Chapter 3: The Enemy Within

[Jeff]

In the Cargo Hold

Once again, Grafth feels the cloying veil of his human ancestry peeled away from his senses. Sight and sound sharpen slightly, and his sense of smell magnifies manifold.

Within the central storage chamber—where the crates are—the first thing he detects is the lingering scent of bruised and bloody flesh...the remains of the 'plains cat' that Matheu identified and Ralsor cleaned up. Rendered in stone, broken, and rendered back into flesh—it leaves an unpleasant odor.

The chalky scent of 'packing dust'—what seems to be a rock powder meant to cushion the statues—and rubbled stone dominates this chamber, with the woody scent of the ship itself a close second. Just from moving around the room and seeing the next layer of crates labeled 'E' through 'F' does suggest that only the first half of the alphabet are accounted for. Because the contents of the crates are rendered in stone, they carry no scent save that of the earth.

Grafth hears a pathetic, gutteral squawk from crate 'C.'

Matheu slinks into the room. The Lyrandar is requesting your presence above. It seems your companions decided that speaking louder would solve your problems. The halfling wants to gather everyone together to talk. I will, of course, advise, if you appreciate it.

[Josh]

Grafth looks up, then breathes deep. "Let's hope they haven't ruined another opportunity with distrust and bravado," he says, walking towards the stairs.

"I know that we can use your advice; you have my thanks."

Grafth heads up to meet with Ralsor.

[Darren]

Kal arrives at the door to the cargo hold just as Grafth is exiting. "Where are you going? Did you find anything of interest down here? I was just coming to investigate, myself. It was either that, or run that damn gnome through with my sword..."

[Josh]

"Matheu mentioned to me that the lettered crates contain creatures that correspond with each letter, and that the 'C'," Grafth says, pointing behind him, "contains a cockatrice. Not to be tampered with.

"Torhak came from the 'D' crate. I figured some more thoughtful investigation should be done, but there's nothing more here to be concerned with at the moment. No more 'live statues', for now."

At mention of the gnome, Grafth frowns. "From the shouting, I gather you may have soured her on us. I wish you hadn't. She has caused us trouble today, but was invaluable to us last night. I had hoped she could be of use, but if we have threatened her, it is unlikely she'll be willing to help more."

He walks up the stairs. "It may be best if you calm yourself. Let me talk to her; we may have an understanding between us."

[Darren]

"By all means, shifter," Kal mumbles, for once not referring to Grafth by his name, "you do the talking. I will stand silent witness." Kalarian's mouth turns upwards in a grin. "Unless, of course, you wish me to throw her overboard."

[Jeff]

In ten minutes time, Ralsor has gathered everyone on the upper deck of the ship. He's even dragged out some rickety wooden chairs from the top deck storage room. As everyone else settles in, the Lyrandar captain walks to the fore of the deck and looks down over the forest canopy which stretches out in every direction below. The sky above is a cloudless blue, the wind is gentle and pleasant. Misha declines to sit; she leans against the forecastle and watches in silence. Matheu perches on the roof of the forecastle, commanding a view of the horizon and the gathered group. Fherina takes a seat.

Torhak finds the fresh air to be soothing, but at the same time disorienting. To have gone from deep underground in the Ironroot Mountains to far above the surface on a floating ship in so short—in so long—a time is an odd sensation.

Ralsor begins. "We'll be nearing Windshire in another hour or two. So let's talk first, eh?"

"For those of you who weren't paying attention, our friend here has been frozen in stone for a very long time. Eighteen years, in fact." He sits down in a chair facing the dwarf. Fherina turns her full attention on Torhak, studying him.

Ralsor continues. "The first thing you should know, Torhak, is that the Last War is over—at last. It ended two years ago, when the leaders of the Five Nations met in Thronehold and worked out a treaty. Not a very agreeable affair all around, but it's stopped the fighting. There is peace now, tentative though it is sometimes. When we're done here, I'll tell you about....Cyre." The half-elf shakes his head.

Then he stands up and begins to pace. "All right. We've got to work some things out here." Ralsor gives a brief recap of the discussion Streko, Kal, and Fherina had a short while ago, for those who missed it.

"With that said, the first thing I want relate to all of you is this: Never before have I been personally invested in any crew before now. They come and go and....well, usually they just go. You see, I've got a less than stellar reputation in my house."

"The Passage Manifest named you 'worst airship pilot of the year,'" Fherina says.

"Thank you, yes," Ralsor replies with a sigh. "There is a man...my benefactor, of sorts...whom some of you have already mentioned—Aldronivus. He asked me to
maintain a low profile in my house, however I managed it, so I could be free to get involved when something more important came along. Given the last 24 hours, I'd say this is it." He gestures at the group at large.

"Whatever is going on with that book you've got sounds big. It's brought mysterious enemies after you since you acquired it and it's now got Houses Lyrandar and Orien after us. It is NOT good to get this kind of attention from a dragonmarked house. Trust me on that. We've got to clear our names of any wrongdoing, and I'm thinking if we can learn more about that damned book then maybe we can do that."

"I'll help," Fherina says quietly.

"Well. Back to my original point. I've captained several expeditions before with various crews and various adventurers. And I have the strong impression that you've all just met for the first time a few days ago and have little 'group' experience. All of my former crews and employers disbanded for one reason or another. Usually it stemmed from disagreements and power struggles." He glances quickly at Kal. "Once, I watched a man kill another—a fellow comrade-in-arms—right here on this very deck. I'm sick of this. If any of you brings violence against one another, you're off the ship. That's that. And I'll tell you this: if you remain divided than this Malov fellow will beat you. Beat us."

"Malov?" Fherina asks.

Ralsor sits in a chair and yields the floor to someone else.

[Josh]

"We believe," Grafth says, standing, "that Malov ir'Turian may be after a book that is currently in our possession. Additionally, he may have orchestrated the rail disaster that brought us together, in one way or another. His involvement has yet to be substantiated empirically, but he is our prime suspect."

Turning to Ralsor, the shifter continues, "As a group, we've been through many hardships, yet have not had much time to learn patience and trust. For this I must apologize—we must all work harder to curb our tempers and be more deliberate with our actions.

"Until we land, we can only deal with what we know, and what is aboard this ship. Ralsor, could you tell us to whom these unwilling statues belong, or where they were to be delivered?

"And to you, Fherina... your friend obviously had good reason to liberate something within these crates... and though you may have put us in danger, I commend your dedication. I'm sure that Torhak would agree that we're better off for knowing the truth about this cargo."

Turning to the gnome, with as much gravity in his eyes as he can muster, he asks, "Will you tell us the name of your friend?"

[Darren]

As Ralsor speaks, Kalarian rises from his chair and paces over to the railing with his arms folded. He turns and leans against the rail, listening silently. He seems annoyed, but is clearly holding his words and his temper in check. As Tangat pads softly over to him, Kal kneels to stroke the dog's head. He runs a hand along his friend's muzzle, and then pulls away quickly as a small spark ignites between his hand and the dog's nose, surprising them both. Kal stares as his hand for a moment, then gives his canine friend a wicked grin. Once again scratching him behind the ears, Kalarian stands, his arms once again folded, but with a smile now spread across his face.

[Joe]

Streko stands up suddenly. He steps over to Fherina and places a hand on her shoulder. He looks at Grafth and smiles at his friend.

"I don't believe the identity of this friend matters to us for now. In fact, I believe we must focus on the issue at hand. We can't go running off on yet another wild-griffin chase and forget the real reasons we are here, which our good ship captain Ralsor so eloquently noted...WHY DOES MALOV WANT THIS BOOK SO BADLY?"

He looks down at Fherina and nods his head in understanding. He turns back to his friends. "Fherina cannot be faulted for wanting to help her friend, only that she was not given information that might have been more helpful in her endeavor. She is in a similar situation as we are. We have SOME information, but not enough to do anything other than guess at our predicament which will, sooner or later, cost one or more of us our lives if we don't learn what we need to."

"I trust our gnome friend. She warned us of danger when she had no reason to. If her sole purpose on boarding this vessel was to free something, or someone, encased in stone, then why stick her neck out for strangers if she had no need...unless she is a good person...and we have encounter few enough of those these past few days. Now, we have met two new friends due to the actions of one." Streko bows slightly to Torhak.

He turns specifically toward Kalarian. "Kal, if she can help us to learn more of the book...and perhaps help heal Pel faster, shouldn't we give her the benefit of the doubt in this case? Or shall we allow the dangers we have been subjected to recently dictate how we will approach allies and providers of support? The Sovereign Host has guided us well to this point. I pray that you..." Streko extends his arms out to all his friends. "I pray that WE keep strong in our beliefs of goodness. Learn the secrets of the book...and we learn why Malov wants it so badly and what we can do to keep it from him. May I suggest that Fherina be allowed to assist Pel in her healing. The sooner she awakens, the sooner more questions can be answered."

Streko walks over to Kal and Tangat. He offers the big dog a pilfered sausage that he brought up from Pel's food plate for just such a moment and looks up into his friend's eyes.

"What say you, good Lord...and yes, I know you aren't a Lord, and neither am I...but with the greatest respect I can offer, I ask you...I beg you...give her a chance to redeem herself in your eyes and to help us once again. If need-be, I will take full responsibility for her and accept the consequences of her actions, should they be malevolent." He bows before returning to the table and sitting next to Fherina.

[Darren]

Kal pushes away from the railing, keeping his arms folded in front of him. "You mistake yourself, Master Streko. I AM Lord Kalarian d'Deneith."

He begins pacing around the outside edge of the circle of chairs, his arms still folded across his chest, his dragonmark displayed prominently on his right forearm. His gaze lingers momentarily on each of the seated persons. It rests for a long time on the gnome, a penetrating, withering stare. He stops behind Streko's chair and places his hands on the back of it, his eyes still on Fherina. "I told you, Master Streko, she is your charge. If you want her here, I will abide."

Kal resumes his pacing. "The sooner we get to Whisper Woods, the better. Ralsor," he says, turning to the half-elf, "is Windshire large enough to have a Deneith enclave installed in it?"

[Joe]

Streko frowns and puffs out his chest. "I meant MASTER Kalarian. I know you aren't a MASTER. I was trying to remind you of OUR first meeting back at the d'Deneith enclave when you were blustering on and on about something and you took the time to speak with me and offer to assist me in my personal quest. However, I seem to have mucked that up quite a bit. Fine. LORD Kalarian d'Deneith. I take responsibility. You go and order Ralso around...wouldn't want to have House Jorasco annoyed with you as well, would you? Especially since I've been so meddlesome and unhelpful to this point!"

He storms back down to the sick room, wondering why he's suddenly gotten so angry at his friend. Mumbling in his native tongue, he says, "A little peace and quiet are in order. Even friends can be an annoyance."

[Darren]

Kalarian stands for a moment, watching Streko's back as he leaves. It might be difficult to tell from his face, but he is honestly shocked and perhaps a bit hurt at Streko's anger. He begins to take a step towards the retreating halfling, but stops short of actually moving.

[Joe]

Streko stops at the top step. He takes a deep breath. He's been doing that a lot lately. "Olladra, forgive your humble servant, for his pride makes him believe he has a human's height, but in truth he simply provides a goblin's manners."

He returns to the group, head down, but looks up at Kal when he reaches his seat. "I apologize for my outburst, my friend. The toll these last few days have taken on me seem to cut deeper than I suspected."

He sits back down next to Fherina.

[Jeff]

When Streko returns, Fherina smiles gently at him.

"Will you tell us the name of your friend?"

Then Fherina looks to Grafth. "I don't....I don't want to tell you his name. I promised him I wouldn't betray his existence at all, but I could see you people were angry and violent. I promise you, you will not have heard of him before. His name will mean nothing to you, and I will have broken a promise. Please leave me with at least a scrap of dignity here. My word is all I have right now."

"But...you say this revolved around Malov ir'Turian? I remember him. I did a story on him once—a good one, too—but my boss pulled the story before it went to print."

The gnome smiles big. "Can I spill the dirt on him instead? Would that make amends?" She looks tentatively at Kal, her face neutral, maybe even hopeful.

[Josh]

"No amends are necessary, as far as I am concerned, but I'm sure we would ALL like to hear more about Malov." The shifter settles back into his seat.

[mike]

Torhak mostly remains silent, nodding as the others speak, trying to make sense of their words.

The gnome smiles big. "Can I spill the dirt on him instead? Would that make amends?" She looks tentatively at Kal, her face neutral, maybe even hopeful.

Torhak looks up at Fherina. "Cease your useless games, gnome. Your endless prattling is tiresome. Never have I met someone who could use so many words to say so little."

"You are either our friend, or you are not. Tell us what you know - everything - or do not speak at all. We have no time for this nonsense."

"Because I am a guest of Master Ralsor, I will abide by his rules and wishes. I shall not raise a hand against anyone aboard this ship. But know this, Fherina - were it not for my respect for my host, I would be learning if you could fly right now ... or at least if you knew how to make a soft landing on the ground below."

"I do not suffer fools. So choose your next words carefully."

--------------------------------------------------------------

I guess you can say Torvak's making an Intimidate check.

[Darren]

Kal puts a hand on Streko's shoulder, squeezing it in a rare sign of affection. Then he grabs a chair, spins it around and sits on it backwards, leaning over it in close attention to Fherina. He reaches on hand down to scratch Tangat. A broad smile is on his face. "NOW you have my attention, Fherina. Please, go on..."

________
Mike and I seem to have posted at the exact same time, but I think both posts are still valid...

[Joe]

Streko smiles at Tohrak, but it isn't friendly in the least bit.

"MASTER Dwarf, as you are new to this journey and unaware of certain, social pleasantries, might I suggest that if this prattling gnome had not come to your rescue, you would still be in the hold of this ship, perhaps on your way to some pretty museum or as an outdoor plant recepticle. Perhaps a way station for traveling pigeons. You would most certainly not be breathing fresh and free air right this moment or plotting ways in which to throw people off of airships. I ask that you curb your hostility towards the gnome, Fherina is her name, by the way, and recognize that she is as much a victim as you...only with more information to help us."

He turns his attention back to Fherina. "Go on," he says in gnome-tongue. "Tell me about Malov."

[mike]

Torhak looks calmly at the halfling. "My pardons, good Streko. I did not wish to offend you. However ... I have lost close to two decades of my life, my friends, and my family. The only one who apparently can answer any questions about why I am here today is Fherina. Her reluctance to provide answers ... well, it is maddening, to say the least. Particularly when such reluctance seems foolish and prideful to me."

"As for being grateful for her freeing me from stone ... well, I suppose I would be, except I do not know why she did so, and at whose behest. If my freedom came from kindness, then I am indeed grateful to her. However, if I was freed for sinister purposes, then I am not grateful at all."

"Answers are needed, so that we are no longer blind to our surroundings. Will you help us see, Fherina?"

[Joe]

Torhak's voice shakes Streko out of his obsessive reverie. He smiles.

"Torhak, you're words are wise and sincere and I thank you for that. You are absolutely correct and I apologize to you as well if I was...abrupt..."

"He turns back to the gnome. "Fherina, it appears as if all eyes are quite literally on you. What can you tell us?"

[Jeremy]

Goran lets go of a sigh he's been trying to suppress for a while.

"You know, my friends, I think in several thousands of words we've managed to discuss nothing of any value, unless it be Ralsor's mercifully brief explanation of his situation."

The half-elf leans forward, his voice (for once) filled with force and purpose.

"Let's just shut up and call her a friend, or at least a comrade. Were she an enemy she'd have already attacked us in an effort to take the book...or she's really damn clever in which case no amount of puffery on our parts is going to do the least bit of good."

Goran stands now. The party might be surprised, they've not seen this sort of emotion from Goran in a while.

"So let's either discuss concrete plans, and genuine information, or shut up and wait for the next group of inexplicable, gibbering flesh mounds to attack us with flying electric cats and killer cucumbers or whatever. That includes YOU, gnome-stranger."

He strolls over the rail, finishing almost in a mutter.

"I am so...SO...weary of all this useless nattering and fusillades of verbal barbs. I'm about ready to chuck the godsdamn book overboard and scamper back off to the forests."

[Jeff]

Fherina's pretty face ranges from annoyed to gladdened as Torhak threatens her, Streko interjects, Torhak revises his position, Streko prompts her to continue, and finally Goran concludes. At one point, when Torhak suggested throwing the gnome overboard, Misha laughs from her corner—a clipped, nasty smirk. Ralsor sighs.

Seeing all eyes on her, Fherina clears her throat. She scoots her chair (sized for a human, clearly) closer to the gather and a conspiratorial smile forms on her face.

"As I said, I was going to do a story on Malov because there was some talk about him in the offices of some contacts of mine in Passage—the Sivis message station, Orien's enclave, and a friend of the cousin of the daughter of the Duke of Passage. This was a few years ago, mind you. But my chief editor pulled the story the night before it was to be sent to the Chronicle's headquarters in Korranburg to print. I was so mad. It was just a sort of celebrity profile, an unofficial biography of a villain, you know?

"See, Malov was never a household name. Only people in power, and nobility, knew about him and the rumors that surrounded his deed. I wanted to change that. But my editor sensed danger in it. I guess...well, maybe it was the right thing to do. I don't know."

"So I'll give you the short version of him. The ir'Turian family, Malov's family, is an old one. But our story starts in 953 YK:

"The ir'Turian family is prospering, making more money from its holdings than virtually any other—the Queen's own family excepted, of course. They lose a couple of heirs in the war—what family hasn't? Two sons joined on as knights of the kingdom, but they were killed in battle. Same old story. But all told, the family weathered the war, and their loss, pretty well.

"So Old Torlav, still spry for his age, he remarries. It's quite a scandal at the time, though, because his new bride is a very young and very bewitching beauty. All kinds of rumors abound among commoners and nobles alike: she's a vampire, she's a green hag disguised as a young woman, she's a demoness in virtue's disguise. You name it, they said it.

"But whatever she is, she's fertile...and over the next few years, out come three more children to replace Torlav's lost sons. They are: Gwenolyn, Malov, and Torlav II. People sort of forget about the scandal with the children's arrival, though. They're adorable, healthy, and well-bred brats, like the best among Aundairian nobility.

"Sounds all fine and well, right?

"In 972, at a tender young age, eldest daughter Gwen joins the clergy of the Sovereign Host as an acolyte to Dol Arrah. Within a few years, she becomes a true cleric of the goddess, so bless her heart and good for her. Then the middle sibling, our infamous Malov—who was then just a bookish, if mischievous young man—he flies off to study at the Arcane Congress in the floating towers of Arcanix. Old Torlav and his family are especially proud of that.

"Finally, the youngest of his children, Torlav II, takes to the field and becomes a knight, just like his long dead half-brothers. Old Torlav fears for his youngest child, but Young Torlav does well for himself. After several major campaigns in the war, he returns to Fairhaven and settles down, a war hero. Everyone's proud of everyone else. Good for them.

"Then the incident happened.

"I wish I could tell you what it is. Young Malov is expelled from the Arcane Congress....for the Host knows what reason. The leaders of Arcanix don't say. It is commonly believed that whatever Malov did to deserve it...he should by all rights be executed. But his familial ties to the crown keep him alive, it was assumed.

"Whatever it was, Malov returned to Fairhaven in disgrace, and despite the history of his house, the whole ir'Turian name is tarnished. Something unspeakable happened in one the floating towers of Arcanix, and rumors spread so fast it seemed the Traveler* himself carried them about. Everyone thought they knew why: murder, torture, rape, blasphemy...something terrible. It was believed that only Malov's own family members knew the true reason. The ir'Turians stopped attending social functions, severed all ties to the Queen...and just started to fade away.

"Old Torlav died. His wife disappeared. And then Malov himself goes underground around 992 YK and begins to form the Dark Echelon."

__________________________________

* One of the gods of the Dark Six, the Traveler is indisputably one of the most mysterious deities. He is considered fickle, a sinister giver of gifts, and a shapechanger. Many changelings, appopriately, pay reverence to the Traveler.

[Darren]

Kalarian's head pops up at the gnome's last words. "My limited and often interrupted research into Malov did not turn up many facts. Dark Echelon? What's that? No one seemed to be able to tell me much about the ir'Turian family's current leadership or status, as well. I wondered if there might be a power struggle going on internally, too. It seems we have been attacked by so many different factions, now, and I wonder if they wouldn't be just as happy to rip eachother apart as they would to kill us."

[Jeremy]

Goran nods, listening intently.

"Well, something concrete after all. Even if it does nothing but muddy the water yet further, at least we (or I) have a better handle on who this Malov character is...or was. We still have little more than this ominous moniker -Dark Echelon- to go on for what he's into now."

He shifts in his seat, saddened that his teacup is empty.

"Thank you, Fherina, for speaking openly and in detail. It is refreshing. Now we just need to get a better handle on what Malov and his minions are up to, and how the Book might be involved.

"Perhaps I am dim or have just missed something...but is it possible that Malov isn't even the top of the food chain here? Might he just be the right hand of a god, so to speak?"

[Joe]

Streko leans closer to Fherina. "Was there any talk of a female halfling working with him? Do you know of any more recent activities? Anything that can shed some light on this Dark Echelon....wait a moment. We know these other facts about Malov. He is able to magically possess people, presumably from a distance and speak through them. He is able to track magic items and he is the known head of a local syndicate of some sort or another. His allies, or cronies, seem to include warforged assassins, the Emerald Claw and the Dark Six knows how many other fiendish cults. Host's Blood, what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Streko turns to Mathieu. "Does this Dark Echelon mean anything to you? Have you heard of it, or did Phorem mention hearing something of it in passing? Perhaps Amal, in his duties, has come across something to speak of? Or you Ralsor?"

[Jeremy]

"My friend Streko, you have put your finger right on it."

Goran looks to the others.

"I think this exhibits perfectly how little we in fact know about this guy, and what he's capable of (other than some pretty high-level mischief). I mean, this list of his abilities you've just rattled off...this could be ten different people! It could fit any number of different types of enemy, at least to my amateur knowledge. How many different allies, how many peoples are or might be under his sway? Warforged, Dark Six, Emerald Claw...how many others? What I'm not seeing is any sort of pattern here."

He leans back, as confused as anyone.

"I think if we can make a good guess at that, we might get somewhere. I'm afraid, however, that I haven't a clue."

[Jeff]

We still have little more than this ominous moniker -Dark Echelon- to go on for what he's into now."

"Well, I didn't say I was finished yet," Fherina interjects with a smile. She shakes her head at Streko's questions. "I haven't heard of Malov in quite some time now, certainly nothing recent...or involving the Emerald Claw, or warforged, or possession, or any of that. It seems you alone have experienced this." The gnome does seem a bit frightened at the prospect of bodily possession.

But she gathers her nerve again. "This Dark Echelon was Malov's grandiose name for his cabal of 'friends' and servants. For some reason, they worked hardest to subvert the authorities of Fairhaven, and three particular dragonmarked houses: Jorasco, Orien, and Deneith. He found himself criminal excoriates* from these houses and they became the inner circle of this Dark Echelon. The crimes they committed were terrible, but they were all beneath the surface. Again, these things didn't make the chronicles, because the blame would fall to those three dragonmarked houses or the Aundairian crown."

"So I couldn't tell you, Streko, who'd be working with him now. You know more about that than I do. But he once gathered together allies with connections to those three houses to use against them. I suppose it's possible that he'd try this again? If there's a halfling working with him, maybe she's Jorasco, too?"

"As for your book, I don't know. You tell me. I gather it's a spellbook or something? Malov was a wizard. Transmutation, or maybe necromancy, was his specialty, I think. Of course...one way to find out more about Malov is to go to the floating towers of Arcanix** and ask his old teachers. But...easier said than done. The whole controversy around this man stems from their secrecy and discretion. I'm guessing it's bad for them to say what happened there."

"Of course, Malov is supposed to be dead now."

________________________________________

Mike (or anyone who's forgotten):

* Excoriation is the legal severance of a dragonmarked heir from his house as a result of some betrayal or crime against the house. Exile. In ancient days, they took the term literally and flayed the skin bearing the dragonmark from the person's body. Now it just means total ostracization—which, to most dragonmarked people, is as bad as death. Most excoriates are pretty bitter people. It's not a very common practice, but it's common enough that these bad apples are heard of now and then.

** The Arcane Congress is one of Khorvaire's most famous magical institutions, based out of the towers that float above the Aundairian town of Arcanix. Its only rival is the Twelve, an arcane college controlled by and catering to the dragonmarked houses.

[Darren]

"If I had to venture a guess, I'd say there's a connection between the Siberyis shard we're carrying and that book. I would say that Malov and his Echelon want to get their hands on both of them. And I'd bet that your friend Aldronivus knows something about Malov and his activities." Kal turns to Ralsor, "When was the last time you spoke to him? Do you know where he is now?"

[Josh]

"I also feel like there may be a connection between the shard and the book, but consider this," says Grafth, addressing everyone.

"I received the shard from Andronivus because it was left for me at the Passage rail station. I was there on legitimate business, a delivery, and was surprised to find his note—and the shard—awaiting me in the locker, but it was left for me intentionally.

"The book, on the other hand, came to us by accident. If not for the explosion on the rail, it isn't likely that we'd have it at all."

He pauses. "Andronivus had no reason to believe that I would have been traveling via lightning rail, let alone that I would have been aboard during that particular sortie. While there may be a connection between the book and the shard, without knowing definitively what either could be used for, we're at a loss."

[Jeremy]

"I'm with Grafth on this one. I don't think we have the Book by any reason other than sheer dumb luck. I'll leave to the others to decide whether good luck or bad.

"Either someone very cleverly got it into our hands, which seems extremely unlikely, or it was a flat-out accident. I won't buy any providential explanations. That way only delusion lies, in this matter as in others.

"I'm thinking we'll need to learn more about these Towers...perhaps even visit (oh ye Gods what am I saying?)"