Lord Cambarth's Journal
4th of Frostfell, 13th Year of Exile
Today a most curious thing occurred. Asjan and I were discussing worker productivity when there was a soft knock at the door. Upon opening it, a violet-cloaked figure wearing a mask floated – floated! – in the air before us. Asjan gasped and froze. I asked this creature if I could help it, reasoning that since it knocked politely, in our fashion, it must have Intellect. The Thing introduced itself as “Lord Sarvaen,” a noble of Arwic, and offered me a business proposition. I asked what it had in mind.
“Sarvaen” floated into the room, the ragged trailings of its cloak fluttering, and explained that it had need for the unique crystals I had discovered in the mountain. Its voice was… Ah, but I lack the words. Deep it was, and oddly cadenced. It was beyond question not a man's voice, and sounded as if it came through a tunnel, or from the grave. Straight-faced, I asked what it offered in turn. At this, one violet-draped “arm” rose and placed a gem upon the table. I did not see its hand for the folds of the cloak.
It was a ruby; large, flawless, and more finely cut than any stone I have ever seen. I have not the words to do justice to this amazing artifact.
Exchanging raw crystal of undetermined worth for such incredible craftsmanship seemed like a sound decision, so I offered to draw up a contract. “Sarvaen's” cloak rippled, as if a swarm of insects were beating against the interior, and it said that true men preferred to do business without records.
At this, Asjan's nerve snapped, and he ran from the room shrieking hysterically. The Thing turned to mark his passage, and I believe I saw a flash of violet-blue light from behind the corner of its bizarre mask.
The deal, fortunately, was quickly agreed upon, and “Sarvaen” left a small pile of jewels behind, as a token of its good faith. I calculate their worth to be in excess of 100,000 Pyreal.
I do not trust this Thing by any account. But one cannot argue with the profit – which is, after all, why I am in this hellish place!
7th Frostfell
Asjan has disappeared. A badly written note, supposedly from him, was found, saying that he went home to Qalaba'r. I know the Thing did it. It still believes that I believe it is a man, and it must remain so improbably ignorant.
22nd of Seedsow, 15th Year of Exile
The deal with “Sarvaen” continues to be most profitable. Today I received three chests of his peerlessly wrought sapphires. Best of all, he remains ignorant of the Pool's existence. What a sending of the Hope Bringer! Money from Sarvaen, money from the desperate who hear of the Pool's remarkable ability. Brelax, that impossible idiot, blithely said to Sarvaen today that, “It does not matter that we have never seen your face.” Cursed fool! I beat him soundly.
Brelax and I today finished work on our Lord's altar. Such a beauteous thing! After so long hidden away in that lost crypt we found, the words of the Hope Bringer are once again worshipped openly, in the places where men walk. Most of the guards have joined us in celebration. The miners must remain ignorant, for now. They work hard, but I would not trust them all which this freedom, this new-found feeling of strength and invulnerability.
Blast. Again, the mountain quakes. It has been doing so since Sarvaen left this afternoon. I hope it doesn't interfere with our next delivery.