from the Journals of Morningstar 776 Series C, Warforged Wizard
by Richard Smyth
CHAPTER ONE
Date: 25 Aryth 996YK
It takes two weeks for the news of the Treaty of Thronehold to reach us on the battlefield outside of Cragwar, where our units had been assigned to protect the diamond- and gem-mines of the Blackcap Mountains from Aundarian and Thrane raiders and invaders. I will never forget that moment: I was in the middle of a chess match with my captain. I was losing, for I was programmed to lose: the Series B version of Morningstar 776 never lost at chess, to the annoyance of its officers, so Series C was produced to correct this minor oversight. I am unable to plan more than five or six moves out, and as a result am prone to making errors in strategy and tactics. When playing a skilled opponent, I am very much able to lose, and there is never any sure winner as with Series B.
This is very much like life, I have concluded after many evenings of contemplation watching over my snoring captain.
(And so it was at the end of the Last War. Who can be said to be winner? Who loser? Can the nation that bombed the Mournland out of existence be called "winner"? Our units were defending the gem-mines of the Blackcaps, a region whose control had passed between Aundair and Thrane and Breland throughout the Last War. We had "won" the territory, but the consequences of winning included many new responsibilities, our unit's assignment among them. And always the fear of losing them back again, to one or another of the nations. The meaning of winning is fraught with complications, I believe.)
(I write this many months later, while in the care and training of Larendil, hermit wizard of the Icetop Mountains. Unlike humanoid memory, I recall all things perfectly and vividly.)
So there I was, considering my next move, when the news of the Treaty came. My captain stood up, whooped for joy, and ran among the officers in the control tent, hugging and celebrating. Alcohol was served, and men caroused and danced and hooted. I made my move and sat back, waiting for the game to resume. But it never did. Later the next afternoon, when the captain finally stirred from his revelry, he approached me, looking sad.
"Morningstar," he said. "The game's over. You're free to go. The Treaty grants your kind freedom. Isn't that wonderful?!"
Free? Freedom is like winning: fraught with complications.
"It's your move, sir." I replied. "Your position is tactically sound. You have many advantages. If you continue to play correctly, you are bound to win."
"Morningstar," he said, more insistent. "The game is over. The war is over. I'm going home to my family. You are free—free to go."
"Free," I said, leaning back. I didn't move for two weeks.