Mysteries of Azadon

 (I should note, the following entries are all my own solo adventures from when i was unavailable for full group activity. Besides Zedyethe and some dialogue from her player, all characters and events are from my own writing.)

Day 16: We took a break for the night, hoping to clear out the rest of the dungeon the next day. The construct and samsaren left our party completely. Fine by me, our group was too full as it was.

I wanted to spend the day figuring out this mysterious sword…Azadon. The others were eager to move on and clear the dungeon, but I declined. I told them I had a few other errands, which they believed without question. I kept the sword hidden, not knowing what they would think of the black blade.

Navigating my way out of the dank sewers, I was at a loss where I could find the information I needed. The library wasn’t helpful. It had plenty of books, but none of them held any knowledge on the arcane, except in superstition and children’s tales. I resorted to the taverns, my default method of finding secret information. I had a decent friendship with most of the local bartenders.  Magic weapon smuggling was a big topic in the underground, hopefully I could find someone with ties inside the city. Most of the tavern keepers were at a loss at the mention of magic. Takes a special sort of criminal to get mixed up with magic.

My last hope was in a remote tavern sitting in a dimly lit corner of the city. “The Clever Mule” I believe it was called, complete with a sign showing a donkey with what I assume is meant to be a wizard’s pointed hat on. As luck would have it, the bartender directed me right to a gnome gentleman that had started staying here the past couple days. Word had it he was only looking for work with magic paraphernalia, which suited my needs just fine. From my angle, all I could see was the tiny man’s cloak over his head, a tall mug of mead in one hand and a quill hastily scratching out a madman’s writing in the other hand. As I drew closer, something clicked. I recognized that writing, that stitched together pocket book, even that dusty brown cloak. I casually pulled up a chair next to the gnome in his dark little corner, facing away from the rest of the world. The gnome stopped his rapid writing and slowly turned in my direction, showing his dirt brown-gray skin. I knew immediately my hunch was right.

“Bartleby Crux!” I proclaimed into his face, startling the couple at the next table, but hardly even phasing the old gnome before me. 

“Revilo. I was hoping I could avoid your foolishness for at least one lifetime.” He gave a wide, sharp toothed grin and lowered his hood. The last time I saw Bartleby his hair was a vibrant violet color, in stark contrast to his dingy brown-gray skin tone. Now we were both older, but he had aged much more. His hair was almost entirely white, a few streaks of violet still mixed in, giving a lavender color if one were to look from far away. He was always sensitive about his ridiculously colored hair, always travelling with that old cloak of his to cover it up. Now it looked even more ridiculous, but I kept that to myself.

We got to talking and drinking, reminiscing about the old days in the Arkhosian. Bartleby grew up in the lava caverns below Incendium. Gnomes were treated poorly by the dragonborn, even as gnomish inventions and magic weapons became a solid staple in the Legion’s arsenal. When I first met Bartleby, it was on one of my merc jobs, stealing explosives and firearms for a resistance group. Crux was a researcher for the Legion. Not by choice obviously, he was chained to his lab table when I broke in. I considered killing him so as to leave no witnesses, even brought my blade to his throat. The little man begged for his life, promising that he would let me take whatever I wanted as long as he would be spared. Took a moment to figure things out, but I had a better idea. I asked if he was the one that built all of the war machines in the room, which he answered yes and bragged on being one of the most renowned and educated engineers in the Legion labs. Then I asked if he liked it here. He looked shocked. I don’t think anyone ever asked if he liked where he was before. I’m not sure he ever asked himself either. After a moment, he told me no. He worked impossible hours under extreme stress and got nothing but table scraps back for it. I told him about the resistance group outside the city, which he smiled at. He knew where I was going with this. “You want me to help them.” He mused, “Create weapons against the Legion instead.” I solemnly nodded, not knowing where his allegiance would fall at this point. He made the most awful, mischievous smile I had ever seen and offered his hand to shake. “It would be my pleasure.”

Ever since, Bartleby Crux has been a reliable ally against the Legion, and to the mercenary world as a whole. He started manufacturing elite military weapons both magical and alchemical, selling them to the highest bidder, never to a political affiliate.  We’ve had run ins over the years when I was still in the desert. Despite how selfish and egotistical the old gnome is, he never forgets a debt. I gave him a new life, and Bartleby has been grateful for it all these years. He may not be thrilled about it, but he will do me a favor if he can.

I asked what Bartleby was doing in Fastigum, to which he replied “the usual.” I knew that to be illegal weapons trade, and nodded. He said he heard about my doings all over the city, which would explain why he never tried to contact me. Crux was a private man, never wanted attention especially in his business. Understandable why he never sought out a local hero.

“So what do YOU need, Revilo.” He whispered, thinking I was in the market for something.

“Information,” I whispered back, “On a special kind of weapon that I’m in possession of. Or possibly….the weapon is the one in possession of me.”

Bartleby looked intrigued, giving me that creepy smile he has when something excites him, “Go on.”

I lifted the sword up, still wrapped in a cloth, and placed it on the table. My gnome friend slowly reached for the edge of the cloth, pulling it back to reveal the black metal hilt set with a dark ruby. He looked confused and stared more closely at the ruby, even taking out a little magnifying glass.

“Let me see!” he hissed. I initially thought he was addressing me, but apparently the magnifying glass responds to his commands. It glowed briefly and looking through the lens revealed that yellow eye in the ruby, staring with disdain at the curious gnome. “It has a soul…” he muttered to himself, “How does a sword have a soul?”

“Azadon.”

Bartleby jumped, grasping the back of his chair. “Who said that?”

“Me.” The mysterious blade said in its deep voice. Apparently, it can talk alongside the telepathy. That was unexpected. “I am not ‘a sword.’” It continued, “My name is Azadon and you will address me as such.”

“Astounding…” Bartleby said in a hushed voice “I’ve never seen anything like this, Revilo. Where did….Azadon come from?”

“I don’t know.” I turned my attention to the ruby at my sword’s hilt. “And you won’t tell me, will you?” The eye inside the ruby was gone, its voice silent. Azadon wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“As much as this…Azadon intrigues me, it’s beyond my area of expertise.” The gnome explained, stuffing the magnifying glass back into his satchel. “I can tell you everything there is to know about alchemical formulae or enchantments or rare metals, but a living soul inside of a weapon? Even a talking weapon, by the gods. It should be impossible.” Bartleby sat in thought, stumped. “Perhaps the Mages’ College. They have a facility in Fastigium, yes? If we could find a way to gain their trust, maybe they would know more about Azadon, or a case similar to this.”

I had never considered that. Zedyethe could even get me an audience with the archmage. But I didn’t want her getting involved in all of this…it could be dangerous, this sword that shouldn’t exist. I had no other way of knowing though.

“Alright.” I said, getting up from my seat, “Thanks for your help again, Bartleby. It was nice catching u-“

“Hold on!” Bartleby held up a single oil stained hand in protest, “You really can’t expect me to sit idly by as you discover the secret behind the most fascinating weapon I’ve ever seen. I’m coming with you, if only to find out this Azadon’s origins.” He placed his hood over his lavender-white hair and slung his satchel over his shoulder. It seems I’m constantly finding companions in the realm outside Arkhosia.

I asked Zedyethe about meeting with the archmage to ask a few questions, to which she had her own concerns. What do you need to know? Is there something wrong? I tried to calm her, but she was persistent. She even gave me that look she always has when she wants her way….and usually gets it. “Revi…”she said, her voice sultry, “Just tell me and then I’ll see what I can do. I can’t very well schedule an appointment with a random magus over nothing.”

I gulped, trying to find a way out. “Just this once.” I tried to reason, “Do this one favor for me, without question, and I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

She looked skeptical, I could see she wanted to argue more, but she knew how stubborn I could be. “Alright.” She pointed a slim finger, charged with magic, inches away from my face, “But you’re paying me back big time. Whenever and however I like. Understood?” I slowly nodded, which made her smile as she turned, leaving for the college shortly after.

The archmage was a tall, proud looking elf with long blonde hair, dressed in a robe of vibrant blues and purples lined with patterns of gold thread. Along its oceanic fabric, I could occasionally see the glimmer of arcane marks scattered all on the robes, many of which were very old. Perhaps they were the marks of all the archmages in the colleges’ history? I could have asked, but I had more pressing questions.

The archmage sat before his vast, clean desk in an ivory chair not unlike a throne, silent. Waiting for me to speak first. “Lord Archmage,” I began, bowing to show respect. He waved it off, and I continued less formally, “I have questions about a mysterious sword that I have found.” I pulled Azadon out of the cloth and presented it for the elven wizard to see clearly “Do you know anything of this?”

The archmage reluctantly leaned forward for a closer look, inspecting it for a brief time. He made eye contact with me for a moment, still silent, and rested back in his great chair. “What you have is called a Black Blade.” He said, sounding bored “This one is named Azadon, if it hasn’t told you so already. It is a sentient weapon that binds its own destiny with that of an individual who may best utilize its power. These individuals are rare, the sort that are equally skilled in both the sword and the arcane. Magi, as most would call you. Half-witted abusers of power, as others would say. Myself included in the latter.” He stood from his chair slowly and straightened a few books on his shelf. Even aside from the jab at my life’s work and study, I disliked this elf considerably. “Now I’m not saying that every magus finds a Black Blade just sitting around. That would be total chaos. No, the Blade chooses a master that it deems worthy of its own goals, for better or worse regarding the rest of the world. It is a blessing and a curse. Black Blades hold considerable power and you will never find a more suitable weapon to your technique. But you have a responsibility to it as well, to complete your destiny with Azadon. Whether you like it or not.” I felt a chill go down my back, and the archmage slowly turned to make eye contact. I swear, the man never makes a sudden move. ”To be honest, there isn’t any more I could tell you about this. In all my time, I have only ever seen one other Black Blade, and every report or sighting I’ve cared to pay attention to deems them a myth. I do however know of an….expert, so to speak, on this subject.”

That caught my attention and gave me an excuse to interrupt him “An expert? Where can I find him?”

The archmage gave a bitter smile that made me want to smack him. “She. Andraste used to be a professor here, actually. Used to be. Her teaching methods were too…brutal for my liking, and wholly unfit for an institute of learning such as this. I personally terminated her service here a few years after I became archmage. Last I had heard, Andraste was captured by the Legion for being part of some rally against Dythan. Serves her right, in my opinion. My apologies for leading you astray. Short of waiting for her release, I don’t see how you could possibly find any way to contact her.”

“Then you have no imagination.” I wrapped Azadon in the cloth again and headed towards the door, feeling a smile come on as I saw the archmages confusion, “Thanks for-“

The door slammed shut just as I was opening it. I turned back to the archmage, annoyed. “Was there something else?”

“Payment.” He said solemnly, eyes glowering down at me “My time is valuable and you dare not squander it on inane questions about an enchanted sword, however rare it may be. I-“

Zedyethe came in at that moment, a stack of paperwork in her hands. She acted surprised to see me still in the room, but I knew she did that on purpose. I knew her sneaky little tricks. “Oh!” she said, looking between us, “I’m sorry, I thought you two were done. Anyway, here’s the paperwork for this semester, sir.”

The archmage looked flustered now, apparently not so serious and nasty around a pretty girl. “That’s fine Zedyethe, just lay it on my desk. Your acquaintance was just about to make his payment for my time and be on his way.”

Dye looked shocked for a moment, but regained herself. “Revilo would be my friend, and last I checked we don’t charge friends of the college to ask a few questions.” She started in with that sultry voice of hers that makes men, women, even rampaging monsters her sweeties “Really now, does this have to be an issue?”

The archmage looked comically torn between his rage at me and his image in front of Zedyethe. “Fine!” he stammered, “You may leave, magus.”

I barely heard the last of his words before I booked it out of that office and towards the front door to find Bartleby. Dye briskly chased after, stopping me in a grand foyer filled with paintings and statues of famous alumni. “Wait! Can’t you please tell me what’s going on?”

I shook my head, “You promised me, no questions.” She looked sad, being left out of my plans “Look, I just don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want you to get involved.” I gulped “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Idiot, I don’t want you getting hurt either!” Dye yelled back, bringing attention to us from a group of students across the room. “Hehe, its okay. Nothing wrong here!” she explained to them. They still seemed pensive, but went on their way. One stayed behind, looking around to make sure no one else was around.

“Professor Neema? Could I talk to you?” the boy said nervously.

Dye put on a cheerful smile for the student “Of course. What can I help you with?”

“Well…” the boy looked cautiously at me, but continued despite my presence “If someone had, say, taken a familiar in training out of its cage and it accidently got away….what would happen to the person responsible?”

Zedyethe looked angry for a moment but calmed down before she spoke. “That person would take a failing grade for the entire semester.” The boy became pale at the sound of that.

“What if he were to replace it?” I interjected “Offer another creature suitable as a familiar?”

The boy looked hopeful and Zedyethe thought the situation over. “I suppose that would even things out. But its still a matter that’s up to the archmage…”

I reached into my pack and presented all my hermit crabs (except Henry)to the boy “Here,” I said, urging him to stretch his hand out, “These four crabs have been with me for some time. They are tame and accustomed to magical energy, even willing to bear an arcane mark. The archmage should be lenient if you promise to replace one run away familiar with four fresh ones. Right?”

The boy outstretched his hand and looked delighted as the crabs moved along his arm, single file and adorable. “Okay! Thank you, sir. I don’t think we even have any crab specimens in the lab. Again, thank you so much!” the boy hurried off, careful not to drop any of the new crabs.

Dye gave me a funny little smile. “That was sweet of you. You’re a good guy, Revilo.”

I shrugged “Sometimes.”

Dye stared at me for a moment, ‘Do whatever it is you have to do. I won’t stop you or pester you anymore. Just come back safe. Got it?”

“Got it.” I walked out the of the college, wondering why Zedyethe cared so much.