1st of Gozran, 4710
We have arrived, and I am thankful to say, I have missed all the action. As per my Master's instructions, I will now commence with a record of the exploration of the Greenbelt.
More than a month has passed since the Lord-Mayor of Restlov announced plans to begin exploration and speculative assessment of the region to the south of Brevoy collectively known as the Stolen Lands, and of the many sent southward the two expeditionary forces I find myself becoming increasingly familiar with. I wonder some nights if I picked the right team to tie my horse to, but - outside of my employer - for a company of rustic pioneers they seem skilled enough to get the job done.
The two chartered companies have the same stretch to explore and clear of bandits. The larger company seems to have fallen strongly under the influence of members of House Medvyed and Surtova, and it is debatable if any of them have any skill for woodcraft. Thus I approached the smaller group, provincial though they may be, and took employment with their most noble member, the honorable Khorani Lebeda.
The makeup of the newly chartered "Green Hand Band" is as follows:
- Khorani Lebeda, my patron, a reasonably responsible (if quiet and unassuming) member of his House who, having been given permission to establish a branch family now that the main's star is rising has taken this opportunity to insure that his new line has lands and respect to go with it. I'm sure his mixed elf-blood has little to do with their desire to see him elsewhere given their recent successes at Court.
- Nyel Furlein - friendly fellow, Nyel brings to the expedition something no one else in either party can claim, a familiarity with the region. Nyel has been a trapper along the border for some years now, and hopes to get in on the ground floor if the rumors of a colony being founded prove true. Apparently he and some friends hope to establish a Glass-blowing business if they can find a location with the right quality of sand.
- Anthea Perren, a Rostlander touched by the call of Eristil to take up arms in his name, she hopes in time her brother Richard will join the expedition as well.
- the Jessup family, that being Hebediah ("Pa"), Miriam ("Ma") and Hezekiah ("Jr."), are a Pioneer family hoping to get in, like Nyel, on the ground floor. "Pa" Jessup is an experienced trapper, carpenter, prospector and blacksmith, and his wife seems equally accomplished, though her bent is more in the alchemical arts.
- Eragon, a peculiar refugee from Numaria, who seems to be no mere alchemist or scholar, but continues to rave about his strange barbarian sorcery-science. He also sought to employ me, but I refused. I can not dishonor the memory of my good parents in serving a man who is willing to own slaves. Reprehensible practice. Would that this particular peeve of mine not be a sore spot with myself and many a prior employer, but it is, and has resulted in my premature dismissal enough times I find it better just not to hire myself out in the first place to such insufferable people. Perhaps I can persuade my Master to speak with him on the civilized advantages of employed freemen over enforced servitude.
- Benetaro, Eragon's bodyguard and traveling companion, also from Numaria. Of mixed human and orc kinship, he far better fits the expectations I have of an uncivilized barbarian.
- Estar, Eragon's slave, used primarily as his personal chef. Not a bad position, given the stories my parents told me of their life in Cheliax. Still, it isn't right for one man to own another.
To that list we should add Jacobi, an excellent porter I recommended to my Master. He has served well in the past. I do wish everyone would stop taking bets every time he starts up a game of "King of the Stump" though. It is a game of strategy, not chance! Besides, it cheapens the game.
One of the first bits of advice I gave my lordship was to hold off a month, at least until the Winter was past. It is a hundred miles from Restlov to Oleg's Outpost, not a journey to take lightly. Thankfully they agreed, and held off the journey until two weeks ago, when we began the long and arduous (and blessedly uneventful) trip here. Yesterday my master joined Pa Jessup, Eregon and Anthea in riding ahead to prepare for our arrival, and from what I have found out, it is a good thing they did! Apparently the Outpost has been "taxed" heavily by local bandits over the Winter, and were due for a little "collection" this very morning. Our Outriders set an ambush for them though, "Pa" and Anthea barring the gate to the old fort while Eregon and Master Khorani caught their leader in a crossfire, taking the surly criminal swiftly. Anthea received some bruised ribs for her attempt to startle their horses - while she may be devoted to nature, animals do not seem to care much for her. Luckily they do like Pa Jessup, and he calmed the beast down before it could do her more harm. The rest of the bandits went down swiftly enough. Those that survived lived only long enough to be beheaded by Pa Jessup's axe.
It was their heads that poked up out of the fog to great us when we arrived near mid-day at the fort. Now that the rest of the Green Hand Band is here, Pa, Anthea, Nyel, Benetaro and my good master Khorani plan to follow the bandit's trail back to their lair. They believe their camp to be a day or two away, given the amount of food they were carrying, but I believe erring on the side of caution would be the best choice, and am packing a full weeks rations for my lord. Oleg and his wife, Svetlana, have been very generous in their thanks, giving us free room and board for the time being (and very good prices for what we have to sell). He has also offered a nice deal in trade if we can get back his wife's ring, which the ruffians stole. Their leader, a fierce woman armed with two hatchets, is apparently quite the cutthroat, having pulled the ring off her finger as a special "tax" for not chopping off her husband's leg! Shameful!
Gozran 1, 4710, Oathday
And so we arrive, a slightly disheveled mess. Just the way I like to wake up.
Ah, a new place, new faces, new friends. New special friends. With benefits. I think I'll like it here at this little outpost, though I think Oleg's wife is giving me the stink-eye. Heh.
She needn't worry. The Dragon's Eyes seem to be giving me all the business I need.
Can it be only a week ago they came through the droll little town I'd hitched my wagon to? That Numarian barbarian of theirs, Zorask, quite took my breath away. Seemed time after that to hitch my wagon to their train and follow their trail to Olegs.
And just in time for Spring. Flowers in bloom. Good times. Times for dance and excitement!
These Drangon's Eyes, they're one of the two companies the Swordlords up in Reslov chartered to scout out the Greenbelt. Some like me, some don't, but Zorask likes me, and his buldging muscles seem to have persuaded the rest to let me tag along.
I've made a little list of them. Making plans for future notches in my bedpost, perhaps, or perhaps not. We shall see...
- Zoresk, my favorite customer. I'll have to give him a discount if he keeps this up. My big burly barbarian has an even bigger sword!
- Jan One-eye, a knight in not-so shiny armor, always preaching about justice and defending the weak. I think he's hiding more than his ego behind all that bravado. A real man with something to prove. I think his fancy steed, Frost Dancer, agrees.
- Morthin, oh Morthin. I'd do the poor little bookworm for free but I think his heart would give out. He fits the stereotype of the elf that will blow away in a stiff breeze, poor little thing.
- Allistar Lancerey, my my. Cranky Elf with magic under his mantle. Not a euphemism, but an explanation of his ego. The arrogant, paranoid magi seems convinced I've be-spelled his compatriots. Silly wizard, my enchantments are all-natural.
- Arixus Phae,a warrior-woman with a sword every bit as large as my Zoresk. Which makes one wonder. What IS she compensating for?
- Gregor Garess, the creepy Dwarf butler. I wonder, just who is he Butlering for?
- Sonja Medvyed, prim and proper priestess of Erastil. She was too tightly wound when we met, but I seem to be getting her to unwind, little by little.
- Sebriel Zane, yet another elf, and this boy likes to play with chemicals! The Alchemist seems to like playing with his lab equipment a little too much, I think.
- Peter, the mysterious masked man. Always wearing his armor or wearing a mask, he seems to be shacked up with that foreign girl, Talia. Or maybe he's just her bodyguard? Heh, only her bodyguard...
- Talia. What can I say - I thought I was an exotic flavor. She's one of those dusky skinned southern girls, hailing from far off Alkenstar and always messing about with her peculiar inventions, when she's not making time with Peter.
- Pavel, her long-suffering assistant. A bit on the ugly side, but I'm sure I can ease his suffering a little...
- Grano, a slippery little fellow. Barely notice him when he's here, I have the feeling I'd better notice him if anything goes missing.
- Variel Forestwalker, half-elf, all man. Charming, charming man. A little too dedicated to his faith in Erastil, maybe, but he takes charge without taking charge and the others follow. I'd follow even, if he'd ask.
- Meenom Riverstalker, spooky little loner Halfling Elk-rider. Who knew Halflings rode Elks?
- Roska, my new best friend. The old 1/2 Orc hag knows a thing or two about being a Wise-woman, so we've been trading recipes.
There are a few others that I've heard will join us later (the tramp cousin of the King, Natasha Surtova, and Sonja's scounrel brother, Marcelle, for instance, both of whom were left behind in the same town they picked me up). And now, here at the Outpost, there's a whole other Expeditionary force to explore! I hope these "Green Hands" are handy!
2nd of Gozran, 4710
I am concerned for my Master. Having set out yesterday while the weather was good, I worry, now that the weather has turned truly wretched! Heavy rain pelts the fort, and lighting pelts the plains! The other expedition, the Dragon's Eyes band, arrived yesterday, not long after our hunting party set out. They sent their own scouting party out to have a look around the area, but their party (consisting of Voriel, Sonja, Arixus, Jan, Peter, and Grano) came back after a few hours soaked to the bone, badly bruised from a run-in with a pack of wild boar that had been driven into a frenzy by the thunder.
Yet more have arrived at the fort. Kesten Garess and his mercenaries, under the employ of the Swordlords, has arrived to protect the Outpost, freeing the two companies to do the job their Charters entreat them to do.
I have brought up the possibility of dividing up the Greenbelt into territories of intent to explore, so the Green Hands and the Dragon's Eyes aren't tripping over each other in the field, and while Voriel and Sonja seem quite eager to lay claim to the Narlwood, Ma Jessup seems to be very selective in what she's hearing and seems to be stalling until she can have a proper sit-down with those who went off after the Bandit gang's hidden camp.
Gozran, 5, 4710
My my, but my friends amongst the Dragons got themselves bruised mighty fierce by those wild pigs. 2nd day here Veril and company charged off into the oncoming rain, only to have to be brought back in a cart. Luckily, none of them died. The Boars sounded quite dangerous. But on the other hand, Oleg and Svetlana are happy for the meat - the four should be providing enough to feed this veritable army forming out here on the frontier. Still, Sonja seems to be warming to me, even agreeing to my price to play grooming consultant.
Yesterday they left early: Variel leading Allister, Sonja, Jan, Peter, and Grano off to fully map the surrounding local lay of the land. It went swimingly, now the storm has passed. They apparently nearly had another run-in with more of their pig-faced friends, but it was the bandits that ambushed them last night that gave them a nice run. Even bleary-eyed they managed to kill two and drive off another. They even brought back a prisoner to hand over to the guards here.
The prisoner seems happy we have no stocks to put him in (yet - I understand those Jessups are carpenters, amongst other things), and has provided the Dragons with a good deal of information, not the least of which is that the woman the other band followed is not the top bandit in these parts. That would be someone (or some-THING) calling itself the Stag Lord. Apparently this "lord" makes his haven in some sort of ruined Monastery down by the Tuskwater.
Tomorrow the Dragon's Eyes will be heading out properly to explore this new frontier (or is it a very very old frontier?), and I plan to follow and tend my boy Zoresk... and the others... if they should happen to need a soft pillow and a warm bed...
5th of Gozran, 4710
It is a most auspicious tree. Nyal calls it "the Old Sycamore," which, I suppose, it is. "Ma" Jessup seems a little frustrated we have come out here so soon, rather than focus on explorations closer to Olegs, as the Dragon's Eyes band has done. Still, this does give us some distance in our investigations.
Our Outriders returned to Olegs three days ago, not long after my last entry, their hunt along the bandit trail made short by foul weather and Trolls. Trolls! The very thought of such monsters ices the blood! They had nearly reached the Narlwood when, with the skys pouring pitch and thunder about their ears, they encountered a mother teaching her child to hunt. Poor Benitario, your sacrifice will be remembered! It was he, the jovial yet quiet Numarian barbarian, who held them off long enough for the rest of the Outriders to escape. They returned to Oleg, and told us of his dismemberment and being devoured. When the priest, Jhod Kavken, arrived the following day, I petitioned him to do service for our friend. May you hunt well in your afterlife Benitaro. We knew you too briefly, and not well enough.
In waiting out the storm, the two companies have had some time to discuss our explorations, and I am pleased to say, everyone seems willing to go with my suggestions to divide the workload and focus our explorations in separate areas. The Dragon's Eyes have laid claim to searching the Narlwood, which, given recent rumors gained by Eregon from Oleg, we have decided to accept. According to Oleg, Taldorian colonists used to mine the Kalelands for gold, which the Jessups, who count prospecting amongst their long list of accomplishments, take a keen interest.
The Mercenary Captain and the Priest have both requested we keep our eyes open - Captain Garess hopes we might capture an old "friend" of his that may be working with the Bandits, while Jhod is hoping we might find a lost temple or some such sacred site of Erastils'. It amazes me just how many amongst both the Hand and the Eyes worship this back-woods god. Jhod can expect a strong congregation, however the Stolen Lands are settled.
As Oleg has hired Pa Jessup & his son to build a second floor to the Guest-house, Ma Jessup has taken his place amongst the Outriders, and given the rest are riding, Jacobi is to stay at Olegs' to assist in the construction. I, on the other hand, am following my Master on my trusty pony, "Fickle Eater." Taking the place of Benitaro is Eregon (his slave staying behind to assist at Olegs as well). Swift riding by horse back meant a tiring two day ride to the Old Sycamore and Nyal's ghost stories of Mites - some obscure, angry sort of petulant Fey - and his hope that from there we can find one of the rivers to scout out for settlement. He mentions there should be a toll bridge recently built in these parts, managed by one Davik Nettles, who we may wish to look up. It bears noting that Anthea has come down sick, coughing and hacking and her nose quite red. Perhaps it was all that running about in the storm with the Trolls. I do hope it is not contagious!
We have just set up our camp some miles south of the Old Sycamore, and... what was that? There is something growling down at the foot of the hill, and moving closer...
Oh dear, something seems to be thinking we are dinner again...
Gozran, 6, 4710
That hussy, Natasha Surtova, the King of Brevoy's slut cousin, has arrived with some other late-comers, potential customers all. The Elk-riding Gnome Breen Leafsong, the red-cloaked Rostland warrior Isuldor, and the fragile-looking half-elf Cartographer Heek Moonchor. That Breen looks good enough to eat! Yum!
Father Jhon has asked both Expeditions to keep a lookout for some lost ruin sacred to Erastil, which has gotten many excited (apparently he has quite the congregation amongst them). Voriel led a small band out to to a reconnoiter of the nearby stretch of Narlwood, taking Breen, Heek, Isuldor, Grano & Jan with him. Not wanting to feel left out, I unhitched my pony and followed, much to the annoyance of some and potential delight of others.
Gozran, 8, 4710
I have seen my first Kobold. The company found Svetlana's Radishes, and came into dispute with the fat Kobolds that rested there. The lizards die well enough, but the incessant arguing over slitting the throats of the downed enemy was hard fought. I truly do not understand Voriel - he strikes me as far to soft-hearted for this business, unlike Breen, who was with me in slitting the little reptile throats. Still, the point has been made that now that the Dragons have bloodied them but left several alive, the rest of the tribe will not wish to deal with us without violence in the future.
But oh, my boys can fight!
Gozran, 9, 4710
We have returned to Olegs, despite a brief assault from the sky with hail. Some notice has been payed to the new Wanted poster for the death or capture of the Stag Lord. No small amount of change, and a Colony charter as reward! Still, calmer heads seem to suggest we wait. Svetlana was quite pleased with the Radishes, and gave the Dragons a peculiar amulet, a "Wayfinder" I think they called it, as reward. Reward money has been sent down from the Swordlords for reducing the bandit population, which has been split by Oleg between the two Companies for their contributions. Voriel, foresighted as usual, has spent much of it on supplies for the Dragons - a month's worth of hardtack for the next round of exploration in the Narlwood. Tomorrow we all set out, all the Dragons, and our wagons, to explore the woods in ernest.
Gozran, 12, 4710
Oh calamitous day! Oh, miserable forest! It has taken my sweet Barbarian from me - Zorask the mighty has fallen!
WHile the scouting party was out exploring, the halfling Meneem heard a cry in the woods, and he, Anixus and my poor Zorask fell for the malefic bait. Thus lured my sweet Numarian fell into a pit full of spikes, left by some careless hunter no doubt. No sooner had he climbed out, so Meneem tells me, than he and the others were set upon by a flaming skull, a fiendish apparition we have since come to suspect as what local huntsmen call a "Will-O-the-Wisp." The thing "kissed" each in turn, whispering darkness and fear to them. Meneem fled, holding to his wolf for dear life to whisk him to the camp for help, but by the time aid could arrive the monster was gone and they were dead.
I have promised to take my sweet Numarian's beloved sword back to Numaria to his mother. It is the least I can do, given he willed the rest of his wealth to me.
... tear stains blur what is written next...
...We relocated to the Bandit Camp by the Thorn River. Earlier our scouting party stumbled into their ambush, where the waters afforded a fordable spot. These thugs had no stomach for fight once my boys laid out their axe-wielding wench. Still, this witch Kressle nearly killed Isuldor, so Roska, Sonja & I are tending him. That pea-cocked wench Natasha apparently discovered just how useless she is and has spent her time since sulking.
Gozran, 13, 4710
Voriel has returned with the rest of his scouting force from the north-west, and they are badly hurt. Apparently they stumbled onto a herd of River Elk, and the Bucks thought they meant their wards harm. The fight was hard, but we eat well tonight.
Gozran, 14, 4710
Apparently the Elk stew did not agree with many, and there was complaint of a soapy taste. Many in camp had the runs. Otherwise, the night passed quietly, though Roska tells me she heard queer laughter in the night whenerver anyone ran off to the bushes for relief.
later...
The scouts have returned, having had much excitement today. Jan had some trouble with his saddle (which others tell me was both unusual, and funny to see), and more peculiar laughter was heard, leading Voriel and the others to suspect fairies are playing tricks on us. They left offerings on the trail which were not their on their return, but we have yet to discover if such gifts were accepted. They also were ambushed by one of those dreaded Tatzlewyrms! We now have head for Oleg (and dire threats for the Green Hands if they've managed to beat us in bringing one in), but Grano was nearly killed and eaten.
later still...
Well that was exciting! A herd of River Elk apparently thought our camp was ideal for grazing, and were quite upset to discover us. We drove them off, with a few more Bucks to add to our rations, but the camp is a mess, and Allistar, our arrogant, egotistical Wizard, had a particularly hard time of it. Apparently our faerie friends heard his boasts and threats, and targeted him as their new "special friend." When chaos broke out in the camp over the Elk, he crawled out of his tent, suffering from visions of a most peculiar nature - a "bad trip" I think someone called it - with his boot-laces tied together, and his pantaloons undone to further trip him up. He was nearly trampled to death while trying to kiss one of the Bucks! Perhaps this will teach him not to make such boasts to the wee folk. Then again, perhaps not.
5th of Gozran, 4710
Well, that was more conflict than I care for. This creature, which we have identified as a "Thylacine" (or some such - I simply call it, "hungry striped death that's calling me dinner!"), has been driven off, in no small part to Ma's explosives. I intend to sleep as soon as my ears stop ringing. Tomorrow our scouting party (this time being only Ma Jessup, Master Khorain, and Nyal & his dogs) begins a proper exploration, establishing a route back to Olegs good enough for the wagon.
15th of Gozran
The Scouts have returned, having established a proper route from the Sycamore Tree (or, more properly, the hill south of it we're camping on) back to Olegs, and have retrieved everyone else from our expedition, along with the Jessup's wagon, except for Pa. Pa is still working on expanding the Guest House at the Outpost. Apparently their journey was full of excitement - local faeries have named my Master "King of the Stump" (don't ask me, I don't understand it either). They also found a vein of gold (which they have been very careful to hide - it should make for a very serviceable gold-mine down the road), and dealt with a nasty spider of disproportionate size. The spider apparently ate some fool bandit with a map though, and now everyone has fat dreams of treasure in their heads.
16th of Gozran
A tornado hit down near us, nearly destroying the camp. Scared Nyal's dogs off. poor fellow is inconsolable. Then again, we're all fairly shaken up. Hope such weather isn't normal.
19th of Gozran
Our scouts have returned again, battered and bruised, but triumphant! I didn't think they could top their success over the kill of several River-Elk Bucks (those things are huge! Each the size of a horse!), but now they brought back an Owlbear! Just the three of them managed it, and it's a real monster too! Oh, they apparently found the treasure alluded to in the dead man's map, but what's a little money in the face of becoming legends... My god, but what a monster...
Gozran 15
That scoundrel Mierelle Medvyed and his manservant have caught up with us. Mmm... Scoundrels...
Apparently Voriel and the others have made peace with the wee folk that have been pestering them. Tug-Titter-Tut seems to like my singing well enough, and the dragon Perlivash seems sweet, but Voriel and the others are having some trouble running interference with Allistar, who may or may not be considering poisoning them! Foolish wizard. His ego will be his undoing.
Mereen and Breen have left to turn in the Tatzlewyrm's head for the reward, while Voriel heads out with Peter, Mierelle, Jan, Grano, the paranoid Allistar and the noble tramp Natasha to explore north of here. The rest of us settle in to our new campsite, so recently vacated by the bandits.
Gozran 16
Rains were hard today, and we saw a tornado in the distance moving out of the Kalelands to chew through the woods north of us, where our explorers have gone. I do hope they aren't in its' path!
Gozran 18
Everyone is back. Voriel tells us they found the lost Temple of Erastil and slew (or freed?) its' cursed guardian. Mereen & Breen are off to Olegs again to fetch Brother Jhod, so it may be properly cleansed and reinstated, while our explorers head south (minus Natasha - poor thing feels "tired" - sick and tired of stumbling around in the woods with real men who won't pamper her like her family does no doubt).
Gozran 20
Oh gods, please take those gentle souls to paradise. Pavel and Heek are dead. Our camp was set upon last night by wolves while our strongest were away. I was carring for Sonja & Zane, both still very ill with the creeping crud, so all I could do was lock the door to my wagon and pray. Heek was slain in his sleep, while the wolf-pack took down Pavel as he bravely defended his mistresses' wagon and attempted to rescue her dog, Puddles. Poor thing, it failed to fight off the beasts, and it too was gobbled up. Natasha and Roska managed to drive the others off, killing two, but Pavel's body has been dragged off to the woods, never to be seen again. Mereem & Breen returned with Brother Jhod, and the elder priest has placed prayers for our dead.
Gozran 22
Our explorers are back, and Brother Jhod has read last rites for our losses. Our scouting band found and killed Tuskgutter, and so Mereem & Breen are again racing off to deliver a head for a reward. There was some mention also of brief encounters with hunters and a wolf, but no real excitement comparable to ours. With our proper escort, we are now to relocate to the Temple of Erastil. Perhaps under the wild god's watchful eye we will be safe.
Gozran, 23
The whispers come again, unbidden, unwanted. The spirits of dead soldiers come to me in dreams, whispering of the son of a king and the son of a goddess, walking in lands far to the East, walking a path that will forge kingdoms, walking a path of bloodshed and battle. In my lucidity, away from rest and trance I speak with Toad, and Toad croaks his laughing croak, and says "go East!" I visit my lover's grave, and I ask he who fathered my child, and my dead lover laughs, and says "go East, silly girl!" ...and I wipe away my tears, and kick his head-stone, and wish again he was alive. I visit my Master, the Owl Witch, Kenzil the Fat, and I ask he who knows much and says little, laughing at all and at nothing, and my Master smiles and says "Ha! Hold your child tight girl! Hold your blade tighter! We go East!"
And we are gone. One step. Two steps. He holds me at the elbow, and the world winks out. He holds me at the shoulder, his meaty, muscled hand clasped tight, his other twisting, opening the spaces between. And Kenzil the Fat, the Laughing, the Witch of Air and Wisdom and Owls, laughs as the world snaps back into place around us, different in place but not time. Kenzil Caldron brother laughs and points to the lake and the ruins on the far side that stink of evil, of an ancient patron of other, darker witchcraft, and says we are here. We are here in the land blooming with promise of battles and blood.
And I tighten the straps of my shield to my shoulder, the straps of my child to my back, grasp my Glave as my walking stick, and begin picking our path north. I am Vayne, Toad Witch, Red Witch, Blood Witch, Oracle of Battles and War, mother of Orphans and exile of Koynin. I am Vayne of the red cap, the butcher of Thistletop, the avenger of Hotspur, the unforgiven of Iomidae.
I shall find the child of she who looks away from me, and if he is unworthy, I will put him down. I shall find all these would be kings and queens, and they shall have no hope if i find them wanting.
This is an outrage! Naleksa has ripped off two characters, and who knows how many more? Plagiarist!
She wrote: # Allistar Lancerey, my my. Cranky Elf with magic under his mantle. Not a euphemism, but an explanation of his ego. The arrogant, paranoid magi seems convinced I've be-spelled his compatriots. Silly wizard, my enchantments are all-natural.
# Arixus Phae,a warrior-woman with a sword every bit as large as my Zoresk. Which makes one wonder. What IS she compensating for?
Arixus Phae is MY character, and she is not a warrior. I don't appreciate you stealing that name, as it is mine. My character website is here: http://www.freewebs.com/arixus/
Allistar Lancerey is also a stolen name! He was a creation by my friend, Devin Asures, who roleplays with me. The proof is here: http://www.freewebs.com/moraviahistory/historicalfigures.htm
Shame on you, Naleksa. Stop stealing other people's work. This is the internet. I can find you.
Not in my game your not - people often come up with similar or identical character names unknowing, and I've never heard of any legal standing for shouting "firstsies" on the internet. If my players choose to call themselves by a name, and it is clearly not an infringement of someones' clearly marked copyrights or trademarks, I certainly have no problem with it. On that front, both Naleska and Anando are not my creations, but identities/npcs taken from the amazing Hirelings web-supplement (found elsewhere on this very site)and I don't think anyone here thinks I'm trying to infringe on that author's copyrights any more than anyone else here writing about their campaigns using the assorted Pathfinder APs in a section set aside for exactly that purpose.
Having just mentioned this to the player of both characters, as it turns out, he DID appropriate them (the names only, for completely different characters) as he remembers both of you fondly from many years of gaming. You knew him as Andrik, and he had no interest or expectation of using said names as an internet presence (he wasn't even aware I've been posting our adventures here). Either way, his version of Arixus Phae was fried by a Wisp, and shan't be seen again, and if Devin has concerns with him honoring the name of Allistar by giving it good use, he is welcome to get back in touch.
I'm sorry your bothered by this, but:
a) You can't copyright names (a modicum of research can tell you this), and
b) The characters he came up with actually bear no resemblance beyond the names to anything either of you created, meaning he hasn't actually even committed plagiarism (again, please, look it up).
Was it unimaginative of him to recycle the names, yes. But do a search on the World of Warcraft Armory site, and you'll find names you'd think are unique are not (I counted 13 for Arixus alone). You don't own them. In fact, you can't. No intellectual properties have been stolen. No plagiarism has been tendered.
Look it up. Please. And let us let this forum thread go back to what it was intended.
Thanks, it's good to know folks have been enjoying this.
I actually paused more due to a desperate need to get caught up on real-life issues than anything else. The game itself has been going apace (the Green Hands just hit the Stag Lord's fort! Yay!), so I actually have a lot more to post as time permits (which should be soon).
It has been a dark journey. A grand one, a noble one, but one full of loss and hardship.
I have decided to start keeping a journal. Faced with the death of so many of my companions, I feel I must...process this somehow. And I could never burden my friends with it. We must stay focused in our task.
I was raised to be the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect priestess. To put others always before myself. I do not regret this. It is who I am. It is because of this that I write, alone, for no one else's eyes but my own. I must be strong for my companions. I must remain faithful and always be assured that Erastil is guiding me. Surely, he must be. I have felt his presence. Recently, more than ever before.
I know not why my companions are falling all around me. ... But I have a horrible guilt about it. For what other reason could it be than that I wasn't there to heal them, to pull them back from the brink of death?
Erastil forgive me for my inaction, for my false steps. I should have been there for them all. Instead, for one reason or another, I was not, and I officiate their funerals, their burials.
At least once I was able to officiate a wedding. Erastil himself witnessed the vows, I know it. I felt it. If it were not for my faith, my god, and for Voriel and Jan, I don't know how I could cope.
We have thrice encountered Will O' The Wisps--horrible things that feed on fear and death. And twice we have prevailed. The first...took the lives of two brave souls...And it was surely because I wasn't there to help. But I was there for the next two, and both times we succeeded in fending them off.
But the third took the life of Natasha Surtova. Because I couldn't get to her in time.
It is these losses which push me, drive me, to cleanse this forest and make it safe and habitable. Erastil expects no less of us.
...Enough for now, I'm rambling. I must pray for guidance. I must be strong. Most of all, I must protect everyone. I must be near them, and ready for danger when it strikes. If only I stay near them, maybe I can save them. I can't...I can't lose anyone else. I mustn't.
I fear I have driven a wedge between Alistair and I. We discovered a treasure that he took a liking to. ...
A robe of bones. ... An abomination. A robe which allows the wearer to summon undead--zombies, skeletons...
I can't imagine what horrible evil must go into the creation of such a device. I wanted it destroyed. Voriel felt its evil keenly. And we forced Alistair to remove it. Then I identified it as a Robe of Bones, and Jan asked me for my opinion.
My opinion was that it should be destroyed. I offered Alistair some kind of compensation for destroying the robe. He was absolutely livid. Unreasonable. Jan nearly knocked him out to get the robe off in the first place. We--Jan, Voriel, and I--ganged up on him and forced him to relinquish the robe and we burned it in the campfire until it was well and truly destroyed.
We had no choice.
But Alistair...I worry for him. He is almost always a reasonable person, though unpleasant to the eye and...oddly afraid of the fairer sex. Perhaps he is simply accustomed the company of men.
But occasionally he has these wild urges--he carries a bottle of blood with him, and he offers it to fae creatures as if it were wine. As a Medvyed, I am horrified. He has no idea the kind of pain the fae can bring to him if he offends them so.
I stand by, mouth agape, as he collects blood, as he offends the fae of the forest, as he speaks offensively to everyone we encounter, as he almost violently protests the removal of that evil robe... I want to lead him down a better path, but I have no idea how to go about it. I can only hope that we can be a good influence on him, but clubbing him over the head with the back of an axe and taking things from him is not going to leave him with a good impression of us.
Oh Alistair...Alistair...What in the name of Erastil are we going to do with you...
And yet I know that, crass and offensive as he is, he is not a bad person. ... He's just not a particularly good one either. ... Neither is Grano, from what I've seen. Not a bad person, but not a good one. Voriel, Jan, and I are good-hearted people who are out here for a noble cause. ...The rest, though I respect their battle-cunning and various abilities...I question their motives. But, we are not in a position to refuse help.
I find it comforting at least to know that we are united in purpose. And that I can help them all in this quest. And, I am comforted by Peter and Maleska, who allow me to share in their lodgings. All the money I had saved up or been gifted by my family, and I never thought to bring a tent. It shows how inexperienced I was with "roughing it" out in the wilderness. My only concern was to ensure that I could heal them--so most of my money went towards getting a wand.
I've rambled again. I need to go for now. We are heading toward the lake, I think. We might move the camp...I'm not sure. I don't really make the decisions. And I don't need to. I trust Voriel and Jan completely. They are my strength. And my faith in Erastil of course. I see his hand in all this. He has guided us all to join together to tame these wild lands and make it fit for human habitation. I must have faith that we can see it through.
20th of Gozran
Ha, ha! My lord proves most diplomatic! News has traveled amongst the little people, and one came to us last night to persuade the great “King of the Stump” to give more “peace gifts,” or face his hidden army of “assassin bees!” I think the little fellow is leading us on, as does several others in our party, but Ma has agreed to give gifts of honey and milk when next the moon is full if they will visit our main camp at that time.
We have since regrouped at the main camp and spent much of the day dealing with the Owlbear’s carcass. I will never understand these pioneers and their incessant need to take apart every animal they kill - if they can’t eat it, or wear it, they want it for components for things arcane. Very strange.
Another topic of discussion: the company has decided finally to do something about those mites that keep stealing the Jessup’s chickens. It is about time! I don’t think I can sleep comfortably knowing the little buggers are out there. Nyal has set up rabbit snares surrounding the camp in hopes of catching one.
21st of Gozran
Well, THAT didn’t go as planned. Seems Rabbit snares are useless against insanely large Centipedes. Despite all the ruckus of that monster busting into camp in the middle of the night, I managed to sleep through it. I don’t know how much more of this stress I can take. Giant Centipedes? My goodness! I find the usual tiny ones untenable! Thank goodness those Jessups are such a fierce lot. Jr. managed to break a mandible with his wooden practice sword - some miracle that - and the thing was too stupid to run. Everyone else managed to drag it down and put it to the sword after that. Pity Ma missed her boy doing good. She seems to have spent the night summoning that owl of hers - since when do Alchemists use familiars? I suspect that wizard’s book we found may have something to do with it. Either way, another day spent harvesting another poor beast.
24th of Gozran
Well, two days of bad weather and another herd of Elk in rut, and we were back to exploring. We found the Shrike River, and Nyal lead us to Nettle’s Crossing, a toll bridge he’d heard had been set up some years ago. Only the toll house was in ruins and the bridge was almost gone. And Nettles... What can I say about the old toll keeper? He rose from his watery grave and stood there, a dripping, mummified corpse, and laid it on us to bring him the body of he who killed him.
Well, apparently the Green Hands had it in mind to seek out and kill the Stag Lord anywise (they are quite obsessed with that reward, and more importantly, that charter, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised). Oh, I do hope this doesn’t prove the death of me!
25th of Gozran
Now we work for Kobalds? My goodness! What is this world coming to! My lord Lebeda and his companions found a tribe of the little scaly monsters inhabiting an old Taldorian silver mine, and have agreed to find some lost statue they hold sacred that was stolen by the Mites beneath the Old Sycamore. Well, the little blue meanies still owe us for the chickens...
On our return to camp, we became lost in the fog, and Ma and my master came across a small company of the blue menaces. Apparently they had a captive - a young girl! Well, they gave the little fiends what for! But now we have another child with us, one who is secretive and shy, and filthy! I’m not sure she knows what soap is! Ma’s taken her in hand though, and will sort her out. We don’t know what her name is (we’re not even sure she knows), only that she was out here seeking... someone... her father perhaps? Not a very communicative child... and that the Mites were planning to make her their “princess” (or Queen, or dinner... she really hasn’t been all that clear). She does seem to have a knack for bashing in their heads with that crowbar of hers once their down though. Best keep my distance.
28th of Gozran
Well, more bad weather meaning more time wasted huddling under my blankets in a tent trying to stay dry. The moon came out two nights ago though, and the wee folk came for their milk and honey. They left the grasses and wildflowers in elf-locks around the camp, and local fauna have seen fit to leave us unmolested since then.
With clear weather though Nyal, Ma and my master Labeda have headed off to finally put an end to the monstrous Mites! We had something of a panic, however, when it was discovered the little girl had snuck off as well. We listened to the dull echo of explosions coming from beneath the Tree, and were quit gratified when our scouting party returned with the stolen statue and the runaway girl, with the Tree cleared of its’ collection of Mites and monstrous vermin!
30th of Gozran
Having secured peace with the Sootscale Kobolds by siding with the chief in some sort of civil dispute within the tribe, our scouting party has returned and relocated us beneath the Old Sycamore. A bit smelly, but I think it could make a nice little home, once it was tidied up a bit. It does get us away from that wind spout tearing up the countryside! What IS with the weather here! Ma talks about strange, crazy weather gods that just like to mess with the common folk. Certainly, this may explain why the Stolen Lands have never been successfully settled!
2nd of Desnus
Master Lebeda has returned from Olegs, having sent word of our success with the Kobolds to the Swordlords and returned Svetlana’s wedding ring to Oleg. It is still unclear how it came into the hands of the Kobolds, but Oleg doesn’t care about the how, only that his wife is happier than she has been in months, and to the Green Hands another feather in our cap (and a large line of credit at his store). He has returned with Pa (done with his work on building a new floor to Oleg’s guesthouse), as well as late-coming allies Holland Sun (Nyal’s mercenary friend), Richard Perrin (Anthea’s overly friendly brother) and Lily Stone (his shifty-eyed companion).
5th of Desnus
We are off again, exploring southward, seeking the Stag Lord’s Fort in hopes of finding it before the Dragon’s Eyes do and cheat us out of the reward money (or at least, that’s what I seem to have gathered from Ma’s mumblings). We set off two days ago with just Ma, Nyal, Anthea, Eregon, my Master and myself, avoided a very odd-looking fanged toad of enormous size and color, and forded the river yesterday. Today our breakfast was interrupted by another Owlbear attack (they seem to like coming after us just before or after the break of day, it seems), and the tactics so recently perfected served us well as the Green Hands ran circles around it, peppering it with arrows and Ma’s explosives. The wind is kicking up something fierce though, so we are now forced to stop and seek shelter.
6th of Desnus
Last night, oh Gods, last night we lost so many good people, my Master amongst them! Oh, the shame of it. I could not help. I tried. I fired into those pitiless undead, plunked away my little quarrels into their cold flesh, for all the good it did. But the dead did not care, and the Stag Lord, he howled into the wind. He laughed as we who survived ran, tails between our legs.
How can I tell the Jessups they’ve lost a wife, a mother? How can I tell the Lebedas they’ve lost a most noble kinsman? Three lie dead on that hill now, and more soon to follow, unless I can make sure lessons learned are shared by all...
We raced down along the river as soon as the windstorm let up, and though it was still blustery, we came finally to the Tuskwater and the ruins we believed to be the Stag Lord’s hideout at dusk. Leaving me to mind the horses, they tried sneaking up to the wall along a path poorly observed by the bandits on watch. The path was ill-observed for a reason, as it turns out.
What we had taken for random stones and boulders were headstones however, and around these markers burst out wave after wave of hungry dead. As they fought to be free of them, the bandits on watch jeered, and took shots. Realizing surprise was lost, my associates lost their focus, as some sought cover, and others struck out against those on the wall. Once Ma started blowing them off the wall, they became far more serious, and worse, a great hooting awoke within - not unlike the monster we had just faced that morning! Finally though, after Eregon had fallen and Anthea was badly mauled it was clear they would not breach the wall, and flight was our only option. But by then it was too late. The Stag Lord had finally joined his men (well, what was left of them), and shot after shot he plunked into their backs as they struggled to get past the stumbling dead. Though my Master had managed to get Eregon’s unconscious body off the field, he failed to save Ma or Nyal from being peppered with arrows and devoured by the hungry, meandering corpses. His own hand shattered by undead strength and his lance lost to the field of battle, he had almost made it to the safety of the treeline where I hid, watching over horses and wounded alike, when the last shot from the Stag Lord found its home deep in my lord’s chest. His horse, Thunder, rode on though, so I have at least one body I can take back with me to put in a coffin.
And though we have fled the fort’s dark shadow, we must seek shelter soon. Night has fallen, and another storm is on the horizon...
Gozran 23
Oh I love weddings! And they let me be a bridesmaid, too! Sonja officiated to see to it the ever mysterious masked warrior Peter has married the southerner Talya. It is about time - the way they go at it, they're bound to have the first children born in these proposed colonies the Swordlords are so keen on establishing!
It has put my new lovers in a fine mood. Spring has infected Zane and Grano, who have taken quite a fancy to me.
Gozran 24
Voriel has left again, with quiet Isuldor, Jan the loud, half-blind Breen, staunch Peter, my sweet Sonja, fussy Allistar, and two newcomers who arrived recently to lend a hand - a wandering cleric of Serenrae named Kyra (another southerner, like Talya I believe), and an old spell-caster who answers to Ezren. That last seems to have become Allistar’s “new best friend,” whether he wishes it or no. Something about Wizards and their books sharing secrets... At least I’m honest about my wants, and get my partners to pay up front about it! I think Ezren could learn a thing or two about how to sell himself... er... I mean, sell his spells... Allistar can be a greedy sort.
Gozran 29
Home are the heroes! The Temple is so dull without them, but where they go, there is simply no room for my wagon! Still, except for finding some hot-springs at the head of the aptly named Skunk River, it sounds like they had a miserable time. Giant toads, fog, thunder storms, a Will-o-the-Wisp and a Troll made for a miserable couple of days stuck by the pond. The Troll apparently rent poor Kyra in ‘twain before they brought the beast down, and Ezren is at a loss over his companion. Ever tactless, I have heard Allistar is still trying to squeeze blood from this stone, so I don’t anticipate Ezren staying with us for long.
Desnus 2
After many days of horrid weather, our scouts have set out again, this time to explore the far side of the Skunk River. I will miss Grano, who has finally decided to leave my attentions for the job he was hired for, while Ezren has taken his leave of the expedition, much to Allistar’s frustration. He has had words with Voriel and Jan, and has thankfully had no traction in convincing the far more sensible members of our party that chasing after and smacking the other Wizard over the head so he may add spells to his collection is anything other than banditry, and that such an action would get him anything more than a good hanging!
And yet they all remain friends. What a funny company of saints and sinners.
Desnus 9
Our explorers return to rest and resupply before setting out yet again. The last week they tell me they have encountered no small amount of dangers, the least of which was some sort of “Frog-hermit” that lives in a swamp just off the Skunk River. The Frog-man doesn’t speak more than five words of Taldoran, and seems quite protective of his hovel, so they gave him and his saber-toothed toad a wide birth. Wild Boar, Thylacenes, heavy winds and a pair of Tatzlewyrms nesting at a good fording spot along the River rounded out their journey. They tell me they’ve marked the spot with the creature’s heads on spikes at each end. Hmm - “Tatzleford” - kind of a catchy name, I think. They apparently found a map tucked away one one of the wyrm’s victims that has quite caught their imaginations, so they plan to set out first thing tomorrow in search of a statue the map alludes to.
Desnus 14
Our boys (and girls) are back again. I really am tired of being stuck on the sidelines - besides, I don’t think Elder Jhod approves of me. While the scouting party had some excitement avoiding a centipede of unusual scale, and wasted several days collecting bear-traps left indiscriminately by a lazy trapper (possibly the same lazy trapper as the one they found dead in a makeshift trap a day or so before), the most interesting thing they seem to have found was news and rumors heard while resupplying at Olegs!
The Green Hands have made peace with the Kobolds! There’s one less threat standing between the Greenbelt and civilization. The other bit of news is that there may be a Monastery on the shores of the Tuskwater dedicated to Gyronna, the wrathful hag goddess so popular amongst the less kind inhabitants of the River Kingdoms. Voriel and Jan seem to think there may be a connection between these cultists and the Stag Lord’s bandits, making the need to dispatch these villains much greater.
Breen is taking a rest (but not with me, alas), to be replaced with that tramp Natasha Surtova on the next trip out. Finally, that witch is taking her leave and doing something other than lazing about, draping herself on any unattended male and teasing them along!
Desnus 17
Oh fie on me for wishing her ill! Natasha Surtova is dead.
The company has just returned and we are shortly to plant her in the ground, yet another grave by Erastil’s temple for a fallen companion. While lured in by the flickering of a campfire, the fire proved false and they were set upon by another Will-o-wisp. There is something in these lands that make the things wish us no end of ill. It snuffed her out before they truly knew what it was that struck at them.
Go in grace, oh kinsman to the King. Let us hope the Throne holds no ill will for failing to keep safe their wayward dove, soiled though she might have been.
Desnus 18
The Dragon’s Eyes have sent out their scouts again, not ones to waste much time in mourning. This time only Variel, Jan, Peter, Grano, Sonja, Isuldor and Allistar will make the trip. Jan has tasked Talya with the job of making him a lance before he left, and the challenge of not making it weird or unusual. He hopes it will be done by their return.
Sareneth 2
It has been two weeks, and we are all worried, having received no word of our scouts. Anando, the Steward of Khoran Lebeda, has arrived with news of the disaster that befell the Green Hands at the hand of the Stag Lord, and now we all worry our boys may have faced a similar fate. It is not as if they too weren’t planning a similar assault on the Stag Lord’s Fortress. They just need to know where to strike first.
Sareneth 9
They have returned! Oh my boys, my boys! What adventures they tell! It is all very muddled, but they not only found the missing Statue of Old Deadeye, but in following the Skunk River, they found a dispute to solve between loggers and the local fey. They have spend much of these last two weeks relocating the loggers to a copse of trees near the Tatzlwyrm’s ford, and cut down some sort of cursed tree that was menacing a Dryad, who in turn gave them magic seeds to restore trees the loggers chopped down. Now all is happy and the Dragon’s Eyes have friends to help watch over the forest. On the downside, apparently there is now some bad blood between Allistar and Variel, Sonja and Jan. Apparently amongst the roots of the tree they found a magical robe which Allistar desperately wanted, but the others put to the torch for being a product of fell magic, and thus an evil thing. They would have been back sooner but for these strange events, and an attack by wild boar that left them badly hurt (and killed Variel’s dog! Poor fellow, he bears it well, but I can tell, he is crying on the inside), and an encounter with a trapped Thylacine that became complex with Peter falling in and being bespelled when Allistar tried to put the monster to sleep with his magics. Luckily they put the monster down before it could eat the masked warrior.
Now the camp is a’buzz with plans to avenge the Green Hands! We will finally be moving the camp, first to Olegs, then south, following Anando to the Stag Lord’s Fortress and an end to this dreadful menace!
9th of Sareneth
Finally, they have returned! I dispatched my obligations to my old Master, giving what was his to his cousin Isuldor, and the young man has taken me into his service. I have agreed to take him and his companions to the Fortress to see my old Master avenged.
Since that frightful time at Haunted Hill, I led the wounded back to the Old Sycamore and left them with the surviving Jessups. I could not stay to grieve, having duties to discharge. I made my way up to Olegs, and had a coffin made for Master Lebeda, to be sent as soon as possible northward to his family. I then turned west, and with the aid of the Wizard Ezren, traveled to this lost Temple of Erastil the Dragon’s Eyes had found.
Now we ready to leave. We are likely to be delayed a day or so, as they say a storm will come in on the ‘morrow, but soon as we can we shall leave.
14th of Sareneth
We are resupplied. We have been here at Olegs some days now, getting supplies and waiting on our spell-masters to scribe the scrolls that shall be a linchpin to our success and allow us to avoid the hazards the Green Hands faced before. We have also acquired yet another member, a Bounty Hunter called Sean, out here looking for his little sister. I believe this is the same as the child the Green Hands found, so he will join us at least as far as the Old Sycamore.
17th of Sareneth
We have reached the ford of three rivers and made camp. Last night we stayed at the Old Sycamore, and Sean received a kick in the shins from his young sibling. The child, who only answers to “kid,” apparently finds her lot much improved living with the Jessups, and has no desire to follow her brother back to Restov. He has decided to stay on and help with the Stag Lord. If all goes well, he will return and make another go of suing for peace upon our return.
18th of Sareneth
The battle won, my old Master is avenged! But at what price! Two Masters have died. Am I so cursed, that those I serve must die?
As dusk fell, there were ten of us that stormed the Haunted Hill to come at the Fort on its’ blind-side. With our magics prepared, we were unnoticed by the dead that sleep there, and were climbing over the walls ‘ere they noticed our arrival. Under a hail of bandit arrows we dropped to the other side, catching a brief glimpse of their leader, the Stag Lord, stripped to the waste, covered in scars, sporting that horned helm that so fills me with fear. He would have shot us as we rousted the wall, had not one of his men decided to rebel. This brave old soldier, we were to discover later, was his former right-hand man, Akiros Ismort, and thanks to him more of us lived than were lost.
The Stag Lord did not take his treachery well though, and he dropped him with arrows and fled as we sorted ourselves out and sought cover from the bandits above us. It was during this chaos that my second Master died, the Stag Lord slipping up behind to plant two arrows treacherously in his back. First Khoran, and now Isuldor! Two masters this monster has taken from me! And just as quickly he retreated, a thief of lives in the ensuing gloom.
Slowly, too slowly the bandits fell or retreated, and more worrisome still was the hoots that came from somewhere inside. We did have the satisfaction of hearing the Stag Lord scream when he fled in that direction, but Variel, in his haste to catch him, followed too close and ran into the origin of those hoots, a Owlbear on the loose. He, the most noble leader of the Dragon’s Eyes, died screaming in moments. As everyone else engaged the monstrosity that bastard the Stag Lord slipped through the inner ruin and shot down Ezren and Sean, though Sonja managed to pull them back from death’s desperate clutches. We finally managed to kill or drive off his remaining men, and corner the Stag Lord in one of the inner rooms. Surrounded, he laughed to our faces before Jan cut him down and Peter turned his bones to jelly with his flail.
A hollow rejoicing, for the Fortress has been taken.
But at what cost?
The Cauldron of Rebirth
Vayne looks up at me, annoyance in her eyes, as she sits, holding her sleeping redheaded child on her lap. She watches as I drift down out of the night sky, a man’s cold corpse cradled in my thick, trunk-like arms.
“You found him,” a faint cord of hope touching her voice.
“Oh yes,” I chortle back, feeling pleased with myself.
Twice now I have harvested corpses from the haunted-fields of the ill-named Stag Lord’s Fortress, and twice I have thrown them into my cauldron and boiled their fat from their bones in that exiting mix of oils and unguents, whispered incantations and offered the dead new lives. Neither time was it the one she wanted, but ones I deigned to return to this world for my own purpose. The middle-aged mother, the Alchemist reshaped young calling herself Tamara, and the scout reborn as an elf, calling himself Winterheart; they live now to serve as my apprentices, to learn from my experiences, to even sue for my station in this new kingdom we seek to build. We joke of calling it Witchland, we joke of naming me the Witchking, but we joke lightly, recognizing the humor is only halfhearted. The Swordlords might not like our sense of comedy.
Vayne tucks her toddler under the blanket of her bedroll and comes over to watch intently as I lay the man down next to the pot and rip out each arrow in turn. I whistle happily and leave it to her to strip him of his arms and armor, to rub his naked body with the rare extracts and oils I have brought with us for just such a purpose. I in turn pick up the man-sized cauldron in my meaty arms and carry it over to plop it onto the fire.
“You haven’t let the young fools try to cook with it again, have you?” I mutter back, running a finger along the inside edge, attempting to identify what sort of grease might have accumulated since last it was used.
“No, Master Kenzil, I didn’t. I made sure they knew well enough to leave it alone. Tamara knows the purpose of a brew-pot, and Winterheart I sent hunting to keep from getting underfoot,” she barks back as she carefully, reverently shells the dead man as if he was a crab for the cook pot.
I smile. She was a good choice. They are all good choices. But they are for me. This one, I think to myself as I pick up the man like some stiff rag-doll and toss him into the pot, is for her, and her alone.
As she pours water from the lake in, bucket after bucket, I begin tossing in other, stranger elements. Feathers from an Owlbear, a bit of Troll-fat, a tusk from a toad, rare oils from rarer beasts. I watch in delight as the pot slowly comes to a boil. With a large wooden spoon I stir the pot, whispering dark words for the dead to hear: “Haha! Come back now, come back! I call you Isuldor Iomedaeson, come back! The world isn’t done with you yet!”
Time passes. The others return from their tasks, fetching me a little of this, a little more of that. A vial of Tatzlwyrm blood pick-pocketed from an ill-attentive Wizard, a fresh tooth from the Redcap’s child, a powder of silver dabbed from a Kobold’s scales, a dollop of wine from the Stag Lord’s stash. I stir and I stir, I whisper and I cajole. The body breaks down, the body reforms. Fresh faced Isuldor, but not Isuldor breaks free from the water, heeding my call. A man-elf where only the corpse of a man had been breaths life again for the very first time.
“Ha Ho! Welcome to a new life,” I chide as Vayne grabs him by the hair and wrenches him forcefully out of the pot to land with soft new skin on the sandy beach of the Tuskwater. I watch bemusedly as the Toad-witch puts her boot to his throat and growls “You owe me, Godson. Whine if you like to your mother, but your life is mine now!”
Sarenith, 4710
So much has happened, so much has been revealed to me that I don’t know quite where to begin. With all that has happened, and with my advancement in rank, I feel it is only appropriate to start a new journal, and to paint events with a broader brush, rather than malinger on the minutiae of the day to day.
Though we were all celebratory with the death of the Stag Lord and the scattering of his bandits, we had not lost sight of the deaths of so many companions. The demise of Variel the Forestwalker, whom all had acknowledged as the greatest amongst them, hit the Dragonseyes hard, I myself was frantic in finding my new master, Isuldor, was missing, though several had seen him fall. Though there was some dispute over the Stag Lord’s turncoat, Akiros Ismort, and some talk of exile, the priestess of Erastil, Sonja Medvyed, persuaded the others to accept his penitence and keep him with us, at least as long as he might wish to stay. A good decision, as events played out, as without his insight we would have completely missed the hidden cellar entrance bellow the roasting pit the others had dismissed as uninteresting to search. He also told us of the mad old man the Stag Lord kept bellow for his abuse and torment, which set Jan One-eye off to no end, and several decided to poor fellow must be freed. A questionable choice as it turned out.
I chose to wait above with some of the others, but from what I am told, the old man proved to be a Druid of the Green Faith, like our associate Meenem Riverstalker. Despite his attempts to calm his brother in faith down though, the old man proved far too insane from his time bellow, and after a desperate but swift battle they captured the poor lunatic. Sonja tried prayers to gain an insight into the madman’s thoughts, but they were too jumbled. We can only guess at his relationship with the Stag Lord, given certain “resemblances,” both in face and in scaring. After healing him up and giving him provisions, Meenem insisted we let him go free, a choice that was not uncontested amongst the company. That being said, with the cellars cleared, we spent the rest of the night tallying the spoils of our little war, and the next great debate began - what share was due to the other company, the Green Hands?
It is amazing to me how much some folks can argue about money. Thieves kill over it, marriages shatter over it, and adventuring companies... well, suffice it to say, the argument took nearly as much of the night as assessing the value of our winnings. Eventually though the more contentious members (specifically Allistar - there is something decidedly wrong with that Wizard) were outvoted, and the company decided that the Green Hands that had road with me prior and died in discovering the Undead outside the walls should also receive a fair share, as should I (a fact for which I am quite thankful). I now have more than enough to retire, should I so choose, and if my current good fortunes should change, well, I may consider moving to safer climes. But I get ahead of myself.
With the help of our wagon train and the rest of our expedition, we packed up the Stag Lord’s bounty, and turned back north to head up to the Old Sycamore where we had left the remnants of the Green Hands some days before. There we found they had taken on new allies, a group calling themselves the Candlemere Coven, a strange collection that seemed more familiar with us than we of them. The shocking truth I would not find out ‘till somewhat later. Their leader, a venerable old Witch of exceptional girth that went by the name of Kenzil, offered to bring back our lost leader, Variel, if we could afford it (and the dead man was willing). The Dragonseyes jumped at the chance, and the witch had us put his corpse in his cauldron. An hour and many strange chants and incantations later, Variel was back amongst us, strangely different yet the same. Variel is now a full-blooded elf, and not quite the same man he left. But still, close enough in his rebirth that the Dragonseyes gifted him with the Stag Lord’s Helm and elected him their leader again.
With him returned, I announced my intent to take the Stag Lord’ body north to Restov for the mixed companies to show proof and to fetch the charters and rewards promised (some of which we now needed for Variel’s own restoration). Kenzil then swooped in, announcing he could shave a few weeks off my trip, and grabbing both I and the Stag Lord’s corpse up in his meaty paws chanted another spell. And with that the world turned itself inside-out...
When my senses cleared, we were in the very surprised court of the Lord Mayor of Restov, Ioseph Sellemius. It bears mentioning that they were not initially well received to us, but between the general liability of Master Kenzil and my own small gift at of diplomacy, as well as a flourishing of the Stag Lord’s corpse and assorted charters and maps, we persuaded them of our valid claims, and both reward and colonial charters were given. As per the Green Hand’s request, the Swordlords invested Kenzil as Baron of the newly minted Colony of Mystvale, and me with the power to do the same for whomever the Dragonseyes chose to represent them.
With another stomach churning “pop,” we were back at the Old Sycamore, and I discharged my duty on Variel, the Dragonseyes’ obvious choice. His domain he named “Southshield,” and with that the two freshly minted Barons discussed where their Baronies would be founded. Sometime around then one of the Candlemere Coveners took me aside and revealed a secret truth: he was my old master Isuldor reborn! It had been Kenzil, invisible, that had stolen his body at the Fort, and returned him to life at the dubious request of another Covenner, Vayne the Red, for reasons even he is unclear on. With his rebirth he had taken a new name, Thomas, and I infer he may not be the only dead given new lease on life. Either way, I happily returned him his belongings and share of the reward, and we returned to see what had been decided. The Green Hands & Covenners had already explored the lands surrounding the Fort, and laid claim to that region for founding their state, while Variel had decided on the Temple of the Elk as their new home. Another surprise was that the ever mysterious armored warrior Peter had chosen to leave the Dragonseyes to swear fealty to Baron Kenzil, becoming his first knight.
With territories established, the Barons and their associated retinues split ways the next morning. We headed east, to Nettle’s Crossing, to discharge one last duty, and tossed the Stag Lord’s corpse into the river, where the cursed undead thing that was once Davik Nettles caught him and dragged him under, his Rinser floating up to the shore. The last of my formal duties discharged, I was surprised when Kenzil, upon urgings from both the Green Eyes and the Coven, invited me to become both his apprentice and his Treasurer. To both, of course, I said yes - it is not every day such an opportunity present itself, after all!
So we have returned to the Stag Lord’s Fortress, just ahead of incoming pioneers, eyes filled with dreams, and gotten to the hard work of founding a country. Baron Kenzil has made up his court, naming “Pa” Jessup as Counselor for the people, Lady Vayne as his chief General, Tamara the Green as Magister, Thomas as Warden, Sir Peter as High Executioner, good Master Holland as Grand Diplomat, WInterheart as Marshal, and, of course, myself as Treasurer. Our capital here by the Tuskwater, is called Witchhaven.
Still, I am a little worried. Baron Kenzil has quite taken a fondness to some trollop that arrived in town with the other settlers, an adventurers named Lily Teskerten. Surely he cannot be that naive and see a gold-digger when she appears? Also, a couple of settlers, the Rezbins, have approached us and are asking for support in founding another settlement deep in the Narlwood, some place the Dragonseyes cleared a month of so back that sounds ideal to them. They plan on calling it Tatzleford, I believe.
Erastus, 4710
We have found a use for Gregor Garess, expatriate of the Dragonseyes and the noble house of Garess. While I initially employed him as my own Steward, he proved too ambitious for that, and so Holland has taken him on as an aid. We have discussed much about the finer points of ruling this new state, including how many holidays (one every other month, I think), level of taxation (moderate, for now), the merits of a Goetocracy (rule by witches), the ratification of articles of rule as presented by Tamara the Green, and Kenzil’s announcement to be married. As it turns out, his lordship has decided to marry Lily Teskerten (soon to be Lily the White) and make her his Baroness. He is also turning 70 at the end of the month, so we will have several festivities to celebrate.
The Colony itself grows apace. We have claimed the area around where the three rivers meet and can be forded, and named the spot River ford. Pa has decided to move there and establish a farming settlement, which is good. It will separate him from Tamara. The two are always squabbling like some old couple. I’m sure it is his frustration over the loss of “Ma” Jessup and Tamara’s not too different nature. Here in Witchhaven we have about finished with the reconstruction of the Fort, and initial housing for our settlers and workmen. Kenzil is dissatisfied though, feeling we should see to an inn for visiting dignitaries next. Tamara was concerned about the nearby hills surrounding the Tuskwater, especially with all these rumors of Trolls being sighted to the south, and so took Winterheart, Thomas and Vayne to scout around. Oh, yes, and Gregor. He has invited himself along as cook. They returned after about a week, having found a large thicket of Fangberries (and their associated Spider infestation), and rescuing of some Gnomish Explorers from a river. The Gnomes proved a real find, having several maps they were willing to sell (for exorbitant prices) of the Southern Greenbelt. While I personally was against such a purchase, everyone else seems quite exited, as the new maps show evidence of elvish ruins to the west (deep in the Narlwood), the presence of a giant somewhere in the south, and a burrow mound far to the east. Of particular urgency though, at least to Master Kenzil and the others, is the presence of some sort of Swamp Witch to the south on the shores of the Tuskwater, and wolf-tracks directly to the east of us, practically on our doorstep. This coincides dangerously with a wanted poster recently come from Restov, warning and offering reward for the demise of a Warg known to haunt these parts, Howls-of-the-North-WInd.
Still, all this can wait. For now, we prepare a wedding feast and birthday extravaganza for our lord and lady.
Arodus, 4710
What a whirlwind couple of months! My my, but I never expected this!
With the Stag Lord dead at the hands of my boys (and girl) in the Dragonseyes, we’ve earned our charter of Colonization, and with Variel’s rebirth, we even have our Baron. Since leaving the Green Hands to found their own Colony down south in the Kamelands, we have founded the Barony of Southshield at the Temple of the Elk. Three months and much blood, sweat and tears later, and we have our capital of Elkholm. It is not yet much to look at, just the restored Temple and a handful of houses, but it’s here. We have also managed to build a road connecting us to Oleg’s Outpost, and he has agreed (with some general complaints about encroaching civilization) to have his fort be part of our domain as well. Between here and there is Tyg’s Bridge, crossing the Thorn River in that same neck of the woods we met the fairies.
Baron Forestwalker has established his court, and it is no surprise he has filled it with comrades from the Dragonseyes. His foster-mother, Roska, is Councilor, while Jan One-eye has accepted the post of General. Sonja Medvyed has taken over as High Priest, and works now with Elder Jhon at the Temple of the Elk, while Allistar Lancerey has become Magister, and has sent word to his family back in Brevoy to join us here. The Druid Meenem Riverstalker has agreed to watch the wilderness as our lord Marshal, while my boy Grano acts quietly as Variel’s Spymaster, and my other sweet baboo Zane counts the money as Treasurer. The Stag Lord’s repentant lieutenant, Akiros Ismort, has been persuaded by Sonja to stay on as Warden, and now patrols Elkholm with a handful of guardsmen, while the cherry role of Grand Diplomat has been given to none other than I! Can you imagine? They have given me a parcel of funds to spread the good word about our little Colony and a role that allows me to still feel the open road beneath my feet! True, they also suggested I might marry Baron Variel, but he hasn’t changed so much as to stop being a stick-in-the-mud as far as romance goes, and likely finds the idea of settling down as atrocious as I do.
There is one other face at court worth mentioning, which would be Nathaniel Green, known to some as the “Grinning Man” (for the hideous scar that marks his face on one side where the Stag Lord cut him from lip to jaw). They say they found him tied up in a room, a torture subject of one of the Stag Lord’s men. He told us he was a merchant, captured and kept for their amusement, but for a merchant he seems remarkably skilled at killing. We kept him on as my escort for the first two months, and recently Variel has seen fit to bring him into his retinue as royal executioner (because some feel others still need killing, and the new Baron finds meting out such punishments... distasteful).
We have recently been approached by the Rezbins, pioneers hoping to win over our support in settling the area around the Tatzleford. Baron Variel is very interested in helping them out, as a re many amongst his court, but we are under much pressure to settle the plains north of the Narlwood first, establishing farmland before the coming winter.
Hm. I'm interested. How was Lily so successful?
Hm. I'm interested. How was Lily so successful?
NPC on NPC action? ;)
Also a bit of may-december romance going on there. Not the first time a cute young thing married for money, and she struck me as the gold-digging type (and Kenzil is old - venerable even). Kenzil did give the pcs (as his court) a chance to object, and they didn't.
For class I decided to use the Conan d20 Temptress class (rather than the more obvious choice of Rogue), and a willingness to multiclass into Witch (not an ideal choice, but it helps entrench her in local politics, as that's the direction that group has decided to go).
Net result, I get to give out her quest a little early, and with a little more "oomph!" ("For the Baroness!")
Neth, 4710
Four months have come and gone, seemingly in the blink of an eye, and we stand at the threshold of winter. Was it only a season ago our lord married and celebrated his 70th birthday? I still happily wear the courtier’s garb he gave me, medal of office and all (true, he gave all of us on the council such gifts, “planning for our future” he said). I still remember the quaint affair fondly, as it was just those of us of the court, plus a chosen few from town. Lady Lily got a little drunk and babbled about her love of elven artworks, hinting strongly that anyone bringing her fine examples of such might be “amply rewarded.” Apparently she had seen the notes about Elvish ruins in the southern Narlmarchs and has hopes that the more adventurous at court might go fetch her some samples, and is willing to hand over her father’s old magic cloak for such. Baron Kenzil has declared himself Kenzil Yossen, and renamed the Barony to take his name as such. Thus we are the Barony of Yossen, though the valley bellow the castle is still Mystvale. He has spoken of his own hopes for the future - specifically a desire to see us expand and claim the Candlemere (“We are the Candlemere Coven, after all” quothe he).
Still, after the celebration was done, he was quite concerned about neighboring troubles, and decided to send out two expeditions: one diplomatic, one to hunt. As I was not along for the latter I will be brief as to how it played out. Winterheart, as Lord Marshal, led an expedition that included General Vayne, Peter the Executioner, Warden Tomas, and Councilor Jessup. They spend half a week hunting the Warg Howls-the-North-Wind and his pack, and came back victorious (they also had a run-in with an Owlbear, similarly outmatched, and avoided a nest of a half-dozen Tatzlwyrms). Despite their triumphs, no sooner did they return but a dispute between Vayne and Tomas broke out, and the two drew steel. There duel was fair and decisive, and while Tomas showed well for himself, Vayne proved his superior in battle. Thankfully she did not kill him, though she looked sorely tempted. I am worried about those two - how will our kingdom last if those we lean on to defend it continue to snipe at each other?
Our own diplomatic mission just as successful, and far more pleasant. We headed south to meet with the Old Beldame, she whom the gnomish expedition noted as the “Swamp Witch,” and after several days of repeated entreaties, managed to persuade her to join our council. She has since agreed to take Tamara’s place as Magister, freeing the younger Witch to play Spymaster, a role she seems quite happy to take. Mistress Tamara worries me like that. Still, the Old Beldame seems like a nice, if frightening, old lady. She’s always offering me pastries and talking about fattening me up. I do like a good pastry.
That Scarecrow of hers creeps me out though. Ladies Tamara and Talya seem captivated by it, desperately desiring to know the secrets of its’ construction. But not me. It keeps looking at me, its’ head following me when I walk near. Brrr.
Yossen itself continues to grow, but slowly. Our resources from Restov are spent, so we have all been working overtime to keep things afloat. For my part I have had to raise taxes, while Pa Jessup and Holland have had to cut back on their schedule of events. We have seen more homes made, and even a smithy (which has made many at court quite happy - we have a strong fondness for metalworking amongst our courtiers these days), and with forging closer bonds with the Sootscales. This latest development has proved quite fortuitous, as Chief Sootscale has since sworn fealty to Master Kenzil, and with a little help from us, have reopened the Silver Mine they call home, bolstering the Barony’s revenues.
Trade is also improving, with riverboat traffic across the Tuskwater increasing, and roads running from Witchhaven up through Riverford to the Old Sycamore and the Sootscale Mine. The only real recent trouble was a case of arson that threatened to burn down one of the newer neighborhoods. Folks are rather upset that Warden Tomas failed to bring the culprit to justice.
So here we are, on the threshold of Winter. Stronger than we were, thanks to Baron Yossen and the Old Beldame, but friction amongst our younger members making for a worrisome future. If we can just keep from killing each other, perhaps our little kingdom has a chance.
Hm. I'm interested. How was Lily so successful?NPC on NPC action? ;)
Also a bit of may-december romance going on there. Not the first time a cute young thing married for money, and she struck me as the gold-digging type (and Kenzil is old - venerable even). Kenzil did give the pcs (as his court) a chance to object, and they didn't.
For class I decided to use the Conan d20 Temptress class (rather than the more obvious choice of Rogue), and a willingness to multiclass into Witch (not an ideal choice, but it helps entrench her in local politics, as that's the direction that group has decided to go).
Net result, I get to give out her quest a little early, and with a little more "oomph!" ("For the Baroness!")
Ah, I did not realize Kenzil was a NPC. I was trying to figure out how you managed to convince a character so quickly. NPC/NPC would make it easier.
Kuthona, 4710
Winter has come, and it is biting cold!
His lordship (ha! so cute calling him such - he doesn’t take on such airs with us or the settlers... the “Pioneer Prince” some call him, dressing and living like the rest of us as he does) managed to scout out and claim much of the plains north of the Narlmarches for farmland, which should mean that while food is tight now, we should eat well next winter. When they explored up there a few months back, Variel and company came back with trophies of a Manticore kill, as well as an ambush by a half-dozen Boggards - frog-like humanoids like the one that lives by itself by the river. Since then, what once was Oleg’s Outpost has been expanded a bit, with a small settlement of houses and Oleg tending their horses at his well-stocked stables. The village calls itself Olegrad, much to the amusement of their mayor, Oleg himself - men are such vain, easy to please creatures. Here in Elkholm the Temple of the Elk has been rebuilt, along with a graveyard to accompany it, and despite a fire and collapse that destroyed much of the early work, we have our district for our honored dead.
Rumors have been running rampant of Troll sightings to the south, and there has been much debate amongst Variel’s court. Jan has been agitating for hunting the beasts down, but Akiros has proven the cooler head, recommending we wait until spring. We are not ready for Troll hunting he believes, and the majority of the court agreed. I wonder if Variel has decided otherwise though. Just recently he has taken a small expedition southward to the nascent settlement of Tatzlford, to check on the Rezbins, and to reassure them of his intentions to again press south so as to incorporate that part of the woods into Southshield. I have just received word that they too have had sightings of Trolls, as well as one logger (named Stas) who encountered some reptilian monster called a Hodog. There is some argument he may have been drunk when he saw it however. Still, Variel and company seem to be using this as an excuse to stay away from court and poke around a bit.
In the middle of winter.
Men!
Kuthona, 4710
Our heroes have come back on their shields, and yet again we find ourselves in debt to the Witchlords of Yossen.
I admit, events have been grim of late. For months now I have wondered why I agreed to play diplomat for Baron Variel, to live without recompense almost like some cloistered nun and eat gruel. My boys are a noble, rambunctious bunch, but they sometimes do not see the point that when one becomes socially upwardly mobile, that means you must at least dress the part. So I have found more than the obvious to be thankful for in our recent trip to visit Baron Yossen at Stag Castle. But I get ahead of myself.
I am told that after they left for Tatzlford on their mission to reassure them we would be incorporating them soon, Variel and his companions had several run-ins with gigantic spiders that haunted the trees north of town. Those proved not so much the threat - perhaps the cold sapped the monsters of their strength - but once they left the woods, having decided to explore the plains north of the Narlmarches, they met a far more dangerous challenge. Worgs!
Like the beast that was harassing Yossen’s borders not long ago, these evil creatures look like wolves, but are far more evil, and far smarter. They attacked the Dragonseyes as they were breaking camp one morning, and managed to pull down General Jan One-eye’s horse, pinning him underneath, and rent him limb from limb. Nathaniel Green, Variel’s hatchet man whom criminals have come to call “the Grinning Man” met a similar fate before the rest of the company rallied and dispatched the beasts. Grieving, the company carried their dead home, and Variel made no question of pulling ten-thousand gold from our young kingdom’s treasury, in hopes that the Witchlord Kenzil might be persuaded to do for them what he had done for him not so long ago. We packed up and wrapped ourselves tight, reaching Witchhaven not long before a blizzard locked the Greenbelt down tight, turning the very air into a white maelstrom of icy doom.
I envy them their castle, and their warm fires, and their magic that allows them to traipse around wearing the most... revealing... of garments. Witches and their magic allow for rather relaxed dress codes it seems.
A week in Witchhaven has given us all a chance to observe the Witchlord’s court and baronial state. While we strove to establish farms and settlements, they have established mines with their Kobold allies, having found rich deposits of gold and silver in the northern Kamelands. The elf Winterheart has traded his role of “Beater of the Bounds” for High Priest, acting on the tradition that a Ranger may act as a Priest for Erastil when the community so needs them to do so. “Pa” Jessup has become one of their Witchlords, taking the name Hebediah the Brown and taking over for Winterheart as Marshal, while Gregor - Allistar’s old butler - has stepped up to become Councilor and speak for the people. Talya, the artificer from Alkenstar, and her husband Peter, have suffered tragedy in loosing their first child. Even the Witchlords suffer tragedy like the rest of us.
But our young Baron Variel was not to be distracted. Baron Kenzil certainly had no objections to taking our money, and after determining their willingness to return put each in order into his black cauldron, boiling away their old flesh in his foul smelling oils, to bring them back to us reborn, if not a little different in shape. Both are... smaller than they were. The Grinning Man has been remade a Dwarf, though his signature scar still marks him clearly. Jan too is still missing an eye, but is half the man he was - their treasurer, Anando, could be his handsomer brother, halfling that he now is. Both Barons seem to have recognized this for the opportunity this clearly is though, and spent much of the week agreeing to borders between our two states. In principle we have agreed to stick to the Narlmarches, and they the Kamelands. In the north, however, they have ceded us the South Rostland road (or at least as much of it as Brevoy itself chooses not to claim), while we in turn promise to end our southern expansion at the Murque River. I wonder what interests them so in the southern Narlmarches, but we have enough to worry about now with our current plans, and this should do much to allay the constant suspicion and militant posturing Allistar makes over our eastern neighbors. Or not. Allistar is most disagreeable like that.
The Barons also talked about the fashion of court, and the need for “living the life,” as Master Kenzil puts it, a subject Variel understands but finds quite uncomfortable. Variel was born a peasant, and raised lowborn until he took to Erastil’s service. The idea of dressing to his station is hard for him. Lord Kenzil finds his embarrassment amusing though, and points out no one worries about HIS origins. He is a fat old flying man-witch, he jokes of himself, so to his mind nobles not born to the purple are cut from a different cloth. The outcome of all this?
We’re getting paid!
Pharast, 4711
It has been a good, if quiet, three months since midwinter and our visit to Witchhaven. We reached an accord with Garuum, the Boggard we had met last year, thanks to Sonja’s diligent visits and learning of his tongue, and he has agreed to our being neighbors (and mutual allies - he seems to have no more love for interloping Boggards than we do). This has in turn allowed us to finish establishing a road to Tatzlford and placing the Rezbin’s settlement under our protection. Though they only have an Inn and a few houses yet, they look to be growing swiftly. Though rumors of Trolls continue to the south of us, the citizenry seem happy with our efforts so far, especially between a general sense of calm that even Allistar’s worries can’t dislodge over our political situation, and a surplus of food stores left over from winter.
Perhaps the oddest event of late is the appearance of a monster, a Gnoll from the desert kingdom of Kapatesh, who has only lately arrived in Tatzlford. The Baron seems quite perplexed having met him - the Gnoll claims to be a merchant, calling himself “Lucky Heegle,” and has come up here hoping to set up shop and sell all sorts of goods from the fair southern climes. He doesn’t seem evil, or particularly monstrous, but he definitely makes the settlers nervous.
The Poet’s Repose
Kenzil sat in his chair and thought to himself It is good to be the King! Or Baron, or Witchlord. Any way he looked at it, the youngsters cared for him well.
Kenzil the Grey sat in the chair they’d set aside for him in the Inn, just as they’d set aside a seat for him at the Smithy only a few months before. The Council kept setting aside little thrones for him to rest his world-weary bones whenever a new establishment was opened in Witchhaven. Perhaps they thought he might up and float away if they didn’t go out of their way to give him every due consideration? Ha! They didn’t fawn over the Old Beldame this way. Oh, he could see the old Hag’s jealous, jaundiced eye, but the Council favored him. He knew how to play the kindly one better than she!
He looked up and caught sight of his sweet young Lily White dancing with the others. Everyone had turned out for the Inn’s opening, after all. They’d pulled aside the tables and benches, and everyone limber enough to do so was out enjoying the Brawl, one of the simpler dances his people knew. His people. Ha! He had wandered the world seven decades, learned magics light and dark, enjoyed entirely too much good food, and done some despicable things to those who may or may not have deserved it. And fate had made him a Baron of a provincial little colony at the edge of the world, given him a pretty young wife and a steady income of fools not careful enough with their own lives! He could barely contain himself with the humor of it all.
Just earlier this spring, the noted poet Iosis Vemorelion and his retinue of dilettantes and wealthy layabouts had passed through with far too much time and money for the modest little settlement of Witchhaven, and though they were quite happy to stay in the Stag’s Castle, Iosis and his company were only to happy to put forth a collection to help built Yossen’s first Inn. It was Winterheart who came up with the name, the “Poet’s Repose,” to honor their visiting patrons.
“Some ale for our Lord?” the barmaid appeared, offering at his elbow.
Kenzil laughed and took the proffered mug. “Thank you good Mistress Saki, and thank your Master too!” he toasted to her, before enjoying the profits of the cup.
His holdings continued to grow, with little interest or direction from him. Tamara the Green, ambitious in her rebirth, had encouraged the Barony’s growth as far north as the Spiderfells, named for the patch of plains she and the Green Hands had run afoul of a pit-spider of unnatural size, and as far east as Nettle’s Crossing. The western border with the Southshield Barony nebulously stretched the length of the Narlmarches, at least for now. And to the south, well... to the south stood the Candlemere, and it was to there Tamara led the Green Hand Band, along with Vayne the Red, to see about claiming that haunted isle that so fascinated his dreams. Perhaps they might find that missing boy, Tig the Tanners son, who’s tracks had been found to be mingled with that of Lizard Folk along the shores of the Tuskwater. Or maybe they will kill a few of those Manicures he’s heard have been snatching the occasional sheep. It would certainly make Master Vermorelion happy if they did. The wordsmith has a funny idea about turning their quills into pens for the writing of his next epic.
Why if he were younger... Ah, but mucking about in the woods like that is a young man’s game. Better for these old bones to sit by the fire, with much ale to warm the blood and bring rose to the cheeks, to be adored and respected in his dotage.
It wasn’t like he planned to live forever, after all.
Not really.
Not yet.
Candlemere in Crimson
We should not have come here.
I am not afraid. That fool Gregor is not afraid. But the nettles and thorns we dug through to get up to the tower has made Winterheart and myself ill, and the Tower itself has filled most of the others with a nameless dread. The Old Beldame warned us. She told us months ago that the Candlemere was a haunt for Wisps, ever since the Old Ones touched this place back in ancient days. The ruins are old, dating back to one of the ages after my race left, before the return, shaped by crueler hands than mine. Tamara has found strange writing, but none of us recognize it, cruel words for a cruel place.
Wait... wait... the sun has nearly set. Where is that other light coming from?
We are not alone here.
I am not afraid...
Dark Alliances
We fought. It flew. We swung. It vanished, reappeared elsewhere, vanished again.
The vicious little horror tormented us, fought us to a standstill. We healed and hunkered down. It refreshed, and waited us out. FInally we retreated, slowly, sickly, nerves frayed, and heard the wisp laugh at our leaving.
We made it back to our boat, and rowed away to the farther shore. A light gleamed above the tower, laughter buzzing alien above. We camped, we tried to rest, yet another wisp struck as we had just begun to relax (or was it the same one stalking? Who knows?), slipping into a tent unseen. Gregor died in his sleep, his body found stiff and smelling of burnt hair. Peter bravely charged in and, shockingly, grabs it, wrestles it back into the tent, shouting to us to collapse the tent around him, net them both. Thing shrieks, it trills, it shocks him again and again. It cannot get free of his iron grip, as he hammers it again, again, with spiked gauntleted fist, throws himself on it, mashing it to the ground. We roll the two up, like arguing lovers, a cocooned violence itching to be reborn as something worse. Then Tamara does something unthinkable. She talks to it.
She persuades it. She makes peace with it. With the killer of comrades.
And it agrees to a truce.
Tamara tells it of Peter’s role. The Witchlord’s executioner, of how he can feed it all the fear it could eat, if it comes back with us, to Witchhaven. This can not end well.
Peter names it “Vasha.” “A good name” he says. Don’t name it, you idiots I think, don’t invite it home, fools! But like a silent partner in crime I say nothing. And we bundle up Gregor, and it follows us home.
Back in Witchhaven Tamara explains all to Baron Yossen, and I think Old man, you have sense, do you not? But like all grandparents, he spoils the young, and he shakes his head, and agrees that it can stay. He agrees that it can feed from Peter’s kills. That it can haunt the dungeon and feed from the prisoners. That it can hunt in Gyronna’s Graveyard. And I shiver. No good can come of this. And at night, when I rest, it whispers to me, you’re right, nothing good will...
Still, we set out the next day. Gregor is reborn, not learning from past mistakes. Brought back dwarf no longer, but human, and woman. Brought back Talya, no ties to the old, yet still, same old, same old. Still eager to risk life so swiftly, so expensively returned. “We must save little Tig!” they say. Trade a little brat for a kingdom any day, that is the hero’s way, so they say. So we row back, south past the Old Beldame, waving on the beach, old scarecrow waving behind, south past the Candlemere, haunted and dead, then west, to a fortress in the middle of the river, to a young boy’s screams.
And again we are faced with monsters, bored Lizardfolk watching. And again, Tamara talks. That’s IT! We will cleanse the Greenbelt with Tamara’s tongue! She will talk to every menace we face and talk them to death! It can be done! I am sure of it!
How did we elves lose this world to these chattering monkeys?
Still, the guards are bored. And tired of the brattlings' screaming. Their King told them to keep the boy alive, they say, to make their ancestors happy. They wonder if this is the way - not to eat him a week ago, like they would have if they could have. Such nice monsters. Such responsible monsters. Debating the finer points of should we torture children? versus should we eat them?
But we don’t kill them. Tamara... talks to them... and they let us in. Perhaps you can persuade the king? the troubled monsters ask. And we follow, like good little lambs to a slaughter.
So we stand in the heart of the village, surrounded swiftly by the curious reptiles, and their King, a mountain of a monster, comes. And he listens to Tamaras’ twisting tongue, and he says No.
No, you may not have the boy.
No, you will not leave alive.
And I smile, the battlesong on my lips, and war leaps from our scabbards. Blood from our skin. Violence our conversation.
Though the King has his pets, and some subjects loyal, some prove not, and our battlecry proves stronger. Though his best warriors arrive to aid him, they arrive too late, and Tamara again talks the fight out of them. We leave, crying child in tow, dead king tucked under our arms, “spoils of war for our victory feast,” they tell us. “And don’t come back."
I wonder what their “ancestors” will have to say about this. Their ancestors that live on the island. Candlemere Island. Oh, we’d best row quick.
We row quick past the island. The sky darkens. We row up past the Old Beldames' hut, her little windows shut and shuttered, old Scarecrow hiding his face. Rain pelts us. Thunder growls.
The sky twists down, the lake twists up. We row desperately for shore. Wild Boar scream in fear and anger and rage, awaiting us. I loosen my sword in its’ sheath, and smile.
Maybe Tamara can “talk” to them.
Gozran, 4711
Who would have thought we’d make it a year here? But it’s true, we will officially have been in the Greenbelt, taming and exploring for a year.
Well, maybe not exploring so much. Our Baron, sure. But me, not so much.
It’s been getting bloody dangerous out there.
With Grano retiring, Baron Variel has pushed my boy Nathaniel up to the post. “The Grinning Man” has retired from killing the deserving that our good Baron feels uncomfortable in killing, leaving Nate to his hawking and intimidating the public in other ways.
Eager to claim more farmland, Variel has chosen instead to lead yet another expedition north, taking Jan, Nate, Sonja and a new fellow, just arrived in town, Bryn from Rostev. They got up north and west of Olegrad, further than they’ve been before, and found a farm rumored to be cursed. Turned out it wasn’t cursed so much as haunted by something called a Drekavac, which followed them back to camp, probably because Allistar couldn’t leave well enough alone and messed with its’ toys. Well, they apparently dispatched it, and went back to consecrate the graves at that old farm, but both Sonja and Allistar came down with the plague. It was all made worse because while they were out camping in the fields, they were harassed all night by another of those damned wisps! Evil thing wouldn’t let them sleep a wink. Wouldn’t let them fight it proper either, so they tell me. Next day, they sent Bryn and Nate to fetch Elder Jhon for aid, telling them to have him meet them at Erastil’s Statue at the ruined Hunting Lodge. Yet while journeying there they had another run in, this time with a Barghest pretending to be a Wolf, and while they were so distracted, the Wisp revealed itself - opportunistic little monster...
Well, the barghest nearly killed Jan, but escaped before they could do it in. Not so the wisp, which Variel managed to nail with his arrows when it got a little too greedy. They made it safely to the Statue, and a day later Elder Jhon arrived and helped them recover from the disease.
Soon they were all back here in Elkholm, only to find out from Akiros that the bandits so recently chased out of Yossen have arrived to make themselves a pain in our realm, hitting merchants from Tatzlford to Olegrad. On the plus side, Variel placed a few orders in to get road and settlers aimed at the recently opened up stretch for farming. Even got a dump established at the edge of Elkholm. My budget has been slightly increased, so I can actually start making my rounds and get some goodwill going with our Witchlord & Swordlord neighbors. Roska has a bit more to do as well, with her being able to promise some sort of celebration at least once this coming year.
Our Baron, the big spender.
Still, he means well. No sooner was he back than he, Sonja, Jan and Allistar (and one of Allistar’s poor, overdressed, underpaid goons) went charging off to see wither it was wild animals or bandits that had been killing in Tatzlford recently. Turns out it was something else entirely. Apparently a werewolf with an ax to grind - literally - had slipped in to do some killing while the moon was full. They caught up with him, and hammered him so bad he fled, though not without putting fear of the dying into Allistar and his little minion. They tried tracking the beast, but lost its’ trail in the woods south of town.
Werewolves, Barghests and Drekavacs, oh my! Can’t wait to hear what else this next year will bring!
Flying Pigs
We row desperately for shore, as wild boar, one by one, loose their footing, and fly, skipping like stones across the water towards the howling waterspout behind us. They are not alone in struggling against the hungry winds.
One by one we too are sucked from the boat, to receive our dunking. I do not know how the rest faired. Only that their luck faired better than mine.
I touched the tornado. For six seconds I flew. Buffeted by water, by wind, I touched the sky.
And it was gone. The gods gave up on their murderous charge, and I used the magics that Toad showed me, that Kenzel refined in me, to float, gently, like a feather, back down to the Tuskwater’s shore, where my associates had since thrown themselves, heaving breaths, wet, tired, terrified, relieved.
I am battered, broken by the winds and the water. I feel glorious.
The gods failed to kill me yet again.
Gozran, 4711
The expedition to find that boy Tig returned safely last month, having “negotiated” successfully with the Lizardfolk and survived a run -in with a waterspout on the Tuskwater. Ooo - I saw it from the city. Caused quite a stir, even with it being many, many miles away. Tamara keeps promising to learn some Hex allowing her mastery of the weather. I say such mastery can’t come too soon. The reoccurring hazard of Tornados in the Kamelands certainly explains why colonies here have failed in the past. Perhaps our preponderance of Witches will succeed where others have failed.
I do hope the loss of her familiar in the event doesn’t set her studies back too much. Her new familiar, a Rat, doesn’t fill me with much confidence. Keeps looking at me like I’m a fleck of cheese.
I write now from the field. Dame Vayne, having had enough of nature, decided to stay at home and see to her son for a while. Perhaps the rescue of that boy Tig had more of an effect than she admits. Perhaps it was being caught inside the Tornado itself. Matters not, as the rest of them managed to persuade me in taking her place. Silly me, I said yes. That Master Winterheart can be most... persuasive.
Our goal is to work our way around the Candlemere to the north, towards the old elven fortress at the head of the Marque River. Baron Kenzil and Tamara think it would be a good spot to claim, hemming in the Southshield Barony’s advance southward, and besides, it may also hold treasures to delight Lady Lily. We rowed up the Skunk river as far as the spot where they rescued those Gnomish Explorers some time ago, then set out on foot to explore for several days. Our camp was attacked one night by some horrendously large spiders - ick! Nasty things, the Narlmarches seem thick with them. We had far more trouble with a nasty old hermit and his ridiculously large wildcat the next day though. He claimed to be some sort of High Druid of the forest, but when he got close to Winterheart, he whipped out a knife and stabbed him. I admit, I lost my head a little in the fight. Apparently I lost my composure a bit, and perforated him most satisfactorily with my crossbow. Still, the mad man and his pet gave us quite a chilling run. If we had not outnumbered him, I would hate to think how it might have gone.
The lunatic seems to have quite the stash tucked away though. Perhaps the most interesting (if least valuable) item is a locket containing the portrait of a familiar looking young woman (his daughter, we suspect). This cheap piece of jewelry was wrapped in an oilcloth with a map on it. While the location it leads to is old news to us - we had already heard of this “Lonely Barrow” from the Gnomes - there are details mentioned (traps, undead, etc.) that are new. Peter is particularly intrigued by the reference to a magical flail - his signature weapon. But Tamara has persuaded us to stay on target, and continue west, towards the elven ruins, rather than return back east and to the unexplored regions of the Kamelands.
Desnus, 4711
Oh, these are the times that try mens’ souls... and womens’ too!
Baron Variel has asked everyone to work hard to insure Southshield’s success, but the bandits that pestered us last month have looted the treasury and brought trade to a standstill. We are broke!
Still, it has not been all bad. The Grigs, Dryads, Nixies, and other Fay within our borders have come forth to offer some tribute to our poor beleaguered Baron, easing some of our pain, and possibly allowing us to get by another month.
The increased piety and isolation here in Elkholm has made the locals rather arrogant and pigheaded. If one doesn’t subscribe to their views on “propriety” and faith, you are overcharged and generally encouraged to conform. It bothers me a little, but as I spend much of my time on the road, it is only an irritation. Lord Allistair however has becomes most outraged, and has moved to Tatzlford, only visiting briefly when Baron Variel needs his advice on matters of court, finding the locals “pigheaded” and “small-minded.”
The Baron has ordered a stop to all construction or expansion, at least until we have enough to do so, and do so comfortably.
Sarenith, 4711
We have driven off the bandits finally, but otherwise our suffering continues. The newest member of our court has been established. With Grano retired and off to foreign parts, and Nathaniel doing his best to fill his boots, Bryn has stepped up to handle the axeman’s post as royal executioner. At least she brought her own ax.
Rova, 4711
We have spent several months now, struggling to rally Southshield’s economy, to little success. Worse, fires broke out throughout the Narlmarches, threatening all three settlements. Luckily, we only lost some houses in Tatzlford. It could have been so much worse.
I wonder if Allistair’s house made it?
Lamashan, 4711
We have successfully rebuilt those houses lost in Tatzlford, and another brush with banditry has been rebuffed. Baron Variel has been beleaguered by the court to “get busy” and start a dynasty. He was rather reticent, both to High Priestess Sonja’s businesslike offer, and other’s suggestion that he might take my hand. Oh, if only he had ever shown some interest. But I am not one to settle down in any case. Still, he has been persuaded to send letters north to inquire with families of rank as to the possibilities of finding a wife.
Neth, 4711
Though it is now early winter, the Dragoneyes felt stiff with lack of adventure, and have made some disastrous choices because of it!
Oh, where to begin? No sooner had they left to explore some more of the northern plains and look for better farmland, than an agitator, the mendicant Gregori, arrived to stir up trouble. Oh, he has done nothing wrong, per-se, but each day he stood in the town square, in front of the Temple of the Elk, and spoke to the ever growing crowd as to the litany of faults, rumored crimes, and general failings of the absent Baron! Perhaps, if it were not winter and people had work to do, or we had kept up with the festivals and holidays the general public might have something better to do than listen to the noises coming out of his pie-hole! But they don’t, had so a week went by, with citizens from neighboring settlements to come see the only show in town.
I would not find out until much later the grim misery that had been the Dragoneye Band’s failed search northward. Of how they, along with newcomer Cyris Surtova, who arrived just before they left hoping to worm his way into court, spent much of their time being hunted by a half a dozen Trolls while digging their way through blizzards and heavy snows. They came back, less their pack horse and the High Priestess’ Elk companion (the Trolls found them quite tasty, I understand) to Gregori, standing in the middle of town, listing all their failures. It was the last straw.
Perhaps if Allistair had not immediately tried to bespell or assault him, Baron Variel might have taken a different tact. But the Baron spent what little energy he had just keeping the warrior-wizard from making a scene, before engaging the rabble-rouser in a discussion that ultimately revolved around his own many failures.
How heavy the crown, my lord, to make you fail us so now.
Variel could not refute Gregori’s accusations, so he handed him both crown and kingdom! He has sworn to serve and support him in turn, hoping this stranger may do a better job. We are all still in shock I think. Even Gregori (though he seems to be recovering nicely). Lady Sonja has resigned, recommending Elder Jhod take her place as High Priest, declaring instead she shall follow Variel into whatever exile may come. Meenem & Roska too have decided they shall not serve under this new agitant. Allistair seems the most offended by this betrayal however, and has not only abdicated his post as Magister, but taken the small force of men-at-arms he has slowly accrued over lo these many months and declared he intends to leave for Witchhaven and the Barony of Yossen, believing his services will be much better accepted in a land ruled by law and magic. Sir Jan is just in shock, and lost. The rest of us, however, have decided to stick it out, and do what we can for our chosen home. Maybe Variel and Gregori are right. Maybe this stranger can do better. At least if we can stay, we can say we did what we could.
Kuthona, 4711
Oh, what a trying year. Let us hope the next proves better.
Baron Gregori has sent the Dragoneye Band west, on a trade expedition to Ustelav that should keep them busy for many months. They are headed for the city of Carrion Hill, to arrange for a shipment of Middenstone to speed construction here. Our new Baron has seen fit also to rearrange his court, as is his prerogative. Our court, at the end of 4711, stands as follows:
- Baron Gregori the I, Ruler
- Svetlana Leveton, Councilor
- Kesten Garess, General
- Naleska (me), Diplomat (still)
- Elder Jhod Kavken, High Priest of Erastil
- Zane, Magister
- Cyris Surtova, Marshal
- Bryn, Royal Executioner
- Nathaniel “the Grinning Man,” Spymaster
- Oleg Leveton, Treasurer
- Akiros, Warden
Our new month has been most peculiar, and I am hard pressed to say wither it be better or worse than before. The new Baron has seen to it we stop the ban on expansion and construction, managing to claim yet more territory in the northern plains (the region that so bedeviled the Dragoneyes last month), even constructing a road there for further expansion. He has had a statue to himself erected in the town square here in Elkholm, and sent me north to Olegrad to hire girls and set up a brothel to encourage more interest here in the south - not too popular a move with the more pious members of our community. But is seems to be working. He has pushed Oleg to increase taxation, making them positively crippling, while cutting what little festivities and promotional activities we had to nothing, stating it is the only way to get out of this economic depression Variel left us in. THis hasn’t stopped him from pulling out funds from our beleaguered treasury to make sure we are all paid (and paid well), stating that we must all keep up appearances. The people in turn are surlier than ever, as they grow poorer and we richer.
And now I find myself in political scandal! Oh, I had not thought anything of it, having been in the profession of giving comfort for such a long time to those in need, and while the people know this of me and turn a blind eye, they hold their clergy to a much higher standard, it turns out. Elder Jhod had found his new post very stressful, and seemed so overwhelmed, I had thought I might alleviate some of his... tensions... He was resistant at first, but in the end proved far less resistant to my persuasions than Variel or Allistair ever did.
But word of our tryst has gotten out, and his congregation is outraged, demanding his resignation! After everything he has done to rebuild the Temple here, to help this community to grow! And yet they are the ones to be scandalized, to feel betrayed!
Perhaps Allistair was right about the pigheadedness of the citizens of Elkholm!
If we loose Elder Jhod, who then shall be our small country’s shepherd?
13th of Gozran, 4711
After several uneventful days exploring the northern side of the Murque River, we have found the ancient elvish ruin, and, of course, it is not so conveniently abandoned as we might otherwise have hoped. Winterheart went out and scouted about the edges, not seeing signs of habitation, but it has been pissing rain since we got here, so he may have missed something. He led everyone else out to actually search a little inside, again, in the pissing rain, and found at least one inhabitant, a vicious little Quickling who had left the front gate portcullis rigged to fall on them as they entered, splitting Winterheart and Tamara from the rest. As everyone else worked their way around, the Quickling struck - vicious evil relatives of the Brownie (another annoying fey), the little beast was almost impossible to see or strike as he dashed about in the overgrowth that so choked the castle’s courtyard in the downpour. Tatya fell to his poisoned blade, though luckily she was only unconscious from it. Tamara did her best to carry her to safety while pausing to chuck a fire bomb at it every chance she had. Peter tried wrestling it down, but it proved to quick for him to grab. Winterheart and Thomas achieved the occasional strike, and eventually managed to drive it off, though it continued to harangue them with illusions and traps while they lingered. After handing the unconscious Tatya off to Winterheart to race back to me and the campsite, Tamara, Thomas & Peter managed to find the tower it was holed up in. While they could not find the villain, they did find his stash, a pretty bit of clink to pay for our efforts. As luck would have it, Thomas spotted the little menace hiding in a tree, apparently having stalked us back to our campsite, and took it down with an arrow before it realized it had been spotted. Peter made sure our assailant would never rise again! He IS the Royal Executioner after all.
To me they have given the Quickling’s magic sword! Who would have thought such a thing... me, with a magic sword! They’ll make me an adventurer yet, methinks. Oh, what would mother say?
Well, I should mention we had another visitor of appropriate size in the camp, a few hours before everyone else came back from the little green man - that Oracle of the Narlmarches that used to run with the Dragoneyes (back before they got all full of themselves and became the Southshield boys), Breen, a Gnome of rustic tastes and poor eyesight. He and I have made a nice, gourmet meal for our returning heroes to fill their bellies!
14th of Gozran, 4711
Well well, we have survived... barely. I do wonder if this adventuring thing is something I could ever come to like? The stress is killing me!
We awoke late in the night to the possible sounds of an Owlbear rooting about in the woods, but it seems it found some wild boar judging by the hoots and grunts, and we were left well enough alone.
In the morning we discovered that while the Owlbear had left well enough alone, something else had snuck in to cause no good. Tatya, our esteemed Councilor, had been snatched quietly in the night, and only through his masterful skill did Winterheart note the faint, elf-like, naked footprints leading back to the ruins. Despite our care and alertness, we still manage to walk into an ambush once back at that thrice-damned place. Following the trail into one particularly vine-choked tower, Peter found himself caught between a tree in the tower’s center that swiftly transformed into a green-skinned elf, mouth filled with razor-like teeth, and the vines behind, vines that became most ambulatory. While the rest of us struggled through the ruined castle interior to lend aid, we too became swiftly entangled in the weeds that themselves also seemed to come alive. Though the fiend nearly kills Peter, the rest of us managed to push our way through and drive the bad fairy off. The violent vegetation goes the way of all weeds when the gardener gets to them.
As Tatya proves yet absent, we continued to follow the faintest of trails back to the central tower. Sadly the mysterious purple mist again descends upon us (as it did before the last time Thomas tumbled in); this time Thomas, Peter and Breen all becomes strange, having apparently lost all memory of who they once were. No clearer evidence do I see of this than Peter forgets why he wears his mask, and takes it off! Now I know the truth! I have been to the court of Brevoy once - I saw (admittedly from a distance) the Sertova family, current rulers of our august patron state. Peter is none other than the King’s younger brother Mikiel, missing these last two years after rumors of treason!
We’d best keep that under our hat, I think! Peter has been a good ally until now, so mayhap his family troubles are a mere misunderstanding? Well, answers will have to wait until his mind returns.
At least we all still live to someday find out.
We should have retreated then, but Tamara persuaded us not to leave Tatya to her fate. So we charged up the stairs to find... well, I’m not quite sure. My memory gets exceedingly foggy at this point (though visions - or nightmares - of a beautiful, golden skinned elven woman dancing still haunts me), but Tamara & Winterheart tell me we all stood slack jawed as the lady of the fortress placed us all in a trance to feed upon us like some decadent vampire. Tamara ran amok, throwing her explosive concoctions recklessly (indeed, it was one of her bombs that may have ended up killing the half-dead Tatya). But Tamara fell, caught between the green elf returned and the lady. It fell to Winterheart to save us, his years as a forester for the Medvyds giving him the wits to break free of her enchantment. Cold-iron sickle in hand, he manages to end her, just as Tamara had ended the green man moments before she dropped with her fire-in-a-jar.
Thus freed, but badly mauled and lacking in mind, we locked ourselves up in the central tower, praying that our good Baron Kenzil might scry our dire straits and send some much needed aid!
Breen has taken his leave of us. The Oracle, freed from the burden of memory, has also lost his curse, apparently, and has left to “find himself.” Though he has forgotten why his Elk companion follows him, the beast seems to still think of him kindly, so perhaps he’ll stay safe in his travels still.
Not leaving our fate to random chance, Winterheart has sent a Thrush with a message to Baron Kenzil, informing him of our woes. Hopefully this means rescue in another day or so.
15th of Gozran, 4711
Ah, back in civilization finally. Kenzil “popped” in to where we were recuperating this morning and, after hearing of how events went, took myself and Tatya’s corpse back to Witchhaven. Tatya’s body has since been stewed in his “cauldron of life,” and Tatya has been reborn as the dwarf he was before. Taking back his old name of Gregor, he is doing what he can to readjust.
Myself, I have joined the ranks of the Witchlords proper. With Kenzil’s & Tamara’s advice, I have performed the rites and made the acquaintance of a marvelous Raven who shares my predilections for shiny objects and stout accounting principles.
Still, I hope the rest of the gang makes it back all right. They are taking the long road back - by foot.
30th of Gozran
Well, the month is nearly done, and the gang is all returned. The Greenhands tell me after I left they had some trouble with rats (they were poking around some rubble and stirred up a nest full of troubles), but otherwise had a safe journey home.
Our Baroness Lily White has been overjoyed with the fortress (and accompanying statuary) we cleared out, and happily given us our promised reward (the cloak is nice, but I could have done without the kiss - really! Does seem to amuse his lordship though).
As to our amnesiac courtiers, Kenzil’s magic seems to be helping them recover. Peter is already back to normal, mask and all, and Kenzil & I have agreed to keep his identity “our little secret.” Colony of Brevoy we may be, but should things change...
Well, the brother to the King might be a good “ace in the hole.”
Witchhaven itself seems to be slowly gaining a haunted reputation, thanks to Vasha, our pet Will-o-the-Whisp. Vasha likes wandering the town at night, especially Gyrrona’s Graveyard, leading many to stay indoors at night. “Strange lights in Witchhaven” do not exactly seem to add to our promise as a tourist attraction.
Desnus, 4711
A quiet month, we have all tightened our belts and put our noses the the grindstone to deal with our economic woes. At least we seem to have no shortage of food. From what our diplomat, Holland, tells us, Southshield seems to be doing little better.
Saraneth, 4711
We have managed extend our borders and take possession of the elven ruin that gave us so much hell months ago. There is a dubious legality as to our claiming a swath of the southern Narlmarches, but given their inward focus of late, it is doubtful they’ll notice for some months.
Winterheart has gone to Restov to speak with the High Priest there. He seems to have taken his own position with the faith very seriously, and has gotten into his head he must marry a fine elf girl to be a proper priest. Silly manling. I just don’t see the need for it. We are manly men here on the frontier, with no need for such distractions!
Gozran, 4712
My goodness, so much has happened in the year since we seized the elf ruins deep in the Narlmarches that I truly do not know where to begin. We have all been so busy since then, working hard to bring our colony out of the economic depression that seemed to be sapping the very lifeblood out of our kingdom’s veins. But we have turned that corner, and seem to be doing well. Excellent even! We have repaired the ruins, renaming it Whitehall, for our lady Lily White, her summer home, and brought the rest of the territories explored under our domain. The capital itself has expanded: we even have an herbalist shop and shrine to Erastil established, a Town Hall, and a dump just outside of town - no more dumping in the Tuskwater!
Still, our court docket is full now. With Southshield’s change in administration and subsequent decent into chaos, we find ourselves scrambling to deal with the influx of refugees. Their new Baron, Gregori, has managed to run the colony right into revolt, so Baron Kenzil has decided to send Holland on a diplomatic expedition to see what the state of affairs are over there, and if the various settlers can be calmed down (and perhaps wooed over to our side) before we find ourselves hip-deep in bandits next season. About all we really know comes from our spy in their court (and their former spymaster) Nathaniel the Grinning Man. He, along with Peter’s wife Talya, and one of Gregor’s mercenaries will join Holland and myself to head up north to see what is to be seen.
Meanwhile, now that we have an official charter from Restov to deal with these pesky Trolls everyone keeps complaining about, Kenzil has decided to send our new Warden Peter (who has recently taken Thomas’ recently vacated post - the later having retired to “find his destiny” elsewhere), along with Winterheart, Redcap, Gregor and veteran yeoman Tyrok the Archer to hunt the lot of them down.
Hopefully all this can be handled quickly as next month should be even busier. Kenzil has announced a great Spring Festival next month, so Gregor must be back to play master of ceremonies. Holland too will be very busy, leading a campaign to get more settlers into the region. Winterheart’s discussion with the High Priest at Restov has born dubious fruit, as nobles from Kyonin have heard of his search for a wife and plan to visit during Springfest to make arrangements for him to wed their daughter. Poor Winterheart. Will we ever be able to go off to the old hunting lodge as we used to with him tethered to a ball-and-chain?
Old Soldiers
Tomb robbing and treasure maps lead fools to their deaths.
As does loyalty.
I race to their aid, heavy sword in hand, heavy armor in my back, to save them. I am tired, so tired. But I race, again, to save them.
We left the comforting crib of court. Armored, armed, aimed.
Following Peter, masked and sinister, new minted law of the land, following the hope of a leatherworn map, to a lonely Barrow, over the hills, eastward, eastward, past the bones of wolves, pawprints long past mourning. Following Peter, though other paths presented. Old Beldame asking for Black Rattlecaps, mushroom collecting. Arvan Fisherman asking for Old Crackjaw killing, murderous turtle meddling. Baron Kenzil asking for slaughtering Trolls, echoing Swordlords saying “Kill Kill.”
But no, Peter wants the dead man’s Flail. So tomb-robbing first. But dead men have tight grips.
So we came to the Lonely Barrow. We outwitted the hungry bats. We shrugged off the poisonous breath and broke many bones. And while I rested, as ordered behind, Winterheart’s wolf at my side, guarding, tired, they pressed on, to fight the dead man for his prize.
A shriek and a scream, and I am stumbling, rushing, hobbling forward, wolf at my side. Limping forward I find them struggling, Gregor dead but walking, sneaking, so I cut him down; one, two, three strokes of my blade and he dies, again, he dies. This time never to rise again. Peter taking the brunt, arrows from Winterheart and Tyrok flying, the Lonely Warrior finally falls, dead as dead.
Weak and weeping for the dead, we limp out to wait the sunrise. Peter has his prize. But was it worth the price?