The journal of Joaquin Eltar
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I’ve arrived in a small farming town nestled in the hills near the Nars pass, it’s apparently a good thing I tried to go no further, a battle has closed the pass. Jiyyd seems a pleasant enough town. I hope to go survey this conflict before the day is out.
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My trip up the pass went well, the main bridge appears to have been destroyed by something, it’s wreckage is strewn across a landscape littered with the remains of hundreds of people, both the Peltarchians and the Eastlanders. The battle was continuing apace, artillery fire prevented my from risking going any further but I’ll return again. I hear a camp lies over some marshland and stream ways to the west, further north it may still be possible to access the road to the city.
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I spoke with some people around the cooking pot, sadly I neglected to record their names. It seems that this war is the fault of the city, the Eastlanders demanded a fair toll for passage through the pass, something the city wasn’t happy with. Rather than sorting it out verbally war was declared instead, the result being the death and suffering of many as the pass was closed by the Eastlanders who stopped many supplies from reaching the city.
Further conversation revealed the nature of the cities governing body, a group known as the senate. This group, rule this city from afar, influenced by the cities temples and factions they strive for a middle ground, keeping the powerful happy and the populace tamed. Those who speak out against the senate face imprisonment or harassment from the cities authorities. Rumours in the inn spoke of a senate so useless it’s already dissolved into civil war once and risks doing so again.
Those around the fire mentioned their experiences with members of the senate, aloof paladins and airy bards who care more for their precious letter of the law than the state of the people. The cities attitude to the Eastlanders sees many die while the senate live in pampered luxury.
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I tried to find gainful employment; I ran a few errands for some folk in a small town to the south. The work was simple and the rewards sparse. I’ll try travelling to the city tomorrow and see if I can find any work there.
This inn seems to have a resident nymph. Could be worth investigating.
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After recovering from the night I headed to the city. A vast battlefield was laid out beyond the bridge, the land wracked by artillery fire and littered with the remnants of both sides. One can only fear the fun a necromancer could have with all the raw materials littered about that field. The hate and anger seemed to lie as thickly on the floor as the blood. A range of tents sat to the west, clerics were still tending to the dead and dying, many of the dead were left out in the elements while hungry birds waited for the clerics to move away from their meals.
The city itself was large and unbecoming, my job hunting faired well and while I had to deal with the arrogance of some rich elf in the attempts to obtain some musical instrument I was paid well to deliver a bill by a band of merchants.
The city showed it’s true face while I sat and thought around a sundial. I tried making polite conversation with a nearby elf although he seemed more engrossed in his thoughts about poetry or some such. At this point some armoured lackey arrived, asking if we’d seen Baneites causing trouble, the elf said no but pointed out the battle raging against a dragon in the pass. The armoured man asked why we were not out battling for the city. I merely retorted that the conflict was not mine and I had no wish to die in battle. He called me arrogant to which I replied he may wish to go about his business. This seemed to enrage the armoured man who stormed over and hauled me roughly from my seat, screaming that I was a spy and traitor to the city. This idea seemed to excite the elf, who gabbled furiously about how I must have been working for the Eastlanders and how I should hang for having an independent mind.
The man in armour worked for the city, and I must say that it seems the cities attitude for resolving potential disputes is echoed throughout the range of it’s employees, from starting a war over trading rights to threatening an innocent man with harm over his opinions.
Luckily the armoured fool calmed down before things got out of hand, a large crowd of dishevelled citizens had gathered, maybe the man realised he was in the wrong and that the suffering Peltarch was inflicting on it’s own citizens could be alleviated without sending the best of a generation to die in the wastelands.
The oaf shoved me into my seat and left, hopefully to go die alongside his law bent comrades.
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I’ve returned to Jiyyd and still shake with anger over that buffoon. Maybe in a way he was opened a way of thinking, if he’s the standard of guardsmen the city takes pride in then maybe the city needs to change? The Eastlanders may be brutal but one must admire their openness of approach.
I should try to help the city become what it could be, a place of intelligence and beauty rather than the festering self-indulgent heap it is at the moment. Maybe someone such as Atol would be able to reshape the city into something better than it is at the moment.
As the city stands, with its hatred and forced letters of the law, for the gods sakes you get fined for merely having an accent the city dislikes!
I’ll return to the inn and try to calm my spirits with that nymph as entertainment.
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