"The howl of a leader must carry more than power; it must carry wisdom. Yet I feel mine thinning, stretched between the moonlight and the shadow that grows beneath it."
Ironfang’s voice rises louder in the Concord. He speaks often of
B.B., the outsider who promises land, safety, purpose. An army to march beside, a new place for our kind. But I hear the leash in those promises. I will not trade one yoke for another.
Instead, I place trust in
V.V., the War Wizard whose counsel has ever been tempered by insight and caution. She warned me of
Fury, the spirit that preys on sound, twisting rage into madness. It whispers beneath the waterfall in the high gorge, drawing those who listen too long into its grasp.
She gave me a box of scrolls: several of
Silence, to shield the mind from its song, and some of
Protection from Energy, to endure the scalding waters. Only then, she said, would the path to Fury's lair reveal itself; through a cave hidden behind the falls.
I tested the path. I am not proud of how.
Ironfang’s followers were eager for honour. I sent them, cloaked in magic, bearing the scrolls. Most never returned.
Only one came back.
Exhausted and bloodied, he told me of a desperate escape. Fury had noticed him as he began the ascent through the boiling pool, and he fled up the cliffside. He found shelter beneath an
oak with orange leaves;an anomaly in this part of
Cormyr.
The tree was not what it seemed.
Its trunk was
insubstantial, and passing through it revealed
a hidden stone stairwell carved into the mountain, winding upwards toward the cliffs. It was ancient, concealed by illusion or enchantment-perhaps both.
He dared only a few steps before a great winged shadow; a wyvern, he swore descended after him. He fled, diving into the river to survive.
I shared this with
V.V., and as always, her insight cut deeper than mine. She was intrigued, very intrigued, by the discovery of the hidden stair. “That,” she wrote to me, “cannot be one of Fury’s gates. The path to Fury lies through the waterfall itself, into the
cavern of steam, where sound becomes thought and thought becomes fire.”
Yet she urged me to mark the staircase well. “Old places remember old names,” she added in her letter, “If that stair was meant to be found, it would not have hidden beneath a dreaming oak.”
A Way Out – The Point of Peace
In quieter counsel, V.V. has offered me another path - one I have not spoken of to the Concord.
She told me of an ancient artefact: the
Point of Peace, once used to part the veils between worlds. With it, she believes I could craft the
Pinpoint of Peace, a spear not for war, but for passage - key to open a doorway into the Feywild itself.
Through that portal, I could lead the Concord away. Back to our origin. To safety.
But the artefact is lost - last recorded in the hoard of a being few would dare name. The lich called
Melkerech.
A thing of ancient spite, sealed beneath ruined halls somewhere in the south. V.V. claims the
Harpers believed him long-since dormant, but I have no faith in the stillness of the dead.
Scattered Thoughts
The moon rises soon, and with it the
hunt on Bowman's Run. I hear the young ones already howling, stretching their forms beneath the trees. I should join them, though V.V. insists it is called
Boeshoren’s Home. She says the name was bastardised by generations of scribes and tongue-tied lords.
Boeshoren, she says, was a
general-fey or mortal, she would not say-but one whose heart beat so fiercely it left echoes in the land. She hinted, once, that his name and his grave might offer a way to touch
Fury’s heart, whatever that means. I did not press her. Her silences often speak more than her words.
Still, the young grow strong. They run far, and return with laughter and blood on their breath. I take comfort in their joy. I wonder if they would follow me into the Feywild. I wonder if they should.
I mourn the ones I sent. I justified it to myself. I told myself it would weaken Ironfang’s influence, test his loyalty. But I feel their absence like cold teeth at my heels.
I name them in the moonlight.
And I wonder if peace ever comes without cost.
The Concord holds. But the earth remembers."
Comments