Isilme takes note of things that might be of use to the crusaders as they go, knowing Artis would be gathering everything together and distributing it as needed. There would be a long haul ahead of them in Drezen before things were safe, and gear and tools would be at a premium.
Once through the barracks, she heads into the planning room, perusing the maps for anything that might signal plans the demons had or other important locations. She checks the room thoroughly for anything hidden before continuing on to the Lord commander's room, duplicating her search of the furniture and walls there.
Making a note to have the quartermaster take the alcohol for any coming celebration they might have, she continues on to the individual quarters, moving quietly so as not to disturb Joran's sleep. When she spies a journal and something derogatory calling to her within the chest, curiosity gets the better of her and she stops in her tracks. Closing her eyes, she reaches out first to the journal, poring over its contents at a leisurely--for a Raelis anyway--pace. She then focuses on whatever insult-laced tirade it was that had drawn her attention, reading it in detail as well. Finally she takes a moment to go through each scroll within the chest to see if they might be of immediate use.
"Ultimately... there are creatures there that we are uncertain that we're capable of fighting in our current state. A locust demon and some gibbers... the latter doesn't seem that dangerous, but the former, with our present resources... seems exceedingly risky. A single bite or sting could doom any of us." Ary says, shaking her head. "So we will return first thing in the morning to destroy it as quickly as we can manage. And hope that they didn't devour the ley or its tenuous connections in the ethereal plane in the mean time. Anevia will be quite important in that regard. If we can flush them out using her abilities, this will be significantly easier." After she explains, she moves towards an attempt at following after Isilme, but stops once Indisy finds her and calls after Isilme and Hinagiku. "Don't forget, Isilme. There's also the western tower and the southwestern barracks that we haven't even been into, and the northwestern tower. There's still much to search through!" Ary moves over to ensure that they aren't outright tainted fair... she wouldn't put it past the dwarf to have poisonous mushrooms or meats mixed in with his supply to punish anyone who would steal. She quickly shuffles through all of them, hoping that the woman had indeed found solutions. If she finds them good, hope holds out and she rises back to her full height from kneeling. "Wonderful. We may not have to immediately reduce food supplies. That would have been horrendous."
Once she is able to aid Isilme, she moves any object that she can, making it easier to look throughout the area, reaching up to higher locations, shifting other things, and tweaking scenery whenever Isilme doesn't need her express aid. The end result is a significantly more thorough look, though she doesn't move the bed Joran is on. When they discover books she pauses to investigate what's inside of some of them before reshelving them.
"I'll help out searching. My eyes aren't quite as sharp as Isilme's but they're damn good anyway. And if there are any more locked up rooms or big chests full of supplies and gold that need breaking into, I'm your tiefling." She follows along with the azata as they start searching through the rooms, starting by clearing the chambers they've already visited.
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Irabeth nods, although she doesn't totally follow everything that Ary just said, about the ley or the ethereal plane, but she trusts her Commander to do what is right. Afterwards, Indisy grabs Artis' hand (who turns beet red at the contact), and rushes them off towards the western side of the fortress to evaluate the found food.
Meanwhile, Isilme, Ary, Hinagiku, and Valaria head off to the eastern barracks, where they carefully search through the rooms, but don't find anything of interest. They find a number of small wooden boxes hidden under mattresses, which had the personal effects of the cultists who lived there. Copies of unholy texts, prayer beads and instruments, small amounts of silver and copper and other such knick knacks are all that remains in the barracks.
They then head to the officer's quarters. In the planning room, they analyze the maps, which show planned invasion routes used by the demonic forces to cross into Mendev, Numeria, and Ustalav.
The next room has a small library. They look through the bookshelves, but find nothing secret or out of place.
The insult is written in Abyssal. It reads: Hello, Whore of Kenabres. I can only assume the person reading this would be none other than Commander Bishop, sycophant of Iomedae. However, as it seems you've gotten so far into my defenses, I must congratulate you. Bravo. I can only hope that if you read the book within, learning of the grisly, harrowing accounts of the atrocities I have committed over the past 75 years you will be horrified. I hope that you are left unable to sleep at night, knowing what I have done to the crusades. I pray it shakes your faith, that you're left a shadow of what you once were. This book is my legacy. I never had children of my own, I never had time for it... and I can not count on my allies singing songs of my deeds after I die. This book is all that remains of Staunton Vhane.
You pry into the journal, next, finding it is written in dwarven. Its contents are in the next spoiler, as it is very long.
You also find a scroll in the chest. It is a scroll of divination.
The journal begins in the year 4599, 114 years ago. The first entry is written in dwarven, the runes printed on the page in ink with careful, precise handwriting, though the writing style betrays that, amongst dwarves, he is the equivalent of a young teenager.
My name is Staunton Vhane, son of Megnon Vhane, son of Anfryd Vhane. I am 26 years old.
My dad's a priest of Torag. My mom's a stonemason. We live under Mount Langley. My dad expects me to join the faith when I grow up to be a man. My big brother, Joran, is already studying the old texts. He's really into it. My dad says maybe he's too into it. He doesn't know how to stop working. But I'm not much for theology. I want to grow up to be a warrior. The best dwarven warrior that ever was. I want to protect my people from giants and orcs and other creatures that would seek to harm us.
The next few passages are strange to read, given that they are the intimate thoughts of a teenage boy who would grow to be a psychopath. He seems so normal. He's excited when his beard starts to grow in. He discusses his first crush, a dwarven woman named Ro, and his subsequent disappointment when she rejects him in favor of another dwarf named Vorsk, who was more skilled at the forge than Staunton.
Eventually, he becomes a paladin of Torag. He's clearly excited to have finished his strenuous training, and to have found his god's good favor, granting him the ability to channel the light. He devotes a whole page to carefully writing out his oath.
My word is my bond. When I give my word formally, I defend my oath to my death. Traps lie in idle banter or thoughtless talk, and so I watch my tongue.
I am at all times truthful, honorable, and forthright, but my allegiance is to my people. I will do what is necessary to serve them, including misleading others if need be.
I respect the forge, and never sully it with half-hearted work. My creations reflect the depth of my faith, and I will not allow flaws save in direst need.
Against my people’s enemies, I will show no mercy. I will not allow their surrender, except when strategy warrants. I will defeat them, yet even in the direst struggle, I will act in a way that brings honor to Torag.
He then serves the next few years as a soldier, defending his people. But his writings show that he is restless. He is no longer satisfied with just fighting off the occasional orc raid. His ambitions are grand.
Did you know that once, when the dwarves first glimpsed the sun and stars at the end of the great Darkness, that we built ten massive citadels reaching the sky? But we only have half of them. I think I know how I want to make my mark on the world. I will reclaim one of the lost sky citadels.
In the year 4622, at the youthful age of 49, the headstrong paladin figures out how he'll do just that.
Apparently some cultists have ripped open a portal to the Abyss over in Sarkoris... the Arodenites have sent emissaries here seeking help from the church of Torag to help fight off the hordes. This is the second time they've tried this gambit according to Joran - you'd think they'd come up with smarter plans! Anyway, I think I want to sign up... Mom doesn't like the idea of it, but I've become stronger now. No other paladin (let alone orc!) stands a chance during sparring matches against me, and I want to test my skill in clashes against demons. But besides that... I've heard rumors that the lost Sky Citadel of Jormundun is somewhere in Sarkoris. If I can reclaim that... I'd become the most famous dwarf in all the Five Kingdoms! Maybe I'd even be crowned king of Jormundun!
I figure the war will come to a close pretty quickly, and then afterwards I can just set off on an expedition to explore Sarkoris with some like-minded dwarves. Joran would help. I know he always has my back.
Staunton and the other dwarves recruited into the crusade were set to work building and protecting Drezen, the newest addition to a line of fortifications meant to contain the demonic host in a small area within southern Sarkoris. But...over the next decade, the fighting quickly wore on Staunton. With each report of another lost fortification, or yet another influx of a seemingly endless number of demons, his hopes for a swift resolution to the conflict and therefore, an opportunity to seek out Jormundun, faded. His writings become less and less sure of himself, as despair starts to set in.
Most of all he worries about his brother.
Joran has stopped sleeping. All he does is work, and he uses spells to keep himself awake. He blames himself, I think. He believes that if only he could harder, if he could dedicate more time to his tasks, then maybe another of our comrades wouldn't have to die. Everytime a dwarf falls, he blames himself. He just didn't work hard enough.
In early 4638, the marilith Aponavicius laid siege to the city of Drezen.
We won. We won. I don't know how we did it... no I do. The Sword of Valor kept the bulk of the demonic armies from harming us, but the city will be broken eventually. Every time we lose men, and every time they just seem to come back with larger armies.
His entries switch from despair, and become more and more angry as time passes.
I don't know what to do. I try to keep a brave face for my men, and for Joran. We joke and talk about what we'll do when the war is over, but... I don't know. It's those damn Iomedaeans. All of the officers are Iomedaens, and I'm stuck here being lead by some green behind the ears captain...I think he's the son or nephew of some famous Iomedaen crusader. Yet my 40 years of service don't mean anything to them. Anyway. Stuck on patrol duty tomorrow. Again.
But still, his entries are peppered with random ambitious dreams. He dreams of staging a coup on the Lord-Commander, and leading the armies of Drezen into Iz, where they end the demonic threat once and for all.
Then, rather abruptly, this entry appears, in late Erastus of the same year.
I've done it. I've finally done it.
I liked watching them burn. Those cowards, those ingrateful bastards. They all died. Every last one of them.
Drezen has fallen, and it was my doing. I stole the Sword of Valor from right under their stinking noses. Delivered it to the marilith Aponavicius myself. And then I helped them clean out the city. The power of the demonic host cannot be denied!
This point is amazing. You know that historians had long debated who was the cause of the fall of Drezen, but now, in your hands, you have definitive proof!
And so, for the next 20 years, Staunton Vhane served the Worldwound and learns more of the cult of Deskari. His entries switch into Abyssal runes. At first, his writing is sloppy, his runes drawn as if made by a child, and his grammar poor. But as he practices, he gets better at it, and finally his handwriting is as meticulous as ever, though drawn up in the black language of the Abyss.
He quickly rose in the ranks of Deskari, though he was ever frustrated with his brother, Joran. Joran ultimately disavowed himself of Torag, declaring that the dwarven god of smiths had done no good for him anyway. Instead, he devotes himself to the texts of dark dwarven god Droskar, finding his message of eternal toil and servitude more to his liking. This makes Staunton anxious, as he would always be an outsider amongst the cultists if he does not take up their ways, but he manages to protect his brother with his rank and through sheer intimidation.
He eventually is promoted into the role of an advisor of Aponavicius, informing her about crusader tactics and advising her on the best ways to counter the Iomedaens.
Apparently the church of Deskari has entered into an alliance with the cult of another demon lord, the minotaur-lord Baphomet. I met her again... Jerribeth. The elven woman in the green dress. She introduced me to their High Priestess, Hepzamirah. They intend to train me to become a double agent. As a sign of their good will, they have crafted me a glaive, named Soulshear...the weapon has a mind of its own, and can transform into any other weapon as well as conceal its own nature and my own against divinations. A useful weapon for infiltration.
In 4658 Staunton returned to Kenabres to pledge himself to the crusades again, but this time as the captain of an all-dwarven mercenary company called the Hammers of Heaven. But this time, Staunton and his mercenaries were in fact hidden disciples of Baphomet. By now, pretty much everyone who had known him at Drezen had died... and even those who would, didn't remember the name of a simple dwarf of Torag.
Over the following decades Staunton and the Hammers of Heaven served both sides of the war. Most of his time was spent fighting in small skirmishes against demons whose defeat wouldn't matter to the Worldwound, while simultaneously sabotaging countless war efforts along the border. His final act of treachery was to compromise many of the defenses of the Kite in Kenabres, an act that ultimately allowed the Storm King to attack the city once again this last year, but it was in this final act he was ultimately exposed by the paladin Irabeth. Abandoning his cover, Staunton fled north to Drezen, where he was named its protectorate. Vhane notes that Aponavicius no longer even rested in Drezen, preferring her private demesne in the Abyss, only returning to the citadel when it seemed absolutely necessary.
Since arriving at Drezen he seems to have fallen deeper and deeper in depravity. There are dozens of detailed pages, listing of how he exactly plants to torture Irabeth - that half-orc b!#&~, she ruined nearly everything - having never forgotten what she did to him a year ago in Kenabres. He itches for a chance to seek her out and capture her, but for now he obeys the marilith general's command to hold the line at Drezen.
In the past year he also discusses a new development... the corruption forge. The forge was ultimately a joint project between Joran Vhane and the deskaran arcanist, Chorussina Domal. Using notes on summoning and "earth energy" that they obtained by a text written by Areelu Vorlesh herself, they figured out how to channel a line of raw Abyssal energy from the plane itself into the forge below. Since then, they have corrupted dozens and dozens of sacred and holy weapons and armor.
The corruption forge is an incredible success! Damn that Joran, I didn't know he still had it in him. We've corrupted several artifacts and armors for use in the Abyssal army. Aponavicius is pleased. Joran wants to try and use it on the Sword of Valor. I told him no. I don't want to look at that wretched thing ever again. It can rot in a pile on the floor, for all I care.
But... there is something I do want to corrupt. The Tirablade family sword. I've already sent a contact to procure it for me. I want to use it to slit her throat. I want her to know that she'll be the last of her line, and it's all because of her.
There are several other interesting passages.
We have a newcomer... a shadow demon, named Eustoyriax. Apparently he was summoned into the body of a little girl. I don't like him. He talks down to me. Doesn't he know that I'm the one in charge here?!
In any case, he came with an alchemist. Forgot his name. Disturbing creature. He used the energies from the Nahyndrian Crystals Aponavicius had been storing in her lair...created some sort of experimental elixir from their power. All those crystals and all he could make were twenty elixirs. And they killed every single one of the test subjects. Even Aponavicius' pet dragon died.
But I didn't. I drank it and I feel... different. Powerful. It's incredible.
Anyway, now that damned alchemist won't leave me alone. Keeps running tests on me. Wants constant blood samples. He wants to perfect the elixir.
Later...
I escorted the alchemist back to the Ivory Sanctum today. Right now the Sanctum is being lead by a Templar named Xanthir Vang. Some sort of wizard, I think. He also happens to lead the Blackflame Adepts, which are some sort of anarcho-cult, from what I gather. In any case, I don't want to EVER go back there again. That man... he was revolting.
Finally, Staunton mentions a new prisoner brought in by Aponavicius a few months ago.
Her name is Arueshalae. Aponavicius calls her a heretic, and that she wishes to question her personally. I think she may be some sort of ex-cultist, but she's been keeping the details to herself. In any case, I have Theruk Nul guarding her in our most secure cell. Eventually Aponavicius wants to arrange for transport to a specially made oubliette in the Rasping Rifts just for her. She must be pretty powerful if they're going into all this trouble for just one defector.
And the most recent entry:
I don't know how they've done it, but Bishop, and her little band of nobodies have managed to claim Paradise Hill. Joran keeps whining to me about how we should just defect. That ingrateful little... no matter. He's outlived his usefulness anyway
Even worse, that idiot vampire let the prisoner escape. He couldn't even give me a good explanation as to how she did it. I killed all of his jailors and some of his favorite slaves to teach him a lesson. I sent out several of my best minions out into the Worldwound to track her down. We'll just need to find her and return her to Drezen before Aponavicius notices she managed to flee into the Wounded Lands... f%**. F*#%. F@!!. F+$! F~$%.
It'll be fine. That cultist of Sifkesh... she won't fail to bring her in. And if she does, I'll find her myself, once this little matter with the so-called 'heroes of Kenabres' is settled.
"Invasion plans. For other countries." Ary says, running her fingers along the lines of the map, careful not to move any pins. "If their movements have already begun, there may be little we can do to forestall them, but we should certainly seek to use this information to hit their flanks, if possible."
No, these maps seem to depict attacks that happened roughly 50 years ago. They are not current, several of the fortifications being attacked don't event exist anymore.
Ary pauses, "No, wait. This doesn't even account for the majority of recent fortifications. Likely, all of this was planned before we succeeded in placing the ward stones, preventing their plans almost entirely."
"He, um, says you smell very pleasant," Ehren translates to Hinagiku, with no small amount of embarrassment. Considering how slow and deliberate Grumtarr seemed to be, the druid did not expect the monk's presence to provoke such a lively reaction from him. And yet, it made perfect sense somehow. Once again, he finds himself pondering her true nature... only to push those thoughts aside. It felt remiss to avoid just talking to her about them outright.
As the others move on to inspect the room that once belonged to Staunton Vhane, Ehren hangs back in the main hall - digging through old documents has never been his strong point. Instead, he finds a quiet corner and meditates for a few minutes, preparing a single spell.
With his spell prepared, Ehren seeks out the southwest tower, where the legendary chimera Soltengrebbe once laired. The druid does not know what he expects to find there, but the Beast of the North was an ancient creature, intelligent enough to harbor wounded pride and a centuries-old grudge. At the very least, he is curious to see where the chimera spent most of its time, or if there are any hints as to how the legend was turned into a mere pet.
Once he has reached the tower, Ehren casts his spell, granting himself the power to scale surface as though he were, well, vermin. Grimacing at the height of the structure, the druid stows his staff in one of the straps on his backpack and experimentally touches the stone wall. Finding that his hands seem to stick to it with minimal pressure on his part, tries his feet next. He begins to climb up the wall, slowly at first, but picking up in speed as he gets used to the sensation.
While the others are off inspecting Staunton Vhane's room, Ehren heads off to the southwestern tower. The tower stands by itself in the moat a little ways away from the citadel. Freyed rope reveals that it was at one point connected to the main citadel via a wooden bridge, but it had been destroyed long ago, perhaps by demons or the harsh elements of the Worldwound.
He climbs up onto the entry-way and finds the door still wide open. Stepping within, he finds what was at one point a cozy tower, but its contents have all but been destroyed. The bottom entry-way was a sort of audience chamber - a large, splintered desk lays at the center of the room. A stone, spiral staircase wraps around the tower, leading to the next level. The next level appears to be a library, though the books are mostly missing, the skeletons of bookshelves ruined. An open door leads to what was once a bedchamber. Still, the stairs move onwards and upwards.
The final floor opens out to the northwest in an open-air terrace. This area smells revolting. Large piles of rotten meat and excrement mar the floor. To the southeast, though, a large pile of treasure lies gathered... an enormous pile of coins, with other small valuables and even weapons visible sticking out from the stash. The stairs continue upwards, becoming narrower, up to the tower's roof.
Happy to have (mostly) solid footing again, Ehren explores the tower at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to make a return trip. The first thing that strikes him about the place is how lonely it feels, standing apart from the rest of the citadel. Clearly, whoever once lived here must have valued their privacy. Working his way to the next floor, he grins slightly when he sees the ruined bookshelves. Definitely a mage's tower.
He peeks into the bedchamber before continuing on to the final floor, only to be stricken by the horrendous stench of rot and excrement. Thoughts of retreating to somewhere with fresh air immediately come to mind, only to be pushed away by the sight of the rather impressive treasure hoard. While a miser by no stretch of the imagination, even Ehren could appreciate a literal pile of wealth. Still, he was not about to sit down and count coins. Instead, he scans the area with detect magic, searching for any objects of power he could carry with him. They would need a much bigger (or smaller) bag for the rest.
"So these are really out of date then. I wonder if Staunton kept them for posterity or if there are more recent plans mixed in here too." Val looks over the plans over Ary's shoulder, though she can't decipher them nearly as well as the commander. "It would be nice to keep a leg up on them when we've already managed to throw them off-balance taking Drezen. Anything else look useful there, Isilme?"
Isilme stands in the largest bedroom, eyes closed, in front of a large padlocked chest, as if in a trance.
"mmmm, you okay, there?" Ayavah asks, walking over to her.
--
Meanwhile, Ehren has stumbled on a literal horde. He scans the treasure pile, picking out the things that have discernable magical auras. He finds:
- 1. A burlap sack. DC 24 Spellcraft:
- 2. A book, bound in iron, overlaid in silver, and locked shut with a small padlock, as if it were a diary. DC 22 Spellcraft:
- 3. A quiver, containing 19 arrows and 2 javelins DC 24 Spellcraft:
- 4. The arrows in the quiver appear to be magical. DC 23 Spellcraft:magical beast bane arrows
- 5. The javelins in the quiver appear to be magical DC 20 Spellcraft:
- 6. A topaz gem. DC 26 Spellcraft:
- 7. A vial, containing a silvery substance. DC 20 Spellcraft:
- 8. A vial, containing a pale blue liquid. DC 17 Spellcraft:Potion of lesser restoration
- 9. A scroll of dimension door
- 10. Another scroll of move earth
- 11. A heavy crossbow DC 25 Spellcraft:flaming heavy crossbow
- 12. A suit of full plate armor that appears almost translucent, yet is still solid to the touch. DC 30 Spellcraft:
The properties of most of the magical items elude Ehren's understanding, but fortunately, he manages to identify what is arguably the most important of the bunch. Lifting up the otherwise inconspicuous burlap sack, he reaches deep into it, making sure that it is empty. Assuming that the bag does not bite his arm off, he then begins the long process of shoveling the treasure mound (minus the sharp, pointy, nonmagical objects, of course) into the bag... a task he would hopefully finish before his spell expires.
If he manages to pack his cargo with time to spare, he gives the room one last look before heading up to the rooftop.
Isilme chuckles as she finishes reading what was within the chest. She imagined that Staunton hadn't imagined that someone other than Ary would've been the first to read the note, much less that he'd actually be dead when the note he'd left was found. It was an interesting story, to be sure, and one that filled in a major gap in the history of the crusades.
"Apparently Staunton was single-handedly the cause for the fall of Drezen," she says, snapping out of her trance a few moments after she hears Val speak. "His journal and a note for Ary are in there, along with a scroll. Do open up the chest and have a look inside, but be careful," she adds, assuming that the chest will be locked and possibly trapped.
Ehren reaches into the bag and finds that it is not empty! It is filled with books. However, there are not so many books that there is not room for the rest of the horde to fit neatly within its own extra-dimensional space.
It takes about a half an hour to shove the enormous pile of coins into the sack. Ehren then heads up to check out the roof. The open rooftop is barren. The roof seems to have once featured a gold-and-ivory inlay of a conjuration circle, but only the faintest remnants of the magic circle are visible today. He unfortunately lacks the knowledge of arcane or divine spellcasting to really discern its purpose.
While the rest of the group spends the evening combing Drezen's citadel for treasure and goodies, Xanderghul simply lays out his bedroll in the main hall nearby Irabeth and Sana. He takes everything out of his pockets and removes his belt pouches, removes his shoes, and lays his backpack down next to his bedroll. Then he sits down on it cross-legged. He takes a deep breath, and then allows himself to relax for the first time in many days. Xanderghul knew when to push himself to the brink and when to take time to regain his energy, and this was an opportunity to rest. He would take it. He glances over at Irabeth and Sana, and softly asks, "Do you think she will be okay?"
Sana starts writhing in Irabeth's arms, murmuring to herself in her sleep. "No. No. No. I don't want to. I don't-"
Irabeth rubs her free hand against her hair. "Shush now, little babe. You're alright. You're safe," she whispers reassuringly, and Sana stops moving. She glances up at Xanderghul.
"I really don't know. But I hope so."
"I'll have this open in a jiffy. And I'm sure the crusaders will be happy to know that the man who led to the fall of Drezen in the first place has been stopped." She pulls her tools from one of the pouches on her bandoleer and starts to work on the lock of Staunton's chest.
Valaria cracks open the lock easily. Inside is a small pile of treasures.
On top is a weathered journal. Tied to it is a note, written in Abyssal:
Привет, шлюха из Кенабреса. Я могу только предположить, что человек, читающий это, будет не кем иным, как командиром епископом, подхалимом Иомеды. Тем не менее, поскольку вы, кажется, так далеко зашли в мою защиту, я должен вас поздравить. Браво. Я могу только надеяться, что если вы прочитаете книгу внутри, узнав о страшных, страшных рассказах о злодеяниях, которые я совершил за последние 75 лет, вы будете в ужасе. Я надеюсь, что вы не можете спать по ночам, зная, что я сделал с крестовыми походами. Я молюсь, чтобы это поколебало твою веру, что ты остался в тени того, кем был когда-то. Эта книга - мое наследие. У меня никогда не было собственных детей, у меня никогда не было на это времени ... и я не могу рассчитывать на то, что мои союзники будут петь песни о моих делах после моей смерти. Эта книга - все, что осталось от Стонтона Вейна.
Hello, Whore of Kenabres. I can only assume the person reading this would be none other than Commander Bishop, sycophant of Iomedae. However, as it seems you've gotten so far into my defenses, I must congratulate you. Bravo. I can only hope that if you read the book within, learning of the grisly, harrowing accounts of the atrocities I have committed over the past 75 years you will be horrified. I hope that you are left unable to sleep at night, knowing what I have done to the crusades. I pray it shakes your faith, that you're left a shadow of what you once were. This book is my legacy. I never had children of my own, I never had time for it... and I can not count on my allies singing songs of my deeds after I die. This book is all that remains of Staunton Vhane.
Also in the chest:
1. A large amount of copper, silver, gold, and platinum coins as well as assorted gems.
2. A rod.
3. A scroll
4. A set stone-carved dwarven figurines representing 3 male dwarves and 1 female
5. Some well painted vases
6. A silver coffer
7. 3 different potions
8. A wand
"Yes, without a doubt," Isilme replies. After a moment she takes a deep breath, exhales, and looks around the room as if seeing it anew. "It is strange to be standing here in Drezen with nothing left to fight, is it not? I certainly never imagined when I awoke that three months later I would be standing in the liberated fortress of Drezen alongside a crusader army." She thinks for a moment and adds "I wonder how Ai'sintar is doing?"
Looking down at the chest Val has open, Isilme casts detect magic to determine what exactly they're looking at.
He felt different than usual. He felt that he could feel the needs of others, but not needs so basic as for food or water or for sex. Everybody has traumas, everybody has shame and regret and fear. Xanderghul could feel a kindling of compulsion to fix these things.
Xanderghul nods at Irabeth. Jorsal had had more or less the same experience as this girl, although for longer. Of course, Jorsal was a knight. This girl was, what, seven years old? "It's good that you're taking care of her," he says. "For both of you, I think."
As he talks, he idly rummages in his bag for Vhane's wand and the journal of the duergar that had killed Anevia. He attempts to identify the wand and then leafs through the journal.
Realizing that the inlaid circle is outside of his area of expertise, Ehren decides that he is finished with the tower. Hefting the deceptively full burlap sack over his shoulder, he heads back to the first floor, figuring that he might as well take the stairs for the first half of the way down. Once he is on solid ground again, he heads back to the main hall.
Ary sees the note and simply sighs, shaking her head. "What a creep." she mutters quietly, aware of Joran's attempt to sleep as she picks up the book, and begins to thumb through it while Isilme works her way through the chest. Within moments her look turns to slight confusion and then a frown.
Isilme rummages through the stash, looking for anything that might be magical.
She finds:
1. A magical pearl.
2. A rod.
3. A blue serum in a porcelain flask
4. A sapphire bottle filled with hazy white vapors
5. A wand, made of birch, inlaid with diamond dust
6. A sapphire blue tincture
---
Irabeth sits there, holding Sana, looking pensive. "Perhaps. This is hardly the ideal environment to raise a child," she says. "Also, I'm terrible with kids. I wish Anevia were here. She's great with them."
Meanwhile, Xanderghul rummages through the journal.
The journal is written in dwarven, of course, and it mostly tabulates the income of the duergar, a man named Thernar, as it related to his mercenary company, the Black Beards. Apparently they used to run a crime ring in Nar'Voth, before escaping to the surface to avoid the ire of a wealthy drow family they wronged.
Afterwards, he set himself up in the River Kingdoms, where he lost most of his mercenary company due to an internal dispute (his lover backstabbed him and took most of the company with him). He then set up camp in a series of tunnels underneath the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, hoping to set up a nice bandit outpost to prey on unwary travelers.
The final pages depict maps of tunnels in that region, and describes running into another group of duergar cultists who fell under the leadership of a demon priest named Yealek Vor. He didn't like what they were sellin', so he abandoned the area for new hunting grounds. But he does note that the duergars there claimed to have set up their new temple inside of a massive, lost underground dwarven city.
He had a tip that Staunton Vhane was sending out contacts seeking information about "lost dwarven cities" in the general area, so he came to Drezen to see if he could sell the information. But Drezen was a real dump, so he wasn't sure he'd be paid what it was worth. For now, he signed up as a mercenary with the cultists, biding his time. He wanted to make sure he'd get his money's worth for the intel, after all.
The wand is of blindness/deafness with 8 charges remaining.
At that moment, Ehren returns to the main hall.
When Ehren returns from the roof, Xanderghul goes through the stuff that he'd found alongside the druid, attempting to determine the magical nature of all of the new things. Along with the druid's observations on the magic book, he is able to determine its nature: a blessed book, one of a wizard's greatest tools. He beams at its discovery happily, and sets it aside. He isn't able to discern the nature of everything, but he is able to narrow down the unknowns.
At Irabeth's words he simply shrugs. He turns from his position on the floor, rooting through magic items and looks at her. "Just like everything else, that's a skill. Costs you very little to try and learn it."
Sifkesh is the patroness of heresy and suicide. Her symbol is a pair of crossed female hands with slit wrists, and her holy weapon is a war razor. Sifkesh differs from most other demon lords in that she wishes to not just cause the bodily destruction of mortals, but to corrupt their souls as well. Her highest ambition is the fracturing of a good, devout person's faith through careful seduction, leading them to apostasy. It is said her greatest joy lies in witnessing the moment when a corrupted priest realises how far they have sunk and seeks suicide as the answer, forever damning their soul to her Abyssal realm of Vantian.
Because of her corrupting ways, Sifkesh presents somewhat of a conundrum to most demonologists, combining elements of all three fiendish races: she corrupts like devilkind, feeds on souls like a daemon, but is still a demon. Some believe that Sifkesh was originally a powerful erinyes devil who was seduced by the power of the Abyss and became one of the first of Hell's heretics
Isilme quickly works her way through identifying the items, pocketing them one by one. The pearl she wasn't sure of, and the last potion seemed off for a healing potion, despite the fact she was pretty sure she knew what it was.
"Ary, have a look at this pearl and potion. There is something off about the potion, and I am unsure of what the pearl is. I will show them to Xanderghul when he rejoins us."
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Ary's face moves from a frown to a pensive look. There is a moment she looks on the verge of tears, but she powers through it, then she returns to passively trying to hide how she feels as she reads. "He was wrong, Joran. I'm not upset by the deeds he performed. I'm upset at the soul he lost.." she says, shaking her head and closing the book with a small snap. "But... you both stayed good brothers." she says, chewing on her lip, and taking a few moments to better compose herself.
"Vhane sent a hunter out to track someone named Arshulae. A cultist of Sifkesh, a demoness that focuses on encouraging falls from grace... that she prefers end in suicide. That suggests that Arshulae is religious, as does the line about her being a heretic. It's worth noting that Vhane is the main reason we had an easy way through the prison. I'm not sure why Nul was even still here, and hadn't twisted the knife on Vhane. Gods, I could not imagine demonic politics."
"Xanthir Vang is in the Ivory Sanctum, leading the Blackflame Adepts and the Templars, Vhane didn't like Eustoriax... and an alchemist has figured out how to infuse people with power from the nahyndrian crystals. Staunton was the only one not to die bloody." she explains after she finishes.
"It is clear to me that whomever was in the cell we found with the inscription that Desna led us to was this Arshulae," Isilme says matter-of-factly. "Perhaps some kind of outsider? Seems odd though, I doubt Aponivicus would bother to refer to an angel or azata as a 'heretic'"
"Well, any cultist really. Perhaps she was one of Aponavicius's burgeoning cult... if she has one. Wouldn't that be lovely for the crusades to have one more cult infighting." Ary says, quietly as she places the book down.
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"Hrgmmmrph," Joran grumbles as he rolls over, a thick trail of drool running down his face. "Dhia, a tha dona, Staunton, tha thu beag beag. A bheil beachd sam bith agad dè cho fada 'sa bha e bho fhuair mi oidhcheannan math a-rithist?" he says, clearly forgetting where he is.
"Gods damnit, Staunton, you little twit. Do you have any idea how long its been since I last got a good nights rest?"
He sits up and rubs his eyes. "Oh. Bishop. 'sho I guess you all didn't die. Hoo-ray," he says, slurring his speech. He flops back onto the bed on his back, arms spread out.
"Good evening, Joran. Apologies for waking you. The battle is over now, Eustoyriax is dead and the city has fallen to the crusaders. You should consider staying here in Drezen. There is much you could do to aid us, please give it some thought."
"I am going to show the pearl to Xanderghul, and then to Paradise Hill to find Külə, Ledsa and Yulin," Isilme says, excusing herself.
She stops by briefly in the main hall to speak with Xanderghul, leaving the pearl with him to identify, and then heads out to the tower on Paradise Hill. She crosses out the drawbridge and around towards the broken tower they'd entered through only earlier that day, working her way across the path they'd built and then on up to the tower. She congratulates the soldiers as she passes them by, thanking them for their hard work.
When she arrives in the tower, she heads inside to find Külə. "Burada döyüş necə oldu? Sən yaxşısan?" she asks the unicorn as she approaches. "Bizi qala birliyinə qoşmağınızdan kədərləndiyiniz üçün üzr istəyirəm, sənin varlığınız çox faydalı olardı."
"I am sorry you were not able to join us in the citadel, your presence would have been most helpful."
"I don't feel comfortable heading over to the tower just now, with everything we'll be doing in the early morning, tell Nurah and everyone else that I said hi." Ary says as Isilme begins to leave.
"We did. Would you like another tankard?" Ary asks, still leaned against the wall, arms now crossed. "Of water, or ale."
"Arueshalae... Yes, I agree. It seems like they were a cultist or some other ally of the demons here, but turned to Desna. That would no doubt be heresy in their eyes. We should put hunting down this cultist of Sifkesh on our to do list. We can't leave a fellow follower of Lady Starsong out here getting chased by demonic bounty hunters." Val rubs the bridge of her nose. "I think I'll stay here and help keep an eye on things as well. There should be more than enough to do no matter where we spend the night."
Ehren pockets the pale blue potion, adding to his other two. He raises the gemstone to his eye and peers through it, only to set it back down. Seeing as he could summon elementals with his own power, it is less useful for him than it would be for someone else.
Reaching back into the bag again, he pulls out some of the books that were already in it when he first found it. He picks one at random and opens it, trying to get a feel for its subject matter.
Irabeth chuckles. "Well if you know of any books, perhaps something like What to Expect When You're Expecting in the Demonlands, I'll take the recommendation."
The book you grab is titled An Authoritative Survey of the Habits and Mannerisms of Shades of the Plane of Shadows.
The next few are similarly about the different planes and their denizens.
---
It is night time when Isilme sets out across Drezen, on her own. It's safer than ever, now that Lymirin has cleared out even the Urannags - their strange, metallic corpses litter the riverbeds - and the way is illuminated by a cloudless night, and foreign stars.
Paradise Hill is illuminated by torches, still, and the civilians are still taking residence within the tower itself. Patrols of soldiers wander around the city, ever vigilant for another threat. Morale is high, and many are laughing and joking with each other, a clear marked difference from the stress and anxiety that predominated just 12 hours ago.
She finds Külə resting outside, his head tilted back to gaze at the stars. He doesn't look down at Isilme as she approaches. "Salam, Lleuad a'r Ser. Yaxşı olduğunuzu görməyə şadam."
One of his ears flickers. "Qüllə hər cür pisliyi, cinləri, şişkinliyi ilə mühasirəyə alındı, amma indi hamısı getdi. Yaxşı bir gün olmuşdur."
"Hello, Isilme. It is good to see that you are well."
"The tower was besieged by all manner of filth, demons, undead, but they are all gone now. It has been a good day."
Annabelle passes by, whistling, and does a double take when she sees Isilme.
"Isilme, is that you?" she asks. She glances at her clothing and gear. "Woah. You look different. Heeeeeey. Did you guys do that druid-y reincarnat-y thing again? You really need to stop doing that, it is getting confusing."
She runs over and gives her a strong hug. "We WON! We did!"
----
Joran glances at Isilme as she leaves. "Don't got nowhere to go. Honestly, I figured your lot is here to clashp me in irons, eh?"
Joran groans. "Hrrmmmm. Maybe no more ale for tonight. Water... I can do that myself. Doesn't taste the greatest out here, but we dwarves have hearty conshtitutions and iron shtomachs."
He grabs his empty tankard from off the floor and passes his hand over it, muttering an incantation. But... nothing happens. He scowls, and does it again. Nothing happens.
"Wha..?" he grumbles. "I musht be drunker than I thought."
Xanderghul inhales deeply through his nose, and then in one motion he pushes himself to his feet. Without irony, he tells Irabeth, "I'll let you know if I find something," and then strides away. He goes to Vhane's quarters, finds two glasses, and pilfers some of the finest liquor that the dwarven commander had. He replaces the cork on the cask after filling the two glasses. Then he goes to find Jorsal, a glass in each hand.
When he finds him, he offers him a glass of the amber liquid. "You're quite late for our dinner," he says with a grin. "Lucky you, I got the first drink handled."
"I've got no interest in putting you in shackles, Joran." Ary says, shaking her head. "I'd thought for sure you'd made a break for it while we were down below." she says, moving over to uncap her own canteen and fill his tankard, not acknowledging the probability of what it means that he could no longer utilize his magic. "Since you didn't... I figure it's safe to assume you won't. No risk of running means no need for all the prisoner stuff. You're still my ward as far as that goes."
"Hi Xander. Bye Xander." she says as Xanderghul comes, gets a draught, and goes. "So..." she heaves a heavy sigh, "There's so much to do, really. And not much time. If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be, Jo? Can I call you Jo?"
"Hey Ary, I think I'm going to borrow Anevia for a bit and sweep the rest of the citadel if she's interested. Staunton's stuff is interesting, but I think there's more to find here." Val leaves Ary to speak with Joran, trusting that the commander can keep an eye on him if anything comes up. The tiefling heads out into the courtyard to search for Ayavah and Anevia, wherever they got off to after the battle. Assuming she's able to track them down relatively quickly, she throws an arm around each of their shoulders. "So, with everyone else busy, does anyone feel up for a little exploring? Because Nurah's map said there should be another supply room and the cultists' vault just past the Iomedaean chapel and I have nothing better to do."
Ehren flips through more of the volumes, realizing that they are primers on the Inner and Outer Planes. Ordinarily, he would not bother looking through them unless he absolutely had to. He did not have anything against books; they just never held a great deal of appeal to him. As he skims these books' contents, however, it occurs to him that he understands very little about the worlds beyond their own, in spite of their grave importance.
Considering the terrible hold the Abyss has on his homeland, it felt strange that he never made more of an effort to learn more about his adversaries. Everything he knows about demons and their ilk, he knows only because has been in the company of some incredibly knowledgeable individuals. If it were not for that, he would be dead ten times over by now. He was not ashamed to have friends and allies he could rely on, but how could he lead his people against an enemy that he scarcely understands himself? Ehren chuckles as he closes the book, amused by the profundity of the painfully simple revelation. At least I can tell the difference between a babau and a balor...
Packing the volumes up again for the time being, Ehren hefts the bag, deciding that he has one last thing to do for the night. The druid heads in the direction that Jentak and her clanmates left out of, curious about the kind of life they have been leading in the citadel.
Isilme turns from Kule for a moment when Annabelle approaches. "It is me!" she says with a laugh. Things had been so hectic inside the citadel, the group itself had barely had time to register her new form. "Do you recall when I showed you what I once looked like, and that I could change form at will?" She sweeps her arms downward alongside herself as if unveiling something, "I have... remembered... how to change shape now," she says with a smile. Her body shifts and suddenly she appears as a human male, then a half-orc female reminiscent of Irabeth, then back to her own elven form. "It is such a relief, let me tell you."
She returns Annabelle's hug and lifts her up briefly, enjoying her new strength. "The battle is won! I am glad you made it through the battle unharmed. It is hard to believe how far we have come. It seems like it was only yesterday we were in Dawnton trying to convince the townsfolk to leave you alone!"
She smiles at Külə watching the sky, and responds to him, one arm still around Annabelle. "Xoşbəxtəm dostum. İnşallah indi istirahət etmək üçün bir az vaxtımız olacaq. Sabah Nerosyana gedəcəksən."
"Mən gözlərinizə baxdığınız insanlara zərər verməyəcəyiniz üçün geyə biləcəyiniz bir şey əldə etməyi düşünürdüm. Ətrafdakı torpaqlarda, eləcə də şəhər daxilində araşdırmaq üçün çox şey olacaq və bu şəkildə baxdığınız şeylərdən narahat olmayın."
Xanderghul finds Jorsal sitting and chatting with a young crusader in the mess hall. There isn't much to eat except military rations, but they and the other crusaders in the hall seem glad to rest after such a long day.
"Xanderghul!" Jorsal says. He chuckles. "I suppose I owe you a drink, don't I?" he says, taking a sip of the liquor he brought from Vhane's stores. He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, this is some good stuff. Where did you find it?"
"Ah, forgive me, I'm being rude. This is Meridrand Pallisard," he gestures at the young crusader man across the table. "Meridrand, this is Xanderghul."
Meridrand extends a hand for him to shake. "My pleasure!"
---
Joran winces when she calls him 'Jo', though he doesn't vocally protest.
"I don't know. I've tried and tried and tried, and look where it'sh gotten me? Nowhere, that'sh where! Sho I don't know if my -hic- judgment is shomething I should be trusting, yea?"
----
Valaria and Ayavah head out to where they suspect an armory is, labelled on the map. They circle around the hallways, and into the chapel of Iomedae, but don't see any doors. The rest of the rooms constitute the southeastern barracks, where the kellids are staying. They glower at them as they pass through, irritated at the two random women invading their private sleeping areas.
----
Ehren finds that the kellids have been staying in the southeastern barracks. This place alone in the citadel has torches in sconces to illuminate the halls, and the area is reasonably clean, all things considered.
"Mam, yfory, a allwn ni fynd allan i chwarae?" Ehren hears the voice first, following it into what was once the captain of the guard's room.
He finds Jestak there, sitting on her bed. She's using a needle and thread to stitch closed a long wound running down her thigh. In front of her are two small girls, one around Sana's age. The other, just a toddler, animal bones braided into her dark hair.
"Nid yw Nenia, plentyn, yn ddiogel eto. Ond rwy'n addo, unwaith y byddaf-" Jestak says patiently, not even wincing from her self-administered care. She freezes, hearing Ehren's bare feet moving across the floor, and reaches for her blade...but when she sees who it is, she relaxes.
"Archdderwydd. A oes rhywbeth yr oedd ei angen arnoch chi?"
-----
Annabelle blinks. "Oh! Okay!" She laughs as Isilme rapidly changes shape. "Hey! Can you turn into a pig? Turn into a pig, with a top hat, and a monocle!" She giggles.
"Pffffft," she continues. "I missed the whole freaking battle! Ugh. I tooooold you, you guys need to stop with the ~at first daylight~ missions! I get so left out!"
"Düşünürəm ki, gözəl olardı. Çox sağ ol," Külə says morosely in response.
"Yaxşı. Şeytan çirkini təmizləmək üçün yaralı torpaqlarımızın daha çox var," he adds, resolution in his voice.
---
"From what I know, Joran... your judgment is less important than your conscience. Your heart has been in the right place, and that's the most important thing." she pauses for a moment, placing her hand on the book beside her, "I read your brother's journal." she says, looking down from his position towards the floor. "I'm not going to pretend to understand... but he had a lot of nice things to say about you when he was of sounder mind. You should hold on to that, in the worst moments. Be the man you're brother believed you could be, yeah?"
Val frowns slightly as they pass through the kellid's sleeping area, but she keeps moving quickly so they don't disturb them any longer than necessary. "This seems odd," she mutters, half to herself as they find little way forward. "Let's search the chapel and see if there's a hidden door. There's supposed to be something here."
Joran scoffs, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "And what did my dear little brother have to shay about me, hmm?"
---
On a hunch, Valaria and Ayavah head into the Inheritor's Chapel. Two rows of stone benches face a raised dais to the north, on which stands a twelve-foot-tall statue of Iomedae, armored with a sword and shield. Faded tapestries hang in tatters to either side, and a larger one on the south wall depicts Iomedae on bended knee before a depiction of Aroden in green robes. Three smaller, human-sized statues of armored knights stand within the small alcoves to the west, each holding a longsword pointing downwards.
Valaria feels around the room, and finds that behind one of the tapestries is a secret door. Pressing it open, she finds a small stone room leading into a vault. Two statues stand midway into this room. They each depict a crusader with their longswords raised. Numerous smashed and empty chests sit on the floor.
"Hum," says Ayavah. "I guess the cultists beat us to the crusader's secret treasury,..." she says, kicking at a bit of rubble on the ground. She walks over to one of the statues and scrutinizes it, examining the handiwork.
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"That you always had his back. That you were more devout and driven to faith than anyone he knew. That you never gave up, and took it personally when absolutely anything went wrong. That you never turned your back on the dwarven faiths, even when the cultists were breathing down your neck. That you did your best to turn him from the darkness, to convince him to save his life here. That you were a brilliant mind, even in the darkest hours." Ary says without pause.
"So, I know, because your brother told me... that you're blaming yourself right now. You've asked yourself a dozen times, maybe hundreds, possibly thousands... what you could have done to have saved him. What you could have done to prevent his fall. And you stuck by his side, trying to save him, even in your deepest moments of despair." she says, looking back up from the floor, eyes watery again. "All actions of a good man, in my book."
"Took it from Vhane's room," says Xanderghul, sipping on his own. While he didn't really enjoy drunkenness, he did enjoy the unusually strong flavor of liquor and the social ritual of drinking, so he partakes.
He leans forward to shake the hand of young Pallisard. "I see you're fraternizing with the enlisted men, are you? Must be a promising young lad. What are you talking about?"
Val clicks her tongue as she observes the completely empty room. It seems like the cultists had decided to simply strip the vault rather than put it to use. "Given how long they had Drezen under their control, it's really not a surprise that they found this place. I was hoping they were still storing something useful here, but they must have moved it somewhere else. Pity, but at least we found what we were looking for." She sighs and crosses her arms behind her head. "At least they didn't smash all the stonework I suppose. The chapel shouldn't be too hard to restore once there's more time."
Ehren smiles down at the two children. How close had they been to losing their mother? He is all but certain that other children were orphaned on this day.
"Roeddwn i eisiau gweld ble mae'ch teuluoedd wedi bod yn byw," he replies, shaking his head. "Nid dyma'r llefydd mwyaf hosbisol, ac mae eich lot wedi bod mewn cwmni gwael."
"Roeddwn hefyd am roi rhybudd, o fathau," the druid continues, his smile faltering slightly. "Cyn hir, bydd llawer mwy o garcharorion yn dod yma. Bydd y ddinas hon yn dod yn gadarnle yn erbyn y gwesteiwr. Rwy'n eu cyfrif fel cynghreiriaid dibynadwy, ond deallaf na allech chi deimlo'r un ffordd."
"Nid hwy yw'r unig rai, er. Rwy'n bwriadu i fwy o'n pobl gael lle yma hefyd. Pe byddent yn ymladd drosto, yna mae'n lle cywir." He pauses, before moving onto the hardest part. "Ond byddai hynny'n cynnwys Ailig a'r gweddill. Ni allaf ofyn i chi adael eich bond, felly mae popeth yr wyf yn gofyn amdano yn heddwch. Rhyfel yn erbyn y gythreuliaid a'u henwau, ond gadewch eich casineb am y lleill."
"I also wanted to deliver a warning, of sorts. Before long, many more crusaders will come here. This city will become their stronghold against the demon host. I count them as trusted allies, but I understand that you might not feel the same way."
"They are not the only ones, though. I intend for more of our people to have a place here as well. If they would fight for it, then it is their rightful place. But that would include Ailig and the rest. I cannot ask you to mend your bond, so all I ask of you is peace. War against the demons and their ilk, but let your hatred for the others rest."
Joran grumbles, pulling himself up from the sheets and taking the water from her and downing it in one gulp. "Ha! Lot of good it did me," He opens his mouth, likely to say something snarky, but he glances up at Ary before he does so. He sees how emotionally affected she is by her words and he looks somewhat taken aback. He closes his mouth again and there is a moment of silence as he considers his next words.
"Haven't been a good man in a long time. And from what I've seen, not much good happens to good men," he says finally. "Yer just a kid, Commander... no offense. When I was yer age, I thought the same things as you." He flops back down on the bed, this time on his belly.
"I'd like to rest now, if that's alright with ye," he says, sounding deflated.
----
"Meridrand is a new soldier, but today he not only slew his first vrock, he lead a harrowing charge to hold off the rift drakes into a bottleneck, preventing them from getting into the main hall and breathing acid all down on us... he shows some real potential!" Jorsal exclaims, beaming.
Meridrand glances down at his tankard, embarrassed. His neck shows some new chemical burns, partially healed over from the medics' attentions. "Just doing my duty, Ser."
He sighs. "But I don't know what's that worth. This place... it is corrupting me. I have already broken my sacred vows. I feel I may not be cut out for this work."
----
Ayavah nods. "Yeah... So, where to next?"
As they head off to wherever Valaria wishes to go, Ayavah comments, "Hey, do you think, y'know, if we end up staying here long-term, that your stick-in-the-mud Commander will let me help re-decorate the place? Or is it gonna all go to that pretty-boy Shelynite that your friends are always talking to?"
---
Jestak's face hardens at the news. "Ond wrth gwrs, mae'r crwydronwyr wedi dod i 'adennill' tiroedd nad oeddent hwy i ddechrau," she spits, scathingly.
She calms down a bit as Ehren continues. "Hm. Nid yw fy mhobl yn cael eu gwneud i setlo mewn un lle. Ond ar ôl cynnal arolwg o'r tiroedd o gwmpas, nid oes bwyd i'w gael yma, hyd yn oed y planhigion llygredig sy'n tyfu ger Gundrun. Ac nid yw fy mhobl yn cael eu gwneud i fod yn beggars, naill ai. Byddwn yn ymuno yma, ond yr wyf yn amau y bydd angen inni fynd allan, wrth chwilio am fwyd. Efallai bod pysgod yn dal yn y Llyn Coll i'r Haul."
"Ni wnaf ddim yn sâl i Ailig, cyhyd â'i fod yn gwneud dim sâl tuag ataf. Mae gennych fy air, Archdderwydd."
"Hm. My people are not made to settle in one place. But having surveyed the lands around, there is no food to be found here, not even the corrupted plants that grow near Gundrun. And my people are not made to be beggars, either. We will linger here, but I suspect that we will need to head out, in search of food. Perhaps there is still fish at the Lake Lost to the Sun."
"Nevertheless, I will do no ill to Ailig, as long as he commits no ill towards me. You have my word, Archdruid."