Obegard: A Rude Awakening

As they say back home, Bigby's Unapproachable Dung-heap has hit the Wind Fan. And I can't make any sense of any of it.

It's been less than half a day since I got here, and both my mission and this peace process are in tattered shreds. Will there still be hope for peace in the morning? Will the keep still stand in the morning? Will I wake up in the morning? I can't answer these questions, but I must sleep soon regardless if I'm to be of any use.

I came here with too many expectations, too much rigidity, too sure of myself and the parameters of the situation. I thought I was flexible enough, thought I'd look around, adapt to the circumstances, respond to my Master's wishes, and generally not get too involved. I had no idea that I'd get entangled like this, and was totally unprepared for this experience of dread, destruction, and futility.

When the alarms sounded, somehow I must have thought I could handle it myself. That's the only explanation for failing to wake my companions, my fellow wizards. Where are they, anyway? Did they block themselves inside, block out the screams? Did they try to help the Llyrians? As I still I don't understand my own actions, I don't trust that I can predict theirs.

Somehow the nature of my mission (it seems ridiculous to call an observer's discretion "secrecy" now, with terrible evil plots afoot) led me to unwise arrogance; I thought I should handle it alone, to see what I could see, to observe and correlate and decide and report. But apparently that's not how it works here, when worlds collide and there's no time to think. In hindsight, investigating the clamor alone was an incredibly foolish move. Fortunately, chance led me to collide (almost literally) with three other investigators. And what interesting individuals they are!

Malakar, at least, makes sense to me. He seems a straightforward and ordered man, pragmatic and focused. His facility with divine magic and his massive greatsword were both key to our survival this night. Although I don't share his dedication to Albrecht, I trusted him almost immediately as a champion of humanity and order. I was grateful for the presence of at least one person without secrets, one strong presence devoid of mystery.

I'm not nearly so sure about Ili. There's something a little scary about her zeal; or is it her appearance I'm responding to? Her force of will, the way she pummelled the armed and armored assassins with her bare hands, the flashes of anger in her eyes that spoke of righteous destruction -- they all make me want to back away a bit. Most of all, the sense that if one associated with her long enough, the sheer force of her love for Albrecht might override one's logical dispassion. On the other hand, she seemed a capable leader when everything went crazy... as long as she's occupied with a shared enemy, it's good to be with her. I just wouldn't want to be around her when she's bored and looking for somebody to convert.

At least you know where these religious types stand. When it comes to the short guy -- Borrow -- I know hardly anything at all.

I don't know where he's from, what he's doing here, how he came by his incredible abilities to move and hide. I've never seen anybody move like that, and I've never failed to see anybody move in the same way that I somehow (more than once) couldn't pin down his exact position or path. I'm embarrassed to admit my distress at the foolishness I felt every time I talked to him. It's been years since anybody at the spire made me feel like such a dullard! Yet I don't think his intent was prideful; it's as if he's from another world, and things which are subtle or tricky for me to grasp are obvious to him. Like the assassin's note: in hindsight, I can see where I was led astray by the changing transpositions in the cipher, but Burrow figured it out almost immediately. Similarly, my frustration at puzzling out the motivations of our assailants merely bemused him.

Perhaps I've been too long in the Spire, and this is merely an overdue education in common sense. Or maybe it's something else entirely. Perhaps Borrow is a great and ancient sage in humble disguise. Regardless, I hope to learn from him.

It's strange how I keep going back to our conversations, our decisions, how we moved and acted as a team this night. Maybe the other events are just too big to process right now... so many dead, so much fear and chaos.

I think I killed a man tonight. It's hard to remember, everything happened to fast. I remember the darts of force tearing through his chest... and fire, a scorching ray of fire... no, that was the other time. It wasn't what I expected. Neither as exhilarating nor as horrifying as I'd heard. Just a job to do, to save our lives, to try to restore order and security. Assassins to thwart. Two fights... three... if I count running haplessly from the mysterious elf who came out of nowhere and knocked out Ili and Malakar as if they were little children, saying "Spread the word, there shall be no peace." I was unprepared for invisible assassins, and only figured out how to locate them after their plan was nearly complete. And why did the temple explode? That part makes the least sense of all.

At least Sir Eric Kaisen lives, and Son of Clouds will revive too (or so they tell me). There may be a way to piece together something in the morning; almost anything would be preferable to the default denouement: mutual destruction of humans and elves in bitter and irrevocable war. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm going to try to help as best I can.

Perhaps we should share the note with the Elves in the grove, to share the truth and encourage their restraint and return to the process. I'll run that idea by Burrow and the others; I'm sure there's something obvious I've missed (sigh).

And what am I going to tell Gaston Bonhomme? To keep the barrier up, and prepare for war? That my mission was a joke? To send someone better equipped? That I'm planning to defer to a short stranger with a funny name because his judgement has proved superior to mine?

There are questions enough, mysteries enough, for a year of study. And no such time. No time at all.

Now, fool or not, I must sleep.

[ Edited to fix names -- sorry! ]