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The Thorns of Winter -(updated 8/1/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8129339" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p><h2 style="text-align: center"></h2> <h2 style="text-align: center">Missives along the Rail - 11/20/2020</h2><p></p><p></p><p>The sudden light hitting my closed eyes were more than my feeble aching mind could handle. I squirmed and pulled the sheets back over my throbbing head.</p><p></p><p><em>--Hey look. I’m bored. Get up.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Leave me alone. I hurt…a lot.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--Well you did <strong>earn</strong> it.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Please…no…I was wrong.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--<strong>Really</strong>? I mean I understood why you sang at the top of your lungs…</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>…The tune was catchy.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--Right. And the dancing on the bar?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Ah…well…felt right?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--Sure, but offering to make another broken table?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>I did what?!? Did I?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--Heh, sorry no…I made that up. But you did need some help getting here. Igneve thought you were funny.</em></p><p></p><p>I reached out a hand and pulled on a pair of strands. Without so much trying to get up, a ghostly hand flew over and pulled a pitcher over to me. Looking inside and seeing it empty, I just pulled on another light strand, and it began to fill with water, which I started to quickly drink. After filling my belly, I used the hand to replace the pitcher, and turned over, flopping on my back.</p><p></p><p>I lay on my back and exhaled in a huff. The sun streamed into the grey room, carved into the side of the mountain. Most things here were stone or rock, but the bed had thick feather mattresses and soft pillows. The one stuffed chair sat next to a small fireplace, while a bench holding my scattered things were at the base of the bed. So, while the room and furnishing were functional, the trimmings were bordering on decadent. The cushions alone made you feel like you were asleep on the clouds, and the warm colors of the tapestries on the wall, were a perfect contrast to the grey granite that the room was carved from.</p><p></p><p>I lay there nursing my headache when I heard a knock at the door. I sat up too fast and clutched my hands to my pounding head. Standing up, I gathered the sheets around me, and walked over to the door, and opened it. There standing outside was a young halfling who I remembered meeting last night. However, his name escaped me as he spoke.</p><p></p><p>“Two things for you ma’am.” And he handed me a small package and a letter. He then made as if tipping a hat, and then moved on down the hall, before I could even respond.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you!” I finally stammered and shut the door, walking over to the chair by the fireplace and sat down. I was about to look at the packages when I thought a moment.</p><p></p><p>“Ma’am? Ma’am? I’m not old enough to be a ma’am,” I said aloud.</p><p></p><p><em>--You sure? Might be a couple of streaks of silver in that gold mop of hair.</em></p><p></p><p>I pulled out from behind me a small pillow on the chair. I then handed it to my still floating hand and proceeded to chase Gossamer with it, beating walls, and furniture along the way. After a while I stopped and looked at the small package, tied shut with twine. Pulling on a strand, I used it to unwind the twine and unfolded the paper wrapping.</p><p></p><p>Inside was a flat box in the shape of a pentagon, with a small note attached to it. Both were set on a leather-bound book.</p><p></p><p></p><p>I pried open the box, and saw inside a sketch of my own face, and a description reading:</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Putting the pentagon down, I looked at the title of the book ‘<em><u>A Guide to Travelling the Five Nations</u></em>.’ I opened it and thumbed through the pages and I nodded, mouthing the words, “Thanks Paron.”</p><p></p><p>Setting it aside, I then looked at the letter, which only had the words, ‘Myrai, Gold Dragon Inn,’ on the outside. I shrugged and tore it open. Inside was a piece of parchment that read:</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Inside was a sheet of thick paper with my name on it, and a embossed image of a Unicorn. I had picked up quickly that ‘d’ ‘in front of a name referred to a House. I knew Sivis involved documents and messages, Jorasco healed me, and Kundarak involved money and that Ghallanda ran inns. I heard the name of Orien at the inquiry but knew nothing else, but now here was a new House, Medani.</p><p></p><p>I shook my head and set the letter down on my lap, and muttered aloud, “This is too much, too fast.” But thinking again, I remembered where I was, and I smiled and said aloud to myself.</p><p></p><p>“A new world, and I am the only Sensate here. Why not?”</p><p></p><p><em>--So…we doing something?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Yep, looks like I have an offer to do…some type of work. You wanted to get out…so lets go!</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--Great. Fine. Better late than never.</em></p><p></p><p>I stood up and dropped the sheet and moved to my clothes and started getting dressed.</p><p></p><p><em>One thing Goss?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--What’s that?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Any idea what a ‘Lightning Rail’ is?’</em></p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p>I now understood when I stood in Urkiel’s office, on why it appeared that in the giant furrow that cleaved the city in two, why there was such a wide avenue at the bottom. From the distance, it just looked like a broad causeway. But now as I walked at the bottom, and alongside the center trench it made sense when I saw it.</p><p></p><p>It was huge; larger than any wagon or coach I had ever seen. Actually, it could probably contain many wagons inside of the carriages that floated above the stones seated in the bottom of the trench. But if the size of the monstrous vehicle wasn’t enough, the front section was amazing. It was moving slowly backwards to connect to a long series of other carriages. A device of metal and wood, and around it a ring of pure elemental energy. It encircled the front carriage in a pulsing arc of white light, that caused the hairs on my body to stand on end as it crackled and shifted like lightning in the sky. I could feel the tremendous energy with in it, and I stood there slack jawed in wonder. The effort and skill needed to bind such energy. To hold it all aloft from the ground, and to have more power left over to propel it down the path of stones.</p><p></p><p>It was breath taking. I stood there on the platform watching them load things in the rear most carriages, ingots of metals, crates, and kegs. All sorts of things. Far more than any simple wagon could carry as part of its cargo. In front of those I saw Mror and other people starting to crowd onto one of the carriages, which to me looked to be full of benches, shoulder to shoulder. There were other carriages as well, of increasing quality the closer one got to the front.</p><p></p><p>I also noted I was, once again causing a stir. But it wasn’t really me; it was Gossamer. As he flew alongside of me, he was drawing stares and whispers. I could only conclude that Tressym were unheard of here. But when they saw that Goss was flying next to me, it gave them pause, like they were afraid to approach me or talk to me.</p><p></p><p>This was the opposite of how it was on Toril; Aasimar were known and sought after. The number of blessing I was asked for in Waterdeep was proof of that. Here, I was of a kind so rare that…they did nothing. That I was funny looking was enough; the why was unimportant. But I couldn’t say it wasn’t nice. Being asked to ‘bless this’ just because of your parentage, not because they had some faith in you felt…better. I wondered how Tieflings or Genasi would be treated, or even if they existed here. And what other peoples have I not seen?</p><p></p><p>I put it out of my mind for the moment, as I approached a large building next to the Lightning Rail, with a green sign depicting a unicorn, with a scroll like banner below the picture that said ‘House Orien.’ On the side of the building was a window with several cutouts, and I approached it, a little uncertain. There behind the glass was a middle-aged man, reading through some papers. As I approached it, he spoke.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, there is some room; what’s your final destination?”</p><p></p><p>“I…sorry, I have this voucher?” I said and I pushed the paper through the cutout to the man. He turned with disinterest to glance at it, but his expression quickly changed.</p><p></p><p>“Oh! I apologize! You…” and his excitement and earnest stopped a moment as he looked straight at me for the first time.</p><p></p><p>“…You were saying?”</p><p></p><p>“What…yes. I apologize again; I’m being quite rude. But this is the wrong window; First Class is handled at the red double doors to the left. Can I get you a porter for your things?”</p><p></p><p>The change of tone was remarkable, and I was taken a back for a moment. “Uh…no, I will manage thank you.” And I turned and walked down the length of the building.</p><p></p><p><em>Goss, what is ‘first class?’</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>--No clue, but I certainly noticed he pulled himself together after seeing that voucher. Sounds important.</em></p><p></p><p>I came to the doors that the clerk had mentioned and pulled on the handles and stepped inside. On the floor was a large mosaic of a white Unicorn, rampant on a field of green. There were divans and chairs with fine stuffed leather with small end tables. Several dwarves, humans and a half-elf were sitting each with a mug or glass in hand, while the room had a number of human sized metal statues in green tailed coats positioned nearby at attention. On one end of the room, was a bar with bottles and glasses while at the other was a desk, where a red headed young woman sat, flipping through some cards in front of her. I stepped over to her and cleared my throat to get her attention. She turned and looked at me with emerald eyes, and unlike the other clerk she didn’t falter in her words.</p><p></p><p>“Yes? Can I help you?” she said, her voice and tone well practiced and professional.</p><p></p><p>“Hi, I have a voucher for the Lightning Rail tonight?” I said, perhaps a bit tentatively, and handed her the slip of paper. She took it, without hesitation or any surprise with a simple nod.</p><p></p><p>“Ah yes, you are expected Myrai,” she said sweetly, surprising me with the use of my own name. “My name is Vanna. Your steward will come for you when it is time to board. I don’t see…do you have any luggage?”</p><p></p><p>“Uh…no, came as is.” I said feeling awkward. But my being ill at ease didn’t bother her at all. In fact, I noted she started to try to make me feel at ease.</p><p></p><p>“I understand. I will ensure that an armor stand is available for you in your stateroom, and we find something comfy for your…I’m sorry, what exactly is that?” and Vanna pointed at my familiar.</p><p></p><p>“Gossamer, he’s a Tressym, and I am guessing you have never seen one?”</p><p></p><p>The red head woman shook her head and leaned forward with interest, “No…I have never seen anything like it…can I…?” and she reached out to touch him. Gossamer alighted on the desk and allowed himself to be touched, enjoying the attention.</p><p></p><p><em>--She has a nice touch, smells nice, doesn’t have a pet of her own.</em></p><p></p><p>I smiled, “He likes how you smell,” I said, and I sat on the desk’s edge.</p><p></p><p>Vanna looked at me in surprise, but she turned those tables around quickly. “So, he’s a familiar?”</p><p></p><p>I nodded, “Yes…you know of them?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course, we have many wizards that use our services; but I had never seen a…Tressym right? He is so cute! Anyway, can we offer you something to tide you over till dinner?” she said still stroking Gossamer’s fur.</p><p></p><p>“Ah…yes uh…a liquor of some type…I don’t know what you have.”</p><p></p><p>“I recommend the Mror Rye with some water,” she said still stroking Goss’ fur much to his delight. “It won’t kill you that way. Nails! A watered Mror Rye for Myrai please!”</p><p></p><p>I was puzzled a second, but I watched that one of the statues with a green tailed coat moved forward from the wall and nodded and walked to the bar. I watched ‘Nails’ intently as this was something new. The ‘statue’ moved with deliberate grace. I had seen a number of golems in Sigil, as well as Modrons; they all moved stiffly and had a deliberate precision in their movement that I would have described as plodding. ‘Nails’ was anything but plodding; their movements smooth and sure, and he quickly poured water and a honey colored liquor into a glass. It then placed it on a tray and with poise, delivered it to me with a kind of flourish, bending at the waist. I was about to reach and take it, when ‘Nails’ did something unexpected.</p><p></p><p>“Your Mror Rye with water, Lady Myrai,” it said in a deep metallic voice that caused me to jump. After a moment I reached forward and took the glass and I looked at the ‘statue’ closely. Its mechanical eyes watched me, much as any person did, but its face had elements of stone, metal and wood through out it. Each hand had two fingers and a thumb, while each foot ended in a pair of toes. Its head had an articulated jaw, which did move when it spoke and there was a strange rune on its forehead.</p><p></p><p>I reached and took the glass, and said awkwardly, “Than…thank you, Nails?...correct?”</p><p></p><p>Nail’s face was inscrutable as it answered, “Yes, milady. I will be your porter for your trip. We will be able to board soon. If you need something just call.”</p><p></p><p>I nodded, and I must have had a dumbstruck look on my face as it cocked its head and returned to its position on the edge of the room and once again stood, silently and unmoving. And like that, he appeared to be another fixture in the room. It seemed surreal for some reason I couldn’t articulate to myself.</p><p></p><p>“Is there a problem?” the woman asked me as she continued working her nails through Gossamer’s coat. “If you would prefer a different Warforged, I can make arrangements.”</p><p></p><p>“A…Warforged? Er…no. No not at all…It’s just I have never. Pay me no mind,” and I took a sip of the rye, feeling the burn at the back of my throat followed by the warmth in my stomach.</p><p></p><p>“As you like,” Vanna said and rang a small bell on her desk. From a door behind her another Warforged came up to her, and she whispered into where a person’s ear would be but was only a small hole on the side of its metal head.</p><p></p><p>“Come on Gossamer, I’m going to sit down,” I said and motioned to my familiar.</p><p></p><p><em>--Come on…a little longer…her nails feel SO GOOD. You should grow nails like this.</em></p><p></p><p>“Alright you little traitor,” I said shaking my head, and took off my pack and set it on the floor as I plopped myself on a divan. Thinking for a moment, I pulled out the <em>Apocrypha </em>and quietly worked a ritual so I could see dweomers around me. Once I pulled some small dark and light strands together, I then looked around the room and was surprised on what I saw.</p><p></p><p>The first thing was the mosaic on the ground had a strong locus of energy that's aura told me it was conjuration. The lanterns in the room, had small flares of evocation enchantments. Finally, several of the others in the room had various items on them or each with different auras. All of this didn’t surprise me. But what did was the Warforged had nothing magical about them. They appeared as non-magical as much as the windows or the divans.</p><p></p><p>No…not the furniture; they were as non-magical as the guests, or as non-magical as I. Gossamer doesn’t have an aura either, but these Warforged weren’t normal constructs. I found myself staring at Nails in confusion. It was not a flesh and blood creature, but it had all the signs of being alive. Was it? And Nails wasn’t unique, there were a number in this room. But if they were built or forged like armor, who did it? <strong><em>How</em></strong> did they do it?</p><p></p><p>I was sipping on my rye mulling it over unsure on what my Lord Kelemvor would think about this. Did they die? Did they have souls to pass beyond? Did death have any meaning for them?</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p></p><p>The halfling stood there at the week-old grave, her head bowed and tears flowing freely. Her tired face was contorted into a mixture of hatred and sorrow as she looked at the grave she made for her friend. She spoke aloud, trying to ease the pain that she felt in her soul.</p><p></p><p>“This isn’t right. This isn’t <em>fair</em>,” the halfling said in a lilting drawl, choking on the words. “Who would want to… and I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Perhaps if I were, I could have stopped them from…Well I guess wishin won’t solve anything. Goodbye Rosa; I learned a lot from you, and I hope that I can make you proud. May the Warden’s spirits of the past, guide you in the beyond.”</p><p></p><p>With that, the halfling walked back down the path towards the home she shared with Rosa, on the far outskirts of Havenglen. She remembered coming here years ago, tired of the blood spilled by Aundarian troops trying to reclaim the Eldeen back for the queen. It was brutal, with long days and longer nights of fighting. The families and clans of the Eldeen gave no quarter to the savage soldiers that came to pull the Reaches back into the fold. And for months it was the same; Aurala’s armies would push during the day, taking towns and villages. But at night, the shifters would come and hound the Aundair’s troops throughout the night, letting them have no respite, giving as good as the solders gave.</p><p></p><p>She met Rosa on the Day of Mourning; when as word of that terrible event spread, the bleeding on both sides stopped. And she helped her heal the wounded and treat the sick. The folks loved Rosa, one of the few Jorasco’s that didn’t abandon the villages. She was ever practical and pointed out the medicines needed by all were here. There was no reason to leave. And so, she stayed, cultivating the herbs, and sending them off, and treating all those she could.</p><p></p><p>It was hard to imagine that someone would kill her for that kindness.</p><p></p><p>The halfling finally arrived at the hillside, where a red door was set. Above it, a small flag embroidered with the house crest of the griffon, fluttered in the breeze. She looked at it sadly and opened the door. Stepping inside on the brick lined floor, she saw a number of letters and missives had been delivered and shoved through the slot on the door. Sighing, she picked them up and sorted through them. Most were from the enclave in Varna; House business she supposed, and not her own. But as she sorted through them, one stood out as different, with a return stamp of the Mror Holds. It wasn’t from the House, and she never recalled Rosa ever discussing anything about the Mror. As she looked at it, she was surprised to see it wasn’t addressed to Rosa; at least not precisely.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">‘To Rosa d’Jorasco’s Friend.’</p><p></p><p>Puzzled, she tore open the letter and started to read. As she did her hands began to shake.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“This isn’t possible…” Rys said aloud. She had only buried her friend seven days ago. And she hadn’t even been into town to tell anyone about her murder. How could anyone know about it in Mror? How in fact did anyone in Mror even know about herself? Granted, Rys had been hiding for a long time; long before she met Rosa. She looked at the mirror in the hall, and she saw the long tussled red hair and the green eyes, now lined in eyes from tears in her reflection.</p><p></p><p><em>This Melisandre…she knows something. Worse, she knows me; the real me. I need to know what’s going on. Why am I at risk? What does she know?</em></p><p></p><p>Nodding to herself, she walked over to a small desk, and opened it. She pulled open a drawer and found Rosa’s identification papers. Opening it she looked at the picture within at the long brown haired halfling with the brown eyes. Taking it, into her hands she looked into the mirror. Nodding she knew what she needed to do.</p><p></p><p>The halfling stepped outside and ran her hands through her now short chestnut brown hair. Nodding approvingly, she tightened her belt, where her curved sword hung, and then pocketed the identification papers. She then left the small enclave, and with a key locked the door behind her.</p><p></p><p>W<em>ell, what are the chances someone is going to be looking for someone already dead? I hope I can wear your face with justice Rosa.</em></p><p></p><p>And with that, she concentrated a moment and then began to run, and then lope as she pulled on natures power and became a graceful red elk. With a huff, her hooves pounded at the earth as she ran towards the town, nearly ten leagues distant.</p><p></p><p>As she galloped down the trail towards Hearthglen, she wondered where the Orien trail would take her, and how many secrets were already laid bare.</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p>I sat there enjoying the Rye, when finally, a whistle blew. Turning I saw that Nails quickly approached me, saying, “That is the signal for First Class to board. If you would please follow me.” And he motioned with his steely hand toward the door. I rose from my seat, and I proceeded through it. Gossamer, for once, quickly followed without needing a word, and we were escorted towards an ornate carriage near the front. Following Nails, they quickly opened the door to the carriage, and stepped up a few steps, and then turned, held open the door, and offered me a metal hand to ease climbing inside.</p><p></p><p>I was walking on one side of the carriage and was already amazed at the craftsmanship and care used in its creation. Everything was paneled in warm auburn wood, with curtains and sashes in shades of green. The fixtures holding everbright lanterns were a shiny gold, as were the knobs, and other fittings. The floor was like a soft rug that stretched the length and the width of the car, leaving no visible hard surface of any kind visible.</p><p></p><p>Nails was ahead of me, and stopped by a door, and with a practiced flair opened it. Inside was a private cabin, with a large bed, a leather chair, small table and a stand to hold armor and weapons. The paneling here was even more ornate, with the wood wrapping around in smooth curves along the ceiling. I took off my pack, and set it down on the bed, as I looked admiring the quality of the materials and how luxurious it felt.</p><p></p><p>“Do you require assistance with your armor, Myrai?” Nails said expectantly, standing in the doorway.</p><p></p><p>“I…sure,” I said as I started to unbuckle my belts holding my pouches and my rapier while Nails, closed the door to my private cabin. He took the rapier and placed it upon the stand, and after I placed my belt and pouches on the the bed, they then quickly and dexterously started to unbuckle the breastplate I wore.</p><p></p><p>“Nails,” I said with a little awkwardness in my voice, “Please forgive me if this sounds strange or rude. But I have never heard of or met a Warforged. Where do you come from?”</p><p></p><p>Nails stopped a second to look at me, “This is not a jest?”</p><p></p><p>“No. I am from…a place very far from here. And you are the first one I have ever met.”</p><p></p><p>Nails shrugged and continued with the buckles. “We were created for the Last War by House Cannith. I personally was sold to Cyre and was a part of an infantry battalion. We were originally deployed to Karnnath and were engaged in combat when the hostilities ended. Since then, I managed to secure this job with House Orien.”</p><p></p><p>“Created for the war…created to fight. To kill?” I asked trying to think thought the implications.</p><p></p><p>“It happened; we didn’t question our owners. And now, we have no owners. It has been a difficult transition from the certainty of war, to…everything else,” Nails said, freeing the last buckle and they lifted the armor away from me, and then placed it on the stand.</p><p></p><p>“How many Warforged are there?”</p><p></p><p>“I do not know. Many thousands I am sure,” he said before his tone shifted the topic. “Dinner will be in several hours. Formal attire is required.”</p><p></p><p>“Formal? I do not —”</p><p></p><p>“—One of your hosts, has made arrangements for something suitable to wear. You will find it hanging in the side closet there.” As they spoke, I heard a loud whistling, and felt a lurch as the massive vehicle started to move, pulling the weight of carriages down the line. I looked out the window and saw the buildings of Krona Peak slide away slowly, as the Rail took me on my journey.</p><p></p><p>“I will return several hours from now. If you need me pull on the bell rope and I will come, Lady Myrai—”</p><p></p><p>“—Just Myrai please.” I said, and Nails nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind them.</p><p></p><p>I stood there staring at the door. A race of living construct-like beings? All slaves to another nations’ war. Like many in Sigil, I had talked to several modrons, and like many regretted it. But it was easy to make that mistake. Modrons were single minded and had more in common with a fancy water clock than a person. Yet while being alive, they had nothing in common with others in Sigil. And Sigil had slaves of a sort; indentured servants paying of a crime, a common pushiment where debts were due, as opposed to real crime. But you weren’t born…or made into it, and it always had an end. But indentured or not, they were still people.</p><p></p><p>And so did this warforged. Perhaps the only reason it felt strange was they looked very much not alive, and more like a golem or statue. Yet, the way that Nails acted made them as real as any other servant that served in King Melandrach’s realm, or in House Ustina, Arnara’s home. And how normal it was, for someone fighting war as all they knew, now finding their way as something else. Although it made me wonder, if war was indeed the only thing they ever knew.</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p></p><p>Sage Redoubt walked through the dimly lit passage on their patrol. As they passed by doors to chambers holding incalculable wealth Sage’s only would be concerned if the door was unsecured. As a guard in the vaults beneath Korunda Gate, it was Sage’s job to walk these halls, and ensure all the vaults remained closed. Only a Kundarak with a mark and a key were allowed to open them and remove their contents. But in the six years of patrolling the dozen or so floors of the vault, he had never seen one opened, and in six years, Sage had never seen a breech in a door.</p><p></p><p>In fact, Sage almost never saw anyone in the Cyre vaults themselves. While for many of the Five nations, Cyre was a ghost: a simple darkened shadow on the map. Here the last bones of its wealth lay. Wealth that could not be claimed by anyone, not even the scattered number of ir’Wynarns that were of blood to Queen Dannel. For this was the last wealth of a nation; not a person, and the Treaty of Thronehold excluded any closure to Cyre, for it was as Queen Aurelia said, ‘Cyre is no more,’</p><p></p><p>So as a nation it was dead, the last of its wealth lay in Kundarak’s vaults, safe from everyone. The Treaty didn’t decide anything really about Cyre, other than the obvious. But it locked away the wealth from those Cyre owed, and from some that sorely could have used it. Orien could not ask for its wealth to repair lines around Metrol and the Mournland. Denieth could not ask to be paid for the Valenar or Darguun mercenaries. Widows could not claim a stipend for dead husbands on the battlefield, nor paid Jorasco to heal wounded sons. Issues that were ignored in the rush to peace, and only after all was written and done, was the error recognized.</p><p></p><p>Without someone to administer Cyre’s gold and to sort out who should be paid first, it would be locked away from all. Granted this was not the main hold of Cyre wealth; this was a reserve. But the main vault was in Metrol, far behind the mists of the Mournland, was even less accessible than the Cyre Reserve in Korunda Gate. But to Kundarak, it was an honor to hold it in trust, till a day came that the Four Nations recognized a claim, and that day was a day far in the future.</p><p></p><p>When Sage first came to the Cyre vault, he was one of a pair purchased for that function. It was always a puzzle to Sage on how that happened; his skills were far more suited for anything but guard duty. Horsemanship and combat magic were of little use here beneath the mountains, but sudden reallocations did happen. His peer was only around for about a month before he was informed, he would be the only guard on duty for the foreseeable future. As to why, Sage was told that the other Warforged had ‘an accident’ and was told nothing more.</p><p></p><p>That was over five years ago, and little had changed Sage noted, as he returned to the barracks. The barracks was a large room, near the vault entrance where guards, clerks and trusted laborers would move gold from one vault to another. But little of that happened in reserved vaults; only occasional large deposits or withdrawals, and none of them happened in Sage’s time. Sage entered the barracks, which was meant to hold twenty or so Mror, was now a library of Sage’s thoughts and musings. Six years of writings were carefully organized by topic and arranged neatly on the shelves. An open doorway lead to another small chamber which contained Sage’s only opponent, and yet was Sage’s fiercest ally against boredom; a pell.</p><p></p><p>Sage stepped in front of the pell and ignited green flames down his armblade. Quickly the Warforged struck the pell, practicing movements he was trained for years ago. Sage slashed, parried, blocked imaginary thrusts. Over and over he would do this, until it was time to write on one of the various magical theorems that came to mind.</p><p></p><p>Patrol, Practice, Write. That was the sum of Sage’s activities for the last six years, broken by the conversations he would have with Fanor d’Kundarak. Fanor would tell him the goings on outside world, supply him with books, replace the pell and add a shelf if Sage had almost filled it. It was nice not to be forgotten, and the conversation allowed Sage’s mind to wander and create essays on history and conjecture if battles had only turned a different direction. Sage in fact was considering writing on the topic of the Battle of Thaliost, when he heard the dwarf call his name.</p><p></p><p>“Sage? You back in the barracks?” he heard Fanor call.</p><p></p><p>“Indeed. Do you have more blanks for me?” Sage replied as he turned and hit the pell with a blast of fire.</p><p></p><p>“Ah no…I have a pair of letters for you though.”</p><p></p><p>Sage stopped in mid-swing. “Letters?” he voiced, as the old dwarf entered the room. Fanor was one of the last dwarves that helped to build and maintain the Cyre vault. Others had moved on to other projects, and still others had been buried. But Fanor was the one who stayed behind as the one who laid the first stone. There was always one like him in every vault; someone who knew every stone, any breech, and any major moves. And while Reserve Vaults were quiet, they were the bedrock of the faith that every common person put into the safety of their money.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, and…well we should sit down a moment.” The old dwarf huffed.</p><p></p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p></p><p>“Humor me…please sit down.”</p><p></p><p>Sage looked around and pulled a dusty chair from the side of the wall and waited for Fanor to sit across from him. The dwarf looked at Sage with fondness and then looked down as he spoke.</p><p></p><p>“Well, there isn’t any use to dwell on this; but the bad news is that you are…out of a job.”</p><p></p><p>Sage’s metal lids blinked slowly, before speaking, “I’m fired?”</p><p></p><p>“What? Oh no…no…no not fired. More…laid off.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m the only guard here though. If I am laid off, then who—?”</p><p></p><p>“—Well that’s just it. The Hearthwardens have decided that it would be cheaper to just seal the vault, rather than the House to fund services to a nation not paying bills. And right now, the other vaults are busy and fully staffed…so there isn’t a place for you here if you get my meaning?” Fanor said looking at the Warforged sympathetically.</p><p></p><p>“I see,” Sage said simply, trying to envision what he would do next; this had been his only function for six years. The idea of doing something different was both terrifying, and exhilarating. Perhaps he could discuss his theories on alternate history or discuss the failings of various military stratagems. But before he could go deeply into this line of thought, Fanor continued.</p><p></p><p>“Well when I heard about it, I was looking to find you something to do, and well…it seems that someone else <strong><em>had</em></strong> heard of you in the House.”</p><p></p><p>Sage looked at the Dwarf intently, “Knows me…who?”</p><p></p><p>“A cousin…and yes I know…we all look a like to you…but all I can say is I have a letter here from him. And of course, a reference letter from me, which you probably won’t need.” And Fanor handed Sage two envelopes. The first was clearly in Fanor’s hand, and was simply labled “To prospective employer, official Letter of Recommendation of the Warforged Sage Redoubt.” But it was the second one that had Sage’s focus as he opened it and read:</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Sage looked at the letter a while silently. They then stood up, and moved towards a bookcase only a third full, and took two volumes off the shelf.</p><p></p><p>“Is it a good offer?” Fanor asked.</p><p></p><p>“It is a gambit, by a player who knows more about me than I do. But it is a job.”</p><p></p><p>Fanor nodded slowly trying to read the tone of the conversation, “I’m glad to hear that. Beats being sealed in the vault.” And then Fanor spread his hands out apologetically. “They joked about it; I thought it was a bit rude myself.”</p><p></p><p>Sage nodded silently and continued to look at the letter.</p><p></p><p>“So, Sage…what did you want me to have done with the rest of the books here?”</p><p></p><p>Sage looked up and then around at the hundreds of tomes that he had authored. After a long moment he spoke.”</p><p></p><p>“I have what I want. Seal the rest here. I won’t be needing them anymore.”</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p>I sat looking through the windows smiling. I had been on carriages before, bouncing along ruts in the road in sweltering heat, with nothing more to do than read and watch the countryside slip away at a slow leisurely pace.</p><p></p><p>This was not that.</p><p></p><p>The speed I watched the Lightning Rail pass through the mountains was astonishing. It didn’t even feel like we really were moving as we never hit a rut, or a divot as the Rail floated above them all. As we travelled, I could see the flicker of light flash from beneath me at regular intervals along the ground. The countryside didn’t creep…it flowed like a river and ran as fast or faster than a horse at full gallop. And unlike many carriage rides, I didn’t want to read, I wanted to watch.</p><p></p><p>They kept mentioning it was spring in Krona Peak, but if this was spring, I was a tiefling. The mountains and valley were covered in a blanket of white, obscuring the earth. Trees were also covered in the stuff, and I could see ice hanging of branches. I had heard of winter and of snow in Waterdeep, but it was only Autumn when I left for the balmy Nethlander islands. Sigil would get deathly cold and ice would appear there on ocassion. But snow? It happened, but it was always a dirty grey with odor of brimstone in most places. It wasn’t white, and pure and beautiful as this.</p><p></p><p>I sighed, and turned to look at Gossamer. He was fast asleep on a chair, near a small stove that warmed the cabin, and kept the cold from the windows from seeping inside. I let him be and stood and made my way over to the small closet that Nails had pointed out and opened it.</p><p></p><p>It was a dress to be certain, similar in styles I had seen in Sigil. There the current trend tended to fitted sheaths down to the ankles. I saw many of them in the Civic Festhall, as the wealthy came for entertainment. This was similar, yet unlike Sigil’s which bare arms, and cut out panels along the sides were common. This one had sleeves and several cut outs around the arms, but the body line was left covered. But it was the color that stood out. I first thought it was a white with a sheen, but then I realized that the fabric itself was shimmering. Pulling it closer to my eyes, I saw it was changing color, creating a layer above the cloth. It reminded of some of the glamours the elves in the Misty Wood used during their dances. But this was more extensive, throughout all the fabric. And if this wasn’t enough, there was a pair of sandals that matched the color and shared the same glimmer of color.</p><p></p><p>“Someone wants me to be dressed for an occasion,” I said to myself. “All for a job involving a mine…a gold mine?”</p><p></p><p>I walked over to the bed and from the side of my pouch I pulled out a slim wooden wand, inlaid with silver and hanging on the very end was a small bell. I caressed the wood and looked at it with fond memories. It was a small creation of mine, something that I enchanted to simply to make more time for myself and Arnara when we spoke and traded our native tongues. I flicked it in the air twice ringing the bell on the end, and the wand let off a blue spark. I set it down and turned.</p><p></p><p>It was odd summoning it; you couldn’t see it. It would never speak and rarely made noise. But you new it was there, present and waiting. A servant of magical force.</p><p></p><p>“Help me change into that dress in the closet,” I said. I almost felt guilty summoning it. It wasn’t real, but somehow it bothered me more that a very real Nails was a servant. I supposed I could have asked him…it…them to help me dress and prepare. But perhaps it was I just wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a…person at my beck and call. Arnara was different; we would help each other; it was mutual and one with a friendship at the root of it all. In Sigil, the rich had servants, and that was expected. Expected to for your employer to pay you enough that a garnish was never needed. And in return the servants to never turn their back on them. And while I was sure Orien was paying Nails, somehow, I had the suspicion that, unlike a Sigil house servant, that it wasn’t enough.</p><p></p><p>The shapeless force helped remove my garments, while I focused solely on cleaning myself. I would probably kill for a real tub of hot water, but if I were going to that, I would probably skip dinner altogether. It was strange; here I used the strands to create an object to help assist me with things; things I didn’t want to do or were inconvenient.</p><p></p><p>Wasn’t Nails then the next logical step. I’ve been in a war; death and life were on the line. What if the Sinkers had Warforged. What if the Hardheads did? They would have used them without a thought. But unlike golems or the shapeless force I created Warforged were were alive. I didn’t even know if death meant the same thing to them. Kelemvor said nothing about this, them, about any construct. But I did know that life must have meaning to them. Meaning enough to find work as a servant; to have a purpose.</p><p></p><p>As the force slipped the dress over my head, I wondered if Nails and what he was doing was the best situation. What was the worst?</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p>The rain was pouring down, on the cold grey day in Aruldusk. The light was dimming as night was starting to creep across the sky as the sun was concealed by the clouds. The Lightning Rail to Sharn had just left, as the populace was hunkering down to wait out the stormy weather. The rain itself was a good omen for spring, but most hoped that the clouds would break so that planting could begin. Any inn you passed you could hear the same story from the crowd. The mood was merry despite the rain, as the fires were warm, and ale was flowing.</p><p></p><p>But not for everyone.</p><p></p><p>Wrapped in a leather cloak, a figure slowly moved through the outskirts of town. Here the shifters had created a city of their own, of tents, and lean-tos. Normally a bonfire would be in the middle, warming up the clannish nomads, but today a clustered set of awnings were set up, and many small cooking fires took the place of tradition. Food and song were in the air here too, as many looked forward to the trek to the Thornwood to hunt.</p><p></p><p>But the drenched figure, tread his way through the camp. They didn’t look at the tents or the fire, much less the inns they passed beforehand. Even the path they took was one of simple purpose, a means to an end.</p><p></p><p>The shifters saw the figure and were wary. It wasn’t that it was a stranger, but nor were they a friend. When they first came to the camp, it was a surprise to the elders, who didn’t know what to make of them or their request.</p><p></p><p>“I wish to stay here at the edge of your tents. I will not be a cause for trouble. I want nothing and need nothing more than a spot.”</p><p></p><p>“You are not of our people? Why should we let you?” the elders said.</p><p></p><p>“Because. I need…time.”</p><p></p><p>The elders shrugged; they had no prejudice against Warforged. And this one was dressed in the livery of a Orien Courier. Many Shifters had done similar work, carrying messages across the field; sometimes to friends and sometimes to foes. Sometimes they were caught sneaking around places they shouldn’t. But many had seen things that haunted them, and even this was evident in the Warforged cold eyes.</p><p></p><p>And this one had seen far too much.</p><p></p><p>So, they let them stay at the edge of the camp. They provided a small tent to keep the rain away and left him alone. They let it stay to sort out things out, and in return the Warforged left them alone.</p><p></p><p>The Warforged sat down, in the lone lean-to, as far from the city as one could get. The deluge had found a moment to pause, and the Warforged opened a panel in their chest and took out a book, and then pulled out from a pouch a driftglobe. They set it in the air, and they started to read the complex sigils within. It could hear the songs of the shifters nearby, and it did find them…comforting. But he didn’t want to approach or get close. Getting close was bad. Dangerous.</p><p></p><p>As they read, it heard a voice in the background and then footsteps in the mud approaching. They were slow, and uncertain…no hesitant…like someone approaching a wild animal, unsure if it would strike.</p><p></p><p>The Warforged placed the book back in their chest, and closed it quietly, but didn’t move. Their eyes looked to the right where the sound behind them was coming, and waited as they concentrated on their finger, letting it grow cold. Then it heard a voice followed by a peal of thunder, and the rain starting again.</p><p></p><p>“B-b-bookshelf?”</p><p></p><p>The Warforged sprang up and pointed its finger at the heart of a young human in Orien livery, in their late teens.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t work for him anym—”the Warforged thundered. And while it could barely hear anything in the downpour, it could smell the result of the kid’s bladder emptying on the mud.</p><p></p><p>“I—I—I just have a delivery for you…Captain.” The kid gulped and held out a letter, his hands shaking. “Please…don’t…kill me.”</p><p></p><p>“How did you…no…how did the House find me?”</p><p></p><p>“I—I—was given a letter that said you would…be here.”</p><p></p><p>“In the city?”</p><p></p><p>“N-n-o…in this camp.”</p><p></p><p>Bookshelf said nothing, but let the magic from his finger fade, and he gently took the letter from the boy. He tore it open and read the words within:</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Bookshelf looked at the letter silently for a long moment before looking up.</p><p></p><p>“Is this true? The House will let me…travel?”</p><p></p><p>The kid nodded and sputtered, “They just asked…for you to use a different name when you…travel.” The kid gulped as Bookshelf looked at the letter again.</p><p></p><p>“And you were told <strong><em>exactly</em></strong> where I was?”</p><p></p><p>The kid nodded. “Basically…And the station master said to tell you the offer of transport…is good.</p><p></p><p>Bookshelf nodded. “Orien doesn’t lie on matters like this. But others do. So, if I encounter problems—”</p><p></p><p>“—He knows—”</p><p></p><p>Bookshelf raised his hand and pointed at the kid hissing, “--Don’t interrupt. Because if there are, every Rail and every station will burn. Every. Last. One.”</p><p></p><p><strong>Notes:</strong></p><p>Three letters delivered...and some more to go.</p><p></p><p>So as I convert adventure to story I wanted to convey exactly what Myrai's experience about the lightning rail would be like. This is one of the signature items, and it just wouldn't do to say "Myrai caught the 3rd bell train." And of course I found a rabbit hole deeper than the one about tailoring that I covered in the "Souls of Legend"</p><p></p><p>When I sat down to write it, and I found maps of the trains, and the stations I needed to find something to visualize it, so I started looking at trains from the late 1800's. And when I did, I found myself reading a bit of history on the Pullman trains. I then realized that the story of the Warforged, had a lot of parallels. It was easy to see House Orien hiring Warforged for many of the menial jobs of porters on the train, not House members and certainly not scions. And with the prejudice against the Warforged, it just clicked on how to not just portray the experience of the Lightning Rail, but an introduction to the Warforged, their plight, and a bit on how they fit into an outsiders worldview.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8129339, member: 6971069"] [HEADING=1][CENTER] Missives along the Rail - 11/20/2020[/CENTER][/HEADING] The sudden light hitting my closed eyes were more than my feeble aching mind could handle. I squirmed and pulled the sheets back over my throbbing head. [I]--Hey look. I’m bored. Get up. Leave me alone. I hurt…a lot. --Well you did [B]earn[/B] it. Please…no…I was wrong. --[B]Really[/B]? I mean I understood why you sang at the top of your lungs… …The tune was catchy. --Right. And the dancing on the bar? Ah…well…felt right? --Sure, but offering to make another broken table? I did what?!? Did I? --Heh, sorry no…I made that up. But you did need some help getting here. Igneve thought you were funny.[/I] I reached out a hand and pulled on a pair of strands. Without so much trying to get up, a ghostly hand flew over and pulled a pitcher over to me. Looking inside and seeing it empty, I just pulled on another light strand, and it began to fill with water, which I started to quickly drink. After filling my belly, I used the hand to replace the pitcher, and turned over, flopping on my back. I lay on my back and exhaled in a huff. The sun streamed into the grey room, carved into the side of the mountain. Most things here were stone or rock, but the bed had thick feather mattresses and soft pillows. The one stuffed chair sat next to a small fireplace, while a bench holding my scattered things were at the base of the bed. So, while the room and furnishing were functional, the trimmings were bordering on decadent. The cushions alone made you feel like you were asleep on the clouds, and the warm colors of the tapestries on the wall, were a perfect contrast to the grey granite that the room was carved from. I lay there nursing my headache when I heard a knock at the door. I sat up too fast and clutched my hands to my pounding head. Standing up, I gathered the sheets around me, and walked over to the door, and opened it. There standing outside was a young halfling who I remembered meeting last night. However, his name escaped me as he spoke. “Two things for you ma’am.” And he handed me a small package and a letter. He then made as if tipping a hat, and then moved on down the hall, before I could even respond. “Thank you!” I finally stammered and shut the door, walking over to the chair by the fireplace and sat down. I was about to look at the packages when I thought a moment. “Ma’am? Ma’am? I’m not old enough to be a ma’am,” I said aloud. [I]--You sure? Might be a couple of streaks of silver in that gold mop of hair.[/I] I pulled out from behind me a small pillow on the chair. I then handed it to my still floating hand and proceeded to chase Gossamer with it, beating walls, and furniture along the way. After a while I stopped and looked at the small package, tied shut with twine. Pulling on a strand, I used it to unwind the twine and unfolded the paper wrapping. Inside was a flat box in the shape of a pentagon, with a small note attached to it. Both were set on a leather-bound book. I pried open the box, and saw inside a sketch of my own face, and a description reading: Putting the pentagon down, I looked at the title of the book ‘[I][U]A Guide to Travelling the Five Nations[/U][/I].’ I opened it and thumbed through the pages and I nodded, mouthing the words, “Thanks Paron.” Setting it aside, I then looked at the letter, which only had the words, ‘Myrai, Gold Dragon Inn,’ on the outside. I shrugged and tore it open. Inside was a piece of parchment that read: Inside was a sheet of thick paper with my name on it, and a embossed image of a Unicorn. I had picked up quickly that ‘d’ ‘in front of a name referred to a House. I knew Sivis involved documents and messages, Jorasco healed me, and Kundarak involved money and that Ghallanda ran inns. I heard the name of Orien at the inquiry but knew nothing else, but now here was a new House, Medani. I shook my head and set the letter down on my lap, and muttered aloud, “This is too much, too fast.” But thinking again, I remembered where I was, and I smiled and said aloud to myself. “A new world, and I am the only Sensate here. Why not?” [I]--So…we doing something? Yep, looks like I have an offer to do…some type of work. You wanted to get out…so lets go! --Great. Fine. Better late than never.[/I] I stood up and dropped the sheet and moved to my clothes and started getting dressed. [I]One thing Goss? --What’s that? Any idea what a ‘Lightning Rail’ is?’[/I] [HR][/HR] I now understood when I stood in Urkiel’s office, on why it appeared that in the giant furrow that cleaved the city in two, why there was such a wide avenue at the bottom. From the distance, it just looked like a broad causeway. But now as I walked at the bottom, and alongside the center trench it made sense when I saw it. It was huge; larger than any wagon or coach I had ever seen. Actually, it could probably contain many wagons inside of the carriages that floated above the stones seated in the bottom of the trench. But if the size of the monstrous vehicle wasn’t enough, the front section was amazing. It was moving slowly backwards to connect to a long series of other carriages. A device of metal and wood, and around it a ring of pure elemental energy. It encircled the front carriage in a pulsing arc of white light, that caused the hairs on my body to stand on end as it crackled and shifted like lightning in the sky. I could feel the tremendous energy with in it, and I stood there slack jawed in wonder. The effort and skill needed to bind such energy. To hold it all aloft from the ground, and to have more power left over to propel it down the path of stones. It was breath taking. I stood there on the platform watching them load things in the rear most carriages, ingots of metals, crates, and kegs. All sorts of things. Far more than any simple wagon could carry as part of its cargo. In front of those I saw Mror and other people starting to crowd onto one of the carriages, which to me looked to be full of benches, shoulder to shoulder. There were other carriages as well, of increasing quality the closer one got to the front. I also noted I was, once again causing a stir. But it wasn’t really me; it was Gossamer. As he flew alongside of me, he was drawing stares and whispers. I could only conclude that Tressym were unheard of here. But when they saw that Goss was flying next to me, it gave them pause, like they were afraid to approach me or talk to me. This was the opposite of how it was on Toril; Aasimar were known and sought after. The number of blessing I was asked for in Waterdeep was proof of that. Here, I was of a kind so rare that…they did nothing. That I was funny looking was enough; the why was unimportant. But I couldn’t say it wasn’t nice. Being asked to ‘bless this’ just because of your parentage, not because they had some faith in you felt…better. I wondered how Tieflings or Genasi would be treated, or even if they existed here. And what other peoples have I not seen? I put it out of my mind for the moment, as I approached a large building next to the Lightning Rail, with a green sign depicting a unicorn, with a scroll like banner below the picture that said ‘House Orien.’ On the side of the building was a window with several cutouts, and I approached it, a little uncertain. There behind the glass was a middle-aged man, reading through some papers. As I approached it, he spoke. “Yes, there is some room; what’s your final destination?” “I…sorry, I have this voucher?” I said and I pushed the paper through the cutout to the man. He turned with disinterest to glance at it, but his expression quickly changed. “Oh! I apologize! You…” and his excitement and earnest stopped a moment as he looked straight at me for the first time. “…You were saying?” “What…yes. I apologize again; I’m being quite rude. But this is the wrong window; First Class is handled at the red double doors to the left. Can I get you a porter for your things?” The change of tone was remarkable, and I was taken a back for a moment. “Uh…no, I will manage thank you.” And I turned and walked down the length of the building. [I]Goss, what is ‘first class?’ --No clue, but I certainly noticed he pulled himself together after seeing that voucher. Sounds important.[/I] I came to the doors that the clerk had mentioned and pulled on the handles and stepped inside. On the floor was a large mosaic of a white Unicorn, rampant on a field of green. There were divans and chairs with fine stuffed leather with small end tables. Several dwarves, humans and a half-elf were sitting each with a mug or glass in hand, while the room had a number of human sized metal statues in green tailed coats positioned nearby at attention. On one end of the room, was a bar with bottles and glasses while at the other was a desk, where a red headed young woman sat, flipping through some cards in front of her. I stepped over to her and cleared my throat to get her attention. She turned and looked at me with emerald eyes, and unlike the other clerk she didn’t falter in her words. “Yes? Can I help you?” she said, her voice and tone well practiced and professional. “Hi, I have a voucher for the Lightning Rail tonight?” I said, perhaps a bit tentatively, and handed her the slip of paper. She took it, without hesitation or any surprise with a simple nod. “Ah yes, you are expected Myrai,” she said sweetly, surprising me with the use of my own name. “My name is Vanna. Your steward will come for you when it is time to board. I don’t see…do you have any luggage?” “Uh…no, came as is.” I said feeling awkward. But my being ill at ease didn’t bother her at all. In fact, I noted she started to try to make me feel at ease. “I understand. I will ensure that an armor stand is available for you in your stateroom, and we find something comfy for your…I’m sorry, what exactly is that?” and Vanna pointed at my familiar. “Gossamer, he’s a Tressym, and I am guessing you have never seen one?” The red head woman shook her head and leaned forward with interest, “No…I have never seen anything like it…can I…?” and she reached out to touch him. Gossamer alighted on the desk and allowed himself to be touched, enjoying the attention. [I]--She has a nice touch, smells nice, doesn’t have a pet of her own.[/I] I smiled, “He likes how you smell,” I said, and I sat on the desk’s edge. Vanna looked at me in surprise, but she turned those tables around quickly. “So, he’s a familiar?” I nodded, “Yes…you know of them?” “Of course, we have many wizards that use our services; but I had never seen a…Tressym right? He is so cute! Anyway, can we offer you something to tide you over till dinner?” she said still stroking Gossamer’s fur. “Ah…yes uh…a liquor of some type…I don’t know what you have.” “I recommend the Mror Rye with some water,” she said still stroking Goss’ fur much to his delight. “It won’t kill you that way. Nails! A watered Mror Rye for Myrai please!” I was puzzled a second, but I watched that one of the statues with a green tailed coat moved forward from the wall and nodded and walked to the bar. I watched ‘Nails’ intently as this was something new. The ‘statue’ moved with deliberate grace. I had seen a number of golems in Sigil, as well as Modrons; they all moved stiffly and had a deliberate precision in their movement that I would have described as plodding. ‘Nails’ was anything but plodding; their movements smooth and sure, and he quickly poured water and a honey colored liquor into a glass. It then placed it on a tray and with poise, delivered it to me with a kind of flourish, bending at the waist. I was about to reach and take it, when ‘Nails’ did something unexpected. “Your Mror Rye with water, Lady Myrai,” it said in a deep metallic voice that caused me to jump. After a moment I reached forward and took the glass and I looked at the ‘statue’ closely. Its mechanical eyes watched me, much as any person did, but its face had elements of stone, metal and wood through out it. Each hand had two fingers and a thumb, while each foot ended in a pair of toes. Its head had an articulated jaw, which did move when it spoke and there was a strange rune on its forehead. I reached and took the glass, and said awkwardly, “Than…thank you, Nails?...correct?” Nail’s face was inscrutable as it answered, “Yes, milady. I will be your porter for your trip. We will be able to board soon. If you need something just call.” I nodded, and I must have had a dumbstruck look on my face as it cocked its head and returned to its position on the edge of the room and once again stood, silently and unmoving. And like that, he appeared to be another fixture in the room. It seemed surreal for some reason I couldn’t articulate to myself. “Is there a problem?” the woman asked me as she continued working her nails through Gossamer’s coat. “If you would prefer a different Warforged, I can make arrangements.” “A…Warforged? Er…no. No not at all…It’s just I have never. Pay me no mind,” and I took a sip of the rye, feeling the burn at the back of my throat followed by the warmth in my stomach. “As you like,” Vanna said and rang a small bell on her desk. From a door behind her another Warforged came up to her, and she whispered into where a person’s ear would be but was only a small hole on the side of its metal head. “Come on Gossamer, I’m going to sit down,” I said and motioned to my familiar. [I]--Come on…a little longer…her nails feel SO GOOD. You should grow nails like this.[/I] “Alright you little traitor,” I said shaking my head, and took off my pack and set it on the floor as I plopped myself on a divan. Thinking for a moment, I pulled out the [I]Apocrypha [/I]and quietly worked a ritual so I could see dweomers around me. Once I pulled some small dark and light strands together, I then looked around the room and was surprised on what I saw. The first thing was the mosaic on the ground had a strong locus of energy that's aura told me it was conjuration. The lanterns in the room, had small flares of evocation enchantments. Finally, several of the others in the room had various items on them or each with different auras. All of this didn’t surprise me. But what did was the Warforged had nothing magical about them. They appeared as non-magical as much as the windows or the divans. No…not the furniture; they were as non-magical as the guests, or as non-magical as I. Gossamer doesn’t have an aura either, but these Warforged weren’t normal constructs. I found myself staring at Nails in confusion. It was not a flesh and blood creature, but it had all the signs of being alive. Was it? And Nails wasn’t unique, there were a number in this room. But if they were built or forged like armor, who did it? [B][I]How[/I][/B] did they do it? I was sipping on my rye mulling it over unsure on what my Lord Kelemvor would think about this. Did they die? Did they have souls to pass beyond? Did death have any meaning for them? [HR][/HR] The halfling stood there at the week-old grave, her head bowed and tears flowing freely. Her tired face was contorted into a mixture of hatred and sorrow as she looked at the grave she made for her friend. She spoke aloud, trying to ease the pain that she felt in her soul. “This isn’t right. This isn’t [I]fair[/I],” the halfling said in a lilting drawl, choking on the words. “Who would want to… and I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Perhaps if I were, I could have stopped them from…Well I guess wishin won’t solve anything. Goodbye Rosa; I learned a lot from you, and I hope that I can make you proud. May the Warden’s spirits of the past, guide you in the beyond.” With that, the halfling walked back down the path towards the home she shared with Rosa, on the far outskirts of Havenglen. She remembered coming here years ago, tired of the blood spilled by Aundarian troops trying to reclaim the Eldeen back for the queen. It was brutal, with long days and longer nights of fighting. The families and clans of the Eldeen gave no quarter to the savage soldiers that came to pull the Reaches back into the fold. And for months it was the same; Aurala’s armies would push during the day, taking towns and villages. But at night, the shifters would come and hound the Aundair’s troops throughout the night, letting them have no respite, giving as good as the solders gave. She met Rosa on the Day of Mourning; when as word of that terrible event spread, the bleeding on both sides stopped. And she helped her heal the wounded and treat the sick. The folks loved Rosa, one of the few Jorasco’s that didn’t abandon the villages. She was ever practical and pointed out the medicines needed by all were here. There was no reason to leave. And so, she stayed, cultivating the herbs, and sending them off, and treating all those she could. It was hard to imagine that someone would kill her for that kindness. The halfling finally arrived at the hillside, where a red door was set. Above it, a small flag embroidered with the house crest of the griffon, fluttered in the breeze. She looked at it sadly and opened the door. Stepping inside on the brick lined floor, she saw a number of letters and missives had been delivered and shoved through the slot on the door. Sighing, she picked them up and sorted through them. Most were from the enclave in Varna; House business she supposed, and not her own. But as she sorted through them, one stood out as different, with a return stamp of the Mror Holds. It wasn’t from the House, and she never recalled Rosa ever discussing anything about the Mror. As she looked at it, she was surprised to see it wasn’t addressed to Rosa; at least not precisely. [CENTER]‘To Rosa d’Jorasco’s Friend.’[/CENTER] Puzzled, she tore open the letter and started to read. As she did her hands began to shake. “This isn’t possible…” Rys said aloud. She had only buried her friend seven days ago. And she hadn’t even been into town to tell anyone about her murder. How could anyone know about it in Mror? How in fact did anyone in Mror even know about herself? Granted, Rys had been hiding for a long time; long before she met Rosa. She looked at the mirror in the hall, and she saw the long tussled red hair and the green eyes, now lined in eyes from tears in her reflection. [I]This Melisandre…she knows something. Worse, she knows me; the real me. I need to know what’s going on. Why am I at risk? What does she know?[/I] Nodding to herself, she walked over to a small desk, and opened it. She pulled open a drawer and found Rosa’s identification papers. Opening it she looked at the picture within at the long brown haired halfling with the brown eyes. Taking it, into her hands she looked into the mirror. Nodding she knew what she needed to do. The halfling stepped outside and ran her hands through her now short chestnut brown hair. Nodding approvingly, she tightened her belt, where her curved sword hung, and then pocketed the identification papers. She then left the small enclave, and with a key locked the door behind her. W[I]ell, what are the chances someone is going to be looking for someone already dead? I hope I can wear your face with justice Rosa.[/I] And with that, she concentrated a moment and then began to run, and then lope as she pulled on natures power and became a graceful red elk. With a huff, her hooves pounded at the earth as she ran towards the town, nearly ten leagues distant. As she galloped down the trail towards Hearthglen, she wondered where the Orien trail would take her, and how many secrets were already laid bare. [HR][/HR] I sat there enjoying the Rye, when finally, a whistle blew. Turning I saw that Nails quickly approached me, saying, “That is the signal for First Class to board. If you would please follow me.” And he motioned with his steely hand toward the door. I rose from my seat, and I proceeded through it. Gossamer, for once, quickly followed without needing a word, and we were escorted towards an ornate carriage near the front. Following Nails, they quickly opened the door to the carriage, and stepped up a few steps, and then turned, held open the door, and offered me a metal hand to ease climbing inside. I was walking on one side of the carriage and was already amazed at the craftsmanship and care used in its creation. Everything was paneled in warm auburn wood, with curtains and sashes in shades of green. The fixtures holding everbright lanterns were a shiny gold, as were the knobs, and other fittings. The floor was like a soft rug that stretched the length and the width of the car, leaving no visible hard surface of any kind visible. Nails was ahead of me, and stopped by a door, and with a practiced flair opened it. Inside was a private cabin, with a large bed, a leather chair, small table and a stand to hold armor and weapons. The paneling here was even more ornate, with the wood wrapping around in smooth curves along the ceiling. I took off my pack, and set it down on the bed, as I looked admiring the quality of the materials and how luxurious it felt. “Do you require assistance with your armor, Myrai?” Nails said expectantly, standing in the doorway. “I…sure,” I said as I started to unbuckle my belts holding my pouches and my rapier while Nails, closed the door to my private cabin. He took the rapier and placed it upon the stand, and after I placed my belt and pouches on the the bed, they then quickly and dexterously started to unbuckle the breastplate I wore. “Nails,” I said with a little awkwardness in my voice, “Please forgive me if this sounds strange or rude. But I have never heard of or met a Warforged. Where do you come from?” Nails stopped a second to look at me, “This is not a jest?” “No. I am from…a place very far from here. And you are the first one I have ever met.” Nails shrugged and continued with the buckles. “We were created for the Last War by House Cannith. I personally was sold to Cyre and was a part of an infantry battalion. We were originally deployed to Karnnath and were engaged in combat when the hostilities ended. Since then, I managed to secure this job with House Orien.” “Created for the war…created to fight. To kill?” I asked trying to think thought the implications. “It happened; we didn’t question our owners. And now, we have no owners. It has been a difficult transition from the certainty of war, to…everything else,” Nails said, freeing the last buckle and they lifted the armor away from me, and then placed it on the stand. “How many Warforged are there?” “I do not know. Many thousands I am sure,” he said before his tone shifted the topic. “Dinner will be in several hours. Formal attire is required.” “Formal? I do not —” “—One of your hosts, has made arrangements for something suitable to wear. You will find it hanging in the side closet there.” As they spoke, I heard a loud whistling, and felt a lurch as the massive vehicle started to move, pulling the weight of carriages down the line. I looked out the window and saw the buildings of Krona Peak slide away slowly, as the Rail took me on my journey. “I will return several hours from now. If you need me pull on the bell rope and I will come, Lady Myrai—” “—Just Myrai please.” I said, and Nails nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind them. I stood there staring at the door. A race of living construct-like beings? All slaves to another nations’ war. Like many in Sigil, I had talked to several modrons, and like many regretted it. But it was easy to make that mistake. Modrons were single minded and had more in common with a fancy water clock than a person. Yet while being alive, they had nothing in common with others in Sigil. And Sigil had slaves of a sort; indentured servants paying of a crime, a common pushiment where debts were due, as opposed to real crime. But you weren’t born…or made into it, and it always had an end. But indentured or not, they were still people. And so did this warforged. Perhaps the only reason it felt strange was they looked very much not alive, and more like a golem or statue. Yet, the way that Nails acted made them as real as any other servant that served in King Melandrach’s realm, or in House Ustina, Arnara’s home. And how normal it was, for someone fighting war as all they knew, now finding their way as something else. Although it made me wonder, if war was indeed the only thing they ever knew. [HR][/HR] Sage Redoubt walked through the dimly lit passage on their patrol. As they passed by doors to chambers holding incalculable wealth Sage’s only would be concerned if the door was unsecured. As a guard in the vaults beneath Korunda Gate, it was Sage’s job to walk these halls, and ensure all the vaults remained closed. Only a Kundarak with a mark and a key were allowed to open them and remove their contents. But in the six years of patrolling the dozen or so floors of the vault, he had never seen one opened, and in six years, Sage had never seen a breech in a door. In fact, Sage almost never saw anyone in the Cyre vaults themselves. While for many of the Five nations, Cyre was a ghost: a simple darkened shadow on the map. Here the last bones of its wealth lay. Wealth that could not be claimed by anyone, not even the scattered number of ir’Wynarns that were of blood to Queen Dannel. For this was the last wealth of a nation; not a person, and the Treaty of Thronehold excluded any closure to Cyre, for it was as Queen Aurelia said, ‘Cyre is no more,’ So as a nation it was dead, the last of its wealth lay in Kundarak’s vaults, safe from everyone. The Treaty didn’t decide anything really about Cyre, other than the obvious. But it locked away the wealth from those Cyre owed, and from some that sorely could have used it. Orien could not ask for its wealth to repair lines around Metrol and the Mournland. Denieth could not ask to be paid for the Valenar or Darguun mercenaries. Widows could not claim a stipend for dead husbands on the battlefield, nor paid Jorasco to heal wounded sons. Issues that were ignored in the rush to peace, and only after all was written and done, was the error recognized. Without someone to administer Cyre’s gold and to sort out who should be paid first, it would be locked away from all. Granted this was not the main hold of Cyre wealth; this was a reserve. But the main vault was in Metrol, far behind the mists of the Mournland, was even less accessible than the Cyre Reserve in Korunda Gate. But to Kundarak, it was an honor to hold it in trust, till a day came that the Four Nations recognized a claim, and that day was a day far in the future. When Sage first came to the Cyre vault, he was one of a pair purchased for that function. It was always a puzzle to Sage on how that happened; his skills were far more suited for anything but guard duty. Horsemanship and combat magic were of little use here beneath the mountains, but sudden reallocations did happen. His peer was only around for about a month before he was informed, he would be the only guard on duty for the foreseeable future. As to why, Sage was told that the other Warforged had ‘an accident’ and was told nothing more. That was over five years ago, and little had changed Sage noted, as he returned to the barracks. The barracks was a large room, near the vault entrance where guards, clerks and trusted laborers would move gold from one vault to another. But little of that happened in reserved vaults; only occasional large deposits or withdrawals, and none of them happened in Sage’s time. Sage entered the barracks, which was meant to hold twenty or so Mror, was now a library of Sage’s thoughts and musings. Six years of writings were carefully organized by topic and arranged neatly on the shelves. An open doorway lead to another small chamber which contained Sage’s only opponent, and yet was Sage’s fiercest ally against boredom; a pell. Sage stepped in front of the pell and ignited green flames down his armblade. Quickly the Warforged struck the pell, practicing movements he was trained for years ago. Sage slashed, parried, blocked imaginary thrusts. Over and over he would do this, until it was time to write on one of the various magical theorems that came to mind. Patrol, Practice, Write. That was the sum of Sage’s activities for the last six years, broken by the conversations he would have with Fanor d’Kundarak. Fanor would tell him the goings on outside world, supply him with books, replace the pell and add a shelf if Sage had almost filled it. It was nice not to be forgotten, and the conversation allowed Sage’s mind to wander and create essays on history and conjecture if battles had only turned a different direction. Sage in fact was considering writing on the topic of the Battle of Thaliost, when he heard the dwarf call his name. “Sage? You back in the barracks?” he heard Fanor call. “Indeed. Do you have more blanks for me?” Sage replied as he turned and hit the pell with a blast of fire. “Ah no…I have a pair of letters for you though.” Sage stopped in mid-swing. “Letters?” he voiced, as the old dwarf entered the room. Fanor was one of the last dwarves that helped to build and maintain the Cyre vault. Others had moved on to other projects, and still others had been buried. But Fanor was the one who stayed behind as the one who laid the first stone. There was always one like him in every vault; someone who knew every stone, any breech, and any major moves. And while Reserve Vaults were quiet, they were the bedrock of the faith that every common person put into the safety of their money. “Yes, and…well we should sit down a moment.” The old dwarf huffed. “I’m fine.” “Humor me…please sit down.” Sage looked around and pulled a dusty chair from the side of the wall and waited for Fanor to sit across from him. The dwarf looked at Sage with fondness and then looked down as he spoke. “Well, there isn’t any use to dwell on this; but the bad news is that you are…out of a job.” Sage’s metal lids blinked slowly, before speaking, “I’m fired?” “What? Oh no…no…no not fired. More…laid off.” “I’m the only guard here though. If I am laid off, then who—?” “—Well that’s just it. The Hearthwardens have decided that it would be cheaper to just seal the vault, rather than the House to fund services to a nation not paying bills. And right now, the other vaults are busy and fully staffed…so there isn’t a place for you here if you get my meaning?” Fanor said looking at the Warforged sympathetically. “I see,” Sage said simply, trying to envision what he would do next; this had been his only function for six years. The idea of doing something different was both terrifying, and exhilarating. Perhaps he could discuss his theories on alternate history or discuss the failings of various military stratagems. But before he could go deeply into this line of thought, Fanor continued. “Well when I heard about it, I was looking to find you something to do, and well…it seems that someone else [B][I]had[/I][/B] heard of you in the House.” Sage looked at the Dwarf intently, “Knows me…who?” “A cousin…and yes I know…we all look a like to you…but all I can say is I have a letter here from him. And of course, a reference letter from me, which you probably won’t need.” And Fanor handed Sage two envelopes. The first was clearly in Fanor’s hand, and was simply labled “To prospective employer, official Letter of Recommendation of the Warforged Sage Redoubt.” But it was the second one that had Sage’s focus as he opened it and read: Sage looked at the letter a while silently. They then stood up, and moved towards a bookcase only a third full, and took two volumes off the shelf. “Is it a good offer?” Fanor asked. “It is a gambit, by a player who knows more about me than I do. But it is a job.” Fanor nodded slowly trying to read the tone of the conversation, “I’m glad to hear that. Beats being sealed in the vault.” And then Fanor spread his hands out apologetically. “They joked about it; I thought it was a bit rude myself.” Sage nodded silently and continued to look at the letter. “So, Sage…what did you want me to have done with the rest of the books here?” Sage looked up and then around at the hundreds of tomes that he had authored. After a long moment he spoke.” “I have what I want. Seal the rest here. I won’t be needing them anymore.” [HR][/HR] I sat looking through the windows smiling. I had been on carriages before, bouncing along ruts in the road in sweltering heat, with nothing more to do than read and watch the countryside slip away at a slow leisurely pace. This was not that. The speed I watched the Lightning Rail pass through the mountains was astonishing. It didn’t even feel like we really were moving as we never hit a rut, or a divot as the Rail floated above them all. As we travelled, I could see the flicker of light flash from beneath me at regular intervals along the ground. The countryside didn’t creep…it flowed like a river and ran as fast or faster than a horse at full gallop. And unlike many carriage rides, I didn’t want to read, I wanted to watch. They kept mentioning it was spring in Krona Peak, but if this was spring, I was a tiefling. The mountains and valley were covered in a blanket of white, obscuring the earth. Trees were also covered in the stuff, and I could see ice hanging of branches. I had heard of winter and of snow in Waterdeep, but it was only Autumn when I left for the balmy Nethlander islands. Sigil would get deathly cold and ice would appear there on ocassion. But snow? It happened, but it was always a dirty grey with odor of brimstone in most places. It wasn’t white, and pure and beautiful as this. I sighed, and turned to look at Gossamer. He was fast asleep on a chair, near a small stove that warmed the cabin, and kept the cold from the windows from seeping inside. I let him be and stood and made my way over to the small closet that Nails had pointed out and opened it. It was a dress to be certain, similar in styles I had seen in Sigil. There the current trend tended to fitted sheaths down to the ankles. I saw many of them in the Civic Festhall, as the wealthy came for entertainment. This was similar, yet unlike Sigil’s which bare arms, and cut out panels along the sides were common. This one had sleeves and several cut outs around the arms, but the body line was left covered. But it was the color that stood out. I first thought it was a white with a sheen, but then I realized that the fabric itself was shimmering. Pulling it closer to my eyes, I saw it was changing color, creating a layer above the cloth. It reminded of some of the glamours the elves in the Misty Wood used during their dances. But this was more extensive, throughout all the fabric. And if this wasn’t enough, there was a pair of sandals that matched the color and shared the same glimmer of color. “Someone wants me to be dressed for an occasion,” I said to myself. “All for a job involving a mine…a gold mine?” I walked over to the bed and from the side of my pouch I pulled out a slim wooden wand, inlaid with silver and hanging on the very end was a small bell. I caressed the wood and looked at it with fond memories. It was a small creation of mine, something that I enchanted to simply to make more time for myself and Arnara when we spoke and traded our native tongues. I flicked it in the air twice ringing the bell on the end, and the wand let off a blue spark. I set it down and turned. It was odd summoning it; you couldn’t see it. It would never speak and rarely made noise. But you new it was there, present and waiting. A servant of magical force. “Help me change into that dress in the closet,” I said. I almost felt guilty summoning it. It wasn’t real, but somehow it bothered me more that a very real Nails was a servant. I supposed I could have asked him…it…them to help me dress and prepare. But perhaps it was I just wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a…person at my beck and call. Arnara was different; we would help each other; it was mutual and one with a friendship at the root of it all. In Sigil, the rich had servants, and that was expected. Expected to for your employer to pay you enough that a garnish was never needed. And in return the servants to never turn their back on them. And while I was sure Orien was paying Nails, somehow, I had the suspicion that, unlike a Sigil house servant, that it wasn’t enough. The shapeless force helped remove my garments, while I focused solely on cleaning myself. I would probably kill for a real tub of hot water, but if I were going to that, I would probably skip dinner altogether. It was strange; here I used the strands to create an object to help assist me with things; things I didn’t want to do or were inconvenient. Wasn’t Nails then the next logical step. I’ve been in a war; death and life were on the line. What if the Sinkers had Warforged. What if the Hardheads did? They would have used them without a thought. But unlike golems or the shapeless force I created Warforged were were alive. I didn’t even know if death meant the same thing to them. Kelemvor said nothing about this, them, about any construct. But I did know that life must have meaning to them. Meaning enough to find work as a servant; to have a purpose. As the force slipped the dress over my head, I wondered if Nails and what he was doing was the best situation. What was the worst? [HR][/HR] The rain was pouring down, on the cold grey day in Aruldusk. The light was dimming as night was starting to creep across the sky as the sun was concealed by the clouds. The Lightning Rail to Sharn had just left, as the populace was hunkering down to wait out the stormy weather. The rain itself was a good omen for spring, but most hoped that the clouds would break so that planting could begin. Any inn you passed you could hear the same story from the crowd. The mood was merry despite the rain, as the fires were warm, and ale was flowing. But not for everyone. Wrapped in a leather cloak, a figure slowly moved through the outskirts of town. Here the shifters had created a city of their own, of tents, and lean-tos. Normally a bonfire would be in the middle, warming up the clannish nomads, but today a clustered set of awnings were set up, and many small cooking fires took the place of tradition. Food and song were in the air here too, as many looked forward to the trek to the Thornwood to hunt. But the drenched figure, tread his way through the camp. They didn’t look at the tents or the fire, much less the inns they passed beforehand. Even the path they took was one of simple purpose, a means to an end. The shifters saw the figure and were wary. It wasn’t that it was a stranger, but nor were they a friend. When they first came to the camp, it was a surprise to the elders, who didn’t know what to make of them or their request. “I wish to stay here at the edge of your tents. I will not be a cause for trouble. I want nothing and need nothing more than a spot.” “You are not of our people? Why should we let you?” the elders said. “Because. I need…time.” The elders shrugged; they had no prejudice against Warforged. And this one was dressed in the livery of a Orien Courier. Many Shifters had done similar work, carrying messages across the field; sometimes to friends and sometimes to foes. Sometimes they were caught sneaking around places they shouldn’t. But many had seen things that haunted them, and even this was evident in the Warforged cold eyes. And this one had seen far too much. So, they let them stay at the edge of the camp. They provided a small tent to keep the rain away and left him alone. They let it stay to sort out things out, and in return the Warforged left them alone. The Warforged sat down, in the lone lean-to, as far from the city as one could get. The deluge had found a moment to pause, and the Warforged opened a panel in their chest and took out a book, and then pulled out from a pouch a driftglobe. They set it in the air, and they started to read the complex sigils within. It could hear the songs of the shifters nearby, and it did find them…comforting. But he didn’t want to approach or get close. Getting close was bad. Dangerous. As they read, it heard a voice in the background and then footsteps in the mud approaching. They were slow, and uncertain…no hesitant…like someone approaching a wild animal, unsure if it would strike. The Warforged placed the book back in their chest, and closed it quietly, but didn’t move. Their eyes looked to the right where the sound behind them was coming, and waited as they concentrated on their finger, letting it grow cold. Then it heard a voice followed by a peal of thunder, and the rain starting again. “B-b-bookshelf?” The Warforged sprang up and pointed its finger at the heart of a young human in Orien livery, in their late teens. “I don’t work for him anym—”the Warforged thundered. And while it could barely hear anything in the downpour, it could smell the result of the kid’s bladder emptying on the mud. “I—I—I just have a delivery for you…Captain.” The kid gulped and held out a letter, his hands shaking. “Please…don’t…kill me.” “How did you…no…how did the House find me?” “I—I—was given a letter that said you would…be here.” “In the city?” “N-n-o…in this camp.” Bookshelf said nothing, but let the magic from his finger fade, and he gently took the letter from the boy. He tore it open and read the words within: Bookshelf looked at the letter silently for a long moment before looking up. “Is this true? The House will let me…travel?” The kid nodded and sputtered, “They just asked…for you to use a different name when you…travel.” The kid gulped as Bookshelf looked at the letter again. “And you were told [B][I]exactly[/I][/B] where I was?” The kid nodded. “Basically…And the station master said to tell you the offer of transport…is good. Bookshelf nodded. “Orien doesn’t lie on matters like this. But others do. So, if I encounter problems—” “—He knows—” Bookshelf raised his hand and pointed at the kid hissing, “--Don’t interrupt. Because if there are, every Rail and every station will burn. Every. Last. One.” [B]Notes:[/B] Three letters delivered...and some more to go. So as I convert adventure to story I wanted to convey exactly what Myrai's experience about the lightning rail would be like. This is one of the signature items, and it just wouldn't do to say "Myrai caught the 3rd bell train." And of course I found a rabbit hole deeper than the one about tailoring that I covered in the "Souls of Legend" When I sat down to write it, and I found maps of the trains, and the stations I needed to find something to visualize it, so I started looking at trains from the late 1800's. And when I did, I found myself reading a bit of history on the Pullman trains. I then realized that the story of the Warforged, had a lot of parallels. It was easy to see House Orien hiring Warforged for many of the menial jobs of porters on the train, not House members and certainly not scions. And with the prejudice against the Warforged, it just clicked on how to not just portray the experience of the Lightning Rail, but an introduction to the Warforged, their plight, and a bit on how they fit into an outsiders worldview. [/QUOTE]
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