View source for Complicity of Thrius in the Assassination of Cyrus

'''Testimony from the Memoirs of Mondecalm, Book I:'''

Thrius knew what Balathar wanted to talk to him about.  He also knew why he was going to speak with him below deck in secret, and alone.

	Thrius came with all his weapons, and a few quiet spells protecting him.

	Once Thrius entered Balathar’s small, austere quarters, Balathar bayed Thrius sit down on a chair near a nightstand, not far from which Balathar sat, his eyes serious.

	“Let’s keep our voices down.”

	“I’ll speak just as loud as I want,” the dwarf said loudly.

	Balathar’s anger stirred slightly, but quickly went down.

	“I know why you want to talk to me,” the dwarf continued with his grumbling voice.  “They’re suspicious aren’t they, maybe not of what you and me are talking about, but on the whole they are suspicious.  We have some pretty wise fellows up there, and they are piecing things together… I am piecing things together.”

	“Piecing what things together Thrius?”

	“Things like, I don’t know, the fact that your tax money seems to go to the treasury only to end up back in your pockets…”

	“Yes, but I spend it for…”

	“… or perhaps the systematic murders of the bosses of Alecthor’s Thieving Guild in Urstwater, the burning of his estates and the fact that Alecthor himself is missing.”  (This aroused a small smile from Balathar because he knew for a fact that Joel Vexus had destroyed Alecthor’s drug cartel and eventually killed the master thief himself in a small battle outside of Degrada between both their guilds.)  

	“And then there’s the death of the old Baron, and the loss of Cyrus.  I do wonder where he went.”
	“Fuck you.”

	“You know good Baron,” the dwarf said from his dull eyes behind which sparked genius, “that’s one thing no one has linked to you, the disappearance of that bright young man.  No one, with all that intelligence up there, has even thought that you had anything to do with it.  Why should they?  You know, knowing you, I would think that you would be able to get yourself out of any of the other accusations, even if they proved them, but I think you might have some trouble if they knew about Cyrus.”

	Balathar’s eyes narrowed.

	“And if,” the dwarf continued, “I were to die, or suddenly disappear, I told Virgil to go to a certain place and dig up a certain manifesto of mine, and not to tell anyone of this at all costs.  So really Balathar, you should watch my back at all times.”

	The Baron’s eyes were blank.

	“Then what do you want Thrius.”

	The dwarf smiled.  “Oh I don’t know yet if I want anything, although I am thinking I might want justice.”

	“If you do that,” Balathar spat, “I guarantee you at least one other person will go down with me.”

'''A Future Confession of Thrius'''

The candles are flickering the last of their rays in this tiny office. I am brooding over this page, wishing to convey to you a thought that has bitten and nagged at me for a long while. When tomorrow breaks, my return to this plane is uncertain, and I have chosen to leave my thoughts on a certain incident with you. My will is for you to speak on my behalf on such matters if indeed I do not return. Of all of my wives, you know me best.

 

The incident I am alluding to is the assassination of Cyrus. As for his murder,  and my role in the conspiracy, I have heard the conjectures and the accusations. His betrayal by myself and Balathar is a claim no longer considered a potential theory but a confirmed fact. However, I write to you openly for any such powers that would even care enough to pursue justice against us are long gone. Yet, the memory of the incident compels me to write of it, for it has reached my ears that it is presumed that I had been Balathar’s puppet even as far back as that first battle at Fort Ramzar. I had been and continue to be a dwarf of higher calling and station than even he, and I believe it time to state my case in the matter, if only to set my own mind at ease. 

 

I have waded in the muddy banks of surface affairs for so long that even I have had to stop and ponder afresh. Why had I deigned to entangle myself with those petty men and their feuds? And why Balathar over Cyrus? In the end, I draw my answer from the warm and glowing core of truth I derive all meaningful answers from. The humans buzz and twitter all across the surface like whining insects, spinning about in their short, little lives thinking they have the perspective to ascertain a deeper understanding of their cousins, the dwarves, gnomes and even the elves. Because they lack a true empathy with their world, they can only assign motives to behavior based on their own desires. The years I’ve spent with them have only confirmed what I’ve believed for centuries. They are short-lived and driven by fear in all that they do. 

 

I threw my lot in with Balathar because it was pleasing to Ta ‘Kron. You see, the humans are too brief a race to know that conflict is the true mother of progress, and progress is the only true sacrifice that is fit to place at the feat of our honorable Lord.  In conflict, the mind is steeled. We are forced to become more clever or perish. More than most other races, the humans truly fear death and it is that fear that fuels their resourcefulness. Resourcefulness births creativity, and the fires and billows of The Forge are ignited. This is the true worship of Ta’ Kron.

 

  When we had returned from Mirsaki, with our coffers utterly dripping with liquid assets, I could foresee what would unfold soon enough. Yet, I did not imagine it happening so rapidly! The humans, and our motley band was no exception, are a fearful people. When they are vulnerable, and even the mightiest of them are at their heart, they spend all of their mental energy seeking a source of power to cover their sensed weakness. Once that source is found, their mental energy is not redirected to more creative endeavors, but is rather spent protecting that source against any perceived threats, no matter how petty they may be. What the humans want most is what ultimately destroys them in the end.

 

We paraded into the city of Mirsaki, purchased it outright and immediately set to work governing. You know me enough to imagine that I had no desire to lead. My heart was as it still is: aimed to the furthering of Ta’ Kron’s influence of the surface cultures through His ordained work, not babysitting some backwater rabble. So our band was at a cross roads. With Mirsaki as our base of operations, the spheres were the limit, but with whom at the helm?

 

Balathar approached me himself and waxed vehemently about Cyrus’ machinations, his bloated sense of authority, and his growing arsenal of toys to help enforce his control. Yes, Balathar approached me, and I cast my lot with him, and so the rumors spread that a lowly half-elf knave wooed and convinced a high priest of Ta’ Kron.  Know this: Silver tongue be damned. I could see through Balathar’s speech long before he even approached me. Both Balathar and Cyrus showed signs that they each carried a capacity for leadership as well as a bent towards self interest even before we acquired our trove. I ascertained the coming conflict weeks in advance.

 

No, Cyrus was not a burgeoning tyrant like our half-elf described. He was a prudent administrator, and that is why I steeled myself against him. That molten core that sources my council in murky times is the will of our Iron Lord. What would lead to progress, which pleases him most? A Mirsaki led with prudence, that makes little waves in the sea of history, or a Mirsaki fueled by a driven and tempestuous half-elf? 

 

The little ants. Alcon, Eerie, Darwin, and yes, Cyrus the twice felled. What did they accomplish in the end? They scurried about, schemed their schemes, collected their toys and then vanished. Only Virgil had the vision to see past his own small self. He even had the strength to look his own god in the face and not crumble under the magnitude of it all. But even he is vanished now. Of that ambitious little band, I am all that is left. I sided with Balathar because I knew when these fleeting souls had been wiped from the mortal plane, there would still be the steel, the smoke and the glinting symbols of The Craft, and they would remain as vivid testaments to the wisdom of Ta’ Kron long after the clamor of our heroes had subsided. If I am indeed a murderer, I murdered in worship of Him, and history is my advocate.

 

Tomorrow I go to reclaim our Lord’s library from Arch Heat. I have not been a steadfast father to our children for some time now, so I doubt my absence will be anymore notable in this instance. If after three weeks I am not returned to you, greet the clerics at Thogdaryne and presume me dead. They are the executors of my material estates and will see to the provision of both you and the rest of the house. See that this letter is read to my sons and retained at the office of the Molten Seat at Thogdaryne.

 

The might of our Lord and the strength of his will surround you always,

 

Thrius of Dwarven Forge