The Night of the Vanished Guards: When the Arche Did Withdraw Its Watchmen
By Eleawen Galathiel
Upon this day, dear readers, all the cities of Arche Terre did make the same discovery, as bewildering as a tavern bereft of ale: not one guard in sight. Neither the watchmen of Durakiss, nor the soldiers of the warring parties of the Pact ‘gainst Oloth – all vanished, like dew beneath the sun. The wind doth carry men’s lies, ’tis said… yet this time ’twas the forest itself that did whisper truth unto thy humble chronicler.
Armed with mine ivory quill and questions sharper than a Port Saban dagger, I did seek answers at the city’s very summit. And lo, what I did learn.
A grim tally… and one yet unfinished. Her Majesty Queen Jula Marin-Maeviir did confirm the worst: 346 dead amongst Durakiss’ forces, and likely a thousand for the whole Defence Pact. But mark this well, for it is the very heart of the tragedy: the count is not yet done. Each day, more families do knock upon the authorities’ door to name an absent one – a father, a daughter, a neighbour gone to market, never to return. Many civilians too are missing, and none can yet say how many. The Terraformer, it seemeth, made no distinction betwixt uniform and gown, betwixt sword and market basket. As the elven proverb whispereth: when night falleth without reason, even the lanterns lose their count.
More wondrous still – the drow soldiers likewise did vanish, leaving no bodies for their kin. For, as Lady Illiana Nehra did whisper, the culprit hath a name: the Terraformer. That ancient machine did malfunction, and… rebuilt the soldiers into something else. Trees. Beasts. Lady Nehra spake words I shall ne’er forget: « If thou seest a crate running through a city… it may well be made of one of our soldiers. Or of a few. » I did laugh. Then I laughed no more – bethinking me of crates that might hold, within, the faces of civilians. Erevan doth forgive jests, yet this one surpasseth even his humour.
The Arche Tower, silent. Add to this that the Arche Tower may no longer be entered – investigation thwarted, our sovereigns did sigh. Coincidence? As the elven proverb sayeth: a closed door is never chance, but a question asked in whispers. And how shall one count the missing whilst the very source of the mystery doth elude us?
Mourning is arranged. Durakiss shall not remain without answers nor tribute. Queen Jula Marin hath already sent letters to the families, and a ceremony shall be held on Sunday in memory of the Terraformer’s victims and of the war itself. Lady Nehra spake it with a grace that honoureth her house: the war being ended, no fight, no impromptu labour shall distract us from paying respect to those who guarded our borders. And His Majesty King Alak doth seek a place for a memorial – mayhap in the temple district, near the cemetery’s gate. Three « ayes » I did obtain to quote them for thee, good readers. The Gazette never betrayeth its sources… yet it quoteth its sovereigns most gladly.
Thy chronicler’s judgement. What is there to retain? That the Pact’s war is over, yet it claimed one last tribute – a tribute still being counted, alas, and growing heavier with nameless civilians. That a machine meant to shape the world did shape our protectors – and our neighbours – into street furniture. And that even the Arche, this night, did play a jest worthy of mine own god – save that Erevan doth ever return what he borroweth, with a wink. I shall seek tidings of Elysium, and of the tally of the missing withal, be certain of it. And if I told thee I shall learn what the Tower hideth… wouldst thou believe me?
When the machine doth play at god, man must play at remembrance: for Erevan changeth forms, yet never the memory of hearts.