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It was a remarkably boring trip through the mountains. I remember a time when there were giants, burynai, and goblins in such great numbers that, even invisible, it was a struggle to avoid them. Perhaps they had been drawn into the conflict in the Dreadlands at some earlier stage… but any reason I could formulate would be purely conjecture. I enjoyed the crisp air and actually had the time to study the standing stones which were once deadly obstacles to my sight. They reminded me much of the old dwarven watchstones in the Butcherblock Mountains and I made a mental note to query some old dwarven loremasters about them when next I visited the underground city of Kaladim.
My travels took me unerringly to the canyon leading to the Overthere, home of my peoples’ outpost in Kunark and a home away from home for our allies. It seemed that the sarnak were still holding positions of power (mostly ruined towers and small strongholds) in the southern quarters of our mostly-conquered holdings. You would think that after all these months they would have conceded defeat but, being of foreign mind and alien thought, they seem determined to continue their fruitless struggles against us. A good number of heroes, of many varieties, were engaged in the ongoing effort to keep the sarnak and their trained beasts of war in check. I was surprised to see as many, if not more, Fier and Koada`Dal than Tier`Dal or even Trolls and Ogres. The forces of light were within sight of the outpost… and the Dragoons only dared some few sallies against them.
It was quite disturbing. I disguised myself as a gnome for the early part of my investigation and further augmented my illusion with a cloak of invisibility. Doubly guarded against sight, I approached the still-crumbled walls of our outpost to see the guards on high alert and the giant golems marching in a show of strength. Canceling the illusion and then discarding my invisibility, I approached with my papers in hand. The golems did not twitch as one grim- looking Dragoon stepped forward (after getting an ok from a black-cloaked Necromancer standing watch for magically- hidden foes, I am certain) and examined my papers. He frowned and eyed me sternly through his full-face helm. I could see his violet eyes, full of suspicion and haughty arrogance, glimmer behind the narrow eye-slits. I returned his glare with an impassive gaze, offering nothing.
He let me through after conferring with the necromancer, who was probably his commanding officer, and I went directly to the clockwork merchants. The mechanical ticking of their gear hearts emanated through the black-walled building which housed them. I had always found the clockworks to be curiosities but of little use… always breaking down and requiring constant maintenance. These were especially quirky beasts, captured from a storehouse in the Steamfont Mountains in the year before the invasion. I still remember the little gnomish watchman we had deceived into yielding up his keys. The look on his pinched little face was classic! It was especially so because of Charyssa.
Never a more crafty soul have I ever met in all my travels. She uses her every trait to her advantage. Illusions, enchantment, and a heart as cold as the deeps of Everfrost. I find her even more intriguing since she is a gnome. As could be expected, I found her among the fruits of her labors… wrench in hand and a domesticated goblin attending her needs. Grease smeared her cheeks and a foul string of curses flowed from her lips and I was stricken anew by the aura of evil she exuded.
When I finally cleared my throat for her attention, she looked up and grinned wickedly at me. We had a rousing chat about the passage of time and the growth of the outpost. She explained that the “heroes” ravening the countryside were those too weak to help in the Dreadlands. As such, they were incapable of taking on the outpost, directly, and had taken it upon themselves to slaughter the “allies of evil” for us. It was a laughable situation, once explained. In battling our foes, whom they would call our allies, they were ensuring the survival of our outpost and allowing us to sit back and reap the rewards.
Of course, Charyssa and I spoke of the moon and the happenings there. She had been fully involved in the pacification of Kunark else she would have left the clockworks to rust long ago. Being an ambitious lady, she had carved out some spheres of influence in this relatively new land. Despite her origins, the chiefs of the outpost held her in confidence and her own agents operated in all of the key areas: Cabilis, Firiona Vie, and the Dreadlands. While she was as open as she could be, we both understood that she was… my superior now. No longer equals in might or magic.
In the course of our cordial conversation I picked up key clues as she casually let them slip. I was considered soft-hearted and fey by my superiors. I had lost my finely-honed edge due to my collusion with lesser cultures. Even worse, that I had lost the detachment which once kept me in high esteem and in Mistress V`Retta’s favor. While I can note these things in my journal, one would not have gathered the same if they had listened to our words.
She chuckled at the rumors of my adoption of an ogre as an assistant, simply because he was a runt. She wove some news relating to several of my aliases (which I assume when visiting other cultures) randomly helping people into a discussion about some failed plots fashioned by the Dead. The coup de grace came when she correctly guessed that I was annoyed at being relegated to a courier’s role in the Tower. All of these insights were delivered with the utmost care but, despite that, quickly sapped my joy at this visit.
I must thank her though. It was the wake-up call I had been waiting for. Perhaps the loss of Boggie and Cadaree in the Crystal Caverns had broken something inside me. My edge, for lack of a better term. Without a mirror to look into I had forgotten a great deal and had attempted to escape into my other personas. As Dimitri the Halfling I enhanced the prowess of young druids and warriors in the Thicket… as Halcyon the Koada`Dal I helped hold back the tides of our allies in Crushbone. They were all part of my missions, mind you, to gain trust among those peoples but I had, indeed, found some form of satisfaction in doing good deeds for our enemies.
Am I still loyal to the cause? Was my fall from grace warranted by my behavior? These questions plague me as never before. She noticed my distress and, in hindsight, hardened herself against me as well. With a comforting smile and a mellow voice she suggested I return to the Dreadlands and purify myself with the blood of our enemies there. I knew I would not be returning to the outpost anytime soon.
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