The Leaf-Covered Journal of Green Starfire
-
Une 28, 322
What Mighty Prison Doth Man Himself Build?
Traveled yesterday north with fellow adventurers to the mighty city of Peltarch. The trip was fraught with bandits but I found no fear dealing with these simple Brigands. The city was another matter entirely.
Surrounded by massive walls and endless paved plazas, I felt disoriented and small immediately upon my arrival. I had expected more buildings, but the immensity of this place left my mouth gaping.
The others laughed at my hesitation, but in truth, it took all of my courage to pass through the gated doorways into Peltarch.
Once inside, the gates swang shut making the cobbled streers shake, and terror took the strength from my legs, and I sat down in a most ungainly manner.
Pelt is a cold place, without tree and almost berift even of simple grass….a stupefyingly barren warren of paved cobblestones, (12,350 in the intitial pavilion alone by my count), and full of filthy corners.
The people, sadly, seem a match for their home. Aloof and cold, they snicker at my woodsy garb and think my tripping over the pavement most entertaining.
I rather enjoy shopping at Norwick and Jiyyd's stores, and Pelt has countless places it seeems, but I find little joy in these stone coffins. A shame, as there are enchanted arrows, items and marvelous fabrics, if one is patient and hunts them out.....but my fears let me stay in one place in this horrid debasement of nature for only so long.
My fear and confusion at dealing with the sterile confinement of the city grew so great that I found myself being even less capable of speaking with the inhabitats there.
In particular, we encountered the man of the bandit-hill, Sam, who is a great bulk of a person, and who I recognized from my many treks over his domain. I fear I insulted and confused him in some way, but in truth, I have no memory of what exactly I may heve blabbered at him in my frightened state.
Better for fools who are even worse jesters in towns to avoid such places.
After quietly seperating from my comrades to their armor dyeing and crafting, I returned to the wilds once more. I simply could bear the city no longer, as much as I wanted companionship.
Bandits seemed like old familiar friends after this terrible city, and I laughingly skewered my way back to Norwick with great joy that the forests, fields and hills of Narfell still remained where I have left them after this terrible venture into what folks can "civilization".
I suppose it is I who am the ignorant savage, and that Pelt is a place of...a good city to some.
For myself, there is no better place to be that on some mountainside at night, with the stars my distant roof, free to walk hither and thither as I will, unfettered by dirty stone walls and mazelike corridors of man's design.
-
Une 26, 322
Today was my worst of days here in this strange land.
It started off well enough, as I hunted orcs and met some new hunters in the wild.
Arishika is a kindly half-orcan lady who I quite admire. She is well-humored and capable, and seem unfazed no matter how many enemies are beating upon her. While her demeaner is cruder than most humans, she appeals to me with her simple honesty and understanding. I hope to adventurer with this fine person again.
What is it Unca used to say? "Books sometimes have boar-hide cuvers and weigh more that rocks, but they's good stuffs inside 'em worth perusin'".
Lady Adriell and I had decided to return to the plains for another go at raising some coin for an elfin helm that I have had my eye on.
We headed past Sam's Hill, and there was a small group a ways beyond, near the crossing of the roads. It was Rera, her old and creaky Kitty, and another elf who I had not met.
It was apparent that they were out to target some of the nefarious criminals who plague these roads. Adriell stopped to talk to Rera and the other elf, as I stood by watching.
The stranger seemed to be giving orders to Rera, and Rera seemed eager to please, as usual. She talked happily of Kitty's great age, and how Kitty did not want to die lying asleep at some cozy fire, but rather in a heated battle, and Rera was itching for a good fight in her usual, high spirited way. It's amazing how happy she can be at these times, full of life and ready for action, despite her many handicaps.
There were telltale tracks of some bandits beyond the high ground some yards off, and I offered to scout in and lure them back, where the three could let missles and spells fly into the surprised approaching bandits.
I slinked off and up the hill, and sure enough, a pair of roguish women and a Faithful stood plotting in the valley below. I unleased a shaft into one of the rogues, and slipped back easily away from the approaching bandits. There was time aplenty to get back and set up for a long range ambush.
Much to my dismay, the elven fellow had moved the group up to the very base of the hill, eliminating our missle advantage, and giving away the high ground to the enemy. He was busily trying to get poor Rera properly lined up beside Adriell.
I was rather confused as to his purpose for the move to the inferior position, and somewhat irked at his ordering Adriell around. Who was this forward fellow?
I reached the group and hestitated. There was no time left to reposition Rera and Kitty back away from the hill, the bandits were about to crest it now, and neither Rera nor Adriell were heavily armored.
My normal tactics in a group are to rely on moving behind a heavily armored fighter and shoot at distance….but neither option would be possible at this spot with this group.
I decided to stand there in line with my comrades. The bandits appeared, and I opened fire...rather closer than I would have prefered because of the topography...the bandits would reach us before they fell. I braced myself.
The elf fellow was hollering at Rera about something....Rera was her usual perky self still crooning about Kitty, when the bandits hit us, or me, to be precise.
I'm afraid we were not the most effecient group of adventurers on this day. The bandits attempted to surround me, and I kept up the fire. It seemed pointless to fall back with a group consisting of 2 large cats and 4 skilled adventurers, so I decided to stand firm. I took a fair amount of damage from flanking before they finally fell.
This is when things went to hell.
The male elf accosted me about using my bow at close range, (which is where all of my skills lay, and the only weapon I own), and then accused me of stupidity at allowing the rogue to get around me.
He then ordered my friend Adriell over to him, as if she were some sort of servant.
I have often mentioned here in my journal of my ineptitude in my dealings with people, and here, sadly, is a solid proof of this.
Now angered at having my archery questioned, and by the elfs stupid lack of tactical sense when he postioned us in a foolish spot, I stupidly challenged him for ordering myself and Adriell around.
This, of course, only further enraged the fellow...and he tossed various insults in my direction, and we all passed out of that dangerous area, towards the safety of town.
Of course, it would turn out that this was Adriell and Rera's Druid Mentor, though I knew it not at the time.
Adriell rushed off to try and soothe the now very angered elf down, Rera ran off in tears with Kitty somewhere to the south, and Adriell hurriedly asked me to look after her.
Alas, stupid, stupid Green.
I found Rera sobbing in a little canyon a hundred meters short of the gates of town, Burying her poor, scarred head in her Kitty's fur.
As ever, Rera knows in her limited way how trying she can be to others, and had been only attempting to follow orders and be a proper Druid.
She was sure the whole fight was the result of her own failings.
I spent a long while with her, trying to explain it was not her fault, and that she would someday be a fine member of the circle.
Alas, normally I am always alone, and usually it is impossible to take me by surprise, but on this day, with Rera's sobs in my ears, and her head cradled on my shoulder, I did not hear, to my great shame, the approaching horde of bandits.
They crept towards the gates over 20 strong, surrounding our position on three sides quickly and efficently. By the time I saw their scouts on either hill, twas too late.
Arrows flew by us, clattering on the rocks around us.
Kitty snarled, an old cat who had been a part of many battles. He lept onto one of the hillside scouts with surprising speed. He was buying us time. Rera threw herself bodily onto the second bandit, with a ferocity I did not think she possessed.
She was like some mad, crippled barbarian….She ripped the Scouts head off with a mighty swing, and then she fell to the ground, and rolled down the hill back to me.
I set her on her feet. I screamed for Rera to come. She bellowed for Kitty to return.
I grabbed Rera by the shoulders, dragging her towards the gate in the distance. It was not a long way. It seemed like eternity reaching it.
Kitty was loping behind us with a pair of arrows sticking in his back, bleeding badly. Six, perhaps more, bandits were a little behind him, slowed by fear of her size. Rera was injured.
Another pair were on our left, two roguish women croodling in, and at least 10 were trying to cut us off from the gate to our right at a dead run. We were a few yards from the gate when Kitty turned around.
Rera's tortured single cry was the worst sound I have ever had to endure.
She ripped herself free from me as I opened the gate. Shafts were thukking into the wooden posts that form the gate.The Bandits at our right were up to the walls as well, and moving towards us. Lights were coming on inside, but I knew full well that help would come too late.
Rera, her crutch lost, fell headlong into the dirt, crawling towards the screams of bandits and the cries of her dying pet.
I leaped onto Rera now, there was no more time. She was frantic and kicking and scratching, but her strength now seemed wholley gone, departed with her Kitty, and it was more a child that passed with me through gated Norwick than the wild and scarred she-elf that had lept onto the Bandit scout.
We collapsed in a sad, exhausted heap within the safety of Norwick.
Of all the folks I have seen felled in battle, none have effected me like the death of this valiant old animal of Reras.
Rera loved "Papa" so, and she would have joined him, I am without doubt, had I not dragged her away.
Rera has so very little that brings her joy and comfort, and twas one of my saddest days, to have been a part of giving her such grief.
The little elf was in deep shock, shaking with sobs. I am a clumsy friend at best, and truly, was at a loss at what to do to help my poor sister.
I tried to remind Rera that Kitty's wish was to die in battle, fighting the enemy…that he was aged and death inevitable, that he was now in a better place and no longer old and hurting....but Rera could not comprehend it.
After a great many hours, with the sun peeking through to begin a new day, Rera got up and wandered towards the gate to find her dead Kitty.
I watched her pass by, half blinded by my own tears, as Rera, scarred and ragged, hobbling in that sad way that she does, carried the pitiful remains of her best friend off to a last rest in the forest from whence she came.
There was little else I could do. I wandered a little myself, finally falling into troubled sleep in the corner of some building in Norwick.
When I awoke, there was Adriell and her Mentor, who having seen the countless bodies of the Bandits that the guards eventually dispatched, had been searching for us worried, as the bandits lay where we had parted company.
It was hard to retell to them the sad tale, and harder still to relate it here.
-
Very nicely written.
-
Une 23, 322
One of the very few humans who can tolerate me, the cheerful Pete Rione, came close to annihilation today.
Whilst I was selling some bandit goods to Frago, a Citizen burst through the gates of Norwick…a large half orc. He explained that he and a number of other hardened adventurers had been in some particularly nasty and icy caverns below the Gypsy camp, and that they were ambushed by a large party of horrible Ogre Mages and that Pete had fallen, or at best, was trapped, deep within the caves.
The details were very sketchy, and I did not know exactly what an Ogre Mage might be or portend, but Pete either is kind enough as to pretend to flirt with homely me, or he is very myopic, and in either case is a decent, pleasant man who needed my assistance badly.
The Half Orc warned me the trip would be most hazardous. I had only recently been able to afford to purchase some better healing potions, and knew I had never been in better shape for an expedition of this magnitude.
The inhabitants of Norwick were sparse on this day, and we had great trouble in finding mighty warriors. We traveled to Pelt, the huge city, (Which is a terrfying place, with PAVED ground everywhere, and seemingly hundreds of roofed buildings which all look identical).
Eventually we had some rounded up some 10 stout souls for the trip.
I had never been to this Gypsy Camp, a rough place with a few merchants and a dangerous feel about it. The area where the caverns sat needed accessed by a key. Apparently it is so deadly that they need to keep it securely sealed.
I positioned myself to the rear of the party, where my bow would be most effective. It was obvious to me that I was the weakest of the group, as all were quite veteran explorers, and possessed the finest armor and equipment.
All involved seemed quite cautious and worried….so I braced myself for the worst.
The caverns were horrid beyond all imaginings. Constricted and winding, they offered little room for strategy and thought, and are particularly hazardous to lightly armored Bowstresses.
I picked my way stealthily along behind the largest fighter, well aware that crazed, evil eyes followed our progress. These orbs belonged to a pack of crazed and rabid Gnolls. The things attacked in mass, and it was all we could do was put them down as they broke on our line of fighters.
The going was mossy and treacherous, and I heeded the warning to stay on the center of the path, away from a considerable drop on either side. Why would Pete and his comrades venture in this hellish place of icycles?
The trek down seemed to take forever. Once past the Gnolls, things were quiet, but growing steadily colder. Suddenly, before us, were huge creatures....some sort of giant humanoids imperilous to the icy conditions...they were Ogres.
I fired and fired. One of our companions, a huge half orc, fell. Many others were wounded by the foul creatures.
Just as we had finished the last, and only as the healers had applied their craft, a mighty beast turned the corner, casting as he came. This was an Ogre Mage, and he was upon and through our lines quickly.
He was huge up close, and I dashed around him, getting hit by various magics I could not comprehend. The battle was long and bloody.
Finally, he was put down, and we arrived at Pete's beaten body.
It looked like he had put up a valiant stand. We gathered him up quickly, not wishing to pause here long, and fear began to gather in my heart, for we were worn from battle, and still had the long upward climb, now encumbered with to of our brethren, ahead of us.
As we toiled ever upward, another of these Icy magic-using fiends beset upon us. I emptied a quiver into it, drawing it's attention, and had to run for my life, ahead of the party.
I lost it long enough to hide in a nearby cleft in an icy pillar, when to my horror, a second of these things appeared to my front, and lumbered past me as I stood gaping in fear.
My stealth saved me, thought it's simple icy presence caused me frost damage. I steeled myself, slowly inching back to my comrades where the sounds of battle reverberated.
The great frost-thing's back was now to me, and I took advantage of this, doing him great hurt. Finally he fell, and miraculously none of us were yet dead.
We proceeded up, only to run into a Gnoll ambush of great proportions. We began to become isolated and all seriously hurt. Chaos was taking hold.
Finally, all semblance of order was lost, as we began to be overwhelmed, close to the exit.
"Run!", one of the old campaigners cried, and run we did, each to the best of his abilities, with friend and foe all mixed together in bloody embrace.
Not currently engaged with any enemies, I picked my way through slowly, dancing nimbly around the snarling gnolls, avoiding their fronts as much as possible.
This last was the worst, as we were all exhausted, grieviously wounded and out of healing. At last, I somehow found myself in the area above, viewing my comrades lying in various collapsed and bleeding conditions on the ground. I counted myself lucky to be more or less well....until I noticed a great gash on my side, reddening the ground.
I collapsed along side the warriors, greatful to be alive, and too tired to care what else happened. I was more scared here than on any previous adventure, and this brush with death was indeed a close one.
We eventually took Pete and our fallen comrade to a mighty healer, and it is gratifying to report he is on the mend...confused, grateful but happy to be alive. I have no wish to ever return to this hole. The wood or plain....even a plain full of Demon Wolves, is more to my liking. I cannot abide the cramped and limited spaces these underground places force one to function in. Brrrr. I am chilled still.
But alive.
-
Une 20, 322
Traveled to the Orc Plains with the Lady Adriell today. Her large cat Nethra is an amazing help, guarding us well against the various clumsy orcs there.
We beat the orcs back onto the Windy Plains, acquiring numerous orc shields, witchy crossbows and assorted memorablilia. My friend Cecil joined us for a bit, he seems to be growing greatly in his abilities since I first ran into him in the woods south of Norwick.
On our trip back I met another druid, a sister elf name Rera. I was instantly drawn to this poor kindrid spirit. She has had a most unfortunate life, and if badly damaged in both body and mind. She acts much like a very little child, trying to please everyone, but lacking the social graces, the charms and even the mental faculties to function normally. She often trips and falls, and it appears one limb is quite a lot shorter than the other.
Many tease her, many abuse her. It is very, very sad.
We both have similar natural hair colorings, and she has noticed this, and has made me her "sister". I shall do everything in my power to make my poor sister's harsh life easier….I have to believe there is hope for her.
Her best friend is her large cat, which she alternates calling Kitty or "Poppa". They are much on the same level, and Kitty is her protector.
This unique pair in turn makes me smile and cry. I find my own failings seem paltry, and my feeling sorry for myself at times seems now shallow and petty.
It is Mielikki who determines what we initially are, and it is up to us, as individuals, to make good choices in who and what we serve throughout our short lives.
Many fall into what is easiest, and make things harder than they need-be for folks like Rera. Too many lack humility and compassion, and yet, like to call themseves heroes.
Better to help those in need just because they are wanting, than doing great deeds to become reknown...which is only a selfish purpose, and which in the end, may lead to pride and a fall from grace.
Mielikki, please continue to guide my bootheels in all the paths I tread.
-
Une 16, 322
Spyders and Featherlights and Demonic Wolves, Oh My!
I have made a discovery that has hastened my opportunity at purchasing a fine Elven Bow, one crafted by artisians, rather than my own clumsy amateur hand.
The Gnome Frago's desire for Bluestones is nothing next to his passion for Orcish crossbows. I wonder what he does with these nefarious orc accouterments. He is either a fool with a warehouse full of dubious collectibles, or some merchant in Petluccia, (These place names in this region drive me mad!), is paying him handsomely, and tis I am the fool.
Doubtless the latter is the case. No matter.
I have stealthed through the enemy pickets south of Norwick to the encampment, and made my purchase. I made a Goblish assassin pay for his misdeeds on my return trip.
The Encampment is a cool, deep wood resting place, and I could easily abide there for a time. The elves there are very shy of strangers, but this is understandable as they are surrounded by foul enemies and must stay constantly armed and ready for attack. They live in light and natural, portable homes…I could enjoy such a "tent" myself. Perhaps I will someday see about having one made.
This morning I have returned to the Orc Plain to hunt more overpaid orcish witches. I find their cackling threats most amusing. I explored the surrounding regions as well....an ancient mountain ruin sits atop a cave that is most perilous. Demon Wolves reside within. I slayed one that some wayfarer had led out of the caves, it was wounded slightly, and I bested it only at the longest distance my bow could manage. They possess a terrfying breath weapon....proof indeed that these things are no mortal animal....but demons in the trappings of red eyed wolves.
I kept one of it's mighty fangs on a leather throng around my neck. It is the most difficult enemy I have fought, and I wish to encounter no more of these fiends.
Tis a clumsy ornament, compared to the fair gems and silver necklaces the ladies of Norwick adorn themselves with, but I am rugged and careworn, and such ornaments would be wasted on one so poor looking as I.
Further off across the plains lies an encampment or fortress of Orcs, methinks. It is guarded by mighty Orcish bowmen, and magic using Witchdoctors. I also saw the tracks of some un-named orcish foe...a mighty warrior, whom I do not wish to meet. I crept back from whence I came, and added this to my now growing map.
Through a clear, tinkling stream that fills a small lake in the region, I explored it's source, which is the territory of wild and dangerous natives. I endeavored treaty with them, trying first common, then elvish, and then my smattering of dwarish to no avail. Their answer was a hail of arrows, forcing me to flee.
Such a hostile reception for a simple wanderer!
Another cave in the region lies hidden in the hills, and seems unknown to most explorers, as others I quizzed did not know it's existance. It holds natural caverns of good size, with shining blue rocks.
Huge spiders, some of which bark like alarmed hounds, creep about this place. I dig not delve deeply. I know not the strength of their poison, nor the degree of their watchfulness. Perhaps someday I will explore this cavern with another. The capable druid, Adriell Woodstalker might do well here on these wild plains, with her understanding of wild beasts and fauna. I shall ask her to accompany me, as she seems to tolerate my demeanor and poor manners.
This plains are largely flat, frozen, windswept affairs, with the sounds of distant howling wolves and are broken up with occasional low, craggy, rocky hills.
At night, the stars often shine bright and clear in the frosty atmosphere.
With so many surrounding hostile enclaves of creatures, beasts and wild-folk, it is a treacherous, inhospitable place to all by the hardiest adventurers.
It is my favorite place to come to build a fire and sit and think. The hunting is fine, and the voices of the wolves at night soothe my mind. What a perfectly lovely place!
In truth, it reminds me of Wolf Mountain on the borders of Belesar, with Unca's little cabin, sitting amidst wolves and snow and unpredictible were-critters. The stars showed through it's icy nights in much the same manner, and this barren place is the closest thing to Unlce Glum's that I have wandered across.
There is no place like home.
Green Starfire's considerable history, unknown to her, can be found here.
http://www.narfellpw.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=15362
-
Une 13, 322
I traveled in the regions north to-day. A large person guards the high vantage point of the road in the bandit infested hilltops called "Sam".
He is a prodigious bandit cleaver. He would not speak to me, only nodding at my crude speech. I suppose I cannot blame him, as, no doubt, I seem rough and shady to his eye.
The area is particularly infested with roguish women with a penchant for sneaking up on one. I can hear them coming, and pretend to not hear them until I lure them into range, whence I skewer them for their tomfoolery.
To the east lies a town called "Jyadd" or "Jyyid".
I know not how to letter these foriegn names. Why dont the towns have good sensible names like "Eomlet" and "Toast" back home?
There are some interesting wild plains areas, windswept and cold, and rather to my liking, near this Jyyd.
They are flat lands, like my father's peoples home, and at night, I lay and watch my poppa as he winds across the sky, his bow in hand, a mighty warrior watching over me as I take what passes for sleep to my kind.
There are orcs afoot here, again, a familiar thing to me, much like the creatures of my Unca Glum's home. No sign of any difficult ones, however….only these stupid ones, and cackling Witchies, which I much enjoy putting down. While they lack in real finger-waggling abilites, they are enthusiastic in their evil work, and are a pleasure to rid the plains of.
Jydd seems to be quite hesitant about buying their crossbows though. Their weaponry is a bit crude, held to-gether with sticky twine and witch-wax, and not reliably accurate. I tried one out and nearly shot a passing hin by accident. It might be good for shooting around corners, but as a weapon, it leaves much to be desired.
Perhaps I would do well to try Norwick to sell these orcish trinkets, though it means dealing with those sneaking banditas.
Back in Norwick, a terrible incident has occurred. A half-Orc, upon being accosted by undead in the local cemetery tombs, decided to take matters into his own large hands and blow up the tomb entrance with one of those clever Gnomish "Powder-Kegs".
The resulting explosion, while not closing off the vaults in any way, did manage to result in an episode, as it awakened a most foul creature, who appeared at the Nothron Gate demanding re-imbersement for beng dsiturbed and getting marble dust on his black cape.
This creature was an evil Vampire, horrid in appearance and by his vile visage, once elvish.
He was even dressed like in a woodland garb, much like myself. This is an affront to lose who love and protect the wood, and Rangers and Druidic folks alike, and I feel, it a grievious insult to blessed Mielikki.
Rather than put down this menace with our combined force of militia and townsfolk, Chancellor May-thor wished to pay the foppish undead lout coin, which, in my opinion, would be a grievious mistake, only encouraging the blackmailing bloodsucker to further ills.
This money grubbing drainer of blood, (perhaps a lawyer, rather than a Ranger?), attacked my good friend Adriell's pet, Nethra, wounding her grieviously almost instantly.
This caused a general riot in which folks began pummelling the creature, resulting in several Citizenry deaths. I used my head and stealth, and stayed well out of the clawed wretches reach.
My arrows bounce off this fiend, making me rethink my strategy. Obviously, to defeat a thing like this, one must come prepared. It is still wrong to give this evil beast coin however.
He will be back, and he is overconfident. He shall not walk away from me unworried on our next encounter. His confidence will someday be his downfall, and I plan on being in attendance in this matter.
-
Une 10, 322
The Hasty Adventurer Gathers No Moss
I was invited by the intrepid elf Bill-Bow today on a mining expedition to the very treacherous far western region.
I dont actually know anything about what miners do, really, except that they dig up metallic rocks with picks, chisels and sledgehammers, and then somehow melt the stuff to be forged into weapons and armors and dinnerware.
I was to accompany along as an additional strong-arm with my bow skills. I'm afraid it didnt all work out quite as planned though, much to my chagrin.
Bill-bow and two companions met me at the Southron gate, and we proceeded to head off, with Bill-bow in the lead is his typically boisterous mood.
One of his companions was a particularly capable, cool headed magic using lady of some sort. She was rather frightening to me with her various arcane bewitcherments, but soon she would indispensible in saving all of our lives.
This region we visited is quite infested with evil gobbles of various sorts. There seem to be a particular lot of arrow-shooters and wee finger-wiggler gobbles, as well as sneaky, back stabbing assassins.
We stuck to a wall of trees and moved into the area at a pace rather too quick for my liking. Soon we had various goblicks to our front, and our right flank, a most unwise proposition.
At first, we held our ground, but a phalanx of Gobbish archers moved in, and we could not hold them back. Both dear Bill-bow and the fourth member of our crew fell in a hail of arrows, and the magic using lady was getting pummelled by an archer before I finally managed to put the last down.
I thought we might both be lost as well, in our feebled condition, with the long and greenie filled journey back yet to be traveled but the lady was full of curatives and took charge of the extraction plan using her arcane capabilities.
We were in a sore and dangerous spot, and now had two bodies and all their equipment to deal with.
I guarded the Sorcerous as best I could whilst she rested, and she cast marvelous invisibility magic upon us both which was more effective than my simple stealth.
We split the burden of carrying our fallen comrades, and made our way tiringly slowly back through the gobble infested wood. I had the task of dragging poor fallen Bill-Bow, who is much heavier than one would suppose.
I improvised a drag rope around his ankle with my leather belt. I'm afraid the path we cut, back through the forest, was rather wide and obivous….more like a bloody road really.
I must admit never having been under the influence of this sort of arcanic voodoo before, and really had a hard time trusting to the spell as I slowly dragged Bill-bow noisily and bloodily past the very noses of a score of Soldier-Gobbles.
I was very scared.
After an intensely nervous walk back, I am happy to report, the skilled Clerics at Norwick were able to work on our comrades, and patch them back up to nearly full health.
Really remarkable an achievement, praise Mielikki for her kindness.
The restoration spells, unfortunately, cost me every coin I own...not that I had much coin saved to begin with.
The good sorcerous and Bill-Bow's earning covered the bulk of the costs.
No matter, gold is a burden, in any case, and what is a the value of a friend? I hope that all of those tree-roots and stumps I dragged Bill-bow over has jarred some caution into his risk taking head, but I fear not. He still has that wanton gleam of adventurism on his countenance!
I shall have to keep an eye on this industrious but risk taking elf.
-
Une 6 322
Charming Maids and Chancellor May-Thor
The last couple days have been ones of considerable adventure, and I have met several Norwick Citizens of note.
Yesterday I patiently scouted the lands far to the east and south of Norwick, and they are perlious and beyond my capabilities alone.
More of these nefarious goblish artillerists, and capable and watchful archers, and wierd arcanic-sorceror goblins live in this region. I ambushed a number of the artillerists, but a mighty goblin warrior in mail who would not fall to my bow chased me back into more neutral lands. he lambasted me severely, and it was a bloody fight.
Eventually I simply wore him down, enticing him to chase me in circles around a big rock and acting more hurt than I actually was, until he dropped panting from exhaustion.
It is wise to be fleet of foot, and possess real endurance, if you must wear skimpy leaf-armors to keep your-self free to fire with accuracy.
I had hoped to find a better field for coin, but this farther wilderness seemed beyond my capabilties. I trudged to Norwick, dejected and bleeding.
The Chancellor of Norwick is a very understanding dwarf named May-Thor, and he patiently listened to my tale and offered to accompany meback into this region to procur some coin. I was delighted by his very kind offer, and followed his broad shouldered lead into these Gobble-fields, whereupon he proceeded to hand the entire gobblish population their little asses.
I followed him a goodly distance into the wilderness, and we collected numerous goblish gear, much of it strange to me, including some magical goblish scrollery, which I plan to study until I can make use of them.
Chancellor May-Thor, who reminds me very much of Unca Glum, (May his beard stay long), also allowed me to keep the armored heathen's mighty little short swords, which are better than those found in Norwick, and suits my size well with their lightish weight.
Fresh from my prosperous adventure with kindly May-Thor, I met a pair of the most friendly and pretty maidens in Norwick, as I sold my gainings from the expedition in the wilds at Frago's Emporium of Goodes.
Anna seems to be a townslady of great charms and boisterous, outgoing nature. She treated me most kindly, and did not seem to notice my poor manner or mind my battered countenance.
She is quite beautiful in a robust and natural way, and the men all turn their heads as she passes by. She wears pleasant dresses of expensive materials, and seems to be able to walk in them without tripping.
Perhaps she is a wizardress to manage these trappings, as I have never been able to wear one with-out falling on my behind.
I suspect there is more to Anna than just her natural beauty…she looks capable for battle as well. She makes me feel at home in Norwick, and gives me some hope here.
Her companion on this day was a fair elf, with wonderful light hair that seemed almost glow with a golden radiance to me. I am sure she is some sort of woodland creature like myself, yet she seems to have an understanding of magics beyond my reckoning.
Surely she is not a course Ranger?
Her name is Adriell Woodstalker, an understandable and common woodland name in my own country. While, unlike me, she is beautiful, I hope we perhaps share common beliefs and appreciation for nature, and will try to seek her out in the future, for comradeship and advice here in this strange land.
It seems I am making friends.
I can scarcely believe it.
-
Une 3, 322
For the past two nights, while lying under the watchful care of my Poppa's Constellation, I have recieved visions of a sort. I would not mention this here in my journal, but for the fact that I seldom remember anything from my nervous rest, which often amounts to little more than half closed eyelids and a watchful meditation.
These were vivid, if surreal Phantasms… a patchwork of memories from another time and place, perhaps from before I walked this green earth.
But, my Poppa was there, and mounted in his regal armor and shield bearing the hallmarks of Gallendar, and sitting astride a gray steed.
He seemed younger, and somehow more confident then my feeble memories recall, and behind him, through a haze of yellow dust bright with the light of a sun I have never seen, were a line of elves, again fitted with splendid gear, and at their center waved a golden pennant.
The scene wavered as if viewed through a great heat, and a lady appeared. She was surrounded in green as he had been in gold, and she was sad. She was light as I am dark, with unadorned braided yellow hair, and large pale eyes, and she stood looking out at me, a petite elf of considerable grace.
She spoke, but I could not hear her words.
I wondered if she might be Mielikki herself, and saw that she was not.
But I knew in my heart that it was her who allowed me this vision, and that she knew well my own inner lonliness, and wished to comfort me.
I awoke in tears.
It is a terrible thing to not know ones mother, to have forgotten her face, and to not remember her voice in your ears.
One's history, filled with the dreams and hopes of ones parents and other kin, shape who we are to become. When this is lost to a person, they face the wide world alone, save for their Faith.
Am I yet an elf when my language sounds like that of a dwarf clumsily tutored in this fair speech?
Am I a Gallendarian Maid when I never have set foot there or seen a grain of it's golden sands?
Like a wistera vine crudely shorn off and replanted far away, will I someday blossom, or am I doomed to whither and die, without family, without history or offspring of my own, a dying wild rose without roots or purpose, save a brief moment of blossoming?
Bitter past, open your locked doors to me.
Fling them wide so that I might find myself through my father's people.
Mielikki, what would you have your servant Green do? These Phantoms are ellusive, and they only serve to show me my emptiness.
I find little comfort in them.
Green
Are the Color
Of my eyes,
But my skies
Are often blue.
Green Starfire's considerable history, unknown to her, can be found here.
http://www.narfellpw.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=15362
-
Une 2, 322 A.G.
Quite remarkably, the Gnomish merchant in Norwick craves these easily extracted, small blue-tinged gems.
He willingly buys them by the bulging sackful, making possible a future purchase of a fine Elvin Bow. I am keeping my considerable earnings in a hidden place in the meadow.
I must pause to ask myself, however, what-ever does he do with all of these gems?
Perhaps gnomes find gems palatable?
Ah well.
I sat quite near the campfire for some time to-day near the Southron gate. If I am to learn to communicate with other folk, as I feel the urge to do, I must learn to speak up and not be so shy around people.
A real assortment of adventurers, cutthroats, necromancers, druidic badgers and assorted bric-a-brac seem to frequent this spot. I feel terribly exposed here, and most uncomfortable amongst so many peoples.
These Citizens are well monitored by the local Milita, who wear strangely identical armors and tin-hats, and seem like they are all related somehow, so alike are their stern countenances and brusk manners.
I noticed at the center of this busy traffiked area sat a small campfire upon which sat a very hearty pot. Imagine my surprise to find a potato-stew of sorts simmering upon it.
Unlike the foodstuffs in the huge tavern in town, this hearty soup seems to be free, and many a bulging gnomling and red faced dwarf jostled one another to get a bowl full.
I should like to contribute some of my cookery skills to this pot on some day when I have the nerve built up to offer my services.
The fireside is tempting, but so many folk!
I fear my countenance offends many, and as I prepared to leave for my camp, and was applying my stealthy makeup, a pair of very young human fighters accosted me, and asked me why a skinny green lizard like me was allowed into town.
I had no answer for them, as I fear they only speak the truth. I smiled and hid my tears, and left the fire.
-
Ay 28, 322 A.G.
If you happen to be a Dwarven Sculptor, it's wise to have egg-farming to fall back on.
Cleared the pastures Southron and East of town of Greenies, but the return in mass as fast as I dispatch them. Methinks they are akin to coneys in their fulsome breeding habits.
Made the alarming discovery that the feathered roasters further off are not common chickens atall, but some manner of petrifying poultrice.
Fortunately, I stopped to admire the various clever statuary in the region, wondering at the skill some dwarven craftsman must have taken in carving such wondrous likenesses of brethren elves in combat poses, running gnomes with flowing capes, and surpised looking human fighters bedecked in plate armour.
It occured to me an odd place to have an egg-harvesting operation.
But then, I supposed, you would never have to worry about being a starving artist.
Clucking at my wit, I proceeded to croodle up on one of these suspect roasters when they sqwakked at a passing half-orc barbarian carrying a big axe, and lo he was hastily turned to granite!
Not wishing to join him in his stoic stance, I slowly backed off, making sure the rocky rooster did not hear me. I then skewered him at a very great distance.
Tough, yes, they are. But when slow roasted with a little garlic and spotted newt-mushroom, they are rather quite tasty.
Later, whilst on my return from this aviatic region, I encountered a peculiar firework using Goblin. At first, I thought he was perhaps some sort of Greenish entertainer putting on a display….but then he proceeded to shoot his ballistical mortars in my general direction, forcing me to put him down by shooting one of the potent gimcrackers in his wee backpack, which caused him great discomfiture as he exploded in a satisfying display of Goblish pyrotechniques.
The resulting noise led to my discovery by a young and very inquisitive fellow elf, one "Bill-Bowwe". (I am unsure of the spelling of this name, I wish Unca Glum had been more exacting with my letters).
Bill-Bowwe seems a most clever and roguish elf, quite likable, and skilled, but he strikes me as very, very curious and seems prone to rashness.
Such a combination is likely to exact a toll on his life-span, methinks.
He caused me to stammer and blush repeatedly. I am such an ignorant goose with relationships. I hope he does not think I am horrid to look upon.
Bill-Bowwe carrys a quite wonderful looking elvin longbow, carved with runes and which is most beautifully crafted. It makes my simple, home-made Moon-oak bow seem as shabby as me.
He tells me these weapons are crafted at the Elvin Encampment, a region I spied to the south of Norwick, beyond the road infested with assassins and archer greenies.
It was gated and surrounded by a chasm I could not leap easily. Methinks I shall try to save some coin, as I have only 10 coins to my name.
Perhaps I shall keep them in my hollow tree-stump camp in the eastern fields. Not safe to travel jingling like a merchant returning from the market. Only a fool burdens his pocket in the wood.
These silly greenies carry coal for fires, and strange blue gems. Perhaps that Gnome in town who sells goods will be interested in buying one or two. I shall see!
-
Ay 24, 322 A.G.
Painted Ladies and Zombie-Brained Constables
Norwick possesses a wealth of intriguing citizens. Most balk at my rag-tag appearance and battered countenence, but there are a few who seem to tolerate my horrid clumsiness with the customs here.
Worse than any Goblin assassin are the times I deal with groups of the citizenry, many of whom are refined and noble, and wear fine garments.
I shudder in my muddy boots thinking of it.
The Elven ladies here wear paint on their faces unlike the green-leaf paint I wear for stealth. I hang my head when I pass, but try my best to be brave about my ugliness, and do my best to smile brightly.
Is there some witchery that keeps them all so clean and sweet smelling?
There are all sorts of interesting soldiers of fortune here, stomping about this little village. Huge half-orcs who tower over me, carrying mighty weapons I have not seen the likes of before.
There are also many happy children who seem unsually mature as well. At first I thought them some peculiar race of wee folk, but methinks they are apparently the only children to be found about Norwick. Odd.
There is also an inordinate lack of ordinary, commonplace items available here. No water canteens to replace my old skin. Not a wood-stick to be purchased at any price once Unca's has worn out. I may be forced to use something called "ink". It may well be some sorceror's trickery, from the looks of it.
I have much to learn about the ways of modern civilization.
Even the town's stone walls cause me misgivings…I sometimes get the unsettling urge to hurtle over them and run for the safety of the forest.
Ah well. Be brave, Green.
I have, of course, once again made a fool of myself, this time with someone on the local constablarity, apparently. I had finished my maps of the immediate territories south of town, (Must learn more about these strange noisome chickens to the east), and was proceeding to the north, to investigate the Bandit menace along the roads there, when I followed a little used road away east along the walls of the city.
There I encountered an old and perilous looking cemetery. Making my way with along the fetid gravestones, I came upon a large crypt, whose door was ajar. Strange shuffling noises came from within. I decided at once to investigate. Within the tomb a stairway led down into a vast, poorly lit catacomb.
Two sarcophagi sat in the first chamber, and evil looking undead Villager Zombies were careening about. It seemed natural and obvious to me that these creatures were both evil and unwanted, so I quickly put them down with a pair of arrows. I strode across the chamber when a harsh call of "Halt" stopped me in my tracks, coming from the doorway behind me from which I entered.
Assuming some foul cleric of darkness had bested my elvish senses, I proceeded to spin and draw my bow. A stranger, clad in armor, and carrying a threatening longsword, barred my path. We stood a few moments awkwardly, and the man proceeded to enter and demanded to know my business in the place.
I quietly pointed out the now dormant zombies and explained my business of cleaning the place of foul undead. The unnamed gentleman frowned, and forbade me from looting the evil one's coffers.
I now entertained the thought that this indeed was some foul servant of some insidious devil, as he obviously was bent on protecting these nasty undead creatures. He informed me that I might proceed further in, but was not allowed to take any belongings of the undead or I would answer to him. He looked into the tombs and apparently took measure of whatever trinkets lay within, and stood in the middle of the room, watching me.
I considered then and there skewering him. He seemed to me about an even match, and his deeds proved his evil intent.
What nonsense is there in protecting the valuables of vile zombies and skeletons? The fact that the man remained unnamed and boasted no reason for this outrageous behaviour further inclined me to put him down. But I did not, as he did not directly attack me, and I try always to be fair with even those whose acts seem exasperatingly illogical.
I try to remember that Mielikki would have me take no human's lives without good reason.
Holding back my doubt and rage, I finally backed out of the crypt, and parked my self on the ground in front of it as a blinding rainstorm poured its wrath upon me.
Eventually, the dark unidentified stranger emerged, still not explaining his actions, and headed in the direction of town.
After much contemplation, I returned to town, and eventually came to the remarkable conclusion that the chaotic acting individual was some sort of town sheriff or constable.
Why these guardians of the public welfare choose to discourage the destruction of undead plaguing the sacred tombs of the citizenry, I cannot say. Logic is not something inherant to "lawful" communities, apparently.
I see there is very much for Green to learn, should she even wish to be accepted in this strange, strange place. I'm afraid the authorities will now consider me much suspect for my unanimation of their reanimates. I am ever blundering in my ignorance, but I have vowed to keep trying to learn these peoples twisted customs as best I am able.
Mielikki, help guide me through this darkness, and grant me the wisdom to understand these strange peoples, and their obscure ways.
