The group, or at least part of it, wished to
battle the white dragon today when we were already worn beyond measure
and depleted of all resources. There is only so much I can do to limit
their folly, but I tried. None fully passed into the beyond, but it was
a near thing. Apparently there are two dragons in the area now which
is less than ideal, but useful in this case as a distraction for each
other.
I spoke with the priests at Phandalin when we returned to
town during a lull in the attacks, but was disappointed to find my hope
for knowledge there of my situation gone. They knew nothing, and seem
to view my level of power as something miraculous rather than deeply
concerning. Sister Sandren did ask me, much as the wizard Zatharius
did, if I could recall any changes in my behaviour, but I could think of
nothing other than that flush of anger at that guard. He is probably
dead now. The town is a wreck, between the attack of the orcs and that
of the dragon. Either way she has offered to do 'a session' with me
when things calm down. I had no idea what she was talking about, but
agreed as she seemed to think it would grant more information. I have
no idea of the rituals or methodology of those more formally taken into
religion.
I finally got a full rest, but with it I have been granted new understandings. My power continues to grow.
I
will be in dire need of that rest, and the power, no matter my torn
thoughts on the matter, for the town is awash with dead now. So many
will need to be put to rest, although I feel the town already has two
priests to deal with that. But answers of a different sort might be
found, both from the former town mayor, who was killed, and a half-orc
by the name of Garroc.
It is a troubling matter. He had come
to the town, assumedly in charge or in a position of power with the
orcs, for the soul purpose of taking a pendant from the mayor. The
pendant was lost to us, spirited away by black vines that Garroc
summoned. On reflection, perhaps there is more to Sister Sandren's
question than I thought, I found myself, rather than our paladin, eager
to stop the half-orc from obtaining it. I instigated battle when it was
not immediately obvious in necessity. Why was that? It is only now,
with some rest and respite, that such a question settles within my mind
with the oddity.
It is not the only oddity either. The half-orc,
Garroc, who had shown an astounding amount of skill in combat, one that
was more testing and toying with us than truly fighting, found himself
close to death after Zenari's skills depleted him, yet it was his own
dagger that took his life, and by his own hand. He seemed not to
consider his death the end, and yet even as he fell, there was no life
left in him, no spirit to stabilise in the body, no undeath to taint the
corpse. Yet he seemed to fully believe he would fight us again, and
soon.
His wounds did not bleed after he fell, and while that is
somewhat normal for a corpse past the point of life, it was more than
was usual to see. His flesh seemed almost as if drained of moisture. I
have to consider that there is more going on with him than I know the
meaning of. Talos, the god he and the other orcs in charge worship, has
no domain over resurrection and the recalling of spirit to flesh past
the border. It troubles me. The other worshippers of Talos did not
have such a thing happen to their body, and I have to consider that
someone as skilled as he was in combat would not merely give up his life
so easily.
I do not want to be dragged into something like
this, yet one more thing that distracts from my path, my purpose, but
his parting words, before his death, were that he would see us again
soon. If he has somehow avoided the death he brought to himself, then
he has what he came for, and will be just as skilled as he was before,
and now more knowledgeable of our group's capabilities, although only
Zenari gave a good accounting of herself really. My claws did little.
I
cannot help but remember that being who talked to me in the mine, the
one of shadows and mists of the beyond. He seemed to have knowledge and
experience far beyond my own, one that would likely know what I do
not. I considered attempting to find a way to talk with him, to draw
forth the power and hope that it was he, rather than others, who might
respond, but it is likely better that I wait until I can speak again
with the priests of the town before attempting such a thing. After all,
Zenari's own skills were in need of guidance much as my own, and I will
not forget that it was Zatharius that saved us from being trapped in
that nightmarish landscape, something that would not have happened if
Zenari had been left to her own devices.
For now, I have taken a
sample of the black vines that Garroc summoned, as well as a finger from
his corpse, as perhaps something a wizard of skill might be able to
better grasp the understanding of what had happened to him. Evidence is
better than a verbal account.
The day dawns, and answers may be
within my grasp if I dare use my skills to get them. I have never
attempted to speak with the dead before, and in truth it bothers me to
call upon such a skill, but the mayor alone knows what that pendant was,
and Garroc himself is a corpse that might retain some answers.