3. Isolde's detective files

Isolde's detective files


  • A pencil drawing of a child with dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin tops the first page of this entry, the name Loretta Fenwick delicately added in cursive at the bottom left. The girl's expression is forlorn and her young shoulders hunched as though she's trying to fold in on herself, taking whatever cover she can manage in the corner of a sparsely decorated, stone-bricked room.

    "Loretta Fenwick is being held at a Zhentarim outpost, West of Zhentil Keep, north of Teshwave. She's no longer under Jurne, but pre-emptively moved to an officer called Windsam's watch and even replaced with a lookalike girl at Jurne's. The ever paranoid Geroldine suspected Fenwick had made plans free her daughter, when I'd barely just set them in action myself. I should revise Barton Cade's mission, both for his own safety and for that of the girl. But what of the other children, if I do?

    Can I ask more of Dan and his friends? Do I have the time, resources and capabilities to go myself?

    The crystalich who provided Loretta's details saw fit to question my motives, calling me desperate. Calling my ambition vanity. That last part stung.

    I recall with chilling clarity when Vanity overtook me. I remember the insiduous, slow and slippery slide from dream to waking thought, the tilt of perception. Most of all I remember my ambition warped, from the desire to make things right to the slowly growing notion that I was the only one who could make it so. And finally, that everything ~would~ be alright, if everyone just did as I told them. In fact, if the entire world was reworked to my liking, wouldn't it all be so very beautiful?

    I still want to make the world beautiful. I still want to set things right, to mend what's broken, give solace and hope where there's suffering and despair. And also simply turn a frown upside down, in the smallest way. My ambition is earnest, it's heartfelt and sits at the core of me. I refuse to call it vanity. But believing I alone can change things is, or that all things can be changed. Though honestly, haven't I always chafed at the notion of inevitability or impossibility? This dogged refusal of mine to give anything up as lost cuts both ways.

    I can't give Loretta up as lost. I can't, I won't. I keep reminding myself of the reasons this conflict sparked, the good reasons we had to not back down, but right now I'm just barely keeping my nose above the surface of all the blood, the violence, the dread and the sense of loss even when we're winning. I know full well I can't save ~everyone~, but is it really so vain, so naive and foolish to think I can help save one, two or three? A handful of stars to light the way for the lost and downtrodden.

    I need to feel like we're making something, anything ~better~ and I admit, I freely admit I'm imagining opening a door right to her and to those handful of children whose faces and names I now know. Just in and out behind the stage, with none the wiser. I've done it before, haven't I? Somehow. Just never when I actively tried.

    It's all kinds of annoying to be told people saw me in several places at the same time, when that's precisely what I'd love to make happen now that time's running out with such alarming speed, but failing at. I can't stop myself worrying about those I sent into harm's way either, including the dragon (who would surely swallow me whole if I ever uttered such a preposterous sentiment). For now, I'll try to simply trust that they each know what they're doing. But I will still need to arrange a Sending for Cade to update his intel. Maybe, just maybe he can coordinate with Dan's lot to do something at Jurne's outpost while he heads to Windsam himself."


  • "I've been determined to leave whatever's happening behind Moonreach's veiled walls til ~after~ the Zhentarim conflict is over, but of late I find myself uneasy. Barton Cade's obvious distress in recalling the creature in the ice, his insistance that something's very wrong here, echoed and amplified by reports from around Narfell of strange dreams and unexplicable sightings - of us, of creatures plucked from nightmares and beyond the pale. Is Moonreach's tallest tower a beacon, calling these too familiar, unfathomable creatures close to the cusp of our realm once again, or, perish the thought but let no stone be left unturned, is it somehow our own doing?

    For my part, I never went so far as to ask Beeble to invade the dreams of our enemies, but the nightmares seem to spread if recent reports are anything to go by. Sometimes it does appear that my moods and desires have a way of manifesting. Mostly in small, cheerful ways though. Surely only in small ways? Signing never does seem to work when I think about it, but what am I ~really~ doing when I don't?

    Why can't I remember sketching any of the drawings in the book of doors, despite the hand being clearly my own?"


  • "Barton Cade, marked by his recent captivity not only in body but it seems in spirit, nonetheless agreed to infiltrate Jurne's stronghold in an attempt at liberating select family members of Geroldine's officers. As time was of the essence and Jonni occupied elsewhere, I opted simply for the names that we know, four in total. 7-0-3:s two boys, Samson Farlow and Core Lt Fenwick's daughter. A bitter Cade refused to broaden the scope of his operation, and the former sense of camraderie I'd felt from the man, even while we were on opposing sides, seemed to have withered away with the cruelty of his interrogation whilst in Zhentarim hands.

    I can't blame him for wanting to run about a thousand miles in the opposite direction and he likely would have, but for George's insightful mention of Henry Cade. The Siamorphan knight could scarcely be more different than our Doctor Sleep, yet it seems they're cousins and that Barton Cade, despite his dejected stance on nearly everything else, still wants to see Henry's life preserved. I'll do all I can to keep Ser Henry alive, while crossing all fingers and toes for his cousin's success in the belly of the Zhentarim beast. 'Dan' and his friends stand by to wreak havoc outside Jurne's encampment, which will increase the odds significantly. I can't help but to hope a wide-spread prison break will follow, but even just one is better than none. I trust Barton Cade to know his limits as a professional, though as ever I cannot help but to hope he'll see some of his own suffering in all those inprisoned and take pity.

    Things are moving at a pace now, but with Geroldine on defence, it's evident that Temperance's experiences of before remain valid - he's much more stronger on the offence, predicting and dictating the battlefield. Now that he's stuck waiting, our plan to retake Cloudhaven with our newly arrived elven allies coupled with the Tuigans proved a resounding success. Rey's keen military mind picked the right target of strategic importance, Aoth's persistant diplomatic efforts found us extremely able allies (that arcane ballista, wow) and Cormac's Tuigans once again cut like a scythe through the Zhentarim lines. This is not to diminish the rest of our contributions, but credit where credit's due, dear detective journal.

    We're in a good position to strike the armada next, and also the ever elusive Hive, who I strongly suspect is making many preparations for the army's march through the Giantspires. Preparations best halted abruptly.

    Finally, while I tried to force down a meal at the Witch and Seer, with the stench of blood and death still clinging to my hair, my skin and my clothing, we encountered Temperance of Gulderhorn's trio of friends once more. It seems Temperance had left specific instructions for her burial, which they wished to carry out. We'll forward this to the Siamorphans in the city - I can't see anyone objecting about anything but the timing. Geroldine still demands her body, making a burial attempt subject to intervention by the Zhentarim.

    There will be closure on many counts though, and soon. I continue to cling to what glimpses of light I can find in the midst of this darkening storm."


  • On a lonesome moonlit walk, amidst the western woods, I chanced upon a clandestine conversation between Motley Grey and May Celine, suggesting all is not roses in camp Moonreach:

    Motley Grey: Glances around as she hears a cracked piece of branch What was that?

    May Celine: Glances around as well

    May Celine: . . . perhaps an animal. Are we finished here, then?

    Motley Grey: So long as you remember to mind your place when it comes to your station at the Keep.

    May Celine: I find your jealousy amusing, Missus Grey, particularly considering your reputation for skullduggery and deception. How long will it be until it's revealed you have deceived even your dear friend, Caleb's mother?

    Motley Grey: The point is to avoid, curtail, and diminish the influence of dangerous, otherworldly forces, May Celine. Your little cult of the Moon has its own repute for falsehood. Or are you unaware?

    May Celine: You mean the rumors spread by the Princess Elizabeth and her ilk? Against what, the credibility and legitimacy of the Celestial Sphere, Silvery Selune, our Guiding Moonlight? You mean to rely on adversary propaganda. Don't make me laugh. The weight and benevolance of our Lady Selune, the Moon, is undeniable. Much unlike your own repute.

    Motley Grey: Twists her mouth and clenches her jaw. This isn't over, Priestess.

    May Celine: Your questions against my Goddess are indeed finished, Motley Grey. Do not waste my time with them further.

    Motley Grey: Watches her depart, grimacing


  • "My wandering dark-haired bardic friend brought word, unexpectedly, that Barton Cade's been captured by the Zhentarim. It seems he was tailing them closely, and that despite his claims otherwise at the frozen caverns where the Beast in the Ice slowly slumbers, he remains 'loyal' to Moonreach Keep. Although by the word loyal, I imagine he is loyal to his original contract rather than a believer of any cause.

    All the same, I intend to rescue Cade, despite Rey's lukewarm respons to the news. I've got a mission in mind for him in times to come, and besides which, I rather like the man as a fellow professional. So while I'll of course try to sway the rest to join in, I'm perfectly willing to stage the rescue myself too, in a more clandestine fashion. They caught Cade, which is bit alarming for any stealth-reliant agent of chaos, but I daresay I have a few tricks he does not. Ideally with Roslyn for backup.

    That same evening, a spellcrystal was delivered to Rey, a shaky, seemingly hidden recording of a meeting between Quartermaster Hive and Caleb Fisher. The former was attempting to sway the latter to join hands, promising to put Caleb on the throne on favourable terms. But the buzzing creep was firmly rebuffed - I must say Caleb seems more impressive on home soil, though consistant in character to my previous impressions of him.

    Who recorded it and why it was sent to Reyhenna directly is as yet unknown. I'm hoping it was Asha's doing, though she may not be trusted with access to those kinds of meetings just yet. Nor, if Bennek Sepret's example is anything to go by, is the pirate.

    Moonreach can't be the only stop on Hive's tour, though. It seems likely the Zhentarim march through the Giantspires has been planned out in orderly fashion with regards to the locals, striking deals where possible. Jonni's no doubt got his work cut out for him in the days to come."


  • "The plans have been laid, for both the 3000 and the Dreadfleet. Taking a lesson from Geroldine's playbook, we'll launch the first part of the former at the same time as the latter. The rough draft is decided, and what remains is fine tuning and as much preparation as we can possibly muster in the few days remaining.

    12 barrels of flux acid are obtained, our Underdark raid successful thanks to Jonni's precise scrying. It was another close, gritty, painful and dirty fight, though. I worry, as I always do times like these, that I'll become irreparably jaded. And I tell myself that once the moment's passed, I'll shed the hardened skin I had to don to endure it.

    Towards the end of the fight, once it became clear we were going to come out on top, I urged the remaining soldiers to surrender. None did - one even began to hack away at the flux with a manic gleam in his eyes. After witnessing what they do to deserters, and knowing full well the evils of the family swap programs, I shouldn't be surprised. We ended up killing everyone save Laywell, including the near three hundred waiting below the mining shaft as they clamored to get up.

    Numbers-wise, it's a great result. We also obtained the barrels themselves and our intended scapegoat for Geroldine's ill graces, Laywell. It's just that when you start thinking of those numbers as individual people, each with their own story, friends, family and dreams, the satisfaction of the win turns sour in your mouth.

    I tell myself there's greater things at stake here, and I know that's true too - victory here will give hope to untold others that resisting the Zhentarim is possible, even for what most consider a backwater part of the frozen North. That is worth the bitter taste of acid that seems to flavour everything in this conflict - it has to be. If we can even come out on top, all the better to this end.

    I long to actually save someone in the midst of all this death, though. Even just one, even just Samson Farlow would feel so very good! Is it possible to plan such a strike immediately following the big show-down, thus also ensuring Geroldine's reign is ended for good, regardless of whether or not he hides from the field of battle?"


  • "The black dragon is a card that's soon to expire, if we mean to keep it out of the blue's way as would be ideal. Perhaps I undersold it's daunting qualities in the chaos of that meeting, with ideas thrown out left and right. The dragon is both ancient, cunning and possessing of a powerful grudge against its former captors. Out of the handful Karrick, I and our small team liberated from their skykeep all those years ago, it is the largest and the most fearsome. It ~will~ decimate their numbers, though I'm still not certain to what extent it can be expected to risk its own hide. I am, however, convinced that no matter how resentful it was at the ask, the desire for payback was always there. Otherwise, wouldn't it just have eaten me or, like the others, ignored my plea?

    The time to move on it is now. I should visit the war room promptly."


  • "The war rages on, with progress and glimpses of hope, alongside setbacks and renewed moments of despair. I brush the latter aside as we all must, as regret and what-ifs do not serve us well except for whatever lessons we take from them. For the army on the march, the three thousand, an abundance of plans circulate and my mind's spinning with it all.

    The plan I feel the strongest for remains the same: to strike at their western region, under Commander Jurne. Springing Samson Farlow and whoever else we can from the so called family-swap arrangement is doable, I truly believe so, especially with Jonni's newly aquired edge in intelligence. Strategically we should focus on family members of officers close to Geroldine, but I'd be lying if I said 703:s family wasn't also on my mind.

    Crumbling Geroldine's supporting cast from under his feet is a sound plan, though not the only one we must forge. To that end, I wonder if Barton Cade's services could be aquired. His skillset's well suited for such clandestine missions, but I'd like to partake myself if time allows. My main idea is to use the insurrections already planned to create enough chaos that we could make our way in posing as the classic Zhentarim officer with prisoners in tow. And from there, bust out the actual prisoners and the family members we seek. With the intel Jonni's orb can provide, we wouldnt be going in blind.

    As for the black dragon, harrying the army on the march up until the Giantspires seems a plan to me. Three thousand soldiers is a daunting number, though. My mind boggles at that much death, even if we should come out on top."


  • "Thaddeus is up on his feet again, awake and with returning clarity and vigour!!! While neither he nor the Zhentarim captive could properly make sense of what happened in that basement, I'll choose to interpret it as a cosmic form of justice. A heartfelt amends, a righting of wrongs which may have cost Temperance her life but also returned her immortal soul to Siamorphe's light. Anyone who protects my loved ones with such fierceness despite impossible odds is worthy of all kinds of grace.

    While endings always fill me with melancholy, this is the best kind of end I can imagine for her. Going out in grace, in a blaze of glory. Geroldine can ~never~ defeat her now.

    Thaddeus was saddened at the news of all that transpired in his absence, but also filled with determination. He spoke of his dreams in that strangely slumbering state; of the desolace and family dinners at the Fisher estate when Thalaman was little. He dreamed of City Hall, of Reyhenna stomping through the place on boisterous baby feet. Of Damian's warm smile at a humble farm, long before Thaddeus knew him.

    If doubt in Kordamant's secret was the cause of his malady, doubt in the words spoken that night in the College's lounge - then I declare his own words and actions part of the cure. For Isaac Thaddeus' warmth and strength of character, gentle though it seems, has touched all our hearts in turn. If the right choices were made in his absence, it's because he taught us so.

    It is ~so~, so good to have him back.

    I'm beginning to feel real hope again. Hope that we can not only survive this by the skin of our teeth, but actually, truly win. The talk with the Zhentarim prisoner added to that surge, opening up new avenues to persue. It still won't be easy. But I think, no, I know we can get through this to still find light at the end of the tunnel."


  • This page bears scattered notes, seemingly jotted down without a particular order or polish:

    "Sahuagin, sea elves and pspspspsting at giant sea monsters (strike Dreadfleet from below possible?)

    Temperance of Gulderhorn - if news of her death become public, would it change anything? My guess is that Geroldine would just demand her body instead, to parade around grotesquely. If news spreads, make sure it spreads with full and amplified disclosure of Siamorphe's intervention. People need hope and while I'm too spent to yet put this into song, it's fodder to inspire many. He'd really hate that she got one over on him even with her final breath, too. Also: make sure her friends know first, whatever else is decided.

    Grovelling at Ostromog's court for guerilla warfare in the Rawlins?

    Visit Moonreach while still an ally? The Moon might let us glimpse matters of importance to the Zhentarim conflict, but is it too big of an ask? Might need to go alone. Plan B: Silvia's pool in Deepwood.

    Is it time to start raising hell in Zhentarim holdings?"


  • "I'm too tired to gather my thoughts, yet here I find myself regardless, pouring them onto the page in some vain hope that the very process of writing will make the world sane again. I find myself tossing and turning between regret and resolve, sorrow and a rage running cold instead of hot, ever present past a heavy blanket of fatigue.

    Cerulean 3rs Star Reeving's name had already come up in previous speculations of a leak. I brushed it aside, because we had no tangible reason to suspect him. Besides, his teleportation at the end of the last mission had definitely saved our lives. Even so, I hesitated to confide Adrian's whispered message to the others in his presence, because that uneasy feeling lingered. It's strange, thinking back, that I had no qualms about the rest of it. Even Reeving's advice to spell up 'later' raised no alarm flags, because that had been his advice the previous time as well.

    This time, we landed straight in the proverbial witch's cauldron, a hail of arrows and spells raining down from above and a magic dampener at our feet, disabling any attempt to flee. It was a harrowing fight, but one we managed together as we so often do, even if by the skin of our teeth. The frantic scramble, the mad cackle of Flux and my very real terror of melting away in acid was still, for the most part, par for the course of wild geese in flight. Thankfully it appeared that my fly on the wall purposefully neglected to send reinforcements in time, though whether Geroldine will catch on to that fact or not is unclear. And, like Reeving, it could simply mean that we're allowed a small win to ensure we'll trust them next time around. Nothing in this game is a given.

    Aoth's call for immediate retreat went unheeded, as we scrambled out of immediate harm's way and stared up at the factory walls. I keep thinking back to that moment, hearing her words hang in the air, considering their merit all too briefly. If we'd Recalled then and there, countless lives might have been saved. Yet the acid factory is in ruins, Flux is slain and I must give Cormac some credit, insisting that this is a win, insisting I take it when all I could see was ruin.

    There were just 'so' many dead. A mere five of their elite task force took out all of City Hall in our absence, after Reeving dismantled the anchor to open a portal. Defenceless clerks and logistic officers, cut down without remorse. The injured and bedridden, slain in their cots, alongside the few guards and soldiers left on watch as Geroldine's three pronged attack had stretched our forces thin. The throne room, littered with bodies, shrouded in a haze of soot and acid from the vat left there to explode.

    The door down to the Defender barracks, where most of the injured and fleeing had gathered, was welded shut. The air felt thick with the residue of the magic that had been unleashed. But by the time we arrived there was only silence. Only stillness as I anxiously darted in and out of the Ethereal, hoping to catch a glimpse of events unfolding. It was chillingly evident that we were, once again, too late.

    Rey, George and Cormac pried the door off its hinges with collective might and a flood of warm, white and golden light spilled out. Something about it felt familiar. I saw Rey's shoulders drop as some of the tension seeped out of her, but I still couldn't shake the despair that had sunk its talons so deep into me. My feet felt like lead, forcibly moved from one step to the next, my eyes unwilling to focus on the scene that opened up downstairs.

    They were all dead. All of them, the light's serenity jarring in contrast, almost a mockery to the pools of blood and the empty eyes of the fallen. Despite the sick twist to my gut, the quietness of the room felt entirely different than the tainted haze of the throne room. This was the stillness you find at the aftermath of a divine occurrance, though it utterly failed to soothe me. Was Thaddeus the cause of it, his last heroic stand before he perished? He'd been moved down here, along with the rest in need of shelter.

    Yet as my eyes adjusted, I couldn't see him anywhere. Instead, surprisingly, three Zhentarim-clad bodies, slumped like broken dolls around a single cot. A spear had been brutally driven into the chest of the woman who lay upon it, painting a heart of deepest red against the white-golden radiance emanating from the body of Temperance of Gulderhorn. A half-finished letter on the floor beside her, edges soaked in blood.

    And sheltered behind her cot lay Isaac Thaddeus - still and pale, but breathing, miraculously untouched by blade or bow. Temperance's last words were meant for him. A form of confession, perhaps even an apology. For all her faults, Siamorphe's grace returned at the end, in the defence of a man important to not only us but clearly to Temperance herself. That he'd already forgiven her seemed only salt in her wounds when I told her. But in saving Thaddeus, I believe she salvaged all the rightful virtues of the godess she spent her lifetime serving. It feels a fitting end, though I still struggle to think of it as a 'win'.

    A survivor from the Zhentarim strike-team was found three steps into the General's office, wide-eyed and babbling inaudibly. The fifth, a bard, is still at large. Hiding somewhere in the city, it is believed. Better make sure the College isn't the where.

    Summing up, the Witch and Seer held fast, as did Cloudhaven. And though Porttown was abandoned, Adrian and his friends have managed to evacuate many of the citizenship, quite against Gom's orders. I'm thankful, though not thankful enough not to tease him about becoming a hero. Someday far from this day, when we can all look back at this from around a cozy fireplace, goblets in hand and safe within our deep, comfy armchairs.

    Right now, looking into the how and the why of Reeving's betrayal feels key. Reforging the naval plans is also a must, as he overheard far too much to risk the cavalry on icescapade. Though I wonder if he purposefully kept from selling Adrian's rescue mission out or merely deemed it less important? These types of questions, alongside a search for the errant dirgesinger, are all that my weary head can muster right now.

    The armies still on the march will wait for no one, but for today I'm spent. Am I any the wiser for writing? I don't know, but anything that keeps my thoughts from free-fall feels a comfort. Time to try that sleep thing again."


  • "It was mostly a joke when I told the cynical Far Scout that the reason D'Cameron was still alive was her heaving bosum. Turns out I was kind of right, though to no particular satisfaction given the haunted look on her face after rescue. Quartermaster Hive considered Norwick's long-term Herald his 'toy' and I for one cannot find it in me to regret that we sprang the rescue sooner rather than later. Hive's true puppeteer may yet elude us, but I wouldn't have wanted to leave D'Cameron exposed to that horrendous creature for one minute longer than necessary.

    We struck hard and fast, just as her cage was readied for transport off the Norwick docks. From under the cover of invisibility, Perom took the ship's mage out with a single shot fired from their own ballista and from then on, it was a chaotic scramble to stay alive and get D'Cameron out before their reinforcements arrived at the scene. Looking back, it was a matter of mere minutes, but thickly laden with dramatic near-deaths, surprising maneuvres such as mud wrestling and gnome flinging (he flung himself, I swear), as well as three consequitive dispersals of Hive's atrocious cloudy filling.

    We not only succeeded, but managed to wreak acidic hell on the hundreds of troupes that came pouring in from Norwick proper. Their own vats of acid used against them should feel like poetic justice, right? And I'll admit, in the moment it felt grimly satisfying, somewhere past the acute fear of being caught up in the same blast ourselves. But afterwards, in particular looking over my own words in the previous entry, I find myself reflecting on how Trusho's view on the world certainly has rhyme, reason and an insidious appeal, times like these. If those hundreds of men and women weren't 'real', it all be much easier to stomach, even enjoy. We're already treating them like they're all "The Zhentarim", faceless pieces of the enemy machine, despite knowing it's a lie. I guess it's a lie we need to tell ourselves in the face of conflict - in the face of a conflict I myself deemed necessary.

    I mustn't falter now. Even if I went to the rendez-vous with the would-be informant, even if I believe that taking the risk of trusting their word is worth it for the possibility to return peace to us sooner. It started with demands from their side, but at my reluctance the offer came regardless. This suggests truthfulness to me about certain officers being dissatisfied with Geroldine and at the accusations of his interests here being personal. I find myself wondering if even Bennek and the dragon were an excuse, or at least the lesser target, the threat he'd not have bothered following through on. If we'd put our foot down the first time, would it still have come to this? If it was all about Temperance, likely so.

    All the same, can I really trust my fly on the wall? The very word 'fly' has me cringing and thinking only of Hive, but the real rub is that it's the broker of our meeting that I'd have to trust. His judgement and untold negotiations beforehand is what lead to this encounter, and it's clear to me that my 'fly' had already made their mind up. I'll listen well, but when the time comes to act, what will we do?

    Thaddeus wouldn't want this sort of colluding with the enemy. Past my normal concerns of entrapments, I think that's what worries me the most. I feel as though his life hangs in some precarious balance, the strands of which I can not yet see, but my heart tells me to act in ways that would make him proud. That the right choices will somehow see his energy returned, but the longer this bedridden state continues, the more I worry. I worry over that inky patch of loathesome manipulation, slithering out of Cormac but off to who knows where. Into who knows who.

    I tell myself the Ringleader's too weak to continue to hurt us, but even so I recognized his voice and know his tricks. He'll seek out others who feel weak, who feel like they're drowning, and in "helping" he'll attempt to make puppets of them. Thalaman is wearing the crown though. Surely his confidence is the crown's effect, not that he made a foolish pact with that runaway patch of inky flesh?"


  • "War

    Now that it's here, I'm abruptly and viciously reminded of all the reasons I abhor it, including the cruel insight that struck my heart at the end of that first bitter day: those we fight are victims too. The real enemy is the systematic tyranny of the Zhentarim organization; it's ideology, practices and beliefs. ~That~ is easy to hate, but seeing fear and suffering in the eyes of the person you've struck down? No. That part is as unpalatable and painful to me as it ever was. Especially coupled with the realization that the individuals we face may have precious little choice in being cogs of that abominable machine.

    I tried not to look at that family portrait, blood-stained from Seven-Oh-Three's mortal wounds. His last words, that sudden plea cut short. I didn't want to hear it, didn't want to see him or any of them as human, but that isn't a lie I can tell myself for very long. As much as I need my anger to fuel my fighting spirit, I also need, absolutely need to remain myself. To succumb to hatred is a loss I'm not willing to cede to any foe. To feel it in the moment is one thing, but I write now to try and let it go. Even though Norwick's loss burns at the back of my mind, acid and bitter, robbing me of sleep.

    So much easier to be like Geroldine - to just not ~care~ who lives or dies, past their strategic value. Or like Trusho, to simply not believe anyone ~real~ but a handful few. If at times like these, I feel a pang of envy, I must remind myself that for all the rest of my days, I much prefer being me. So bear with it for now, Isolde.

    Bear with it, despite the red-veiled vision replaying in your mind's eye, hearing Seven-Oh-Three's choked sentence completed: 'Could you save my family?' When anger and adrenaline left me, as weariness washed over me and my eyes struggled to stay open, it came to me. And in an aching surge, I wanted to heed his words. I wanted to save them, improbable though it is. Even if I find them, why would they listen to me? I was not only part of killing their family, I've also just sent a freaking black dragon to rain acid and death right back at the Zhentarim holdings!

    Still.

    I'd like to think what we're doing here and now will at least save others from becoming like them. That our stand will inspire to resistance, maybe even from within their own ranks, if we succeed in such a way as to spread ripples of hope. Seen in this light, saving the few we can is more than worthwhile. It still stings that our choices then lead to the death of so many defectors from the Zhentarim side. But we can't turn back time, only work from the present and learn from the past.

    We best hit the ground running."


  • Isolde's files and indeed the detective agency itself, sees considerably less action as the Zhentarim threat begins to loom higher on the horizon. Instead, she spends the majority of her non-adventuring time at the Bardic College, composing and co-ordinating various efforts intended to boost city morale, together with whomever else of the bardic community who opts to partake. Songs, stories and rumours are spun, spread and repeated, themed around Peltarch's tenacity and history, emphasizing the city's longstanding tradition of repelling bullies, tyrants and slavers. King George's leadership through the demon siege features in one song, heroic deeds of former Defenders and Ceruleans in another, alongside various slants on Thalaman himself, painting the image of a King forged through hardship with the follies of youth left behind. "What's that great one about the Civil War?" chimes Isolde, bustling back and forth between the library and the lounge thoughout this buzzing hive of creativity.

    Finally, after returning from the Tuigan wastes with the rest of the Geese, she finds a quiet moment to write:

    "Scratch the dragons - without Karrick, the odds of swaying them seem slim and besides, the key to any good diversion is to find the right spot to poke. Temperance suggests the Zhentarim machine's free of weak links, but I think it's still worth a shot to stir trouble ~elsewhere~ than here. But we'd need intel and we'd need, ideally, an independant and capable operator of chaos. Silvia's pool is next, with any luck I'll find the right party there.

    Still worried about Thaddeus. I'd have thought he'd be up and about by now, but clearly it's not going to be as simple as that. I'm strongly reminded of Damien's illness, but this time I cannot see the fault lying in outside parties. No, though it pains me to think so, I think it's linked to the original speaking of Kordamant's secret - the one Thaddeus always so steadfastly believed in, despite Temperance's venomous and public condemnation.

    However much pain it wrought to people I love, I know the fault isn't Temperance's alone. Those who rely on the gods to answer, those who, like her, are raised to rock-hard belief and not ever to questioning, well can they really be expected to handle the unexpected and inexplicable in any other way? Kordamant's secret was a curveball thrown for reasons that made sense at the time, rippling ever since through lives and fates in unforseeable ways, including Temperance of Gulderhorn's. Including Isaac Thaddeus'."


  • "I once speculated along similar veins, but thus far there's nothing tangible to support or refute the notion. I checked a short while ago and the last report of Kasimir's whereabouts is rather dated. Wherever he is and whatever he's currently doing is as veiled from our sight as the secrets of Moonreach Keep itself.

    I worry that we're losing precious time with regards to Kasimir, and that our last intervention may have done more harm to his struggle than it did good.

    Currently, it seems unlikely to me that he's working with Caleb's entourage, though it does seem more than plausible that Moonreach itself could prove a powerful lure for his and the Endless' attentions. But with no new leads, it's little more than guesswork."


  • Another short note is added to the files, this one scrawled more hastily

    Dear Geese,

    You might recall I wondered at Caleb's reluctance in engaging our army being because he needs it for a grander purpose once he has control, as I know you wondered about him mentioning the Fisher name as rulers of the North, as though they once held all the Cold Lands.

    Have we any indication that Prince Kasimir has had dealings with Caleb or his entourage? The desire to rule all the North mirrors Zhengyi's ambitions well, the power behind Moonreach could easily spark the interest of the Endless, and the Witch King had his own ties to Thay.

    -George


  • Cerulean and Far Scout intelligence re: Zhentarim ruins and Moonreach Keep

    A search of the platform atop the ruined Zhentarim keep in the Dragonspines after our initial investigation yielded nothing of note besides some corpses and expired magical residue. The Cerulean Knights have run an analysis on the residue and deemed it was the lingering remnants of a Contingency Alarm, imbued with Permanence. The triggering condition being the presence of any member of a specific bloodline - clearly Sepret, as the assassin who appeared had eyes solely for Aoth. She spied Thayan tattoes upon his person, though details were hard to make out in the heavy rainfall and dark of night.

    The magical residue was found in the secret entrance we utilized, but there were three other entrances, each with active versions of the spell. In particulars, the spell must have been cast after the keep was ruined, a few months ago.

    The Cerulean report on Moonreach Keep came in four incredibly ordered parts:

    First, the fog. They've analyzed its properties. It is circle-magic, maintained by at least four mages capable of casting eighth level arcane magic, for at least 10 to 12 hours. The Ceruleans expect that they have more than eight mages total, considering that the fog is always up. Consequently, it is likely that they have the four mages on rotation. The fog's properties include anti-scrying, selective teleportation, and general magical dampening, to protect against magical spells or magical sieges. It does not contain physical barriers or shielding of any kind. It is, purely, a magical defense, against magic.

    Second, in terms of magical capabilities. The Ceruleans have detected other spells than the above being cast from within the fog, thanks to traces leaking past its anti-scrying. They have been casting, among other more minor spells: all forms of teleportation, including mass; all forms of scrying, including greater; various forms of magical messagery, including whispering wind and message, among others. They have likewise been casting the clerical spell "Commune" with notable frequency.

    Finally they have been casting various forms of druidic magic, including speak with animals, and control weather. From this the CK:s ascertained that they have a magical range between 5th and 9th level, in the arcane, clerical, and druidic fields, with their arcane so far being confirmed as their strongest or highest level. The others likely fall within the noted range. This concludes the report on their magical capability.

    Next is the history, gleaned from various legend lore spells. The legend lore concerning the Reach itself was riddled with inconsistencies. This happens when the recorded history doesn't necessarily match reality. Ceruleans could of course confirm the obvious, that Peltarch used the keep as a vanguard-fortress against the bandits in the previous century. After that, Peltarch held it for three years during the major bandit war. The war saw the keep take some damage, but it was the years of abandon after that - during the eras of planar warfare and demonic incursions - which caused its ruination.

    That covers the forward-looking history, from the point of Peltarch's previous control. Now for the backward. Here the inconsistencies begin. There are three notable stories, though our straight shooting CK cannot vouch for their accuracy.
    The first is the lighting of the beacon, some several centuries ago. The keep was under the control of an unknown cabal, and during this time, travellers could not approach without falling into a dream-like state. Within the state they would wander instead the rocky fields or snowlands, gazing at the sky. They reported visions of faraway sights, up past the moon or the stars. This story comes from Selunite records and calls the dreaming wanderers "moontouched," as in the ailment. The beacon being lit atop the tower is reportedly the cause of the ailment.

    The second involves a meteor shower that occured approximately in the same time, give or take 50 to 100 years. Astrologers documented the meteorfalls to have encircled a specific point of geography. That is to say, the Reach itself. Landing in specific patterns around the rocky fields, cliffsides, and the ocean. Even landings as far as miles away fell into a particular star pattern, with the Reach being at its dead center. Some accounts of this story report hundreds of minor meteors. Others report instead, five large, blazing stars falling to the ground, in a design or pattern, hundreds of miles away from the Keep, but still with it being the dead center.

    The third involves the Keep's control by a demonbinder warlord, again some several hundred years ago - more or less. The timelines are atrocious in the records.The demonbinder allegedly used the Reach's tower as a focal point for major planar and other supernatural bindings. The particulars on this one are scant as demonbinder records are typically sparse. Those are the sources from the legend lore - respectively from the Selunites, the Astrologists, and the Demonbinder records. This concludes the history report. (As for who built it in the first place, that remained unclear even with the spell.)

    That leaves the fourth report. The residuals. The only noteworthy remark in this report involves Bennek Sepret's counter-scrying against one of the Fivers. When the Ceruleans were attempting to pierce the veil of fog, one of the scry attempts was detected and countered. The counteror was the Princess Consort's cousin. The counter-scry involved a mental probe into the Fiver's mind. The Fiver reports having given up the current plans to conduct surveillance, but their assessment is that damage is minimal, considering that it is only to be expected that such an operation be conducted.


  • "Scattered thoughts, impressions and notions on moving forward, after meeting the Cleimant Council, Caleb Fisher and the dragon Villalgarviladral:

    The meeting spot, first off - a circular clearing between steep rock walls on either side, wreathed in fog. Whilst the clifftops lend themselves well to potential ambushes and the fog obscures any glimpses of the keep itself, the view of the night sky's by far what commanded my immediate attention, for at the clearing itself, the stars seemed particularily bright and near, though all around the fog and the cliffs obscured the view.

    The place brought to mind the place past the blue door, where once my hidden moon lit up the sky to reveal sights of significance in the still water of the pool. I saw no water here, true, but I can't shake the resemblance nor the Cleimants choice to meet at night. I thought I saw, just barely peeking past the cloudy haze, a glimpse of that same moon, wondering all over again why she ran in such fright and from whom. Or what.

    The fog 'also' brings to mind the haze that clung around the small isle where Cormac's sleeping giant lays hidden. It's no coincidence that Motley Grey, who sent him to that place at what I now believe was this same council's behest, was long obsessed with that creature and that Caleb, when asked to give up Lt Rixx, asked for Cormac to be brought to them in exchange.

    Coincidental is by no means the inky remnants of the Ringleader and his attempt to worm inside Cormac's head. Those same inky tendrils also sought the moon, and I can't help but wonder if the Cleimant council has since seized my white-gowned girl as an "asset". Ava Brokenblade smirked knowingly, gesturing to the sky as my gaze fell on her.

    Caleb Fisher sat at the very centre of the round clearing, with his mother Maude and Motley Grey flanking him at the back. Within good whispering range, no doubt. I've never seen Maude so seemingly quiet, but I doubt that made her a passive member of the meeting on a whole. Caleb - perhaps 16 or 17 years old - seemed earnest, serious and very determined, but also very well rehearsed. There's a practiced quality to the whole of the Cleimant's message, in fact, as if they're all using the same script. Which again veers my thoughts back to the runaway ink, though that's not the only possibility by far.

    He paused at intervals, looking down at his hands - a little scratch or rub all that betrayed any kind of nerves. Was he collecting his thoughts, was he instructed to give nothing away for free or was he simply listening to the whispered words of his elders? It's hard to say, but one thing does stand out. Caleb insisted that he 'had' to be King, for more reasons than one. The only one of those that he seemed willing to offer back was Thalaman's incompetence, which 'everyone' knew of. The demon attack on Willowhaven was referenced as something of a turning point, and I can certainly understand such an event triggering an ambition to protect those who Peltarch failed to protect. Though how he expects to do better is yet untold. I'd wager it has something to do with Moonreach itself, however.

    Bennek Sepret, then - who sat through the meeting glaring daggers at Aoth, not just angry but somehow accusing - seems the odd one out on the Council. His place there and his loyalty all appear to hinge on one thing, the one thing he says he truly wants - Aoth's blood and her name available to him, without the 'complications' of marriage. But why? Is the reason somehow connected to Villalgarviladral, the female blue dragon who seems so closely tied to Bennek? Her eyes every bit as cattily slanted as the sorceror's own. Their link may go beyond his rescue of her, to a tale I hope Legend Lore may reveal more of once we put that scale we found to good use.

    That, and cornering Danson on the subject of Cormac and his slumbering giant, are next on my immediate to-do list."


  • "After a good, long talk with Martha and H'Resh, it's apparant that while the latter seems set in his decision to retire, he and Martha both have kept quite close tabs on current affairs. Martha, it seems, was already fully aware of Caleb's existance. Despite the bitterness that tinges her voice when speaking of any of George's children, she pointed out that her husband held a great fondness for this one. We also learned that Motley Grey and Maude were indeed thick as thieves, even at the time of Caleb's conception.

    Towards Thalaman, Martha predictably shows not the slightest sign of thawing - besides her personal dislike, she clearly considers him a weak and unfit King, though whether that means she'll take action is another matter entirely. She presented us with her letter from the Cleiment council, which appears to contain a similar invitation to the rest. Bloodless transition of power, for the betterment of Peltarch, yada yada.

    We spoke briefly of Moonreach Keep itself, and Martha mentioned stories circulating about the place. It's said that it's haunted, that ghosts exists there and that the tower once reached not just the moon, but the very stars. So why indeed that particular base? Why rebuild it with (I can only assume) a great deal of effort, unless there is indeed a secret buried there that's worth the expenditure? It seems I must go browsing the library shelves once more..."


  • To-Do-List, re the Cleiment Council's challenge:

    Speak to Berlinne Toews - check! Though currently, our dear Berlinne's suffered the stings and arrows of outrageous slander by an elf's tongue (Leyanna Moonflower she calls herself - but Christina ensures that a Moonflower, she is not), Reyhenna's proposal towards the reconfiguration of the council bolstered her spirits considerably. Leyanna may be leading the current Republicans, all of whom seem disgruntled, but once it becomes apparant Berlinne can make real changes, I expect sheer naysaying will lose its appeal to most.

    Speak to Queen Martha Fisher - whilst Rey is no doubt correct in assuming Martha will hold no greater fondness of one bastard compared to another, the Cleimant Council's painted Caleb out as the true inheritor of all of King George's virtues. Will this, coupled with her known dislike of Thalaman, be enough to entice her to any sort of action? Apart from feeling her out on the subject, it's important too that we simply show her that we respect and care for her.

    The Silver Host and the matter of Temperance of Gulderhorn - while Rey may still disagree with me, I see no doubt whatsoever in that Thalaman must handle the Siamorphans with both grace and respect, offering a pardon. As Caleb Fisher is claimed to be favoured by the gods, Thalaman can ill afford to lose the Siamorphan church's backing, nor can we afford to alienate a potential ally.

    Research the history of Moonreach Keep - why that particular site, and is there any truth to the rumours of its links to the supernatural and occult? Did Ava Brokenblade simply try to lure me in with a well chosen bait, or is there something there that ties into other mysteries in play - such as my hidden moon?