Author Archives: John

Tarsius’s Journal, 2 Arodus

2 Arodus

Having made a number of areas in the Keep safer, and having killed at least one animal that we thought might serve as food, we decided to bring in the Bumblebrashers. They went to town on the turtle creature. Helba asked if this meant they had their home back, and we replied no, not yet, but they would eventually. They all seemed pleased with that answer.

The goblin dogs were not theirs, but they were intrigued by the idea of having mounts. They said they’d take them under their Bumblebrasher wings. We mentioned they might have use for the worg puppies and the conversation turned somber. “Big Bumble” said Helba sadly and the other goblins turned their eyes to the ground. “That did not go as planned.”

Apparently they’d had the same idea in the past, and lured an animal to raise as their pet/mascot. Unfortunayely, they selected a grizzly bear and, well … it is now kept in one of the rooms downstairs until they can figure out what to do with it. They feel responsible for it, even though it sounds like it now considers them just food.

I’m not sure we can fix that but we can keep it in mind.

One of our group asked if the secret way in she’d spoke of earlier was goblin sized or human sized. “Oh, it’s suitable for you big people. We discovered it but we didn’t create it.” Helba then drew us a crude map of the area beneath the Keep, with some areas clearly marked as dangerous. (Of course, what’s dangerous for a goblin may not be dangerous to larger people like ourselves.)

Wait, did I just call them people? All I knew of goblins before were some uncivilized animals with sharp weapons, spilling out of the Chitterwood and trying to lay waste to my home town. These goblins, well, they speak Common, and they wear normal .. ish .. clothes and at times are actually polite and deferential. This is so weird.

We asked about the cultists and Helba said they were both big and small. Some were small ape-like creatures that apparently were intelligent. Trip later remembered something like “charuka”. And yes, these big and small people did use weapons, not just claw and bite.

Bored, Trip opened a door. (This could get old fast) It was a library, I think; it definitely had books .. a law library maybe? It was a hot mess though. To the north was another library room, but much less disheveled.

Nearby was what seemed to be a prisoner intake, or maybe holding cells before a trial? Several still had decomposed bodies in them. A storage cabinet nearby was radiating magic, but as Gath went to inspect the bodies, they unexpectedly rose up and attacked. I quickly came up with a plan to make them walk thru a kill box, but one hit from the longsword one of the skeletons picked up convinced me that staying to fight would kill me; maybe kill all of us except maybe Alak. We hastily withdrew from the room and I swallowed a healing potion.

We explored a bit more of the first floor and found what appeared to be a barracks. Unfortunately, what was nesting there was a bugbear, not any soldiers. Unlike the skeletons, it thoughtfully died when we returned its attack, and quickly too. We found some things in the room that might have a minor resale value, and moved on.

At this point we heard a call from outside, and there we found a messenger from the Council. They brought the good news that the Council will indeed pay us to further cleanse the Keep of illegally residing creatures.

At this point, Helba took us to the secret entrance and showed us how to operate it. She thern hastily beat a retreat to the now-cleared ground floor. As we were entering it, Alak was telling us of a legend that the deed for the Keep still resided within, and anyone brave enough and strong enough to gain access to it became the new owner of the Keep. That is a fun story, but it also sounds like a story children would tell each other before daring them to enter. If it’s real, I’ll be very surprised.

Anyway, we entered a wide corridor that was easily identifiable on Herba’s map. But much to our surprise, there were two iridescent birds waiting in the darkness. They started squawking most unpleasantly. And when our light shone upon them, one of them apparently dazzled both Gath and Alak with their irridescent feathers, and they became confused and disoriented. Gath tried to shoot me but missed (lucky for him). Their confusion was fairly brief, and we proceeded.

At the end of the hall lie 3 doors, and Gath quickly listened at each one to hastily triage which we might want to enter first. One we gently peeked into and there was a doll insisting whoever its current companion was should TAKE IT WITH THEM. We found this a bit creepy and observed for maybe five minutes before concluding that the last thing we wanted was for this doll to join us. Gath quietly closed the door.

We quietly checked as many passages and doors as we could. One, we found, was a tomb and the dead rose, again as skeletons, so we voted to leave. We did learn that by wearing certain Order of the Nail patches, the skeletons ignored us, so we conjectured that they may simply be protecting the tomb against robbers. However, even in bones and no flesh, they appeared stronger than us and besides, there was over a dozen, which made staying particularly dangerous. Something is wrong in that room, but I’m not sure it is anything we can fix (yet).

Behind another door we found two highly annoying kobolds, who insisted they were dragons. I was ready to slay the “dragons”, but others in the group thought it better to throw them a dead bird as “tribute” and keep them alive.

In another northern room we found two boggards, and although one croaked loud enough to startle Gath, we managed to kill them both without too much difficulty.

The boggards had a “cinder claw” marking on their clothes, but it wasn’t clear if they’d stolen clothing or they belonged to the cult. Either way, this was the first sign we were getting closer to the cultists. Perhaps we can make these guys leave now.

Aemi’s Journal, Arodus 2, 4719

Leave a reply

Citadel Altaerin

Afternoon

We reunited Warbal with the Bumblebrashers and then got to work.

Put a few holes in the side of a building and let it sit for a few years, and all kinds of creatures will wander inside to make a home. Do that with a stone building large enough to qualify as a fortress, just to pick a random example, and the place can practically support an entire ecosystem.

That’s exactly what we found inside Citadel Altaerein.

Maybe it’s because I was raised in Druma, but I find it criminal that the Order of the Nail spent significant time and money building this Citadel, only to walk away and leave a crumbling ruin in its place. I suppose the Bumblebrashers, goblin dogs, the worg and its puppies, giant rats, spider swarms, the bugbear, and whatever in the Nine Hells that giant turtle monster was would all disagree (and most of them did in fact disagree, some of them violently so), but there had to be a better option than leaving it to rot just because they turned their attention elsewhere.

Since we were more concerned about what was inside the citadel than outside, I tugged at the bond, calling Iskaryn in after us. This decision was something of a mixed bag.

We were in a skirmish with the rats. Iskaryn chose this moment to point out that rats are known to carry disease. That would have been fine, except she launched a Magdh-be-damned dissertation on the subject.

“Although, the problem with being bitten by dire rats is that by the time the symptoms of disease manifest, you may have been a carrier for days and spread the disease to others…”

In the meantime, my arrow went wide. “Shut up, Iskaryn! You’re distracting me!”

“Excuse me!” she said indignantly. “I was just trying to help.”

“Lecture us after the battle!”

When “after” finally comes, she flits over to Trip, who was nursing a nasty bite. Somehow, with Iskaryn’s help, we determined that Trip had, in fact, been infected. How does she know these things? How can she even tell? I have no idea. All I do know is that it makes her insufferable.

Then, later, we’re dealing with the worg, and I felt like the others had the upper hand. So I chose to save my limited performance magic and shot at it with my bow instead.

My arrow went wide. Again.

“Next time, stick with your inspirational performance,” Iskaryn said. Which was all I needed.

All along, we’d been collecting odds and ends from the citadel, everything from actual coins to items in good enough condition to be sold. And it occurred to us that Alak was tagging along, and maybe he should get a cut of it because he’s been doing some of the heavy lifting. So we asked him about it, and we got more of his story. He’s not really interested in the money: he’s here, in part, because his family was stationed here long ago, and he was looking for things that may have belonged to them.

Liberte searched the room where we encountered the worg, and turned up exactly that: a book on the gripping topic of Order of the Nail protocols as they relate to both Chelish and Isgeri laws, and inside it is a hand-written dedication signed by the Hellknight “T. Stagram”. We asked Alak about it, and he got this funny look and said it was written by his father.

So we gave it to him. Or rather, no one objected to him taking it. He seemed genuinely touched. “I don’t have many things to remember him by. This will be something I’ll treasure. Thank you.”

And I get it, I guess? I don’t have anything to remember my father, and if I’m being honest with myself—and Iskaryn tends to push on that one—I have no small amount of guilt around that. My father was a good person; he just wasn’t a very wise one. That’s in contrast to my mother, who is a wise person, but not a very good one. If I found a book signed by my mother? I’d probably have it burned.

And I must have said that out loud because several heads turned to look at me. Then Trip said if she found a book signed by her mother, she’d do the same.

Though I imagine she has different reasons.

The most disturbing thing we found was distinctly not part of the burgeoning ecosystem. In what was obviously a cell room, there were a number of skeletal remains I can only assume were former prisoners. They rose up and attacked (at one time, that would have been disturbing to me, but I have seen far worse). They were too much for us, and we were forced to retreat and bar the door.

I just assumed that the Hellknights had left them to rot after abandoning the citadel, but now I’m thinking that was an unfair accusation. I’ve seen no reason to believe they would do such a thing, especially given their obsession with law and order no matter the cost. This place has been abandoned long enough that anyone could have moved in—see the Bumblebrashers as proof of that—and used it as a crude but functional jail. But that doesn’t make the thought of some hapless prisoners starving to death, long after their captors had left or died, any less pleasant.

What we didn’t find were any Cinderclaws. That was consistent with the Bumblebrashers’ story that the Cinderclaws had been trapped below when the stairs collapsed. The goblins knew a way down, and we did not, so we came to an agreement: they’d show us this hidden entrance, and we’d deal with the trespassers so the Bumlebrashers could have their home back.

Can we actually pull that off? Considering how we fared against the skeletons, I’m not so sure. But we managed to take on one of the grauladons, and if those are what they brought for protection, then maybe it isn’t so far-fetched.

I looked over at Alak. This wasn’t really his fight, and there was no money in it—not yet, anyway—but that book had whetted his appetite. Searching for more heirlooms meant going down below, and that meant coming with us. He was willing, and so our informal alliance continued.

As for the money, that problem solved itself not long after. One of the town guard found us as we were making preparations, and delivered a note from the Breachill town council. They were just as nervous about having some unknown group occupying the citadel, especially one as violent as they appear to be, and were offering us an additional bounty to solve it. Permanently. It would give me a solid six months.

But Alak teased us with something far more valuable. “There is a story that when The Order left this place, they hid the deed to the Citadel somewhere inside, and anyone brave enough and strong enough to find it would be rewarded with legal ownership of the place.”

I was stunned. It would mean having a home. Something I have not had for nearly a year. I hung back to talk to Iskaryn before we dropped down into the passageway.

“Alak thinks the deed to the citadel might be down there somewhere. Left for whoever finds it.” I hesitated because I wasn’t sure how to put my thoughts into words. “If that’s true…it could mean having a place. Not something I made up, or slipped into for a while. Something that stays.”

She fluttered around before settling on my shoulder. She sat there in silence for a moment before speaking.

“I wasn’t with you then, but I know how you felt when Davio recognized you. When he realized who you really were. You were a mess for days, you know. In case you need reminding.

“So where are you now? Are you done running?” She held out a wing in a very human gesture. “Is this far enough away from whatever you’re running from?”

It was a good point. And for the first time, I thought I had an answer. “I was running from myself that whole time. I think it’s time I started being me. No matter how uncomfortable that is.”

“But how much are you committing to a new start here? Are you making a new official home for Aemi ‘Salinus’ here on Hellknight Hill, or…under an older name?”

“It’s just a name, Iskaryn. Sura is gone. I don’t want it anymore. Mom poisoned it for me.”

She didn’t look convinced, but for once, she let it drop.

“As a castle,” she said, changing the subject, “it’s not bad, or could be good with some work. Keep in mind, though, that having a Magdh-be-damned castle dropped in your lap isn’t exactly a dream come true. Especially if you intend to spend your life hiding from the world.

“But if, perhaps, you’re over that phase, at least a little…Well. You’re bound to start attracting attention. Perhaps acquire some fame. People talk, you know. What will you do when word of where you are gets out, farther and farther abroad? Are you ready to grow up? And face that?”

“No one is looking for me, Iskaryn. That’s the problem. I’ve been hiding from ghosts. But, if someone from that time does find me? I’ll deal with it.”

“You need to tell your new friends.”

“I know.”

She flew up to a branch of the tree above and said, “The woods are full of tasty treats. I could get used to it here.”

Sketches by Gath, 2 Arodus, 4719

Leave a reply

2 Arodus 4719, morning

Citadel Altaerein, Hellknight Hill

Qantrip suggested inviting the goblins down to feast on the dead turtle creature, and so they joined us in the court room cum dining room where they feasted on turtle meat and seemed quite delighted with their change of fortune. One of them croaked out a strange little song that sounded vaguely familiar.

Gamera is really neat,
He is full of turtle meat,
We are eating Gamera!

From the court room we moved west, exploring various libraries, where we found some mundane legal books (as expected considering the chamber with the turtle was a court room) and in the first and more interesting history books in the second. Books are heavy and so we will need to return with a cart to haul away what we found.

We then found the jail with a desk at the near end and cage like cells at the far end. A closer look showed the skeletal remains of former prisoners — or so we assumed, which begged the question of what sort of sick bastards leave people to die like this?

Of course that’s when the bones stood up and we found ourselves facing four formidable skeleton warriors. We shifted into our usual combat positions and roles, but it quickly became obvious that we could not stand against all of them at once. We fled the room and closed the door behind. We heard the scratching of bony fingers against the door for a few moments and then silence.

Some might have called it running away, and for others it was a strategic retreat. I really didn’t care: we would gain nothing by standing toe to toe with these monsters and would have lost precious health and resources. We can return later if we feel the need to clear out the fort and set up a kill box where the skeletons can only come at us one at a time.

We continued to explore, passing by the ante chamber before the grand entry hall where we left a pack of goblin dogs earlier. In the next room we stumbled upon a lone bugbear, which insanely tried to attack us. I think Liberte killed it with just a look.

No, seriously, our half orc scholar in addition to being quite learned and steeped in lore has also nurtured an imposing stare that often causes our foes to piss themselves. He glared at the hapless bugbear and it kind of filled its pants before we dropped it.

At about this time one of the town guards called to us from out front. He brought a message from the council expressing their concerns about a band of cultists and monsters taking up residence less than a mile away from Breachill, and yes, of course they would pay us for dealing with the potential threat.

“It never hurts to ask,” was one of Natre’s favorite expressions whenever I was forced to go into town and negotiate for the goblin tribe in the Chitterwood, and so I am in the habit of asking

We decided now was a good time to deal with the spider swarms we had left in the kitchen earlier, and so we dragged the bugbear’s corpse outside to act as bait. I opened the kitchen door and scampered back into another room while Tarsius slammed the door behind me. Qantrip kept a stealthy watch and called out that the swarms had left the fort and dissipated into the surrounding countryside.

With the main floor of the fortress cleared and explored we returned to Helba and Warble who pried themselves away from the heaping herptile flesh long enough to take us outside and around back where they pointed out the secret entrance into the vaults below. Helba gave us an annotated map of the vaults, including the location of where they had trapped a bear some time before.

Their idea was that it would make a great mascot, but mostly it just wanted out and mauled numerous goblins as they tried to tame it. Helba seemed quite fond of it and expressed concern for how the cultists might be treating it. Hmm, yes. They also marked where there were old graves and other hallways and rooms.

The problem with underground spaces is that they tend to be dark. Dark can be your friend and it can conceal you, but in the absolute blackness of the underground vault most of us were blind. Being a half orc and a goblin Liberte and Qantrip could see easily enough, but most of us would need a light source. Aemi had a dancing light spell she used to keep a glowing ball of light moving about and lighting our way. Tarsius also put a light spell on his sword, and I could bring out a hooded lantern to supplement the magical light as needed.

We climbed down and moved down a long corridor that eventually opened into a wide hall with many passages and doors leading off in all directions. Waiting for us were a pair of enormous birds that began to squawk and make a horrific racket. They were quite beautiful to behold and their rustling feathers glinted with exotic colors. In fact at some point I was so transfixed by the shimmering colors that I lost track of time for a moment.

But of course the birds were hostile and attacked. Qantrip used sleep spells and Liberte used his fierce “don’t fuck with us” look, and Aemi sang, and the rest of us hit the exotic birds until they dropped.

The noise from the birds and combat made us extra nervous because there were three doors ahead of us that were open. I crept up and peered through the doors. To the north and south were mostly empty rooms that led further back, but the center room had a desk with the bodies of a couple of boggards behind it, and a creepy little doll standing on the desk.

And the doll was talking. I couldn’t understand it, but Liberte could and said it was pleading for us to help it and take it with us. Uh huh. Keep in mind that it was saying this in Infernal. And when we showed no signs of coming closer the freakish thing began to scream and lept of the table and ran towards the door. Liberte slammed it shut and we heard a distinct thud as the doll must have run into it.

Okay. We’ll return to deal with the devil doll later. Strategic retreat. Running away. Staying alive.

We decided to explore the corridors leading south, which the goblins had helpfully identified as being burial areas. We opened two regular doors and found various crypts. Alak said that this was indeed where the Hellknights buried their dead, and there was clearly a class system in effect even after death. We saw no reason to go into the room until I noticed that some of the cap stones had been damaged and that there were fairly recent tracks in the room.

Alak and I entered to investigate when a large number of skeletons sprang to life and shuffled towards me. Interestingly they ignored Alak, and so we retreated to the main hallway, where I fished the badges we had collected previously and handed them out to everyone.

Tarsius bravely volunteered to test this hypothetical ward and it worked! He was able to walk about the crypt rooms unmolested by the skeletons. We returned to the main hall where we heard new voices speaking another language I didn’t know.

There were two kobolds living in the chamber to the north of the devil doll room. They had lived at peace with the goblins to the north and were chased out by the cultists and were clearly living hard by.

Fun fact: everyone is a servant to kobolds, even if they are not aware of it.

They were delighted with the fresh bird meat we offered them, and agreed that they should leave the vault and join the goblins upstairs.

I checked out one additional southern passageway that terminated in a dead end, but with some searching I found a secret door. Beyond that were more sarcophagi and three wights.

Nope. I closed the door and returned to the others.

Looking at the goblin map we decided to avoid the eastern most northern corridor because that’s where most of the rooms were and we assumed that is where the cultists would be. We also dismissed the central corridor because that’s where their bear lived.

And so we went west and introduced ourselves to a pair of boggards. They were not friendly and so we were not friendly back and again combined our various skills to remove the threat to the party.

Aemi’s Journal, Arodus 1-2, 4719

Leave a reply

Arodus 1, 4719

Breachill

Evening

It’s comforting to know that, no matter where you are, you can always find someone who will shatter your faith in people.

We considered Citadel Altaerein. A hole in the crumbling south wall was large enough for us to walk through, which gave us our choice of entrances. And if there’s anything I learned from Annet and Jaangu, it’s that nothing good ever comes from breaking in through the front door. We chose the hole in the wall.

We spread out in what was obviously a combat training room for the Order of the Nail. As I watched Gath discover a secret door leading to an equally secret room—and nearly get impaled by a spring-loaded spear trap—it occurred to me that what we were doing was actually dangerous. It also occurred to me just how many dangerous situations I had, naively, been in before, where we managed to avoid any consequences like this, until, of course, the day we didn’t.

I don’t really know what point I am trying to make here. I guess I’m just complaining that I didn’t sign up for this. Someone else signed me up for this. But I was there, and he was hurt, and I had a spell that could heal his injuries—not all the way, but enough—so at least I was useful.

We also learned that we weren’t the only ones here: we found an honest-to-Magdh Hellknight in the former Hellknight Citadel. Well, a Hellknight in training, but, eh, close enough.

I don’t know much about Hellknights as we didn’t have them back in Druma. From what I’ve heard, they are a lot like the Mercenary League, just with added layers of zealotry and doctrine. Both are highly trained. Both are well-funded and well-equipped. Both are considered elite fighting forces. But of the two? Hellknights are less likely to get hung up on trivialities like morality and ethics.

This hellknight, whose name we later learned was Alak, was fighting with a pair of imps. Given that the final test of Hellknights-in-training, according to Liberte, involves summoning an actual devil just to kill it, this was a less surprising development than it appeared. The only odd thing about it was, neither of them should be in a castle that was abandoned nearly a decade ago.

The last time I used my bow, I was shooting at small game animals. In fact, the only times I’ve used my bow, it’s been against small game animals. The imps were larger, and thus easier to hit, but for some reason, they were much, much harder to injure. Liberte said something about needing a silver sword, which shows just how much I don’t know about what we are doing, and Gath used the one he found shortly after being impaled by the spear to make quick work of them.

“Congratulations!” I said to Alak afterwards. “You’re officially a Hellknight!”

“No, not quite yet,” Alak answered. “But, thank you.”

So, what was a Hellknight in training doing at the citadel abandoned by the Order of the Nail? It’s a good question, which is why I asked it. The answer was unsatisfying and boiled down to “personal business”. Which is exactly the sort of vague non-answer I usually give to people, and Nine Hells is it annoying to be on the receiving end of it.

He asked us the same, and Iskaryn would be proud of me for not only telling the truth, but telling the truth with details. It’s too bad she wasn’t in here to witness it because I could use the victory.

“There’s a tribe of goblins up on the battlements, apparently being held prisoner or hostage.”

Which sounds like exactly the sort of thing a Hellknight would oppose. Alak didn’t disappoint. But I wasn’t going to trust someone I just met just because he said what I wanted to hear.

As much as I hate to admit it, Iskaryn can be a good judge of character. I wanted an extra set of eyes on Alak just in case, ones that weren’t as distracted as ours, so I tugged gently at the bond. She would come if she wished. If it were an emergency, there would be no question, but otherwise? I let her decide for herself.

We made our way to the central courtyard, which is where several things happened at once.

First, we found the goblins, who were up on the battlements directly above.

Second, we found Calmont, who was holding one of the goblins at knifepoint and obviously threatening them.

Third, we were attacked by a large, draconic creature with a nasty disposition. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it was big, mean, and had a lot of very sharp teeth. It had been trying, and failing, to find its way up the collapsed stairs to the goblins, and since we were on the ground floor with it, we were much easier targets.

Last, Iskaryn found us. “You wasted no time getting into the thick of trouble, I see.”

I ignored that—this wasn’t the time for bickering—and asked her to watch Alak while we dealt with the dragon thing.

“Dealing with it” was not so easy. Even with all of us on it, and my performance to give us a boost, Tarsius took a nasty bite and dropped right in front of us. The kind of drop where you wouldn’t expect to get up again.

For a moment I thought we’d just watched him die. But Trip and Kyira were close enough to pull him clear and heal him before he succumbed to his injuries. It was a close call.

With the dragon out of the way, we could turn our attention to Calmont. And let me tell you, he is a vile piece of work. Today’s disappointment. If I had to choose between spending time with him or spending time with my mother, I would actually have to think it over.

Our presence was obviously unexpected, which meant Calmont’s plan, and I use that term loosely, was not going to plan. If he started improvising, this could get very ugly, very quickly.

He yelled at us, yelled at the goblins—with a generous helping of racial slurs—and demanded they help him find a way down below so he could retrieve a ring. He threatened to kill them and literally cut them to pieces.

I watched Trip fade into the shadows by the collapsed stairs. I doubted we could talk Calmont down, but we could buy Trip some time. After sending Iskaryn up to keep an eye on him in case he tried to run, I stepped into the courtyard.

“There’s no need to threaten these goblin people. If you want to find a way down there, let them go and we’ll help you find it.”

He was practically raving. “These little freaks know what I’m after! They lived down there for years, they must know! The catacombs or vaults or whatever the hell you call them. I just want Alseta’s Ring!” We didn’t know what that was, but he told us it would make him rich.

“Let’s be reasonable about this,” I said as calmly as I could. “If you hurt them, you lose all your leverage. We can help you.”

“You’d be surprised what pain can achieve,” he said.

Fortunately, he didn’t have a chance to carry out that threat. I couldn’t see where Trip was, but she had gotten close enough to hex him, and he fell unconscious. And that was that.

Once he was manacled, we checked on the goblins and made sure they were safe. Turns out, Calmont wasn’t the only one to visit the Citadel. The lizard-dragon we killed was one of two, and they both came with a group that called themselves the Cinderclaws. Who are The Cinderclaws? No idea. They moved in a few days ago, and declared that they now owned the place. This is what initially sent Helba and her tribe up onto the battlements, and the reason for the red smoke.

Fortunately, the dragon lizards were too heavy for the stairs. They collapsed, burying one in the rubble, and effectively cutting off the stairs to the lower level. The goblins still knew a secret way down, but they weren’t going to admit this to Calmont. They only told us about it because we came with a message from Warbal.

We took Calmont back to town. He talked the entire time. We were going to gag him, but it turned out he was a gold mine of “can’t shut up”.

It didn’t take long for a sad portrait of the man to form: one of a small-time criminal who was gifted with grandiose dreams but none of the resources to realize them. He was also, without a doubt, in completely over his head and too dense to know it. He was trying to bargain with us, or form a partnership, even though he had literally nothing to bargain with.

He was a very angry man with a long list of grievances, and he was especially angry about his boss. “She thinks she’s everything, all ‘Calmont, wash this! Calmont, bind that! Calmont, that’s not how you pronounce Norgorber!’”

Excuse me?

I knew that name, and knew it meant bad news. I asked Iskaryn, quietly, “What do you know about Norgorber?”

“Nasty piece of work. He’s the god of assassins.”

That was something to file away for later.

I played along with him and let the conversation run its course. What he was looking for was something called Alseta’s Ring. Why? Because Voz was looking for it, and he wanted to find it first, and take control of it. He said it was capable of moving people or things, possibly moving even entire armies, across great distances. It would make him rich. Very rich.

And because I am dense, I had to ask Iskaryn if she’d ever heard of such a thing.

“You mean, Alseta, the goddess of doorways and portals?” she replied.

And that was the moment.

I knew why I had been sent some 400 miles to some remote town in an isolated corner of Isger. Why the seven of us had been sent there.

How a large group of cultists no one had ever heard of had just appeared one day, with two huge monsters, with not so much as a hint that they were coming.

There was a working elf gate under Citadel Altaerein.

Arodus 2

Breachill

Morning

The town council paid us a reward for our successes yesterday. I wish I could get excited by this, but I just can’t. Most people count their gold and silver in absolutes, but to me, it’s all measured in time. It’s a habit I formed after Kerse, and one which I fell back on after leaving the Forest. I can live off the reward money here for two to three months. As many as six if I get desperate.

For the moment, though, I am in no danger of starving.

Calmont is now the city’s problem, and good riddance. We chose not to reveal our suspicions of an elf gate below Citadel Altaerein, but I imagine they’ll hear about it from him soon, if they haven’t already. The man just doesn’t know when to shut up. The only question is whether or not they’ll believe him. My gut tells me that’s a “no”. He comes across as a conman and a schemer at best, and a raving lunatic at worst.

Is there really an active elf gate down there? My excitement and confidence from last night have tempered. What we have right now is guesswork and hearsay from Calmont—enough said there—and a theory that happens to fit what we know. This is not the same as proof. But the evidence is growing: this morning, Liberte told us that the dragon creature was, in fact, a distant offshoot of dragons called a grauladon, and they literally should not have been there. Not in the “draconic lizards don’t belong inside castles” sense, but the “they live in swamps, and there isn’t one for hundreds of miles” one.

This theory also raises a number of other questions that we don’t have answers to. Did the Order of the Nail know about the elf gate? They must have. The odds of them choosing a construction site that was directly above one entirely by accident seem ridiculously remote. Alak said there was no record of such a thing, but so what? It sounds like the sort of thing they’d want to keep secret.

Assuming they did know, was it active when they built it? My limited understanding of elf gates is that there aren’t many of them left that still work, though that could just be propaganda from Kyonin. If it was active back then, you’d think word would have spread—that’s not the kind of secret that stays buried for long.

Which means it may have only been activated recently. By the Cinderclaws. And they brought their pet grauladons with them.

We know from Calmont that Voz suspected the gate was there, too. Is she connected to the Cinderclaws? No idea.

Whatever connection exists between Voz and Norgorber is also a mystery, and one the town council isn’t in a hurry to solve. Obviously, we don’t have evidence of anything nefarious there, but it seems like one coincidence too many to me, so I don’t understand why they aren’t taking it more seriously. They all but blew off the news, pointing out that a dealer in rare books is likely to have texts that reference any number of unsavory figures. Can they really be that naive? Probably. This whole town is detached from the rest of the world in that way. It exists as a storybook version of itself, and it seems perfectly content to stay that way.

We’re headed back out to the Citadel shortly, and taking Warbal with us so she can reconnect with Helba. The rest of us, which includes Alak because we’re adopting strays now, will explore the rest of the ground floor, then ask the Bumblebrashers to show us the way down.

No one even stopped to question the fact that we were hired to do a job, did the job, and then got paid for it. Which means everything from here on out is on our own coin.

Deep down, I think everyone realizes what that means. This elf gate is what we were sent to find. Now we need to figure out why.

Sketches by Gath, Arodus 1-2, 4719

Leave a reply

1 Arodus 4719, late afternoon

Citadel Altaerein, Hellknight Hill

I am sure Natre would disagree, but there is such a thing as being too eager!

We found a large gap in the southern wall of the old fortress and carefully climbed up the slope of rubble into a training room. Straw stuffed dummies were mounted on posts with which trainees could practice combat. Snooping around yielded a few coins and I found a secret door in the southwest corner.

I carefully checked this door for traps and opened it. I then eagerly stepped inside without checking for traps and found one the hard way… or the pointy painful way to be precise. A spear launched out and struck me right in the side, which was a painful lesson that eagerness needed to balance with caution.

Fortunately Aemi was able to cast a healing spell that closed the wound and greatly eased the pain. The embarrassment will take longer to fade.

I found a handful of interesting items in the small space beyond the secret door and we gathered them up. A silver longsword was resting against a wall and I put it in my pack, not realizing its usefulness at the time.

The space led westward a short way to a closed door, but we decided to return to the training room and pick one of the many doors that led from there.

I listened at the western door and heard the sound of someone shouting. I motioned to the others and used some of the basic hand signals we had agreed upon before setting out to indicate trouble. After the party positioned itself to handle the threat I opened the door.

Beyond was a large room with a knight fighting a handful of imps. He called out for us to lend us a hand, and given that imps were a common foe we did just that and filed into the room. Tarsius and Kyira rushed in to join in melee while the others stood back to offer support or attack at a distance. Both Aemi and Qantrip were able to use magic to good effect.

I had planned on using my bow — I am not opposed to being on the front line of combat, but I am better skilled with a bow — when Liberte called out that the silver sword should prove particularly effective against imps. I took a moment to pull out the longsword and waded into the combat, and Liberte was right and the imps were none too happy.

Once the battle was over we saw that the room’s floor was black with a blood red arena painted into it, and a pentagram painted within that. Hmm.

The knight introduced himself as Alak, and we each (rather awkwardly) introduced ourselves. He was a hell-knight initiate (and so not actually a knight yet) and had returned to the citadel (what I am calling the fort) for personal reasons and had encountered a number of wild animals and monsters and so he had moved on (ie, fled — nothing wrong with that!) to this chamber when the imps appeared.

When asked about the goblins who lived here he said he wasn’t aware of them, and had not seen them, which was likely given that Iskaryn saw them hiding on the battlements above. Alak was quite happy to accompany us outside and up to see the goblins and so we worked our way out to a large courtyard.

Before entering the courtyard I heard voices speaking goblin — someone was angry and threatening to throw someone else off the top of the wall. I passed this on to the rest of the team as we entered the square.

There, from a shallow pool of stagnant water against the west wall an enormous lizard creature rose up. Someone asked, “Do we kill it or go by it?” to which I replied “It seems unlikely we’ll be able to get by it.” “Okay, so kill it.” “Yup.”

It was a nasty beast and powerful, gouging out chunks of flesh from anyone within striking distance. Tarsius and Kyira joined Alak in melee assault and the rest of us began our ranged attacks and Aemi began to sing. I know, sing, right? But the sound of her voice definitely made me feel like I was doing better than I normally would. And she has a nice voice.

The lizard puffed out a blast of sickly vapors at Alak and Kyira, and then dropped Tarsius with a single blow — holy shit! Fortunately Qantrip rushed in to stabilize him and Kyira managed to heal him.

With a determined effort we managed to slay the beast and its body splashed back down into the foul water of the pond.

From the wall tops we heard a chorus of goblin voices cheering, but then one different, unpleasant, whiny, nasal voice cut through them. “Who are you? You better stay away or I’ll kill her!”

We looked up to see a group of goblins huddled together, but apart from them, to the left, stood a halfling holding onto a goblin woman with a knife pressed to her throat.

Obviously we had found Calmont, and it seems his evil behavior extended beyond trying to burn people alive. Aemi began to talk to him, which caused him to froth at the mouth and gesticulate wildly with his free hand about how nobody was going to take what was his. The rest of us stood still, trying to figure out what to do, but I saw Qantrip blend into the shadows along the wall and begin to climb the steps. Aemi must have seen it too because she continued to engage with Calmont.

Alak had seen enough and began to climb the stairs, apparently not having seen Qantrip moving stealthily ahead of him, but we couldn’t call him back without the risk of exposing her. Fortunately she made it within range of Calmont and he dropped like a sack of flour onto the battlements. That’s never going to get old.

Some of us ran up and bound Calmont with the halfling sized manacles we had picked up from the town guard earlier.

I spoke with the goblin leader, Helba, whom Calmont had held hostage. She was relieved to hear that her friend Warbal had sent us and she explained that Calmont had only arrived that day and was not the cause of their distress smoke signal.

“Cultists appeared some weeks ago and kicked us out from our home in the vaults beneath the citadel,” she said. “Then the monsters arrived and the lizard beast collapsed the main stairs leading down from the courtyard. But the goblins have a secret way we can show you.”

I thanked her and we decided we would return to Breachill right away with Calmont and then return to continue our exploration of the fortress in the morning. Once we were done with the main level the goblins would show us the way to the vaults below.

1 Arodus 4719, evening

Cayden’s Keg, Breachill

We spoke with Calmont on the walk back into town. Aemi was good at making him feel at ease and getting him to talk about his purpose at the fort. He was looking for a very valuable magical ring, but not the type of ring you were on your finger, but rather a teleportation portal. “It would be valuable, and we would control it and the access to it. Yes, I would operate the ring and you could guard it, and I would share the wealth from the fees I charged to use it. Just think of the riches!”

Right. Whatever. We dropped him off at the town guard and after Liberte did some more research at the town archives we updated Greta Gardania, our contact on the town council. She paid us our reward and then expressed concern about the presence of cultists at the fort so close to Breachill. I offered the city our services if they wanted to hire us, and she agreed to consult the rest of the council about the matter.

The extra coin has allowed me to have a nice meal at Cayden’s Keg and a room for the night.

2 Arodus 4719, morning

Citadel Altaerein, Hellknight Hill

We set off for the fort this morning along with our new ally, Alak, as well as Warbal, who wanted to check in with her friend Helba. The fort is only a mile away and so the walk was a pleasant half an hour stroll up into the hills.

We thought we’d go through the main gate this time, but we discovered a small pack of goblin dogs living in the entry way. Maybe they belonged to the resident goblins and so we let them be and entered through the training room.

We escorted Warbal through the safe route we established yesterday up to the goblins and then returned to the training room. Qantrip wanted to approach the goblin dogs from the opposite direction and so we took an eastern door into a kitchen. We snooped around a bit and found some old food.

And then swarms of spiders came out from the cupboards and engulfed us. Swarms! I remember encountering swarms of stinging bugs with Natre, but she was able to blast them away with spells. I don’t know any spells, and swatting at them with the flat of a sword is no more effective than shooting at them with arrows.

“Run away!” I don’t know who yelled it — hell it could have been me — but it was a damned fine idea. We scrambled out from the kitchen and Alak slammed the door shut.

“So not that way,” I offered rather lamely.

“How about we go through the door in the secret passage,” Liberte suggested.

I checked for traps like our lives depended on it. Door. Check for traps. Listen for noise from the other side. Clear. Hallway. Check. Listen. Clear. Bend in the hallway. Check. Listen. Clear. Another door, another hallway, repeat and rinse. I need to improve my skills here so it doesn’t take so long.

Liberte was so bored by the process that he went outside into the courtyard to see if he could predict where our passage would take us before we got there.

Eventually we found ourselves at the base of one of the towers with a pair of closed doors. I checked the door to the east and opened it to reveal a hallway with a wall that collapsed into the courtyard. Liberte was there and waved.

At the same time Qantrip opened the other door and squealed, but not in a good way. There was a room with half a dozen dire rats and one of them sprang forward and bit her. She scampered away while the rest of us sprang into action. Once again we proved to be an effective team and were able to dispatch all of the rats.

Yes, I follow a deity who’s avatar is a giant water rat, and I do have a fondness for our rodent friends. But aggressive, disease ridden dire rats are altogether different.

Oh, and that part about being disease ridden isn’t just hyperbole. Iskaryn maintained a lengthy dialogue with Aemi throughout our fight describing how Qantrip was most likely infected and would need healing, and well, let’s just say that bird really doesn’t know how to be brief. And she appears to lack tact, but then I think that’s not something Aemi would disagree with.

We searched the room and found a few items of interest and then went through a door leading east (after searching and listening, of course). Another hallway and another door. But this time while listening I heard a soft yipping noise, like puppies. We opened the door and found an untidy chamber.

The yipping came from the north. It was from a pair of wolf pups — no, warg pups! We all thought they were cute, but we were all concerned about running into the parents. And sure enough, a large and angry warg sprang into the room. A few of us tried to reason with it, but it wasn’t in the mood for talking and attacked. We had to kill it.

Qantrip locked the puppies in another room with some food (imp and dire rat body parts she had thoughtfully harvested). While the rest of us explored.

There was a large room like a lecture hall and through an opening we saw daylight and a pool of water. Laying in the pool was a humanoid corpse in armor. Not suspicious at all.

Liberte and I went into the room from whence the dire wolf had come and that’s when we heard shouting from our team mates, but by the time we got to them the threat was over. There was the corpse of a giant turtle-like thing with spiny spikes across its back, onto which the body was impaled. Apparently the thing used the body as a lure for… well, for people like us. Someone had killed it with a spell, I think, but it just happened a few moments ago and so I’m not sure what really went down.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 22, 4719

Leave a reply

Elidir

evening

I’ve spent two nights staring at a blank page. Two nights of opening this journal, then closing it again with nothing written.

I leave for Breachill tomorrow and will arrive there in three days. I’ve left places before, built new lives for myself before. This is nothing new. So why is it so hard to write about it? Why is it so difficult to face it?

Maybe it’s because every place I’ve lived has been an escape from where I was. The Conservatory was my escape from home. From mom and dad’s constant fighting. From the reality of our financial collapse. From a family that had been coming apart long before I was brought into it.

Macridi was my escape from Kerse. From the shame and embarrassment of living through it. I had no one, and couldn’t bear being myself. And for a while, it worked. Only, Macridi wasn’t fully real. I moved through people there without staying. No one knew me because I didn’t let them. The comfort it provided was real, but it just wasn’t enough.

The Minstrels were the first time I felt authentic. I joined them, and that was a choice. So I was reaching, not running. I wanted real connections again. But maybe that need for belonging was still an escape from who I’d been. Who I’d chosen to become.

I’ve seen this pattern before. I saw it in the forest. It’s why Iskaryn is here with me, now. But seeing it doesn’t make it easier to escape it.

And now, I am about to do it again. Create a new life, a new me, in a new place. A more authentic me, if Iskaryn has anything to say about it (and she has plenty to say). But it has never worked before. Never for long.

Nish was convinced I am moving towards something, not running. I don’t know if that is true, but I want to believe it. I guess it comes down to whether, this time, I will build something I can remain inside.

I don’t know who they are. Only that I am meant to recognize them. And be recognized in return.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 19, 4719

Leave a reply

Conerica Straits

evening

We’re outside a small settlement, but I decided to stay with the camp rather than head into town. I’ve been avoiding the places we visited when I was last here because…I don’t know why. I guess I just don’t want to deal with it.

I was playing my flute casually, just some light and airy pieces that put some music out there without demanding attention. Something people could either listen or just talk over depending on their mood. I’d been doing this for half an hour with a small crowd around me when that group of three surprised me by taking seats at the fire. They had gone into town earlier–the sudden quiet was almost startling–but now they were back.

“How about something we can dance to?” one of the two men asked.

And just like that, I was trapped. I was still raw from two days of trying to keep away from them, but I couldn’t ignore the request without being rude. And I wanted to be rude, surely, but that was on me. They’d not done anything to deserve it. Not really.

Well, fine. I could hide behind my flute (I felt Iskaryn bristle at that thought). I went with an estampie because they have open endings and aren’t too tiring. Just a few sections in, there was clapping and foot-stomping, then someone brought over a wooden crate, and I had a real, if rustic, percussion line.

The man who requested the change in music was dancing with the woman from their group, and a handful of others had joined in. We had gone from a quiet, relaxing night to a small but lively party in just a few minutes.

I switched us to a carole, and almost immediately a circle formed, everyone interlocking arms. This was more relaxed and a bit easier, but ten minutes in, I brought it to a close because I needed a break. There were hoots and applause as I sat down and took a long drink of water.

“Thanks for that. Most fun we’ve had in over a week,” I heard someone say off to my left. I turned to look in time to see one of the men from that group settling next to me. “Traveling through this country is like an extended wake.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. It caught me off guard.

“I spent three days in Saringallow,” I said, “I’m fairly sure that’s what passes for entertainment there.”

He chuckled politely in response. “I’m Pates. My friends here are Agelus and Paulana.” They both settled next to him and extended their arms in greeting.

“I’m Aemi.”

This was not what I needed. But. I could feel Iskaryn pushing on me, and I knew why. I needed to get over this…whatever it was. I wasn’t ready to answer questions, though, so I employed the age-old strategy of asking them about themselves first.

“What takes you to Elidir, Pates?”

“They’re renewing a push for a passage north and put out a call. We’re answering.”

Demand for Isgeri exports has always been high in Molthune, and the safest routes between the two all pass through Druma, which ruthlessly exploits this advantage. Lately, Druma has been raising tariffs on goods coming from Isger, and Cheliax started paying attention. With their influence waning elsewhere, they’re making another push to invest in Isger. Opening a passage north and kicking Druma from the table would be something of a two-fer.

This is basic Druma. They teach us this stuff practically before we learn to read. And, for the next half hour, it gave us something to talk about that wasn’t me.

Then the grace period expired. “So how about you? What has you going to Elidir?” Pates asked.

“It’s just a stopover,” I said. “I’m headed to Breachill.”

“And what’s waiting for you in Breachill?” Paulana asked.

I went with a version of the truth. “A better life than I can make for myself in Saringallow, for sure. Breachill was…recommended to me by someone I trust. I don’t know what I’ll find there, exactly, but it can’t be worse than where I was.”

“And where was that?”

“Rock bottom and digging.”

They could tell I didn’t want to go into it, which I appreciated. We made some small talk for a bit, then I politely excused myself to turn in for the night.

Honestly, they are decent enough people. This anger, or resentment, or whatever it is I am feeling towards them is obviously not earned, and it’s certainly not fair. But it’s not so easy to just turn off, either. Still, I can’t go the rest of my life avoiding people for the crime of being friends, so I’m going to make the effort to spend time with them tomorrow.

I don’t have to enjoy it. I just have to try.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 18, 4719

Leave a reply

Conerica Straits

afternoon

It’s been ten months since I last traveled this stretch of road to Elidir. With every mile I walk, there’s a tightening in my chest and a growing sense of unease that I can’t seem to shake.

The last time I was here, I was not alone.

There’s a group of three travelers with us, two human men and a woman, who have clearly been companions for a long time. They move together, speak across one another, and laugh too loudly at things that cannot possibly be that funny. It grated on me all morning.

I tried to put some distance between us, but their voices carried in a way that others’ didn’t. I moved ahead, fell back, and even kept to the far side of the wagons to block the sound. It made no difference. Even now, as we’ve stopped for a short lunch, I can hear them. Do they not even stop talking to eat?

I get fragments of their conversation whether I want them or not (and I do not). They are adventurers or expeditioners of some sort, apparently seeking a passage north through the Menador Mountains to Molthune.

And now that I’ve written that down, I think I understand why they have been getting under my skin. I keep seeing the Minstrels in them, and I resent it. I resent that they still have each other.

Iskaryn hasn’t been much help. Sometimes she’s a mirror; others, she’s a window. Right now, she’s neither, which makes this one of those rare moments when she doesn’t have an opinion to share–or impose on me.

Which is, I suppose, an opinion of its own. One that suggests that I just need to deal with this, and her involvement would only complicate it

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 17, 4719

Leave a reply

Conerica Straits

afternoon

The caravan to Elidir assembled along Saringallow’s riverfront, which is close to the warehouse district. This presented problems for repeating my “offer Iskaryn as a scout” strategy, as that required calling her back to me; essentially doing the exact opposite of what I had been warned about. I was fretting about this all morning.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. There’s a large temple to Erastil here, and thus no shortage of wardens, scouts, trackers, and guides, many with animal companions. This caravan had two already, and Iskaryn’s services would not be needed.

The money I earned with Nish is going up in smoke. Three nights of nothing but expenses, followed by this.

But I wasn’t done. After all, if I am going to bleed coins, I might as well do it properly.

I realized I’d been taking my own safety for granted, especially given the stories about Isger—those walls in Saringallow exist for a reason. Yes, the Conerica River and its northern branch are patrolled, but they can’t be everywhere at once. All the merchants in this caravan (and the last one) wore some form of protection, and most of the travelers did as well.

And there was the same problem I had on the first day out of Petitioner’s Port: the look that says “she needs protecting” and the offers that follow.

Fuck that.

Nish put a stop to it last time just through proximity, but I needed to solve it for good on my own. So I purchased some simple leather armor.

Iskaryn was pissed off about it. One, I bought it without her there because we were in Saringallow, and two, because it cost me much of what I have left. Which suggests she would have tried to bully me out of it.

We must have been overdue for a row because we had a proper one when the caravan stopped for lunch. Thankfully, we both had the presence of mind to do it away from the group, so all I got was a bunch of concerned looks instead of hostile glares.

“You’ll need that money when we get to Breachill,” she said.

I countered, “It’ll do me no good if I’m dead.”

“You have me to watch for trouble and warn you!”

“You can’t deflect arrows and blades!”

“You don’t know how long it will take to find them! What if you run out?”

“Says the bird who forced me to buy that fucking journal!”

We attracted the attention of one of the hawks, a companion to one of our trackers, and it landed on the ground and glared at us. And, yes, I know what it looks like when a bird glares, because I have experience.

Regardless, I wasn’t in the mood for a nanny–already got one in the form of her nibs–or a social critic. “We’re fine!” I yelled at it. “She’s just being an ass!”

It looked at me, then at Iskaryn, who screeched at it indignantly. Then it flew off. I have no idea if it understood me or not, but the message was apparently received.

We’ve both cooled a bit, though I can feel the occasional flare of disapproval from her direction. If she had hands, she’d be wringing them. Or throwing them up. Possibly both.

She isn’t wrong about the money.

I’m not wrong about the armor.

And that’s the problem.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 15, 4719

Leave a reply

Saringallow

Evening

Nish left today. She’s going by boat because the roads west of here aren’t the safest way to travel, so we said our goodbyes on the docks at the riverfront.

“I’m not very good at this,” she said to me. “Saying good-bye, I mean. You’d think I would be by now.”

“Me neither,” I said. “I never know what to say. And I’m best at just avoiding it altogether.”

We embraced for a long time, then pulled away, both our eyes wet with tears.

“Look. I don’t know what happened behind you. But I know the difference between moving toward something and running away. Keep moving toward it, all right?”

I could only nod, fast and tight, then gave her another hug.

She pulled away first and boarded without another word.

Through the bond, I felt Iskaryn’s steady presence from somewhere above the rooftops. Not pushing. Not correcting. Just there.

I stayed and watched until the boat pushed off and slipped into the river’s current.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 14, 4719

Leave a reply

Saringallow

evening

Thilo was right about this city. Everywhere I go, it’s cold shoulders and narrowed eyes. Service delivered like an obligation, not a welcome. When I paid for my room, the innkeeper looked at me like I had no right to be here. What’s the point of running an inn if you resent the people who keep it standing?

Any fantasies I had about finding an inn or tavern to perform have been quietly strangled. No one wants an outsider. I don’t get it. I look around, and trade is everywhere–there are boats along the river, markets and shops with goods from beyond Isger, and of course our own caravan which brought cargo in addition to travelers. I must have missed the sign that says, “We want your money. We just don’t want you.”

But, Nine Hells, it’s more than even that. These people barely seem to want each other. I overheard two elderly men in the common room, and one of them actually said, “True friends aren’t too friendly”. Apparently, that’s an aphorism around here. They’re suspicious of their own neighbors.

There’s more cheer at the town gallows. Magdh, there are two of them.

And I get to spend three more nights here before the next travelers leave for Elidir.

Iskaryn is faring better than I am. The walls around us are high, but they enclose stretches of the farmland that surround the city–and its spite. There’s also a shabby orchard in the city’s center, the trees overgrown and gnarled from neglect.

From what I feel through the bond, she prefers the orchard and perches there during the day. As long as she minds Thilo’s warning, she can pass for nothing more than a particularly self-possessed bird.

She can feel me, too. When a stare lingers too long, or someone’s tone sharpens, I can feel her tense up. There’s this restrained indignation at the edge of my thoughts. She wants to intervene. I know how badly she does.

But she’s keeping herself in check.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 14, 4719

Leave a reply

Conerica River

morning

Thilo came to talk to me just now, before the caravan started moving this morning.

“There’s a couple things you should know about Saringallow,” he said in Sylvan. “It concerns the bird.”

The original name of the town, he explained, was Sarini’s Hollow, named after House Sarini of Cheliax, which established a small estate there. The town grew around the estate, as towns do when there’s a steady supply of work and money. Then the Sarini’s started dabbling in witchcraft, and because Cheliax is Cheliax, they turned their craft inward. Then they preyed on their own town to feed it.

When the townsfolk caught on, there was a huge uprising, and all the Sarinis were hanged. “Sarini’s Hollow” became “Sarini Gallows”, and in time it was shortened to the cheery name we know and love today.

“And what’s this got to do with me? Or Iskaryn?” I asked. I mean, it was everything I hated about Isger all in one tidy, horrible package, but so what? Lots of places had dark histories.

“It’s an insular place. They aren’t real warm to travelers, see. You’ll be welcome as long as you are spending your money, but not a moment longer. And, because of their history, unless you’re a priest of a respectable faith, open displays of magic don’t sit well with them.” He hesitated. “And that’s, uh, where the bird comes in.” His tone went dour there. He didn’t say, especially with her attitude, but he didn’t have to. The message was received. Iskaryn literally ruffled her feathers at that, but said nothing.

So that’s just great.

Iskaryn has been a lot of things. She has been my conscience, my shield, and my anchor. She’s stopped me from falling into old habits. She’s pushed, if sometimes dragged me forward, when I just couldn’t summon the will. And Magdh knows she’s been stubborn, irreverent, and infuriating.

But she has never been a liability.

He must have seen something in my face, as he softened his normally gruff manner. “You don’t have to do anything drastic. Just keep it subtle.” He gave Iskaryn a pointed look. “And act like a bird.”

To me, he said, “I’m telling you this because she’s done well by us. By me. She’s spotted trouble a couple of times, and because she can talk, we dealt with it before getting close. So I’m returning the favor.”

“Thanks, Thilo. I appreciate the warning. We’ll figure it out, I guess.”

I hope that is true.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 11, 4719

Leave a reply

Conerica River

night

Nish and I have been performing together these past four days. Mostly it’s been for the other travelers in the evenings, but we’ve also played a couple of taverns when the caravan stopped in towns along the way to take on more lading. I am a little stunned by how much money we’ve pulled in doing this, though I am pretty sure that most of that is on her. Still, I am not going to complain. She is letting me keep half of the takings, which is ridiculously generous and most appreciated.

I thought about asking her why she’s being so kind to me, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Iskaryn is confident that we won’t be living off handouts for much longer, but right now? I just don’t see an end to it.

Thilo has finally warmed up to me. Much of that is due to Iskaryn, who seems to have successfully smoothed things over with him (which is only fitting, since that was a mess she made). She takes her scouting role seriously and has even offered to get her direction straight from him instead of going through me. But I also can’t completely ignore that I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Nish, and Nish is, as I said, quite stunning. I mean, I am not inclined in that direction myself, but Maghd, I am not blind; I can’t help but look. Thilo sure isn’t blind to her, either.

I had the idea to start learning more about where we’re headed, so I started inquiring about Breachill in the towns we’ve been passing through (I considered asking my fellow travelers, too, but Iskaryn seemed to think that was a bad idea, as it would invite questions that I am not comfortable answering and unable to escape).

I spoke to just over a half-dozen people, and just about every response started with: “It’s weird.”

If you don’t think that “it’s weird” provides sufficient detail about my destination, then you would be correct. So I pressed for details, and this is the picture that emerged: Sometime around 200 years ago, a bunch of pioneers settled in northeast Isger, in the foothills of the Five Kings Mountains, where they border Druma. Shortly afterwards, some insert-unexplained-phenomenon-here occurred, and they all lost not only their memories, but their ability to survive.

There was a lot of disagreement on what, exactly, is meant by “ability to survive”. Did they lose their resources, their life skills, or both? I never got a consistent answer, but one thing all the stories agreed on was that they surely would have died over the winter if not for the intervention of an altruistic, powerful, and apparently quite unencumbered wizard, whose surname was Breachton. He saved their lives and helped them build their future, hence the name of the town.

That all sounds pretty fantastical to me, especially the part about anyone associated with Isger being described as “altruistic”. But then again, I am traveling the road with a custodial, talking bird, which I summoned deep in a fey forest, sometime between nearly being killed along with the rest of my friends by a fey horror, and being visited by three towering figures of fate in the service of Magdh, who handed me a Harrow card with my own image on it. So who am I to judge what’s real?

One other point all the stories agree on is that Breachill, as a community, is fairly open and welcoming, in the way most settlements in Isger want to be, but can’t quite achieve because of the influence of old Cheliax or the scars from the goblin wars. It formed and grew somewhat disconnected from the country around it, and that has stuck. I can’t help but be reminded of Macridi, and while there is certainly some amount of wishful thinking on my part there, it does make me feel more at ease about where I am headed.

I pulled my Harrow card out after I was sure Nish was asleep, or at least pretending to be. I’ve seen these cards for sale here and there, almost always from fortune-tellers that are heavy on spectacle and light on substance. I haven’t been brave enough (or foolish enough, if I take Iskaryn’s opinion) to show mine to any of them. But I met a man in town today, a seer who, for whatever reason, felt earnest somehow. I asked him what the card meant.

He said it speaks to loss. Palpable loss, not the abstract kind. The ghostly figure—more pronounced in his deck than in the card I carry—represents those who are gone but never leave us. He was quick to point out that it doesn’t have to mean death: people fall out of our lives in different ways. Regardless, they leave lessons behind, and it is up to us whether we listen.

And, as with most Harrow cards, there is also the predictive meaning: a revelation or discovery from something ancient or distant. But he put less stock in that, saying a reading usually describes who you are, and the predictive is but one possible future. That, and the cards aren’t read in isolation, anyway; the tapestry is considered as a whole.

I don’t know how to square it. I wasn’t given a whole reading, just the single card I’m carrying. So maybe it isn’t about fate. Maybe it’s just a reflection of the decisions that brought me here. Maybe I’ll be faced with a choice in Breachill, and the card is reminding me that we make our decisions through the lens of our experiences.

Or perhaps Breachill is just where the next phase of my life begins, and it’s saying, where I take it is up to me.

When I look at this card, am I seeing my past, my future…or just myself?

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 7, 4719

Leave a reply

Conerica River

night

We took on some new travelers in Dustspawn, including this stunningly beautiful half-elven woman named Nishlaldara, but who goes by “Nish” because, as she put it, “it was easier for people to pronounce, and less work for me to spell”. I liked her instantly.

She had a cittern strapped across her back, which is what first caught my eye, and we settled down together when the caravan stopped for a lunch break. We wanted to learn each other’s styles and find some common pieces, with the hope of maybe providing some musical entertainment in the evenings. It’s the sort of thing the travelers appreciate, as there’s not much to do along the way besides walk, talk, eat, and, um, relieve oneself.

I’ll get this out of the way: she is far more talented than I am. But, she’s also got about two decades on me, so that came as no surprise.

We made camp together tonight, and were talking instruments when I got sloppy and said, “I always wanted to learn strings, but we could only focus on two families at the Conservatory. In hindsight, vocal and wind were maybe a bad pairing, since you can’t do both at the same time.”

I could feel the next question coming before she asked it. “So you’re performance trained. Where did you study?”

Yeah, I had stepped in it. Even Iskaryn tensed up at that, but there was no way out except forward. “In Kerse.”

“And what’s a formally trained student of a prodigious institution in the Kalistocracy doing walking the roads of Isger?”

The old me, the one Iskaryn was here to keep away, would have spun a story much like the one I had invented for myself in Macridi. But I was trying this thing where I didn’t blatantly lie to people who maybe mattered to me, so instead I went with a vague summary of the truth.

“I’ve made some…bad decisions in my life. I’m trying to make a better one.” For what it’s worth, she seemed to accept that. And she wasn’t even offended when I followed up with, “And what has a talented performer like yourself walking that same road?”

“I was bored with where I was, and needed a change,” was the reply, which was an even more vague non-answer than mine, but probably a fair exchange. We both knew it and left it at that. I mean, we just met, and I wasn’t going to tell her how I’d burned down my life, built a new one, burned that one down, and then set fire to the ashes. We had an unspoken agreement not to push for more, and that was fine.

“Your bird is beautiful, by the way.”

Iskaryn was sitting on my shoulder, occasionally flexing her wings. Her blue was dulled a bit by the orange cast of the firelight, but Nish had seen her properly in the day.

“If you speak Sylvan, you can tell her that yourself. Though she might object to being called ‘my bird’. It’s…a bit more complicated than that. Iskaryn’s not even a bird, exactly.”

“I don’t speak Sylvan,” Nish said, as she pulled out a small clay figure I couldn’t quite see, then cast a spell. “But I can now. For a while, at least.” Which was, admittedly, a neat trick.

“Hold out your arm,” I said in Sylvan, testing Nish’s borrowed language. When she did, Iskaryn flew over to her and settled on it.

I had guessed that Nish was a bard, and I was right. She had me figured out as one, too. While she was admiring Iskaryn up close, she said, “I didn’t even know we could form these bonds.”

“I didn’t either, to be honest. I wish I could explain it. I was…in a bad way, then. So I think it was born out of need more than anything else.”

“And has she helped you…out of that way?”

“I’m not lying my ass off to you now, or running away, either, so yeah. She has. And still is.”

That got a laugh from her, but there was also a hint of sadness beneath it, too.

It wasn’t how I wanted to end the evening, though, or how I wanted her to see me. I liked Nish. What she thought of me mattered. So I said, “Iskaryn and I are learning to play together. Or rather, I play my flute, and she accompanies with a birdsong. It’s still a little rough, but we are figuring it out.”

“Oh, that, I have got to hear! Would you be willing to play for me?”

I smiled and pulled out my flute. I selected something simple, something we had practiced a lot in the days after Alabastrine. Iskaryn surprised me, though, as she tends to do when she is showing off, by improvising a new harmony. Not that I minded. It was far from polished, and we lost the tempo at one point and more than a few notes, but Nish didn’t care. She was thrilled.

“Oh my!” she breathed. “That may be one of the most astonishing things I’ve heard. And I have heard a great deal.”

I blushed, but I didn’t retreat into it. “Thank you. We still need some practice, but as I said, we are working it out.”

I’m going to miss her when we part ways. When we reach Saringallow, Nish will head west towards Ravounel, while I’ll go north to Elidir. But that’s okay, I think. Maybe some friendships are temporary, and aren’t meant to last longer than the time we share on the road.

The important thing is that I know I can do this again, and that’s enough.

Aemi’s Journal, Erastus 4, 4719

Leave a reply

Dustspawn

night

We’re in Dustspawn for the next couple of days while the caravan takes on lading.

You can’t just walk up to one of these things and tag along like a lost puppy. You pay a fee to be under their protection, which covers the cost of shared guards and scouts, and the safety of numbers in general. There are entire fee schedules—Druma loves its fee schedules—for the things, ranging from how you’re traveling to what you want along the way. Traveling on foot? That’s your base per-person fee. Riding an animal? Takes up more space, spreads out the caravan, and they smell, so there’s a per-animal fee. Pulling a wagon? Harder to defend, and they sometimes break, so there’s a base wagon fee and a per-axle fee. And so on.

You can even get amenities. Don’t want to bring your own food? Your meals can be provided for a fee. Don’t have a tent but want one? There’s a tent rental fee. Don’t feel like walking? There are a limited number of coach spaces. For a fee. You get the idea.

There’s another way to join up, too, and that’s to make yourself an asset instead of a liability. Which meant it was time to put Iskaryn to work.

For all the shit she gives me, when it comes time to rely on her for something serious, she really does pull through. I made a proposal, and she agreed without hesitation (and without an attitude).

“She can serve as an aerial scout,” I offered to the caravan-master. “She can talk, read, and even write, in Sylvan.”

He was skeptical. And I get it. I don’t blame him. Familiars, animal companions, and the like aren’t rare, but ones that can talk are. Literate ones? Even more so.

“Sylvan. How, exactly, does that help me?” he asked,

“I speak Sylvan. And this is Druma. Surely, some of the escorts for this thing do, too.” There’s a subtle art to chastising someone without being overtly insulting. I adopted a concerned tone. “Please tell me you don’t travel through the Palakar Forest without someone who speaks the language?”

He relented, though not before asking Iskaryn and me to prove our claim. We sent her off on a couple of simple scouting tests, and he pulled in a dwarven guard named Thilo, who also spoke Sylvan, to act as a translator. He verified everything, and then it was done.

And because Iskaryn is Iskaryn, after the contract was signed, she wrote “Thanks, asshole” in the dirt.

Thilo, to his credit, only paraphrased. But he did chide me quietly, afterwards. When I apologized, he said, “Just keep the bird in line,” and walked away.

So, thanks for that, Iskaryn. Now I get to be extra polite to Thilo for the rest of the journey.

Being a woman (and one who, even in my current state, draws the eye) with a magical bird traveling the road alone tends to attract attention. Most of that attention is either the wrong sort or the sort I am not currently interested in. Case in point. We’re at this inn called The Mineshaft—Dustspawn is an old mining town, so the decor is a whole thing—and I’m writing this all up. A man I did not want to get to know better came up to me just now and asked, “What are you writing in there?”

“I am just keeping a travelogue,” I said, because I try not to be rude to people (even when they deserve it, which, so far, they did not). Also, I need to travel with these folks for the next week, and it’s best not to make any of them mad at me.

“That’s not a language I recognize,” he said, which was deserving, and is precisely why I write this in Sylvan instead of the common tongue. I wanted to say, “That’s so assholes can’t read it over my shoulder,” but, again, trying not to be rude. So I went with, “Oh.”

The best way to end a conversation you don’t want to have is to smother it in the cradle. It’s hard to respond to “Oh” because there’s nothing to work with. After a few awkward moments of him just looking at me, waiting for me to go on, he gave up and left.

A triumph for the power of “Oh.”