[[A report shared with both the Legion and Peltarch Defenders]] NAME: Pvt. Matoushca Leaffall LOCATION: Giantspire Mountains - Valley of Red Mist - Boneyard. LEGIONARIES PRESENT: Private Shade (Panther) OTHERS PRESENT: A summoned fire elemental. (briefly) ENEMY FORCES ENCOUNTERED: Valley Hill giants Dire wolves Boneyard Patchwork Giants (undead) Giant necromancers Undead summoned by giant necromancers. Subterranian area Undead Dwarves Animated giant skeletons Blood Giant NOTES: While conducting a patrol of the Valley of Red Mist, I took note of a freshly cut pathway through a densely wooded area, northeast of where the road bends before ascending into the mountains. Beyond the woods, I found what could only be described as a boneyard. The bones and remains of fresh corpses had been collected, presumably from the beach and the valley, and many of them appear to have been subjected to necromantic rituals. I engaged the giants in the area, and at least two of them were spell casters, summoning skeletal undead to fight for them. Toward the Northwestern edge of the clearing, I discovered a passageway cut into the rock, with stairs descending into horrors I have not before witnessed the likes of, and of which I am unlikely to witness again. Mountains of bones and rotting flesh. Vast pools of blood. In the darkness, I fought against ashen dwarves. After a few blows, it became obvious they were undead. I also encountered towering skeletal abominations. During a lull in the fighting, I cast an ultravision spell upon myself and investigated the area as thoroughly as I could. Among the blasphemous shrines and altars, I noted markings venerating a frostgiant deity Kostchtchie. Peering down a long corridor, I could make out the figure of a giant. Unlike the rest of his kind, this giant possessed a tight, athletic body. It clistened crimson from head to toe, as if freshly coated in blood. I moved closer to gain a better look, but despite my camouflaging magic and the cover of darkness, he was able to spot me. He also continued to launch magical attacks against me after I had used a scroll to become invisible. Points of concern: With my magic and weapons, I was unable to defeat the patchwork giants. I suspect that Peltarch defenders would likewise have difficulty taking them down should they be turned against the city. The Blood Giant appears to be a formidable specimen. This giant and his necromancers pose a formidable threat to Peltarch and her people. ((the report includes a highly detailed description of the "Blood Giant", including size, muscle tone, holy symbols, speed, balance etc. ))

Giants. My Beloved Diary, I've tried my rapier techniques against Giants, alone this time. It seems that with use of potions, and with some serious caution, I can beat Hill Giants and Outer Spire Giants. Being cautious means using of potions such as Barkskin and others, fighting defensively, keeping Invisibility potions for emergencies and luring Giants to 1-on-1 fights. I should never fight more than one Giant at a time. ... but perhaps this will change with time, after I'll master new combat techniques. Killing Giants means that they will pose less danger to our city of Peltarch, and I can get some real-combat training, and earn some gold coins for my coinpurse too. I need gold to pay my debt to sir Atlas, as he borrowed me a lot of coins, so I could buy my rapier. -- Yours, Adeli. -- Out of Character: fighting defensively means using the expertise feat.

Asked Chat GPT 4 to colour it in for me. Actually turned out pretty good. Thanks robots!

Entry 33 I crossed the Icelace River to wander the ruins of Jiyyd, a place I had not yet explored. I was hoping to find remnant signs of any faithful in this area. During my exploration I encountered scavenging animals and some orcish scouts. I wandered to what seemed like old farmlands being reclaimed by the forest. Rounding a stand of trees I came upon a large troll! It was as startled as I, and I fired arrows into its throat before felling it with my axe. However, the noise of the encounter drew others nearby. One moving with other-worldly speed, closed upon me. Its claws tore at my armor, and I fled—desperately searching for a potion of invisibility. My foot caught on stone, my pack spilled, and before I could rise the troll was upon me. Its weight crushed me, and with its great strength sank its claws deep into my torso. I braced for blood’s warmth but instead came cold. A searing, biting cold, like the winds upon the ice floes, like plunging into a frozen lake. A single word entered my mind: Endure. I lay still in the forest, frozen between life and fugue, numbed yet clinging to that thought. Then, like a sudden gale upon a mountain cliff, the coldest wind I have ever known tore through me. My lungs filled with air and pain, wrenching me back from the brink. I awoke sprawled upon the earth. The trolls, indifferent to my remains, had already turned back to their den. I gathered my scattered belongings and retreated. Now, upon the ferry crossing the river to Norwick, I reflect. E-N-D-U-R-E The closest I have felt to such presence was shivering in rags at the Luskan Ice Palace’s courtyard, when the blizzard stripped me bare and broke me down to that one core thought. My lungs still burn with rawness; my breath offers no warmth to my hands. When the wind came, it was not gentle. It was a blast, a force that cut through me, filled my lungs with pain so raw it dragged me back into life. I am in shock. I am quiet. I feel less inclined to speak than ever before. Could it be? That I was brought back to life by... the Frostmaiden's breath? We approach the ferry-berth. A dwarven courier waits. I am reminded of a prior meeting, which now feels so inconsequential. Before crossing to Jiyyd, I had approached the new clan of dwarves settling in Aura Runedar. I simply conveyed a thought: how harsh the season could be without the roaring hearths of a mountain refuge. Perhaps an offering? Perhaps aid in return? I left word of my presence with their attendant, to be carried to their “herald.” But now, as we dock, I see the courier waiting for me. I expect I will respond in time. I am still awe-stricken.

Grimvug sits at the Defender barracks contemplating and confused. Mending his wounds and recovering from a resurrection at the Peltarch temple. He woke up at the altar of Mystra with the Priestess and Marty watching him open his eyes. Marty tells him, she found him near the Gypsy camp and he's been missing for a week. Lt. Arniss put out a call for a search party to find him after not returning from patrol. He does not remember much. He does not remember why he was out there or why Marty showed him an amulet of a devotee to Hoar. Apparently he had four more of the same amulets on his person after being resurrected. Rest and light duty will be needed for some time to recover from such a lengthy stay in the fugue, but that will give him time to read old reports and speak with either Lt. Arniss or Sgt. Everard.

A fight for alight. Dear Journal, Been a while since I had some time for my 'personal' pursuits. Among the Cerulean Ranks, they treat me like a doll. 'Do not put yourself into a danger', 'You have great calligraphy', 'It would be a shame if something happened to your beautiful robe', ... and so on. Reports & papers they give me to fill with corrections are numerous, to put it mildly. This evening, however, I've set things in motion, or at least attempted to do so. I've decided to pursue fight against the darkness that inhabits the land, and started with a 'Light' cantrip spell. My boy-friend, Anheim, told me once: 'With weapons one can defeat terrorists, but with education one can defeat whole terrorism. Those who practice terrorism are often desperate, unable to help their families in their poor plight. So they sacrifice themselves in a fight against those whom they believe to be oppressors, causes of their families poor living'. I will use my charms and wisdom in this fight, educating and acting as a diplomat. ... my pet-peeve is so called 'cause for greater good', where priests of some so-called 'good deities' educate their followers to not hesistate to sacrifice the meek when the numerous majority needs to prevail, and there's no other way. I'll try to be like one of more famous of eastern geishas (women companions), who had a smile and kind words even for the meekest and worst. ... I'll not let myself be abused, however. ... We'll see how things will unfold. -- Yours, Chea Allin, a Witch and a Seeker of Enlightened Energies. P.S. I'll try to create some enlightening arts. One could question how Art can bring enlightenment... but well, we are Mind and have Bodies... and looking at the Art can change one's Mind State. I've heard that sometimes Mind State changes can completely alter one's perceptions, and in effect - the whole world in which one lives. People should not underestimate meaning of the Arts, I think.

Attentus's Character Portraits: Chea Allin: click to download. Anheim: click to download. Kenna: click to download. (warning: this will overwrite one of narfell's default portraits, taken from steam workshop). Adeli: click to download.

Lence sits under the awning at the market in Kront as rain pours down. He sips from his flagon as he looks over the map he's been working on. He leans over, a puzzled look coming over his face. What is this, he ponders as he notices a marking on the map. Leaning closer, he chuckles. "Sap." He picks it off, and runs his finger along the clear areas on the map. Hmmm... that hidden path... perhaps it's accessed via the Icelace? It doesn't seem like we could find a way to get to it from the Cold Road. But the Scar has shown itself to be as treacherous as any other part of the Nars. Perhaps it's time to map the pathways to N'jast. Could be worth it to see what all the fuss is about it. It's been a thorn in the side of the city folk up in Pelt for forever. Almost as if it's become some kind of bogan man that parents use to scare their children at night. Too much unknown, he thinks to himself. I need to step up, and map more of the Nars. Ancalima and Jonty have been most helpful, but I am loathe to go into the Rawlins or the flatlands without any guarantees that we'll make it out. He grins to himself. Who knew that the pursuit of knowledge was so dangerous to one's health?