Session 17

The mood in the camp was sombre that morning, as everyone awoke feeling less rested than the day before. Seknafret used her magic to remove the worst of the effects while Ebyn scrawled in his journal.

“Have any of you heard the name Mok’slyk before?” Ebyn asked as he tucked the journal into his pack.

The others all shook their heads.

“Hmm,” Ebyn said. “This concept of so-called ‘pure magic’ intrigues me. I would have thought something so fundamental would be more widely known.”

Seknafret shrugged. “This all took place on another world. Perhaps its known by another name on Toril, or The Shadowfell.”

“Perhaps,” Ebyn said after a moment. “Strange that I’d never heard of it though.”

“A problem for another day,” Brabara said. “Let’s get moving. Sooner we reach Ialos, the sooner we can be done with this terrible place.”

The group headed into the mist. For the first few hours they crossed more of the broken rocky ground, but this eventually changed to become flatter. Wherever they walked, the grey mist would leech into their bones to make them feel cold and miserable despite the mild temperature.

Dead farmlands, with ploughed fields sitting fallow – not that anything could possibly grow here – or fenced paddocks with unharvested crops rotting in the ground, or dead livestock huddled under dead trees.

Humanoid corpses also dotted the land. Sometimes alone, their flesh picked clean by the unnatural scavengers that survived in this awful place. Sometimes huddled together in small groups, adults hunched over children as if to protect them from whatever happened that day.

There could be no better monument to the futility and horror of war.

By midday they found another battlefield. Like the one before, corpses littered the ground as far as the eye could see, but here the dead were arranged in orderly lines. Killed in ranks before a battle had even commenced.

Once again, they elected to skirt the area.

This time it was Brabara who spotted a small one-eyed creature watching them pass by from a small thicket of dead grass.

“There’s another one,” Brabara said pointing to where the creature hid.

“Another what?” Xalen asked.

“Of those one-eyed animals,” she said.

Seknafret shuddered. “Where?”

Brabara moved to point it out, but the small beast scurried under cover and disappeared. “It was by that tuft of grass,” she said. “But I can’t see it anymore.”

Xalen bounded across to where Brabara pointed and overturned several rocks. “It’s gone.”

“If we spot another, we should try and capture it,” Ebyn said. “Never know what we could learn from it.”

The group continued their journey towards Ialos.

A shriek pierced the gloom that put everyone on edge. From the mist emerged six spectral warriors, their ghostly armour emblazoned with the symbol of a roaring bear, their eyes glowing with fury.

Xalen had his bow up in a heartbeat, loosing arrows at the approaching undead. Two arrows struck true, dispersing one of the spirits in a burst of cold flame. He moved to the side seeking cover, hands a blur as he nocked another.

Brabara stepped forward, her glaive swinging in a wide arc that struck two of the creatures as they drew near. One shattered like glass, while the other dissipated for a moment to reappear right beside the brawny warrior blade held ready.

Seknafret held her staff aloft, reaching toward the wan sun for power. She touched the weave and extended her hand causing a pillar of sacred flame to descend upon the undead next to Brabara. The creature let out an agonized wail as radiant fire burned its form away and it vanished in a cloud of smoke.

Ebyn took to the air, his winged boots flapping as he rose above the fray. He spotted one of the warriors approaching Xalen from behind and used his power to cause a dolorous clang to fill the air around it. The noise alerted Xalen to the creature’s presence, and he spun around to send a shaft into its chest as it staggered from the disorienting sound.

Brabara stepped over to finish the creature off with a thrust of her glaive and the four of them stood panting and scanning the area for more enemies.

Silence returned to the area, broken only by their ragged breaths.

“Do you think there’s more of them?” Xalen said.

“There’s certainly no shortage of corpses,” Brabara said. “I’m surprised we haven’t been hit like that sooner.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Ebyn said as he touched down beside the others.

It soon became clear there were no more immediate threats, and the Succulent Juices resumed their journey. They made good progress now that they were clear of the broken landscape and had walked several miles before the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

They made camp as usual inside Ebyn’s magically conjured hut, but despite being exhausted, none of them wanted to sleep. Eventually, however, they all succumbed to its inevitable embrace and another of the dreams took hold:

Vecna, his training under Mok’slyk complete had become a skilled necromancer. His ambition grew along with his power, and he dreams of conquest. His magic could power legions of undead, but he knew that without living generals his armies would be limited. He needed allies, people he could trust to bring his dreams to reality.

He travelled the Flanaess to find those who might prove worthy.  Power hungry and capable people to recruit to his cause. It is during this time when he first meets Kas, a young officer unhappy with the restrictions his superiors place on him, and Acererak a young cambion whose sadism impressed him.

Vecna finds Kas in the process of executing a chained group of prisoners after a battle. He’d been ordered to bring the captives, high ranking officers judging by their dress, back to the city for ransom. Instead, he chose to kill them all. Seeing this, Vecna decided to approach Kas.

“Why disobey the order?” Vecna said. “Such prisoners could prove useful to your war effort.”

“Mercy is for the weak,” Kas spat. “Power is the only thing worthy of respect.”

“A fine sentiment, young man. I could use someone like you at my side.”

 “And what do you have to offer me?” Kas said with a snort.

Vecna smiled broadly. “The whole world.”

Kas eyed Vecna, studying his face for any hint of guile. He found none.

Sometime later, Vecna and Kas are walking along a prominent city street to see a group of Clerics surrounding a woman standing protectively over a small child. Sun symbols displayed prominently on the priests marking them as adherents of Pelor.

The pair watched as the scene unfolded. The priests were clearly intent on killing both the woman and the child. Vecna focussed on the young boy and saw the horns sprouting from the child’s head.

“Cambion,” he whispered to Kas as they stood nearby.

Kas shrugged. “And?”

“Let’s see how this plays out,” Vecna said.

The priests attacked from all sides. The woman threw herself over the child as the priests brought maces crashing down on her. The boy just managed to wiggle out from under his mother’s broken body and leapt onto the back of a priest. With one arm raised he smashed a rock down on the man’s head with a loud crack. The priest fell twitching to the ground and the boy landed outside the circle, pointed teeth showing through his snarl.

“I will kill you all,” the boy said. “The faithful of Pelor will fall to me.”

Vecna glanced toward Kas and gave a little nod. Kas stepped forward, sword drawn, and cut the remaining priests down. None of them a match for such a skilled warrior.

Vecna approached the boy as the last priest fell. “What is your name, child?”

The boy’s eyes snapped to his, narrowed in fury. “What’s it to you?”

“I can give you want you want,” Vecna said.

---

Another bad night, and another morning where Seknafret had to use her restoration magic to revitalise them before the group resumed their journey north.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said once everyone was ready. “We need to find a way to make these dreams stop or for them to not affect us like this.”

Ebyn wrapped the cord around his notebook and stowed the item in his pack. “I suspect it will become easier with time,” he said. “My own visions rocked me at first, but I adjusted. You will also.”

“I sure hope so,” Seknafret said. “It’s like I have this whole other person in my head.”

“I know what you mean.” Xalen said. “When I’ve had those dreams, I’m not me watching what happens… I’m him. Doing it all. Saying it all…”

“Wanting it all,” Ebyn finished. “It is intense, no question.”

“I worry that I am being changed by it,” Seknafret said. “Perhaps we all are.”

“Changed? How?” Ebyn said.

Seknafret let out a long breath. “I can’t say for sure it’s happening, but we cannot be going through something so intimate without some lasting impact.”

“Hmmm,” Ebyn said. “That is an interesting point. We should each monitor one another, keep our eyes open for anything odd.”

They broke camp and continued their journey.

Around midday the four of them crested a rise to see the unmistakable sign of smoke rising from the mists in the distance.

Ebyn sent Hoot out to investigate, and he spotted a small group, an orc and two halflings, sitting and talking around a feeble fire in the middle of a ruined building. Ebyn had Hoot listen to the conversation for a time, but they only spoke of trivial things like any group sitting around a fire might say to pass the time.

Listening for a little longer, Ebyn managed to learn their names; Kalyth, Dortle-Lynn, and Grezan.

Xalen moved closer ahead of the others to find a place out of sight where he could observe the building while the others approached the small camp with no attempt to conceal their presence.

“Hello there,” Brabara said when they were close enough to see them through the mist.

The three figures scrambled at the sound, collecting weapons and emerging from the ruined openings in a fluster.

“Who’s out there?” the orc, Kalyth, called out, his voice taking on an intimidating tone. “We’re armed and ain’t afraid to defend ourselves.”

Barbara chuckled. “There’s no need for that, friends. We are merely passing through and wondered if you had any news of the paths ahead.”

The orc’s eyes narrowed. “Ok, then. Step forward so we can get a better look at you. No need to be lurking in the mists.”

Brabara took a few cautious steps toward them, her hands raised with palms out in a pose she hoped appeared unthreatening.

“That’s close enough,” one of the halflings, Dortle-Lynn, said raising her crossbow in Brabara’s direction. “Share away.”

“No need to be rude, little-one,” Brabara said with a sigh. “There’s few enough of us living in this cursed place, we should stick together instead of making threats.”

Kalyth placed a hand on Dortle-Lynn’s arm and pushed the crossbow down. “The big woman’s right, ‘Lynn. After what happened to Jax and Cresk we can’t afford to make new enemies.”

“Had some trouble?” Brabara said.

Kalyth nodded. “Got hit by some warforged the other day. The bastards sprung up from nowhere and took two of us down.” The big orc’s shoulders slumped. “This whole venture’s been one giant shitshow.”

“What do you mean?” Brabara said.

“This region is meant to be lousy with treasure and magic,” Kalyth began. “At least that’s the kind of bullshit they tell you on the outside. Truth is, it’s just filled with misery and death. We lost Doric on the first day to some fucked up bear thing that jumped us from the mists. Then Jax and Cresk to those damned warforged a few days later.”

Brabara lowered her hands. “Sounds rough, we ran into some undead a way back.”

“Undead!” Grezan shrieked. “Of course, there’d be undead.”

Kalyth looked down at his companion and frowned. “Anyway, now it’s just the three of us trying to decide if this whole stupid venture is worth the hassle.” The orc stepped closer to Brabara and lowered his voice. “Thing is, I just want to get out of here.”

“So go,” Brabara said. “We won’t stop you.”

“It ain’t that,” Kalyth said. “I promised my crew that we’d find treasure out here and I don’t want to let them down. Life’s tough for veterans since the wars ended and because of my mistakes we ain’t got much in the way of options. Maybe we could join you guys and split the share. We started out at six and with you three on board we’d be six again. What do you think?”

Ebyn felt the box at his belt click. Another secret had been added to their collection: “Kalyth is responsible for his party’s current misfortunes.”

Brabara took a deep breath, she could certainly sympathize with their plight. “Listen, friend. I’ve been where you are and believe me, you can’t dig your way out of a hole like this by digging deeper. If you really do care about your crew, you’ll leave these lands and never come back.”

Kalyth nodded. “I know, I know,” he said. “But we can’t leave with nothing. We gotta find something out here we can sell, or we’ll be dead anyway.”

Brabara shrugged her pack off and rummaged around for moment removing a coin pouch which she held toward Kalyth. The orc looked at it with a mixture of suspicion and greed.

“What’s that?” he said.

Brabara raised the pouch higher. “Some coin for you and your people.”

Kalyth reached out and took the pouch, opening it and peering inside. “That’s gold, isn’t it?” he said, taking one of the coins out to study it. “I don’t recognise these markings. Where did you come by this?”

Brabara smiled. “We’re not from around here. There’s a little over a hundred gold in there. Who knows, maybe the unusual minting will earn you more than face value with the right buyer. It’s not much, but it’ll help you make a start on the outside.”

Kalyth looked up at Brabara, tears forming in the corner of his eyes, and he moved to embrace her. Brabara held her hand up at the orc’s chest to keep him at bay. “No need for any hugs. Just take the money and find a way to make something with your life.”

Kalyth tucked the pouch under his shirt and stepped back to the ruined building where Dortle-Lynn still stood. “My thanks to you. All of you.”

Brabara nodded. “Good luck, Kalyth. Don’t waste the chance you’ve been given.”

The group moved on, and Xalen followed behind – emerging from his hiding spot to the surprise of the three veterans. He smiled and waved as he strode past to catch up with the others who had since disappeared into the mists.

Their journey continued for another few hours, stopping only once the sky had begun to darken. Despite their tiredness, nobody hurried to sleep, fearing the nightmare once slumber finally came.

Of course, the dream came as it always did these days:

Vecna with Kas and Acererak at his side, has forged an empire built on conquest and death. Yet his lust for power is unsated even as his empire grows.

A huge army of undead are attacking the city of Fleeth.

Vecna stands, with Kas, overlooking the siege as his hordes storm the city. Despite the overwhelming numbers, his forces are being held back by a massive dome of radiant light that covers the entire city. Vecna knows the source of that light is in the temple at the centre of Fleeth, powered by the devotion of its priests.

Vecna’s fist thuds into a nearby rock, frustration plain on his features. “I should have allowed for this,” he spat.

Kas placed a gentle hand on Vecna’s shoulder, a surprisingly tender gesture given the circumstances. “Don’t worry, brother,” Kas said. “When plans fail, we must rely on bold action.”

Vecna looked up and met Kas’ gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I have an idea,” Kas said with a wicked smile.

Some hours later, Vecna, Kas, and Acererak approached the city gates under the guise of refugees fleeing the invaders with important news relating to the defence of the city.

The guards initially refuse them entry but Vecna, who the elders still consider to be one of Fleeth’s most honoured sons, is recognized and the three of them are taken inside and brought before the high priest and the city council.

Once there, surrounded by the rulers of the city, Vecna, Kas, and Acererak attack and kill the council and their guards using powerful magic and martial skill. With the High Priest dead, they manage to lower the radiant shield and allow the undead horde to breach the walls.

Vecna looks on from the roof of the temple as the ancient city of Fleeth, once a pinnacle of law, justice, and learning, dies.

“Well done, brother,” Kas said. “How do you feel now that we finally have this victory?”

Vecna kept his eyes fixed on the destruction taking place around him. “Empty.”

---

That morning it was Xalen who was most affected by the dream. Seknafret used her magic to remove his exhaustion, and the group continued their journey to Ialos.

The countryside changed again, going from mostly flat former farmland to gently rolling hills where vineyards once grew. Dead grapevine ran in countless rows on what might once have been sun drenched hills before the Day of Mourning blanketed this region in perpetual mist.

They crossed a small dried-up streambed. Loose pebbles – smoothed by the passage of water – shifted as they stepped across the dry gully, when Brabara stopped suddenly.

She raised a hand to signal the others and moved her head from side to side, weapon at the ready.

Before anyone could ask what’s what, a warforged stepped from cover, arm held toward them with its hand in a fist. Tubes emerged from the figure’s forearm and missiles leapt out to strike Seknafret, Ebyn, and Xalen, knocking them all to the ground.

Two more warforged appeared from concealment to either side and attacked the fallen juices with blades.

Ebyn and Seknafret both suffered deep wounds in the surprise attack, but Xalen managed to scramble to his feet and place himself between the two spellcasters and the warforged.

Brabara moved to intercept the first of their three opponents, her glaive moving in an arc to keep the figure away from the others.

Xalen’s bravery in facing down the two warforged gave Ebyn and Seknafret the chance to scrabble away. Ebyn finally launched into the sky, wincing as his wound was stretched in the action. Once there, he found his focus and touched the weave while taking a sliver of honeycomb from his component pouch.

“Walk west until dawn,” he said as the magic released targeting their three attackers as he did with the grell in the Astral Sea.

The two facing Xalen ceased their attacks and turned to walk away, but the one engaged with Brabara was unaffected. He turned to watch his companions leaving the combat and assumed a defensive posture.

“Don’t attack them or the spell will break,” Ebyn called down to Xalen who had an arrow nocked and aimed at their backs.

The remaining warforged tilted his head slightly and emitted a kind of high-pitched static squeal. The effect was immediate. The two retreating warforged stopped and turned back to the others, their weapons raised.

“Damn it,” Ebyn said. “He broke the spell somehow.”

Despite the setback, their situation had improved. Seknafret using her eldritch blasts had no difficulty keeping the two other warforged at bay while Xalen struck them with arrows.

Ebyn touched the weave again to encase the first warforged in a wall of force, allowing Brabara to help the others. The fight was over soon after with the two warforged falling to their superior numbers.

The surviving warforged stood, surrounded by magical force, and eyed the group. His metallic face displaying malevolence as well as any formed with flesh and blood.

“Why attack us?” Brabara said. “We weren’t looking for trouble.”

“Your kind is not welcome here,” it said, the emotionless voice quite at odds with its expression. “This land belongs to us. By decree of the Lord of Blades the living shall be purged.”

They all looked at one another and took a few steps back.

“How long will your spell last?” Brabara said, her voice low.

“A little over five minutes,” Ebyn said. “But I can drop it sooner if need be.”

Seknafret eyed the trapped warforged warily. “What will we do once that happens?”

“I doubt it’s going to go quietly,” Xalen said.

Brabara gasped. “We can’t just kill it.”

“Why not?” Ebyn said. “We all heard what it said about purging the living.”

“But…” Brabara trailed off. “That’s not who we are.”

Xalen shrugged. “It’s not like we can keep it trapped there indefinitely. If we leave there’s a good chance it will just follow us, or worse, get more of its buddies and then follow us.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Seknafret said. “But Xalen has a point. We can at least make sure it doesn’t suffer.”

Brabara turned to look at the warforged. It stood expressionless within Ebyn’s magical wall of force and just stared at them, head slightly cocked. “Do you think it can hear us?”

“I can,” the warforged said. “Words shared among your kind are not difficult to intercept.”

“So,” Brabara said, louder now she knew that whispering didn’t help. “What would you have us do?”

“Your companion is correct,” the warforged said. “Were you to release me, I would obtain reinforcements and come after you in numbers.”

“You won’t even lie about that if there’s a chance it might save you?” Ebyn asked.

The warforged stayed silent for a moment, looking at each of them. “My kind live by a set of ideals. Unlike you, those are not so easy for us to set aside.”

“You know nothing about my ideals,” Brabara said. “I never murdered a helpless prisoner, and I don’t intend to start today, no matter what they threaten.”

“Your compassion will not change my opinion of you,” it said. “My goal and the goal of all who follow the Lord of Blades will not be set aside by a single act of kindness. The living have proven time and again they do not deserve our mercy.”

“Well, there you go then,” Xalen said. “Decision made. How are we going to do this?”

“We?” Brabara said. “This isn’t a ‘we’ thing. I will have no part in it.”

“Let me save you the trouble,” the warforged said. “I appreciate that you at least took the time to debate what my fate should be. In return I will absolve you of the responsibility.”

With that, the warforged touched a metal plate at the centre of its chest which opened to reveal a kind of handle. It reached in and turned the handle once, then closed the panel again.

“Mournlands for the warforged,” it said before exploding in a pillar of silver flame. Were it not for the wall of force keeping the blast contained, all four of them would have been burned by the intense heat.

“Holy shit,” Xalen said, instinctively cowering from the shock. “I hope they don’t all do that when they die.”

“I suspect they don’t,” Ebyn said. “Those two certainly didn’t when they fell. I imagine what we just saw is some kind of self-destruct.”

Brabara stood there, gaping. “There’s nothing left of it,” she said pointing at the blackened circle of earth.

The juices travelled for the rest of the day without incident. Brabara trudged along in silence, not entirely sure if what happened would be considered murder or not. But, either way, it didn’t sit well with her. She was perfectly comfortable with killing and death when her enemy could defend itself, but that… no, that wasn’t something she would look back on with pride.

As the sun started to sink below the horizon, the group finally reached the cave Mercy had told them about. The ever-present mist seemed thinner here, clinging mainly to the lowlands surrounding the hill and leaving the summit clear to give them a good look at the ruined windmill atop it in the fading light. They could see figures moving around the several structures on the hill, dozens of them.

They made camp as they always did, hoping that Mercy and his band would come soon because nobody relished the idea of having to spend more than one night waiting.

Sleep came, and once more the terrible dream gripped them:

Vecna spies a meteor streak across the sky above Fleeth and crash to earth some miles away. He magically transports himself to the site of the impact and collects large chunks of the exotic metals from the debris before returning to the city.

Fleeth, now the frontier capital of his empire, has become a hub of activity. Though the city is largely overrun by all manner of undead, there are still pockets of humanoid activity here, administrators, mercenaries, traders; whatever is needed to keep the empire running.

Vecna takes the metals from the meteor to a forge at the base of the former temple of Pholtus. There he, with Acererak’s help, crafts a longsword the likes of which has never been seen. A beautiful weapon with arcane symbols engraved in the blade near the hilt. It glowed with the faint light of the stars but there was a palpable sense of evil about it.

Yet one more terrible artifact created by Vecna’s hand.

He gives the weapon to Kas as a gift. His reliance on his first lieutenant is heavy, and he wants to keep his most faithful and ardent follower happy. Kas accepts the sword with delight, marvelling at its balance and the keenness of its edge but was shocked to learn it could speak.

“Yes,” Vecna said in response to this discovery. “I have imbued it with a sliver of my ambition. May it guide you in times of need.”

Kas fell to one knee, head bowed. “Thank you, brother. This is more than I deserve.”

“Rise, brother,” Vecna said. “You are my equal in all things and need not bow.”

---

The dreams took their toll and both Seknafret and Brabara were left tired and unrefreshed. Seknafret’s magic could only go so far, and even after receiving its restorative powers the pair were not at their best.

Ebyn recorded the dream in his journal while the others sat around, nobody feeling particularly motivated to do anything after their series of bad nights.

“I’ve been thinking about what that warforged we captured yesterday told us,” Ebyn said after he finished his writing. “That bit about our words being easy for them to intercept.”

“What of it?” Xalen said.

“Assuming Mercy gets here today,” Ebyn said. “I’d like to link our minds telepathically so we can communicate with one another without having to speak.”

“Are you sure you want access to my thoughts?” Brabara asked. “It’s not all that prim and proper up here I can assure you.”

Ebyn shook his head. “It’s not like that. We can’t read each other’s minds; it just lets us talk together. Only what you choose to share will be sent.”

“Be useful if we get split up too,” Xalen said.

“How long does the link last?” Seknafret asked.

“Just an hour,” Ebyn said. “So, we’ll have to wait until we’re ready to go before I do it.”

“Good idea, Ebyn,” Brabara said.

Mercy and his companions arrived at the caves around midday, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, he led the party to Ialos to meet their leader, Harmony. A brief stop outside the enclave allowed Ebyn to link the party telepathically before Mercy led them past several warforged who turned to look at them as they walked into the windmill.

Mercy pointed to a circular staircase that wound its way up around the wall. “Up there,” he said. “Follow me.”

He began to climb, leaving the rest of his band on the ground floor, and the juices followed up the two dozen or so steps to the second floor where Harmony waited.

Harmony was a warforged of impressive size.

Even despite the pacifist credo that Mercy attributed to Harmony, the massive warforged cut an imposing figure. Thick metal plates like oversized plate mail armour covered Harmony’s body, with what looked like a bladed set of wings tucked away at its back. Seated cross legged in the middle of the floor the warforged’s head sat higher than Seknafret, standing, Brabara guessed, Harmony would easily be about twelve feet tall.

It was not difficult to imagine its martial prowess during the time of war.

“Mercy,” the muscular warforged said. “I see you have brought guests.”

Mercy inclined its head. “I have, Harmony. I wish to introduce, Brabara, Ebyn, Seknafret, and Xalen. Our paths crossed in the mists, and they come with a request for you.”

“Welcome to Ialos,” Harmony said. “All are welcome who pursue a path of peace.”

Seknafret cleared her throat and stepped forward. “We are on a quest of utmost importance,” she said. “We seek a piece of a powerful artifact so that we can use it to combat a great evil.”

Harmony looked at Seknafret flatly. “We have heard such claims before. Many times, over many years. Our people are the product of such claims, and we have long been pitted against one great evil or another. Evil, in my experience, is often a matter of perspective. I have no desire to bring more violence into being.”

“I understand your concern,” Seknafret continued. “And I respect your words as they echo my own thoughts quite keenly. My people have spent millennia protecting the veil between the living and the dead for no other reason than it needs to be done. We never sought recognition or acclaim; we do it because without it our very existence would suffer.”

Harmony nodded. “This is a noble undertaking, you have my respect Seknafret, but I get the impression that this quest of yours is separate from the work of your people.”

“It is,” Seknafret said. “But no less important or necessary. Our enemy, Vecna, threatens existence itself and has spent thousands of years furthering his insatiable ambition. Now he seeks to make all reality his plaything. He approaches the culmination of this goal and for whatever reason the four of us have been tasked with trying to stop him.”

Harmony frowned. “You do not understand your own involvement in this quest of yours? How can that be?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Seknafret said. “Only in the sense that we did not seek this quest ourselves. It is a duty that was thrust upon us, but as soon as we learned what we faced we all knew it must be done. Not for glory, not for wealth, but simply because it is right.”

“An impassioned speech,” Harmony said after a moment, “and one delivered from the heart. How can my people aid you in this quest?”

Seknafret relaxed visibly. “We are told that we might find a functioning docent here.”

Harmony shot Mercy a withering glance, and the smaller warforged shrunk back. “I hope Mercy also explained that a docent is not merely a thing. It is a sentient being, and one that we consider to be sacred.”

“He has,” Seknafret said. “Which is why we are here to ask for your blessing.”

“Countless docents have fallen victim to the hubris of the living,” Harmony said. “Our mission in Ialos is to scour this blighted land for any that might have survived the devastation, to care for them or put them to rest with respect.”

“A noble cause,” Seknafret said. “And one that shows your dedication to your people.”

Harmony nodded. “Thank you. Sadly, our efforts have turned up precious few. Most are dead, some remain alive but have lost all reason and we have just one that retains its sanity.”

Ebyn stepped forward. “We have no wish to cause the docent any harm. We require its aid in locating the artifact we seek. Once that is in our possession we will leave here as quickly as possible.”

Harmony thought for a moment. “Very well, just one thing before we proceed. Should the docent choose not to help you, you will all leave Ialos peacefully and not return.”

“Agreed,” Seknafret said without hesitation.

Harmony turned to the others waiting.

“Agreed,” they said in unison.

Harmony stood up. She rose in a smooth motion directly upward, in a manner impossible for living limbs to replicate.

Bigger than twelve feet, Brabara thought as she craned her neck upward.

Harmony smiled as she noticed Brabara’s appraising look. “Please follow me down to the reliquary.”

The warforged juggernaut led the Succulent Juices back down the stairs and then further down below ground to a large basement area beneath the former windmill. It stopped at the bottom of the stairs and pointed to the doors. “That is where we keep any docent’s we have found that still show signs of life. I ask that you be respectful once inside.”

“Of course,” Brabara said with a solemn nod.

Harmony opened the door and ushered the four of them inside. It was a large space, with sturdy wooden shelves around the walls and arranged in rows in the middle of the room. Where once these shelves might have been used to store sacks of milled grain, now they contained numerous oddly shaped objects. Most were about the size of a man’s fist with different shapes, patterns, adornments, and markings, but a few were much larger. No two were exactly alike and even though they appeared dormant a faint crackling of the air surrounded them.

There was magic here that everyone present could feel.

Harmony led the party to a shelf near the rear of the room and opened the lid on a metal box. Inside was a silvery sphere, flecked with shards of different coloured gemstones resting on a satin pillow. As soon as the lid opened, the small sphere chirped once and rose slightly to hover above the satin pillow.

“How should I talk to it?” Ebyn asked as he neared the floating docent.

“Just speak,” Harmony said. “It will understand you.”

Ebyn nodded and turned to face the curious little object. “I am Ebyn, we are on a quest to find a piece of an artifact that has been lost in these lands. I have another piece of the same artifact here and we are told you can use your power to help us locate where the missing piece can be found.”

The silver sphere buzzed for a moment. “Yes,” it said, the word causing ripples of light to ring around it in quickly shifting waves.

Ebyn carefully placed the second rod piece on the shelf near the docent and moved his hands away. The bright sphere floated to the rod piece and began moving over it in an orderly cris-cross pattern. Once it had completed several such passes it moved back to float over the satin pillow in its case.

“Landro,” it said, again the word causing waves of light to ripple around its body in time with the sound.

Harmony gasped. “I suppose that makes sense,” it said with a shake of the head.

“What’s a Landro?” queried Xalen, trying desperately to resist the urge to pocket one or more of the curious objects for no reason other than habit.

“Landro is a Colossus,” Harmony explained. “Possibly one of the most devastating machines that the living crafted before the day of Mourning. I say possibly because it was never actually used in battle.”

“Why is that?” Ebyn asked.

“It was first deployed on the very day the devastation happened,” Harmony said. “For all their artifice and engineering, Landro’s power was never used.”

“Could Landro have caused the Day of Mourning?” Ebyn asked.

Harmony shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Nobody really knows what happened to bring such a calamity down upon the nation of Cyre, but I imagine destruction on such a scale and with such persistence would be well beyond the power of a single Colossus, no matter how strong it might have been.”

“Where can we find this, Landro?” Brabara asked, keen to be on the move.

“Landro is embedded in stone at the foot of Mount Ironroot, about a day’s journey west of here. But I am afraid the point is moot, as the Colossus is protected by a magical barrier that prevents all entry.”

“You’re sure of this?” Ebyn said. “Perhaps the barrier has weakened since you last checked.”

Harmony nodded. “We send scouts out there regularly to make sure,” it said. “Were it not for the barrier, the Lord of Blades would have secured Landro for himself by now. A war machine with such a reputation would be impossible for that warmonger to resist.”

“You speak as if you know the Lord of Blades quite well,” Seknafret noted.

“I do,” Harmony said. “We were brothers in arms before the Day of Mourning. We emerged from the factory on the same day, among the last of our model to come from the Cannith creation forges before the Thronehold Accords led to their dismantling. We served together in the armies of Cyre and were both here when the Day of Mourning happened.”

“Yet you are clearly on different paths now,” Seknafret said.

Harmony sighed. “That is true. Living died in their thousands all around us, and where I saw terrible pain and death, my brother saw a chance for vengeance. We each chose our paths on that fateful day, and our choices have stayed with us.”

“So, you’re saying that Landro is another dead end?” Brabara pressed, her interest in the history lesson had evaporated completely.

“I believe so,” Harmony said then turned to the still floating docent. “I thank you, little one, for your service.”

“Yes,” the docent chirped once more and lowered itself back down to the satin pillow, allowing Harmony to close the box.

“We have to take a look for ourselves,” Ebyn said, desperation and lack of sleep combining to give his voice a tremulous edge. “We can’t just give up without going to see for ourselves.”

“Nobody is giving up, Ebyn,” Seknafret said placing a reassuring arm on the mage’s shoulder. “We will travel to Landro and see what we can find there. Perhaps there’s a way past this magical barrier.”

Harmony moved to the door of the storage room and waited for the four adventurers to file out, then closed and locked the door with a key that hung from a chain around its neck.

“If you are intent on going there,” Harmony suggested, “Mercy can lead you. His band has been there on more than one occasion.”

Seknafret stopped and gave Harmony a deep bow. “Thank you, Harmony, for taking the time to meet with us and for trusting us with the docents in your care. I only wish that more people would choose the path of peace over war.”

Harmony nodded. “Thank you, Seknafret. Your kind words are appreciated. I wish you well on your quest.”