Tomorrow we will reach Grelsh again, a city once so foreign and now my home. Perhaps I can find some peace there, but I doubt it. Too much has changed. I was too hasty when I ended my last entry with the observation that our task had been completed and all that remained was to journey home. More has transpired since then and now, as I sit by the fire and stare toward the north and pretend I can see the lights of Grelsch.
In the morning after our encounter with Isis, our hostess came to us with hospitable enthusiasm as we gathered ourselves together. I do not know if it was some sorcery, or a trick, or just the dreariness of the daylight as opposed to the exotic candlelight last night, but she seemed much older, and even a little plumper; not really less beautiful but just different: more nurturing than tempting. It was very odd, although I had had a similar and not altogether pleasant experience with a caravan whore when I was very young, before I joined the circle, but that is neither here nor there. As she fed us (Rorick chose to eat only his rations, but the food seemed wholesome enough), Isis insisted that she tell us her dreams. She told the tales of three groups of comrades.
The first was a group that had been taken by the mchafu DuChamp Corporation as slaves. I am not sure whether they were adventurers before or after their enslavement, but the dream showed them revealing after torture the location of the Nil Engine - some sort of Death Machine - that they had found and stored in a cave somewhere near the swamp, or Grelsch, or anyway somewhere in the region. There was also something about them having been taken from the White Widow Inn after being poisoned, which had led to their torture.
The next dream showed another party following the path laid out by the first - these were slaves as well, adventurers in bondage, and they were seeking the Nil Engine. They found it - but also found that it had been found. The engine had been activated by some -- bee-people? human bees? -- and apparently it was not -- or not only -- some sort of horrific instrument of destruction, but a kind of regeneration apparatus, transforming energies. It was unclear what happened to the party - the slaves were freed, but perhaps only with the liberty of quietus or metamorphosis. Like all dreams related later, the details swam in murky water.
The third dream seemed to indicate to Iris that we were to be the third party in this series of doomed expeditionists. Of course, Apple and Urik seemed to think this was a grand idea - to go seeking a Death Machine already claimed by DuChamp. I managed to carry the argument that we owed closure to our employers - both to Cavendish, who had sent us to Isis in the first place, in our roles as his allies, and to the Nackle, for whom we had allied ourself with Cavendish in the first place. As seekers of intelligence, we would be worth nothing if we did not bring the information back to those who needed it and who had commissioned us. Only after that should we decide whether this emprise is worth pursuing. Rorick agreed, and Ecgbert also wanted to get back to town, and Zinna followed our lead, and so we reached the consensus to go home.
We performed our goodbyes to Isis and made to quit the swamp. After more argument, we set a course that would take us most directly back to the Crespin Road: even though this would add some time to our journey back to Grelsch, the majority view held that the quicker we were out the swamp, the better. And so we set off, not with as light a step as our enthusiasm for getting home might otherwise have given us, for the humidity was as oppressive and the ground as damp and the swamp as dismal as it had been the first time we entered. Nonetheless, we pressed onward, hoping to show the swamp our backs by nightfall after an uneventful trek. Of course, this was not to be so.
Somewhere on our journey -- all points being equally miserable -- we were accosted by some Lizardkind. Like everything north of Bandui, from the Orcs to the trees, they were wet, swollen versions of the jangwa specimens: not brown and spare, but green and muscular, though still lithe. They spoke accented common with a subtle ticking trill that was not at all unpleasant to the ear, though what they had to say was less amusing.
Like all Lizardkind, they were masters of cognizance and wanted to trade their information for our action. They advised us that a party of six DuChamp agents had led a string of child slaves through the swamp. Their objective, according to the Lizards, was to trade these slaves to an Orc tribe in return for a magic artifact called The Reaper, some sort of weapon, sought by DuChamp in its relentless quest to hold all significant magic in the two continents. The Lizards were not interested in the weapon itself, but rather in some sets of magic greaves worn by two of the agents - apparently these allow the wearer to walk all day and through the night without the need for sleep. The Lizards wanted us to relieve the DuChamp agents of these greaves for them, and promised us the booty of the The Reaper as our own reward.
I was hesitant; one does simply walk into a battle with DuChamp. I wanted nothing to do this affair; the Corporation clearly wanted this Reaper for themselves and had gone to great lengths to acquire it; depriving them of it would surely arouse their wrath. The Lizardkind clearly knew this and were using us as their cat's paw. The others, however, perhaps since we had not immediately gone after the Nil Engine, seemed spoiling for a fight. In any case, given the demeanor of the Lizardkind, I am not sure we could have refused: they melted in and out of the swamp like ghosts, and had clearly had both us and the Corporation agents under surveillance for some time. I believe they could have ambushed us at any time and might have put paid to our whole party had they so chosen. Eventually, I agreed to an ambuscade with the proviso that we killed all six of the agents; none should escape. I wanted the party to be lost without a trace in the swamp; perhaps DuChamp would presume misfortune and write off the loss.
The Lizardkind, having told us they believed the Corporation party would return this way fairly soon, evaporated away after helping us find a likely spot for an ambush. On a small knoll, taking the height advantage, Rorick and Ecgbert set up as if taking their lunch during a trek; AppleRabbit, Zinna, and I, along with C'hallah, secreted ourselves in some reeds. Urik, as usual, positioned himself in plain sight on the trail, since he can neither act with stealth nor detect it well.
We had not long to wait before our adversaries arrived: four of them, marching in pair formation. We could see that two wore ornate greaves - clearly the prizes sought by the Lizards. Our attempts at hiding were for naught - they spotted us all except for Zinna, and their chief warrior bellowed a truculent and demeaning challenge as he approached. At the same time, his priestly compatriot laid on hands, and he near doubled in size from the magic effect. He clearly meant to do us ill: I believe the apt Carpathian expression is "Clout first, question later." The fight was joined.
Almost immediately, another DuChamp caster waved his arms and we all felt a wave of compulsion wash over us; luckily we are all able to steel ourselves against its effects, all except AppleRabbit. For her part, she screeched in fear and began to flee from the battle as fast as she could.
We could not spare effort to retrieve her; the battle was fast and furious. Rorick magically enhanced his crossbow and began playing to our foes; I tried to assist with my bow, to some little effect. C'hallah fought in close, distracting the enemy from more powerful targets, but the best advantage we made was disabling the giant -- Urik's stinging blood held the brute helpless and twitching on the ground long enough for the witch doctor to close and dispatch him without resistance.
Zinna held back entering the fray perhaps overlong - I think she kept hoping the battle would come in range for her to make a surprise attack, which she would know well how to exploit, but the tide rolled a different way. Eventually, she had to close with our opponents on their terms: she did mighty damage, but took a lot in return, for they had a fighter as nimble and swift as she. Ecgbert, too, fought valiantly and at great cost - had I not been able to channel some healing power into him, he would have fallen before gutting one of our foes with his great spear, as he did.
Urik threw more blood and his sting was felt again; our final foe fell and was finished at about the same time AppleRabbit, recovered from ensorcellment, made her way back to the field. She gamely used her energies to help heal the wounded.
As we ensured the demise of all the Corporation agents, the Lizardkind party once more appeared as if from the mist, pleased with our performance. We ripped the greaves from the fallen and turned them over; true to their word, the Lizards not only left us unmolested to loot our enemies, but provided guidance that would ensure our safe and expeditious egress from the swamp.
We found The Reaper in a small, elegant package, about the size and shape of a barrel lid. As it was opened, I was surprised to see that it was a sickle - not a simple farmer's tool, but a Druidic weapon, and one far greater than any I have ever seen. Its elegantly curved blade shone with an unearthly glow when held to the light, and its craftsmanship was evident at a glance. The blade looked sharp enough to cut air: no matter how closely I examined it, I could not perceive a distinct edge - it seemed to have been sharpened to nothingness. We tested it against a stout pole and it cleaved through it like a dagger through a honeycomb. It almost pulsed with a magical energy and not only felt powerful, but made the wielder feel stronger as well. Rorick's knowledge of spellcrafting confirmed that it had been impressively enchanted, and he pointed to the ancient magic emblems embossed on the handle: one for Nil (same as the Death Machine, something to do with nothingness) and for Ter (which has something to do with substance and matter). It was indeed a weapon for the ages, worth more gold than a successful merchant could earn in many lifetimes, much less a poor druid.
As I stared at it fineness, AppleRabbit was speaking, exhorting me to take up this weapon, not only to deprive DuChamp of its possession but to use it to strike at them. She was full of talk about destiny and duty and right and justice. She had the temerity to lecture me on the evils of DuChamp!
These Carpathians! Elf, gnome, dwarf, or halfling, they think that the Corporation is something you can fight like you would a mummy or a dragonne! THEY DO NOT KNOW! They live up here, under the protection of their mighty League, far from the filthy heart of the beast. What they know of DuChamp are raids, and thefts, and skirmishes. Pfah!
Bandui was once a paradise. The skeiks and sarkis and olori and caliphs ruled wised and justly, and the ancient laws governed countries and tribes and people alike. Trade flourished and the caravanseries thrived and oases were fecund and sweet. Feck was glorious, or so I am told; spires reached to the heavens and all sorts of creatures, human and humanoid and fey, roamed the streets trading stories and knowledge and food and artifacts. The City was the crossroads of the world when great Toesch was still a village.
Then the Corporation arose, in the guise of a trading syndicate. Slowly it gained more and more influence, insinuating itself into the tents of power and the halls of government like a serpent in the reeds. Then there were two sets of laws: one for the people, and one for the Corporation and friends of the Corporation. And then there were no laws, just the Corporation and its will, their eyes seeing everything, their ears hearing everything, their fingers strangling everyone, even reaching into the vastness of the jangwa itself. It became that if you were not a friend of the Corporation, you were their slave: literally, with a brand to prove it, or figuratively, with no outlet for your trade, your craft, your profession, your skill other than what they let you have.
As their power grew, so did their greed. They began to traffic with slavers and brigands of all sorts; Bandui became synonymous not with cosmopolitan trade but with the crassest and basest commercialism. No one knows exactly when they claimed possessorship of all magical items anywhere. At first, this stance appealed to Bandui pride, for we have long held that civilization's cradle can be found in our sands; as eldest, had we not the right of primogeniture to the fruits of civilization? But soon we found that DuChamp did not want the magic for Bandui or the people of Bandui; they wanted it all for themselves.
Carpathians, this is what life with DuChamp is like. They are an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent evil force that pervades every aspect of life. Customs, traditions, laws -- all fall like reeds before the blade if DuChamp wills. What they want, they take; what they have, they keep. Even up here in this wet land you feel their presence and fear them; you just don't fear them enough.
And AppleRabbit thinks I should fight them.
And the absurd thing is I think she's right.
Even if this is a battle that cannot be won, it is a battle that needs fighting. I have hidden in the sands long enough, long enough to realize that evil cannot be run from, but must be fought. It is absurd, I know; ultimately, we will all die, and it is hard to believe, given the evidence, that life has any meaning or that we can actually make a difference. But I draw from this absurdity three consequences nonetheless: my revolt, my freedom, and my passion.
I took the sickle. I will fight.
Of course, I am not stupid. I know that DuChamp has spies everywhere, so the first thing I did was wrap that handle of The Reaper in rough leather and rub mud on its blade. Hanging from my belt, it does not look much different from my own weapon (now secreted in my pack) and might pass unnoticed.
After following the Lizards' directions out of the swamp -- Rorick actually kissed the ground when we reached solid earth again -- we set out northward at a healthy pace. We have camped two nights on the road before this one, and have encountered naught but some little trade traffic. We should reach the White Widow before nightfall tomorrow, although Zinna is a bit chary of staying or eating there again, after hearing Isis's tale of the poisonings.
We have clearly passed a waypost, not just on the Crespin Road, but in the bigger journey as comrades of circumstance. We have taken on an enemy more fearsome than my colleagues can imagine. That thought alone is chilling enough. But I have remembered something:
We fought four Corporation Agents in the swamp.
The Lizardkind told us they were six.
Where were the other two? And where are they now?
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