always in concert with the rest of the party's.

These gnolls were no match for us—though we know there are many more of them nearby—and soon only one remained. The gnoll turned to flee, but Magnus drew back his bow and deftly placed his shot, exploding the last foe in a fiery torrent.

The group began to head, once more, for the throne, but I had to attend to Ket’s body first. I quietly informed them that I had to ensure that Ket would not rise again and to prepare a few rites so that Eberron could reclaim her spirit. Clarion suggested that we move her body to the throne and tend to it there, which I accepted.

While the others made preparations for our assault on the cauldron, I carefully laid Ket’s body down and began my ritual. I tended to her appearance, straightening her hair and smoothing her outfit. I brushed the dirt off of her face and cleaned the refuse from the mound off of her as best I could.

Taking some of my rope, I folded her knees and tied them together. Taking some bloodroot from my spell component pouch, I ground it into a fine powder and mixed it with saliva. I then painted her face—at least the part that had not been smote by one of the Children of Winter. I traced a circle of ash around her body and whispered a few words before setting the flame to her body. As the flame consumed her, I sat quietly, chanting the names of her family and friends so that she would know that she was loved in this world.

She will not rise again. Her body returns to the Dragon Between, and her spirit will pass into the realm of the Dragon Above.

Having done my duty, I was ready to return my attention to the group. There was much discussion as to how to proceed. Did we attempt to assault the Cauldron directly or seek the vampire lord they call Trazzen? Could both be attained? Which was the greater threat? Meanwhile, a small army of gnolls lay between us and the chamber of the Cauldron. With the power of the Sceptre of Glyphstone, Irakas would be able to teleport us anywhere in the dungeons we wished. In the end, we decided she would teleport us directly to the Cauldron chamber, and the golem would be used to draw the gnolls' attention. Irakas believed it might be able to withstand their attacks and eventually march down to the Cauldron through them. There was no way of knowing how tough the gnolls were, only that there were many of them. Sixty or more, according to Irakas.

Aleae used her magic to view the chamber of the Cauldron from a distance so we would have some idea of what we faced before making the jump. We watched her face in anticipation of good news, but before we could even ask what she saw, her face twisted into a mask of fright. When she was able to relay what she saw, we knew that our task would be difficult. Meanwhile, Irakas used the power of the Scepter to detect lifeforms in the same chamber—there were only a few. This suggested the rest would be undead.

According to Aleae, guarding the entrance to the chamber were two enormous undead beasts whose limbs stretched impossibly long into bony claws. These guardians alone would be enough to unsettle us, but there were also various skeletal guardians, a handful of chained goblinoid captives, a skeletal serpent, and the hideousness of the Cauldron itself. The most chilling foe was a shadowy dragon, which sat near the center of the chamber, vigilant.

I am not sure we will all survive this next challenge, perhaps I will see Ket soon.

#121 - Frost and the Children of Winter

From the Annals of the Gateekeper Izzeth, Druid of Dagger Wood / Zarantyr 25th, 999 YK

The last forty years had been mostly peaceful. I’d lived with my order in the Dagger Wood. We watched the changing of the seasons and the comings and goings of the birds. We sat under the trees whose leaves had just sprouted and we crunched through the forest after those same trees had dropped their leaves.

All of that peace and solitude evaporated when I entered the Chambers of Prophecy at the Carnival of Shadows. The words spoken to me by that masked and maimed seer resounded like a sharp retort of

The Carnival of Shadows
is operated by House Phiarlan.

an echo across a canyon wall; some of the very same words had been uttered to me as I fled the Obsidian City, not from the lips of an elven mystic, but from the mouth of a dragon, and not in any language that I knew at the time. Those words led me on a journey that ended up beneath this once magnificent keep of the Dhakaani Empire.

     Beneath the keep and its shattered throne
     The remnant of six becomes seven
     The cloak of winter nears its end
     The mire of true hunger is leavened

The keep mentioned in the prophecy was likely to be Glyphstone and the cloak of winter seemed to be a reference to Frostmantle, the druidic name for the month Zarantyr. This month. As for the remaining lines, I could not say at the time. Our long rest gave me time to reflect on what brought me to this place and I think I can now make sense of the other lines.

Obviously, the Mire of True Hunger is the evil that is brewing in the Cauldron. I do not have any more of the prophecy in my possession, which gnaws at my heart. Are we to stop the Mire, or should we let it rise like bread? As I have observed, often wonderful things come from terrible events.
As for the remnant of six becoming seven, I believe that refers to me joining this band of adventurers. They were six in number and I made them seven. Furthermore, they are the remnants of a much large group, having lost several of their companions, one before my very eyes just after joining forces with them.

After our rest, we decided to try to get word about the Mire out to allies. I did not think highly of this plan, but as always, sometimes it is best to allow events to unfold. After encountering some resistance in the form of a few dire bats, we found ourselves face to face with a dryad.

The first thing that I noticed was that she was beautiful. Her skin was tinged green and delicate branches suspended the most verdant lush foliage that I have ever seen. The leaves entwined her torso and limbs like a creeping ivy that had wrapped itself about her. She moved with the grace of a fey creature, seeming to glide across the floor, rather than landing with the oafish clumsiness of normal humanoids.

The second thing that I noticed was that she was mad. Dryads are bound to their trees and do not generally stray far from them. When their tree is harmed, they are harmed, and if their tree is destroyed, then they lose their sanity. It is fitting that this mad creature should come to find itself in this place that is festering in the madness of Xoriat.

Despite knowing that she was mad, I still held out hope that something could be done to soothe her. I sheathed my weapon and made an attempt to speak to her, but that impetuous Aleae could not stomach any patience and blasted the dryad with a ray of frost. This shattered any attempt to forge a bond and the dryad immediately let out a wail that both beckoned and repelled me. She demanded our attention, but none would fall to her magics.

When she saw that her will had been resisted she called forth the magic to entangle Magnus and myself, and she fled back through the wall of thorns that barred our exit from the keep. I quickly cut myself free of the grasping vines of the spell, just in time to have my world turned upside down.
A nine-foot-tall heap of heap of rotting, fetid vegetation emerged from the wall of thorns. There were vines and branches, mosses, and small carcasses strewn about it from its legs to what served asa  head. In the center of its torso was a humanoid-shaped carcass with its skull caved in; only one eye glared from the remaining socket, and much of its flesh had started to separate and fall off of the bones. At first I wasn’t sure, but when I noticed the all too familiar emblem of a forest with a space between the two centermost trees shaped like a dagger. I knew that the body could be none other than that of Ket, a Gatekeeper and my former companion.

This truly made me reel and for a few moments, I wasn’t sure whether to fell the beast or try to extract Ket’s lifeless body for a proper burial. While I was prevaricating, the mound ambled over to me and swung two great limbs at my head. The first I easily dodged, the second landed squarely on my back, snapping me back to sense and clarifying my priorities.

In addition to the mound, two more Children of Winter, druids of a severely misguided sect who believe that life must be purged in whole to make way for a cleansing apocalypse, assailed us from further down the hall. I summoned a Sphere of Flame and willed it to roll into the mound and towards the Children of Winter. The flame singed some of the vegetation off of the mound, but did no serious damage.

Magnus was still helplessly stuck in the vines of the dryad's Entangling spell and was attempting to free himself when the mound wrapped its tentacles around him and simply pulled him into its unwholesome mass. As Magnus vanished completely from our sight, Ket's body was ejected as if she were offal to be discarded.

The next few minutes were quite a blur. I was vaguely aware that Clarion came charging upon his massive aquamarine steed and attacked the shambling mound. I was aware that Bale was engaging the Children of Winter from afar with his spells. I was aware that a small swarm of bats swooped in and transformed into a slender feminine shape near Aleae. But it wasn’t until Magnus burst forth from the mound’s center under the power of his own strength that I could get a grip on my emotions.

Shambling mound are driven by instinct. It is not particularly intelligent and has no way to distinguish Ket’s corpse from any other. The shambler was not to blame here. Frost was. It was at that moment that I realized who the figure near Aleae was.

I disengaged from the mound and set my focus on Frost herself, who appeared to be a blighted version of what a sunlit-dwelling elf should be. She was clad in bark- and bone-like armor stained black, and her otherwise lovely form appeared sickly in every way.

The Children of Winder say that civilization has drawn people away from the natural cycle,

allowing the weak to survive, and that nature will not allow this to continue. For ages, they

have been waiting for a great cataclysm to scourge the world with plague and catastrophe,

but despite what others think, this sect does not see this event as the end of things. It is

simply the dark winter that paves the way for the new spring. Winter is harsh but necessary, 

and the strong shall survive and prosper. For most of their history, the Children of Winter

have been content to wait for the end of the current age. In the wake of the Day of Mourning, 

the druids have come to the conclusion that winter is finally rising—and that it is the duty of its

children to aid the approaching apocalypse. Now the Children of Winter are preparing to spread

plague and despair—all for the good of the world.

Aleae and Frost were squared off against each other, engaged in a battle of druidic magic and sorcery. Frost attempted to conjure a swarm of insects upon us, but Aleae countered her spell, dissolving it before it could coalesce. Frost then motioned for her pet, a blue-black beast that had the lithe form of a great cat, but with blurred edges and far too many legs. From the back of the beast protruded two long tentacles with razor sharp spikes at the ends. A displacer beast! I had heard of these cunning fey panthers but had never seen one.

As the beast advanced on Aleae, she muttered a few words and in an instant, the beast was gone, banished to the faerie realm where it had come from! Just like that. Aleae was clearly frustrated that Frost had not likewise been banished by her spell. Perhaps Aleae did not properly understanding how dangerous this other elf was—for Frost is one of the Children of Winter's more prominent leaders. Briefly I wondered how many of us would be slain at her hand, as had some of my own kinsmen.

Or were we the real force to be reckoned with now? I have already seen my new companions slay demons and purple worms, nagas, and a number of abominations. In looking back, I can now see that this was the precise moment that Frost began to question her certainty that she would be the victor of this encounter.

“Frost!" I bellowed. “Do you have any last words?”

Without waiting for an answer, I drew upon the darkest side of the magic of nature. There is one thing that the Children of Winter are right about: death and decay are a part of the natural world. While I prefer to work magics that create and sustain life, the other side of the coin is that life can be drained away. I called upon the language of nature, allowing Eberron to absorb the vitality from Frost’s body and enrich the very world beneath us. Frost withered before our eyes, a shudder running through her body as an unearthly wail escaped her lips.

She retaliated before Aleae could stop her spell and brought down a rain of ice from above. We shielded ourselves as best we could, but were still damaged.

Cypher loosed a bolt from his arm bow and a dark, crackling energy erupted about Frost’s body. Somehow, Cypher had managed to leech some of Frost’s own life energy into his own. Bale seemed impressed by this feat, while Cypher seemed surprised, although it is hard to tell for sure given his rocksteady features.

Frost was beginning to weaken and was making ready to flee, so Aleae pulled out her Wand of Wonder and activated it. Many things have sprung forth from this mystical wand and I am not sure that I will never get used to being surprised by what it conjures. On this occasion, a thick pool of grease immediately sprung forth from the wand and covered the ground. Aleae was as surprised as I and lost her footing, landing with a loud splat. Frost was somewhat more composed and remained standing. She then began to escape, but Cypher chased her down and locked his construct hand around Frost’s arm while dragging her back toward the pool of grease.

By this time, Magnus, Wynn, and Clarion had bested the shambling mound but were still engaged fighting a giant beetle and the two younger Children of Winter. Clarion seemed like he was contemplating a risky maneuver to attack Frost, but thought better of it and remained beside his companions. The druid herself enacted a new spell too quickly for Aleae to counter, and healing magic seemed to restore some of her vigor.

Yet I have no doubt that on this day, Ket will be avenged. Frost will be made to pay for her actions. And yet, I still have questions raised by the prophecy. The seer at the carnival said that the Whispering Rock, deep in the forests of northern Aundair may provide answers, or more questions. When we have dealt with the denizens of this place, I will have to speak to my companions about finding the rock.

#120 - Deliberations, Dire Bats, and Dryads

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

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

Durag: "I am the night."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For King and Country,

Cypher

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#119 - DM's Addendum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The PCs must decide what to do next.

Additional thoughts and questions for them:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click to see full size

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

#119 - A Matter of Allegiance

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 24th, 999 YK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The White Arch Bridge

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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