Arodus 2, 4719

Breachill

Late Afternoon

We have a clearer picture of what is happening thanks to our time in the lower level of the citadel. Two distinct threads have intertwined.

We still have no proof that Alseta’s Ring really exists, but the evidence is mounting, and at this point? I think it’s a foregone conclusion. When the Cinderclaws appeared, they brought with them a whole menagerie of creatures and beings that simply do not belong in this part of the world: man-sized birds with brilliant plumage and sharp beaks, simian humanoids known as the charau-ka, boggards—not unheard of in this part of the world but far from their ideal habitat—and of course those grauladons.

The birds were obnoxious and loud. In other words, a lot like Iskaryn, only much larger.

The boggards were even more of the same. There is something unsettling about killing sentient creatures, but they wanted a fight, and we obliged.

The charau-ka wanted to talk. They were not thrilled with being dragged here, and even less so about getting trapped underground with only the boggards for company (who would?). All they wanted was to go home. So we cut a deal with them: we promised to help them, and they told us what was going on.

So what’s going on? The charau-ka were warriors under the Gorilla King, whoever that is. When their king died unexpectedly, they fell in with the Cinderclaws. And who, exactly, are the Cinderclaws? They’re a cult of Dahak that’s led by a priest named Malarunk. Said priest brought this group through the “great portal”, which we assume connects to Alseta’s Ring, to invade the “foreign lands for the glory of their god”.

How did they end up being trapped here? Malarunk used some token to open the portal on their end so they could pass through, and apparently, he is the only one who can do it, so there was no returning without him. Then the stairwell collapsed, stranding them on this level to slowly starve to death.

It goes without saying that the secret passage we used to get in is pretty well hidden, and none of them knew it was there.

This cult of Dahak worshippers, by the way, lines up a little too well with Marcus’s visions. So I guess we have that to look forward to.

The other thread is closer to home. Someone from Breachill has been visiting the Citadel as well, specifically this level of it. We are reasonably sure that “someone” is Voz, which would explain how Calmont got wind of all this.

And what was Voz up to? Short answer: disturbing the dead. Which went about as well as you’d expect.

The Hellknights entombed their dead here in an ossuary of sorts, and she visited it not long ago. We found remnants from a ritual or spell that, as near as we could tell, was designed to allow her to speak with them. We also saw the graves she violated. Her footprints told the story: she entered the crypt at a leisurely pace, and left in a panic.

Almost as interesting as her new career in grave robbery was how she got in and out of the citadel: there’s another secret entrance on this level, just beyond the crypts. A magically carved tunnel that runs all the way to Breachill. It emerges through a secret door into the storeroom of The Pickled Ear. Given that storerooms tend to have their walls lined with shelving that are filled with, well, stores, the fact that this one was unobstructed implies that the tavern’s owner, Roxie Denn, knows about it, too.

Putting that all together, we have one person who is seeking a way in to Alseta’s Ring, and the Cinderclaws who are already there but seeking a way out. Part of me is kind of curious what would happen if the two factions were to actually meet, but I think it’s more important that we keep them apart just in case they were to find some common ground. I know this reeks of “the only person I trust with it is me” syndrome, but we already know what the Cinderclaws’ motives are, and Voz’s actions have not exactly inspired a great deal of trust.

Not that we’re much better. We haven’t informed the town about any of this, either.

As for the Hellknights…I don’t know. What do you want me to say? If Alak is your typical example, they’re kind of awful in a personable sort of way. They talk a lot about “the savages” like they’re a mistake that needs fixing, a single monster with a million faces. “The savages must be quelled in land, home, and mind,” and “sometimes in the pursuit of order, one must work with ‘the savages’ temporarily.” Qantrip pointed out that when Alak refers to “the savages,” he is also describing her kind, too. It’s all very dehumanizing. Maybe just call them “people”, Alak. Except if you do that, then I guess they become people, and then you have no one to subjugate.

We don’t have Hellknights in Druma, but we have plenty of that attitude. I grew up with it. Nine Hells, I believed in it. But I’ve grown up some—shut up, Iskaryn!—and now it just makes my skin crawl. Serves me right, I suppose, for venturing out in the world.

Night

Alak left for Varisia today. I expected him to at least stay the night in town and set out in the morning, but he seemed anxious to be gone. Maybe that’s for the best, since his presence in town was notably awkward, and perhaps the only time—in my many days of experience—where the people here have been anything but open and welcoming. It wasn’t bordering on hostile like my time in Saringallow, but he was getting more than a few cold shoulders and dark looks wherever he went.

My understanding—again, I have days of experience to draw upon for these sweeping statements—is that Breachill liked the business a Hellknight Citadel brought, but not the Hellknights themselves. Fortunately for the town, the Hellknights kept to themselves, doing whatever it is that Hellknights do when they aren’t on some grand crusade, and their dealings with Breachill were transactional rather than social. Which, honestly, sounds like the healthiest arrangement for all involved.

After dinner, long after Alak had gone, we paid a visit to the Pickled Ear. I’ll be blunt. It’s the sort of tavern I spent months on the road hoping I could avoid, and not always successfully. There are establishments you visit because you are willing to compromise your standards, and those that you visit because the alternative is starvation or exposure.

The Pickled Ear is the latter.

It takes a hard personality to run a tavern where there are almost nightly brawls between drunken gamblers, some of which get well out of hand. Roxie Denn, the owner, more or less met my expectations. She was loud, brash, and immediately suspicious. I was able to convince her to meet with Gath and me because I’ve had plenty of experience with the type.

After brief introductions, I cut straight to the chase. I figured that would work best.

“We’ve been investigating some problems at the citadel on the hill, and—funny thing—we found an underground tunnel.” I lowered my voice and added, “And it led into your store room.”

She paused way too long before saying, “You have got to be joking.”

I played along. “I can show it to you, if you want.”

Another long pause. “Why don’t you come into my office, where we can discuss it privately?”

She tried to bluff us. And I can’t say I blame her. Nine Hells, given what I had been doing before…well, before…I certainly couldn’t judge her. But this was important, and potentially dangerous, and we needed to get that through to her.

“Somebody’s using your tavern to access the citadel. Robbing graves. Stirring up undead. And it’s attached to your business. I would think you’d want to know. And recently, a cult known as the Cinderclaws moved into the castle, and they’re rather violent. Anyone who is going to and from that place probably has dealings with them.”

She seemed genuinely surprised. This was clearly the first thing we had told her that was actually news. So I pressed our advantage with a little fishing.

“At least one person we do know who has gone out there—Calmont Trenault, who you probably heard was arrested for trying to burn down the town hall—was working for Voz Lirayne. And Calmont has a habit of talking without stopping. And he was throwing a lot of suspicion on Voz.”

Another pause. “So…you’re here from the Town Council?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it that they want from me about all of this?” she asked nervously.

“They don’t want anything from you. But I have a feeling Voz is using you. And you could get swept up in it.”

That struck a nerve. She buried her face in her palm, shaking her head slowly. It was like watching a damn burst. “She just paid me! That’s it! That’s my only involvement. I don’t know nothin’ else ’bout it or what she’s up to. Okay? I don’t have anythin’ else to do with…with…any of that.”

That was the arrangement, then. Voz paid her to look the other way, and she’d use the tunnel as she pleased. No questions asked. The last time was just a couple of days ago, just as we had suspected.

“I don’t have nothin’ else to do with her or that creepy business o’ hers. Like I say, she just came to me with her offer to let her use the tunnel. That’s all.”

“All right. We appreciate your time. But…if I were you? I’d put some shelves in front of that tunnel and stop her from using it.”

“Maybe,” she said, looking troubled. “But Voz ain’t exactly safe to cross.”

“Fair, though she might not be back,” I said. “Last time she was over there, she tried a ritual to speak with the dead, and something went wrong. It looks like she woke up something which chased her back out of there.”

We took our leave while that was soaking in.

My gut tells me that she blocked the entrance not long after.

Late Night

Iskaryn is insisting that I write this down. Her argument is that, when it comes to how I have run my life, I tended to practice “selective honesty”. Those are her words, by the way, and I got the distinct feeling that she was holding back. She said tonight was a turning point, and that’s why I need to do this. Why it’s necessary to do it right now, tonight, instead of in the morning, is anyone’s guess. But she seems to think it’s important, and because I’d like to actually sleep at some point, and am just too tired to get into an argument with her, anyway, I am giving in.

Tonight at dinner, before our business with Roxie, the conversation went somewhere I had not intended, and by the end of it, I had told them far more than I ever planned to. By the end of it, I had told them everything.

Iskaryn is objecting again. She now says I am “inclined towards fiction when facts prove inconvenient”. I am beginning to think that all roasted fowl taste pretty much the same.

Fine. Not everything. I told them where I am from, even my name for Magdh’s sake, and why I left home. Including the part about leaving my father to essentially die alone as a pauper in a crumbling estate, without even seeing him first. And if you think that was somehow easy, then you don’t understand at all why I have a tendency towards “selective honesty”. So, yeah.

They know about Macridi, and what I had built for myself there.

And that I razed that one, too.

I couldn’t bring myself to talk about Davio and the others. It’s still too hard. Too raw. But they know that something terrible happened, and that I ended up alone in the Forest. Ended up like my father, only somehow with even less.

I didn’t know what to expect. I guess I expected them to leave me. To write me off. But they didn’t. It was quiet for a while. How could it not be? For whatever reason, they still want me here. Even with Iskaryn as part of that deal.

When I got to the Norns, I said that the gods don’t tend to intervene in our affairs. Not directly. Magdh, though, is an Eldest, and a seer, and she meddles as she sees fit. The Norns are the instruments through which she shapes events.

I admitted I don’t know why I was selected, or chosen, or singled out. I don’t think I’m special. That would be a ridiculous conclusion to draw from all of this. I was just there. At a turning point in my life at the right moment. Or the wrong one, depending on your perspective.

Kyira believed her experience was different. She really believed she was visited by Milani. And I believe her. I am no expert on the divine, but I know the basics, and Druma shares a border with Kyonin, so I sure as the Nine Hells know of Milani. She’s a young goddess, and it’s said she still remembers her time here clearly. So she, too, is prone to meddling. Perhaps even more so.

I don’t know where I am going with this. I guess I am trying to make sense of the circumstances that brought us here. About this urge I have to put down roots. Real roots as myself.

I have told these people—my friends—things I have never told anyone. It’s only been a few days, and they know more about me than even the Minstrels did in months of travel. It’s frightening. More so than the physical threats we have faced.

I would honestly rather fight another grauladon.

Arodus 3, 4719

Breachill

Noon

Given her clandestine visits to the Citadel and penchant for disturbing the dead, we paid a visit to Voz this morning. Unfortunately, Voz wasn’t home: her shop had been locked up, and she didn’t answer when we knocked on the door.

Tarsius went to the town council, seeking permission for a search. The rest of us stayed behind and looked around while we waited. Fortunately for us, Voz had been sloppy when discarding her trash, and we found a partial note that suggested she had found another way into Alseta’s gate via someplace called Guardian’s Way. Which is good because, according to Tarsius, we didn’t have sufficient evidence of misdeeds to justify a forced entry.

Iskaryn was not happy with me. We were supposed to meet the others for lunch and review what we learned—Liberte and Marcus were doing more digging at the archives—and she was strangely distant and silent on the way there. Normally, the issue with Iskaryn is getting her to stop lecturing me, so when I get the silent treatment, something is seriously wrong.

I hung back so I could talk to her while the others went inside the tavern.

“What has gotten into you?” I asked her.

“I am not comfortable with these risks you’re taking. Especially when they involve me.”

“You look like any other bird,” I replied. “What is there to worry about?”

“How many indigo birds do you see in this town? People are going to figure it out, you know.”

“You’ve picked up the common tongue. You heard what Tarsius said. We weren’t going to get permission.”

“My point exactly,” she retorted.

“Since when do you care about the rules?”

“As you so tactfully point out, I don’t. But I don’t have to. Because I am a bird.”

“Nine Hells, Iskaryn! What do you want from me?!” I snapped.

“I want you to remember that we have to live here, and that what affects you affects me. I am not the one who has to answer to these people. You are.”

And then she flew off.