Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

“May your journey be easy and fruitful,” he whispered at the retreating figures. “The salvation of many depends on it.” With the approaching Festival of Blue Fire, his elixir could save many lives, provided he had enough plaguegrass.

When they had disappeared from view, Gregor found himself looking back at the encampment. The sprawling tent hospital was an eyesore, and despite the best efforts of the monastery’s monks and clerics, it was filthy with excrement. With more than ten plaguechanged or sick pilgrims for every monk, the logistics were overwhelming. So it stank, and when the wind blew just the wrong direction, the stench infiltrated the monastery.

In fact, one of the reasons that the funeral pyre was so near the temple complex’s walls was because the smoke was far more pleasant than the reek of decay, refuse, and feces. Choosing between the lesser of evils was not Gregor’s preferred mode of operation, but in these times and in this location, it would have to do.

Gregor turned from the balcony and retired to his study, using the peacefulness of the monastery to center himself. Abruptly, the images came to him. They always came when he least expected it and took over his mind.

In this vision, Gregor walked at the head of a large crowd of pilgrims, part of a small group that led them into the Plaguewrought Land. There were hundreds of pilgrims, each one drinking Gregor’s draught, his perfect concoction. They formed an arc in front of a wave of blue fire, which raced like wildfire toward them.

The pilgrims formed a wall with their bodies, catching the wave of spellplague, and as they moved to complete the circle, capturing it. Containing the chaos. Bringing order to the Plaguewrought Land’s wildness.

His elixir kept them alive. His creation made it possible for ordinary people to help make sudden spellplague storms and appearances harmless. He was rendering the most wild and chaotic force in all of Faerun impotent. The vision faded, leaving him feeling euphoric and wanting more.

The visions seemed to be coming from outside him. And they weren’t a prediction of the future, he knew, but more of a divine guidance, the hand of Oghma providing direction. The visions helped shape his decisions, showing him what to strive for and which path to take. They had started sometime after he got his spellscar, after that morning he had awakened with a cloud of spellplague hovering next to his simple bed, back before he had come to Ormpetarr. The visions had started subtly, like waking dreams. Over time, they had grown in strength and frequency.

As he reached the door to his study, he saw Kaylinn approaching. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “Yes, Priestess?”

Kaylinn gave a short bow. “There is a group here from the Order of Blue Fire,” she said. “They want to speak with you, and they’re quite demanding.”

Gregor noted Kaylinn’s tone. She was suspicious of the Order. “Have they said or done anything offensive?”

Kaylinn’s look softened a bit. “Not really. Just arrogance, perhaps. As much as they claim to strive for the betterment of all people, they aren’t guided by the same principles that we are. I find their charitable activities to be more self-serving than altruistic.”

Gregor nodded. Kaylinn was a very astute observer and her judgment had been a good guide for both him and the monastery for years. “I understand,” he said.

“I advise caution in your dealings with them, Brother Gregor,” she said, concern on her face. “I don’t profess to understand the intricacies of your projects, and you have always been trustworthy, but don’t let yourself be manipulated.”

“I am exercising great care in this,” Gregor said. “But I envision a great revolution in how people regard the change-lands. No longer will they fear them. No longer will their loved ones disappear without warning, or worse, end up as plaguechanged monsters. I am on the verge of achieving that vision, and unfortunately collaboration with the Order of Blue Fire is required for me to proceed.”

Kaylinn frowned. “Collaboration is a good thing,” she said. “But do not be blinded by your vision. Ends do not justify means, Brother Gregor.”

“Of course,” he demurred. “Thank you for your sagacity. As usual, your view is wise.”

The high priestess gave a small smile. “I worry about you,” she said. “You have been … distracted. I worry that you’re driving yourself too hard.”

Gregor gave his most earnest smile. “I have never felt this clear-headed,” he said. “And I am close to the end. We are doing great good here on the changelands border.”

“That’s true,” Kaylinn said, with a nod. “Very well, I will stop worrying. Where will you meet them?”

“In here is fine, but I can escort them back.”

“No, no. I’ll get them.”

“Many thanks.”

After Kaylinn left, Gregor opened the ledger which showed the numbers and mortality rates of the pilgrims who had tested the latest elixir. Gregor paged past all the other experiments. Hundreds of pilgrims had been tested, and five different elixirs, their data compared with that of the false elixirs.

The last formula had a twenty-onefold increase in survivability, while those taking the false elixir fared in the usual range. Gregor smiled. Numbers didn’t lie.

The door opened again. Following Kaylinn came the blonde elf-Vraith, slim and looking even more delicate in silky, sky-blue robes. Behind her clomped a huge human wearing shiny plate armor with a section of his right pauldron cut out to reveal a spellscar.

“Well met, my friends,” Gregor said. “I think things went successfully last night, no?”

Vraith gave an abbreviated bow. “May the Blue Fire burn inside you.” The human stood a pace behind her in deference, and he did not speak.

“Last night went quite satisfactorily,” Vraith said. “But that is not why we’ve come.”

Oh? Gregor thought, and he wondered what brought this arrogant priestess down out of her nest of followers. What he said was, “How can I be of help?”

“A young man was seen with one of the temple’s clerics this morning,” Vraith said. “We need to know where he is.”

“A young man? What does he look like?”

Vraith’s eyebrows arched up to disappear into her hairline. “You don’t know of whom I speak?”

“Perhaps I do,” Gregor said. “And perhaps I do not. Many people matching the description of ‘young man’ pass through and near the monastery every day.”

Vraith gestured to the plate-clad human. “Beaugrat, describe this Duvan person.”

Beaugrat stepped forward. “Duvan is dark skinned, of average height and sinewy. Very quick. Black hair, black eyes, and a day-old beard. He is known to work for the head of the Copper Guard, Tyrangal.”

Gregor kept his face implacable. “And what is your business with this man?”

Vraith said, “He has committed offenses against our members and is wanted for questioning.”

It was Gregor’s turn to be incredulous. “Offenses? What offenses?”

Beaugrat said, “He killed two members and stole their property.”

Gregor laughed. “Sounds like he’s wanted for more than questioning.”

“Do you know where he is or not?” Vraith asked, her tone darkening.

“I do not,” he said, dodging the question. “But I may have valuable information concerning his whereabouts.”

“And do you plan to tell me, or do I need to have you questioned as well?”

Behind Vraith, Kaylinn raised an eyebrow at Gregor. The half-elf’s tone and attitude had been pushing at him the whole time, and he finally snapped. “I will not be commanded in my own home, Vraith,” he said, his own tone growing fierce. “We work together, and together we can accomplish much. Apart …” He let the implied threat hang in the air.