The creature in the Verdant Ring proved every bit as formidable as the stories had suggested. The Pot Belly fought with the desperation of a starving thing, but desperation is not enough to overcome those who stand together. We brought the giant down, and with its death the attacks upon the caravans should cease, at least for a time.
The creature had been carrying a wagon, however, and its contents proved far more interesting than the beast itself. The wagon was bound for Silas, the craftsman who had agreed to fashion armor from the carvaloth hides we had given him. Among the cargo we discovered another vial containing the cursed plant that has been appearing throughout our investigation. It seems the corruption is being moved across the countryside with far greater purpose than we had first imagined.
Alvaro and Amytiria immediately argued that the vial should be destroyed. I could understand their reasoning. We have already witnessed what these plants can do, and allowing another such specimen to remain intact carries obvious risks. Yet destroying every dangerous thing we encounter is not the same as defeating the danger itself. If we are to understand what we are fighting, we must sometimes be willing to study that which frightens us.
I therefore argued that the vial should be taken to the Arcane Enclave.
The discussion that followed was not a pleasant one. Alvaro was particularly firm in his opposition, and eventually made it clear that if we kept the vial, then I would be personally responsible for whatever consequences followed. I accepted this. Responsibility is the price of making a choice when others would choose differently.
In the end, the party agreed to keep the vial.
High Mage Ellandra and the alchemist Jorem from the Arcane Enclave examined it and, to my relief, proved considerably more useful than simply telling us that we had made a foolish decision. Through a ritual of their own, they transformed the vial and its contents into something resembling a beacon. It now reacts to the presence of its creator, allowing us to detect when we draw near to whoever is responsible for these cursed plants.
This may finally give us a way to find the one we have been calling the Healer.
There are rumors that the Healer is in truth a powerful spellcaster named Eldarast. Whether that is his true identity or merely another layer of the mystery, I cannot say. But for the first time, it feels as though we possess something more than fragments of a trail.
Later, when we were alone, Memento Mori confronted Alvaro about what had passed. He spoke with a firmness that surprised me, though perhaps it should not have. He made it clear that while Alvaro's beliefs were his own, his insistence that his judgment should prevail over that of the rest of us was unacceptable. If we are to call ourselves a party, then difficult decisions must belong to all of us, not to the most zealous among us.
Alvaro listened.
He did not surrender his convictions, nor should he. Faith that disappears at the first disagreement is not faith at all. But he accepted the decision of the group and, in doing so, demonstrated something that I suspect is more important than certainty: the ability to live with those who do not share it.
I have spent much of my existence serving beings whose word was absolute. In Heaven, there was no need for debate when the will of the gods was known. But the gods are dead, and certainty died with them. Perhaps this is one of the burdens mortals must now carry: the necessity of choosing together without any divine voice to tell them who is right.
It is a difficult burden. But perhaps it is also a form of freedom.
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