3. George Longcloak - In search of a legend

George Longcloak - In search of a legend


  • A bright day out on the Icelace. The wind lending a steady pace to the Peltarch ship rolling along on its waters.

    One of the city's smaller vessels, rigged as a ketch and manned by as little as five, though capable of carrying a good sixteen.
    The men on deck go about their duties with steady purpose. One of the many patrols in the waters the city considers theirs. The weather has been fair so the men are in good spirits, singing as they work.

    Inside the small cabin, so small it only has space for a desk and leaving the ship's officer to bunk with the crew, sits the young man. He dutifully fills out the reports for this patrol. Being uneventful so far, he takes the time to write for himself as well.

    Once more have I had a brush with the Far Realm. Once more have I survived. I do hope it will be the last for the forseeable future.

    It was different from the last time. I have not become significantly better at my craft since, but it held less terror. At first, at least. I think it's because my mind was better able to cope with the idea of Lain as our opponent rather than the gibbering mass of limbs, teeth and eyes we faced last time. Of course, it wouldn't be the Far Realm if it did not end in horror. It pulled on very different strings this time around, however. Perhaps the curiosity the creature instilled warded off the revulsion at that point?

    I prepared as I always do. I wrote my letters. I spoke to whom I needed to speak to, even if I could not find everyone. I gave the letters and this book to Perom, to be delivered in case I didn't make it back. I trust the gnome didn't peek at my "filth" as he put it.
    I tried to return the loaned halberd to Mako, but she wasn't having it and told me to hang on to it a while longer. I figured if the worst happened it'd find another way back to her, so I didn't argue. I did finally manage to thank her for all she's done. The effect was surprising.
    Most others who I consider close were heading into the Compass with me, so I meditated and practiced my forms until it was time to go.

    I was last to arrive in the Witch and Seer. I'd taken my time to gather the gear I thought appropriate,. Still, my heart was racing as I entered the basement and the door closed behind me, though I tried to contain it this time. We weren't just picking a fight. We were trying to save a man.
    It was a sizeable group. Jonni, Aoth, Frances, Isolde, Rey, Ros, Elaine. Hells, even Sebrienne made it back from their hiatus. All their alters, too. Then a smattering of Smiling Monkey staff.
    Spirits were high, with everyone inclined towards their usual banter. Isolde was going on about the cleavage the new styles at the Vanity allowed for. Reminding me to survive so we could go and check them out together. Sebrienne arguing with her alter. Those two obviously hadn't attuned yet.

    Something I neglected to write about, it seems. The others had all gone through some process of attuning their minds to that of their alter. I remember worrying about this happening accidentally during a conversation with Isolde, worrying about the madness it might cause. They'd all chosen to take the risk to have a better chance at finishing this.

    One of the Smiling Monkey staff briefed us again. On the nature of the Compass and the planeswalker cult that created it. The idea that the natural laws of that plane could be bent by the sheer will of the occupants raised some alarm with me, but the others were gambling on Lain and his parasite not knowing or learning this. Sometimes the coin lands in your favour.
    After that we ran over the plan again, using the Compass as a trap and arena. Laurent and Horgrim had already moved the fractal glass into the Compass, since it functioned as an anchor for Lain's bridge. Initially, we would form the Compass into a likeness of the Royal Estates to trick Lain into thinking his plan had worked.
    In all, I felt surprisingly up to date. The nature of the Compass was the only real news, there.

    Last was a description of the Far Realm creature infesting Lain. It was not like the Reachful Hands that had chased us beneath the city. I saw Aoth shiver at the mention. I caught myself breathing easier after that, though I did wonder what new horror awaited.
    Apparently, it was very much like creatures that had already tried to influence those on our Prime. They presented themselves as concepts in the affected's minds, driving them to do their will in pursuit of embodying these concepts. I learned some of my companions had suffered the same in the past. They seemed to have come out alright. Except Ros, maybe.
    Lain was under the effect of the concept Curiosity.

    I set to preparing myself, switching out jewelry and the like, as Jonni brought up a guy named Harbottle. Apparently he wanted to go into the Compass, which would either kill him or save him. I don't know what happened, but it more or less sounded like the man was addicted to the nature of the plane. I didn't weigh in, since I knew neither the man, nor the effect his apparent mastery of bending the worlds within could have. It was an interesting bit of information, though.
    Then young Danson came into the room and bid his staff to get ready and for us to follow.
    We were all shepherded into the control room for the Compass. The machine that controlled it was being set up. We were all having our little rituals. I saw Rey and her alter, Hannah, do some needlessly complicated sequence of high fives before announcing they were ready. I found myself bouncing on the balls of my feet, just wanting to charge in already.
    And then it turned out the coin hadn't landed in our favour.

    The black veil that made up the Compass' entry began to change. The nodes that held it fading out one by one. Instead, we saw a small, sparking ember in the heart of that darkness. Slowly growing brighter and brighter until it became a proper flame. More embers sparked in the night, turning into fires of their own, until all together they formed a burning question mark. Waiting. Beckoning.
    Horgrim snarled and said Lain was already trying to pierce through into our world.
    Thinking quickly, Laurent told us to get into the Compass. He and the alters would wait outside, in case something came through. Or in case, as Aoth suspected, someone would attack the tower from outside.

    Jonni reminded Horgrim and Inno to shut the machine down if it looked like Lain might come through, even if we were still in there. We'd all known the risk.
    I saw Isolde squeeze the ogre mage's large hands, knowing full well how he would loathe this duty.
    Then she reminded us the aim was not to kill Lain. It was to chase Curiosity out.
    I saw others bracing themselves and heading into the Compass as Laurent kept telling us to hurry. With a half assed salute to the man and a grin on my face, I went in, too. En route to death and insanity.

    We passed through the veil, and for a minute it was as if those flames were going to consume us. Burning curiosity indeed. The heat turned into a white hot flash, blinding us for a moment. Once our vision returned we were met with the scene of a grand and luxurious hotel, with all manner of exotic people about. I remarked I was feeling underdressed. Seb immediately retorted that she wasn't, and indeed, decked to the gills in fineries as she was, she looked perhaps the least out of place there.

    Isolde was saying to Rey that we must've been betrayed by Motley, for Lain to have fashioned the Compass to his will so readily. As Rey was agreeing, we were approached by a mysterious, attractive woman. She gestured for us to follow and kept her voice low as she spoke. She warned us of a spy in our midst. One of the hotel guests who worked for the enemy. Our mission was to find out who it was.
    If this is beginning to sound like some sort of novel, it was likely Curiosity's intent. Entice us and entrap us in a game of endless mysteries and riddles.

    Aoth asked if we should play. Isolde had a scowl on her face, calling it a diversion, but Ros suggested playing. Jonni pointed out we might not have a choice, since we did not control the Compass. Eventually, we settled for playing the game.
    There were four rooms to enter, each with their occupant to question standing outside the door. We entered one, which had a nobleman outside and a murder scene inside with several clues to unravel.

    As I had no alter to meld my mind with, I was unaware of what else was going on. The rest informed me that while we were dealing with the mystery, the Witch and Seer was under attack. A small army of mercenaries was besieging the tower, likely hired by a traitor. Isolde's suggestion of Motley's betrayal was starting to sound plausible. They were pressed for time, since the besiegers had the ordinance to destroy the tower.

    Pushing thoughts of needing to be where the fighting was out of my mind, I focused on the room we were in. Rey complained about Hannah getting all the fun. I reminded her that, technically, so was she. Not good enough, though. Ros had already moved to inspect the body while the rest examined to room at large. Banter was thrown this way and that. Aoth had an interesting thing or two to say about talking with plants. I suspect most were more interested in poking holes in the illusion than giving themselves over to it. Ros found a note on the corpse saying "Meet with Soldier at noon". Likely the next step in whatever game this was.

    I moved to the fireplace, large enough to hold a man, to see what was cooking when Frances said she could sense evocation magic from it. Looking at the fire more closely, it did seem like the embers flared up far too brightly for an ordinary fireplace. I called this out to the others, and Frances and Seb came to inspect it further. Seb walked into the fireplace despite the embers, something warding off the flames. She must've seen something when looking up the chimney, as she tried to fire off a spell, then scrambled up it.

    In her scrambling, embers from the fireplace fell to the floor, and the room slowly started going up in flames. To avoid being split up, all of us scrambled up the chimney. This is when the others once again became keenly aware of their alters needing to hold off another wave of attackers. We stumbled through the chimney and somehow walked back out the door we'd entered, into the hotel lobby. The room's owner barely remarked that it was on fire, as though it did not matter. He pointed out the culprit had fled around the corner, so we chased. All we found around the corner were the other rooms, however.

    Passing another room, there was a guardsman outside, asking if we were looking for someone. The Femme fatale who gave us our assignment was quick to remind us to focus on the spy and how exciting it all was. The insistence these illusions gave was starting to become off putting. Frances remarked that the escaped man seemed to be a male humanoid, to which the guardsman assured us he had a male humanoid prisoner in his room. The guard bet the prisoner knew something. Bet he had a lot of answers. To a whole bunch of questions. Very insistent.
    Everyone's patience was wearing thin. Even Ros seemed done playing. At this point, only Jonni seemed willing to humour it any longer. The alternative was stabbing every illusion we saw instead. His face said he wasn't entirely opposed, though.

    We entered the room, where we found the prisoner tied to a chair. Another woman was guarding him, claiming he knew something. Some spy had planted an explosive in the hotel, and the prisoner was their associate. I remember smirking at the parallels to what the other group had to deal with. The tower being betrayed by a spy, at risk of being blown up. I didn't really question it, though.
    Isolde asked how the guard knew the prisoner's involvement, to which she said he'd readily confessed to working with the culprit. The prisoner concurred, saying he knew a ton, but refused to give any more.

    Curiosity had conveniently filled the room with torture equipment. When I remarked on this, the woman pointedly said people will do anything to get their answers. Most of the time, people are dying to know. In this case, people would die if we didn't. She asked if I agreed. For a moment, I thought back to the situation with Fim. A game to see how far we would go to extract these secrets, then. We opted not to play, and let the prisoner go. The released prisoner looked dumbfounded, asking if we weren't afraid what might happen if we didn't know what he knew. As we all declined, we ended up outside the room again. As we made this move, my companions told me the attack on the Witch and Seer was growing more intense.

    Back in the lobby, we were still refusing to play along in the mystery game. When the guardsman asked if we'd found what we were looking for, Isolde quipped we weren't that into it. When the Femme fatale tried to make us focus, the others even became belligerent. As she insisted we make a choice, that the one we were looking for -was- there somewhere, guilting us about not trying, we refused to choose a door. Then the group became aware of something very curious indeed.

    Laurent, like the Femme fatale, kept telling the group to focus, constantly yanking the attention of the merged minds from one scene to another, never letting them set. He was also very insistent about making the next move against the mercenaries. The Smiling Monkey's Fendon, too, kept asking if we didn't want to go up there to find out if we'd win, playing on our curiosity.
    Ros' alter put the pieces together. We were playing each other. Our actions determined the mercenary actions. We waited, and so did they. The alters confronted the gnome, and the last our group was aware of was the image of Fendon, Laurent and the Witch and Seer basement slowly turning to burning cinders.

    In the hotel lounge, Isolde and Roslyn confronted the Femme fatale that they were refusing to play Curiosity's game any longer. The contact insisted that this was still a move out of curiosity. We were only making this one because we wanted to know what'd happen if we did. She said we did not stand a chance, that the need to know was part of our very cores. Even if we asked the right questions, even if we won, we were still asking questions and giving in to curiosity. Every move made the fires burn stronger.
    Rey put on a set of glasses made of the fractal glass. It must have been the ones Motley once told me about. Then the world shifted.

    We awoke slowly in a cave to the smell of burning embers. Exactly how deep the illusion ran and how powerful it was became obvious when we saw Laurent and the alters. We never even split up. We'd all entered together, as per the plan. They were on the ground next to us, still unconscious. I couldn't help but wonder how many of those moments in the Witch and Seer before entering the portal had been real. Where did the illusion begin? Ah, curiosity. You glorious bastard.

    As we slowly came to and got to our feet, we found the form of Lain standing over Laurent. Isolde immediately scrambled to her feet and warned Lain to get away from him. Lain, for his part, was impressed. He hadn't expected us to awaken so soon. He was pretty derisive about our choice to face him in the Compass, though. Of our assumption he hadn't heard of it.
    At Isolde's protest that the alters said their version was never activated, Lain simply agreed. He'd read about it, though, and became utterly fascinated with it and the Sign of One. These Signers supposedly apply the principles of the Compass to all existence. To alter reality by willing it to be so. After all he'd been through with the fractal glass, he believed it, claiming there was great wonder beyond our Primes, and asking if we weren't curious to find out.

    We each of us disagreed, claiming the price Lain had paid too high. He ignored the heckling and banter that came with it. Instead he chose to comment on those who'd converged their mind with their alters, going through with it despite the dangers. If that made them hypocrites. Why then, and not now? And then we came to his grand ideal. The convergence of our two Primes. He'd do it for sheer curiosity. Because it 'could' be beautiful. He did not see it anymore. That an individual choice, or rather, the agreement between two individuals to run a risk is nothing compared to forcing such a change on two entire worlds. Simply to see what might happen.
    He wanted to know if we weren't dying to find out.
    As one, we all denied him. He said we'd have to settle for dying without finding out, then.

    I watched him duplicate. Again, and again, and again. The entire cave we were in became filled with fiery duplicates of Lain, bringing their arms to bear. It was not the unknowable horror I'd faced before, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't swallow hard at the prospect of fighting those numbers.
    I remember thinking it was a good thing I had my affairs in order. Jonni even took an involuntary step back. Now that's something that could cause a man to worry.
    Under shouted declarations to drive the Far Realm creature out of Lain, he gave a laconic "en garde", and they attacked as one.

    As Rey shouted to guard the variants, I threw myself before the nearest group of Lains and attempted to occupy them as best I could. For all their numbers and all their fire, they were not unstoppable. When they hit, they hit hard. When. Perhaps Mako's praise was not unfounded. Perhaps I have gotten better than I believed. I managed to frustrate them by the sixes and sevens at some times, and still got away clear.

    Looking around, I saw the same scene playing out for Rey. The others as well. Between spell and blade, Lain's flame twins kept falling. Lain was another matter, however. I ran across the battlefield, driving into the flanks of any that were occupying our casters. Trying to clear their way to strike at Lain instead. I miscalculated at some point. I heard Jonni yelling at me to quaff some potions, but before I could even wonder why, I felt Lain's sword ring hard against the back of my helmet.

    I whirled around and looked into the true Lain's eyes. I was still reeling from that blow, so I dropped into a defensive stance rather than risk drinking a potion and leaving myself open. Lain smirked and said it was bold to refuse to drink, and told me to die instead, then. He didn't get it. Behind him, I could see all his duplicates were dead. I just had to fend him off long enough for the others to get him. It must have dawned on him as Jonni healed me and all of us started striking him at once. Lucky, he said. I had my friends to protect me. He shouted triumphantly that he had friends too.

    Then it happened again. He duplicated, over and over again. The cave once again was filled with fiery duplicates of Lain. Fresh and at full strength, while my friends were going through their spells fast, and I was making a mental count of the potions I had. I peeled away from Lain, chasing the duplicates that went for the casters. This time I kept on Rey's flank to dispose of single targets faster. With an encouraging grin and shout from her, the madwoman and I tore through them with such ferocity I almost pitied them. It was still too slow, however. They took an inhuman amount of punishment. In the long run, this would not go our way.

    All around us, more duplicates were dying. Cut down by lightning, ice, arrows, blades and even horrid screams from Isolde. Roslyn excelled at frustrating Lain. Yet every time he ran out of duplicates, he refracted, and nothing we tried managed to stop it. Isolde gambled on trying to destroy the fractal glass instead. Under the many taunts of Lain, we fought on as Aoth threw lightning at the glass. -That- got to him, at least. He immediately lunged at Aoth as the glass began to crack, then at anyone coming near it.

    As he stood there, coveting the glass, rising smoke obscured him from view. Out of the smoke and flame was born a behemoth creature the likes of which I have never seen before. The shadow gained the figure of a gigantic monkey with countless eyes, tails and arms. Its voice rang out through the cave. Its words were a simple threat, but its very voice was an invitation to explore the unknown. Like the Reachful Hands, it crawled under your skin and into your mind. This one not causing pain, but making you wonder and thirst for knowledge. Inviting you to look, to come closer to learn.
    Beside me, I heard Rey grit her teeth and say that was more like it.

    It wreathed itself in flame and called us to burn with him. It invited us to walk towards the spark of curiosity, and called sparks up from the ground that exploded when one wandered into them. When Rey taunted it with her protection against fire, its many hands reached out and grabbed her instead.
    When Ros taunted it by leaping over and under the flames it summoned, it called burning meteors into the cave to rain down on us, shouting triumphantly about having seen the Beyond. Then she dodged those, too, and quipped about having seen Curiosity's mom last night. There will never be a second Roslyn Underhill. Not even Quill compares.

    It kept speaking of the spark of wonder Beyond, and with each word called fire into the world. As sparks, as meteors, as living flame. I was caught face to knee with it on a narrow stretch of ground between two towering walls of flame. Protected by waning magic from the heat, faced with this unending sea of flame, and my head filled with that droning voice. For a moment, I swear I could see. I could see the spark, and I could see how it worked. And it was beautiful.
    Then I rammed my halberd in its gut, because it lit me on fire

    It did bleed, in a way. While the strength of its magic seemed endless, we could see it weakening under our blows. Once sufficiently weakened, the others attacked the glass once more. I heard Jonni say he ran out of dispels. I'd noticed that the spells being flung at it were lessening overall. It stumbled after Ros to keep her from the glass, letting go of Rey. I downed my last Heal potion and ran in to bar its way alongside of her. It called down another rain of meteors on us and my murmured prayer to Lady Luck must've been heard, because we were still standing.

    For the first time, we heard anxiety in Curiosity's voice. As we fought on despite the flames and falling stars, it called out for the "Bridge Maker" to open the bridge. Then it fell to Rey's blade. As it did, it was drawn into the fractal glass, which lit up like the many embers that had surrounded us.
    The world shifted.

    We were in a meadow, on a bright and warm day. The state of us jarred with the peaceful surroundings. All of us beat up and beat. Seb looked like that time she fell asleep after facing Laurent in Norwick. Probably blew through all of her spells in that last leg. Jonni and Elaine stood by one another, seeming happy despite being roughed up. Laurent sat on the grass. Isolde sat down by him. Roslyn stood with them, a hand on his shoulder. I will let their moment be their moment, and not write it here. I simply enjoyed the summer breeze and hoped we'd feel it soon in our world.
    The world shifted again.

    We were back in the cave. All the fire gone, it was just dark, cold and unwelcoming. On the ground, we found Lain. His body had been burned to cinders, but his clothes were left intact. I doubt we could ever have saved him. Whatever fire consumed him did so well before that day.
    The fractal glass lay shattered, and Curiosity was gone. If nothing else, we'd saved the day.

    More happened. More was said. Nothing I feel the need to write about. Nothing I feel comfortable writing about, for the privacy of those involved. Suffice it to say that Laurent survived, in all his facets. The alters were well, their minds no longer merged after the destruction of the glass. They opted to travel to Sigil, to see what else the planes had in store. When he mentioned going looking for the Sign of One, I couldn't help feeling curious. And slightly worried what might become of him.

    At least he gave his word not to enslave any more planars.

    A knock on the door. At the young man's call, the corporal pokes his head inside and informs him there's something that needs his attention.

    Rising from his desk, he puts his bonnet on then follows the corporal onto the deck. There on the water floats the "Icetomb", boat of the wanted captain Tidedeath. A silly little thing that doesn't even have sails, one wonders how the captain ever struck fear into any heart.
    Loose and free, the stroke without proper rhythm and no deft hand on the tiller, it's not even trying to avoid the Peltarch ship. Curious.

    A short ways off from it is a second ship, which looks to be a pleasure barge. Then today would be the day that Tidedeath's chasing booty came to an end. The young man steers his patrol for the oversized rowboat. His crew wasn't the largest, but he could handle whatever was on board of that thing.


  • The young man is in his appartment again. Sitting at his desk, the occasional green pinprick dots his dark blond hair, shining whenever they catch the light. His clothing, too, has these dots. No matter the effort that went into cleaning them, some would just not get out. He might just have to scrap the entire outfit, now.

    Despite frustrations about the ludicrous amounts of glitter gnomes use, he has a smile on his face as he writes away, occasionally chuckling as he recalls the things that happened.

    Thankfully, it's not all doom and gloom. On a rare quiet day, I was at the Mermaid's with Isolde when people started gathering. Perom, Meadow, a hin named Vin. Perom mentioned Elaine being outside, so we decided to go see how she was holding up against the Waning Moon. Then this gnome showed up. Omlilo Zoprfodden, spouting off a list of titles he'd no doubt given himself.
    He had a most crucial task for any adventurer willing, which he'd explain outside the gates.

    Outside were Ros, insisting her name was Beanus, Aoth and Elaine. Pleased with the crowd, the gnome began to speak. He promised us a task which required subtlety, larceny and many an act of derring-do. A fey, you see, a true knave and scoundrel named Bartolemn the Decadent, had stolen an instrument belonging to the gnomes. For his crime, the gnome dubbed him Lameo Hornthief. The crook had made off with the gnomish Horn of Mists, an instrument that did not change the minds of the audience, but that of the musician. He wasn't keen on the details of how that worked, but we were going to find out.

    Lameo was part of a circus. The gnome looked very upset indeed. The thought of a fey circus "gallivanting around the woods and doing whatever they please" seemed almost too much for him to handle. I think at this point the rest of us were more excited about attending the circus than retrieving the horn, mind. Well, not all of us. I heard a soft snort indicating skepticism. I'll let you guess who that was. Much banter was had. More puns that had Aoth glaring. The gnome, mourning the loss of Volpe over her fake gravestone, where she died waiting on a particularly slow group of adventurers.

    The circus was somewhere out in woods. As with all things fey, logic did not really apply. We would find this circus when we headed out west and got ourselves well and truly lost. When the lot of them were still dithering too long, the gnome chased us off with a glitter gun. There was no escaping it. We ended up in so much glitter we practically glowed, but at least we'd fit in with the circus.
    Some were red, some orange, some silver, some purple. I was green. Of course I was green. Like the armour wasn't enough, right? I imagine Serenity would've had a field day, seeing me like that.

    We made a mad dash out west to get away from the gun, then made for the orc woods. I don't know if they found it strange to see a glowing parade of adventurers barging through their lands, but they responded no differently. We had to fight our way deeper into their forest in order to get to uncharted lands. On the upside, it's easier to get turned around and lost when you're neck deep in orc, and soon we were in a valley none of us knew.

    Here, we encountered more than just orcs. Heaps of bugbears were barring the way, but it didn't get too rough until we walked up on this absolutely hulking brute of a bugbear. The damn creature was at least twice my height, lumbering along and taking slow swings. For all that he was slow, the swings hit hard. I had to yield and take out my shield to stave off those blows, while the roguish elements of our group cut him up from behind. Even then it took ages. Isolde had noticed wooden logs with spikes above it. A trap that never went off. It might have been an easier out, but I was too busy trying to get it to chase me instead of the others and simultaneously not getting my head caved in to comment. Ending it the classic way sent all the other bugbears running, however

    The travel after that was peaceful, though it could have still gone wrong easily. We had to cross a giant owl's hunting ground. If not for Aoth, that would've been a fight. I'm pleased we didn't need to fight it. It was an absolute beauty. I offered Perom to Aoth as a bargaining chip in case the owl needed tribute, but she wasn't having it. In the end, she convinced it we weren't there to harm it or steal its prey, and herded us through its valley. The owl still stalked us until we were well clear of its territory, though.

    Aside from some traps the rest of the way was uneventful, but when we reached the circus the queue made me want to groan the way Aoth does when Jonni's spouting puns. Everyone had to take a number. To give you an idea, we were at around 6430. They were serving 113. As I stood there griping about dying of old age standing in line among a bunch of fey who have the rest of eternity to wait, a pair of them came up to stare at the out of towners. Meadow simply stared right back, which apparently amused them. They offered to play a game. Referring to themselves as One and Two, they'd have a staring contest with any of our number. If we won, we'd get their ticket, numbered 116.

    They started pushing us to go for it, so I asked what'd happen if we'd lose. Whoever lost became Three. Immediately I got warned not to do it, like I can't be trusted around some Fey. Only Elaine seemed to think I had any chance at winning that one. After some back and forth, Meadow was the one to go for it. Truth be told, I was happy I hadn't tried when I watched the staring contest unfold. Two challenged Meadow and when the staring contest begun, she got the eeriest, impossibly wide grin on her face. Her eyes widened more and more, her irises splitting on itself and becoming kaleidoscopic, then starting to rotate. I became nauseous, and I wasn't even the one she was looking at.

    Meadow, however, did not move a muscle. She just looked through those eyes as if they weren't there. Even when Two reached out and touched her, whispering to convince her to join them, she didn't flinch. Eventually the fey had to yield, knowing she'd not get her prize. They kept their word, and we traded our tickets for theirs. All Meadow allowed herself was a small smile.

    We moved up through the line as 116 was called, and came upon this massive bouncer demanding our tickets. We just flashed them at him and tried to move blithely on, but the bouncer stopped us, saying those were tickets for two. Without so much as skipping a beat, Ros claimed the entire lot of us were two. It's probably not the strangest thing a fey bouncer sees, so he asked us to explain. Aoth's claim we'd walked into a prism but hadn't had the time to put all our colours back together yet was inspired. Sadly, she didn't sell it well enough and the bouncer just scoffed.
    Ros began prattling on about some long winded mathematical formula which proved we were really just two. Either she sold it better, or the bouncer was just tired of listening to us, but he told us to go on in.

    The circus itself was a pleasant change of scenery. We crossed a bridge shrouded in mist, hearing carnival music drift our way. As we made it across, we noticed all the plants around had started glowing in colours as bright and different as our glitter. Surrounded by fey, we looked around for what all might be done there. The moment Isolde saw the merry-go-round, we were getting dragged in that direction. Now, it was a quite different experience from the usual gnomish merry-go-round.
    No safety belts. Hells, no seats. Just a platform with poles, spinning hard. You just had to hang on to whatever you could grab on to. Maybe it's the adventuring life, but despite this being ridiculously dangerous, all of us just rolled with it and ended up having a blast. Even the skeptic.

    What was unexpected was the fighting. A group of bats were attracted to the thing, and even as we were getting spun around and nearly thrown off the platform, we had to fend the damn things off. More unexpected still were a group of pissed off fey scrambling to get onto the platform, trying to get us for "cutting in line".
    The fight raged on for several minutes. The platform kept spinning, even tilting at times and still the fight kept going. The ride manager seemed disinterested. He simply said to stop fighting on the ride, and kept on as though it was a common occurrence. When the ride finally ground to a halt, we noticed we'd lost Perom. It didn't become quite clear just how common an occurrence these fights were until a little grimy catlike creature came put up a sign saying "Resurrections: Normal Price" and called out to bring our yer dead. Bloody fey. Set me and Elaine back a sweet little 15000 between us. Bloody gnome.

    That wasn't going to spoil our fun, though, so we moved on to the carnival games. I was feeling like a snack, so I wandered off from the group and managed to pick up some candied apples. I could see familiar faces appearing in the crowd. Seth had managed to find his way to the circus. Asha, too.

    By the time I got back to the group, they'd found and abused an archery dunk booth. Roslyn just shot her last. Then Asha stepped up and I remember feeling just a hint of pity for the satyr on the ledge.
    As I moved over to hand Meadow an apple, I watched Asha hit 8 bullseyes in ten or so seconds. The Satyr got dunked. Then smacked by the board he'd sat on as it came down again. And smacked again before he learned to keep his head down, all the while getting blasted by watercannons. Poor, poor bastard. They were being awarded credits for their shots. I missed what they were for while off getting a snack, but I assumed the more the better, right?

    The grig running the game had run out of credits, but he could allow those who wished to shoot for fun. He asked around, and of course Isolde stepped up to the plate. Any excuse to torture satyrs. After seeing the satyr get thoroughly dunked again, the grig then pointed at Perom. I think none of us expected any harm, but we should've known better. Perom hadn't made an unsound decision yet, and one must've been waiting in the wings.

    Perom said something about going out with a bang, and I should've seen it coming. One hit, outer ring. Second hit, middle ring. I remember shouting encouragement. And then there was an explosion that took out the entire dunk tank. One moment of shock. Then I folded over and almost died laughing, as the others asked him what he'd done or called him an idiot. He'd used a grenade bolt. To guarantee his chance. The whole thing was ruined, though, and the satyr that was getting dunked escaped. The grig? He merely commented that he was on his lunch break and it wasn't his problem.

    We moved on to a next game and found our old pals One and Two. They'd found their Three, then hastened their way into the circus by joining it. Now they were playing games and being paid for it. This time around, it was a shell game. For more credits, this time, as opposed to your life and soul.
    Aoth played it, and played it well, earning us the credits that were on the table. We couldn't play for credits anymore, but we could play the staring contest again. Just for fun.

    Mind, "just for fun" still meant I'd become their fourth if I lost. I argued just for fun meant no consequences or strings attached, to which they smoothly replied that being Four would be fun. Isolde came over and kicked me in the shin for no reason! I resent that. Just because one time I was tempted to take the apple a dryad offered.

    Regardless, we made our way to the last game. This was obviously a fighting match, so I stepped up to the nixie sponsoring a massive satyr. The rules were simple. Solo combat inside a small ring. Step out over the line and you lose. Looking over the satyr, I asked about more rules. It wasn't unarmed, so that was good. The satyr was down to his loincloth, so I asked if I was supposed to do the same. I swear the nixie made it up on the spot when it said yes and told me to strip.

    Under many comments from Isolde, Asha and Aoth, I proceeded to strip down. It certainly wasn't the first time I'd gotten naked in public, but that lot knows how to make a spectacle of it. The nixie and I heaped it on by inviting everyone closer to get a good look at the action. Asha rushed over just a bit too excitedly, while Isolde and Aoth hooted some more. Even Meadow seemed amused despite admonitions to be careful. Then I stepped into the ring.

    The satyr announced himself as The Swelling, flexing his muscles and pushing his groin forward, trying to put on a show. He stood easily as tall as a minotaur, and had all the strength and weight that comes with it. He did seem just slightly downtrodden when I asked if he got that name for looking like a boil needing popping. Then he accused me of probably not even having a cool wrestling name. It was good to know I'd gotten under his skin. Then I turned around and asked my fans to chant my name.

    I admit I couldn't think of anything on the fly, so I hoped they could.
    Turns out my wrestling name is Hatguy Gorpton Longshaft McSnee, aka Gargantuan Groin Giorgi Longcock, aka Triple G.
    I am mildly concerned that I am travelling with a bunch of children. But! After bursting The Swelling's bubble, the name the others came up with seemed to intimidate him. I'd say the Swelling looked deflated, but Aoth will probably bite me if I keep making jokes. I received yet more catcalls when the nixie announced me, and the fight was on.

    I will confess. As much as I love the halberd, it isn't the ideal tool for combat when you're in a 7 foot circle and the other party is wielding dual axes. Normally you'd let them tie up your halberd with their axes, drop the weight on them, draw a dagger while they're recovering and go to town. My dagger was in my boot, however. The one I wasn't wearing.
    So dirty fighting was the key. Use the halberd as a distraction and liberally employ headbutts, knees and footstomps. Well, shin kicks. Footstomps don't work that well against cloven hooves, as it turns out. It wasn't all one sided. I took a few serious blows before finally wresting my halberd just the right way between his legs and shouldering him out of the ring. But I won, under the cheers and and applause of the onlookers.
    As I tried to leave the ring, however, the nixie asked where I thought I was going. Apparently, he fancied me the new champ and himself my manager now. I was stuck in that ring until a challenger beat me.

    I first tried to coax Perom into fighting me. Throw the fight, leave him there. He wasn't having any of it, though. I thought I was going to be stuck there forever until some duskling showed up. Tiny little runt of a thing. It may have cost me my good reputation among fey kind, but I had to get out of that circle somehow. Asha and Isolde were encouraging him, shouting nicknames to him and telling him to get me. So we fought, and I just kept dodging him, putting on a show until he cut me in the shin with his dagger. Right where Isolde had kicked me. Imagine that. I toppled out of the ring under the mock horror gasp of Meadow, and he took the win. Biggie Largethrob. Remember that name.

    The nixie kept chewing me out for the crowd as we all left, saying my fighting days are over, and what a shame it was. Meanwhile, the wee little duskling was heckling me from his new throne. I played along, weeping for my age and how it was too late to build anything new. Again Asha heaped it on, like only she can, interviewing me as though she worked for the Peltarch Times, then discarding my answers as she went off to interview a the real champion. I didn't even mind. It was a great night. A bit out of earshot, the nixie gave me a Tiger's Eye gem, despite the lamenting, and Isolde started singing a tune before we all headed out of there and got ready to hit the dancefloor.

    The fey know their parties. The clever use of light, both magical coloured light and natural moonlight. Mirrors to shine it this way and that. The magic to enhance their music, upbeat and thumping like nothing you'd hear in the city. I couldn't help but grin and dance along as I watched Isolde and Asha making a mad dash to the middle of the floor, then laughing at the fey trying their one liners with those girls and being rebuffed. Followed closely by Elaine running in and dancing wildly with no real method or pattern, just boundless energy. I saw Aoth belly dancing, Roslyn busting a move and Seth dancing like you'd imagine your dad dancing. All as I more or less expected.

    What I did not expect was looking away from that scene and seeing Meadow in a dress. I'd assumed I'd have to drag her out there and fully intended to, but when I saw her I was dumbstruck. Sensing my confusion, she just grabbed my hand and dragged me out there instead, a mirth in her eyes I'd never seen there before. And so we danced. She later told me Selûne never shined on her, but her dance under those stars certainly felt like the Moonmaiden smiling on us. 8000 gold crowns lost because of some bloody gnomes? Worth it.

    As the dance went on, it felt as though the entire forest was dancing with us, down to the very trees and vines. Fey stepped up to try and dance with Asha and Isolde, showing their moves, then moving off again. Turns out they appreciated our efforts so much that one satyr singer came up and offered us his single credit, which we gladly took. Asha commented that she'd want to stay there forever. Part of me agreed. Still, we had a job to do, and lives waiting at home.

    We saw Lameo exit the stage after a fine song. He had the horn hanging from his neck and knew it was our chance. I couldn't help but sigh as we stopped dancing and went after him.
    He was friendly enough. Talkative. Turns out the horn did transform the mind of the musician. He'd blown it earlier and now saw us all as moving noodles. Asha, blessed with a mind to turn anything dirty, talked her way into blowing his horn as well. Ended up seeing us all as living strawberries. If this is one of the great treasures of gnomekind, it explains a lot about where they get their inventive ideas.

    In the end, honey tongued Isolde, Aoth and Roslyn did it again. Giving up a gnomish horn Isolde had from earlier days in trade for the Horn of Mists, we'd gotten our prize just for the hint of the satyr's sound getting old and stale if he did not switch it up now and again. No punches thrown, no more blood spilled. It was a good way to end the night. And it was high time to end it. The fey present were getting more rowdy by the minute, and despite Asha's loud "but mom" protesting, we had to get out of there before it devolved into a proper bacchanal.

    As expected with fey magic, the moment we made it off the dancefloor, we stumbled out of the woods in the Nars and saw or heard not a sign of the fey. No more mists, no more music, no more lights. Looking behind us, we saw only the woods as we've always known them. It was the middle of the day, despite the moon and stars having been up moments before. The winter cold was suddenly very present again. Still, it didn't dampen the party's spirits, and we turned for home accompanied by many a horn blow to announce our victory.

    The young man runs his fingers through his beard and sighs as glitter falls from his beard, onto the desk. Scrapping the outfit is one thing. He is not shaving. Even if he has to bawl Jim out with a shiny, speckled beard, he is not shaving. Some of the glitter is now stuck in the ink, giving the occasional letter a shine. That stuff gets everywhere. Rising to his feet, he picks up his broom and starts brushing the silver and green glitter dotting the room into a dustpan. He is probably going to find that stuff for days to come


  • The midday sun stands high over a land still in winter's grasp. There's no rain or snow, but that does not make the weather any milder.

    The wind howls around the gatehouse of the bridge across the Scar, yet the river below is dotted with ships. The most foolhardy of sailors still willing to brave the shoals despite the gale. Some will run aground, and the men atop the gatehouse keep close watch on which need assistance. Sometimes this means hard toil. Other times it means discouraging the lizardfolk lurking in their caves.

    Inside, the young man sits at a desk which holds several reports. Performance reports on those manning the gatehouse. Reports on the groundings and altercations that already took place. Unusual sightings. The state of the gatehouse and its equipment. Inventory, the duty roster, and on and on. All stacked and ready to be added to the squad's ledger, to join the endless heaps of paperwork that assure the officers that all is well.

    Despite the slog of dealing with those papers, he still manages to write down some thoughts for himself.

    The subject of Laurent is one I've somehow managed to miss since that last confrontation in Norwick. Likely for the better, since it would have meant not having the energy to deal with Janna as I did. I often wonder how Isolde does it. Spinning all those plates and not dropping them.
    I often spoke with Isolde, of course, to stay in the loop. It's coming to a close, now.

    Laurent did indeed mean well, hence the non lethal confrontations. His methods were just highly questionable. Having had his memory restored by the usual suspects, he seems to have deferred to Jonni and the rest for a possible solution to a threat to our realm. The threat again boils down to the Far Realm. Bloody Far Realm.

    In as short an explanation as I can write, Laurent had made contact with an alternative self through the glass I spoke of, and learned to communicate. This alter, Lain, is from a world where our other selves failed to stop the Far Realm incursion. Lain and Laurent devised a way to build a bridge, allowing these alternative versions to cross over. It was a bid for survival that I can respect.

    The danger lies in the fact that Lain has since been corrupted by the Far Realm, and it wishes to open another bridge and come here. Our best bet is to reroute the bridge to a place called the Compass which is a type of pocket plane. I'm sure that is not entirely correct, but you'll just have to bear with the soldier trying to grasp arcane concepts. By rerouting the bridge in this manner we're fighting it in a place of our choosing, without the obvious dangers of heading into Far Realm corrupted territory, and with less risk of it coming through to our world.

    Like last time, all there is for me to do is stay ready to jump into the fray.
    Unlike last time, I actually feel ready.

    At the end of that meeting, H'resh showed up with a keen interest in the whole affair, since the state of things had begun to vex the Queen. He also very pointedly explained he wanted a report from a man he could trust. Jonni quipped to me that the good captain had no say in who joined the expedition, but he would suffer my presence since they needed people to take the punches. I retorted something about Asha, but my heart wasn't really in it at the time.

    H'resh also mentioned that there seemed to be a new leader rallying the mercenaries Whyte had gathered to attack the city. Those bastards didn't disperse as hoped in the months since, but turned to banditry instead. Whispers abound about a man they call Leslie Fim. I know, right? Leslie.
    Still, so far he seems capable enough to whip the mercenaries into shape, organize them and order them around as an effective force.
    I doubt I'm the only man being sent out to hunt this guy, but H'resh seems to put some faith in me.

    Setting out to find some bandits, we encountered them helping themselves to their meal in the heart tree grove. Their irreverence irked me, yes. I have fond memories of that grove. Still, the job comes first. I'd planned on just trying to talk to them, to see if they were willing to spill about Fim, but their presence there had Aoth fuming. Especially the fact that they had their freshly washed underclothes drying on the branches seemed a sore spot. Between that and Jonni pissing off their leader by telling excessive puns, I just donned my helmet and prepared for the inevitable swinging of swords.

    Sadly, the only mercenary I managed to interrogate after that seemed a bit of a zealot. Less concerned with money, and more talking about how Peltarch owed them. Owed them money, certainly, but it felt more personal with this guy, as though he had a massive chip on his shoulder. Trying to make this Leslie seem larger than life, saying Leslie was everyone, and how we'd never find him.

    Meadow had offered to ask questions in her own way, though she doubted it would yield more. On one hand, it was tempting. On the other, her recurring insistence on not being a nice person makes me wonder if she wishes she could be, even if she later told me she no longer does. I declined. I'll not have her stain her hands further on my account.

    In the moments before his death, he seemed less a zealot and more a man. Very much like me. Not contrite, not surrendering, not begging. Defiant until the end. A man that made up his mind and would not budge. He asked me if I could send his last letter home, and I plan to. Then I ended him.

    Reemul made it quite clear he would've killed the bandit just the same. Rey practically ordered me to. Aoth had murder in her eyes, and I'm not sure I could've stopped her if I tried. Perom was shocked, however. He'd actually believed the man when he said he would better his life. Elaine seemed saddened, mostly. Saying all life was precious, and should be treated as such.

    In truth, the man was doomed to die. He was bleeding out, and the potion I gave him was only just enough to keep him from keeling over immediately. Had I healed him and arrested him, he would've been sentenced to die in the city, which would've wasted time and resources, given him a less clean death and possibly left him open to 'advanced' interrogation regardless of my declining Meadow. Still, I felt a pang of guilt when Jonni took me aside afterwards.
    Jonni, who mostly just ribs me, tells me to stay away from his daughter and threatens my kneecaps and eyes.
    Without coming off as accusing, he took a moment to remind me that the city had laws for dealing with surrendered enemies, and there was no real reason to mete out military justice that close to it. Then he patted my shoulder and walked off.

    The idea that the man had technically never surrendered and it was a mercy killing suddenly felt cheap.
    I had allowed the mercenary to goad me when he claimed us city slickers and our laws would not hold out against them in the wild.
    Certainly, the man was doomed to die, but the idea of the law counting for all needs to be upheld.
    I have shiny new insignia on my armor now. With that comes a higher standard.
    What I do reflects upon the city, and people may talk ill of it. I've got a squad that looks to me for guidance. They're not complete greenhorns, but they will still pick up some of my habits.

    Returning to the grove a day later, I met a bard named Tello Phire. He knew a little about Fim and advised me not to read too much into wild claims. Stick to the facts. Fim himself is supposedly a strong and hardened warrior. Bulky is the only description of his appearance given. Frobrook, a farming village out east, has recently been ransacked by him and his forces. He seems to be betting on places Peltarch doesn't have the force projection to protect. It's frustrating that there will likely be more of the same before we have enough information to act, but the Nars is a vast place to hide in.

    The young man salts the ink and puts these papers securely away among his personal effects, so they don't end up among the official reports by accident.
    He rises to his feet and puts on on his familiar bonnet, now a green and red, shouldering his halberd as he heads out the door. It's time to make his rounds. Signal the Lieutenant that all is well, keep the others' spirits up in this dreary weather, stop them from slacking. And show them how it's done, of course. The wind outside would make a nice change from all that paperwork.


  • There is little rest to be had in these lands, right now.

    After having dealt with Janna, I took a few days of leave. That didn't really work out.
    Perhaps Jonni had a point when he said we had literally ALL of the planes to choose from when it came to a vacation. Sigil has got to be more peaceful than this, right?
    Since Janna, a plague has come to the city, Cormac is still being stranger than usual, the issue with Laurent rolls on mercilessly, the mercenaries that attacked the city at Whyte's behest have found a new leader, there's a rise in vampire activity, and a lich has started stalking the Rawlins.

    The plague, a disease called the Waning Moon, turns out to be a disease "gifted" by Shar to her followers after they sacrificed Selûnite priests. Our first encounter with it was when dealing with these black robed priests in beak shaped masks, supposedly Ilmateri of Saint Sollars. First barring Isolde and Elaine from the Temple of the Triad, then setting up a field hospital on the tourney grounds to test people who felt ill and take blood samples. They were being deliberately obtuse and evasive, giving a list of symptoms so vague it might as well be a hangover, unwilling to provide evidence of any plague, attempting to supersede city officials and calling down a seemingly uncalled for quarantine.

    The dodgy behaviour set Isolde on edge, and off we were. Hounding the Beakies for supposed cases, talking to the infected ourselves. Old Lady Makere is a treasure, my dear reader, and don't let any history books tell you otherwise. Also has a very good hand at Bridge, and those five games she supposedly lost are nothing but vicious rumour. I certainly had no answer to her game.
    The Je'laans were less forthcoming, however. I swear, Meadow and I were almost arrested by the local Constable, Mildred, for what was essentially a very reasonable line of questioning. We ended up returning to the tourney grounds to ask what was up with all the blood samples.

    They still gave us nothing, instead they wanted to test us and send us outside the quarantine. Elaine attempted to sneak me in among the infected by magically convincing a Beaky that I was infected, then herself as well when she saw I was isolated and she didn't want me to be alone.
    Elaine. Asha's mother. She likes me more than her father does, at least. I don't think I've ever met a kinder woman, with a zest for life that is preciously rare, a sense of hope that makes Isolde seem downright gloomy, and an unearthly beauty that actually manages to make me self conscious at times. Finally I see where Asha gets it.

    The stunt didn't bring much, though. Their Sister Superior immediately knew I was lying when I mentioned my symptoms, and quietly mentioned that lying to an Ilmateri priestess was a terrible first impression, hinting at very poor future cooperation and giving me a chance to come clean. She reminded me of Nan in many ways. I didn't want to throw Elaine under the wagon, though, so instead of coming clean entirely, I simply said I was feeling a lot better already. The Sister Superior accepted the explanation and wrote it off as just one more soldier who wanted a few days away from the walls, saving all three of us the embarrassment. All four if you count the influenced Beaky.

    Aoth, however, managed to at least get a bloodsample from the Sister. Aoth could confirm the bloodsample was infected by something, at least, but not immediately what, nor was there any evidence linking the sample to a Peltarch citizen. We turned to the Temple of the Triad to see if they could confirm the existence and presence of the plague, since the Beakies still weren't cooperating fully.
    Aoth walked with us, assuming she could experiment on the sample at her leisure, but the Beakies sent Mildred after us to retrieve it. Since there was no way to hang on to the sample without a fight, Elaine ended up drinking it. Meadow made a point saying there might've been better ways, such as dipping a clean cloth into the sample and taking that with us instead, but that would've only yielded so much. Now Aoth had a case study.

    Mildred went apoplectic, being torn between arresting her and being scared shitless at the idea of Elaine giving her the plague. This afforded Elaine time to turn into a bird and flee the city. From the Ilmateri in the Temple we got our confirmation that the plague was happening, and there was a list of symptoms that was kept secret to avoid a panic. Likely how the Sister Superior saw through my lie right out the gate. They would have us swear to secrecy, however. The fact that none of us liked that idea combined with the fact that Calchais' Bloodhound traveled with us made them decidedly unhelpful, and they suggested rooting out the Talonite cult they believed responsible was more our speed.

    Some days after, I met Isolde and Elaine again. Elaine had been infected, and the first symptom was a ravenous, insatiable hunger. Aoth and Elaine had learned it was not Talonite doing, but Sharran. They did not know what would follow and were very careful to let it progress, since curative magic did nothing but slow it down temporarily.
    This is where the vampires came in.

    A vampire named Parnell had been watching us as we were discussing this and tried to give Elaine an easy out. Elaine would hear her out at her home, and the vampire took her there. Naturally, none of those gathered trusted that for even a moment, so we had Chea to teleport us to the same, arriving first.
    Parnell's offer was quite simple, though it was obvious the vampire didn't know if it would work. She was just convinced that it would. Some artefacts Elaine's father and sister had guarded in return for a sip of Parnell's blood. A drink of vampire blood cures any ailment, to hear her tell it. It wouldn't even turn Elaine into a thrall unless she did it too often.

    The others were none too keen. I will not write down what the desired artefacts do, unless we end up destroying or losing them, but most everyone was willing to run the risk of the disease over the risk of vampires getting their hands on those. Parnell was disappointed, but did not get violent. Isolde suggested a different trade, which Parnell seemed enthused by if we could pull it off. Blood of her master's master. Parnell left soon after, as she sensed a different coven of vampires coming for the same artefact. This coven, lead by a vampire named Lidérc, would not be nearly as polite and she had no desire to be part of that.

    Not long after, she turned out to be correct. A vampire named Amelia and a necromancer named Seven Twenty came demanding the artefact, thinking Leena, Elaine's sister, had returned. They received the same answer and gave us twenty minutes to prepare for combat, which was surprisingly honourable of them. In the mean time, they had turned Raazi to stone just for showing up. This was enough to have Cormac fly off the handle and go straight for Amelia, earning him the same treatment.

    Restoring them, we prepared for the inevitable. Shades of varying strength and size soon came for the tree house, supported by several skeleton archers. The shades were dangerous mostly through numbers, allowing them two swamp over the admittedly small frontline, and fly into the casters and archers on our end. We had reinforcements arriving, however, in the shape of Lady Varya Tiller. No doubt drawn by the magic map and a paladin's sense of evil. I was pleased to have her there, to be sure, especially when two full fledged vampires showed up. Knowing she and I would likely last the longest of those gathered, I ran headlong into the darkness they brought. None better than a paladin at your side at those times, yes?

    We did not manage to kill them, but they seemed terribly surprised that they were unable to cut us to ribbons before the dawn arrived. They turned to mist and fled, and the attack ceased.
    There was little time to celebrate, however, as Seven Twenty soon arrived to dispassionately decree three threats by her master. The wards they put up surrounding Norwick to protect it from some other evil would be taken down. The soil in the Rawlins would be blackened again, as it was in the past. Lastly, they would contract the Zentharim to invade Narfell. Interesting times ahead.

    I later went to check on the tree house and found Elaine there. We had a long conversation on several subjects, both pleasant and unpleasant. The artefacts and vampires, the role the likes of us played in keeping the land safe. Her mind magics and the implications of using them. Stories of olden days. In many ways, it reminded me of talking to Serenity. Which made the appearance of the Elder Mistwalker a fitting end to that day, if ominous. She'd come to find Leena, another who mistook the sisters for one another. The lich Serenity implored me not to fight if he'd show up, Radomir, was becoming active in the Rawlinswood again. I left Elaine to her peace and tried to contact Serenity the only way I know how, but I doubt it reached her. I guess I'll talk to Aoth about it.


  • Again the young man sits at his desk, writing as the sun moves towards its zenith. This time there are ink, parchment and quills to spare on his desk. Though there is a midday meal standing near, he spares no time to even glance at it. This time, he will finish it.

    As we entered the next room, we came upon a scene that felt ominous and endearing at the same time. Still in the dungeon, we watched two shadowy forms lurking, wary until we realized that the forms were children at play. A faint, vague memory of her and her brother playing with a ball. Perom asked who was winning, but Isolde shushed him, saying it wasn't about winning. Indeed, they seemed to just be laughing, happily passing the ball to one another. It did not last.
    I could feel it, and I am certain I felt it just as Janna felt it once. A thick, choking feeling of overwhelming fear as both the shadows looked up at something behind us, out of sight.
    I recalled the dismissive laugh when Jonny mentioned parents, and my heart sank.

    Jonny asked her to show us more, but the images faded. Isolde quietly suggested we should push on and we did. Nuwairah mentioned other chambers that might be worth checking, but looking back I doubt it mattered much which way we turned. I think only the will to press on did. Jonny warned us the emotions might become more overwhelming the deeper we went. How right he was.

    In the following room, we encountered the warmachines she'd built. Again her voice.
    "I made them. Little iron men. Just like Victor. An army. We needed an army. An army that won't retreat."
    They attacked.

    I fought unarmoured since I'd been caught off guard, until I quipped about it. Janna's voice reached us again “Armor... huh?” And there I stood, armour on and helmet cocked right. The picture of how Janna saw me.

    Isolde asked if we absolutely had to fight. We were not her enemy. Her brother had been our friend. Again her voice. “I don't know.” She seemed confused. Conflicted. The warmachines did not stop, however. “The Ironbound fought you. The Ironbound -fought- you.” There was no malice as she spoke, as though having them fight us was not her intent. It felt more like she believed this was how it -had- to go, and we were the first people to tell her otherwise.

    We were in the thick of it, by then. Nuwairah stepping forward and trying to gain their attention as Mako and I moved on each flank with our twin halberds. The former inquisitor turned out to be an exquisite swordfighter, and Mako and I have earned our bragging rights, but these were still those tin men we knew and they had numbers to spare. Hard pressed as we were, I still called out that it was only because Arcter demanded it that her army fought us. Hard pressed, but winning. How oft have I written “thank you, Mako” now? It's high time I say it to her face.
    Isolde called out that none of it was inevitable. That Janna could change all of what was happening.
    Again her voice.
    “But...What about the things... that I can't change? The things we've already done?”
    And then her voice went quiet. The last warmachine crumbled to the ground, and no others came.

    Knowing that we had her attention, we each weighed in. I tried to convince her that anything could be atoned for, Isolde pointing out accepting wrongs and making amends is what adults do. Jonny and Nuwairah spoke of looking to the future, and leaving the past for what it was. Mako simply pointed out she wasn't taking any of these attacks personal. Isolde urged her to consider that every new choice she made wrote a new story.
    The voice did not respond.

    As we moved on, Nuwairah pointed out two more tin men. Perom called them out as the two Far Scouts, and indeed, we were looking at ironbound Fox and Badger. I spoke out loud that I remembered those two.

    Now her voice spoke again.
    "I never really thought about them all that much. Why did they fight? Were they so loyal they'd turn on each other? They seemed... friendly."

    Perom, indignant, shouted that they'd tried to kill him.

    “Yeah...They did.”

    I pointed out that only one tried to be a good friend to the other. The other was abusive, overbearing. Isolde mentioned Badger wanted to work with us, and that Fox killed him for it, blaming us.

    “Was he... afraid? Afraid of what he had done?”

    I didn't lie. Lies tend to gain less than they cost. Cormac may have had a point when he accused me of an honest face.
    Of course Badger had been afraid, but he still wanted to return. Believed he could.

    “I see.”
    And for a time, she was silent again.

    We headed deeper and came on another scene. Still the shadowy forms, playing out the sort of memory so old and faded you can't even recall the details, but too engrained and painful to let go of. No faces, perhaps, but the pain and fear were still very real. A large shadow, yelling at a much smaller shadow about knowing what would happen if the small one touched his sword again. 'How many times, Yuran?” And yelling at them both to stop fucking crying. I could've sworn I smelled a whiff of alcohol.

    We understood, of course. Still, I asked if this was her father, to draw her attention back.

    Her voice finally spoke again
    “He was like you, I think. An adventurer.”

    I bristled. It is a strange experience to feel your own anger swell even while already being nearly overwhelmed with another's anger. Likely thinking of his lost child, it was Perom who simultaneously spoke the same thought I did. Not once, but twice in a row.
    I am nothing like him. Who beats their children?
    Again her voice echoed.
    “No... not entirely. But he wasn't always like that, I think. So... how can you tell me it's not possible you'll be him one day?”

    And I had nothing. Honestly, it frightened me. As abhorrent and foreign as the idea is to me now, all my life I have seen good men and women sink low for some reason or other that made perfect sense to them at the time. Anything can be atoned for, yes, but anyone can fall. Their father, too, might have been a good man once. I had no assurances, so I held my tongue.

    My companions, however... My wonderful, hopeful companions managed to answer where I would not. Isolde, ever believing that some will always be kind at heart. She admitted that others could have their hearts changed by hurt and loss, but that they could still fight to remain a good person. Jonny admitting that the future can't be known, but that strong hearts will persevere. Mako merely said she could relate. Small comfort, perhaps, but she turned out well for all that.

    The scene faded, and we pressed on, soon to be met with more of Janna's demons.

    Victor himself stood there, in the flesh that Cormac had so poetically torn apart. Next to him stood Arcter. Unlike the last scenes, however, Victor spoke to us directly. He greeted us as friends, at which point Perom called out they were no such thing. Isolde told Janna these two where her least favourite, but Janna's voice was nowhere to be heard. I knew it wasn't Victor, but the scene meant something to her, so I engaged with the vision as though it was.

    I smirked at them and called him the truest of monsters, and Arcter the fool that thought to control him.
    Victor smirked back and asked in a hurt voice if I didn't like all his designs and creations. Why would we have kept him alive, if we didn't?
    I answered plainly that it was because we still needed to find his apprentice at the time. In the end, it turned out to be worth it, emphasizing that Janna was still worth saving.
    He then gave me the most sardonic smirk I'd ever seen.
    “Even though she did everything I did? Is it because you want to bang her, George Longcloak?”

    Was that her experience with men outside of her brother? No kindness unless favours were involved? For once, I can honestly say it never crossed my mind. Janna is beautiful, true, but trying to kill me every time we meet is a bit of a turn off.
    I started a thought, but the others answered perfectly well before I could make an ass of myself. Perom making the point that Janna regrets her actions. Jonny making the point that Janna had empathy, at least. Isolde pointing out that Victor took sadistic joy in it all, and would happily keep going, even without a cause.
    For my part, I would've gone through this effort for Sam or Yuran just the same, if there'd been a chance. Victor had just been unsalvageable.

    The atmosphere started changing as Victor spoke then, and it sounded more like Janna describing him through his own voice. Agreeing with Isolde and pointing out all the things that made him so monstrous to Janna. The lack of empathy, the lack of humanity. Asking if it wasn't all just overwhelming. He mocked our effort to save her, since it meant he would live on as part of her.
    Isolde called out to Janna, saying she wasn't him, and he did not define who she was. That she could banish him from her mind. Jonny saying he would fade like so many bad memories fade from people's minds do in time.
    I looked up at Victor and told him he'd only get to live as long as she let him.
    He smirked down at us all, saying it's not that easy to let go of nightmares.

    Victor grabbed Arcter, then, and pulled him close. Their forms merging into one another like some sort of fleshy clay, until the pair of them resembled one of Victor's giant flesh monstrosities.
    As I stared up into its malevolent yellow eyes, I realized I was finally facing Janna's hatred given form, glaring at Perom and me as it must have done since meeting Janna in the gaol.
    Mako called out to Janna, saying that he was nothing but a manifestation of her mind.
    The creature retorted that the hate was very real. Then it struck.

    A noxious blast of gas shot forth from its hand and hit me square in the face. For a few moments, I couldn't even raise my halberd as I doubled over in a coughing fit, and it went to town, rending my flesh through my armour in my defenseless state.
    As I kneeled there, heaving my guts out and bleeding like a stuck pig, I felt Mako push past me and get me out of the way, then throw herself at the thing, mercilessly wailing on it with all the strength her dragon blood could muster. Nuwairah rushed past right on her heels, as the others fought it from a distance.
    When I finally recovered, it was wounded but fighting on fiercely. The chaotic violence of a thrashing animal sensing its end.
    I joined the rest in fighting the thing and managed to eventually impale it on the pike of my halberd. Having the killing blow was catharsis. Was that emotion mine, or hers?

    The creature seemingly just evaporated. As I stood watching the last wisps of her hate fade from view, I felt Mako's hand on my shoulder, and heard her express her pride in me. Like some greenhorn, I nearly blushed. Well, nearly. -Should- I thank her? It might go to her head.

    Jonny bid Janna to see clearly, with the hate no longer affecting her. A gate before us opened in response. As her hate and fear subsided some, we could feel her become pensive.
    Nuwairah hoped out loud we 'd metaphorically destroyed all that haunted her, as these things only seemed to grow tougher. Jonny and I couldn't help but concur as we headed towards the gate ahead.

    As we walked through the gate, we met with none other than her brother. He waved at us and said it was good to see us again. Or it would be, if he weren't just a memory. It was a strange experience. For a few moments, at least, Janna felt bright and cheerful, despite the undertone of sorrow. I don't think I've ever felt bittersweetness quite like that. We exchanged small talk with him, treating her memory as though it was her brother proper, though we could hear Janna slip up on occasion.
    In that moment, she struck me as a girl playing with dolls. Yuran said he didn't know if he'd actually ask this, or if Janna just thinks he would, but he requested us to get his body back from Oscura, and bury it properly. With some luck, Frances can help with that.
    He thought he was happy, no matter how it was going to end, but he felt relieved that it was ending, finally.
    Janna said nothing, but a stairway behind us creaked, something calling us down.

    When we left the staircase, the sound of a beating heart surrounded us. Janna's heart, pounding fast. We were engulfed by an endless sea of sounds. Cries of pain, cries of joy. Uncountable memories, all at once, a flood rushing over us until finally we stood on solid ground and heard just a distant cry and the clanging of metal. We headed towards the sound.

    We came upon a final scene. This memory was crystal clear. No more shadows and hints. Here we saw her father, mocking her brother, asking if he'd lost his nerve. He took lazy swings at Yuran with the flat of his blade, knocking him over. Asking him if he wanted to be the big man. Asking him if he was going to protect his freak of a sister. And then we learned the root cause. Her father's voice. “I can't believe she died for you two... You're failures... pathetic failures.”

    Isolde sucked in her breath and flinched. Mako looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Jonny kept his face a perfect calm, somehow. I called out to Janna, trying to have her understand she could not be blamed for the death of mother's death. In hindsight that might not have been the best move. Nuwairah had her helmet on, though she was seemed unnaturally still.

    The father's tirade continued. How he had saved so many people. He'd been a hero. A real hero. He then kicked Yuran's sword away and stepped on his hand, slowly adding pressure. His last words were vitriol, saying he was stuck with Yuran. And his freak of a sister.
    When he spoke the word freak, with such emphasis, I could hear Mako's gauntlets groan under the pressure of the grip on her halberd.
    The smell of alcohol was unmistakable, now. We felt in Janna's memory that it always went like that, every day. Perom was especially silent.

    The father turned away from Yuran, and moved towards Janna. We heard Janna's disembodied voice again as Yuran got to his feet to protect his sister, simply being slammed down by his father.
    “Pain breaks people. I wish... I wished... That he was stronger... He said he'd protect me... but he couldn't... and I hate... that I thought that.”

    The others tried to talk to her. Telling her to let it out. Telling her that her thoughts didn't matter, that it was their love that mattered. I couldn't speak. I had nothing left, as I watched the father tighten his grip on his sword with murder in his eyes, understanding there was only one way that scene could've ended.
    And still Janna's voice rang in our minds.
    "No one... could save me. I didn't... I had to... I had to do it... I had to... I had to... I had to.”
    As she screamed her confession of killing her father, he came alive to us and attacked.

    Hate got me good, but her memory of her father... All her fear, anger and self loathing... That nearly gutted me in a single blow. Our weapons, on the other hand, did not even scratch him. Inhumanly strong and near immortal, as Janna had seen him when he was in a drunken rage.
    It wasn't skill at arms that won us that fight. It bought us time, certainly, with Nuwairah's dance holding him off the longest, but I think having Janna calm down enough for her father to weaken and eventually stop fighting was on Jonny and Isolde. Not fighting, but talking her down from that ledge. Praying and listening.

    In the end, she sobbed like the little girl she was in that memory. Explaining why she'd done it. Her father would have killed Yuran that day, so she stopped him. She did not know how she did it, but she did. None of us cast blame. Quite the opposite. Most would have made the same choice.
    As her father stopped fighting, his features grew soft, and for just a moment we caught a glimpse of another memory. Of her father smiling warmly at her as he tussled her hair. Janna said those moments had been the most painful and asked why he couldn't just always have been like that. When Jonny, Isolde and I explained that he had simply been too blinded by anger and hate, and lashing out aimlessly, it all ended. She understood.

    We woke up in the hallway. Meadow looked pleased to see us move again, and Tatyana was holding a smaller, safely dismantled Weave Bomb in her hand. Despite it all having taken place in Janna's mind, our wounds were very real, and I could feel cracked ribs protesting as I got to my feet. Meadow apologized for leaving, though I understood. Someone had to be awake, either to finish Janna, or to stall the Far Scouts. I saw Tatyana move her hand from her sword. She'd likely been considering the same.

    Coyote came up the stairs not long after, seeming more than a little surprised. Isolde, despite being teary eyed, quietly pointed out to him that Janna'd surrendered. At his arrival, Janna got to her feet.
    Perom remarked something about not killing her, which Nuwairah explained wasn't happening.
    I knew Coyote would take her back alive. As Janna walked to him to face arrest, she drew her brother's rapier as she passed me, the one she'd wanted to kill Perom and me with in the gaol, and offered it to me. I took it, and told her to at least be free of her demons.
    Others were talking. Jonny blessing her in Selûne's name. Mako commenting on the cruelty of the word freak. Perom thanking her for surrendering. I think any other end would've broken his heart.

    For a moment, Coyote looked to Isolde, the free spirit and troublemaker that she is, but all of us felt this was the way it needed to be. Janna needed to face trial, if only for the closure of the involved families. Nuwairah later mentioned I should've assured Coyote that none of us would act up, instead of letting it appear Isolde's call, but I was beat. Mentally, physically and emotionally. I was pleased enough with myself that I managed to keep a stiff upper lip. Mostly, anyway.

    We went home. I was silent for the most part, and I didn't join the usual revelries when we reached the city. I will see them all again and reminisce in person. I just needed to write this all down while it was still fresh.

    With that, the young man puts the quill down and salts the ink. He pushes himself away from the desk and heads towards his bed. He spares the untouched food a glance, but that will still be there when he wakes.

    He drops himself into bed, rolls over once, and sinks into the first sleep he's seen since the morning he set out for Kront.


  • The morning sun shines down on the city. The Commerce district has slowly been growing more active since first light. The Docks have been bustling since hours before.

    One apartment window has been opened wide, letting fresh air into the room. As fresh as the air in the docks gets, at least.
    His hair still wet from a recent visit to the bathhouse, barely taking the time to dry off before coming back, the young man sits at his desk again, writing fervently in what daylight reaches him.

    The tavern was a lively place. I'd been there once or twice before, and they do see the occasional adventurer pass through, so they weren't all that mystified when a party of them walked through the door. With my best smile for the barmaid, we went on past and headed straight for the stairs. If any of them thought this odd, they didn't let on.

    When we reached the top of the stairs, the atmosphere changed, somehow. The place felt eerie and abandoned. The music and laughter drifted up from downstairs, but it might as well have been coming from Sembia for how distant it seemed. The floors creaked under the weight of our feet, only Tatyana and Meadow avoiding such, and I quietly asked for a headcount.

    With all of us gathered, Isolde suggested playing the orbs right there in the hallway. It seemed a good idea to me. Luring Janna into the hallway certainly felt less aggressive than the idea of showing up at her door all at once. I told her to try it, and she placed an orb into the device Tatyana had put together.

    Meadow pointed towards a door to let us know where Janna was hiding. I motioned for Isolde to stand by it and had the rest fan out to seem less menacing. Perom was being his oblivious self and opened a door at random. I barely had time to snap at him to stop loitering or Mako came wandering up the stairs, ushered by a Scout and magic map in hand. I told her to be as unthreatening as she could be, a tall order for a woman like her, since we were trying for a peaceful solution. Ever professional, she didn't even ask questions. Perom cracked wise about her coming to eat Janna, and I caught the blank look Meadow gave him. She, too, was thinking about the Icelace. Or perhaps some place he'd never be found.

    Isolde explained what the first orb would contain, and turned the key at my nod. Jonny made sure everyone was spread far enough to allow Janna an exit if she wanted to flee, which was good thinking on his part. The device crackled to life, playing the sound of a memory. The voices of Yuran and Janna, Yuran giving Janna the device so she needn't be lonely while he was working.

    The floorboards started creaking, like some great beast was walking on them. The music downstairs was didn't stop, but it somehow seemed even more distant than before. Isolde gave me a nervous glance, and I could see her stiffen. I admit my heart was pounding in my throat, but this confrontation had to happen at some point. Keeping a straight face, I just nodded for her to continue. The rest dealt with their nerves in their way. Perom sat eating nuts, Jonny had lit his pipe. I saw Mako trying to meditate, though her blood had to be screaming to fight at that point. Tatyana had her ear pressed against the wall in Janna's adjacent room. Only Nuwairah seemed at ease. Meadow had obscured herself from view.

    I recognized it. That same pressure that had thrown Perom and me against the wall in the gaol was being exerted on the entire hall. I mentioned it to the rest. Janna was upset, alright. The creaking of the floorboards intensified, like a ship's mast before the gale, until a board splintered. Isolde kept holding out the device to play, and I noticed Mako drinking a Mind Blank. Tatyana poked her head into the hallway to mime that she heard her crying. I softly told the rest to hold on a bit longer, that it shouldn't be rushed. Janna definitely knew who was waiting for her.

    Just as I finished those words, the pressure on the hallway faded, and so did the groaning. Instead, one of the banners hanging from the wall snapped off and flew at me, damn near pinning my shoulder to the wall. As I groaned from the hit, the creaking returned. More furious. More direct.
    Nuwairah steadied the rest as Janna appeared at the end of the hall, understanding I was still dealing with my shoulder. Eyes full of fury, her presence seemingly bending the reality of the hall around her, my instinct was to square up with her, but I managed to stop myself.

    Isolde loaded a second orb, asking Janna if she'd forgotten why her brother had made the choices he had, as the sound of more memories flooded the hallway. Janna, who'd just looked entirely intent on ending us all, faltered. The pressure on the hall became wild rather than directed, making the remaining banners flap as though a storm was raging indoors. Janna held her head in her hands and begged Isolde to stop. Isolde instead pressed on, telling Janna to focus on the memory being played out. Janna cried out. She'd left the orbs behind because it hurt too much.

    As Jonny asked if he might just speak to her, she yelled for them to stop. Another banner came loose, but again it was hurled at me, not them. As Janna kept babbling and screaming, apologizing to her brother, telling him it would be okay, I decided not to speak. If she really had it in for me, this wasn't the time. Jonny motioned for Isolde to stop playing the orb. She did, and gently told Janna that her brother would forgive her, but that he would not want her to do this.

    Mako, meanwhile, had kept herself calm by folding a piece of parchment into this beautiful little bird. I was amazed at the tender care that must've gone into the folding as she floated it down the hall and had it land in front of Janna. Janna had fallen to her knees wordlessly as Isolde spoke, but when she saw the bird, she finally seemed to wake up again. She yelled that he was gone, and it was just her, over and over again.

    And then the world shifted.

    In the blink of an eye, we were... elsewhere. At first glance, it seemed some manner of dungeon. The place did not seem real. There were no real light sources, the light just was. There was no sound save our own voices and the ticking of gears. It also felt uncomfortably humid for some reason. Janna stood on a raised pedestal, turned away from us. Isolde tried to convince Janna that Yuran wasn't lost. That souls live on. That they might yet see one another again if she did not damn hers to a different fate.

    Janna did not seem to take it in. She just asked that all important question. Why? The Far Scouts simply wanted her dead. Why were we trying to help her? She who always got everyone hurt.

    Isolde's answered first. She'd promised Sam. Sam who'd convinced her that those involved with Arcter really only wanted to save Peltarch. She'd tried to approach them all with that in mind, and have them return to the city. She believed Janna was good, too, and didn't enjoy causing all that hurt.
    Despite realizing we were in her mind, and I likely couldn't stop any amount of pain she'd throw my way, I chanced her ire. Walking slowly into her peripheral vision, I admitted to her what I'd not spoken outright before. That I felt I'd failed Yuran, and the least I could do was to try and not fail her, too.
    Mako knew the desire for vengeance well, and how futile it was. She felt it never really went away, but could be manageable. A lesson she wished the girl could learn.
    Jonny spoke of having lost his parents, and the pain it brought. A pain that drives him to care for others.

    That last got a reaction, if a dismissive one. She turned to face us, at least. As she did so, Isolde continued. That it was mainly Arcter who'd wanted a different approach, but that she believed even he acted from a desire to do something good. Janna stammered, confused. Then vanished.

    Tatyana wondered out loud if the Far Scouts had gotten to her, but Isolde and I both said that we likely would've woken in het hall if they had.
    Nuwairah spoke of needing to get back, and just like that, Meadow vanished. Half a second later, so did Tatyana. They managed to escape Janna's mind. On the one hand, I could've used them there. On the other, it wouldn't hurt to have someone aware of the physical world. I just hoped they'd afford us enough time to fix things.

    Janna's disembodied voice echoed from all around.
    "I guess some of you are less... determined... I don't blame you."

    Mako asked if we should be trying to fix the problem or just escape and see what happens, but I felt to my core that this was our one chance to see this right. If we left now, Janna would die, one way or the other. I told the others I was staying, that I would do right by her and her brother.

    Again her voice.
    "Even after all of this?"

    Isolde spoke to her, a plea to not let it end in blood again, but I did not get the feeling Janna was out for our blood at that point. It might not be safe for us in her mind, but I felt part of her wanted us to follow, to know her side of the story. I headed farther into the room and found a door. Whistling to get everyone's attention, I said I was going deeper. Nuwairah offered to come along even before I finished the sentence that the rest could stay, come or escape as they wished.

    The young man dips the quill into his ink jar, but it comes up empty. Slumping his shoulders, he just looks at the thing with an exasperated sigh.

    Annoyed grumbles come from the window at his own negligence as he gets to his feet and heads out the door.


  • The young man sits back at his writing desk, another few hours since the last session.
    The table is cleared of his mug and plate, affording him no more distractions, and the candle has been replaced again to ensure he needn't replace it halfway through writing.

    Throughout his writing, he often sits back in his chair, running his hand through his hair and staring at the page, gathering his thoughts. The things that happened having had a deeper effect on him that he'd imagined.

    Then came the third encounter. For me, at least. Jonny and Isolde had an encounter of their own with Janna, though indirectly.

    Jonny and Isolde had been back to Sam's cell and had seen visions. Possibly the lingering effect of a psionic that strong and a hatred that unbridled. Isolde felt it tied in with whatever cult Cormac had fallen in with. I didn't dismiss the possibility, though I'd seen no proof of it yet. Maybe if next time Janna would wear a skull mask. Regardless, both Jonny and Isolde believed, had seen there was something there, something not entirely her.

    The third encounter wasn't exactly planned to happen there and then. Nor did I plan to live the pain Janna went through.

    The plan was to go to Kront, to visit her family farm and see if we could learn more to help calm Janna down. I'd only thought of bringing a few heads just in case, and by Tymora's blessing, all those I wished to bring appeared unbidden. Jonny because his schooling in Selune's faith might prove instrumental with a deteriorating Janna. Tatyana because she would be invaluable if we'd encounter another Weave Bomb. Isolde because she has a way of piecing things together, and knew Janna's dreadful experiences well. Perom because he was in deeper than even I was. Nuwairah was a new face, but being an inquisitor to the city in the past, it felt a solid decision to bring her along. Both for her capabilities and possible clout if it came down to it.

    Everyone got their gear in order and said their prayers while we discussed what we might need. The orbs holding the recordings of Janna and Yurei and the metallic rod that plays them might prove useful if we did encounter Janna, so it was down to the armory and take them off the Ceruleans' hands, for the time being. Dealing with the armory is a waste of time at the best of times, so by the time we were through the door, Meadow had gotten my message and joined the group. As we were let into the armory, I reminded them all to not touch anything aside from what we were taking out. Why do people always feel the need to "just look" with their hands?

    Between remarks of shining metal rods with large crystal balls and ribbing Perom about the top secret stash of Defender Pie, Tatyana set to breaking apart the metal rod and turning it into something portable, instead of something that needed to be carted around. Meanwhile I was stuck filling out all the forms for taking it out. And it's a lot of damn forms.

    By the time I got back, everyone was ready and the rod deconstructed. Isolde pointed out we'd best hurry, since some Far Scouts might already be hunting her. Ordinarily, I'm not a fan of loose lips, but whichever Defender let that bit of information slip is getting a drink on me when I find him.
    The Far Scouts, though? I guess someone reading my reports decided Janna was too dangerous to risk us being too late. Mildly surprised anyone reads those things.

    Knowing that she was hunted meant we had to go fast, so I decided no boat ride this time. I'd have rode hard down the pass, but not all of us had horses. Still, Meadow on foot is a match for a horse at slow trot, no matter what she says, and we still made better time than boating or walking. I need to remember to take some classes at driving cattle, in the future. Rounding them all up and keeping them together -is- as hard as Isolde said.

    Heading farther than Norwick was by caravan. Despite that our smaller group might have gone faster than trundling along, the delay from having to fight our way there was one we could ill afford. Not to mention the state we'd be in. No discount for large groups, however.

    Arriving in Kront, we'd devised the plan for asking about the Eiora farm, since "Kront" was as far as Sam had narrowed it down to Isolde. We didn't really manage to discuss that long, however, as we soon caught sight of several Far Scouts roaming around the place. Not nearly as subtle as they normally would be. Turns out they were in a hurry, too. I figured Coyote would be among them, so I went to find a Scout to talk to even as I told the others to keep looking for anyone who knew the Eioras. Tatyana was kind enough to point out the nearest one. Good set of eyes on her.

    The Scout wasn't happy to see us, giving us lip as I approached. He knew well enough who I was, though, so he called for Coyote once I properly told him how and where to shove it. The others remarked that it might be a set up, or that the Scout would just bail and ditch us, but I had faith that Coyote would see reason. He's the type that doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, but he'd let someone else get their nose bloodied, if he can help it. Lo and behold, he did show.

    More ribbing. Asking if we were there to try the non lethal options. It amused me how both Meadow and Nuwairah were quick to mention all deserve a fair trial at practically the same time. I did agree with that. I'd much rather see her in front of Shannon than disappearing, even if it meant a hanging.
    Isolde's words struck closer to home, however. Talk her off a ledge that would see to the destruction of both herself and many others, if she set off the bomb. Jonny asked what the harm would be in letting us go first.

    Coyote didn't seem impressed by either. He scoffed at Jonny's implication that we were first. I managed to refrain from pointing out that if he desperately wanted to claim they got there first, it meant they were faffing about ineffectually long enough for us to catch up. Then he mocked the idea of blowing up what amounted to a patch of grass. This particularly seemed to rub Nuwairah the wrong way. I honestly hadn't expected that.

    He wasn't listening to smooth talk, so I simply pointed out the lot of us gathered there had every skill to bring her in, implying that we would proceed that way regardless of what we encountered.
    He seemed to understand, trying to smooth things over by saying he wasn't just being an asshole, but that the Crown had ordered her death. Still, he'd let us make the attempt. I'm not certain if it was only because he did not have enough on hand to stop us. Isolde finely pointed out he could swoop in and take the win if we failed. Just to annoy him, I asked him to come drag me out if she killed me.

    I asked him for more intel, specifically which farm it was, but she wasn't there. She was in the town proper, but they hadn't found her yet.

    Plenty of suggestions on how to act next. Isolde wanted to get her away from the town, towards the farm, to avoid hostages. Tatyana suggested making enough noise to draw her out and have her follow. Perom promptly started screaming. Tatyana pointed out she did not mean literal noise, and Isolde congratulated on his strategical mind. I just told him to shut it and stared him down. My patience was thin and the last thing I wanted was a repeat of last time.

    Meadow suggested she could trace Janna if we had something of hers, so I tapped Isolde to hand over one of the orbs. As Meadow scried through some cloak of hers, we ran over the idea of drawing her out. In essence, I would've preferred it, and I liked the idea of playing all the orbs for her there to cause an emotional overload, but even if we managed to find Janna through the scry, we still didn't know where the farm was, and looking for it would cost us time we did not have. The Scouts might still kill her if she came out of hiding, and would definitely kill her if we took too long. And I preferred having the element of surprise.

    That, however, turned out to be a moot point. Meadow's scry revealed she was in the tavern, moving to hide in a room upstairs, exhausted, nervous and knowing full well she was being hunted.
    I looked to Isolde and Jonny, asking them if they were ready for this. I might have been the one who'd sank his teeth into fixing this the most, but it was their smooth talking I was relying on. Jonny suggested changing to his robes since he would look less aggressive, and it rang true. I told him to go for it and told the others to remove their armor and helmets as well, and to not touch their weapons.
    The last thing I wanted was for her to feel even more threatened. The only one I told to skulk around was Meadow, knowing she'd do the needful if it all went sideways. The order was, of course, superfluous.

    By that time, we had reached the inn. Perom wanted to kick the door down, so I yanked him back by his collar under a chorus of no's from the rest. We'd go in like normal customers, we wouldn't stop the music, and we wouldn't clear out the commoners. Nothing to set her on edge. Tatyana told a little girl to run on home, but I let that one slide. No reason to drag a child into this. Nuwairah reminded me of my Defender cloak, and while I appreciated it, Janna knew my face well enough. Plus, it protects the mind some, which I thought useful at the time.

    Some prayers, people giving their readies. I remember a good luck from Nuwairah and grinning back, saying "always". I also remember fervently praying that that wasn't a bluff on my part as we headed in.

    The young man puts his quill down and rolls his head around with a groan, stretching his neck. By now, the first light of dawn is seeping through the window. He pushes himself away from the desk once more and gets to his feet.

    The room feels stuffy, by now. And so does he. Disheveled. He grabs his pack from the ground and heads out the door, unarmed for a change.


  • The young man is back in his apartment. The candles have been replaced, but the fire is still banked. On the desk now stands a mug of warm wine, and next to that a piece of pie on a plate, picked up on his way back from the armory. No more than an hour or two will have passed since his last writing session. He hasn't bothered removing his swordbelt or even his jacket, planning on more pauses as he sets back to writing

    The second encounter was, quite frankly, a shitshow.

    Cormac has been under the effect of some curse or mind games by a cult. I will write of this later as it becomes more clear, but that day he was fighting some manner of duel with a creature that wore likewise outfit and skull mask. When the duel was done and this red eyed skull mask yielded, he disappeared after some words with Cormac and stepped out of my shadow. He said he knew my smell. The scent of a man who was going to die a violent death. I quipped he wasn't wrong, but that it wasn't going to be that day.

    Not long after, as Perom was going on about some theory in regards to the sundial that keeps being destroyed, a mechanical spider came crawling in our direction. At first, I thought it belonged to the woman who'd appeared at the edge of the commons, Tatyana, commenting about how dangerous it is to attract the ire of the sundial mafia, and sending the spider to get a spook out of the gnome, but no.

    It delivered a written message, then exploded once delivered. Given the mechanical nature, I was already on edge, but picking up the slip of paper confirmed it. "Bring the gnome and yourself to Norwick to be executed. Or I blow it up. Love J." I informed Perom I was wrong and it turned out we -were- dying that day, then explained to those present what the note said. None present were exactly raring to go. It's just Norwick, right?

    But I'd been thinking about Yurei's words, doubly so after Sam's death. His unyielding faith in adventurers as the heroes that keep Peltarch and all of Narfell safe. The ideals and beliefs that drove him to these heinous deeds. What if I'd been just a little stronger? A little faster? A little more perceptive? Would I have been able to stop Yurei's death?

    I had started to feel as though I failed Yurei when I faced that Echo in the fever dream. Now his sister was ready to wipe out a town to avenge his death, spitting on everything the brother she loved so well stood for. Not even out of true conviction, but blind rage. If I did not stop her I would fail her, too. Fail Sam. Fail their ideals. Fail Yurei all over again.
    I told Perom we were going and started walking. Big Damn Heroes, right?

    Perom made arrangements with Cormac for him to tell Nancy if we didn't come back. I let any who wished follow, and soon it was Cormac, Perom, Jonny, Tatyana and I marching on down the pass. Meadow had urged me to contact her if I was going to face Janna again, but there was no time. If she turned out to be upset, she'd just have to stab me in the kidneys later. I did spare a moment to quietly wonder if she'd shed a tear if I didn't come back.

    Funny thing. I remember piggybacking Perom through the pass. Normally I'd have told him to shove off and walk or get his pony, but this could've been our last day, you know? I might as well humour him. Tatyana wanted to know what the plan was, so I let her know we were going in through the front door. No duplicity. No intent to harm her. The ideal would be to have her come back voluntarily.
    When I explained why she targeted us and said Arcter had her brother killed, Cormac corrected me. What I'd been told happened wasn't entirely truthful. Apparently, Reemul talked the tin man guarding Yurei into melancholy and that caused it to strike at Yurei. We agreed we'd not implicate Reemul, though it would be interesting to avoid it while also telling no lies. Best to steer clear from it entirely.

    It was in Norwick that we first saw another sign of Janna. Another mechanical spider that led us straight to Town Hall. The chief was waiting outside for us. Apparently, Janna was already inside with Herald D'Cameron and some metal thing.

    It was a bit more dire than the chief made it sound. D'Cameron was indeed held hostage, and her Heavy Metal Hero stood there to stop us from getting to close. Between them, however, was a massive Weave Bomb. As large as a dinner table, glowing softly. Janna was fiddling with it, and she looked like she had not slept since the gaol. Or even changed clothes, still standing there in the Defender armour, now creased and dirty.

    The conversation was more difficult this time. She was on edge. Belligerent. When I said we'd come and there was no need to blow up the town her greeting was a sarcastic retort that she was shocked, and Yurei would've been proud. If we hadn't killed him.

    When I tried again to explain that his death was at the hand of a malfunctioning tin man, she flipped one of two switches and the glow became more intense. Erratic. Then left her hand hovering over the second switch and, chewing on some jerky, asked if we knew what it was.
    When I said I did, she explained why it was called a Weave Bomb. If it was activated it wouldn't just flatten the entire town. It would likely turn the entire crater into a dead magic zone. All she had to do was flip that second switch, and we'd all be meeting our gods. No escape. Her ultimate last move.

    I tried to talk her out of flicking that last switch, but admittedly, it was Cormac that came through. Whatever has gotten into him, his detached calm gained her trust, and she allowed him to come sit on one of the hall's chairs, next to the device. She also did not seem to know him, or his involvement in fighting Arcter, so she likely trusted him more at that point.

    To me, she only spoke of not needing a reason, and how she did not care anymore, as we had taken the only thing she had in her life. That it should have been us, instead. We who were worth nothing.
    Here, Jonny stepped from the shadows and concurred. As I tried to instill the passing nature of grief, he explained that no mortals are of import in the grand scheme of things. Still, each has their life to act and change the future in minor ways. She pondered his words. Then moved to flick the switch, saying he was right and she should probably just end all of us right there.

    I flinched, and she noticed. As I raised my hands to stall her, she gave me a coy look, and that's when I saw. She might not have hated me that first time, but gods know she had grown to do so by then. She wanted me hurt, she wanted to lash out at me, the switch halfway to being flicked.

    Again Cormac, with his strange demeanor, managed to calm her. For a moment, at least. Explaining that he did not think we were even present when Yurei died, but he had been. That he'd seen her in those recordings. Watched her tears, watched the fights. Jonny, too, attempted to soothe her. That he believed us when we said we did not do what she said we did.
    Cormac assured her the men who'd hurt her were all dead.
    Sam, Victor, Arcter, even the Far Scouts Fox and Badger. The ones that truly wronged her.
    But not us two, she said. Why did we get to live?

    There was doubt there, however. An opening as she allowed herself to feel something other than just that hate. And then Perom went and asked "weren't we supposed to be executed?" Like he was in a hurry or something. Face down in the Icelace, I swear. The moment was gone. Janna snarled at him that we would be.

    I tried to remind her of her brother, of the rapier she'd drawn last time, asked if it was his. She seemed happy enough to reminisce. Cormac actually attempted a joke about Yurei, that he wasn't very nimble, given how many nuts ended on the floor when he tossed them and tried to catch them with his mouth. Janna giggled. She actually giggled. Told him Yurei just liked to show off but had no talent for it. And just when it felt like we had an opening again, Perom asked why she was still blaming us if the tin men killed him, and suggested she was really just looking for a surrogate victim. Face down in the Icelace, and maybe I put him there. No jury in existence would convinct me.

    She sobered up at his words and flatly stated she remembered why we were there. The others attempted to calm her still. Jonny tried to have her continue, but she just played around with the switch, musing how her brother's surrender would surely have meant his arrest and likely his death either way. Cormac's words only seemed to harden her now, with her saying she should show no fear in the face of death, then.

    Perom yelled at Cormac to get her. Thankfully he didn't, and I reminded Perom that we promised her no games. She mocked our refusal of underhanded tactics to get her, and hummed in a strange way that felt like a bell ringing inside our minds, forcing us to blurt out a secret, reminding us that we all have them. The ringing got worse, and some blurted out their fears, though I managed to steel myself by then. Seeing our very flawed selves for what they were, she wondered why Yurei looked up to us so much. We were just people.

    But of course we are. Why would heroes not be people? Cormac, showing a glimmer of his old self, insisted that he absolutely was a hero and not just people. Beautiful bastard. The two answers seemed to confuse her, and she moved her hand away from the switch, at least.
    She gave us options as to how things would proceed. But at the very least, it ended with Perom and me quite dead. She no longer had ears for Jonny's words about how the people of Norwick would feel the same grief if she flicked that switch. When I reminded her that she tried to become a Defender, she said that dream was dead. When Cormac spoke of Yurei's willingness to face Peltarch's justice, she just told him to come to her, and stand where she indicated. Kissing him to distract him, she placed his hand against the trigger. If he moved, it would blow. Somewhere during all this, Raazi wandered in, looking very much like a stray cat.

    In the end, Janna decided she did not hate Norwick and wouldn't destroy it, nor any of the others. Just us two. And Peltarch, claiming their justice was hollow and meaningless. If we decided to fight, of course, Norwick might still go up in flames. After this, she sliced the air open again and left, leaving her Heavy Metal Hero to kill Perom and me. The construct started to play a song from somewhere inside its gears and set to its task. I think it was the same thing Janna had been humming as she carved Perom's pike. Thankfully, Jonny and Raazi joined in the fight, knowing full well they would become targets.

    As we fought, Tatyana went to deactivate the bomb. I'd barely known her an hour, and I already have my life to thank her for. Once deactivated, Cormac was free to join the fight, and so was she. The damn thing did not have the blue shield the others had, but it was so unbelievably tough. Only our hardest swings seem to scratch it. The elements touched it, yes, but it was slow going. Raazi, for all her flaws, proved instrumental. That same damn spell that left me hanging a useless statue from the wall of the Fish Fort saved all our lives, I'm certain of it. The reprieve of being able to wail on the HMH while it could not move. Even so, it broke its own stone prison several times before finally succumbing. In the end, it tried to reactivate the bomb and take us all with it, but Tatyana had turned it into a dud well and good.

    It died with only an apology to its creator.

    When all this was over, I lost my patience. Had Jonny not been so convinced that she could still be talked to, I would have gone for the throat the next time I saw her. Tatyana concurred with Jonny. Even Cormac thought it should be me, though, despite her hatred. Possibly because of it. He also made a point of me writing down that she'd kissed him. Some things never change.

    I guessed it didn't matter. I might as well give it one more try. Isolde had told me there might be more answers at their family farm in Kront, so that was our heading.
    It took some time to gather all my little ducks, though.

    The young man takes a deep breath and sighs. Pushing himself from his desk once more, he stretches legs and arms before snuffing the candles and heading out the door once more.


  • The familiar scene has changed little. Fresh offerings have been made before the lares, candles burn to light the desk and the pedestal. A log burns brightly in the fireplace. The young man's skull helmet seems to have been replaced. Perhaps more interesting, however, is the unusual addition to the stand with prized halberds. Hanging from the side in a brand new leather scabbard is and old and worn rapier. Exquisitely made, but one can see the passage of years on the scuffed and tarnished rings and quillons. No effort has been made to polish it, aside from the wire grip replaced for functionality, as though it is meant to remain in that state.

    The young man sits at his desk. On one end of the desk lies an official report, ready to go into the Defender archives, containing purely what happened. In front of him, the much longer and far harder task of putting his thoughts to paper.

    And so the issue with Janna reared its ugly head. Shame it wears such a pretty face.
    No, that is uncalled for. I feel for that girl, and I feel for her brother. I cannot help but wonder if I could have avoided this tragedy, somehow.
    This will be an extensive entry, which I will do in several goes.

    The first thing to happen was what I thought was a Defender passing me by in the commons, then swiveling to ask for directions. A safe route to Norwick. The woman had recruit written all over her. Shining armor and completely unweathered tabard, wearing her helmet even outside of combat, and a map that didn't have a single crease. And who doesn't know the safe route to Norwick?
    She was very insistent about looking me in the eye from behind her visor, and it made me feel sick to my stomach, but I didn't question it at the time. Nothing happened and she moved on.

    Rey thought it a strange question, since there was no active duty that far south, but I didn't think much of it. I couldn't think clearly at all. I was present in the Commons and took part in the conversations, but I didn't really snap out of it until I heard some Seafarer mutter about being unable to see about a prisoner. This struck me as too odd, so I asked what happened, and he claimed the gaol was sealed tight, and no one was answering the knocking.

    Cormac had gone south to pay Victor a visit, Raazi in tow, so it was just me and Perom as we went to see about the gaol. The Seafarer had been right. Since the whole thing was locked down, I started banging on the door, with no response. Perom went to find Rey. As I listened at the door, I heard a scuffle inside. I couldn't get the lock to turn, and Perom came back empty handed, so I just blew out the lock with a blunderbuss charge. Not exactly subtle, but speed was of the essence.

    Inside we found an unconscious and heavily wounded guardswoman, along with an eerily quiet gaol. I managed to stop the worst of the bleeding. She wouldn't die, but I had to leave her there. As we rounded the corner, I noted Sam's cell was empty and got a sinking feeling. Deeper still, all the other inmates were cowed into silence, and no other guards were around.

    It was at the end of the hall that we saw her. The Defender from earlier, talking to Sam's decapitated head on a pike. I didn't need her to take her helmet off and turn around to realize it was Yurei's sister. Who else would go through this trouble to get to Sam?

    At first she was dismissive. Seeing me as just "the soldier that withstood her whispers". It didn't get dangerous for us until she learned who Perom was. The gnome that stopped Sam. The gnome that got the ball rolling. The gnome, she felt, was the reason her brother is dead. I tried to bullshit our way out of it and talk her down, of course I did, but it turns I'm more capable at talking myself into trouble. Mentioning Yurei's real name, Yuran, was a mistake.

    She picked both of us off the ground with this psionic gift of hers and slammed us into the wall, wondering what to do with us. Now, if my tongue gets me in trouble, Perom's tongue is bound to get him floating face down in the Icelace at some point. Demanding that she cease her evil as though he was in a position to negotiate, she slammed him into the wall again for good measure.

    She pointed out that if Perom had just shut up, her brother would still be alive. For him, she pointed out, there was a spot right next to Sam. Me? I was just a cog in the machine, which was enough reason to kill me, but she didn't hate me. How things have changed since that first meeting. I'll probably end up floating right next to Perom.

    She went off to a nearby room to prepare another pike, humming this disturbing tune. Perom and I were still stuck, pressed against the wall. Neither of us had the training or tools to really overcome this, and Perom just started shouting for help. Thank Tymora, the guardswoman whose wounds I'd tended came to and found us. Heavily wounded and dazed, she'd probably die just from Janna's withering stare, so I told her to get reinforcements instead of helping us. We only had to play for time.

    Perom tried begging when Janna returned, but that didn't work. The fact that we were only trying to stop Arcter did not interest her, nor did the fact that it was one of their own creations that did it. To her mind, it all revolved around Perom spilling the beans. The only thing that really gave her pause was talk of her brother. Of his goals and ideals, the things he wanted for the city and for the pair of them.
    She cared nothing for Peltarch or its citizens anymore, or the others involved in this. We would all die at the hands of her 'Heavy Metal Hero' or the Weave Bombs.

    What did seem to strike a chord, however, was reminding her that everything she was doing mattered. That despite her brother's death, all her choices still had meaning. The pressure she put on my chest then, I thought I was going to suffocate well before she got the chance to cut my head off.
    When Perom spoke of the child he'd lost, you could almost see actual compassion in her eyes.
    Regardless, she turned and drew an old rapier. Her brother's. She spoke of their old farm. She realized Yuran would fear what she'd become. But in the end, she raised her sword and moved towards Perom.

    She was stalled only by the sound of heavy boots coming down the corridor. She mumbled something about Yurei not reaching her in time and needing to tweak him, likely her 'Heavy Metal Hero'.
    I implored her not to fight. To surrender. That we'd help her. She knew, and she wished she could, but said she couldn't let go of the hate. Slicing the air open with a wand as though it was a dagger, she stepped through some manner of portal. Her last words were her begging us to just die.

    As she disappeared, we were released from whatever pressed us against the wall. Thanking the Captain and reinforcements, Perom and I cleared out. I rode hard to Norwick to find out Victor's fate and learned Cormac had executed him in his cell, after which I related the news of Janna's actions to the rest.
    That was day one.

    The young man pushes himself away from his desk and puts his leather jacket on, killing and banking the fire after. Putting his sword belt on and picking up one of the halberds, he goes for the door and heads out the apartment, into the cold Peltarch night. A fresh breath of air would clear his head some.


  • A warm light shines into the street from an unshuttered window. Inside is the young man walking around in nothing but his braies despite the cold outside. A single log burns low in a small fireplace. He rummages through his pack on the bed to find some fresh fruit, and a packet of tobacco. He doesn't smoke, but sailors say it makes a good offering. He then moves to the small altar set on his desk that finally carries the lares again and he reverently places both fruit and tobacco in a silver bowl before them with a relieved smile, as he gives thanks to each of the deities for the hand they've had in his life, and asks them for guidance.

    The room looks clean. New. One of the many built in the reconstruction efforts of the docks. Not exactly spacious, not exactly luxurious, but enough for comfort. Duty would likely keep him in the barracks or a ship's hammock often, but this would be a good place to retreat to. He could afford better lodgings, but wouldn't those make him soft?
    On the walls, trophies he took for himself. Pieces of every first time he vanquished some beast or other. Next to the fireplace, a standard for the halberds he wields. Five in total, from elegant to brutal, unassuming to pompous. A wardrobe and a standing mirror against the other wall. On the desk there are also a handful of books he'd happened on in his travels.

    Concluding his prayers, the young man moves to sit at the desk and sets to writing.

    Yurei's threat has not come to pass. No tin men have come to rampage the countryside. With the Handler supposedly dead, things seem quiet. The only loose end is Victor's apprentice. And Victor being left alive in his cell to doodle to his heart's content. At this point, he should just be put down.

    We've no proof, but we believe the apprentice is messing with our minds somehow. A strange, off beer had been spilled in the Peltarch Commons. So strong we were knocked out cold from the scent alone. At least, that's what the priestess who'd tended to us had told us. If it were that simple, however, why did we all share the same fever dream?

    Victor appearing, taller than any man, talking insanity, in a quite childlike manner. I came to in a snow filled landscape, entirely disoriented, the others seemed to have been there a short while already. Most of those present I'd seen in the Commons. Thau somehow managed to get caught up in it, too. As did Meadow. She seemed right annoyed and even a bit out of her depth. The ghost of what appeared to be Yurei was speaking cryptically to us, filled with regret and worry as he guided us. Victor appeared, angry that we cheated by finding a guide, but it didn't matter, because his creation was coming to eat us.

    Yurei then led us to a 'friend'. I remember the awe I felt as we came upon a thirty foot tall warmachine, far more impressive than the ones used by Arcter, the Handler, before. A series of glowing lights were nearby, and after some curious attempts at making them do anything at all, we realized each light controlled one of the warmachine's limbs if one stood in them. Eventually we divided the tasks, with Isolde and I claiming the left and right legs, Toisin on the left hand and Meadow on the right. Reemul took the head.

    Victor appeared again, erratic and angry and he mewled like a child that we were cheating again, disappearing when we mocked him and tried to kick at him as the warmachine. Not long after, Victor's creation appeared. If the warmachine was tall, the beast was taller. All patched together and decaying flesh, like one of Victor's side projects.
    And so the fight was on, each of us trying to work in tandem with our movements, but it was easier said and done, as each had their own idea or orders, and we were uncertain of the thing's range and speed.

    As we struggled to control the thing properly, an absolute madman with a scythe, Nico, I think, went toe to toe with the monstrosity on foot. He even managed to take out one of the beast's eyes. It took some doing and flailing, but we eventually took Meadow's lead, being the better unarmed fighter. Between a few more hiccups that caused us to miss or the warmachine to take a few unnecessary blows, we managed to give the beast a thrashing and grab on to him to hold it still for Reemul to deliver a killing blow.

    The beast was brought low, to Victor's chagrin, Reemul's well timed blasts of energy nearly ripping through it. The rest did a victory dance, but I was honestly a bit annoyed it took us that long and that much effort to work together. I'll admit to my part in that. Then as Isolde tried to have the machine kick at Victor and Meadow tried to have the machine grab him, the machine malfunctioned. Victor mocked us, saying that none of it was real anyway.

    And then everything changed, as dreams do, and we were in the Peltarch theatre, on stage, being asked by some apparition if we remembered the taste of the ashes in our mouths, the ashes of all things the Black General burned. It came to fight us with fire elementals in tow, lighting up the stage, and raved on about the deaths we could have prevented if only we had been stronger. It struck a nerve. With me, at least. How could it not? It was trying to overwhelm me with blows, failing but accusing, ignoring the others wailing on it, as if hammering in that message was more important than the kill. Eventually, it died.

    Again the dream shifted, and we stood outside Norwick's town hall, soon accosted by another apparition, and a small army of shadows. Dreams take absurd turns, at times, and Perom walked away from the fight to have himself a sandwich as we were fighting for dear life. This apparition also raved on, accusing us of the death we'd dealt, the lives we'd snuffed out, the revenge it wanted, and that it was waiting for us in the Hells. This one focused its barrage on Meadow, equally futile as her small frame somehow always managed to not be where the shadow struck.

    When it died, we saw the ghost of Yurei again. Wondering why we kept Victor alive in the first place. Wondering out loud if war was really coming. Wondering what it was like. And with that, the dream ended. We woke up in the Lighthouse temple and were given our explanation by the priestess of Lathander. Strange days.

    Some days after, we confronted Victor on this. The madman seemed to find it all quite hilarious. He believes his apprentice is behind this. He theorized a good deal about the connecting of minds, in a technique that approximates psionics, but isn't quite. It would allow for more complexity in what a mind could control, with the creator of the link slowly enslaving the minds under the link.

    Our only hint at finding the apprentice was a list he provided that held the components of an explosive device. One has already been constructed, but none know its current location. The Handler had it, but he's dead. I'll have to secure that list for the city later, but the first step was Isolde's idea to track the rarest ingredients and see who bought or ordered those. Here is where I had to leave, as duty called.

    Eventually this search lead them to Yurei buying one of the ingredients, as well as one other person. A young woman that looked just like him. Yurei being a Peltarch resident, they went to look in the city's archives for this sister. Janna, it turns out. The woman had tried out to become a Defender years ago, but an "incident" cut her probationary period short. Being hard pressed in one test, she'd caused a man to faint, and bleed from eyes, nose, ears and mouth. The sergeant at the time believed it to be magic, but in light of everything else, including our dream, it's likely more akin to psionics.

    Finding Yurei's apartment in the Bottleneck, they found orbs that stored memories. Yurei being highly protective of and caring for his sister, truly believing in his cause. The Handler was there, though he did not share their sympathies. He would've killed us long ago, rather than take time to speak to us or try convince us. He likely believed killing Yurei would work in his favour. He'll not find out now, but that leaves us with the sister. I'm not sure if I should be glad she seems to have disappeared for now.

    The power to make a dozen hardened adventurers hallucinate at the same time, the ability to create these warmachines, and quite probably heartbroken and mad with grief over the loss of her brother.
    I'd rather be hunting someone like Victor.

    He leaves the paper on the desk as he rises, letting the ink set in its own pace. He moves to shutter the windows, then turns backs to kill the fire on the log and bank it. Snuffing out the final candle by the side of the bed, he falls into it backwards and heaves a sigh. Finally his own damn bed again.


  • Out on the Icelace a solitary ship sails south, pressed on by a strong wind, though not being lashed by the rains today. The sun sinks low on the horizon, still fairly early at this time of year. Men hurry around the deck, seeing to their various tasks at the bawling of their officers.

    Below decks, one group is taking their dinner, the young man among them. The two hour slot allows them some spare time, and while the others are talking and boasting about what they will do once they make it back to port, he is once again staring at a paper in front of him. The writing is slow going, lost in thought as he is, but he manages to at least write something as the dog watch passes by.

    'I'm not a nice person, George'

    I suppose that is about the only warning I will receive. I didn't heed it. I understood it, but it wasn't news to me. Why would it even matter? What makes a person nice? Do I get to claim being a nice person? Asha seems to think so. Sebrienne, too. Perom and Milo. I suspect others as well. At the end of the day, however, I used to walk onto battlefields to kill men and women for no other reason than that I was being paid to.

    Others understand the implications better. Cormac, with eyes that have seen too much. Rey. Ravos. Reemul. No, I doubt any of us could really claim the title nice. Personable, in some cases. A riot in others. Stalwart. Nice would be a stretch. None of that makes them worse company, however. Hells, I often find it easier to deal with those who are at least a little jaded.

    More was said, of course. Words I know well. Words I've heard before. Hells, words I've spoken myself.
    A certain amount of detachment comes with the territory.
    Like many of us, I made that mistake at the beginning. I was so quick to make friends with the other greenhorns. Talking and laughing, telling stories of home, of dreams and plans. None of us really understood why the veterans scoffed and laughed. They told us plainly, but it doesn't really hit home, at first.

    You're young. Fresh faced and bright eyed. You're embarked for high adventure on far, foreign shores. You will earn a king's ransom within a year, become an officer in three. You will see the wonders of the world, and conquer the greatest of cities. And you will defy the odds. Your equally fresh faced new friends will be right there with you, and that particularly bright eyed lass with the estoc that's ending up in your tent tonight is going to retire alongside you in five.

    No, the warnings don't hit home. One battle in, the first of those fresh faces is shattered beyond recognition, another never seen again. Those still breathing are covered in soot, grime and blood.
    One year in, you're still headed for a pauper's funeral. Half your friends already made it there. Not a single face is fresh anymore. Three years in, you find those bright eyes staring emptily at the sky.
    Five years in, you barely remember their voices or faces as you march with the handful that made it. There is a sort of bond there. Trust, reliance, camaraderie, companionship. It never goes past the surface. You think you know what the veterans meant, but not quite yet. That final click doesn't happen until you see a batch of new recruits, and you see that dumb bastard that looks, talks and acts like you.

    I dwell in different circles now. The pauper's funeral certainly won't be true. Compared to those days of slogging through the mud or sailing on the gale from one war to the next, I'm positively wealthy. I have slowly made friends. Death no longer necessarily means being rolled into a six foot hole and being left behind. These people will fight tooth and nail to drag your lifeless body out and see you returned, and I am starting to feel like I would do the same.
    And yet, this doesn't blind me to the possibility that our luck will run out.
    A certain amount of detachment still comes with the territory.

    Her reasons for it are not completely the same, but I understand enough to fill in the gaps. This land is cold and unforgiving. Neither of us needs a liability or leverage against us.
    Creature comforts, though, those are welcome. Food, drink, a beautiful view. Better company than any give her credit for. A comfortable silence. Simple things in the face of demanding professions. And so we'll keep it simple.

    But damn that Garibaldi for whispering hope into a man's ear.

    Salting the ink, he begins clearing his writing utensils, putting it all back into his seabag. As he does so, his hand brushes past a small wooden box. Undecorated and unassuming, one wouldn't expect it to hold anything precious, but the young man opts to put it in his beltpouch before heading out onto the deck.


  • A dull, gray sky once more hangs over the city. There is no rain or snow, but the comfort of the sun is equally absent. Luckily, the winds are soft, unable to cut at the skin of those dressed thick enough.

    The city docks are bustling with activity, as always. Hawkers peddle their wares, proclaiming that their particular stash of needles will last a lifetime, or their fishbone cut into utensils of all kinds will never break. Fishermen claiming the freshest catch of the day. Others offering hot food and hot broth from their stalls and carts, without the need to head into the inns and waste time.

    These last specifically eye a group of marines by the moored city vessels. Off duty but not on leave, they might be inclined to walk over for a bite or a drink in between their talks, games of dice and attempts at skipping stones off the dock waters.

    One such marine sits on the pier with his back against a post, writing even as he speaks to his mates and watches the game of dice.

    There have been some developments on the subject of Laurent, but I feel like I'm constantly running behind on the facts.
    Maybe we all are. We are most definitely being toyed with, but who is playing?
    This time, I got snapped up alongside Thau after Marty noticed a crowd at the estate. Heading there, they were already headed south, to the crypts of Norwick and below. Laurent was supposed to have a hideout somewhere deep beneath Spellweaver.

    The way there was uneventful until we made it to the crypt from where we wanted to see if we could find a way through, into the hideout. Outside, the undead were out in unusually great numbers, but nothing we could not deal with.

    Inside the crypt, what we faced was not unusual until we reached the northwestern room. Here, skeletons started pouring out of the room the moment we touched the door. Numbers upon numbers, with Cormac, Thau and I just plugging the doorway and trying to cut them all down. No end was coming, however, and soon the skeletons became Burned, filling the doorway with flame and heat. Something in that room kept raising them.

    As Thau and Cormac kept pushing against the endless tide, I took cover from the heat behind Cormac's shield and managed to slip into the room. Throwing caution to the wind, I shouldered past the skeletons there and hooked my halberd behind a brazier's leg, tipping it over. It seemed a surprisingly simple way to deal with it.
    The undead stopped coming, but Aoth was the one to deal with the flames as I kept batting at my smoldering cloak. She killed the searing heat, and then it was down to Ros' capable eyes and hands to find a door, and make sure it was clear of traps.

    Through the door and heading deeper, it started to feel very much like it had when chasing the illithid. Wandering the corridors, being accosted by undead and shades in great numbers. Things that couldn't be ignored, -had- to be dealt with before moving on, but nothing that had any real chance of killing us. Then looking for the next hidden door, the next trap on it, ever deeper, ever closer, but at the cost of precious time.
    Reemul found his way down there to us. With him added to our living, breathing Blade Barrier, nothing could stop us.
    I cannot say how many creatures fell as we cleaved a path, but the numbers alone should warrant a poem.
    Rey quipped there was just no fun in facing down shadows as we stood shoulder to shoulder. Hacking through these strange, malevolent beings that felt like swinging at air and took no real skill, I couldn't agree more.
    All the while, we had Laurent talking to us, saying he'd given up on trying to change our minds, that he no longer felt he could get through to us. When he called us fools and idiots, it did not feel like a taunt. It felt like a man that actually lost patience and had given up.

    Eventually we found him and his laboratory. Or rather, a Shade through which he spoke to us. As always, we were just one step behind. He spoke his frustrations yet again, but as Aoth was trying to reason, and I was trying to listen, others kept taunting until he snapped and attacked. Summoning yet more shadows to his aid, he came full tilt at Isolde and Rey, the subjects of his ire. It was the first time he actually seemed out for blood.

    The Shade was stronger than the shadows, that much is certain, but eventually we got it. We could only break its bracelet after we killed it, its form making it impossible to discern it earlier. Laurent wanted to avoid a repeat of what happened with the Archon, after all. We gathered what we could from his laboratory that might indicate anything about his plans, and plenty of spoils to go around. I can't shake the feeling of an empty victory, however.

    I keep finding myself wanting to hear what he has to say, though Isolde insists it will all just be lies. I've been more than willing to rock the slaver's boat, a point where Thau and I saw eye to eye, but something doesn't add up. We could easily have been killed by now if that was his goal.

    We headed back to the Royal Estate, bumping into some woman named Motley, who was there to pay us for the service. Reemul made a point of saying he hadn't been properly paid yet, which seemed to amuse Motley to no end. In part because of the way he said it, in part because it would cause trouble for her supervisor, Danson, which she hoped would provide her with opportunities. Cutthroat little businesswoman. Sebrienne fell asleep where she sat as she'd spent herself completely on those shades. Cormac had to carry her back.

    When we finally made the estate and the others got to their wines, I brought one to Isolde, sitting at a separate table to index all we'd found. I wanted her to go over it all again with me from the top, but before we got to that, Motley was already there and started getting catty with her. Or maybe Isolde was getting catty with Motley. Eventually, Motley quipped at my expense, if good naturedly, so I gave it right back. This amused her, at least, and she wanted to know my story. Isolde dished up the one she'd come up with about the gold dragon falling in love with me, assuring her it had been foretold by a fortune teller. Then Motley brought up the glass.

    The glass that came up from the ground. What this whole thing is about. It shows you possibilities. Alternatives. Things that could have been. I'm not entirely certain if these thing actually "are", in some other plane, but apparently alternative versions of us have made it here. She brought it up as though daring me to look. Naturally, I went.

    It was a strange experience. As I focused, I saw different facets of the glass give different pictures. Me with a strange style of dress. Stranger than usual. Me in a blackened, spiked armour, as though a Banite. A woman wearing my exact outfit. Was that me? I look pretty good as a lass. I looked closer at the version of myself wearing a top hat, and he looked back at me, adjusting his hat, and I felt the urge to do the same. No gold dragon, though.

    But I could only focus on one at a time, and only for a time, and when I looked at the others again, the previous images had fled. It was hard to keep focus, and I could not will the glass into showing me a specific alternative. For that, Motley said, I needed a special tool. Not the lens I heard Isolde talking about, another thing entirely. That had to wait for another day, however, as duty called.

    As a parting thought, Motley said I needed to ask myself if I was less afraid of death than I was curious. If yes, I was in good company with the Smiling Monkey. If no, she would have to keep an eye on me. I confessed my curiosity would be the death of me, eventually.

    It certainly felt a whole lot easier when I didn't ask questions, though. And I still have no bloody answers.


  • Another chapter in the fight against the Handler, though I somehow doubt it will be the last.

    A group of us was sitting in the commons. Rey, Cormac, Perom, Isolde and I. Reemul joined us a bit later. Gnarl was there, too and a new face, Ewam, I think. We were discussing any leads we had in regards to the kidnappings and warmachines. We came up so short, some even suggested exploring tangential locations. Thankfully, the guy behind it all has a flair for the dramatic.

    A package was delivered for an unnamed charming but meddlesome adventurer. Eventually, the courier "settled" for me. Rude. Regardless, I received a crystal ball. Quite a hefty one, too. We played around with it for a bit, trying command words, and Isolde trying to be all mystical waving her fingers around, the suggestion of smashing it was raised. It was perfectly clear, and we saw no images, regardless of what we did. No note delivered, either. Eventually, Isolde cast a spell to detect what it did.

    It functioned like a spell crystal. Turns out smashing wasn't the worst idea. Both Cormac and Reemul seemed convinced it was a trap. I didn't disagree, but I felt it worth the risk. The schools of magic it was infused with made it unlikely to do any real harm according to Isolde, but I still gave everyone the chance to back away before I did so. Just because I felt like taking the chance doesn't mean I needed to drag all of them into it. Upon breaking it on the ground, we were treated to a spectacular flash of lightning and smoke, from which a shadowy figure appeared. Our mystery mastermind, supposedly.

    Honestly, he was a strange sort. He'd not come up with a name for himself when we asked him what we should call him, but these things are important for the stories after, so Isolde and I suggested there was still time. He listened to our suggestions and settled on the Handler.
    It was surreal how unconcerned and talkative he was.
    Talkative? More like a prattler. He seemed genuinely pleased to be talking to people he deemed heroes and legends, completely forgetting the point of the message. In the end, it was an invitation, a social call.

    He wanted to meet us in Oscura, which was neutral enough for all parties. In the Brawling Bodak. Isolde and I were rearing to go, while Cormac and Reemul still assumed it was a trap, playing into our egos to leave the city undefended. Isolde made the interesting point that our egos were indeed massive if we believed we were the only thing keeping the city safe. Eventually, we all went, minus Gnarl who had to tend to his store. En route, we scooped up a stray Raazi and Sebrienne, who did not enjoy me calling her by name in Oscura. I'll have to mind that, in the future.

    In the Bodak, we found our man, the supposed Handler. A strange man. About my age, which I didn't expect. He had one of his tin men guarding him as he watched the fights. I stood by the cage to watch the same, though most of my concentration was on the conversation behind me. Raazi sure went all out in watching the fights, though.

    As I watched a man get curb stomped by a minotaur, the Handler asked me if I could beat one of them. Rey seemed offended and argued that, of course I could, I was one of Peltarch's Marines. I wonder if she really has that faith in my abilities or if she wanted to drive home the idea that our forces shouldn't be trifled with. I explained that this minotaur wouldn't be the first. Thank you, Mako. Still, there was always an element of chance in a fight, so you never face an opponent like that lightly.

    I looked back at him, gauging him as he was gauging me. Not just me, however. He was taking stock of all of us. He said that that is what the night was about. Some goading as well. We weren't as tall in the flesh as he remembered. Not as splendid. He used to be a clerk in the city. As far as I could make out, he actually believed the nonsense he told his mooks.
    I mentioned the blue shield his creations had certainly were an advantage, to which he replied that they were not infallible, but that that hiccup was being ironed out. He did not reply when I asked him where he'd gotten the technology.

    Instead, he turned his attention to Isolde and Rey, answering one of their questions. That he wasn't afraid of dying there and then, since the existing warmachines were programmed to wreak havoc on the countryside if he did not regularly postpone this command. Probably a sound call. Whether or not Isolde would try to stop her, Rey would certainly risk a diplomatic row if it meant getting to kill him where he sat.

    Unfortunately I had to leave at that point, as duty called. The rest I learned second hand.

    Rey had apparently almost come to an understanding with the young man, who wasn't the Handler, but an underling named Yurei. He let slip that it was a diversion after all, but not for Peltarch. The Handler was springing Victor from Norwick's gaol. This certainly angered his betters. The actual Handler had the tin man kill him. As he died, chaos broke loose and the Oscuran Peacekeepers hurled themselves at the tin man.

    Reemul took off on horseback, leaving them all in the dust.
    I haven't spoken much of Reemul, have I? Despite that I have travelled often with him by now. Still waters. He's not quite like Meadow or Vick, in that he's far more approachable, quicker to banter and talk. But for all that, he feels as guarded as either of them, just through different means.
    He comes off as calculated and careful one moment, rushing headlong into things on his horse the next. Still, he feels reliable. The sort of companion that will run that horse through Avernus if need be. And I do think his actions have bought time on several occasions.

    The rest of the party ran for Norwick as fast as their legs could carry them and it turns out young Yurei spoke truth. Norwick was swarming with tin men. Lesser models, not quite intelligent and definitely not as strong as other models we'd faced, and more of the usual ones. Three of them down in the null magic of the gaol. Then, as they came up from the gaol and it became obvious the machines were failing, the Handler himself. Completely human, but stronger still than his creations. They lost Cormac to that bastard, and almost Reemul as well, but they eventually managed to kill him. Good and dead. Let us hope he will stay that way.


  • A gentle breeze blows over the cliffs outside the city, rustling through the bare branches of the gnarled, short trees rooted deep and stubbornly in the cracks. Seagull cries can be heard as they float on the wind over their nests. The winter sun stands high and clear, but a windward look reveals a mass of clouds gathering to the north, bringing yet more icy rain and snow to the city.

    At the root of one such tree sits the young man, all in green livery and armour, leaning against the trunk. Snow covers most of the landscape around, but for a space where a hole indicates some sort of explosion, not yet covered by fresh snow. The man's eyes are not on the coming storm, but on the shards of metal strewn across the open ground. Dark spots in the dirt indicate blood has been shed, but whatever died there had either been cleaned or scavenged.

    As he writes, his papers pressed against his legs, his eyes often dart back to the circle to consider his words.

    In my gut, I knew the two Far Scouts were going to be a problem to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Quite this soon, however?

    Even as I asked Meadow's help, I'd started asking more questions among the men, myself. Enough questions to be noticed, but not enough to get told to stow it by the officers. The questions brought no real answers, aside from the possibility of others who might fall to the ideals of the cult, eventually, but the answers weren't important.
    I'd assumed the renegade Scouts would target me, and I could drag them out like that.
    Instead, I was told to find the Scout called Coyote. As it happens, he found me and not a day later. Reemul warned Isolde and I that there was a Scout skulking around our table. Good thing, too. I'd not noticed him.

    I rolled the dice and left the table, moving somewhere secluded. It was either going to be my contact, or my assassin, and I was feeling lucky. Tymora was smiling on me. He was a little paranoid, he had a bolt hit the wooden post next to me from a roof somewhere to prove a point. Like I was the threat to him. I'm just glad it didn't hit my neck. He came to warn me, as he had discovered an assassination being planned and hidden in the pair's MO, flooding the system with paperwork to keep it from being seen, and he knew I'd been asking questions. Their callsigns were Fox and Badger. Either Sam or the three adventurers that thwarted the kidnapping were the target. I could handle it however I wanted, no Scouts would interfere.
    He also hoped we'd have no reason to talk again any time soon. He hated chatty people. Just my luck, right?

    I immediately sent word to Ravos that an assassination attempt might happen in the gaol and likewise left a note for Meadow, then headed back to the Mermaid where exactly the three targets were enjoying the day. Perom, Cormac and Isolde. After warning them, I headed for the barracks to keep Hresh informed of what was happening, at least.

    By the time I got back, the district was already in an uproar. An assassination attempt had been made, and supposedly Rey had been the target. The trail of shocked civilians led to the western gate, so out I went, halberd in hand. Not long ago I wrote about being relieved to have Reemul at my side when facing down Fire Giants. This assassin took Reemul out all by himself. We managed to return him, but it sure sent a message. No, of course we didn't stop. Just went on a bit more careful.

    As we neared the cliffs, we could hear their voices carry to us. One was worried about the traps he was leaving for us. Worried that a civilian might step on them. The other was chewing him out for that, and to move faster.

    Eventually we saw them. Two men, made entirely of metal. By that time, we knew the minds inside were their own, but not much else was. They actually started to apologize to Rey as we walked them down. She'd not been the target. You should've seen Rey huff at -not- being who they were after. You'd think someone spat on her dress. No, Isolde was the target. Isolde was expendable. Rey wasn't.

    Their justification was... ill-conceived. They claim our dear land is fractured, even our very city. They're not wrong. Too many people die in the many conflicts we go through. Too few people are strong enough to fend for themselves and us adventuring types aren't strong and plentiful enough to save everyone. Their solution, then, is not to encourage more people to take up arms and train, or heal the wounds that remain. It is to kill hundreds in pursuit of a technology that they believe will save thousands. One thing must be said. They put their money where their mouth is and underwent the procedure.

    The overbearing one of the two, whose callsign was Fox, truly believed. If we did not accept their path, we would soon be overrun by N'Jast and Thayvians.
    The other, Badger, was not convinced, and by Isolde's sweet words and encouragement, he was ready to follow Rey back to the city, serve his time, and serve his city. Fox, given over entirely to their cult, killed Badger before he could take two steps towards her.

    Fox blamed us, and a fight ensued. I will owe, they are strong, these warmachines. Cormac, Rey, Isolde, Silver, Perom, Reemul and I. Seven of us against Fox alone, and we were hard pressed. While their blue glowing shield is up, they truly are untouchable. Thankfully, it does not last. In the end I saw Cormac shove his thumb in the warmachine's eye, pressing its metal eye into the very real brain inside. I'm not sure why, but Fox started cursing and crying out in pain shortly after, and we looked on as his flesh began to regrow, trapped inside his metal shell. We soon realized it would kill him, and he would die bad. Isolde wanted to get his armor off of him. I'm not sure if my words were what stopped her, but she did.
    The cretin deserved it. What man kills his comrade in arms in cold blood like that?

    The mass could not hold together any longer and it exploded, covering us all in the thing's gore. Lightning struck as I spat on the remains. Might the gods have been as offended as I was?
    I can even understand what got into them, to a degree. They've lost much. Friends, family, loved ones. Pride, hope, faith. Despair drives them here. The fear of suffering yet more, losing more.

    Yet, they cause the very suffering they wish to prevent. The disappearances are one more tear at the fabric of this land. They needlessly kill, torture and maim the ones they kidnap or recruit, or knew it would happen. They cause the grief of loss and worse, uncertainty, among those who remain. Even the ones that make it through the process suffer.
    And when all is said and done, and a soul would pass on, they would shackle it to this world. Deny death its due. Deny it the chance to leave its suffering behind.

    We returned to the city with Badger's remains. He will be studied. Part of me hopes he will be given a proper burial, despite his choices. All he was, was a fool too scared to get out from under Fox's thumb.

    Coyote found me again as we returned to the city. After seeing Badger's corpse and hearing me attest that Fox was dead, he said his job was done. Likely done by us, but all in a day's work, right?

    As he finishes his writing, he lets it dry in the air. He stays seated to look at the shards until the first drop of rain touches his skin. Stowing his papers away again, he gets to his feet and gathers his halberd, moving closer to the farms and relative shelter.


  • The sun is setting on the city. The sky above is mostly clear, and colder for it, though the few wisps of clouds make quite a spectacle, coloured as they are by the last rays of the sun.

    On the city wall sits the young man in one of the wall's crenelles, clothing strangely sober, dark of colour and of a normal cut. Still well made, of course, and of thick, warm fabric. Perfect for a winter night like this.

    Paper pressed down on his thigh, he calmly sets his thought to paper, occasionally looking about.

    It does seem like the rest is over, and will be for the forseeable future.

    People are disappearing all over Narfell. I didn't think much of it at first, but several of the usual suspects have proof or indications of foul play. Now Isolde, Cormac and Gnomeo came acros a Defender attempting to kidnap a man, and hand him off to a pair of Far Scouts. Can't be having that. We need to keep a clean house.

    Sam Brine. The ones that know him have a hard time believing he did it. He was a good sort. Never caused trouble or showed signs of insubordination. A bit of a loner lately, though. Wasn't always, to hear the rest say it. He had friends, but he lost them during the Kossuthan siege of the city. I can see how that makes a man lose hope. According to Isolde, he was being a promised a better world. Sam was stationed in the Residential during the attack. Maybe Ravos can tell me something about those days, or Rey. Sam has a cousin that moved to Norwick, another trail pointing south. A trip to Hicksville it is.

    I'll admit, I was late for most of that trip. Those involved were already in the Grapevine when I arrived, speaking to some old fogey who said I looked like his father in law. Must've been the uniform. Nan never mentioned her or grandfather having brothers. Anyway, there were Nate, Isolde, Aoth, Rey, Roslyn, Sebrienne, Reemul and Perom gathered in the inn, looking to scry on something they'd learned. As an aside, Perom is Gnomeo's name. He's also sobering up, and good on him.

    In scrying, we saw one of their victims, still being cut into and tortured. Needless to say, most of us went through their supply of patience in the blink of an eye. A half elf, dressed in the trappings of a priest of the Broken God of all things was doing the butcher's work, being yelled at by a second man, calling him out for his wasting of time and resources.
    The surrounding walls and floor were made all of wood, with no windows to provide any vistas. Reemul knew a cabin in the Rawlinswood that could fit, another was the Gur camp.
    At Sebrienne's urging, we chose the latter option. Letting Aoth windwalk us for the speed of it.

    Arriving in the camp, we entered an underground tree house that had at least some recent tracks leading to it. Roslyn, I must say, makes a good talisman against traps. Once inside, the whole place smelled like death. And not just from a single corpse. This was the sort of smell that creeps up on you when you get near to a week old battlefield.
    Aside from blood splatters and more traps, there was nothing at first glance. Behind one door however, we found the source of the smell. A room stacked full of bodies that had their brains removed. The scent when that door opened was enough to make several of us gag.

    Behind another, we found the half elf. He surrendered, immediately. No attempt to fight. No attempt to bribe us. No poison pill like Whyte. Just 'You've got me, take me right to jail'. Here was one sick mind that wanted the chance to tell all about what he did.
    He had a great deal of anatomy books, and a research paper labeled project 2, which detailed the creation of flesh golems. I took a pair of anatomy books. I need to study up on my field medicine a bit, and you don't come across books of that quality every day.
    The haphazzard way project 2 was put together, and the things he attempted made it clear this was a side project. A hobby. Likely the waste of time and resources the other man spoke of.
    Project 1 was missing. Given the amount of brains removed from the corpses, and the knowledge we are dealing with golems, we assumed the brains are used to control the golems.

    It was worse. A warmachine of near legend met us outside, and took all our combined arms to take down. It wasn't a clueless machine, like so many golems were. It spoke. It knew Rey. Once downed, we found inside its metal shell the brain of one of their victims, though we have no clue who it was. At least it did not self destruct. The half elf seemed nothing short of proud, and more than willing to start talking yet again about all he did. The most concerning part is that there is another who might yet continue the half elf's work, especially now that the plans are gone.
    This, then, will be the army this strange cult is creating to bring about their "better days"

    Sebrienne nearly killed the half elf once before, and was almost fuming as she watched him being interrogated. Nate asked me to steady her. Truth be told, I was nearer to agreeing with her. The half elf is a monster in the truest sense. Something like him will cause only a lifetime of suffering if not cut short. But we need more information. His death will have to wait. So as the others interrogated the half elf, I tried to talk her down. I doubt I could stop her anymore if she chose to do anything, but the half elf lives, so I must have done something right.

    No lead on who the Far Scouts were, or even if they were actual Far Scouts. Seems even a captain like Hresh knows nothing about them but what they keep public, and if they have a few bad eggs, or are missing a couple of uniforms, they're being tight lipped about it. None of the Marines seem to be involved so far. At least, none have gone missing, missed their posts or are known to be acting out of sorts.
    I'd asked Meadow if she could to see if she could find out anything about the pair, where I was getting stonewalled by them closing ranks. She agreed to, but did not think she could find out much more, since she was a civilian. She seemed disappointed at something when I asked, but I'm not sure why. Maybe she was expecting something more challenging than that.

    Then there is the continuation of Laurent. I'm not entirely clear on how he got us there, but he had Isolde, Rey, Roslyn, Cormac, Sebrienne, Iviie, Perom, Frances, Aoth and I walking to the Royal Estate at the urging at a small boy, to look over the defences set up to keep him at bay. The boy needed us to see and remember the exact configuration. Pressing Isolde to tell him anything she might have held back from the Smiling Monkey. It was all very urging. Wrong somehow. Threatening.
    As the boy learned what he needed, the illusion started becoming obvious. Rain falling in the exact place again and again, puddles shrinking, then growing again, at the exact same pace, in the exact same shape. Grass and branches waving, bouncing back, then waving along the exact same path. Too perfect. Too regular.

    We woke up soon after, in some strange pond with tendrils running to a strange machine under the control of a mindflayer. Getting to our feet, we started to realize what it had done. With the memory of the configuration, Laurent could circumvent the defences. Shaking off the tremors and vertigo of whatever had been done to us, we set after the mind flayer, through passage way and corridor, fighting off many an outsider. The setup had been clever. A trap to stall us, portals opening as Ros set to the traps. Everything to slow us down

    Eventually, we faced off against an Archon. That adversary was well beyond us, we could barely scratch it. A small blessing was that it seemed not to try to kill us, merely knock us down. Perhaps its exact orders were "stop them" and its goodly nature prevented it from killing us needlessly? Thankfully some had the idea to attack the enslaving bracelet directly. Isolde managed to shoot it off, in the end. The Archon's thanks lay in blocking the way for the mindflayer, and giving us a new path to cut it off.

    We headed off the mindflayer, and found that the room we did so in had human tracks. Laurent had been waiting here. Stopping the mindflayer with the memory came first. It died quickly, cut down as it rounded the corner, not seeing us in its haste. Chasing Laurent while holding the memory was too dangerous, so we broke the pearl, letting the memory be lost rather than risk it being stolen again. Chasing after Laurent, we noticed he had gone through great lengths to slow our advance, and coming up in the Kua Toa caves, we realized we would be too slow. Oscura would grant him sanctuary, as a citizen.

    He escaped, but at least we thwarted his plan. For now.

    A different problem had reared its ugly head, and though unlikely, it might be related to the kidnappings. A group of miners had gone missing, and a dwarf named Hafur Bruntaingo put a call out to any adventurers that would be willing to brave the Underdark to find them. It has been too long since I've done honest mercenary work, so I wrote my name down. No place on this plane more dangerous than the Underdark, and the darkness is still a challenge, but I felt up for it. For once, it might be a fairly innocent problem. We'll see.

    As the young man finishes his writing, he quickly dries it with salt before stowing it away in his pack. He watches the sun set with a soft smile, though he still spares the occasional glance towards the shadows, if a lot less nervously than he once did.


  • A weak sun stands low on the horizon, though the days are slowly lengthening. Despite a clear sky, all the colours of the world seem flat, and the light carries no warmth. Its only saving grace is the game it plays with the blanket of snow covering the ground and many of the city roofs, giving the illusion of endless fields of pristine crystals.

    Around the military district, men are patrolling on their beats, heavier cloaks, gloves and scarves added to their uniforms. Some even have extra padding under their armour. Where a warm summer would see them slow down and possibly talk to their peers in passing, they all keep a brisk pace simply to stay warm and keep their toes moving.
    Luckier are the men inside the barracks, tending to the upkeep. The young man among them, scrubbing the floor in unison with the others, their song helping them set the pace.

    On his cot lie his writing utensils, and a newly written sheet to dry.

    It has been some time again since writing. My duties have kept me busy and the lull kept on for the most part.

    I explore new places when I find the time. Often alone, sometimes with Meadow. Many might not consider her to be 'company' at all, but I'm starting to appreciate it. Even if I still can't quite read if her chiding is chiding or an attempt at humour. Not many assume her to have a sense of one, to hear them talk. Not that it matters much, I quip right back.
    These explorations have barely a word spoken beyond bare facts about the land and directions, but there is a purity to it. Hiking across the lands. Seeing new vistas. Calmly and deliberately picking targets, drawing them out and cutting them down in tandem. Barely a comment or orders, just trying to read what the other does and playing into that. It's very different from the usual dash to the frontline to flank, hitting and running, defying fate to come for me.

    I find it helps. The darkness of a cave. The darkness of the open night. As months pass, the dread fades, if slowly. It is easier, faster while we hunt like this. The effort it takes to keep up with her keeps my mind occupied. Straining to see her or hear her when I lose track of her. Studying the way she fights. Trying to see if I can find her tracks. Considering the few words she does speak. I wonder if she can read that on me, but she's never remarked on it.

    The young king, Thalaman, has overturned Rey's decree, reestablishing diplomatic channels, lifting the ban on officials and allowing trade to continue.
    This has been the most relevant change to me, lately. For one, no more worries about getting reprimanded for providing Eve with arrows, eh?

    It also allowed Vick to come down to the city, by chance I happened on him and Reemul organizing a trip into the Fire Giants' territory. They wanted to gauge the creatures' strength as they are, no doubt, running out of patience with High Hold and Blackbridge. Sebrienne soon showed up and joined them. I happily tagged along, since I'd never gone there before. I've fought Fire Giants yes, but there were less of us now, and I wanted to try myself against them in their lands.

    It went well. Despite numbers well beyond what my companions considered normal, despite their size and strength, despite the oppressive environment. Aside from our first contact with an unexpected number of them, we worked well together. I'm under no illusion that it wasn't mostly Reemul and Vick that carried our weight. That's not to say it was easy. It cost me well in potions and I'm still working on the gashes in my shield's lacquer. Oh yes, my shield. I'd not bothered to crawl behind that thing since before the minotaurs, which should give you some idea of how hard pressed we were. They were clever, too, not bothering to strike at me while I stood behind my shield, only when I came onto their flanks with my halberd. And strangely preoccupied with Sebrienne. Maybe they thought her to be tribute? More than once, the giants would work themselves past Reemul, myself or Vick and go for her.
    Still, Reemul guided us well, with keen eye and clear head. Vick probably knew well what he was doing out there, but they were new grounds to me. It would've gone quite different with less seasoned warriors out there. Yet more work ahead of me, then. As I prefer it.
    Their war will get ugly. Especially if it's a drawn out affair. Potions and spells run out. In a town like Blackbridge, food does, too. At least they're just mortal. Huge, and strong, but mortal.

    Lastly, I saw Mako again. She packed up shop and hadn't come down since the decree. I was happy enough to see her face back in the city. She came up as Isolde, Reemul and I were talking and joined right in, which was fairly unusual. So was the conversation after that. I said Eve was a bit too shy, right? Here was Mako being the polar opposite. No subtlety at all. I swear, if I'd been just five years younger, I'd have turned beet red at half of what she said. Where all could hear. Now, I just started pushing back. Can't say I didn't like it, though.
    Mind, she might've just been working me over to make a sale. She has a new halberd and offered up her old one. I have it on loan right now, but a hundred and fifty thousand is just a wee bit out of my reach. By about a hundred and forty. Reemul offered up a loan, but we'll see. We took the halberd out for a spin, and I swear I brained two hill giants in three hits. Ugly as sin, massive and unbalanced, but what a ripper. Mako deems I was swinging harder blows than she did. High praise.
    Now I just need to learn to aim it better. How did someone as short as her wield this thing? Dragonbloods.

    I'll hang on to it for a while longer, and yes, I might end up buying it. With some luck, I'll still have it in hand when the Fire Giants go to war. With Thalaman's decree, there's nothing stopping me from openly joining that fight, and I intend to be there. Guess I'm going to deliver another cart of arrows soon, too.

    Beyond that, it's all second hand. Part of my duties took me to the north edge of the Icelace the past few weeks, and I missed a few things.

    Cormac's curse has been lifted. This was, perhaps, the one that irks me most. Yes, I would've loved to do something as unusual as a dreamwalk, but that's not the main reason. Stand offish as he is, Cormac's nothing short of stalwart as a companion. Not once have I seen him flag, and I've stood next to him in plenty of carnage that sends lesser men running. What irks me is that I couldn't return the favor.

    Isolde's attempts at regaining her memories... That tale is still unfolding as I write this. The fey was found, it's a slave to some human named Laurent who fancies himself a protector of planar balance or somesuch. Bollocks. I could make allowances to Horgrim for the use of mindless undead, but a slaver is a slaver. Had she told me nothing else, that would be enough. I will grudgingly admit I'm impressed by the lengths of duplicity he went through, and I don't really give a toss about him deflecting blame to the Smiling Monkey, but a slaver that goes through that trouble to abuse a friend crossed a line, no matter how lofty his claimed goals. And that's assuming his goals will not end up causing more harm than good. Despite my apprehension after what happened with the Far Realm, I am curious where this one leads.

    I complained about the quiet, last time. Once more unto the breach.

    ((the songs added to characters (in this, previous or future entries) shouldn't be taken for literal interpretations or condemnations, they're just there to add a vibe to George's thinking about that character. If yours hasn't gotten one, check back later, I'll edit as I come across fitting ones))


  • A quiet sunset, the world covered in the kind of light that plays on men's moods and with the colours of the sky. It would be gone all too swiftly, replaced by darkness adorned with countless pinpricks of light and the Moon Maiden's passage. The clear sky smelled of a coming frost, but at least it was dry.

    The young man is found once more in the rooftop garden, sitting up against the tree trunk with candles for light and dutifully writing away with a warm wine next to him, the moon and stars his only companion this night.

    The days have been quiet. Blissfully so? Frustratingly so?
    Idle hands, idle thoughts.

    Little has happened beyond the occasional brush with orcs and kobolds, or bandits in the pass.
    A necromancer did appear, showing an interest in our fight with the Far Realm. She did not share much of her reasons, so it did leave me wary. Fatima ib'n Droud. There's some old reports in the Defender archives that speak of her, but nothing too specific. To be frank, she was pleasant enough company up on those walls, and easy on the eyes. Not sure why Isolde reacted so strongly, but I guess I'll find out. The circles she runs with are some indication.

    Isolde is plotting some way to get stolen memories back from a fey. Jonni's memories were taken by the same. He doesn't seem too bothered, though. How can he miss memories he doesn't remember?
    I can understand his point of view. Who's to say they're memories you want? Sure, Isolde seems convinced they're good memories, but all she can be really certain of is they're strong memories.
    Since hearing of the fey's powers, I've once or twice considered seeking it out for myself. See if she can take these memories of the aberrations.
    Just for a moment, though. There were lessons there, and I'm afraid they'd lose their significance if I lose the memories, as gruesome as they are. Besides that, it feels a little too close to making deals with devils.

    One I did make a deal with is Eve Tanner. Hardly a devil, that one. So very, very shy, which makes her easy to tease. Somehow it makes it all the more pleasing when you manage to cause a smile on that face. Especially when the smile reaches those eyes. Still. A bit too shy to my liking.
    Regardless, arrows for tutelage was the intent and it's what we settled on. Basic navigation and knowledge of fauna and flora is what we'll cover first, in the lowlands where I'm most likely to operate.
    We may well raise some eyebrows in our respective homes, given our positions and the tension between our two towns, but I suppose we're both hoping this whole thing just blows over.

    I also managed to get in trouble alongside Raazi and this gnome who still hasn't given me his name. I've just taken to calling him Gnomeo. Suffice to say it ended with me spending hours turned into stone by Raazi, hanging from the wall outside the Fish Fort, until the spell faded by miracle. Aoth was there and helped me shake off the confusion, then devised a trick to play on Raazi. Heaping a pile of stones below the spot I had been hanging, she bid me to hide in the woods as Raazi returned with a stone to turn me back. Chiding Raazi for turning me to stone for no good reason and being unprepared to undo it, she made her believe I was dead and played on her guilt. I downed a potion of invisibility and heaped it on by 'haunting' her. It certainly struck a nerve, and she bolted, leaving Aoth, Gnomeo and I to share a laugh.
    Asha wasn't amused when she learned. Playing a trick like that on her might be too much for Raazi's already fragile mind to handle. She had it coming. I'll try not to milk it, though.

    Ravos shared concerns over the disappearance of former General Williams with me. I never met her, but I have heard the men speak of her. Some speak highly, some do not. Any dislike seems to come from her strictness. All seem to agree she was capable, however. Something irks him about the whole thing. If I could ask around. I possess all the subtlety of a brick through a window, but sure I can.

    No deals, but some pleasant talks were had with Meadow. I stand by my earlier statement. She answers readily enough, but never divulges too much, let alone digresses. She's also significantly harder to tease. I suppose discretion is her bread and butter.
    She offered to name a place I had not gone before, and she'd take me there. We ended up going to the general area of Jiyyd. I'd seen the troll swamps before, but never explored it. Sad to say it wouldn't be this day either since all the damn things seemed arrayed against us at the very entrance.
    I hadn't known there was a temple of Helm there. I am amazed at their tenacity. A lone temple among the ruins on the edge of a swamp filled with trolls that strong.

    Killing but two trolls on the retreat, we decided to travel the caves beneath the old dwarven temple instead. She wasn't kidding when she said I probably had to crawl to get through that tiny passage. Tight and dark as a coffin, in there. No vampires, though.
    No, my friend, it wasn't the best idea. In that dark, every sound and every scrape set my nerves on edge. I held my breath almost the entire crawl through, expecting to hear that droning voice at any moment. If Meadow noticed, she said nothing. Thank Tymora I've found a few trinkets that protect the mind, lately.

    I did not switch to my amulet of light until I cleared the tunnel, not for losing my nerve, but simply because I couldn't see my own hand without it. I wish I could say the cave was awe inspiring or beautiful, but I saw nothing beyond the circle of light, and the cave was so large it seemed that light was an island in a void. Tactically not the best choice, since the denizens in that cave saw me coming from miles away, but tripping over a rock every ten feet wouldn't help anyone. Plus, I made a good decoy. The trip went well, as we faced off the Duergar in those caves. I can't shake the feeling she was sizing me up. She chided me that I did not seem to hold much faith in scouting, which I had coming.
    In my defense, I'm usually expected to be half a beat behind my companions, on their flank, but that's not how she fights. And she fights well. I pride myself in my control of the halberd, but the grace with which she deals death is awe inspiring. And that's provided you see her fight at all. At times, I was just double timing, trying to keep up and finding bodies to mark her merry little trail. A small point of pride is that we did not need to turn back at the point she'd been forced to turn around the last time she was there.
    The trip ended when we found no path to press deeper into the cave. Back we went, through the dark, through those narrow passages.

    I knew I'd be uncomfortable, but exposure seems the swiftest cure. Isolde offered a dreamcatcher days ago, but it's not my dreams that are plagued. Asha offered a small sermon, reminding me of Selune's light, and the light of the stars. A vote of confidence that it would embrace me and guard me, as Selune holds us too dear to let the night be a realm of nightmares.
    In all, the gods have treated me kind. Maybe I'll trust them in this, too.

    He puts his writing tools away and lays his pack aside. Lying back against the trunk, he covers himself under his cloak and puts his hands together behind his head. He winks at the moon overhead, trying to let it all go and drift off to sleep. After a handful of hours, he even manages.


  • And so, it is done. As far as I can gather, at least.

    My leave started out well, if strange. There was an uncommonly thick fog on the land which seemed to cloak the world in silence, aside from occasional murmurs, and threw strange silhouettes everywhere.

    I bumped into Isolde talking to a man offering her a job. Searching for and retrieving a cloak that was taken from him in Waterdeep which he had chased all the way here, following rumours of a performer wearing it. I was worried the man was quite mad, talking to himself. When she stook the job I decided to tag along for her safety.

    Night fell right as we took the job. The fog grew thicker and more ominous. The shadows, too. Everywhere we went, we were haunted by this soft music. The bards seemed to be out all over the city. On near every corner we found one playing this tune on brass wind instruments. Other people behaved strangely, too. On edge, as though they felt they were being watched, always ready to bolt or fly off the handle.

    Following clues, talking to the right people, bribing some, cajoling others and menacing one or two more got us where we needed to be. A couple of fists flew and a fool or three found out. Just some bruises and a bloody lip. Nothing too uncommon for a night in the docks.

    In a room in the Pissing Goat we found a woman wearing the cloak who'd set a table for two. She had been expecting us. Or rather, she had been expecting the man who had been shadowing us the entire time. A lover's quarrel. That's all it was. A woman that felt neglected and led the man on a merry chase. We left the couple to their privacy. Such a strange cloak, though. Affected weather, light and mood. No wonder the night had seemed so strange.

    It was all so innocent, in retrospect. Strange, yes, but whimsical. Not at all like what was about to unfold.

    We were in the commons, laughing and talking with our companions and the many adventurers of the land. I wish it could've lasted longer, but it didn't.
    Aoth had gone to the College and then came back and simply said it was happening, right then. Most didn't need an explanation, so we rushed to the College.
    As the details were being discussed with the ones not aware, I realized I was ill prepared and travelling light. I made a mad dash for the Bag of Holding to stock up on all that seemed appropriate. A different cloak, my blunderbuss, potions, spellcrystals, grenades, bombs, powders and sidearms. And rope, of course. After seeing Asha and Cormac hang from that burning bridge, it seems good to have it on hand.

    I was excited, I won't deny it. Weeks of preparation, and now it was here. While the thrill of battle never dulled over the years, I can't remember the last time the anticipation was so great. I wonder if the others felt it quite the same way. That rush you feel in your gut, like stepping into a ring the first time, the whole world slowing down around you as your body teeters on the cliff's edge of fight or flight and you step willingly towards fight. Feeling like your blood is on fire, wanting to run like an untamed horse, knowing you will have to hone that fire into a steely calm, sharp as the edge of your weapon.

    This was a fight I had never fought before, against an enemy I never imagined. I remember giving Isolde my Last Letters, more out of tradition than worry. I remember giving two thumbs up and a grin to Jonni when he said we were probably all on our way to die. Reckless abandon, and brazen confidence.

    The first leg of the journey went well. Into the College, following one of the hundreds of hidden pathways until we came to a room that held a tunnel entrance. Here came the first fight. Just a mage. An old man in a mask. He said nothing, just set right to his duty of killing the intruders. He was strong. Very strong. Still a man, however, and we brought him low without losses.

    The tunnel was a long drop, near straight down, far too deep for the rope I brought, wide enough that I could not jump across. Some polymorphed, others were given the benefit of a Slow Fall spell, and down we went. It was during the near free fall that the next masked mage accosted us. Floating ever downward, he was descending right along with us, casting his spells. As silent and dispassionate as the last.
    Polymorphed Aoth tried to distract him by throwing her bat self at his face, to little avail. Jonni turned back human to fight him, I threw my bombs and powders at him in an effort to distract him. It made little to no difference, so I pushed off from wall to wall, halberd in hand in an effort to impale him midfall. The endlessly long drop afforded us time. A comical sight it must have been, if not for the gravity of the situation.
    Eventually, we all managed to find a way to join in the fight, and the mage was dead before we hit the ground, our casters polymorphing back to their flying shapes. The mage made an unnerving splat and bounce, coming down again without the mask. It turned out this one was an old woman. I remarked she flew poorly for an old bat. Gallows humour, right? I might've upset Aoth with that, mind. Hope she didn't take it personal.

    There had been four of those masks, someone remarked. So two more mages to face before the end.
    The third wasted no time to meet us, as we walked into the cave complex that held the rune, our flumph friend nowhere in sight. Again, a tough opponent, but still human. Another old man. No rhetoric, no indignation, just an uncaring attempt at stamping a group of bugs beneath their heel. He, too, was dealth with.
    The nightmare didn't start until after all this. When we found the runes, and Jonni reminded me not to look at them. I wonder now if they were really that much worse than the things I did see. Our objective was clear, keep the flumph safe to do what it could. Seems simple enough, yes? Jonni made it clear yet again. Every sacrifice was worth keeping the flumph alive.

    When they came, that's the first time I understood. Why the dread in Isolde's face when she told me about the abberations didn't quite match the words she used. All the flowery vocabulary she possesses felt banal compared to the edge in her voice when she spoke of those creatures. And now I know. There are no words to explain what was down there, but I will try. I must try. If I can describe it, perhaps I can wrap my head around it and let it go.

    Shapes. So many, many shapes. Of skulls of all kinds, of black inhuman limbs that had no business bending the way they did, of shapes that were part human, part snakes and ants and centipedes. They shifted and changed, they came together and drifted apart, they were shadow and flesh at the same time. They surrounded you and threw spells and themselves at you with no sense of preservation, cackling and rending flesh with heir touch. And in the midst of it all, they tried to pry into your mind and fill it with fear. I'm certain I would still hear their whispers if worse hadn't happened.
    When they appeared, I ran at them as soon as my eyes settled. I didn't spare a single thought to the consequences. I did not wish to have time to think on what I just saw. Headlong into that dark mass, halberd first, hoping to draw blood. And I did. They weren't immortal, at least. Not that strong at all, in fact. Oh, but they had numbers and dread in spades. I did not even need to watch where I swung. I would hit something. In the end, I could not avoid looking at them. Even the ground was littered with them.

    I lost any kind of oversight in that fight. I do not know who was doing what. I know I fought side by side with Jonni at one point, with Rey at another, then to the back lines to fly into the ones who were attacking Isolde and Shesarai. It all blurs together. Sometimes the attacks abated, but the reprieves were never long, and I could find myself slipping even as I kept leaping into battle. Dread heaped upon dread, grinding you down like a millstone. Every shadow could become one of these things. And the worst of it was still coming.

    The flumph eventually told us to flee. We had succeeded, but we weren't through the woods yet. A backlash from interrupting this "battering ram" of a ritual was about to begin. For a time yet, something from there could touch our plane. Could touch us. Only for a time, however. Stay out of reach long enough, and we'd be safe. The reach of that thing, though...
    All my senses are jumbled when I think about it. I can feel its droning voice. I can smell the pain of its fingers prying into my mind. Hear the slithering darkness it caused. Taste its hands on my skin. No potion or spell protected us. It drained us of any strength we had. We stumbled out of there like halfwits, our minds being robbed of faculty, falling into a different cave system while following Rey.

    I do not remember much of what happened beyond that point. Isolde was helping me along, but we got separated. I think it got me first. That darkness. The madness. The time spent in the embrace of that thing. I try to remember, but I cannot. Something tells me I should stop trying, for my own sake.

    I came to in a gondola, back on our way to Peltarch. The voice of Isolde singing woke me. A curious song, like no other I'd ever heard. It seemed all wrong, somehow. Yet I felt in my heart and in the subsiding darkness and fog that she played it perfectly. It was the most beautiful sound imaginable. I drifted into sleep not long after, the exhaustion getting to me.

    I only got the rest of the tale from Isolde yesterday. Of their seemingly endless trip in that cellar, through that darkness. Getting separated, her just trying to hide in a corner she found. Jonni pulling her from that corner, drawing the creature's attention. She found Jonni again later, staring blankly ahead. Breathing, but... gone. She found me in the same state, near the flumph. She thinks the flumph kept me from the worst of it, lacking the training and experience that Jonni has.

    In the end, they found that gondola, and tried to escape through an underground river. Not immediately, however. They decided they would let that horrid thing chase us until the backlash ended and it was banished to the Far Realm again, to keep it from finding the surface. Every sacrifice. Isolde said Shesarai lead me into the gondola while she led Jonni. I should remember to thank her. It was Rey, however, who stubbornly kept rowing when all others had succumbed to that creature. Rey that brought us to the current that dragged us out when our strengths failed.

    It was a night of horror for all involved. None of us got out of that without a scar, but they aren't physical. The fear and panic touched us all. The flumph believed Jonni's and my mind were cracked, and we likely would've remained that way had Isolde not been able to wake us with that cacophony of madness she learned a long, long time ago from a bard driven mad by the Far Realm, himself.

    A night of horror, but we succeeded. We were there to guard the flumph, and we did. To hear her tell it, I did admirably. I'll take her word for it. Either way, the runes have been deactivated. Their entrance has been shut. I hope she's right. I pray that thing did not make it through in time.
    I sit here and write in the light of a Radiant Amulet. I volunteered for the night shift, for an indefinite amount of time. I sleep during the day, in the light of morning. I can't stand the dark anymore, but the idea of laying my head down and going to sleep at night is somehow worse.

    Just nerves. This will fade as so many sights before it have.

    The young man pushes his chair away from the small table, then walks out of the guardhouse in the gateway to the city's military district. Outside he takes a deep breath of the cold night air. His eyes dart to the shadows outside the circle of light. Movement? He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. When he looks again, nothing is there.

    He slowly walks under the portcullis to look into the streets and watch the snow fall on the quiet houses. White walls, dark walls, slate roofs, thatched roofs. Shuttered windows, lit up windows, and even the dark windows that seem to be leering menacingly at him in the dead of night.

    All those people dreaming their dreams, living in peace, completely unaware of what happened beneath them, aside from a handful of tremors.

    Worth it.


  • A faint drizzle comes down on on the rooftops of the city. A soft wind blows through the alleyways, though few are outside to feel it. The dreary, bleak monotony of late autumn has well and truly settled on the lands. Gone are the colourful leaves of the early days, but winter has not yet deigned to throw its crystalline white blanket across the Pass. All the weather has to offer now is the wet, the cold, and the mud.

    As dreary as the world outside is, as warm is the light coming from a barracks in the city. Scraps of song drift from the windows, the men inside keeping themselves occupied with singing shanties and marching songs as they clean their gear and their floor, the young man among them. The singing could be better, but it could be a whole lot worse. One thing is for sure, it is spirited.

    The men sung songs he knew, though some verses or words differed, and he sang with them as they put their backs into it. The men sung songs he knew not, and he listened and learned, even as the work continued. They asked him for a song they knew not, and the work slowed to a crawl as he sang. Not because he was so skilled, but because they, too, wanted to learn.

    The work being done, they have their leave. They would go out and find a pub, and the songs would continue. He will be joining them, and gladly, but first there is writing to be done. In the light of a few candles, he sits down behind a small desk. Mentally preparing for the sacrifice of missing the first couple of rounds, and gathering his thoughts.

    The opening volley has been loosed.

    The creatures of the Far Realms have run their test on Horgrim's desert fortress. By whatever twist of fate, I was not there. I wonder if I should consider myself lucky even as I balk at that fact. To hear Isolde tell it, it was a nightmarish affair. We knew it would be, but I can tell she has seen a horror I can't quite grasp just from her words. This bothers me because I still do not know if I am prepared. Despite the information being second hand, I will write what I heard so that I will not forget.

    From atop Horgrim's tower, Aoth was the first to see or feel some sort of void open up in the desert and whatever maniacal creatures rest on the other side came pouring through, crashing on the vast army of undead Horgrim had gathered. Yet, while the base creatures were held up by blade, bone and rotting flesh, those who were there could feel a disturbing presence emanating from that void despite the great distance. Isolde described it as the probing of unseen tendrils or fingers into their minds and feasting on the contents. Salin is said to have seen the creature, all neck and countless limbs.

    Horgrim drew whatever power he could from the Hand, and the Hand drew life from him. In the end, he called on Isolde to finish it before the Hand could, and the sword of Kas hungrily severed the hand. The hand disappeared, without a doubt to some hidden place in Faerûn where another mage might find it. I share Ravos' relief that no other had to touch it. The blade was satisfied and went to its scabbard willingly. This time.
    And Horgrim? He yet lives. Resting, and weak, but alive.

    Sounds like a happy ending, doesn't it? But, again, this was just a test. I suppose we passed it, but it took more strength than the likes of Horgrim possessed on his own. It's likely the ogre mage will be out of the fight. His undead have been destroyed to the last lumbering zombie. His fortress is torn down. And it still did not suffice, leaving those present to fight the remaining tenth or so. Isolde did not sum up all those present, but most definitely her, Aoth, Reyhanna, Salin and Sebrienne. Seb even mentioned she finally had a chance to hold nothing back. I imagine none of them did.

    For the stragglers of a test.

    The bright side is that they fall easily enough to both steel and spell. Everything else makes it clear that we need to interrupt their arrival instead of hoping to fight off an invasion. Our best chance lies with the flumph called Flimfoodle, or something along those lines. A very powerful creature, in magic or something called psionics. Physically very frail, though, so he will need protecting. Our task is clear, then.

    It eats at me that I have no way to measure if I am ready, so I keep trying to find new ways of testing myself. Caravans have been popping up all over the land with an increase in trade, and they take tag alongs. It has been a good way of travelling more, seeing new sights and finding new creatures to challenge. Some I have avoided figthing, I'll admit. Polar bears are murderous bastards at the best of times, so I made myself scarce when I saw a dire one stomping around near Stonepeak. The hippogryph I saw outside Steppenhall was so majestic I just sat there and watched it for a time, ready to just pack up and run if it noticed me.

    When I was walking around Blackbridge, I stumbled onto Eve in the early hours of the morning. As I am gathering nick nacks in preparing to fight the Far Realm, she is doing the same, and training for the season of Tribute. While our reasons are not the same, our intentions are similar enough, and so she offered to take me into the wilds there. My friend, it was magnificent. The snow goblins were not much of a challenge, especially since Eve's ludicrously fast hands shot nearly every one of them before they came within reach, oh but the sights.

    From snow covered mountain slopes to a hidden valley that held an ice fortress where lived an ice hag, yet warm enough to have luscious greenery, to a glacial river where you could walk over a thick sheet of ice, yet see and feel the water moving beneath your feet.
    At the top of one slope was a natural alcove formed by a glacier, and the ice broke the light in such a way that the place seemed to shimmer with all colours imaginable. She mentioned she meditated there often, and I can see why.
    Truly, the mountains around Blackbridge have a pristine beauty, and I am beginning to understand why some choose to live in a place so remote.

    Satisfied with the thinning of the goblin ranks, and the money we made, we came back to Blackbridge. Here I considered that, much as Mako has taught me skirmishing and the use of the halberd, Eve could teach me another blind spot I've complained about.
    Wildnerness survival. Tracking. Navigation.
    Sure, I can build a dugout for shelter, but that's about where that ends.

    I realize, for all my experience, I've been too dependent on the warmachine. Too many things were taken care of for me, since the scale necessitated compartimentalization. It makes sense when you're a company of around three hundred. Not so much when you're constantly dependent on a headcount of six to ten. In clusters that small, it is best to have your skills diversified, and it is time I do my part.

    Besides, learning new things is one of life's great joys, no?

    Wrapping up his utensils and putting them away in his seabag, he hoists it over his shoulder and heads for the door, getting the last candle on the way out. That was all for another day, now was a time to celebrate life. To drink, to sing and to dance. He hurried his way from the barracks and out onto the street. He had catching up to do.


  • A gray and cold day in Narfell. The whole world is quiet, all sound muffled and hushed by the heavy clouds above and the thick fog obscuring everything beyond a few hundred yards. A weak glare in the clouds is the only hint of the sun still existing.

    A small guardhouse houses a handful of men. Two stand watch outside, for all the good it does. Two stand guard inside, ready to switch places with the ones outside when the cold gets unbearable. Deeper inside, some others are preparing the next meal, while the remainder are taking rest. It is a quiet affair, the weather causing the men to remain as hushed as the world outside.

    Among those taking rest is the young man, sitting on a cot and writing away.

    No endless pondering today. No questions, no musings. What I write, I write only in case my memory starts failing some day. And, gods forbid, some historian is interested in these words.

    Most of my time is consumed by the runes that connect to the Far Realm.
    When not out with friends, I train. Every day I feel as though I could get just a little stronger, a little better. Every step taken will count when this comes to a head. I gather wealth, I gather potions, I gather trinkets. Everything, anything. As long as I can use it. As long as it might help kill these outsiders. As long as it helps shield my mind. Serenity gave me two spell crystals, and instructions on which to use when, to "protect deep thoughts" as she put it. I'm not sure I properly expressed gratitude, but it will have to wait until the work is done.

    When out with the usual suspects, it's travelling far, wide and deep to gather allies and yet more trinkets. Well. Trinkets? We hold the sword of Kas. I will not write down its current whereabouts.
    In truth, we do not intend to use it against the invaders, but in a desperate attempt to sever the hand of Vecna from Horgrim's arm, in the hopes that this particular blade will not end up killing Horgrim in the process. It's a small hope, but one we could all agree to. If Horgrim does survive, however, he may yet be called to answer for his crimes against nature. There remains the question if Horgrim even wants to be saved, then.
    Still, even if it does not end up saving Horgrim, the invasive spirit of the blade might shield against the invasive nature of the outsiders, and I would be very surprised if its destructive power fell flat against them.

    Isolde learned of its location, and we set out to retrieve it in desert lands, fighting giant wasps and ants, and delving deep into ruins. A guardian spirit, learning we were attempting to use the sword against its sworn enemy, allowed us passage, but there were yet many puzzles to solve. And the fight with Kas himself, of course. Bound to the blade and more bloodthirsty than his previous vampire wielder, he animated countless undead and weapons by sheer will.
    I admit, I was not part of that fight. It had drained me to the point I could barely move before it started. Regardless, depending on the situation, each of us has to come to terms with the possibility of needing to wield it.
    Those who play with the devils' toys.

    Allies we have sought among a race called the flumph. Some sort of jellyfish that hovers in the air in the Underdark. They are supposedly psionically powerful, and have helped with rampaging aboleths before, when Jonni lost his leg. Jonni was very apprehensive of asking for their aid, since that fight nearly wiped out that particular tribe. Clan? Herd?
    I understand his point of view, even if I do not share it. What's coming will likely claim more of their number, but if these Far Realm creatures break through in sufficient numbers, it will not matter how hidden the flumph are.

    Either way, some wizard named Volpe had found their whereabouts in the Underdark, and was chiding Isolde to get on with it, already. You expect a novelist to be verbose, but this annoyed Volpe to no end, who kept jabbing at her tendency to explain things at length. From an outrageous claim 8 days had past after an hour or so, to an even less subtle abuse of power by letting one of his assistants announce Volpe's death after 8 years of Isolde's discussion, to gnomes building a scaffold from which they could hang banners that spelled "GO".
    Returning to the city, we even found a grave marked "Volpe" outside the walls. Say what you wish, but the wizard has panache.

    And so we went, down the caves by Oscura, fighting our way through Kuo Toa, and ever deeper. We fought the likes of lizardmen, oozes, ankegh, succubi... Hours upon hours of fights, wandering and searching. I held my own. That much I can say. Perhaps I am not as out of my depth as I thought. We found some friendly myconid down there, as well, and a field of mushrooms that envigored Cormac as he ate them, which gave me an idea, but it had to wait.

    Eventually, we came upon a maze filled with minotaurs, and even those fights went well. I should remember to thank Mako. That trip had prepared me well for fighting their ilk. Still, this is where I got separated from the group. I'll not bore you with making my way back to the surface on my own. It was a slow going, silent trek through darkness and past earlier corpses.

    The rest found Isolde's flumphs, and the flumph will come to our aid. There is still time to stop it, and an opportunity when the runes become active. Stopping a single one will be enough to stop the process. Coming down to the wire.

    When I met up with Isolde and Cormac again after making it back and she told me this good news, I offered up that the myconid might be able to help as well. Not directly, but their spores can affect the mind. Perhaps they can protect it.
    I can't say I relish the thought of huffing spores on purpose to see what they might do to my mind, but if we fail to stop the Far Realm battering ram, any other ally would be welcome, and any technique that keeps us from being psionically affected. I guess I'll consider it an exercise in trust.

    What did Isolde say? Two and a half more weeks until it happens?

    I always wanted a chance to be part of the stories.