From the Journal of Lethagas of Qualinesti, started in the Year 26SC
Entry 14, In Godshome
I have few actual memories of the evacuation of Qualinesti during the War of the Lance. I was still very young at the time, barely more than a baby, and my father believes that the horrors I experienced caused me to block them from my mind. But sometimes, when sitting at a campfire, memories of screaming, the sound of beating dragon wings, and the sight of a forest aflame all around me flash into my mind.
As I sit here in this desolate valley, a fire raging and a skinned rabbit sizzling on a spit, some of those memory fragments are drifting through my mind, along with the both the joys and hardships I experienced while growing up in Qualimori.
One memory in particular is echoing through my mind.
My mother was very religious. When I asked her why the gods had let the dragons destroy home in Qualinesti. She had responded that Zivilyn had chosen to let the Dragonarmy destroy those elves who were weak in spirit and corrupted by the taint of humans. She believed that the gods had given the forest of Southern Ergoth to us, and that there the best of the elven nations would grow strong. She viewed the return of divine powers to the priesthood as evidence that the elves on Southern Ergoth were indeed chosen over all other peoples. The next step, she said, would be the rebirth of the legendary city of Godshome—only it would be reborn under the banner of a united elven kingdom.
Godshome. My mother loved telling and retelling the legends of Godshome, explaining in a dozen different ways how it was both a city where god-fearing people of all races gathered to worship and a secluded vale where those whom the gods found worthy were given their direct blessing. The city was supposedly built to appear like a giant wheel when viewed from the air while the vale contained living statues of all the gods and a pool which could grant mortals the power to reach the stars themselves.
I had only ever heard those stories from my mother, and I hadn’t heard about or thought of Godshome for years when suddenly Lynn of Gateway mentioned it.
She was a very strange woman that one, even for a human. She had every appearance of being a rogue and a scoundrel, yet before we parted ways she had used the map from Gilthanas’ pack and indicated not one but two places to which I might take him to find healing. And look of pain that crossed her face when Gilthanas started howling apologies at Silvara, Tanis Half-elven, and several others whom I couldn’t place. The way she winced made me almost think that she might have known some of the people he was seeing in his fevered visions, but when I pressed for details, she became rude and surly.
After lambasting me with slurs that I’d only heard the most black-hearted of villains level against my people she insisted that she was only doing this repay us for saving her life when the scum she was traveling with attacked her. She insisted that if she didn’t help me find a way to cure Gilthanas, she would have to kill him because he disgusted her so much. Yet, when she didn’t think I was watching her, I saw her look at my friend with such pity that I felt that rather than disgust she felt heartbreak at his state. But, if she was choosing to lie about her motivations, that was her choice.
The two places she added to Gilthanas’ map were “Godshome” and “River of Healing.” She explained that she’d heard of the places from a retired explorer and from other disparaging remarks it seemed this explorer was a mother whom she had little love for and who had showed little love for her. Still, Lynn was sure that the information on these sites was valid, and that I would find a cure for Gilthanas at either one.
The River of Healing is located in the faraway Vingaard Mountains
while Godshome was merely a few days flight away. “If there’s anywhere
the gods can still be found it’s there,” the rogue had assured me. “And
the gods can heal pretty much anything that might ail a mortal… except
lack of faith, I suppose.”
That was an interesting statement even if I am still not entirely
sure what she meant. After all, how could someone stand in the presence
of the gods and not believe? And if the tales my mother told were true,
then Godshome would have to be one of the most glorious sites on Ansalon.
But, now that I have arrived at Godshome, I see that it, like so many other places in the world, has lost all magic. I am glad my mother died before the Summer of Chaos, for its end would sure have broken her heart. However, the sight of this vale would have hurt her even more.
I found the ruined city of Godshome first, soaring on griffin back over the arid landscape of Neraka. A large encampment of Dark Knights appeared to have been established here, although for what reason I do not know; perhaps they were searching for signs of the departed gods as I’ve heard mystics from the Citadel of Light have done?
Whatever the reason for them being there, it was simply added motivation for me to avoid that city, to view it simply as the landmark that it is. According both to my mother and Lynn of Gateway, the gods could be reached directly in the vale, not in the city.
So, I flew the griffins into the nearby mountain range, soaring through narrow canyons and circling over narrow valleys that appeared in accessible to anything but creatures that could fly. Unlike most other mountain on Ansalon, these did not appear to even have the ruins of ancient ogre cities in them, perhaps even at the height of their civilization, those evil beings had shunned this range, sensing that the powers of the divine were powerful there. Nor did they seem to have any valleys that matched the description my mother had given—bowel-shaped with a circular pool in the middle.
As I searched, I also thought of how my mother had said that the valley could only be found if the gods wanted it to be found. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect—if the gods still resided there, they would allow me to find it… or not. I decided that I would search for four days. After that, I would head west in search of the River of Healing.
It took me two days to find the valley. During this time, Gilthanas slipped in and out of a half-awake state and violent rages during which he thrashed in the saddle. I eventually had to land and tie his arms to make sure that he didn’t unfasten his harness and fall to his death. I came to fear that he might kill himself before the poison did. But, the stories Godshome kept coming to my mind. They kept giving me hope. Gilthanas was the son of Speaker Solostaran, and he stood against the hoards of the Dragonarmies so that the Qualinesti could return to our homeland. Surely, if someone who had sounded as disreputable as Lynn’s mother had sounded could find Godshome, the gods would extend a welcoming hand to him.
My hopes started to wane when I circled above Godshome Vale. It was readily recognizable as the place I was seeking… a bowl-shaped valley with a lake that formed a perfect circle at its center. The water of the lake seemed strangely black but something shone white within it. The valley was lined by steeply rising, rocky slopes that offered no apparent exits from the valley that I could see from the air. The slopes were covered by blackened, toppled stumps as if the entire valley had been subjected to fire far greater than even that which had swept through Qualinesti when it fell to the Dragonarmy.
I landed the griffins. Gilthanas was unconscious, so I left him bound in the saddle. Nowhere could I see the statues of the gods that supposedly were to talk the valley. They were as absent as the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. As I walked toward the curious black lake, the breeze sent a fine gray ash scurrying back and forth across the barren valley floor.
When I reached the edge of the sunken area at the valley’s center,
I found myself gazing down upon not dark and polluted water but rather
a solid glass-like substance that was cracked, almost as if a giant had
struck it dead-center with a fist. Despite the cracks and the ashes that
were being pushed across it by the wind, the surface appeared highly polished.
Reflected in it, was that pale, scarred moon that had appeared in the heavens
on the night following the defeat of Chaos. I looked to the clear blue
sky. The sun was sinking behind the mountains and the moon was nowhere
in evidence.
There were no statues of the gods. There was no lake in which
mortals could swim to the stars. There was nothing here but ash and a mockery
of what had once been.
I cursed the gods, then and there. I cursed them for abandoning Ansalon, for giving people like my mother false home with their brief return after the War of the Lance. I cursed them for leading Lynn of Gateway to give me false hope and waste precious days in my quest to save the man who had saved my life. I dared them to strike us both dead. I dared them to show themselves, to prove to me that they were nothing but cowards who were so afraid for their own safety that they first shattered the world in response to the Kingpriest of Istar’s demands of submission and then fled in the face of Chaos’ yielded in the face of Chaos and left those who worshipped them not even the magic of wizards. I raged at the heavens until my throat grew soar, and until I noticed that Gilthanas was raging right along with me.
I realized the futility of crying out to the gods. They are either deaf or dead. The ashes in this valley, the ashes that will be impossible to keep from clinging to the rabbit that I am roasting, are probably their remains. Whatever the truth is, the gods are gone. I sought their aid, and they could provide none. I will once again restrain Gilthanas in the saddle of one of the griffins and then we will travel toward Solamnia in search of the River of Healing. Or, better yet, a sage who will be able to provide a cure even sooner.