Chancellor Balar

ryger5

An old sage puts down a dusty book and looks at you with a warm smile.

His hands show signs of severe arthritis, twisted and knotted like a pine tree. He reaches for his candle holder, the bright glow from the array of light seems to weave a spell, and you find yourself calm and content.

"You ask me about Balar? The one sometimes called Chancellor Balar?" the sage asks. His voice wheezes and creaks like a rusty barn door.

You simply nod, but you are not quite sure. You remember inquiring about something as you entered into here, it must have been your curiosity about Chancellor Balar.

The sage's incense is getting to you, so soothing! You breathe deeply and a great sense of calm comes over you.

You are too blissful to protest as he begins his tale...

RIDDLE OF THE SAGE



"If I had a silver piece for every rumor I've heard about Balar, I'd be a very rich man," the sage begins. "But I know the truth about him. The real truth, not the stuff SHADOW spins about him."

You breathe deeply again, something tells you, that you have come to the right place.

"He was born both an orphan and a mute. He was an abandoned child, a casualty of war," says the sage, his voice strained and weak.

You nod gracefully in recognition of this. You had heard Balar was born a mute. Seems so odd given how outspoken he is now.

"There's some debate as to when he was born," the sage continued. "There's all kinds of wild rumor he was born over a century ago. He doesn't show it of course. He looks no more than thirty years of age. I can't tell you the truth here, there's too much rumor and not enough fact. I can tell you, he lived in the great wheel known as Sigil, for a long time. That might explain, why he was born so long ago but has aged so little. Sigil can warp all kinds of things, including time itself."

"Sigil," you think to yourself, "what foreboding legends and myths that place has inspired!"

The sage waits a little, letting himself clear his throat and sip gently at a cup of water. He wipes his lips after the drink, but droplets of water still cling stubbornly to his silver beard. His eyes narrow and he continues...

"Balar's father was a Wild-Elf, from an obscure tribe in the Shining South. Not much is known about him, although I believe I have found evidence, he brutally assaulted and violated Balar's mother, which is what led to his birth."

"But he has such dark complexion and he has violet eyes," you ask, the words just flowing out of you as calmly and as natural as breathing in the sage's incense.

The sage nods, "He is no Drow, if that's what you are insinuating. I know those rumors are out there. He's from a tribe of Wild Elves, deep in the Shining South, they have much deeper complexions than the Eladrin or other Elves you might have seen up here in the north."

"There's one rumor cleared up," you think to yourself.

"He was adopted by a caravan of actors and artists. A travelling minstrel show, full of wild animals and incredible bizarre acts. Why they took caring for a mute Half-Elf is beyond me. They say he was a cute child though, and obviously very quiet, perhaps he had a certain charm as a young Half-Elf boy," the sage continues.



You nod again. Balar and SHADOW seem to have several links to theater, minstrel shows and caravans. SHADOW's history with theater troupes allegedly dates back centuries.

The sage pauses and then adds, "They say he eventually reunited with his father and his tribe of origin, as a young adult. It was not a happy reunion. His father was abusive and eventually denied paternity to the boy. He was beaten quite badly by his alleged father and he ran away to a merchant town along the shore the Lake of Steam."

You have heard of the Lake of Steam, a lake teeming with life (both timid and monstrous) in the Shining South.

"There he became an jeweler's apprentice. His fondness for find jewelry and rare gems is rarely matched now. He's quite the collector of them," the sage continued. "It is here he breaks his catatonic state and learns to read and write."

"Catatonic state?" you ask.

The sage nods, "He wasn't a mute by physical defect, but rather some deep psychological inhibition. Legend has it, when he was a young infant, some raiders came to his mother's hut looking to plunder and pillage. His mother hid herself and Balar inside the hut, but it was Balar's wailing and screaming that gave their location away and his mother was killed because of it. That deep psychological guilt, likely caused his catatonic condition. He learned at a very young age that speaking is dangerous."

"That explains his love of secrets," you add.

The sage nodded, clearly impressed with your wisdom.

"He gave himself the name, 'Balar' because the first two syllables he learned to pronounce as he broke his catatonic condition were 'Ba' and 'lar'".

You shrivel your nose, "That doesn't seem right."

The sage agrees with you, "Yes, that might be more folklore than truth. The name Balar has no particular significance in any language I know though. So it might be true."

"Another secret," you observe.

The old sage smiles and leans backward, letting the incense from his sudden movement waft over him. His face fading back away from the candlelight just a bit.

"After he learns to read and write, Balar's history becomes very muddled indeed. Some say he found the grace of Oghma. Some say his connection to Oghma is deeply personal. Others say he's not really a priest at all, that he just plays at one, simulating divine power through some other arcane means."

"What do you say old sage?", you ask quickly.

"Balar is religious and deeply spiritual. But, he is also philosophical. He's keen to embrace science as well as the magic of the gods. He's well-rounded that way. He loves art and literature and of course theater. I think the details are a distraction. Balar likes distractions, it keeps them guessing," the sage answers with a wry smile suddenly.

"And disguises? I hear he enjoys disguises?", you ask.

The sage shifts uncomfortably, "I had not heard that."

Your face contorts a little, like that of a perplexed predator who has suddenly lost sight of his quarry. "Really? Never heard that?" You press forward now, your mind clearing from the soothing effects of the incense.

The sage seems startled and pushes himself back even further. The incense stick is drained now and it no longer wafts any of its scent your way. This seems to discourage the sage even further.

"Disguises," you continue, "...like say dressing up as an old man, with knotted hands and rusty voice."

The sage smiles and takes a long pause.

"What if I told you, I am asking you foot to foot?" the sage asks, his voice suddenly much more clear than before.

You stand upright, you've found exactly what you were looking for the whole time.

"I would answer you knee to knee," you shake a little, hoping you can remember each key phrase.

"And if I took your hand as a friend?" the sage asks, now very calm and quiet.

"I would take your shoulder as a brother," you reply, your heart racing just a little in anticipation.

"We meet on the level brother," the sage says and he steps back away from the candlelight completely, to hide his face in the shadow.

"And we shall part on the square," you respond, a great sense of relief cascading over you.

The sage returns to the light. His face is much younger now, the high cheekbones, rugged tan and violet eyes make it very clear who he was the entire time.

"Chancellor Balar, an honor to meet you sir," you bite your lip a little as you say it.

"Now, now, none of this 'sir' stuff. On the level and on the square, remember?", Balar is in earnest as he says this. His voice has a gravitas behind it, that it did not have before.

You nod, remembering that within the brotherhood and sisterhood, there are only equals.

Balar smiles, "Welcome to SHADOW. How very resourceful of you to find me this way".

And you suddenly realize, you have no idea how you got here and yet somehow, already, it feels like home...