Erastus 19 (Brinewall Cemetery, Night)

W

e are back in the cemetery, recovering from what has been a long and difficult day both physically and emotionally.

I finally recognized the thing in the caverns as a decapus, though I didn’t know that they could get this large, nor did I know that they could fly (perhaps this one was special?). In what I assume was its lair we found a leathery egg that was split open, still pulsing, that was just the right size. So it seems we have been given a lesson in its biology as well.

Surrounding a large, flat rock that looked like a makeshift altar was a pile of treasure, arranged almost as if in tribute. Among this collection were two items of particular interest: a darkwood and silver disk engraved with an image of Brinewall under the moon, and a stone statue of Pazuzu.

Gods, there has been too much Pazuzu here.

We have another one of these discs, only it shows the sun in the sky instead of the moon. Our suspicion is that these are keys to the vault.

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one…

One treasure beyond two seals in the third vault.

Qatana tried to destroy the statue but made the mistake of handling it first (though to be fair, we didn’t realize that this was a problem until after she had done it). Now, the cursed thing will not stay away from her. It appears in her pack if she tries to walk away from it, or in her hands if she leaves her pack behind. She says it is as heavy as lead and it slows her down as she struggles with its weight. I have heard of cursed items like these, made more as cruel jokes and annoyances than anything else, but I imagine this one is a spiritual fuck you for not being one of his worshipers.

Olmas and Sparna seem to find this quite amusing. For the first time since we came together as a group, Qatana is physically unable to get out of their sight.

The third set of stairs led down to the vaults, access to them blocked by a portcullis. The discs, which radiated a faint aura of transmutation, acted as keys to raise and lower the bars. As soon as we stepped in, the dust in the room swirled around and took a human form. Even with the light we brought with us, it was dark and hard to see but the features of a Tian man were unmistakeable.

Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was.

It had been many years since I had been in the Kaijitsu manor, but I had seen the family portraits. It was not obvious, and without the riddle I doubt I would have made the connection, but knowing what I knew it was clear I was facing the image of Ameiko’s grandfather.

Tentatively, I asked, “Rokuro?”

The wraith was raising a ghostly sword above its head readying to strike, but upon hearing this it stopped and the fury in its eyes melted away.

“I…know…that…name…”

And then he cried out in anguish, pointing his sword at the wall.

“Take the seal from here! I can no longer guard it. Take it to my child! I can no longer defend it.”

And then he vanished, leaving nothing but dust behind.

Radella searched the wall and discovered a hidden door, one so well constructed that we might not have found it on our own. It led to a third vault, as predicted, and unlike the other two this one had not been looted: three chests sat within, each radiating magic.

It was the center chest that mattered. It was locked. Radella swears it was locked, and I believe her. But the very second she started on the mechanism, the chest just…opened. As if it had been waiting for her all along.

Inside was a finely-lacquered, Tian-style puzzle box. It was radiating a strong magic, but none of us could identify the aura, nor a means of opening it. But, this had to be it. Whatever was happening to Ameiko had led us here.

It’s too late to do this tonight. I have spent all of my spells, and the others are exhausted. We will head back to the caravan at first light.

This is almost over.

Erastus 20 (The Nolands, Early Morning)

I

am writing this down now before I lose it, while it is still fresh in my head.

As soon the box was opened—I don’t even remember who did it now—I caught sight of the small, stone dragon statuette and then the world faded away.

I was no longer in Brinewall. I was standing on the edge of a vast Forest overlooking the kingdom of Minkai while a ferocious storm raged above. As I stood in the rain, a terrifying army of fiends—their skin ablaze beneath their armor—emerged from the trees. This advancing wall of tusks, fire, and steel marched around me, eyes glaring, and descended into the country at my back.

As the invasion began, the vision shifted to a simple well where the Emperor Shigure of Minkai stood alongside a friend. Again, I watched. His friend transformed, growing several times in size to stand sheathed in twisted, jade armor. He drew a sword and struck Shigure down, then held the blade over his head in triumph, blood dripping from its edge.

The vision shifted a third time, and I was in the city of Kalsgard. Rokuro Kaijitsu, whose true name is Amatatsu Tsutoku, was selling a beautiful sword to an Ulfen merchant to finance his trip across the world. I could feel that sword, an intelligent weapon named Suishen, and the knowledge it possessed: the Amatatsu family history.

Again, the vision changed. Now it was my childhood friend, Ameiko, waking up from her sleep. Not from our campsite in Brinewall, but in the arms of an ornate, jade throne. She was dressed as an empress, no longer the tavern owner and bard I have known most of my life.

And then I knew. Ameiko was the last surviving heir of her line, of the last surviving royal family of Minkai. The Seal, or the spirit that resided in it, knew this as well and had marked us all as scions of the Amatatsu family. An insurance policy, of sorts, to ensure the royal family’s survival. Heirs designate.

Brinewall returned, then, and Ameiko awoke with a gasp.

The Amatatsu Seal. It sat there in the box, and I knew it to be a powerful artifact. So powerful it could be tracked across any distance, and its presence hidden only by the warding box in which it had been contained. I remembered Tsutoku’s letter to his son—to Ameiko’s father. And just as the realization dawned on me, Ameiko yelled out, “Put that thing back in the box!”

After using it to rid Qatana of that foul idol—it had also revealed some of its powers to us, including the ability to remove curses—we placed it back in the warding box and closed the compartments. Someone, I think it may have been Qatana, said “We have to leave. We have to get out of here now.”

Indeed. We had just lit a signal fire, one so big it could be seen across the world. Again, the words of Tsutoku’s letter came to me.

If our enemies find what I have hidden, there will be nothing here for you. If they do not, they will lie in wait forever for your return.

I looked around at my friends. You could tell from their faces that each of us that had been in that crypt had experienced these visions (even poor Kelda, who had stubbornly refused to admit that she had been in over her head before). All the plans we had made for that day—cleansing the temple to Desna, repairing Kelda’s boat, tying up loose ends in the ruins of the keep—were abandoned.

While the caravan was hastily prepped for the return to the road, I had a growing sense of unease. I tried to keep busy, but my thoughts kept returning to what we had seen. An emperor murdered. An army invading Minkai. Ameiko on that throne. Enemies who had waited decades for her family to return, and who might now know exactly where we were.

And us. Heirs designate.

Gods.

I felt myself getting weaker and light-headed. My hands were trembling, and I couldn’t seem to make them stop. I sat down in the grass behind the covered wagon, out of sight of the others, and tried to collect myself, but that only made it worse. My heart was racing. I couldn’t catch my breath.

All of this…it was too much.

Nihali landed on my shoulder, and I found her presence soothing. She brought me down. A minute or so later I got up, wiped away the tears, and rejoined the others. I don’t think anyone saw. If they did, they’ve been kind enough not to say.

We reach Riddleport in four days, where we’ll resupply. The plan after that is to take Ameiko and ourselves across the Crown of the World to the kingdom of Minkai in Tian Xia.

Writing it down like this just sounds so absurd. A little over two weeks ago, we left Sandpoint to help Ameiko find answers about her family. Now we intend to cross the world and place that family back on a throne that was stolen from them.

I don’t think any of us really knows what we’re agreeing to. I certainly don’t. We don’t even know who rules there now, or what will be waiting for Ameiko once we arrive. The only thing that’s clear is the road will not be easy.

But I know why I’m going. Whatever this is, I am not going to walk away from her now.

Both Spivey and Kelda have chosen to join us. Spivey will be with us indefinitely, and Kelda at least as far as Kalsgard. I don’t know what Kelda will do after that, but I hope she stays on. She is gruff and occasionally crude, but I have to admit that I like her because she’s so open and direct. As for Spivey, I simply find her presence reassuring. I don’t know how to explain it beyond that.

Our first stop on our journey will be Kalsgard, where we hope to recover Suishen. We may need the knowledge it possesses, and Ameiko deserves the opportunity to reclaim a piece of her heritage. I don’t know how—it must have been imparted to us by the Seal—but we know it was sold to a man there named Fynn Snaevald. And I don’t know how we’ll get it back from him.

One problem at a time, I suppose.

Erastus 19 (Brinewall Castle dungeon, Noon)

R

adella is meticulously and patiently working the locking mechanism to the hidden passage in the cavern in order to coax it into opening. There is something striking about watching her finesse her tools like this: her movements are slow, gentle, and precise, in contrast to the enormous sword lying on the ground at her side which she normally swings with terrifying strength. I don’t really know how to characterize her. I’ve been exposed to enough grafters, vagabonds, and thieves to recognize the archetypes when I see them—my time spent in Magnimar was all too instructive—but she defies such simple classification. In this way she is a lot like Ana: neither of them fits neatly into a type.

Where does this door lead? It has been cut from the stone of this hollow and worked in a manner to hide its existence. That, combined with the complexity of the lock, suggests it was intended as an escape passage, a secret entrance, or perhaps both. The Historical Record does mention this network of caverns below the castle, and it would seem that the builders incorporated them into the dungeon’s construction (even if they blew it on the structural planning). Using them in this manner certainly makes sense.

We had our choice of three stairways for coming down here and we opted to follow our noses, which meant starting from the room where we first encountered troglodytes. I couldn’t really find fault with the logic, as we suspected there were more of them down here and we’d have to deal with them eventually, but it did mean beginning in the midst of a foul stench and descending into far worse until we were nearly choking on it.

It also provided an opportunity to correct an oversight from earlier, which was to search the debris in that room for anything of value. And it’s a good thing we did because we would have missed some valuable clues about Brinewall’s fall: buried in the trash were tattered and torn reports from the night the castle was attacked. The remnants were incomplete, but we were able to assemble enough pieces to reconstruct the night’s events. The guards in the castle were preparing to respond to what they thought were riots in the town. They probably learned the truth only when the invaders were inside the castle walls.

As we suspected, there were more troglodytes below. We tried to lure them up the stairs rather than fight through a narrow doorway, with Sparna contributing a stream of insults that taught me considerably more about dwarven profanity than I expected to learn today. It almost worked. Unfortunately, my attempt to help with a strategically placed grease spell gave the remaining troglodytes one obstacle too many, and they retreated to a fortified position.

So much for that plan.

We eventually cleared them out, though not easily.

A small armory near there yielded a surprising find: a case containing several flasks of alchemist’s fire. I glanced over to Etayne and she gave me one of her ominous grins. The witch is downright obsessed with fire.

Erastus 19 (Brinewall Castle, Mid-Afternoon)

W

e are taking a few moments to rest and to heal. Especially Olmas, who took a severe pounding.

With the ogres dead we could finally turn our attention to the Ulfen woman being held prisoner in one of the cells. She was tall and slender, but hardly slight: there was no mistaking the muscular build of a warrior. She had watched the entire fight in stoic silence, and cold, hard eyes glared at us through dirty and matted blond hair after it had ended.

Etayne, ever the diplomat, started the conversation.

“Who are you?! What are you doing here?!”

I suggested that we tone down the interrogation a bit, but too many people had questions they wanted to have answered and they all came out seemingly at once. Eventually, the woman had had enough. “Am I your prisoner now?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

We took the keys off the bodies of her former jailers and opened the cell, but she did not step out. Her eyes kept wandering to a pile of armor and equipment on the floor next to the wall.

“Are those your things?” Qatana asked.

She nodded.

“Go ahead.”

And at that, she softened. Just a little. After she had donned her armor and weapons, I asked, “Was that your longboat we saw docked in the lagoon?”

She was reluctant to talk about it at first but confirmed that it was. Kelda Oxgutter—that is her name—came here some days ago with companions from the Linnorm Kingdoms. They had heard the stories of Brinewall and assumed, wrongly, that the abandoned town and keep would be ripe for looting. When they came ashore they were attacked by the sea drake and Kelda was the only survivor. She was captured while exploring the castle on her own.

In turn, she asked why we were here. I explained about Ameiko, her condition, and the connection to her past and her family. Maybe that was more than I should have said, but she had shared quite a bit with us, so it seemed fair to respond in kind.

“It is possible that what we learn here may take us farther north. Perhaps, eventually, across the crown of the world to Tian Xia.”

“If that is the case, I’d be willing to accompany you as far as Kalsgard.”

Honor and reputation matter a great deal to the Ulfen people, in the Kingdoms in general, and the way she spoke of her companions and her capture suggested that it meant a great deal to her, personally. But could we trust her? She seemed as wary of us as we did of her. The story she told did not contradict anything we had seen, and it also answered some questions of our own. So, I believed her. If this was a ruse, it was ridiculously elaborate.

She also looked more than capable in a fight, too. So why not take the chance?

Erastus 19 (Brinewall Castle, Late Afternoon)

T

hat may have been the most frightening encounter we’ve had, and among the most difficult. Qatana has been badly hurt; likely poisoned. It is dead, but we threw everything we had at it, and in my case even things that we didn’t.

The sarcophagi had been broken open and despoiled. Everything of importance had been taken, including the bodies of the dead. The entrance was set in an intricate iron screen, its wooden door adorned with a beautiful painting of Pharasma seated on her throne. Given her church’s role as stewards of the dead and protectors of graves, what had happened here was a terrible crime.

I was immediately suspicious when an image of her manifested at the far end of the tomb where the wall had partially collapsed to reveal a cavern beyond. But being skeptical is not the same as being certain, and though I am knowledgeable in matters of religion Qatana is the expert when it comes to Pharasma. She began her life in that church before…well. Before.

“Qatana…? We need you here.”

I needed time for my spell to work, to confirm my suspicions that this was merely an illusion. The image of Pharasma spoke to us, encouraging us to lay down our arms and approach; this was almost certainly a trap. The brief exchange that followed was enough to confirm for Qatana that this “Pharasma” was a fake, and for me to recognize the source of the image as mortal magic. Radella put an arrow through it, and it was gone.

But who, or what, created it?

We entered the cavern beyond the crypt and found ourselves on a wide ledge a good twenty feet above another passage. And then I saw it floating up near the ceiling. It looked like a deformed octopus, only with a giant maw filled with sharp teeth, and ten tentacles that were writhing in the air. I quietly spread the word, but its senses were keen and it hit us with a powerful spell before we could react.

Tentacled creature in the dungeon of Brinewall Castle

I had memorized a summoning spell—my sole remaining spell for the day—but the creatures I could conjure with it were not up to this task. As I worked the spell I reached deep into myself¹ and shaped it into a more powerful form, one that I was not yet able to prepare on my own. I could feel a wave of fatigue wash over me as I did it, but I succeeded in bringing forth a powerful ally to assist us: a lantern archon.

The glowing ball of light materialized in the air behind the decapod and began searing it with beams of light and energy. Between the archon and my friends, we hurt it badly enough that it finally broke away and fled back toward the ceiling.

“Father! Help me! Pazuzu!” it shrieked, over and over.

It was…almost pitiful. Almost. And then Qatana hit it with a spell, a burst of sound, and it blew apart in the air.

Afterwards, the others told me it seemed to flinch and hesitate during the fight, that it singled out Qatana, and was distracted easily by their taunts. And I recalled the riddle Ameiko had spoken:

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one. His fear is your greatest ally.

Another one down. Only two remain.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Cemetery, Night)

K

ikonu is dead. Who is Kikonu? I’ll be honest: I am still not sure and I don’t really know what is going on. I am trying to piece it together from the scraps of information we have uncovered so far, but there is too much that we don’t yet know.

This began with exploring the tower. What was formerly the library (and, arguably, still is as the books are still intact) had become the private room of Zaiobe, a mute harpy oracle that has been living in the castle for many years. She was the first being we have encountered since stepping foot in here that did not try to attack us on sight.

Who is Zaiobe? She is, or rather was, Kikonu’s lover. So you see the problem: some of these answers are circular.

She could communicate telepathically with whoever she was touching, and she had a lot to say. Most of that boiled down to this: she had “grown tired” of her lover and she wanted to kill him, but she needed help. There was obviously more to this story than she was telling us since you don’t just kill someone because you are tired of them, harpy or not. Something must have happened between them, something severe enough that revenge was her answer. In exchange for our help, she would give us information.

Who is Kikonu? He came from Tian Xia, and specifically from Minkai. He is an outsider of some sort, able to take the form of a man-sized bird with black feathers. When in his human form he looks like a Tian man with red skin and a rather large nose, but with raven-black wings sprouting from his back. In Tian Xia, she said, he is considered a horrible monster, but what kind of monster she didn’t know. Some might consider him a demon, but that is as often as not just a colloquial name for an outsider of any sort.

Zaiobe believes he came here when the castle was initially attacked or shortly after that, but possibly for his own reasons. That is conjecture on her part, but it would be an amazing coincidence if he arrived at the time of the attack and had nothing to do with it. Regardless, he is the de facto man in charge, and if we want answers, we’ll have to confront him.

We had several more questions for Zaiobe, but what made me most inclined to believe her was the seemingly innocent one that I had Qatana relay (reluctant though she was to do so). “Why was he writing a play about corbies?”

I knew at once that I had struck a nerve. Watching her communicate with Qatana was fascinating because it was like watching two people talk without the words: there were still the facial expressions, gestures, and other non-verbal cues we all rely on in conversation to convey meaning and emotion. Up to this point, all of Zaiobe’s responses had been controlled and measured. I could see her expressions change, and follow her emotions to some extent, but she was managing her part of the duologue carefully. At this question, though, that mask slipped away and there was just raw Zaiobe, channeling years of frustration and anger.

Qatana, who was trying to relay to us what she was “hearing”, could barely keep up.

“Because he’s….he’s changed! In the last several years he’s become obsessed with becoming the king of these corby things. His latest amusement is writing this play and having them act it out and making me watch them and it’s horrible!”

Her rage was so plain she was practically steaming with it. “Tired of him”, indeed.

This was the point where I truly believed she wanted him dead (this play was merely insult piled on top of injury), and she both wanted and needed our help to do it. And, based on her description of him, Kikonu was not going to be an easy opponent even for the eight of us, so we would need her help, too. So we struck an agreement, and the wheels were put in motion.

The ambush was set in a large, ruined building on the edge of the abandoned village, at Zaiobe’s suggestion. We figured she would know best where to arrange a meeting with him without arousing his suspicion. At the appointed time, she flew in and stood in wait while we got into position. A few minutes later, Kikonu came up the path along with a retinue of four dire corbies. 

“My darling, I have the greatest new scene to show you! Wait until you see this!”

As soon as he stepped in the door, we struck. At first, he was confused and cried out to her for help, but Zaiobe responded with a black arrow that burst into flame when it hit. And then he realized he had walked into a trap of her making. Rage overtook common sense, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared from the doorway and reappeared at Zaiobe’s side to strike. This fight was bitter and personal.

For the most part, I stayed out of it. I saved what remained of my spells for his guard, who were trying to circle around through another entrance in order to even the odds. Etayne and I held them at bay while the others focused on Kikonu. It was an intense and brutal fight, but with Zaiobe’s help we were victorious.

I ushered us out of the building as quickly as I could, fearing what was coming next, wanting it to happen in daylight rather than shadow, where confusion would reign. And she did not disappoint me. Within minutes, Zaiobe’s broken body lay in the street.

I am still upset by this.

Spivey had offered the cemetery as a place to rest and heal, and we took her up on her generous offer. Over the next hour, we told her what we learned of the castle and all that had transpired. Nihali agreed to relay messages back to the caravan, and we learned that Ameiko’s condition was unchanged, but for the first time I felt like we were finally closing in on some answers.

As night settled in, I walked down the hill to the northern edge of the cemetery and lay down in the grass just a short distance from the shrine to Desna. The white marble statue was gleaming in the light of the waxing moon. It was relaxing, just being there and watching the stars come out.

We had been traveling together for over two weeks now, pretty much living on top of one another the whole time. Even when spending the night in settlements and cities, we stayed together with the caravan just out of an abundance of caution. I certainly enjoyed the company of my friends—I wouldn’t be traveling with them if I didn’t—but seventeen days is a long time to go without any sort of privacy. I just needed some time alone and the sanctuary of this place was our first opportunity for it since leaving Sandpoint.

I rolled onto my side and ran my fingers through the grass absentmindedly as I watched twilight fade. Nihali landed in front of me and settled in. I could barely see her outline in the moonlight.

Spivey may have sensed something, or perhaps she was just curious why I was out here (mostly) alone in the dark. After some time had passed, I caught the faint glow of the tiny azata out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to follow her progress as she skimmed over the grass and landed next to Nihali. My familiar stretched out her head and neck, allowing Spivey to stroke her gently.

“You’re not sitting with your companions?”

Her tone was very tentative and something about it suggested that she was, very politely, asking if something was troubling me. A couple of years ago I would have just smiled and blown off the questions, both the one stated and the one implied, but I had since learned not to equate vulnerability with weakness. Not always, anyway. With the right people.

“I wanted to clear my head. This seemed like the right place for that.”

Spivey gave Nihali one final scratch just above her nape. Nihali raised her head slightly and opened her beak momentarily before closing it again. That was certainly the right spot for that. Spivey looked at me and smiled.

“It is. Is it something you want to share, or would you rather I left you alone?”

“I can’t stop thinking about Zaiobe.”

Spivey considered this for just a moment, then said, “You said she turned on you.”

“Yes. It was stupid, what she did, and completely senseless.”

I don’t know what possessed her to do it. Did she really think she could overpower the eight of us? How did she think that could possibly work? I remember keeping an eye on her after the battle with Kikonu and his personal guard of corbies. She just stood there, watching us as we wrapped up. She had the look of someone waiting for us to get distracted enough to be ambushed. It’s why I suggested we go outside and finish our business in the light where we could see, instead of the dark of the ruined building. The point was to let her know that I knew, without me having to actually accuse her of something. It was intended as a deterrent, and an excuse to get everyone else outside and paying attention.

In the end, it wasn’t the best of ideas since she could take to the air and shoot at us from above, which is exactly what she did, but at least we knew when and where it was coming. Had we stayed inside, one of us would certainly have paid a heavy price for our inattention.

I continued, “That’s not what’s bothering me, though. To be honest, I never trusted her. I more or less expected this, or something like this, to happen.”

Can you really trust someone who plots with strangers to murder their ex-lover? What a relationship that must have been.

Not that I am good about trusting people. Early lessons taught me to put more faith in what others do instead of what they promise. It’s not that I am suspicious of everyone, it’s just that reading people is hard and I am not very good at it. It is much easier to just assume that they will act out of their own self-interests until proven otherwise.

“So what is it then?”

“We…made an agreement with her. She really did feel like a prisoner there, and her kind being what they are…I believed her when she offered to help us ambush this Kikonu. All she wanted, in turn, was just to be…left alone. She wanted to stay in the library that she had turned into her own living space. We could do as we pleased elsewhere in the castle, as long as we respected her privacy and her home. And we agreed. Because we needed her help.

“But a confrontation with her was inevitable. We were lucky. By turning on us, she solved a looming problem. I mean, that agreement we struck…it wasn’t really tenable, was it? She couldn’t stay there. We’ll be done here, soon, and people will return to reclaim it. She has no rights to it, and it was not our place to promise that she could stay.

“And on top of that, there’s a shrine to Desna there. How long could such an agreement last?”

My thoughts were still a mess—they still are even now—but Spivey understood what I was getting at.

“You feel that you made an agreement in bad faith.”

“Yes.”

She thought for a moment, looking up at the sky and the stars. Legend says that Desna, herself, placed them there. Her temples are often open to the sky.

“Did it ever occur to you that she bargained in bad faith?” I’ll admit that this took me aback. Of all the responses I was expecting from her, this one was not on the list. “You say you didn’t trust her. I’m saying you were right not to. How can you be sure that ‘being left alone’ was what she truly wanted? You found a symbol of Pazuzu on her person when she fell, after all. That alone should be enough to question both her words and her motives.”

She paused for a moment and then continued.

“I think, on some level, you all knew how this would end; you felt safe making that agreement because you knew she had no intention of living up to it.”

She looked at me and smiled.

“You say what happened was luck. Perhaps you’re right. Your actions here have benefited Desna, after all.”

“I…I suppose. Though…I’m not a follower of Desna.”

Her smile turned into a big grin.

“You told me about the temple. I am sure Shelyn would have words about that, as well.”

I am not really convinced by this argument, but it is something to think about.

On the far side of the hill, just below Mercatio’s crypt, my friends had set up a couple of tents in the dark and covered them with a blackout curtain so that there could be light inside—courtesy of Ivan’s cantrips and some common rocks—without drawing the attention of whoever may still be dwelling in the castle (I am not the only one who spends late nights writing down my thoughts). Kikonu may have been the overlord of his little fiefdom, but his death did not necessarily make the castle or the ruins any safer. If anything, the resulting power vacuum could make things worse if we don’t address it soon. So, for now, an abundance of caution made sense.

Tomorrow, we return to the castle, starting with the library and then working our way through the main floor. If Zaiobe is to be believed, Kikonu compartmentalized everything, keeping his “subjects” isolated from one another and more or less in the dark. Only the corbies seemed to enjoy the run of the castle, and even that is supposition. If true, though, it may make our task easier.

Erastus 19 (Brinewall Castle, Morning)

Our first stop after returning to the castle was the library, which was in remarkably good condition considering what had happened here. We were able to find maps of the castle, including some old construction drawings, and a fascinating, handwritten tome titled A Historical Record of the Colony at Brinewall. It’s not quite as useful as it sounds because it’s not a true history text: it’s really just annals of the colony since its founding in 4442. It’s not indexed, and there’s no summary of events, which means you’d more or less have to read it from start to finish. And it’s the worst sort of reading, mostly dull log entries and recordings of everything that the authors deemed significant enough to write down nearly every day, ranging from the weather to gossip to absurd details about the construction of the castle and the town, visitors, raiders, and so on, depending on the annalist’s whims. Still, it has value; it will just take time to glean information from it. We took all of this with us.

Excerpt from the construction plans for Brinewall Castle.

Eventually we came to the office of the captain of the guard, and the captain himself had become a wight. 

Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was.

Is this what happened to Rokuro as well?

From what we saw of the room, it seems that the captain was interrupted while writing a hurried letter, describing an attack on the castle by men “wearing black robes”. Another possible reference to ninjas from Tian Xia? The story was starting to come together.

After Qatana and Etayne wandered off on their own and found a giant beetle for their trouble, we paused for a few minutes to discuss what we should do next. I took that time to review the letter again and found an interesting, though throwaway, detail: the attack came in the night, during a powerful storm. To the captain, the storm was just weather, but to me it was a reference point. The Record of the Colony at Brinewall did not go far enough forward in time to cover these events, but I didn’t really need it. The ships that set sail from here, the ones sent by Rokuro, went aground in Sog’s Bay during a storm. The timing had to be the same. Another coincidence that was too much of a coincidence to be just a coincidence.

Had Rokuro anticipated an attack? Had he sent those ships south into, and in spite of, the storms because he feared one was imminent? Did the invaders use those same storms to their advantage, to give them cover as they sacked both the town and then the castle?

I was flipping through pages of the historical record while explaining my theory to the others when I happened across a mention of the reconstruction of the east wall of the castle. It was just dumb luck.

While I could probably figure out the jargon and conventions of the construction plans given time, Radella was far more versed in this than I was, so I asked for her help in finding any plans for the walls and, in particular, any dates associated with them. Within a couple of minutes, I had learned another valuable and shocking piece of information: the east wall of the castle had collapsed into a network of underground caverns!

“The east wall collapsed. They must not have surveyed the cliff thoroughly, or at all. There are caverns under the castle. A huge complex of them. The weight of the castle caused the ground to cave in, collapsing the wall and part of the castle into the caverns. And listen! Not soon after, ‘Hideous, bird-like men emerged from below. They stood as tall as a man, covered in black feathers but with arms instead of wings…’

“They attacked the colony. This was in the early 4460’s. The corbies…they have been here for over 250 years! The colonists must have thought they drove them off or killed them”

“Is there any record of when they reappeared?” Olmas asked.

That was not so easy to answer. I flipped through the book, skimming pages until I found what seemed to be the right place.

“It was finished in 4469. So, they rebuilt the wall and eventually finished the castle. They thought the corbies were gone. Or maybe they sealed off the caverns, or thought they did. The way this is written I’d have to read the whole thing. It’d take hours and hours. But it seems they finished the castle and then…well…it looks like life went on.”

Qatana, on the other hand, was focused on the caverns themselves. She was silent for a moment—she had that look she gets when she’s “talking” to one of her mouse skulls—and then exclaimed, “There is probably an external entrance to the caves, but maybe the corbies tunneled up to the cellars of the castle itself, and then broke through and invaded from within! There are three sets of steps leading down from this level, and I bet at least one of them will connect with the tunnels.”

That sounded logical to me. “Whatever is down there…if we go east, as far east as we can, we’ll probably find out.”

Every answer we find is accompanied by more questions.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall, Late Morning)

W

ithin half an hour, it was clear to all of us that the broadly accepted story of Brinewall was an exaggeration. I hesitate to call it a lie. Stories change in the telling, details are lost or embellished, and honest mistakes become accepted facts. Given enough time, the story everyone knows can bear little resemblance to the events that inspired it.

And that, I think, is how the mystery of Brinewall came to be.

As soon as we saw the buildings, though, it was obvious that the mystery of Brinewall was far less mysterious than the stories suggested. The battleaxe scars were unmistakable, and not all of the buildings were left whole. It was very clear that the residents here had not simply “vanished.” The town, and likely the keep as well, had been invaded and its population almost certainly slaughtered. Brinewall was a ghost town, yes, but it was born out of worldly violence, not supernatural forces. 

What little we know of the truth is already deeply unsettling.

Yet the legend has not been enough to keep looters away, as there is nothing of real value left here save for some tools and everyday supplies. The longboat docked in the lagoon, of a design common to the northerners in the Linnorm Kingdoms, suggests that such raids continue to this day. Though, in the grand tradition of Brinewall, there is no sign of the boat’s complement (perhaps the dead sea drake on the shore next to it has something to do with that).

One of the more curious discoveries was the cemetery. Unlike Brinewall around it, it was well-kept, with manicured grass and clean gravestones. Therein was also a lovely shrine to Desna: a statue of her holding a copper bowl that turned regular water into holy water. As we were discussing this modest miracle, the answer to the mystery presented itself in the form of a tiny, butterfly-winged celestial being named Spivey. She had found her way to Brinewall more or less by accident some years ago after her mistress was killed, an event that left her stranded on the material plane. A servant of Desna herself, she has tended to the cemetery and shrine ever since. 

Spivey knew nothing of the people of Brinewall or their fate because she came to this place long after the town had been decimated. She did, however, know something of the occupants of the castle nearby.

“They are bird-like men. I have never seen them fly.”

Beware the birds that wish to fly but cannot.

When asked about any patterns or habits they might have, she thought for a moment before answering, “They hunt at least once a week. It’s been a few days since I last saw them.”

Informed of our plans to clear out the castle, Spivey offered us sanctuary in the cemetery and healing if we needed it. She also suggested that we stay away from the water’s edge. Creatures living in the lagoon were feeding on the corpse of the sea drake and would defend their territory if we got too close. Our interest was the castle, not hostile marine life, so we thanked her and followed her advice.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Castle, Midday)

L

ook. I don’t really know what I am doing. The only reason I suggested that we attempt to lure some of the bird-men out of the castle was that castles are designed to prevent the very thing we wanted to do. If it sounds ridiculously naive now, it felt even more so when we were hiding at the edge of the forest, staring up at walls that were two stories high. Waiting until a hunting party emerged on their own seemed more logical to me, but many of the others wanted to move quickly, especially Etayne, who felt that every delay was more time with Ameiko in peril and us doing nothing to address it. So instead, we adopted this silly and complicated plan involving illusions of pigs, animal calls to communicate with one another, and, of course, lying in wait.

I remember thinking there was no way something this ridiculous could possibly work. I was proven wrong in short order. To my astonishment, the gates opened and a group of bird-men emerged, intent on finding their next meal in their own front yard.

Our ambush was not perfect, but it was effective. I was too slow to prevent the guards at the gate from raising an alarm, but that did not matter in the end: there was almost no one left to hear it. Once we were through the gates and up onto the walls, we found the remaining guards manning an aging catapult on the opposite parapet. They weren’t expecting us to come at them from above.

Corbies. Specifically, dire corbies. These were our foes: a race of bird-men with arms instead of wings who were known to live mostly underground, not in abandoned castles. In retrospect, it all fits, but of course I wasn’t expecting to find them here, and so the thought hadn’t occurred to me. How did they come to this place?

In another odd twist, it appears that the castle may be haunted after all. In a small storeroom off the dining area on the upper level, we found a strange undead creature: an emaciated human child with the skull of a fox for its head. It was a terrifying being, and difficult to destroy. Afterward, we were able to get a better look at the room and found the skeletal remains of a young human child pinned beneath a pile of firewood.

It appeared that he had been placed in here for safekeeping, only to have the contents of the room collapse on him and crush his legs. He left crude drawings on the walls, childish images of bird-men, ogres, and men that resembled ninjas of Tian Xia. More evidence that the castle and village had been attacked and its occupants slaughtered.

The presence of ninjas is one of those coincidences that is probably not a coincidence at all. Rokuro’s letter hinted that their family’s enemies would lie in wait forever for their opportunity to strike.

It seems Brinewall was where they finally caught up to him.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Castle, Midafternoon)

T

he chapel was once a shrine to Desna, but the corbies’ priest or priestess—I do not know how to sex a corby, nor am I particularly interested in learning—has completely defiled it. Simple cantrips can undo the foul paintings on the walls, but the statue of Desna has been damaged beyond repair. At this, Sparna remarked, “It might be better to just completely take it down.”

I am reluctantly forced to agree.

Their cleric, dressed in tattered and disgusting robes, was every bit as loathsome as the corbies themselves, and then some for good measure. It managed to hit us with a few spells before being boxed in and killed. Good riddance.

Most of the rooms appeared to be communal living quarters, but there was one that seemed to house only a single occupant. It, too, had black feathers in it, suggesting that there is a head of their flock that we have yet to meet.

In another room, this one likely the armory, there was a ghostly manifestation: walls that ran with blood, with shrieking faces emerging from them. It was enough to frighten even Sparna, who does not scare easily. I know little about such matters, but an obvious explanation would be that many of the castle’s defenders had died here.

The last room we explored on this floor appeared to be a study of sorts. Inside were stacks and stacks of paper filled with dense handwriting in Tien. I took the time to translate just a few pages on a whim and was shocked to discover that someone had been writing a play. A play about a family of crows that turn into humans. The stacks of papers were endless drafts and revisions of the would-be playwright’s epic masterpiece. That it was written in Tien was noteworthy, as it is something I would not expect of a corby. Curiouser and curiouser.

Crow play excerpt (PDF version)

And there is something profoundly amusing about the notion that one of the occupiers, and perhaps the conqueror, of Brinewall castle spends their free time—and based on the enormous stacks of paper there, quite a lot of it—writing a play.

I guess everyone has a hobby.

Sarenith 29 (Magnimar, Evening)

T

ien is dizzyingly complicated. The written form has thousands of pictographs and the spoken language is tonal. I’ve gotten started with some introductory lessons here over the past couple of days, and picked up some books for self-study, but this is not going to be an easy process. Fortunately, I’ll be spending the next month on a long and likely dull caravan journey with a native speaker.

Erastus 1 (Sandpoint, Afternoon)

I

checked in with Sandru and the caravan preparations are complete. The last of the wagon upgrades was being finished while I was there, and the provisions have probably been loaded by now. We’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow morning.

I first got to know Sandru when he was working as a caravan guard back in the early 4700’s. Dad used caravans a lot for transporting goods between Sandpoint and nearby settlements, and I watched too many to count load and unload at the warehouse. Most of the caravan guards tended to be gruff and not very sociable, assuming that they even had anything intelligent to say, but Sandru was the exception. It may have been in part because he grew up here, but I think it was mostly just Sandru: he likes people, he likes to talk to people, and he’s genuinely friendly. What I remember the most about him, though, is that he talked to me more or less like an adult. A lot of people talk down to children. Sandru just wasn’t like that.

Sandru wants nothing to do with his family’s ties to the Sczarni, and tends to keep away from Sandpoint except for business. His older brother, Jubrayl, is the local Sczarni leader. I can see how that might put a strain on family relations.

Staying away probably makes that easier.

When Ameiko ran off that second time to pursue an adventurer’s life, Sandru was part of the group. Neither of them talked about what happened out there when they came back a year later, and he disappeared for a while after that. In a way, they both did: Ameiko retreated into herself and threw up walls while Sandru was more literal about it. In time, he came back to Sandpoint, this time as the owner of his own caravan. Mom and dad actually used his service a lot in that time—I think they still do, in fact—as he kept fairly close to Sandpoint, Magnimar, and Riddleport, and they already knew and trusted him.

Mom gets a kick out of flirting with him and basically making him uncomfortable, which is just one of those things mom does sometimes. I’ve often wondered if it bothers dad. I brought this up to him once a couple of years ago, and he said, “I trust your mother completely.” Which was not the question I asked, but I guess it’s the answer to the one that matters. The last time we were in Korvosa was several years ago, and I asked grandma about what mom was like before she and dad met. She said mom was a pretty heavy flirt back then, but she intimidated boys. Like, a lot. Even the ones she liked. She chuckled and said, “Your dad was perhaps the only one that wasn’t scared of her.” Maybe that’s why he doesn’t worry.

I saw Qatana this morning as she was getting in from Magnimar. She seemed disappointed that we hadn’t traveled together. It should have occurred to me to ask.

Erastus 10 (Roderic’s Cove, Evening)

W

e encountered a small band of ogres just a few hours outside of Rod’s Cove. Sandru was very concerned. Ogres are not common in this part of Varisia, much less in groups working together to ambush travelers. We spread the word once we got into town to be on alert for others, just in case it wasn’t an isolated event.

Our archers circled around behind them while the rest of us stayed with the wagons, with Nihali acting as a crude means of communication between the two groups. Once the scouts were in position, they let her know, and I could feel her excitement. I relayed this to Sandru and Qatana, and they moved the caravan into the ambush.

Qatana was seated in the lead wagon. She lit one of the sky rockets, aimed it at the ogres’ position, and let it go. The explosion spoiled their surprise, but left us with several angry, injured ogres still intent on attack. Olmas charged them on his horse and ended up facing them alone without close support. He was badly hurt before help reached him, but he survived.

I bring this up in detail because I felt almost useless once the fighting started. Eventually, I was close enough to toss one of those little acid darts, but overall I felt so limited. And, to be honest, I am a little shaken after having had a lethal exchange with a living creature, even under these circumstances. (I’ve carried a crossbow for years, but I’ve never shot at a living target with it, either.) It was one thing to do this to skeletons, and another when it was flesh, blood, and bone—ogre or not. But I couldn’t get close enough, fast enough, to use something else.

This sounds ridiculous after writing it out. I just don’t know how to explain the feeling.

We tracked the ogres back to their temporary campsite. They’ve been out here a while, it seems, raiding who-knows-what. We found an eclectic assortment of money and valuables which can be used to fund the third supply wagon once we reach Riddleport.

Once again, we are profiting off the misfortune of so many others.

Something else I’ll have to come to terms with, it seems.

Erastus 14 (Velashu Uplands, Afternoon)

A

meiko is currently sleeping in the covered wagon and we don’t know what’s wrong. Koya is looking after her as best she can.

We stopped briefly for lunch and I noticed that she was looking a little off. In Tien—we’ve been practicing daily, and I’ve asked her to only speak with me in Tien so that I can learn—I asked if she was feeling ill, but she answered in common because some of the others had also noticed and appeared concerned.

“I’m fine! Just a little tired this morning, is all.”

She turned to finish cleaning up the mess area of our encampment, took a couple of steps, and collapsed.

No one knows what is wrong. There are suspicions that it’s a magically induced sleep of some sort, and may be related to Brinewall, but it’s all just speculation. What we do know is that her condition isn’t worsening, but it’s not improving, either. For now, we’ve decided to press on and monitor her. If something changes, we can always turn back.

Erastus 14 (Velashu Uplands, Night)

I

am staying the night next to Ameiko. Earlier this evening she started talking in her sleep, only speaking in Tien. Koya had someone come and get me, but by the time I climbed into the wagon she had stopped. Koya agreed to let me stay with her, just in case she speaks again. It turns out that this was a wise decision because it happened two more times after that.

My Tien is still not great and her wording has been cryptic if not outright archaic. I can’t realistically use a spell because the incidents are too short and too far apart, so instead I have been writing down what she says phonetically and translating it after the fact as best as I can. This is what she said tonight:

Beware the birds that wish to fly but cannot.

One treasure beyond two seals in the third vault.

Ameiko has never, to my knowledge, spoken in riddles like this. More support for the theory that what is happening to her has something to do with where we are headed.

Erastus 15 (Velashu Uplands, Evening)

A

meiko spoke again today. I almost missed it.

Beware the cuckolded cuckoo. It is in his shattered, silent love you should seek aide.

My translation is a bit speculative there, but as I said yesterday Ameiko’s word choice has been unusual. There is no direct translation for the Tien, but it appeared to be a play on words of some sort between a terrestrial bird and one who had been cheated on by a mate or lover. The second part is ambiguous as well, and I don’t know if “love” is intended to mean an emotion or a person. That would mean the difference between seeking out “him”, and seeking out his lover. Since we are told to “beware” him, I am assuming the latter.

Erastus 16 (The Nolands, Evening)

Today’s clue is:

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one. His fear is your greatest ally.

There are demons with many arms and hands. But what would a demon fear?

Erastus 17 (The Nolands, Noon)

Ameiko spoke again this morning.

Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was.

We are all in agreement on this one: Rokuro has been turned into an undead. Possibly a kind that retains its will.

Ameiko has now gone several days without food or water, yet her physical condition remains unchanged. There are spells that can sustain a person in this manner, but there’s no evidence that one is in effect.

Erastus 17 (Brinewall, Evening)

We have arrived.

Sarenith 24 (Brinestump Marsh, Afternoon)

L

ike all residents of Sandpoint, I had heard of Old Megus, but I’d never actually met her. Rumor was that she rarely left the swamp, coming into town only to purchase obscure magical supplies. Most people referred to her as the Swamp Witch, and based on Etayne’s reaction when we found her home, that wasn’t just a colloquialism (and so it would seem that the Witch’s Walk was also aptly named). Of particular interest to Etayne were the numerous windchimes made of bone that were hanging above the porch, but when asked about them, she replied that although they looked familiar, she did not understand their purpose.

The shack was in poor shape. Neglect and the elements had taken their toll, and the walls were dingy and sagging. Next to it was a partially collapsed shed, which had long since given up the fight. No one had lived here in some time.

The ground around the buildings was covered with large rodent tracks, which, of course, piqued Qatana’s curiosity, and when she heard skittering inside the house, it proved too tempting for her to resist. At least she knocked first. When there was no answer, she forced the door open and entered with some of the others close behind.

I heard but did not see the skirmish. Etayne emerged briefly to clean that long spear of hers, the end of which was covered in blood. “Dire rats,” she said with a half-smile when I looked at her quizzically, and then she went back inside without another word.

People surprise you.

Old Megus, it seemed, had died in an accident. Etayne spent a lot of time examining the remains of her laboratory and had no doubt that there had been a mishap of some sort with one of her experiments. It was kind of a sad discovery. Megus had presumably come out here to live in solitude, but that also meant that she died alone, and no one had noticed aside from her ratling familiar.

Not that I approve of what she had been doing. Her deformed corpse suggested she was mucking with the process of nature itself.

As for the ratling, the arcane world has low opinions of these creatures, but I am pleased that this meeting did not end in bloodshed and that we were able to part amicably. Etayne took the lead, with help from her familiar, Ling, and there was a level of understanding between them and the ratling that would not have been possible with the rest of us. 

One interesting mark on Megus’s map was the cave, which she indicated with a simple skull. The ratling said his mistress considered it very dangerous and had never gone inside.

When we told him about the undead we had found there, he knew nothing about them. Etayne asked whether Megus had ever dabbled with the undead.

He shook his head.

“No. She was only interested in life.”

We told him what we’d seen and done over the past two days. We were the oral Swamp Times, delivering the latest news to the denizens of the Brinestump Marsh. And it turned out he had something to add on these matters, as well.

“I’ve been to this ship, too, which the goblins made up into a house. More goblins came to it one day, and they fought each other.”

It explained the corpses, answering one question while raising a half-dozen others.

We were able to walk to the second shipwreck from there, which was a pleasant turn of events, but that decaying hulk of a Chelish ship was in much worse shape than the other. Without the benefit of any protection from the elements, there was little left beyond the deteriorating frame and remnants of its outer plating. A quick search turned up the nameplate, which was still intact but severely weatherworn. A few cantrips cleaned it up enough to see a pair of Tien pictographs, and of course, I recognized the name Kaijitsu (I try not to be stupid in the same way more than once). The meaning of the other would have to wait.

Sarenith 24 (Sandpoint, Afternoon)

I

f it had not occurred to me that we hadn’t searched the entirety of the goblin village, we might not have encountered the Soggy River Monster. Once again, what the name lacked in originality it made up for in technical accuracy.

It was a foul thing and my magic couldn’t touch it, but there were many of us and just one of it, and now it’s dead. According to the Sheriff, this was one of the Sinspawn, horrid creatures that were discovered along with an ancient Thassilonian runewell under Sandpoint a few years ago. I remember several long, tense, and (I am not ashamed to admit it) frightening nights when the sinkhole had opened up, exposing the long-buried temple to the world above. We could hear unnatural, dog-like sounds coming from within. Eventually, the “Heroes of Sandpoint”, as the town called them, had returned and dealt with it. By then, mom and dad had already decided to move. I guess they had had enough.

Why bring this up? For one, it was interesting. For two, as I said, my magic had no effect. None. It’s something we were taught while studying the craft as a warning against putting too much faith in spells as an offensive weapon. Some creatures are just innately resistant to mortal magic. Me? I took home a slightly different message, but it will be some time before I am able to master the alternatives.

Olmas and Anavaru are fierce opponents. Olmas you’d expect, but Ana? It still astonishes me. It shouldn’t, I realize, but when you know someone as long as we’ve known one another your perspective gets skewed. She was always quiet, kind, and funny, and we had quite a few laughs about her camel (I meant “horse” there), and that’s just how I remember her. I certainly noticed when she went from adolescent girl to young woman that-you-do-not-want-to-anger, but my head is still stuck a couple of years earlier than that.

She started spending a lot more time out in the wild after her dad was killed. She’d always had this thing for animals and getting away from the city seemed to bring her some comfort. I actually joined her on some of her overnight forays into the hinterlands. Once, we even spent a couple of nights trying to catch a glimpse of the Sandpoint Devil after having heard rumors that it had been seen in the farmlands near Tickwood. In retrospect, that was a really stupid idea, but I must have felt safe with her around or I wouldn’t have even considered it.

We went to see Sheriff Hemlock as soon as we returned to town. I was just as happy to be rid of the ears and head we were required to provide as proof of our success as I was to collect the bounty on the same. While this sort of troubleshooter-for-hire work certainly seems to pay well, it’s also very gruesome. It is also a little disquieting that you end up profiting off of someone else’s suffering. We are all several hundred gold wealthier than we were before—an enormous sum to the average person—but several less fortunate people are still dead.

Sarenith 24 (Sandpoint, Evening)

I

showed Ameiko the letter this afternoon. Ana and I grew up with her, so we made plans to meet her at the inn before dinner, where we could talk in private. A couple of the others joined us.

At first, there was that awkward moment that comes from delivering unexpected news, where you are having two different conversations at the same time. But as our story reached the Minkai chest, and then the Chelish ship bearing the name Kaijitsu Star, I saw the realization dawning on her. We paused to let the news sink in. I was acutely aware of the sounds from the inn’s common room because the one we were in had become completely silent. There was a long pause before Ameiko spoke.

“A Chelish ship? The Kaijitsu Star? I…I’ve never heard of any of this. It…it doesn’t make any sense…”

“There’s more. A lot more.”

Ameiko looked at me, and I told her the rest.

“There was an enchanted sword among the treasure in that cave. We identified it with magic, and it has a name: The Whispering Shrike. It had a loose hilt, and inside the hilt was this letter.”

I slid it across the desk to her as I went on.

“We didn’t know what it was, and of course, none of us understands Tien. So I used a spell to read it. We think it was sent to your father from your grandfather. If we had known, I wouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

I watched her read. Ameiko does not always hide her emotions well, and I could follow her progress just by watching her expression change. At one point, she shook her head and, in a frustrated tone, said quietly, “Father, you could have told me…”

Lonjiku was not a pleasant man. Officially, Ameiko did not have many friends when she was growing up, and even fewer still were allowed in his home (I was one of those few, but I never felt comfortable there). Unofficially, of course, Ameiko would never let her overbearing father dictate her life, and she snuck out of the house so often to do as she pleased that he was either oblivious to it or resigned to her irreverence. I think one reason she stayed at home was that she was all he had left. Family and duty carry considerable weight in her culture.

This letter, which she confirmed as coming from her grandfather (or, at least bearing his name), teased answers to questions about her father and her family that had been gnawing at her for as long as I’ve known her.

She thanked us for bringing it to her and asked us to join her for dinner that night. She also, mercifully, said we could keep anything we found out there, heading off a brewing argument over property and salvage rights that was making me sick to my stomach. Ana, Qatana, and I had too much history with Ameiko to think of her family’s belongings as loot.

All she wanted was that letter.

Sarenith 24 (Sandpoint, Night)

Dinner, as it turned out, involved a few more people than we had expected. Joining us in her private dining room, which was packed tighter than I have ever seen, were Koya, Sandru and, of all people, Shalelu. It was obvious we were not there solely to share a meal together.

I’ll be honest. I was not the least bit surprised when, after everyone had finished eating, she announced her intention to travel to Brinewall and pursue this family mystery. I would have done it were I in her position. I also wasn’t surprised at her plan to use Sandru’s caravan to get there. She invited all of us to join her—Brinewall being what it was, it would be foolish to go alone—and from there, the other pieces began falling into place.

I, of course, was going if Ameiko was going, and Anavaru was right there next to me. Qatana wanted any excuse to go anywhere. The others had their own reasons, and when all was said and done, everyone had signed on.

Sandru gave us a quick overview of the trip: a one-way distance of about 500 miles over well-traveled roads that would take roughly 16 days. He did not expect any significant trouble along the way.

His eyes scanned the room as he spoke, finally locking his gaze on mine. “I have a small caravan of three wagons. Though if we need to make some upgrades or additions, we can talk about that now.”

I swear the smug bastard even winked. And, just like that, I had come full circle.

Several years ago I was standing on the bridge just below the Cathedral, idly watching the wash being carried by the river. There was a maple leaf, large and bright green, drifting along in the current and it would hang up on a rock or a log or some foliage on the surface of the water, then break loose in a spin, meandering further downstream before catching on the next. I followed its slow progress towards town and the harbor beyond.

Ameiko had just left Sandpoint, again, and I was fighting this urge to wallow in self-pity after having lost my best friend. It seems so pathetic now, writing that, but when you’re fifteen, the world is always ending over something that years later you learn is just life. I remember thinking at the time that she might be gone for good—though you could never tell with Ameiko—and what was going through my head boiled down to one question: “Now what?”

I had often come to this bridge when seeking solace, and for a moment that afternoon I almost had it. It’s isolated in a way, a lightly traveled road on the edge of town. Look to the east and you could imagine you were in the forest instead of downwind from a tannery. I found it relaxing and centering. But as the leaf disappeared underneath the wooden planks of the bridge, I caught my reflection in the water and the bottom dropped out of the day. It was like the scene in front of me was my own personal metaphor.

Mom and dad just assumed that I would join the family business, and it’s not like I had given them any reason to think otherwise. This was worse than choosing or not choosing: it was not even acknowledging that I had a choice at all; just letting it happen. Childhood curiosity, an innocuous “What are you working on?” here and there, was the spark for that fire. They involved me in the simpler logistics early on, and it burned out of control when I proved to be good at it. Really, really good. Cargo manifests, bills of lading, customs forms, capacity planning, legal agreements, payment terms…even some preliminary passage planning. And I saw my future spread out ahead of me, sitting behind a desk buried in maps, calculations, paperwork, and forms.

The leaf didn’t have any say over where it went. I did. The next morning, I became an active participant in my own future for the first time, and chose a path that had nothing to do with the mercantile system.

And yet, here I was years later, taking Sandru’s bait.

At least this time, it was my choice.

Sandru could have done this in his sleep but for whatever reason he wanted to involve me in the process. Or maybe he just got a kick out of putting me up to the challenge. It was all very Sandru, playing mentor, big brother, or uncle as the situation warranted.

Fine. Challenge accepted. Move over and let me work.

Ameiko offered up 2,000 gold of her own in financing. Which, first of all, is one hell of a sign of commitment on her part. We were sitting in the last thing I’d seen her commit to, and that was six years ago. Ameiko just didn’t do “commitment”. On top of that, our little group threw in the bounty from the Soggy River Monster, raising the purse by half. And with that, Sandru and I were off.

We numbered twelve in all, fourteen with Sandru’s drivers, which meant his three wagons left us almost no margin for error. There was room for improvement, though. We could reinforce the undercarriages to increase our travel speed, and reduce the provisions we’d need to carry by stopping at settlements along the way. We could even do some trading to offset our expenses.

It took us a couple of hours, and I think we bored most everyone to sleep, but when Sandru and I were done, we had a plan. We had also worked out roles for everyone to contribute along the way (scouting, cooking, guard duty, and so on), and ensured there were backups for each one.

And that is how you plan a caravan.

Apparently, Qatana remembers some of the fundamentals of the business, despite it being more than a decade since she had any reason to use them. The wonders never cease. Throughout the planning discussion, she was pretty alert, even offering her unique brand of helpful advice. (Some of it was actually quite reasonable, such as “If there is abundant water along the way, pack only dry goods like grains, nuts, dried fruits and salted meats”, but others, like “Round wheels roll better than other shapes”, were less so).

Our plan calls for a lot of heavy equipment for a small city like Sandpoint, and it’s not going to come together overnight. Sandru estimates that it will take about a week before we’re ready to depart. Which is good, because I really want to go see my parents. When I left, this was only supposed to be a two-week visit. Gods, how things have changed.

Sarenith 28 (Magnimar, Night)

T

onight I told mom and dad about our trip to Brinewall. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I almost wish I hadn’t done it. I thought they might worry—dad especially—but I never imagined it would end in an argument. I was so angry afterward I just left and spent much of the night down in Ordellia. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I showed them the fan and the pin, and told them the abridged version of events in the Brinestump Marsh because this was going to be hard enough as it was. In the end, it probably didn’t matter. As soon as I said I was helping charter and plan a caravan trip to Brinewall, and that I was going to be on it, everything just stopped. We sat there in silence for I don’t know how long. I don’t remember the last time I saw mom at a loss for words, or dad looking so…blank. Right then, I wanted to take it back and do the evening over again.

Dad recovered first. He spoke quietly but firmly. It’s a voice I knew well, and my stomach twisted in knots as the words came out.

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

And I realized I didn’t have a good answer. I mean, I did, but how could I explain it? I had been back in Sandpoint for only a few days. What was I supposed to say? That in that time I had reconnected with Anavaru, Ameiko, and Qatana and we were suddenly best friends again? That we’d met some others and gone off on an adventure together, bonding over the blood of goblins, the bones of skeletons, and the hidden beauty of a putrid swampland? That there was a mystery involving an old friend and I wanted to help her find some “closure”? How do you say that without sounding ridiculous? Without sounding like we were treating our lives as disposable?

“Ameiko is my friend, dad. We grew up together. Why wouldn’t I help her?”

“Kali, listen to me: you are talking about Brinewall. Something terrible happened there. Something so terrible that it has been left abandoned ever since. People do not go there for a reason.”

This was true, but not in the way he was implying. All of Varisia had heard about Brinewall. The residents of the castle and town had simply vanished one day, just a few years before I was born, and no one knew what happened to them. Those who were sent to investigate described a disturbing scene of a normal day interrupted as if the whole town had simply stepped out for tea in the middle of what they were doing and never returned. The native Varisians and Shoanti are a superstitious lot and they invent explanations when none are forthcoming. People avoid Brinewall because 20 years of rumor have been fueled by a frontier land that’s bathed in mysticism. Depending on who you ask, Brinewall is either cursed, haunted, or both.

“And that reason may have something to do with her family’s history. She needs to know. She deserves to know.”

“Maybe she does. But you do not need to go with her.”

And if the mood was awkward and tense before, it suddenly got much worse. I knew where this was headed, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“She’s my friend and I am not going to walk away from her.”

“Because she never did the same to you?”

And there it was. I couldn’t keep my temper under control. “That is not fair! Not to her, and not to me!“

OK, fine, Ameiko had left and she had changed, and yes that had hurt. But reducing her life to just this event was wrong, and it was also a cheap shot. The rest of what we said to each other I don’t remember well enough to write down. Let’s just say it was mercifully short, and gratifyingly loud. At least, it felt that way at the time. Now? I just want to throw up. What I do remember is that mom never said a word. Not one word.

It was a long walk to Ordellia, but I needed the time to calm down anyway. The district is mostly foreigners and is one of the few places in Magnimar where I actually blended in. I didn’t have a destination in mind, and except for a brief visit to the Rose and Rake, I didn’t go anywhere particularly memorable. I just wanted to be anonymous and clear my head, something easily accomplished with a few drinks and plenty of crowds. After a couple of hours alone with my thoughts, I was feeling pretty awful about how dinner had gone, what I’d said to dad, and how little I had tried to avoid an argument. So. Mission accomplished, I guess.

Despite its active nightlife, Lowcleft is not the safest place for a woman to be walking alone after dark. But the route along the docks would take me twice as long, and I just wanted to get home. I got propositioned and catcalled a half-dozen times by an assortment of people. But I am not a complete fool, and Nihali was discreetly watching over me, fluttering between rooftops. She was a hole in the night sky; a shadow in shadows. Even I couldn’t see her, and I more or less knew where she was. As I crossed into the neighboring district, her agitation told me that someone had decided I was worth following. I was too lost in thought to notice the “victim” sign that had been hung around my neck.

It’s generally dangerous to posture in Magnimar, but as a woman, the rules are a little different because there are no guarantees about where the assailant draws the line. You need to establish that you will protect yourself by any means possible as soon as possible, so why don’t you just move along. I’ve had to do it a few times, but tonight I was not armed with anything other than my dagger. Magic is a terrible deterrent because you have to use it for people to get the message, especially when you don’t look the part.

Note to self: next time you stomp off in anger, try to plan ahead.

I was already in a mood, though, so I decided to put a stop to this before it even got that far. With Nihali’s distress as a guide, I slowed to let my suitor get closer, waited until I passed through a suitably dark shadow, and tried a new spell I had learned. A temporary pothole opened in the cobblestone pavement immediately behind me, and a satisfying thump followed by a mental snicker from my familiar told me my friend had tripped and fallen on his face.

By the time he was back on his feet, I had reached the crowded square at the base of the Seacleft and the Irespan. My second spell sent fog billowing out around me, and I let the confusion buy me enough time to disappear into the crowd. By the time I reached the top of the hill, I no longer had company.

I could officially get my hands slapped for doing that in the middle of town, but as I said, I was in a mood. They’d have to catch me first.

I reached my parents’ home in Naos a little before midnight. Mom was still up, and she knocked quietly on my door just as I settled in and started to write. We talked for a little bit, and this time, I managed to stay civil and calm. See? I’m learning.

“I’m not a child anymore, mom.”

“No, you’re not. But your father is allowed to be worried, and he does have a point.”

“I’m not going there alone. There are twelve of us, including Shalelu. We can do this.”

“And how hard did you try to explain that to us, earlier?”

Heart-to-hearts with mom have this way of making me feel bad.

Sarenith 29 (Magnimar, Noon)

D

ad and I apologized to each other this morning. Me for starting a fight that didn’t need to happen, and him for making a dig that was more personal than it needed to be. It was fine. We talked it out. I took my own advice (and mom’s) and told him more about our group and what each of us can do, and how we worked together in the marsh, and that seemed to put him more at ease.

There was one moment in that conversation that really stood out, though. He said, “It’s not what you tell us, it’s what you don’t tell us. You hide things from us, Kali. You always have.”

I felt like an open book, then. Just how much did they know?

Dad reviewed my preliminary caravan plans and, surprise, had no changes to suggest. As I said, I am good at this. He wasn’t thrilled about the stop in Riddleport (I got the feeling that Sandru wasn’t, either), but math doesn’t lie and there was no avoiding it, at least not on the way up.

We were able to dig up some maps that would be helpful, and he pointed me at a couple of shops where I could find what I’d need to fill in the gaps.

Sarenith 23 (Brinestump Marsh, Midday)

I

fell gravely ill when I was very young, though of course I don’t remember any of it. My parents tell me they were traveling across the Carpendan Plains when I was four years old, and the road took them along a marshland probably not unlike this one. No magic, no curses, no ancient horrors: just a simple mosquito bite paired with everyday misfortune.

I couldn’t help but think of that as we followed goblin tracks into the swamp, swatting at mosquitoes and flies with every step. Up above us, Nihali kept a watchful eye on the trail but the thick vegetation made seeing anything beyond its boundaries very difficult. It felt like the swamp was slowly closing in around us the deeper into the marsh we pressed.

If they somehow knew we were coming, we’d not likely see the ambush before it was sprung.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. We emerged into a clearing of sorts that revealed the village in the distance, and from where we stood on the trail it looked eerily deserted. The front gate was completely broken down, and there were no signs of activity. I asked Nihali to scout as safely as she could, and she returned in short order with an ominous report.

“No guards. Burned bodies. Bones in the hole. Much fear.”

We approached the village cautiously and stepped into the compound. The gate had been broken down from the inside and then crushed in a stampede. Small footprints, dozens and dozens of them, told a story of a chaotic escape into the marsh. Whatever had happened here had terrified the goblins.

A close search of the grounds turned up a sinister explanation: skeletal footprints in the dirt, human-sized, leading into the village and back out again.

The charred bodies in the central pit were definitely goblins. A pigsty turned mass grave. It suggested there were still survivors here (someone had to be alive to burn and bury the dead), and we found the first of them in a small outbuilding. A half dozen goblins were cowering there in abject fear. I suddenly felt uneasy about what we were here to do. Yes, they were goblins, and yes, we knew what this tribe had done, but that did not mean it was right to slaughter them in this manner.

But it did not take long for the situation to change: they became hostile and violent as soon as they saw us. The fight broke out in that first building, then spread to the courtyard. It wasn’t long before we were preparing an assault against the goblin chieftain’s throne room.

I was detecting faint traces of magic inside just as Qatana smashed the door in.

Nearly seven years ago, on the beach in Sandpoint, she flattened Jefy Theern, breaking several of his ribs when she slammed into him. I didn’t see it happen (or if I did, the concussion erased my memory of it), but this is what it must have looked like. Goblin engineering, if you can call it that, is clumsy and primitive, but that door was still barred on the inside and sturdy enough to resist entry.  Yet, under the force of her impact, it shattered, sending a shower of splintered wood into the room.

Just seconds after the assault began, an explosion in the doorway confirmed that the Licktoad tribe had, indeed, found a cache of fireworks. Several of us, including the chieftain’s own defenders, were enveloped in a starburst of searing, metallic powder that would no doubt have been quite beautiful from a few hundred feet away. It was probably a waste of a spell—he immolated the last of his own with this trick—but I answered with a spray of color that left him blinded and stunned. The fight ended soon after.

A crudely hidden room turned up an astonishing surprise: a chest with a beautiful, red lacquer finish, decorated with etchings of cranes and frogs. I was stunned. It was obviously from Tian Xia, and almost certainly the Minkai Empire. It was a work of art.

Inside was something even more curious: a delicate Tian Xia fan that we unfolded. One side had an intricate painting of a gecko against a backdrop of cherry blossoms. The other, unfortunately, had been painted over by the goblins, but they had done so to draw a crude map of the marsh in wide, sloppy strokes. Bold X’s marked two locations along the shore and a third at the base of the cliffs, just a short distance from the Witch’s Walk. (I don’t know if the goblins’ paint can be removed without damaging the original artwork, but it seems like something that should be attempted. When we’re back in town, I will ask about this.) Presumably, one of these X’s is a shipwreck, and possibly the source of the fireworks, but the others? Yet more mysteries.

Sarenith 23 (Brinestump Marsh, Evening)

W

e found the weatherworn shipwreck inland from the bay, far enough from the water that it was likely grounded there in a storm many years past. Curiously, the goblins had built a rickety fence around it complete with a broken gate. Ever the opportunists, they had apparently turned it into a home…which they subsequently destroyed by inadvertently setting it ablaze. From the outside, the two-mast Chelish vessel looked intact, but the inside was completely gutted. Most likely their luck with the cache of skyrockets had finally run out. 

The dead goblins outside the ship, however, were anything but an accident. The badly decomposed bodies bore the telltale signs of battle injuries but gave no clues as to their assailants.

The name of the ship was still visible, and astonishingly it was written in Tien. I copied the pictographs as best I could since none of us could read them and even if I had the spell prepared it would have been a waste for just this purpose. Vudrani developed under heavy influence from Tien, and the two cultures have intermingled for centuries. I had an opportunity many years ago in Jalmeray to start learning Tien. Foolishly, I passed it up. As much as I have regretted that decision over the years, I am doing so even more, now.

Maybe if dad knew Tien things would have turned out differently. That may sound like I am shifting the responsibility for my decision to someone else, but the reality is that nearly all of my languages are a result of my parents’ influence. Dad, of course, spoke Vudrani at home as often as he did common: he very reasonably was not going to raise a daughter that wasn’t fluent in his native tongue. By nature of growing up in Varisia and having my mom as my mom, I of course learned not just Varisian but Thassilonian as well—and knowing mom, she probably started Thassilonian lessons while I was still in her womb. (Never mind that it’s basically a dead language known only by scholars and eccentrics.) Only Draconic and Celestial didn’t originate with them, and if we’re being totally honest here, the former wasn’t exactly a choice, either. Sure, you can learn magic without knowing Draconic, just as you can see with only one eye.

We are camped above the bluffs along the Witch’s Walk for the night. Down below, the skeleton footprints led to one of the locations marked on the goblins’ map: the entrance to a cave. What we were not expecting to see was a second shipwreck, visible just offshore in the distance and roughly corresponding to the sole remaining X. With the sun setting and the whereabouts of the skeletons unknown, however, the increasing prospects of a battle with the undead in a swamp in the dark seemed strangely unappealing.

Sarenith 24 (Brinestump Marsh, Morning)

G

ods, I am an idiot. How many years did I spend around Ameiko? How could I not recognize the pictograph? How many times have I seen it? Dozens? A hundred? The Kaijitsu Star. There is an old adage about not noticing what is right in front of you, or what you don’t expect to find, and I guess this is what they mean. But still. I should have known.

I also feel like I have invaded her privacy, something that she has guarded carefully for as long as I have known her. I can’t say for certain that this letter was intended for her father, but the timing would be right. It’s dated 4687, just a couple of years before Ameiko was born. Sandpoint was founded in the 4660’s by the Mercantile League, an alliance of four families that included the Kaijitsus. Who else could it have been written to?

Ameiko did not talk much about her family, but I experienced enough of her father to know that he was a bitter, angry, and resentful man. Perhaps this letter explains some of that. Ultimately, I believe that we are responsible for our own decisions and choices in life, but we are influenced by how we are raised and how we are treated. Did her father feel abandoned by his father? Did those feelings ferment over time into anger and rage? What would have been different had this letter been received?

I need to see Ameiko. I need to be the one who shows her the letter, and the one who apologizes for this intrusion into her past. I’m sorry. We didn’t know.

And then there are the treasures we have found. Technically, they belong to the Kaijitsu family, which means that they belong to Ameiko. She will need to be told about these as well. 

And what of this mystery? The caves below were filled with skeletons dressed in Tian Xia style armor. The second chest, made from cherry wood and jade, was clearly from one of the ships. Inside were more sky rockets, with empty spaces where others had been removed.

It was enough to start forming a story of what had happened: the goblins found the chests and took the fireworks, but someone, somewhere, had created skeletons from the dead aboard one or both ships. They raided the goblin village, recovered one of the chests, and brought it here. 

But who created the skeletons? And what is the other shipwreck, and how is it connected (if it’s connected at all)?

The caves were a harrowing experience. In the main cavern, the skeletons converged on us from all directions, and many of the others had pushed too far in to be able to safely retreat. Qatana was quickly surrounded, and there was no one close enough to help her in time. I don’t know how she did it, but miraculously, she managed a healing spell just as three skeletons descended on her. It saved her life.

This was the first time I have ever used those little acid darts in anger. I saw the effect it had on the skeletons. Dad, you can officially stop worrying now.

Sarenith 22, 4712 (Brinestump Marsh, Night)

I

am not sure what I have gotten myself into here. Besides the obvious, that is, which of course is a swamp. Certainly this is not how I envisioned that the day would end, even after we made the decision to come here. I don’t know why—maybe it was Qatana’s confidence—but I just assumed we would be done before nightfall. In retrospect that was pretty naive of me.

Am I in over my head? Possibly, but I feel like this is a tipping point in my life. I could spend years scribing scrolls in the guild and researching and copying dusty tomes in some library in Magnimar, basically growing old and dull. Or, I could be like mom and dad, and take a chance on something more than safe. And, honestly, how much safer would that “safe” life be? The worst thing that ever happened to me was just a stone’s throw from my friends. There are no guarantees anywhere, not in Magnimar, and certainly not in Sandpoint.

I almost didn’t even come to Sandpoint at all. When the letter from Ameiko arrived, suggesting I come back for a few days to visit, I was more than a little apprehensive. For one, our friendship had been fading even before we moved away, and I had long since come to terms with it. I didn’t know what it meant that she wanted to see me. And for two, this town had been hard on me growing up. Most of that was already solidly in the past, too, but it still brings back some unpleasant memories, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see some of those faces again, even in passing.

But in the end, I said yes, and here we are. I guess curiosity and a glimmer of hope won out. I am not exactly sure what I was expecting from Ameiko, but if she reached out, that meant she wanted to try and reconnect in some fashion, right? Maybe she’d be less distant, and maybe time had helped her—deal with? heal from? come to terms with?—whatever it was that happened out there, and that the walls would come down a bit.

They did a little. It wasn’t the same as when we were kids, but maybe that is too much to ask of anyone. It doesn’t matter. It was good to see my friend.

After Ameiko took over that inn years ago it became the de facto gathering point for travelers, thrill-seekers, explorers and their ilk, and it’s also one of the few places where you can go in Sandpoint if you and your friends want to meet your friends’ friends, and their friends in turn. It was the latter that had me there for breakfast (though I was visiting Ameiko, I chose not to pressure both of us by also staying there) and some time in the common room. It had been years since I had seen Anavaru—that running gag about her “horse” never seems to get old—and though Qatana and I have been in touch off and on in Magnimar, it seemed wrong not to get together while we were both in town.

Speaking of Qatana, I am actually growing concerned about her. At times she does not seem to be connected to what’s around her. She seems uninterested in taking care of her appearance. I am almost certain she hears voices, and there are moments when I think I see her talking back to them. But mostly I am concerned because I don’t know what this means.

It was Qatana that first spoke up when she heard a bounty had been placed on goblins from the Licktoad Tribe (I don’t know for sure how goblins choose their tribe names, but I think it is safe to assume that they are not ones for metaphor). We all knew about the attacks on travelers and caravans, which were mostly nuisance affairs, but lately they had taken to scaring horses with, of all things, fireworks. And where did they get fireworks? Best guess is they came from an old shipwreck along the marshes east of town. The same marshes the goblin tribe calls home.

Qatana was ready to go right then and there, simply declaring “I need money,” as if that were the only explanation necessary. It’s the sort of awkward thing Qatana does.

She started asking “us” if we’d join her, and so the interview process began. And who, exactly, was “us”? The aforementioned friends of friends. A few people I’d seen around before we’d moved away, a few I’d heard of but didn’t know, plus some faces that were entirely new. The interview process was mercifully short, with Qatana’s qualifying criteria being one of either “carries a large stick” or “casts spells”. (She can be refreshingly simple.)

When she asked me, I didn’t answer at first. I was thinking about some kids who had gone out there a few days ago to collect on the bounty and died for their trouble. That was a reminder that you don’t just go kill a few goblins as a means of minting coins: they may be the butt of jokes around this part of Varisia, but that does not mean they aren’t dangerous, especially in numbers. In a way, it sounded both cliche and naive to declare that we could just walk into the swamp and “take care of it”, especially since many of us had met one another for the first time not just that morning, but that hour. But as I said earlier, I felt like I needed something big to upset my life so that I could find a new course.

Ameiko watched this all with interest, and because she’s not in the habit of seeing people get hurt, she offered some practical advice from her own experiences. That advice boiled down to: get to know everyone’s skills before you set out and put your lives in each other’s hands. Fair enough, and so we did. Note to Ameiko: the next time you give that speech, specifically add “and what languages you have in common” to the list.

We set out a couple of hours later for the Brinestump Marsh (who comes up with these names?), taking a fishing trail along the river delta to the shore. Ameiko told us of a halfling man who had set up a little home out there and established himself as the self-proclaimed “Warden of the Swamp”. If we wanted to get some information on the goblins, then perhaps that would be a good place to start.

It’s from his home, in fact, where I am writing this currently, and he has been gracious enough to offer us food and lodging for the night. But I am getting ahead of myself.

When we first arrived at the house, Qatana, Anavaru, and Ivan approached the door (gods, Ivan is just a kid…what is he doing out here?) and, surprisingly, the Warden answered when Anavaru knocked. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see him and he did not look good: very ill, very tired, and seemingly wounded. There was a brief exchange that ended with Ivan pushing his way forward to give some unsolicited healing. And then it got weird.

Qatana…she just barged in. Literally. She just pushed her way in the door, without asking to come in, and without being invited. She walked right in his home and started poking around.

Everyone was in shock, especially the poor Warden. Except there was something about him that didn’t seem to fit. He was injured, and grateful for the healing, but he was also evasive and alarmed. Not because of Qatana or us, but because of something else. I like to think that this is what Qatana sensed and the reason why she did what she did, but I don’t know. Whatever her motivation, though, it set the right events in motion, and it made me suspicious and the Warden increasingly uneasy.

I cast a spell to search for magic, outside where I was out of earshot so as not to raise suspicion, and what I saw gave me a bad feeling. There was no magic anywhere in the house except for the Warden himself. Not on him, but him specifically.

He was going on about being bitten by snakes, and having been poisoned (all of which clearly appeared to be true), and being afraid of snakes, and yet he lived in a house that was a habitat for snakes, and he kept feeder mice and birds. For snakes. And it did not add up. So we pretended to help by searching the house for more snakes while we kept the Warden under watch and stalled for time.

I called up to Qatana, who was searching the upstairs (“for snakes”). In Elven, I said, “Qatana, I need you down here. I am detecting an unusual aura on the halfling.”

And I was taken aback when our halfling friend replied, also in Elven. “I am sure it was just the lingering effect of your friend’s healing spell”.

I felt a chill running through me. Any one thing on its own would be perfectly innocent, but all of this together created a picture that was just wrong. I could also feel the Warden’s unease, and it seemed we had reached an uneasy standoff, with us knowing that something was up, and the Warden knowing that we knew, and we knowing that he knew that we knew, and so on. But neither side was ready to make the first move.

Etayne became severely spooked by something she saw and stepped out to call Olmas in. He found an excuse to keep the Warden seated, but eventually our host’s patience wore thin. He went from agitated to angry to hostile to violent, and within seconds, a lethal fight had broken out in the upstairs hallway.

We were not, in fact, talking to a halfling. We found the real Warden of the Swamp, one Walthus Proudstump, in a secret room on the second floor of his home after the fight was over. What we were facing was something called a “stalker”: a being capable of assuming the form of others, and both speaking and understanding any language.

The stalker had attacked Walthus and taken his form, while the real Walthus escaped into a secret room upstairs. The snakes, it turns out, could tell the difference between Walthus and his impostor. They normally kept the creatures away, and explained both the stalker’s numerous bites and his sudden fear of them. 

And that is how it came to be that I am spending the night in a small house in the Brinestump Marsh along the Soggy River. Walthus was grateful enough for our timely intervention to serve us dinner and give us the use of his home for the night. Given how this day started, I suppose I shouldn’t complain about where it ended.

Sarenith 23, 4712 (Brinestump Marsh, Morning)

L

ast night was uneventful. The others divided up the watch. I had trouble sleeping and spent a couple of hours writing. Nihali was uneasy as well: I watched her fidget and stretch her wings nervously. There was nothing specific bothering me, so I guess I was just anxious about everything.

I suppose lying awake gave me plenty of time to think about the people I’d come out here with.

I don’t know Sparna well, though he is a frequent visitor to Sandpoint. He’s worked as a caravan guard for as long as I have known him, which is a job that’s mostly about appearances and deterrence (something Ameiko taught me, and which I put to good use in Magnimar to keep the riff-raff at bay). I suspect this outing is a welcome change for him, and a chance to actually use what he carries instead of putting on a show.

Radella is one of the new faces, a half-elf whose skills tend towards getting into places she shouldn’t and thinking on her feet. Note: I am being diplomatic here. I have nothing against her, but I suspect neither mom nor dad would be likely to invite her to dinner.

I’ve always liked Anavaru, and she was never unkind to me. It’s terrible what happened to her and her family. First her mom, and then her dad. Niska practically adopted her, and then Ana lost her, too.

Shalelu seems to know everyone in Varisia, and the half-elf Olmas is another one of her strays. He seriously considered bringing a horse into a marshland. We actually had to talk him out of it. Where does she find these people?

Ivan, as I have said, is just a kid, too young to be properly concerned for his own safety. Another new face to me, but apparently close to Koya.

I remember Etayne from when I was younger. She’s a half-sister to Shalelu, but I don’t know the circumstances (and it is not my business, anyway). She was not comfortable in town then, and she seems to be even less so now. I can understand that. Witchcraft just isn’t trusted, especially in Varisia, where superstitions flow like water.

This morning, we are going back out to the Lost Coast Road because Walthus advised us against a more direct route through the marshlands. Apparently, the “monster in the swamp” is real, and not someone’s imagination made legend through oral tradition. We saw a footprint yesterday—three toes in an alien arrangement—and Walthus said it belongs to it. “It has claws for hands and feet, and its legs bend the wrong direction for a man,” he explained. “Its jaws also open wrong.”

I guess I have something specific to be anxious about after all.