The Journal of Brac'ar Fireface, dwarven wizard, tailor and scribe

[EdTheKet]

ENTRY 21
Oh how time has passed since I last opened the pages of my journal. Not to mention the events that have occurred during this time. [/i]And speaking of time, it is time I commit to paper some of my experiences.[/i] 
  Re-reading his previous entries, Brac’ar decides to finish the story of the chromatic dragons.
  It is now what, three or four years since the unification of the chromatic dragons under a single cause. [/i]As mentioned in one of my previous entries, we, or rather I, had secured the support of the Greenbut we had to return to him after getting the others to agree before he would hand over a sliver of a scale as proof.  [/i]I did not have the ‘pleasure’ of meeting the other four dragons, however, before we returned to the Broken One, the slivers of the four other dragons were given to me to show them as proof.  [/i]When we arrived however, things did not go completely as planned, as it turned out that some dragons had agreed to an alliance against Blood, whereas the Green was still under the assumption that they’d be going for the Weave.  [/i]Apparently, some of the more single-minded adventurers thought that the Weave wasn’t theirs to offer so they could not tell the other dragons that. Which is of course true, but entirely beside the point.  [/i]Ozlo’s demand was to unite the chromatic dragons under a single cause, what cause did not matter. Whether they agreed to fight against Blood, try together to gain control of the Weave or agree burn the Great Forest to the ground, it mattered not. As long as they were busy doing whatever they agreed to be doing, then he would tell us about the metallics.  [/i]Unfortunately, that message had not come across, especially to some Lucindites, but I guess that is to be expected. Truly they should have more faith in themselves, the Seven Sisters and their Goddess.  [/i]But I digress. There I was again, sprawled on the ground in front of Fezrekthania, the Broken On, last of the Green Dragons to roam Layonara, talking about the other dragons. And, as it turned out, trying to talk us out of the mess and get the Broken One to agree.  [/i]After twisting the story somewhat into that the others agreed to fight Blood together but that in order to defeat Blood the Weave would have to be strong and who else to make it strong like in its old days than the dragons I managed to convince her. [/i]However as I was lying there in front of the magnificent beast, Fezrekthania forced that green sliver of one of her scales, together with a drop of her blood into the still festering wound she had created during our previous meeting. The pain was unbearable and I passed out.  [/i]“Dragon marked you are from now on”, she said, the sliver unable to be removed from the wound. She told me that now every dragon could mark my passing through the world… Whether it is true or not remains to be seen, but I admit it is not a nice thought.  [/i]We left the Green’s lair, planning to make our way back to Ozlo. While passing through Roldem, I was straggling behind because of the wound in my leg and there he was.  [/i]Sinthar Bloodstone.  [/i]A man, if you can still call him that, slithly taller than the average human, but with a raw power radiating from him. [/i]Then, in a voice that sounded as if it wasn’t really coming from his body he said:  [/i]“You make deals with dragons?”  I actually managed to reply "If I did, wouldn't you know it?". which probably wasn't the smartest remark I ever made...  [/i]He started incanting and I tried to move away as quickly as I could. Luckily, my arcane defenses withstood the initial spell, a truly hellish ball of magical energy that seemed to come from nowhere. [/i]
  While I made my escape, aided in my walking by Reventage, without whom I wouldn't have made it, Talan Va’lash and Kobal Bluntaxe actually charged him . Stupid of course, as one cannot just attack Blood and expect to live, but I am not sure what would have happened had Blood gotten a hold of me with four slivers in my possession and one in my leg, so I am thankful that they distracted him long enough for Rev to get me out of there.  [/i]It was not until later that we also heard that Blood’s forces had been spotted hauling the corpse of a green dragon onto a ship. Despite Fezrekthania being an evil creature, I cannot help but feel regret for the passing of the last of the Green Dragons from this world.  [/i]To make matters worse, it was not long after that that reports of a dragon bone golem near Dalanthar made their way to Hlint. It would not be surprising that this golem was made from the Broken One’s bones.  [/i]But I digress again. As we ran from Blood towards the nearest harbor to make our way to Ozlo, Triba mentioned she felt something rising from the ground, something like a soul.  [/i]If this was related to the Green or something else is still not clear to me.  [/i]With all five slivers we returned to Ozlo. And as if my marking wasn’t enough already, he had the audacity to say that he wasn’t convinced that the dragons had united.  [/i]Not long thereafter, we left, as there was no talking sense into the man, if a man he is. I suspect he is more than just a mere man.  [/i]Yet not long after that I heard of rumors about dragons being sighted near Aryte, which eventually did convince Ozlo, as he told a group of adventurers the whereabouts of the metallics.  [/i]But that is another story, one that I did not take part in. In my travels however, I did manage to acquire another draconic taint, but I will leave that to the next entry.  [/i]Putting down his quill and Brac’ar looks at his now greenish hands for a few minutes, then he sighs, takes out a small pouch and looks at the four slivers of the other dragons he still has in his possession. Then he sighs, puts them back in the pouch, puts on some gloves and walks out.

[EdTheKet]

ENTRY 22
Closing an elvish book he loaned from Reventage, Brac wipes some dust off the cover of his journal and opens it. Sharpening his quill he whispers:
   “Yes, journal, it is that time again. Time to commit to paper the story of the second draconic taint which has taken hold of my body. The taint that has colored my skin a sickly green. The taint that I acquired in the depths of the Underdark. The taint that will probably consume me if I don’t stop it. The taint that fascinates me.”
Satisfied with the sharpness of the quill, he dips it in some ink and starts to write.
  It all started in, how could it be anyplace else, Hlint.
The short of it is that during the period that the drow stole the corpse of Navarre, Toran’s first paladin, and occupied Spellgard, they also poisoned a large number of Hlint’s adventurer’s population.
   This poison was administered to ensure that they would not interfere with the plans of the drow. Of course, the poisoned ones started to look for an antidote.
At the moment, the drow have already returned to their dark abodes in the Underdark, their plot involving Spellgard seemingly completed for the time being, yet the poisoned ones still had not found all ingredients for an antidote.
   One of the last remaining components is a flower from the Grove of Az’atta, located deep in the Underdark.
   So we set out from Arabel to the nearest entrance to the Night Below and down we went, guided by Katrien Hommel’s drow husband, whom we didn’t really see. He told us the armies of the dark were massing and we had to move quickly so we did, or at least tried.
   Several miles down, we came upon a pillar, covered with an old language vaguely reminiscent of elven, which read:
"Tell me ______ of the story, of the woman who lost control. Was  it ______ or ___________ or was it fire that stole her soul.
I have been sleeping for a ________ ages and I need to clear my mind, these _______ _______ give no reflection, its getting hard to see the signs.... The resurrections near."
   Of course this didn’t make a lot of sense, but immediately my fellow party members started talking about a fifth Council member. When asking them about this Council, it turned out that the drow, or at least these drow that were occupying Spellgard, are led by some Shadow Council, which at the moment, does not reside on Layonara, but on some shadow like plane.
According to my companions, they are also responsible for what happened in the Silent Watch Mountains.
   While I was still studying the pillar from a distance, Bilviki, the goblin, touched the pillar and disappeared. Not the smartest thing to do when you don’t know exactly what something is, but in retrospect, maybe he was forced.
It took almost an hour for him to return, with a dark gem in his hand.
He claimed a female had given him the gem, with the instruction to give it to a person called Lar, who is Katrien’s drow husband.
   Bil held it out so I could study it,  and it was of no material I know, yet dark end evil it glittered, sounds seeming to jar my soul echoing from its many facets. My teeth chattered and I could feel an almost magical hatred emanating from the gem.
Bil was about to hand it over to Kobal, but I managed to stop him just in time, as I sensed the gem was somehow linked to Bil and would explode if Bil would hand it over.
   We then decided to press on, before the drow armies would block our way to the grove, we could investigate the pillar on the way back.
   Deeper and deeper into the dark we ventured, the occasional drow patrol quickly being dispatched. However, some of us fell.
Somehow, Katrien was able to bring them back, which was quite strange as she is no cleric. Using some kind of flute seemed to give her this ability, yet as soon as she played it I felt the Weave resonate. Every drow magic user within miles must have sensed it…
   So we hurried on into the blackness, our path occasionally lighted by the strange glow of the faerzress. And came upon a second pillar, very similar to the first.
   As we approached it, a strange almost seductive force toyed with my mind a moment, before passing over and dismissing me as irrelevant. The carvings on the pillar were clearly notes that could be played by a talented musician.
That force seemed to originate from the pillar and was clearly magical, so I decided to investigate further. As I extended my magic senses, however, I was met with waves of green force. In retrospect, this is when I acquired the taint, but didn’t know it at the time.
   Sand Krows was also affected by this green force, and had turned slightly green. When I examined him magically, the menacing waves of green force jumped towards me, I tried to deflect them but I failed.
The force shattered through my sense of self, scouring through my body. Yet it found a mirror of its ill within me and passed mostly harmlessly. Only now did I realize that the force was inside me as well.
As I focused on it when it passed through me, I managed to examine it on its way out. I sensed an ancient evil, a powerful force that corrupts and betrays, pushing decay from within. I felt that whatever the source is, it didn’t have an origin in elven or drow magic. In fact, it was not familiar at all, though it was tantalizing in its slight sense of... wrong.
   I gathered all my strength and willpower, trying to expel the green wrongness, as I had no intention of having a corrupting force inside me… However, I found that I could not. No matter how hard I tried to expel it, the force within boiled but didn’t leave. I did, however, for a short moment, see an image of a shadow dragon, which I recognized as the great Shadow Dragon that resides in the Underdark, the one called the Deepening Dark.
As I gave up my efforts to expel it and looked at the pillar again, it seemed to note me, recognizing me as one of its own…
   Knowing that we were in trouble but that we couldn’t do much at this point in time, we ran from the pillar, deeper into the caves of Underdark in search of the grove. I’d have to deal with the taint later.
Yet later was sooner than I thought, as we came upon yet another pillar. One bathing in light, and covered with many pictures, seemingly in a sequence: a dragon, a crown, then three elves, then four drow.
   The crown looked more like a diadem actually, covered with emeralds.
The green energy that surrounded the other pillar was here as well, green woven and strange. It didn’t seem to take much notice of me, almost as if it was, recognizing me as its own. I even felt a kind of familiarity with it.
Considering this familiarity and the green energy already being inside me, I decided to touch the pillar.
   The green force of the pillar enveloped me and swallowed me whole, I was torn to tiny shreds as my consciousness faded.
   I found myself facing an elven woman, I think she was drow, she asks my name. When I replied however, it meant nothing to her. She asked me if I was one of the first, before I could think of an answer, she noticed 'its' power in me and started to talk. I decided not to interrupt.
   She told me of her journey, a long and hard one. They walked and walked, her pride... To find it and bring it forth.  She then said “Some things should never see day Brac'ar. Some things are better left in the dark. My pride was the fall, so proud of what the T’oleflor had given. I took it as a sign, I was better than them, even the others I scorned as lesser. Servants of light... “  A deep sigh then racked her form. “At the bottom it sat, green fire virulent in bands of gold. Deep and ancient, the work of those who stood before. The work never meant for the hand of elves. No matter how gifted we may have been.” "Defeat it...we tried.. We fought with all the resource the T’oleflor had given us. Hundreds of years of learning sound, light and shadow we threw at it... In the end, it acceded to our power. All did. Nothing was beyond the gifted of the firstborn. Accede...give in...a hoax to power..a powerful hoax...”
   Then I got pulled out of the pillar again, back to my traveling companions.   Rather confused on what this was all about, I briefly recounted my tale. To my surprise, some of my companions knew something about this and mentioned a woman called Alata, who was also known as a proud one. They did not have time to explain further, but thought it likely that there wouldn’t be more than three pillars. The third one was light, so the second one, the one with the notes, must’ve been sound, and the first one then shadow. In line with the three gifts of the T’oleflor. This was the first I heard of these gifts, yet certainly not the last.  Pondering this, we pressed on, deeper into the darkness of the Night Below in search of Az’atta’s grove. And we came upon a fourth pillar.  One that seemed a combination of the previous three, light, shadow and sound in one. Hoping to get more of the story, I touched it and felt myself ripped to pieces again.  Inside, if you can call it that, I encountered yet another figure, different from the last one, but startlingly similar, the same forced restraint in her bearing.  She asks if I was of the dark, as I didn't appear to be, yet I carried the mark of the fall... I decided to be noncommittal as I didn’t quite know what she meant, so replied that I couldn't be anything else, as she can surely sense it inside. She then said:”The fire is within you, burning you as it burns us all. It awakens soon and with it will awaken those it touched.” She then also launched into a story, telling me that the fall of the three was heralded, the diadem pulling them to darker places that they had a wish to go. She, however, came much after, as they sought to blend the gifts to one, the three lines into an entity that could force the cradle to submission. Her birth heralded celebrations, the Council finally having a success from the limited lines.  Yet then the flaw was found, the flaw in what she was. The corruption had touched her, touched her from the three that came before, through the gifts of the T’oleflor.  I then tried to squeeze in a question into her talking, as my time inside the pillar was probably limited. I asked her if the corruption was the fire, with the fire being the greenish energy that was now inside me. She replied with a yes, the diadem corrupts all it touches, or all who touch it. Depleted for those with the gifts of the firstborn did not fall easily even now the memories of what was lie within stones of power etched for all time. The diadem could not kill what was so completely.  This did not clarify much at the time, as her words were somewhat cryptic, except that for the time being the diadem was not active yet. So I tried another question, asking her how it would awaken again.
She nodded. “The ritual, the lesser gifted taken to itself, those families who have some of the gift drained of it completely. “
Again, an answer that is not totally making sense, but apparently some ritual is going to be undertaken by those who still have some of the gifts left.  She then fell back into her monologue about her birth. She came forth, gifted of three, the first of her kind. Yet in the taint was the loss, for the gifts would not work with one another. One, or the other she could use, all three together would not come.
The cradle remained shut and hidden, her forebears deemed her a failure.
Even though she was equal to one, she never was as much as all. It is what they seek, what they desire. To open the place of the birth and taint it with the corruption within.
Or maybe to become whole once more... A powerful reason to seek, for either purpose.  Her story apparently at an end, I was removed from the pillar. A bit wiser, but with more questions as well. What is this cradle? Who undertakes the ritual? How do we stop it? Do we stop it?  The answers were not going to be found there, so we ventured onwards, as it wasn’t that far to the grove, but as we arrived at the edge of a small subterranean lake, our way was blocked by drow. Many drow, assassins according to some.
These drow were led by a drow called Veldrin, somebody not unfamiliar to some of my companions. He and his assassins blocked the way to the lake, where we could just see a small island which was the home of the grove.  Katrien tried to play a song on her flute, which I now believe to be linked to the gift of Sound, but shadow smashes the area, glazed with runes of light, tearing the song to pieces. Connor tried to talk to him and eventually, in some way unknown to me, persuaded him to let him pass to gather a flower. When we had it we left as fast as we could before Veldrin changed his mind.  On our way back to the surface, I decided to touch the first two pillars as well, guessing that the first two would also tell part of the story of this diadem, the green corrupting fire, the council, the cradle and the gifts of the T’oleflor.  I was right.
 
When we arrived at the second pillar, the ones with the music, I touched it and once more the green light infused me. The excruciating pain of being pulled to small parts was there again before it granted me entry to the secrets it held.  I met another elf woman inside. To my surprise, she said the others spoke that I would, so they are somehow in contact and maybe more than my initial assumption of them being just memories locked into these pillars. She also seemed more open to questions, so when I voiced my theory she told me the pillars bind parts of souls that cannot be lost or subdued to purposes not our own. They share some, they know some. Are they of one mind? That remains to be seen.  She told me her story: “We traveled, for a long time. We searched the lands for challenges. The home had become tedious and our role seemed played out, the cradle itself refusing entry on most occasions.
We left, left governance to the one among us who seemed to desire it, and traveled.”
At that point I asked her where home was, ‘Home” she said, “was on an island. We lived near the place of our work, near the T’oleflor and the cradle.”  “They,”and I am assuming she means the T’oleflor, “visited often, though that decreased as they were lost to our kind. They did not travel till after the T’oleflor left. Before, she was just a musician, making music for joy and a small fare of sustenance.
Then it all changed, the gift, the loss of the T’oleflor and the fall of the diadem.”  I tried another question, asking her if she had the gift of sound. She replied “I am sound.”
Not quite the answer I expected, but her next words confirmed what I then thought, that the gift is what her descendants received from her, she was taken into the cradle long ago and became what the T’oleflor made of her. Before she could continue her story, I asked her yet another question “You say the fall of the diadem, was it not always corrupt?” as it wasn’t clear to me who or what had actually fallen.
Her answer made it clear, they were the ones who suffered the fall of the diadem, the masterwork of ancient dragons not meant for the hands of younger races.
Hidden away deep and dark, until her sister and she were handed the challenge of its retrieval. They had faced most else in the world.
As that was still unclear, I said “So it fell when the young races took it?”  “No, the younger races fell to it, it was not made with good intent.” She then continued where she’d left off.  She talked that there was so much to know now, and so little before. Her sister and she accepted such a task of course, no age, no challenge and so little more to learn.
They were bored, she thought, existence itself had become tedious on them. They wanted to stretch what they were.
So they took this assignment and went home for the last time, to bring light to the fold and traverse the ancient caverns. To retrieve the diadem as asked.
Little was simple after the find, light fell. Pride pulled her down first, the diadem twisting and changing her into something she was not.
She struck the other two then, the battle shook the caverns but her power enhanced by that of the diadem wore at them, till in truth they no longer had the strength to fight it. She admitted that they had never had reached limits before, they didn’t understand them. Not since the day of the change.
As they struck their limits, far from destroying them, the diadem struck in the place most vulnerable, twining corruption around their gifts, perverting them, pulling and perverting them till they hardly were aware of themselves.
Yet it left them alive, whole. Mostly.  As she finished with those words, I found myself back outside of the pillar. Fascinated by this story, I hurried upwards to the first pillar to get the final piece of the story from the pillar of shadow.  For the final time, I was ripped apart, the power of the diadem, for that is what the green energy is, scouring my soul to its core.
The last woman that I found myself standing before was trim and athletic, her grace captivating in her small movements.
She has awaited my visit, she said, the diadem allows its own to pass. The parts that are not in its possession stay trapped within. Like her.  But I am young yet, yet there are not many parts of me it does not touch. Fortunate and unfortunate for me, she said…  She assumes I knows who she is, since the conclusion is obvious enough. Most call her The Fletcher. The story grows grimmer as I came to her for the final telling.  They emerged, the diadem in hand, sure they had changed and not sure how. They felt no different, if anything they felt stronger than when they entered.
The battle with Light mostly forgotten, since they had fought often amongst themselves, the conflict itself was not new, only the scale of it.
So it was that they, I am assuming sound and shadow, undertook to travel and light returned home. For a short time, a short time only.  They never took the diadem back to the one whom commissioned its finding, it had been mostly dormant since they left its home, gems dulled from exertion, the battle with them both times taking toll on its resource.
As I asked about who commissioned it, she replied an elf commissioned it, but she thinks it was no elf. An elder she would think, but with magic that surpassed her own, for she never did see through its guise.
I manage to insert the notion that it may have been a dragon.  She knows the creatures are sorely reduced at the moment, in her time this was not so. They were more than they are now, creatures that though in decline still held immense power. She thinks my assumption is correct, but they did never verify it, and soon they did not care anymore.  This answer gave further substance to my theory that they are not mere memories, she seems to have an understanding of the passing of time as she knows there are less dragons than there used to be. Also, she apparently has some way to gain information from outside of the pillar, unless she gets it from those who touch it.  But to go back to her story.
They left the diadem with light for a time, but the cradle was to become more chaotic, their descendants less able to deal with the power it sent into the surrounds.
The elves living at home slowly fell to bickering, the cradle destroying anything close.
Eventually the families decided to vacate home, leave it and find a safer place elsewhere.
The families, though it was a blow to pride, agreed. The blood was thinning, the gifts weakening in them all, time and dilution taking its toll.   Through this, her own family was ostracized, held apart, for shadow is the only portion of the cradle that deals with return, and death. Light and sound are the wheels of life, the return not understood by most.
So it was that the final gift of the T’oleflor, the ring known as the Ancients Light was stolen by shadow. By her family, not her.
The Ancients Light was rumoured to be the key to the cradle, however, they could never get it to function. According to Fletcher, the T’oleflor  planned to spend longer teaching them, their sudden disappearance halting that.
They left the ring instead, a repository of knowledge for them to use. They never got it to work, though, so it sat forgotten, more source of pride than anything else.
The elves parted ways, the small portion that stole the ring joining a renegade group of elves. This renegade group descended into the Underdark, and they, along with others became the drow.
But...it was their own fall to the dark and eventual conquering of it that was to come, their rise to power and eventually sleep. For the diadem working in them, turning them slowly from paths pure to paths dark.
Power was its own goal, curiosity forgotten. Slowly they descended to become one with those that lived beneath the surface. And soon to take the mantle of the Council.  Then with a rather final tone she said: “They who were once the most gifted of the T’oleflor, favored and chosen for the tending of the wheels of creation in absence fell, and became the council. Ever working towards the cradle and the destruction of all they were to tend.”  And I was removed from the pillar once more, without being able to ask more questions.
Why did Bil get the dark gem from her? Or was it even her that Bil met? Where is the diadem now, as she said they left it with light? So many questions, so few answers.  When we returned to the surface with the flowers from the grove, the full ramifications of what I had learned hadn’t hit home yet, but as I commit these words to paper they have.  I am reminded many times of the words of the last woman I spoke, that the diadem allows its own to pass and the parts that are not in its possession stay trapped within the pillar. Am I, as I am sitting here writing this journal, then the diadem’s creature, with a part of myself left behind in those pillars? I know not, but it is a possibility I cannot dismiss…  And then there is of course the nature and origin of the drow, corrupted by the power of the diadem, will I follow the same path?  Putting down his quill Brac’ar sighs deeply then mutters “Not if I can help it.”

[EdTheKet]

ENTRY 23
 
  Sitting in the grass outside a strange tower in the High Forest, Brac’ar looks at his hands and nods. “At least I no longer look green.”
  Absent mindedly, while looking for his journal in his pack, he touches the bandage around his leg which covers the wound made by the green dragon.
  “Ah” Taking out his quill and ink, he starts to write.
 
A fine mess this now is. We have just emerged from a tower, a rather old one, in the High Forest. This now partially overgrown tower was the home of a Lucindite called Emily, who together with her husband-to-be Narsil, are responsible for this mess.  But let me clarify the mess first. Ages ago, or at least how I understand it, a fight broke out between Lucinda and Ilsare, driving a wedge between Emily and Narsil, making them fight each other. Love turned to hate and they summoned devas to finish the other one off. However, like Emily and Narsil, the devas loved each other as well, battle ensued and both devas died, which finally made the goddesses realize they were wrong to fight.
  Now there are flowers that grow every year in Spellgard, and in the flowers it is said you can see the faces of the devas. These flowers came from the feathers of the devas when they died, however, now they don't grow because of some leeching force.
  A year ago, a party made the flowers bloom and the devas said "Seek the path of the single horned horse in the wooden lands of the high... there the path flows on" The devas were happy to wake up after the darkness. However, they then realized they weren't in the place of the circles, whatever that meant, so were only briefly freed before turning on each other with hatred.  
  While we were at Spellgard, I tried to determine what was hampering the flowers from blooming, I sensed some strange leeching force, but that was all I could find. Nothing on what it was or where it came from.
  So off we went, to the High Forest, as that’s clearly the ‘wooden lands of the high’, however, we didn’t go without strife. As the devas mentioned they had to be released at the circles, it stood to reason that we would have to take some flowers to these circles. So Reventage proceeded to scoop a few from the ground and put them in a box, and Rufus placed one inside a book to dry. This led to a strange response, those who followed Lucinda, like Connor, Katrien and especially Rashar, freaked out, called it theft and what not. In return, Rev didn’t seem to be herself either. Tempers flared, and it wasn’t until first Ael and finally Athus took the flowers in his care that we actually started moving.
  As we walked towards Leilon, everyone continued to argue, or more specifically, and everything is easy looking back, it was the Lucindites arguing with the Ilsaran. The only sane people left appeared to be Athus, Acacea, Ael, Bil, Rufus and myself. In the mean time, Athus had also sensed something was wrong and there was a clear disturbance coming down the divine. Then close to Leilon, Acacea started to hum a song, which seemed to calm people down and restore some wit to them, namely the Lucindites .It didn’t agree with Rev at all. Acacea told me this was the song of the blue flower, which she learned earlier in previous dealings with these. So somehow, this old Lucinda-Ilsare feud that the devas had been involved in, was affecting the Lucindites and Rev.A thing both disturbing and fascinating.
  Finally, we arrive at Legodia, who recalls the name "paths of the single horned horse". She tells the story of a young girl who came to live in the forest. She kept in balance with her environs, using only what was needed and keeping to herself most of the time. Nobody truly minded her, one of the few solitary souls that are good to have around. One day when the skies were scorned by ill-tidings, everything slowly changed. Something happened to her, and up to this day, they do not know what. She was shaded in dark manners that they could not penetrate.
  The Unicorn River is magical; many mages of all kind visit it to experiment, some even hoping to meet the souls of the forests the horned horses, the silver steeds. She was particular to this as her tower was in a location of known high magical influence. There is a path, it leads to where she called her home. For the most part it was a clear path, devoid of danger only the occasional magical beast walking through it.  After her change this path turned to darkness.
  The foliage covered it and many souls have been lost to its treacherous ways. From the words of those who care for the High Forest, the trees speak of souls outside this domain that are bound to the magic of the path. The few who have managed to come back from the paths have told Legodia a few things though. At the end of the path lies a strange shrine. Legodia's friend Iolosika, who has visited this shrine, said she didn't recognize the inscriptions upon the shrine or who they belong to. South of the shrine is a tower. This tower is where it is said the woman once lived and all the legends of the path endings are tied to her. If we go there we are warned, many return changed from that path. Dark and sorrowful, as if they had witnessed a war and always end up dying old and bitter. The girl/woman was called the Witch of Silvery End, the Dark Silver, the Witch of the Silvery Weave, Path's End. Once a year however, there's a strange occurrence on the river. The normally silver waters of the river start showing the shapes of horses on the stream. This started happening right about the time the unicorns vanished, when the woman grew into these dark manners.
  After that Legodia showed us the start of the path to the tower and left us. We then talked about the flowers some more and I asked that if there was a blue song, shouldn’t there be a red song too?
  Turned out I was right, and of the people who were there, it was Alantha who had the red song. She and Acacea started singing and the powers of the songs combined. The spell I then saw was amazingly complex, the pure force of the weave supplying the power while Ilsares song gave that power defined intent. The construct of the spell didn’t really have much form though, as it is driven by pure emotions, its intent however, is not filled in what it is doing.
  Soon many were hit by the song and started to act on their emotions only, they couldn't think anymore. Mindblanks and disjunctions had no effect, it was like a heal spell, the spell being gone but the effects lingering. Eventually I cast a thunderclap, putting their attention on me, but it didn't do anything to relieve the effects, eventually they lessened but people are still attracted to each other, Rev even called it a date! With a lot of effort, we started down the path towards the tower..
  We encounter what used to be unicorns I think, large black horselike creatures, who when killed and examined closer, had a horn that was likely once pearly white, but now pitted and corroded. Their coat no longer has a sheen and in many ways the stingy corpse appears to have been dead for weeks, despite it being killed just now. Something was definitely not right.
 When we finally arrive at the tower, we saw it was covered in runes: Deva, horse, heart, and heart, horse, deva.
 In front of the stairs there is a rune for each of the three that appears on the tower, with the words 'in place and time remains the same' inscribed underneath them. After a lot of debate on what this riddle means, like first there being love (the heart) then the devas fighting (the deva) and then something with unicorns (the horse), we couldn’t really decide what to press. At first we thought the heart was the rune to press, but then thought that love isn’t really the same over time. Neither are the devas or unicorns, everything changes in time.
  Eventually, we pressed 'horse' as that was physically in the same spot and in the same spot in the sequence. ‘Deva, horse, heart’ and ‘Heart, horse, deva’.  
  Often things are so simple, you don’t even know it if the answer is staring you in the face. With that out of the way, we could now step up towards the door, which was, unfortunately, trapped not to mention rust covered. It took me many hours to disable the hundreds of implosion runes, and if I had failed we would’ve laid waste to a large part of the forest, but I succeeded. But it was not over yet, there was also a trigger of another trap underneath the doorframe, which needed to be disabled from the inside.  Bil sent in his familiar, an imp, through one of the windows, however, it came to a gruesome end, killed by what turned out to be a golem on guard inside. As Alantha's pixie familiar didn’t want to go in, I eventually polymorphed into a pixie, flew in invisible and disabled the trigger hidden under a welcome mat and opened the door.
  Inside there were statues and flowers, in a surprisingly dust free state. Flowers on the left are all pretty and magical, some are also poisonous. Flowers on the right all seem to have specific botanical uses in alchemy. Most are very useful to imitate special effetss without tapping into the weave. There was also a collection of numbered statues, nearly finished golems, that only lacked animating force… Something I will get back to later in this journal.
  In the room with the golem, which I entered as pixie earlier, we find books, one with personal notes on summoning and magical clay. One about the summoning of a handmaiden of Lucinda catches our eyes; it has her marks scribbled all over, with many diagrams and modifications. The final pages of the book seem to be the last draft of the summoning, its complexity amazing in its detail and the compulsions that are laced within are of the strongest kind. Something summoned like this would be either bound for forever as they wouldn’t weaken unless it was released.
  About the magical clay, the process seems to be described clearly, the clay taken from a garden of magically infused soil with very particular types of plants growing within, probably the gardens at the entrance with all the flowers..  When bathed in highly potent form of positive energy the clay is then formed and could then to be used. It is noted many enchanters used it as a shortcut to create powerful constructs, yet they differed from the usual on many levels. For one they were not infused with a magical awareness unlike others, but the clay acted as much like a sponge for sentience. Wherein if the proper conduits were in place, the enchanter could funnel through awareness to the earthen form and meld knowledge of the source directly to the form. The book indicates that this final sequence was frequently used, yet mostly on creatures of lower intelligence since often the transferal was fatal, those of less than firm character however were known to se other subjects of the higher races and not trouble to much with the mortal forms. The remainder rambles on about bindings for the golems so they don’t retain the drives and desires of the host form, showing complex spells to bind the constructs and awareness to the will of the caster.
  The book also has a pile of information on tests that the Lucindite performed, placing the awareness in small pieces of clay at the heart of enchanted glass. She used the awareness of the shape formed in the statues to give them the outer shell of the inner personality. All in all a most fascinating read.
  Looking up as the sun goes down and the party makes camp for the night, he decides to call it a night and continue later.

[EdTheKet]

ENTRY 24 (part 1)

It started many decades ago with a simple letter.

Dear Mr Kilring,

My name is Jerong Halrodia, Scholar at the Keep of the Tome. It is with a great degree of pride that I send this missive towards your person. Events have unfolded before us that have simply left the scholarly community in definite shocked states and with many great hopes as to where such surprises may lead.
As such, I contact you through correspondence in hopes to call your attention into matters of great deliverance.

For a few years now, the Society for Historical and Archeaological Accuracy (known as the Shay), has been involved in the exploration of an old ruin near the vicinity of Daluth, in the continent of Belinara,south of what is locally known as the Troll’s Marsh.
This strange ruin seems to have been the gome to a strange people, who in their better existence amongst the lands of Layonara, worked many aspects of the Weave and their applications to imbuing items and materials with its gifts.

Throughout these years of excavations many successful and rather enlightening discoveries have we experienced in such location, all and every one of which has received proper examination and the most careful recording.
All except one. A particular one to which we hope your infinite knowledge in matters of this particular magic can present as enlightening.

TO the matters of what I speak to you today we refer now to a book. A rather peculiar tome that was found amongst the most protected locations of the dig site and whose contents have driven the attention of many of our colleagues. Its title is Rhun Zharr, which as you already know, translates from the ancient easterling dwarven to something along the lines of “Powerful Unstoppable Fires of Runic Magic.”
In this very peculiar tome, a certain spell has been inscribed, all along with its uses and how to properly apply it to recipients in magic and/or against a person’s body.

Clearly a new spell is a great find and one that many scholars would appreciate recording, yet this tome is rather beyond the definition of “simple spell”. The Rhun Zharr carries within its pages an Irrepressible, Unquenchable, and most importantly, Unstoppable evocation.
This fascinating spell seems to be able to adapt to any presented resistances and carry within it an abjurational protection that makes it literally invulnerable to counter magic.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to say about the spell, because simple some of its usage escapes our comprehension and any further advancement into its knowledge requires someone of your ilk. Yes, this knowledge is not one that can be used by anyone. It seems that in its conception there were certain traits imbued into the castes of such magics which made it rather restrictive in its conception (an understandable concept when facing such powerful magic), and the only one we know that can possibly use this knowledge is you.

Word has trickled down through the circles in our community that you have been afflicted by a peculiar ailment brought from those of more ancient times, that combined with your extreme knowledge unto the art of evocation and your knowledge of the dwarven language, make you the perfect candidate for this endeavor.

We understand that the world right now sits in turmoil in many other aspects, and that it may prove folly if this information fall into the wrong hands. As such we are asking you to contact your most trusted individuals to accompany you, shall you desire to accept this invitation to the Keep of the Tome.
A few copies of the existence of this tome have been sent to trusted circles, yet we are sure that the only one that can truly provide helpful input in this matter is yourself.

Thus with much hope to seeing yu soon, we await your presence at the Keep of the Tome, its location inscribed on the back of this letter under magical wards. Wards which will reveal the direction to our Keep as your approach it, the initial destination, inscribed at the bottom of the warded structure.

In hope to meeting before the One Book, Jerong Halrodia, Third Grade Historian at the Keep of the Tome, Keep of the Tome, Dregar.


So what was I to do, travel to the Keep of the Tome of course. It was bound to be a fascinating experience. So off we went, Reventage, Acacea and myself, following the directions in the letter into a mountain range on Dregar. A mountain range which for the sake of secrecy shall remain nameless in this journal.

We entered the Keep through a secret entrance and were met by this Jerong Halrodia, who had written the letter.

After a warm, and rather Aragenite welcome, he cut to the heart of the matter. The tome had suffered an ill fate.
Apparently I was not the only one they had sent a missive to, and one of the other letters had been intercepted. To make matters worse, the tome was not actually at the Keep yet but on its way, and had been stolen by minions of the Old Red Lizard.

I decided to not immediately pursue those that had took it, as it was probably too late anyway, but first study the notes and the rough copies that were made of several pages as well as some inscriptions, in order to determine what this tome actually was.

The inscriptions were recent notes made by scribes when they found the first impressions of the Rhun Zharr, as the  tome is called.
The notes also had initial transcriptions of inscriptions made at the location before the book was actually removed from its stand in some ruins near the town of Daluth.

The first thing I noticed about the text was that this was a very very old dialect of dwarven. It was so old that I actually had to do some small translations to changes that have occurred through time with terms and meanings. So anyone that is not too experienced with the language can easily make a lot of mistakes.

I continued my analysis of the cover and immediately learned that it actually has more inscriptions than just its name, they translate roughly to: "The Fire of Hardened Scales, Lay Hands and Spirit Upon These Tales"

It seemed rather poetic at the time and not so much a definition, but I will get back to that later.
I turned to the introduction, and it was immediately clear that this work was done by someone with skilled used of the weave, yet there is always this certain flair to the text.

It was very detailed but there are times when unnecessary language was used to describe things or effects, a flair that you normally not see in scholarly type research.

A brief summary of the translation follows:

The working of this spell will be so that an evocation is created that cannot be stopped with any sort of defense. However this evocation will also be varied in design and purpose. Not only being one to be protected, but one that can adapt to different environments as well as those targeted with it. The first design of the spell is rather simple. Its main course will be fire, yet this is simply on preference. For it being an evocation, it can actually adapt to any of the four elements with a simple transposition of the basic runes in the core system of the place it is being scripted to or how it is being cast.
So in essence you have a multi elemental evocation that can be changed on the spot.
That is just the beginning, for then you have a particular mode of the spell where its intensity is accumulated in wave like motions. As if adding the four different elemental magics used to make a force of pure magical energy. This is force of course without any sort of known defenses, but localized a lot more than the wider spread of the other forms.
Then the following workings of the spell are its natural state of abjuration protections. As is known, evocations are normally countered or protected by many different sorts of abjurations, ranging from simple elemental resistances to an actual dispelling. By weaving these two forms of magic into one, the evocation will be "coated" with a layer of this pure abjurational magic that will make it impossible to avoid or remove by normal means.
The only forms that can possibly penetrate this protection are spells called disjunctions.

The tome then continued into more practical manners, it began to postulate on the limitations or usage, but was abruptly cut off at: "The Rhun Zharr will be able to be placed on many powerful and magical items, however.."


After that the rest of the notes were schematics on the size of the tome, the composition of it and the altar it was found on. The altar looked at first sight like nothing more than a burst of flames reaching upwards. However when the detail I looked in more detail, I saw that there were all sorts of runes on each wreathing flame.
The book seemed to have been placed on a flattened flame that served as a stand. It was hard to see but using a lens I was able to make out what the runes said: “Touched in layers of fire, this lore we keep to our people to protect and imbue with power for the gifts granted in magic. Knowledge of ages passed on by kin of mightier forms, father of our people. Let the fierce be held firm within us, as the gifts are passed and wreathed in flames."
Next to that, the altar seemed to have slots for other decorations that were either removed or ransacked ages ago.

The sketch of the book itself shows that it was about an arm length in height and 3/4's on a side. Seems be about 3 fingers in thickness. It is written on the description that it looks almost charred since it has a blackened crimson sort of look.

With all of these references to flames, fire and magic I thought it would be a good idea to talk to my old tacher Garrim, considering he is what one calls a Fire Dwarf, often found in Pits of Endless Strife near the elemental plane of Fire.
Of course, that is easier said than done, so before going of chasing the thieves of the tome, I decided to use the resources of the Keep in order to find a way to talk or summon my old master.

We managed to find several such ways, one involving several highly rare and expensive gems, which could be used to send messages, the other involving an adamantium helm which could actually summon him. A helm that had conventiently been loaned out by the Keep to Haysenfend Threelions, a wizard in Dalanthar.

Luckily for a poor wizard like me, there’s always a companion with an enchanted diamond when you need one. So I first tried the quick and dirty approach, using this diamond and some complicated runes I worked on with Reventage I was able to send a one-way message to Garrim. Naturally, this was no particular big effort for a mage of my skill so a very simple yet clear message was sent off:

We need to talk urgently, contact me as soon as you are able. Brac’ar

He responded very quickly

I am not safe, you are not safe, watch your back until I can get in touch.

That gave me pause to think, my master, not safe? So instead of running off in pursuit of the Old Lizard’s minions, I decided I needed to try to get my master here, or at least find out he was not safe, and perhaps also get him out of trouble.

So off we went to Dalanthar, to Haysenfend Threelions, whom I had not met before, but had heard about.
Acacea knew which house was his, which in the end wasn’t too difficult as there were three lions basking in the sun outside of it.
Master Haysenfend turned out to be a very kind and noble human, and invited us in. He was having a meeting, so I cut right to the chase and asked him about the adamantium bascinet. Further in the house, there were muffled voices, but as I was not invited in further, I remained near the door. Our curious Halfling of course, did not, and she wandered further into the house.
She appeared again and mentioned that the esteemed elven spellweaver Melizaphei was actually there, as well as another mage. We were invited further in, and I was introduced to Melizaphei. The man, Armand Tru’vador, immediately recognized me, and started to ask me about the draconic sliver that was inside my body, and how I was faring with that.
After having explained to him that I was coping with it, but that it was essentially a wound in my leg that never closed and permanently oozed pus, he was satisfied for the moment.

Haysenfend came back from his vault with the bascinet and we discussed what I intended to do with it. I explained Garrim’s situation and what I wanted to do, and asked if Melizaphei would not be able to ask Jaldrix, the Weird of Fire for assistance.
She kindly did and sent him off.
While we waited, I inquired if they had ever heard of the Rhun Zharr. To my surprise, they had, and looking back I probably should not have been surprised at all, considering the caliber of mages gathered here.
They then mentioned more people were coming, and shortly thereafter, more mages arrive, Moraken of Hlint and Gracielle Elthronialas of the Tower of Fire, , Je’linda Thresoa , and the illustrious Xora.

I explain what I know of the tome, and the further I got, the clearer it became clear that Fisterion should not have it. Armand, who has a tower on Northern Dregar, indicated that there had been an increased magical activity around Firemountain, making it now impervious to scrying attempts, so something was definitely going on there.

Then Jaldrix returns and lets us know that the city Garrim was in, called The Bazaar, was under siege by an army of fire elementals, and nobody could get in or out. He wasn’t able to determine who was controlling them, nor could he reach Garrim.
I thought this was too much of a coincidence; perhaps even old Fisty was controlling them. It was time to take Fisterion up on his standing invitation from years ago, the one he gave after I had mentioned the idea to return the dragon gods of magic and return control of the Weave to them as potential cause to ally the dragons against Sinthar Bloodstone.

The idea that had led to the brutal insertion of the draconic sliver of the Broken One into my very being, giving me a taint.
A taint that was slowly killing me...


//to be continued, 18 months after the fact is a bit too long