Escape was perhaps ignoble, but survival can and should be paramount when such matters of historical significance are seen by so few.
It has been a decade since the King’s Citadel showed up at my doorstep. I should have pushed them away, but my trade as an artificer was not producing the rewards so clearly merited by my expertise. To use the human colloquial, I was “broke.” How could I turn down the King’s own ransom offered to me?
They asked me to lead them into the Mists in search of the Lord of Blades. They suspected him of attacking my adopted home, Vathirond, and also of attacking New Cyre. My role was to provide a Lightning Rail-car to follow the tracks to Eston. We found our way to the ancient seat of Cannith power with little resistance, and found the Lord of Blades in conspiracy with a human named Daine. Daine attacked us, but we fought him off. We then ran.
Perhaps if we had stayed, and been more courageous we could have prevented Daine and the Lord of Blades from activating whatever Xen’drik artifact they possessed. But how could we have known that the Great Mourning would arise from so small a device?
Ten years have passed. Warforged legions scour the countryside, wielding power not seen before the Last War. Shambles, those husks of sentient beings, search constantly to fill their never-full bellies. Raiders attack what few lights remain in this great darkness. I fear that soon all will be lost. I wonder if my home still stands, or if darkness has found its way even there?
- Brish, Eladrin Artificer