The Leaf-Covered Journal of Green Starfire
-
This bark and leaf bound book sits under some rocks just south of the Faerie Glenn, west of the South Gates of Norwick. Signs of a recent campfire sit nearby, and some neatly piled kindling. The journal is written in a very careful, childlike hand, and has been somewhat transcribed here into more presentable common for ease of reading.
Ay 18, 322 A.G.
My path has twisted and turned, and now it pauses. My boots, long worn, need mended. I believe my soul needs the comfort I can no longer find at my lonely campfire. Why, I wonder, has Mielikki chosen this particular spot for her wandering Bowstress?
My camp sits outside of the gates of a Barbarian village, a place that many adventurers pass through on their varied journeys to death or glory. I hope for some respite from solitude, and something beyond my will has guided me here. Mielikki at work, perhaps.
This place is called Norwick, my temporary respite from the wilderness, so very far from my native land.
I have always been more comfortable speaking through the loosening of feathered tipped death, so it is not surprising that I, in my typical clumsy fashion, seem to insult and confuse the many varied inhabitants here, though I mean only to find fellowship.
Surely my social skills, rotten from neglect living alone, and never very practiced to begin with, with only Unca Glum to turn to, are pitiable.
Tis an odd little place, this Norwick, on one hand serene and idyl, on the other, a crossroads of a sort, with scores of heavy booted, loud adventurers off seeking their fortunes.
Like true children of war, the veterans avoid the green newcomers with a jaded eye, knowing full well that friendship here is only a chance to bury a young and hasty comrade.
They often let the newcomers set out unawares, where they trundle off to mercifully quick deaths at the hands of wee Greenies. Better, the old campaigner's suppose, for them to fall alone, then to squander time on hopeless cases.
I shall make it a point to try and do my part, as a Bowstress of the wood under the guidance of Mielikki, to do what I can to aid these miserable wretches, once I have scouted the surrounding countryside well, and rooted it's secrets. It appears to be a rich land, albeit it wet beyond reckoning.
What would Unca think of this, I wonder?
I will record a verse I have written, a little fair song for the trail when one is alone and tired.
_My bootheels,
They have followed,
The falling leaves.
Down a winding path,
They lead
My tattered soul.
Often, I have traveled,
To many far-off places.
Searching far and wide
For my elusive dream.Green
Are the color of my eyes,
But my skies,
Are often blue._
Green Starfire, Bowstress of Mielikki
Played by The Great Balls O'Fyre**
-
Arch 13.
It is hard, after so long, to start writing afresh. So much has changed in the lands around Norwick, and perhaps, more in myself.
I have found myself accepted into a family at last, the Druids of the Circle, under kindly old Andu’mien, have made me feel welcome, a sister, a part of them that is hard to explain.
I would never have dreamed that Nature’s blessings, it’s raw power, could pass through these poor scarred hands. I could not have guessed, on that day six years past, that the voices I heard were coming from the trees themselves, beckoning me to them, asking me to listen to their quiet messages.
I went to Lady Adriell, and asked for her advice, as she is wise in matters of the wood, and it was she who first knew what haunted me. She suggested that it was perhaps Mielikki and the Forest calling, that my path might lie as one of her priestesses, or on the path of a druidess like herself.
In truth, I have always doubted myself, and it made the turns in my path difficult for me to see clearly.
I went then to wise Grivel, the old wolf, who has always acted as a quiet mentor to me, and we spoke long.
He told me I should follow my heart, and not think too hard about my choice, as that it was this that was blinding me to the truth.
Little did I know it would be our last campfire together, this one time that our meeting was not by fate, but by my purpose.
I had become so familiar with seeing his fire ahead on my trail from time to time, I fear that I had become complacent, and thought in my heart that for many years hence, I could look forward to enjoying this wise man’s council and friendship.
When he was slain on the Nars in battle, alone but for his companion-wolf, all of the forest-folk weeped. When it occurred, I felt struck down where I stood, and I know that our Woods became less for his loss, and that the place where Mielikki dwells was blessed with his arrival there.
I have heard from the ranger-folk of the Wolve’s Den saw The Lady, in all her beauty and kindness, when she came and took the old Wolf to her bosom.
The Great Tree that grew on the spot where Grivel lay is a reminder to us all, that our paths only seem to end, and that another journey awaits all who are true and good and walk their path in this world with honest hearts.
Now, in the wood, when I near the crest of a hill, and see a lone star shining through the darkened wood, I cannot help but remember his fires just ahead on my trail, gleaming through like a beacon guiding my way.
I miss him.Several of his closest companions seemed terribly effected by his death, and young Bilbow, who was the very first person to welcome me openly into these lands, followed Grivel shortly thereafter, as did the enigmatic Chiero, whose grief was too awful for me to think about still.
The loss of Grivel, it’s seems to me, signaled the beginnings of much change in the lands around Norwick. For long, the great evil force in the Rawlinswood, long hidden and building it’s power, seemed to at last find the confidence to strike out in an attempt to topple the balance between light and dark.
Even as I strived to find my place, as an apprentice to the Archdruid, things in the Woods south of Norwick became ever more terrible and dark. The Circle was besieged by night-marish creatures, some that seemed parodies of the Druids themselves.
All of this evil was spreading and slowly engulfing the Woods, the Elven Encampent, and Norwick itself, and it was plain to all who lived in these woods, that if action was not taken against this evil menace, The Defiler, a mighty fallen Druid himself from ages past, that he would overwhelm the Balance that makes up Nature itself, and all things would be corrupted, and taken, and we would all be no more.
Thus I found myself, as yet only a fledgling druid, trying to learn as quickly what I must to help The Circle to survive.
My journals from this time were destroyed in the cataclysm that was The War for Balance, and long I have been unable to speak of what transpired, but, I feel I must try and relate here what happened to myself and my new family, and the others who sacrificed so that the region would not fall utterly into evil.
For, if we force ourselves to hide the pain of those days away, we will forget those who gave all that one can give, in this terrible time.
My words are poor, journal, and time has passed since this dark time, but I shall do my best to retell some of what happened here, as I remember it.
I must.
-
Roses, ashes.
The wan elf sat inside the hollowed trunk in the bosom of the old tree. She had called this place home for the past eleven years, a refuge when the rain was too heavy or the taunts from less nice townsfolk overly bothered her.
It was her stronghold from the goblins that had once stalked this place, and she had found out its hoary secrets on the first day in this strange land, sleeping on the mossy floor after having been wounded from an armored goblin’s attack.
She thought back to those days, and her early entries in her journals, the remains of which sat hidden in the back of the tree, under some leaves.
She should have left her journals here on that terrible day, now three years past, when she went to die with her friends in the final battle with The Defiler and his Minions, but had taken everything with her, assuming she would be forever slain, and destroyed with her, should be those things that mattered to her, that held memories only she understood.
She uncovered the little package now, wrapped in waxy large leaves and a leather cloak. She surveyed it’s pitiable contents like one might look at a damaged but beloved puppy run over by a wagon, and tears fell down her face from large green eyes.
Most of the items were little more than crushed ashes, and she wondered greatly that her friends had been able to scrape together enough of her to bring her back to the forests that she loved.
She surveyed the wreckage of her dreams and her past, recognizing here a piece of melted silver chain from a fragile medallion that her friend Rera had given her, and there a bit of a demon wolf’s tooth, now blackened that had given the thin bowstress such a battle, and that she had fashioned into a protective totem.
An arrow her friend Thaeyu had long ago given her, when they fought side by side, now a charcoal stick.
A burnt gift from Adriell there was, and the remnants of a green dress from Lady Anna, the first Green had ever worn.
A detailed green leather treatise on trees, once thumbworn from Green’s reading again and again on nights at her campfire, now black and destroyed.
So many things that reminded the elf of who she was, and what she had been. Things that had brung up faded memories of happy times, of moments of comradeship, and of love, all destroyed.
At the bottom of the burnt collection of rubble sat her three journals. The first had nearly survived and was only burnt at the edges, and her first months in and around Norwick were still legible in the bowstress’s neat but child like printing.
The next two were beyond redemption, still shaped like black volumes, but burnt into a fused, fragile mass.
Green paged carefully through the earliest volume, taking care that her tears fell to the mossy floor away from the damaged journal.
As she did this, in a slow snowflake like descent, five ashy pieces of alike sized petals fell from the upturned book, the remains, perhaps, of a flower, once carefully pressed and cherished, now heated beyond it’s endurance, spinning one last moment as she watched it’s final sad descent onto the soft floor, the impact of which was still beyond it’s ability to survive.
She reached out for the ashy petals with unusual clumsiness, but it mattered not. They were gone, scattered into the green moss, floating on the air, no longer in one place, but dispersed into the world.
Green cried. Great, racking sobs took hold of her, and the gentle creatures that now walked these lush fields in the region, the badgers and deer, and a hawk that sat somehow gloomily on a nearby branch, all set back their ears or lower their heads into their wings, to mourn with her.
She and her friends, and many other peoples that wished to see balance restored to the wood had set aright these fields and forests of the region, but the cost had been high for them all.
The night passed, and she eventually took up her remaining journal and placed it into her satchel, beside a new and wordless one, setting the rest of her lost treasures back into their place, now a little grave of lost momentos from a past chapter of her life.
She gathered herself, and faced the dawn, silently promising she and her Goddess that Green would begin anew, rising up to face whatever path lay at her feet.
She stole out of her old nest as the sun peeked through the treetops, skirting Norwick by passing through the fog bound cemetery, a wisp upon the grass, disappearing northwards as the first cock crowed its awakening song.
-
Ugust 14.
**A Strange Voice in the Leaves
Callon, Thaeyu and I have become adept hunting partners.
We spent the last several days on an extended hunt across the Nars and the Plains, and have worked out a simple but effective system of hand signals to help us efficiently work together.
Generally, one of us will take the point, stealthed, a little ahead and to our center, and we other two will follow, within sight. The point-person can silently relay information of what lies ahead, with simple motions, be it a bevy of orcs, or something more dangerous to avoid, and if someone is encumbered, they can safely trudge along in the rear with less fear.
With one of us leading whatever creature we face back to us, we have been most successful at bushwhacking it unawares, and it has been a fine, fine expedition.
We also have come into a little nest of birds whose mother was killed, and are thinking of raising them, and perhaps trying to train them to fly to one another when they are older, as a sort of longer range, emergency alarm system.
I imagine this will take a lot of work, but, it would be well worth the effort.
Upon our return to Norwick, I retired to the lake for prayer, and had the strangest experience.
I was sitting, facing the water, and was listening to the gentle sounds around me.
This is one of my favorite haunts, and I always find it restful at this peaceful body of water.
Behind me I could hear the squirrels and badgers at place in the Lady's Wood, and the wind gently whispering through the trees.
But today, there was another voice on the wind.
It was a rustling sound, seemingly far off and indistinct, but it certainly was a living voice.
I sat for a while, trying to determine it's origin, but it seemed to move about, and generally be above and behind me, in the forest.
I stood, and slowly padded back towards the trees.
They swayed slightly in the mild breeze, and the golden and red leaves blew about the woods.
As I stepped into the woods, a few leaves seemed to swirl about my head, and the voice stopped, rather as subtly as it had began.
It was not a harsh sound, nor was I put on alarm.
It must be a good thing, but, what was it?
I shall ponder this long tonight, and I shall listen again for this distant cry in the Forest.
-
Ugust 10
**A Giant, fiery half-Orc and a Pair of Fire Giants.
The last few days were most interesting ones.
It began when I accompanied my good friends Tontou and Kira north on a little journey with the always charming Nico Black. I see many changes in Nico of late, as he blooms from a simple merchant to a more capable stealthy warrior, of sorts. He seems to be the type of fellow who uses his brains in his adventuring more than his muscle, and it will be interesting to see where this leads him.
It was Nico's desire to visit the stone city of Peltarch this day, and though in truth this place is one of the few locations that actually scares me, I decided to take hold of my misgivings and help Nico to arrive there in one piece.
The trip itself was not particularly notable, some bandit-soldiers and a particularly nasty evil priest who cast some whim-wham on Tontou, which left him somewhat abbreviated until we reached the Tower on the mountain outside the great city, where they fixed him up in no time.
At the gates of the dark city, I was, as usual, gripped with a fear to scale itâ€
s walls and flee for the forest,I find this great hulk of cut stone unnatural and it seems to go against the very concept of Nature. I wonder that people willfully live in such a dead, empty place, bereft of trees and animals and the good things of this world.
Once in the city, Nico and the others went about their business, whilst I sat amidst what shrubbery I could find, and we were preparing to leave, when we encountered that great bulk of an armored person, Sam.
Sam has always been a mystery to me, as he is always very, very hasty, and seldom will stop and talk to me. Always, it seems to me, he is rushing off to some mighty battle, and I often wonder, if he is good and caring, why this Knight does not take the time out to stop and see what it is he is fighting for?
But, for today at least, his bravado and striving for battle seemed more or less well founded, as it would lead us into a most rousing adventure.
It seems that Sam had discovered that the local humanoid fauna outside the walls of Peltarch had been becoming more active and noisome than was usual.
A group of us were roused together by Sam to check on this situation outside of the Gates of the City.
There we discovered the nature of these curious little humanoids, called kobolds.
Now, I had never heard of such things before in my days in the wilds, and they are most curious little beasts, unlike goblins, but more or less similar in size and demeanor, but more thin and lizard like in their manner.
They were most numerous, and were skittering and scampering about the hills outside of the City walls.
I wondered somewhat as we proceeded, as to who might have had the right-of-way in this land, as the things were clearly outside of the city proper, but Sam seemed to strongly be of the opinion that the little beasties were infringing upon the citizenâ€
s good property, so we followed him out into a veritable army of the wee scaled yippers and were soon involved in a most bloody conflict.Scores the little brutes continuously charged about us in suicidal waves, with Sam taking the brunt of their little arrows and wailing weapons, and Tontou stepped up with the others who were more or less handy in mellee, whilst I and Kira hung back and picked off the archers that presented themselves.
The battle lasted a goodly while, as the creatures regrouped several times, and charged in a sort of short wall of gabbling death.
Finally, after quite some time and a lot of minor injuries, we took the high ground from them, and were standing more or less in the center of their former position, looking down on the grassy, rocky valleys on each side.
Sam was trying to discover the source of their attacks, and asked me to scout around and use tracking to discover their lair, but there were virtually thousands of chaotic tracks in every direction, and I proved little help.
Nico suggested a cave some ways off, and Sam, eager to root out the source of the kobold menace, led us on a merry trek to itâ€
s gaping maw.I was somewhat nervous on the trip, thinking of the scores and scores of kobolds that we felled. They had then been all to our front, and here, with countless cliffs and alcoves about us, we would not fare as well should we suddenly be confronted with a like number from all sides.
But, once in the winding cave, we seemed once more to have only our immediate front to worry about. We proceeded ahead slowly, assuming the place would be full of these noisome little creatures, and we were not disappointed.
They seemed to await us at corners, and to come down upon us in waves, with their capable archers hanging back and causing considerable distress.
Sam's heavy armor and considerable abilty was too much for them though, and Nico was able to disarm many considerably dangerous traps these wee devils had set, and we pushed deeper into the place.
Then, disaster struck.
Nico and Sam were at the front, with Sam dealing with living problems as Nico carefully inspected and disarmed what lie on the floor.
Somehow, dear Nico zigged when he ought to have zagged, and a distinct click'and swooshing sound were heard, and Nico's color went from a hearty reddish to a pale green in an instant, and his sideburns drooped in an alarming fashion. He spoke something indistinct to Sam, put a hand to his face, and swooned into Sam's arms in deep shock.
With our trapspringer now sickly out of commission and slipping towards death's dark door, we were left in a quandary.
A vote would have doubtless had us packing it in, but the ever-forging ahead and optimistic Sam decided that we that were left should await here, bravely guarding the corridor we had won, while Sam hoisted Nico onto his large back and trotted him back to Peltarch for much needed antidote.
We immediately all noted that it was quite a long, perilous journey back to the walled city.
I know that all of the remaining party felt a deep sort of fear at this plan, as it had been Sam whom in truth had been keeping us standing under the fire of the scores of archers, casters, and general kobold hordes who had been screaming and streaming down upon us.
They had made a rather lasting impression upon we younger adventurers as they had piled waist high in front of the huge half orc in heavy plate, and it must have occurred to each of us the likely outcome of such a massed onslaught upon the balance of us without his considerable presence.
Now, whom or whatever came up from ahead in the completely unexplored depths that lie ahead, it would be our little, Samless group that would face it…a proposition none of us really relished, as the whole of the enterprise had rather been Sam's idea, and we were all sort of drafted into it as he couldn't find anyone else to accompany him on his soldierly little Quest into the depths of Koboldland.
To our credit or our stupidity, no one complained or followed him out, as the last sounds of his heavy, Nico weighted bootsteps echoed down the corridor towards the distant surface.
We decided to back up around the last corner and set a hidden, advance scout picket further up the hall, to warn the others if another vast horde should come scrambling down the towards our postion. We figured the corner would force their archers up at least, into melee range, that might help us have a fighting chance to last until Samâ€
s return.Being best suited at stealth, I volunteered.
It was very quiet ahead, and I moved up as slowly and delicately as possible, as the last thing I wanted was to pull down the wrath of whatever might lay in wait ahead down upon my brave friends.
Nothing but a small pool, water dripping into it, sat ahead on my right, and a single word on the wall to my left, written in Koboldeese, no doubt, sat about two feet up from the floor.
"Ishlandwana", it read.
I did not know what this might mean in their strange language, but I did not like it.
I stood, flattened against the wall listening against the stone, as my friends did their best behind to patch themselves up for the next inevitable onslaught.
I stood like this, listening against the cold, damp stone for a long while. I could hear my friend's whispered worryings about Sam, and their brave reassurances. Someone was unwrapping some rations. Another, checked their quiver.
The little pool vibrated, almost indiscernibly.
Again.
It was like the distant sound of a massive cut tree being bashed into a huge door, or maybe, huge, huge footsteps.
The sound grew, and little pieces of rock crumbled from the ceiling, and the pool vibrated and shook.
I began to back down the corridor, and froze.
Well ahead, at the edge of my elf vision, the corridor took a little jog to the left. Around it now, his head ducked slightly to avoid smacking into the 15 foot ceiling, was a gargantuan creature, with golden, horned helm and a sword that was wreathed in flames as twice as big as me.
It was a Fire Giant, and he was heading right towards my friends at a horrifying pace.
I ran screaming back, and made it clear that now was not the time for heroics.
"Fire Giant!" I screamed, leaving little room for confusion. "Run!"
This we did, with considerable gusto.
We arrived outside, gave the entrance some distance, and turned to see if the thing could fit out of the entrance-way.
It was a huge creature, and everyone was appropriately impressed. We decided to try and stand, by running in circles and shooting it, should it appear. It seemed awfully unbrave to just abandon the Cave altogether after Sam bid us to stay, and it seemed folly for any of us to try and fight the thing toe to toe, so this was about our only alternative id we were to retain a semblance of warrior-like dignity.
Fortunately for us, the thing could not quite manage to fit out the doorway, as he really was gargantuan.
We waited, somewhat cowed, for Sam's return.
It seemed like a day passed, but it truth, the sun was only just setting, when Sam, accompanied by a more robust and properly toned Nico returned.
"Thank the Gods!" we all muttered, as we excitedly brought the intrepid duo up to speed.
Sam looked at us dubiously, probably doubting our giant recognition capabilities.
"This was a Fire Giant, youse saw, and not a fat ogre?", he asked, with considerable disbelief in his deep voice.
We assured him we were not that terrified that a proper identification could not be established.
"What did it want?",he asked, still very dubiously.
We all looked at one another for some time, trying to decide if it was us that were utter cowards, or if it was Sam who was a little dim.
"He didnâ€
t say!", I finally offered brightly."Huff!", Sam replied, and he headed to the entrance, with all of us grudgingly in tow.
The Giant was nowhere to be found at the first inner chamber, and we could feel Sam's doubts about us grow.
"Maybe dose little fellers were standin' on each others shoulders?" he prodded.
We all shook our heads "No" vigorously, peering ahead into the gloom.
We moved ahead, cautiously, and sure enough, there he was, his back to us, chewing on what appeared to be a hind quarters of an entire oxen.\
"Huh" commented Sam," a Fire Giant."
We all shook our heads knowningly, and to our alarm, Sam strode right up to the thing.
"You there!" he cried, in his stoutest tone.
WHAM!
Mighty fire-lit sword the size of a battering ram connected with helmed half-orc skull, and sparks flew, causing the rest of us to dance about to avoid getting singed.
We had thought perhaps that Sam knew some bit of lore about Fire Giants that we did not, but apparently, he didnt.
It was a most spectacular, ash ridden fight.
Sam began wailing on the huge thing's knees as the rest of us, except for Nico, began peppering him with arrows, most of which seemed to catch fire before landing.
I had gotten some special enchanted arrows, ones of piercing, out, once we had run from the beastly creature, and now I began to unleash these as fast as I could fire.
Nico took to the rocks, and began to try to flank the huge thing, no small journey, as his front was massive.
Sam took a helluva a pounding, and more than once he needed healed to stay afoot.
Eventually Nico made it around to the creature back, as we slowly whittled him down, and the thing began pulling huge handfuls of burnt arrows out of himself.
Sam chopped, Nico stabbed dexteriously, and suddenly, under a particularly well placed Nico Black rapier lunge, the big thing just plain fell over, causing Sam to leap back to avoid being crushed and burned to death in the massive ensung thud, and we all were engulfed in an ashy, hot, miserable soot, and could no longer see ten feet in any direction.
Sam looked back at us, entirely encased in black soot, only his eyes visible through it. His plate was dented and mishapen, and he looked sorely tired. He grinned.
The rest of us relaxed a little, hardly believing we had actually defeated something that unworldly large. Nico yanked his stuck rapier out of the fallen giant, and spit dirty blackened spittle onto the ashy floor.
Sam was obviously going to need some rest and tending before we retreated back to the city. He was badly hurt.
The floor reverberated. Black soot rose from the floor as a loud booming shook the cavern.
Before we could think about running, the second Fire Giant, big brother to the first, turned the nearby corner.
None of us had had the wits about us to consider the possibility that a second of these massive things might lurk in this dark place, and for a few moments, we all sort of stood there staring in terrified awe, as the creature took note of his deceased relative, and began to get a rather nasty look on his dark face.
It spoke, in a booming voice, in a language that no one here knew.
Sam tried speaking in common, telling the giant we were there to stop the kobold infiltration of the big city, and the giant bellowed something further in Giantish, obviously angry, and unable to comprehend.
Someone tried elvish, and several obscure languages, no luck.
The giant seemed about ready to start beating on us with his big, flaming sword, which would not do at all.
Then, I had an idea.
Having spent my youth in the little stone cabin of my Unca Glum, who was my poppaâ€
s best friend, and a dwarf, I had a basic smattering of the language…a small vocabulary of largely dwarvish profanity, but better than nothing at all.I hollered out-"Big one, you speakee dwarfish?"
With surprising mastery of the tongue, he replied, "Stone city maggots talk the language of my slaves?"
Everyone seemed shocked at my ability to communicate with the big lug, most so myself.
With my pigeon dwarvish, I tried to talk us out of the deadly hole we found ourself now in, with Sam providing the basic ideas, and me passing them along to our gargantuan, angry, foe.
www.pixhost.com/pixd/dukstuf/firegiant.jpg
The giant seemed to hestitate in taking us all on at once, and listened with interest at our mission to stop the kobold hordes from attacking the denizens that stepped outside the city gates.
Soon it was plain from the giant's words that the kobolds considered the lands theirs, and that they had been there first.
We all felt a little misguided, I think, after this sunk in, and a bit chagrined at having killed the big lug's brother, perhaps hastily.
We wisely offered to take this information back to the city fathers and try to come to a less bloody settlement, and the giant decided to let us go, saving us from having to deal with this second mighty creature.
This struck me as rather a positive development, seeing the condition of Samâ€
s armor seemed more to resemble a crushed piece of scrap metal now than it did to heavy plate.We excused ourself, carefully neglecting to mention the Giant's fallen brother, and hustled out of the cave before the Fire Giant had time to reconsider.
We reached the city gates, all feeling we had accomplished something we would not soon forget, even if the basic point of the venture was less than clear.
I made an excuse to avoid entering the city itself, as it still was much more frightening in it's stony paving to me than any giant, and slipped off south, back onto the Nars, towards home.
I said a little prayer to The Lady, for her help in remembering what I could of Unca's language, and the various bandits on the way to Norwick seemed like old friends after that intense encounter in the Giant's dark Cave.
Today is a high point for me, as a Bowstress, and I suppose, an adventurer, feeling saucy and accomplished at having lived through such an encounter, and actually have been worthwhile to my friends with my smattering of Dwarvish.
Now if only Callon would return from his journeying, that I might share my tale with him, and cuddle at our fire, it would be a perfect end to this week in this perilous land in which I live.
I secretly hope he will be there, at the lake, with a roaring fire, but it is quiet, and a starless foggy night on the Rawlins.
I sit, and write my journal entry roasting some nuts on my fire, hoping for some stars to peek through the clouds.
-
Uly 29
I feel myself at some respite, at a happy oasis in my daily dangerous journey that seems to make up my life.
I suppose it is the end of this chapter of my little tale, and the beginning's of new pages that will unfold to some unseen place I cannot now forsee, but surely, I have come to a place to stop, to think, to enjoy my time with Callon, however short or long it may turn out to be.
I have found it harder to write these days, as most of my time has been spent hunting and teaching this young stealthy elf, and a few new friends we have made along the way.
They have been joyous hours, as I am best fit to speak and talk and teach on these narrow skills that I possess and have some confidence in.
Woodcraft and stealthy hunting tactics with a bow are what I am fair at, and these two both listen and, I feel a sort of accomplshment in our work together.
It is good to see them grow.
Together with the sturdy and brave young elf Thaeyu, Callon and I have been roaming the Nars, and my haunt,the snowy plains, and have been whittling away at the threats there.
Many are the camps we three have made together, and my, but how bright our fires seem to me these days.
Callon is a dreamer, and I so enjoy listening to his big plans. He would like a Guild of his own someday, and as he speaks he makes me feel that such things are possible.
My favorite place in this world, dear journal, is sitting at any campfire that we find ourselves, with my head lying upon his chest as he speaks of such things.
Callon comes from some noble city-stock, and he easily treads in the towns on business quite often, and so, I do not visit my new favored place as often as I would like.
I should not be so greedy about our time together, and shall try to not complain.
I ran into Grivel today, which is what prompted my journal entry.
Always alone at his fire, he seems more tired somehow than in our past meetings, and we sat and spoke long through the night, and he took on a long walk to the Den of his group of Ranger-folk, showing me their wonderful inner realm, with their superbly set up crafting areas, their wonderful archery gallery, and other truly amazing things.
We sat there in the Wolve's Camp-Ring for many hours, and I hoped quietly that he might offer me an invitation into their Brotherhood, for I fear it would be forward and tactless of me to ask.
After all, I cannot even wield a sword properly, and a shield with this useless left of mine is out of the question. No magic blessings, no animal companion who will tolerate me.
I offer little to such a group, I fear.
I probably delude myself, thinking such an invitation was a possibility.
Callon's interest in me, I fear, has sparked a feeling inside of me that I should probably not entreat seriously.
I have lived so many years alone, away from any sort of civilized group, that I fear I am completely incompetant at mixing with lots of folks.
I can manage well enough with one or two friends I trust and who can bear my clumsy and overbearing ways, but I would likely just make a fool out of myself in a Guild of skilled Hunters like the Wolves.
If I am not asked, I should not make myself a pest to folks who are nice to me, no matter how badly I wish it were otherwise.
It was nice though, to spend time with my old friend. I always leave his camp a little wiser for the visit, and Grivel has a subtle way of sharing himself with others that is hard to put a finger on.
His fires, ahead of my path, always guide me further beyond them more surely, and my heart is lighter knowing that another will sit lit somewhere further ahead, down my trail.
-
Uly 18
Green are the Colors that you bring…
It seems Callon and I share many similar experiances, and are able to understand one another on a simple level that is a matter of intuition.
We both have traveled long paths to this place called Norwick, led by our Gods to this meeting of our trails. Like lonesome Ghosts, we both relied on stealth to survive on a harsh road largely berift of companionship.
We can draw on our times alone now to help us see the preciousness and the frailty of our current situation, knowing well the dangers that lurk in the wilds, and how likely it probably is that one or both of us could perish to a chance encounter with an orcish Crusher or bugbear with a bad attitude.
This knowledge gives us both, I think, an extra appreciation of each other.
I know that my prayers of thanks to Mielikki are more fervant these days, and that somehow the very wood is greener to my eye.
Is this love? Surely, yes. Love has taken me with a suddeness I would have thought impossible. I am bagged like a wild thing taken by a quick hunter, shot in the heart by loves sweet shaft.
It is a blissful capture, a welcome death from the lonliness of no family and few friends, and no one to share my days.
We traveled together to the plains, my favorite haunt around the region, and hunted. The cold winds, the howling of the wolves, the cover of snow I shared with this handsome elf.
While others have beared this harsh place with me before, I felt that Callon appreciated the dangerous beauty that this place holds for me, that we shared it in a way hard to tell here.
It was as if we had done this always. We have some sort of unseen bond I cannot understand, and we seem to easily fall into rythym of what we are going to do with simply nods and hand signals.
It makes for a practical and efficent hunt, but it mystifies me to no end.
Has it only been a few days we have been together, or blessed months?
I fear I am in a haze of contentment, which could be dangerous to us both, as I am the more experianced woodsperson right now.
I must try to not be lax in my vigilance when we are about in the wild, or I could get this sweet elf killed, and that I can not consider, in my darkest imaginings.
Often, as I have traveled to far off lands, I have lain by my campfire looking at the stars, wondering what this sort of relationship could be like. Never did I suspect this intensity of the feelings I am now experiancing, and less am I equipped to deal with these emotions.
I am smitten, my heart is his. Perhaps I had best admit this here.
Surely it is Mielikki who has guided me to him, just as his God has brought him hither. We must enjoy what moments we are given in this blissful repast, for I fear it cannot last when we both risk ourselves so often in these dangerous wilds that surround Norwick.
This is a thing that has troubled me of late. All lands have creatures that walk the darker corners and threaten good and innocent folks, but Norwick, particularly, is surrounded by masses of foes.
What focuses such evil here, that we may not relax to enjoy what goodness is brought into our lives?
I need to ask Grivel and perhaps Adriell about this, as they are much in tune with the Wood here, and it's past, and might be able to provide more insight.
Praise Mielikki for my good friends, and for blessing my days by touching my life with Callons.
-
Uly 15
My new friend Callon discovered me still resting in my little glen near the Faerie Wood this morning.
He came up silently, with some skill, catching me unawares. I was startled, and then felt a great sense of unaccountable fear.
His look was one of kindness, but I could scarcely bear his gaze, as I was still disheveled and in my battle gear from the past nights intense encounter with that foul demon of the crypts.
He smiled, and handed me another flower. His smile was warm and honest, and when my hand brushed his in taking the flower, it felt as though a warm shock carrried through my body.
I had no words for this tall, handsome elf.
I have never allowed another into my heart, journal, through all the miles I have walked, and places I have been. Always I have felt unwanted, or at best, a casual hunting partner for someone who needs my assistance at killing some beast they cannot handle.
Callon now proceeded to tell Green she was beautiful.
Others, mostly kind ladies of town like Anna, have told me this before, but always there is a glint of knowing in thier eyes, and whispered words behind my back when they think I am not looking.
Callon hid no little lies in his words, and when a flood of tears began to break out through my tattered soul, he moved close, and not understanding they were not tears of sadness, he comforted me with words I have never heard before form any person on this earth.
Tenderness has not been my companion on my journeys, and we sat for the remainder of this day learning to speak to one another in a language we could commonly share.
How is it the time could go by so fleetingly in his company, and yet, feel but a moment?
What has drawn this young elf to my side here, in far off Norwick?
Why does he spend his hours with me?
For long after I related my past to him, we sat simply looking at one another in silence. It was not an uncomfortable quiet, and in truth, his grey eyes sooth me, and make me feel safe and wanted.
I never dared to dream of a day like today, and though I have spent my life not daring to hope for such things as happened to me to-day, I gladly accept Callons gifts of understanding, and his compliments and gentle touch, and tonight I lay my head down, daring to hope that he will return to share another day with our eyes simply taking in one anothers.
Is it possible, Mielikki, that my eyes do seem like Green emeralds to this man?
Such sweet sentiments make my head spin, and my heart glad, and I pray now that it is not a sugary dream from which I will awake tomorrow, forlorn and alone again in this world.
I must find Anna, or perhaps Pete tomorrow, and ask then to help me look prettier.
Additional Entry: Few are the times, journal, that I dream. My rest is always light, but to-night, after Callon left, I fell hard asleep under my Poppa's constellation, and just now, as dawn approaches, I am suddenly awake with a strange phantasm remaining from my sleep.
I stood in a great circle, a stone and wood arena. There were empty seats high up all around me, but behind there were two great thrones, one of stone and one of wood. In the stone one there sat a great King, dark and glorious, and on his left, an mighty Queen in green raiment.
The two, I felt, wished for me to contest some great challenge that lie beyond a huge door to my front. I knocked an arrow, and crouched hidden, sure that some terrible thing would emerge from the gate.
Perhaps the Ranger Vampire, out for revenge, I reasoned.
I readied myself for what wouldm surely be my end.
The gate opened, and an unseen crowd roared. I felt a great fear…and then, walking cautiously out into the light was Callon.
He blinked, adjusting to the light, gazing around for some enemy, and our eyes met.
His grey gaze locked with my green, and we walked towards one another, weapons in hand.
We met at the center of the Great Arena, and there, we dropped our weapons, embraced and both weeped in each others arms.
The great King and Queen, I felt, nodded approvingly, and then, all was gone, and I sat alone here, confused as to the meaning of this peculiar dream.
What could it mean?
-
Uly 14, 322
I wore young Callon's rose in my hair, against my better judgement, really, the morning after he gave it to me. I do not know why this seems important enough to me to record in my journal, as I have never worn such adornments before.
Well, perhaps that is not true.
When I was a very young girl still, living with Unca Glum, I would sometimes climb the mountain, to the top, and gaze eastward.
I would place wild violets in my hair, and imagine riding in the hot dry lands of my people, on one of their swift ponies, dressed in green robes, along side a handsome elf man on his black steed.
I was a princess of the desert people, or perhaps a priestess, and my hair would be long and green and flowing out behind me, and I would not wear rags, and I would not be clumsy with words, but an elegant speaker, and even fair to look upon.
It was a silly, child's imaginings, and why it should return to me now, i do not know.
I will carefully press the young man's rose, the only I have ever recieved in the this manner, and place it into my journal, once it has lost it's life. But for now, I shall keep it in my hair,and enjoy it's scent.
This evening, the creature, that insidious Vampire known as "The One", unleashed a surprise assault of terror upon Norwick.
It did not come in the form of Bugbears, Bandits or Goblins as he promised. Instead, the Beast himself decided to come among us.
A good number of Citizens and Adventurers sat around the Campfire, and outside the gates, including, fortunately, such notable warriors as Ragnar and Rando. Things were relaxed and happy, as the threatened attack date had long ago past by.
Suddenly the Beast appeared in a Portal right within the gates! He lashed out at a nearby citizen, slaying him instantly, and began blasting folks with various wierd magix and undead flim-flam.
Instead of retreating or giving in to whatever demands the Creature might have, the brave townsfolk attacked to avenge the murder. The ensuing fight was intense.
The creature, as I noted on earlier pages, seems to possess a way of regenerating himself when aggrieved by arrow or sword. I uncapped my quiver of "special" arrows, and unleashed shot after shot into the beast.
At first, our attacks had little effect, but slowly he tired because of our numbers, and eventually fled out the gate, seeking time to mend himself. My arrows were doing an excellant job of hurting him and he was starting to look like a pincushion.
The dead and dying lay heaped about, as the pursuit was given. Rather than run after him, I reasonsed that he would return to the magical gate that brought him hence, and hid and waited in what would have to be his path back to it, figuring he would be much weakened at this point.
Alas, he is clever, and instead wound his way east along the side of town to mend near his crypt.
In the respite while he strengthened, we tended our wounded and counted the dead, carting them off to the Friar. Ragnar yelled for us not to fire on his return, that we should parley and see if the creature might be bought off.
He seemed most distressed at having so many fall, so, against my better judgement, when the Vampire returned, Ragnar beseeched the thing to spare the town and take whatever coin he wished.
Bad form, this, in my opinion, as it only serves to bleed the town, when it ought to instead buy weaponry capable of defeating this scum, who clearly can be hurt.
Eventually, some sordid agreement was met, and paid. Poor little Rera, who was badly trounced by the thing, gave him all of her coin, and ran off crying.
I attempted to comfort her, and gave her what I had in my purse, but she then went and gave that too to the evil Beast. Such is his influence upon folk.
Well, one might think that would be the end of it, and I prepared to leave in disgust, when somehow, suddenly Rando and the Vampire were once again involved in battle. It had started up all over again, with folks firing and casting and bodies getting tossed about by the mighty creature of the night.
This time, I decided to thwart his escape. Firing at distance to keep whittling him away I stole over to the eastern area outside of town, where I would have an excellant view up the walls that led to his crypt.
I postioned myself behind a stout tree and watched the battle progress, with Rando and the tougher fighters beating on the enraged beast while the archers and mages threw all they had at him.
I fired, now behind and to his left, and had an excellant field of fire should he try to escape. He would have to make a huge "L" to get passed me and escape to his unholy tomb, and I would have a huge number of clear shots at him with my enchanted, undead slaying shafts.
Suddenly, as he began to take very real damage from the repeated attacks, he seemed to realaize that he might just be in peril soon if he did not flee.
He began to retreat towards me, and I put down a hot fire on his flank, the magical arrows sinking deep into his unholy flesh.
Closer he came, so close that I could not miss, and every shaft seemed to cause him to smoke and hiss.
Several brave fighters were still pursuing him, and so I kept close against the tree, and the creature seemed confused, perhaps blinded by his blood, and did not see me as he passed by.
He ran for his evil home.
I continued to fire as he out-distanced his heavily plate-laden pursuers, and fire began emerging from various parts of his body. He was now screaming horribly, and blood was spurting all over the grass from his scores of wounds.
I fired as fast as I could fire, knowing now that this terrible, undead monster was not immortal, that he was as near as to his end as he could be…..one or two more arrows is all that it would take....
The vampire was simply too swift.
My final arrow, at extreme range, lofted high and hit solidly, catching the beast squarely in his bloody back, and sending him cartwheeling out of sight.
Enraged at the closeness of his demise, I sprinted towards the place he had disappeared. I wanted his head, and perhaps foolishly, was the only one who dared continue after him.
The rose in my hair came loose at this critical moment, and fell spinning to my feet, making me pause just before leaving the safety of the other adventurer's help.
I stopped, and bent to pick it up, and the fire left me.
I stood, alone and breathless, clutching this flower given to me by a kind stranger, knowing that surely, it had saved my life.
Twas a sign, and a puzzling one to this wandering Bowstress, servant of Mielikki.
I walked to my little glen beneath the faerie wood, the steam of combat gone from me, wondering that I was still alive after encountering such a creature, and the strength left my legs.
I sat, and found myself leaking tears onto the ground for reasons I do not understand. The rose, now bruised, I pressed into this journal.
-
Uly 11, 322
I have spent the last several days quietly preparing for the assault by the horrid beast who dwells in the Crypts of Norwick.
I have built several blinds in the treetops overlooking the city walls. I have spread the word far and wide of the impending attack, and a stout group of Citizenry has formed each night to beat back the creatures hordes.
The day for the attack has come, and all stand alert and prepared. I have special acid arrows that ought to hurt even a well armored Bugbear, and plenty of bandages to heal the citizenry, should the regualr healers fall or be overcome with the numbers of the injured.
With our stealth, the various Rangers, including some of the Wolves have spread out in a crescent south of town. All is quiet…too quiet. No attack comes.
Perhaps he senses we are too strong? It is a mystery to me. Curse this unpredicible fanged filth. How I hate him.
While I sat this afternoon applying my camoflague face-paint, a newcomer to town approached me. He is a young elf, very serious and proper in appearance, with an air of nobility about him that makes me sorry for my shabby appearance. Most handsome, with a light face, wondrous grey eyes and long blonde hair,
I half expected him to kick me out of Norwick for cluttering it up with my tattered equipment. Imagine my shock when he told me he found me fetching, and handed me a rose.
At first, I wondered if he teased me, and I could find no words but to stutter. I told him he was mistaken, and that his lovely flower would better suit someone pretty and fair. He told me that I was fair to him, and that a practical lady who was capable and brave was worthy of his rose.
No one has ever treated me thus, and he insisted in his complements.
He is either very, very kind, or perhaps very nearsighted.
In any case, he is so attractive to look upon that I have great troubles in getting him out of my mind... ...foolish, foolish Green. Do not believe in dreams that are hopeless.
Overlong, perhaps, I have lolled in this peaceful village. I am starting to imagine things that have no chance of ever happening. I am made for recieving the blunt ends of orc's maces, not roses from noble, handsome gentlemen. Sighs, his name is Callon, someone has told me. What am I doing?
I must go and hunt, and forget these foolish ideas.
-
Uly 7, 322
Green are the color of my eyes
An eventful few days have passed, leaving me little time for updating this poor journal of mine. Much to relate.
I traveled the east woods with the good and patient master of woodcraft, Grivel. We spent some days at his camp, where I did an amazing and uncharacteristic amount of talking. He is a good listener.
I told him about my past, and what I know of my kin, and he seemed particularly to take interest in my desert heritgage, and the riding skill of my people.
A great event than occured, one which will forever change me, and the way I view the world.
I had explained that my Poppa was named after the great constellation in the sothron-sky, and that I believed that my father watched over my nights while I rested as he crossed the Heavens.
I had just pointed out the star-belt of Orion to Grivel when it happened.
A great lightning bolt from heaven above smote the ground very near to us, sending us both grabbing our bows and jumping up.
In the burned spot of earth at the spot, with a strange electrical smell still hanging in the air, there on the ground sat a green leather belt.
It was small and light, with a silver buckle and three bright silver colored gems were set on a black field upon it, perfectly alike the belt my Poppa wears on his nightly trip across the sky.
Kind Grivel picked it up, and presented it to me. It was gift from my father, so that I would indeed know that he watches over my rest, and does await me still in the heavens.
I feel humbled, I feel remembered and loved. Truly, I am not alone.
I feel ungrateful for my past grumblings annd complaints, and shall work all the harder at the tasks that Mielikki in her wisdom and grace sets before me, her humble servant.
The first such task was not long in coming. As Grivel and I prepared to pull up camp, we heard the unmistakable sounds of an approaching Goblin force in numbers.
Archers, soldiers, Shaman and Grenadiers were upon us, on their way to the gates of Norwick.
Grivel is a strange person. He will not retreat in battle, even against impossible odds.
He charged into the mass, even as I jumped back, firing at an archer.
Clearly, if we stayed, we would both fall.
Grivel is brave, but impossible odds are better dealt with in a way that has hope of victory, to my way of thinking. I fell back, quickly hid, and moved up again to extract Grivel from the predicament, carefully remaining low in the weeds and bushes.
He had just collapsed from mutliple arrow hits, sorely wounded, and rolled down a shallow embankment in my direction. I leaped upon him, covering us both with my cloak as a half dozen Goblish soldiers leaped over us, pursuing the now unseen quarry.
I dumped my emergancy healing potion down his throat, and we cut off to the flank to circle around and warn the city, as fast as we could run.
We reached the town only in time, and fought off waves of goblin soldiers and archers for some time with the Militia and adventurers around the campfire of the southern gate.
After a time, the enemy was beaten off. Then, to our dismay, A massive Bugbear appeared. We held our fire as he approached under a dirty white flag of truce.
He claimed to bring a message from someone called "The One". I shall attempt to relate his message here, as best I can.
His common was terrible, and he had a thick and brutish accent.
"Slugs of the Town, listen well! My Master, The One, tires of the continued foolish resistance! Ye shall have four days to make your loathesome Friar turn over The Ring he stole, or The One shall attack your pitiful village with a combined force of Bandits, Goblins and Bugbears, burning it to the ground and slaying all! Heed my words!"
With that, the horrid beast trudged off south east, the way he had come.
For a while, the folks just stood around stunned. I turned and headed into Norwick. The good Friar was there, at his usual spot, and I gathered up all of my nerve to address him.
I told him of the Bugbear messanger, and asked him about the creatures words, and if there indeed was a "Ring".
Nodding, the Friar himself asked me inside his chapel, and I humbly followed him with one or two other like minded citizens eager to know what terrible fate these events would lead us.
This Friar seems to be a man of few words, but on this day he was willing to speak freely. He thanked us for our continued efforts at driving off the goblins, and explained that he and The Chancellor May-Thor and other City Fathers were working on the issue, and that The One was a horrid Vampire, (The samed damned undead creature I had already once faced and had swore to repay for his misdeeds!).
He explained that he and May-Thor would eventually deal with the situation in due time, but that he needed the brave citizens and adventurers around Norwick to hold back the coming tide of evilry.
Already having a bone or two to pick with the vile, Ranger-elf Vampire scum, I pledged my bow to help with the problem. I secretly dare hope that someday the Friar will ask for volunteers for this expedition to rid the land of this bloodsucking freak. He gives my race and profession a bad name, he is no more than a glorified bandit with fangs who blackmails coin out of the city, and needs stopped, not paid off.
I am sure he is mighty and deadly, but no good can come from allowing him to haunt our nights. Better to fall in battle in honor, than bow to his evil wishes, that would only destroy us in any case.
I am prepared, having hoarded my enchanted, coffin-nailing arrows for just such event. If he dares to show his shiny little head and pale countenance within range of my bow again, I might die, but not before giving him a mighty fight. Mielikki willing.
I sit this eve with renewed purpose and a knowledge that I follow a trail selected by Mielikki and watched by my poppa above. My campfire seems warmer than it has for many moons, and I drift off into meditation with a feeling that the future holds a place for this Bowstress which while unseen, is guided by a hand which is good and kind.
Mielikki be praised.
Green Starfire's considerable history, unknown to her, can be found here.
http://www.narfellpw.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=15362
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Uly 3, 322
Each step I take towards acceptance by the citizens of Norwick seems doomed to accompanyment by rejection and despair.
I do my best these days to protect the newly arrived adventurers whose hearts lure them into the wood for heroic deeds. Some I show woodcraft to, others need food or healing. Mielikki wishes for us to protect others, and I put myself into my work heart and soul. Too few others assist in this way.
Too few, especially those most suited to help. There is little wonder at this, as many of the these new warriors and mages are cruel and hard, seeming to disregard my advice, and to take advantage of my efforts to keep them standing.
I escorted an elven mage this afternoon, healing him, showing him the best hunting spots and generally keeping him afoot. Upon arrival back in town, when I suggested we sit at the fireside to chat, he sneered at me, and said he had better things to do than chatter with ugly, wretched elf-hags.
One such encounter does not lower my spirits, but compounded incidents such as this cannot help but take it's toll and I find myself sad and lonely.
One should not do good deeds for the sake of expecting rewards oneself. It is wrong and weak of me to feel cheated, when what should I should expect is a simple reaction to my shabby and worn countenance.
Perhaps Mielikki herself is tired of watching over her pitiful ward Green Starfire. It has been long since my skills with my bow have improved, though each day I practice faithfully, and test myself against wilder and wilder foes.
How can this be?
What have I done to offend her? What, oh Great Goddess of the Forest, would you have me do? Have I displeased thee in my pride at my skill with my craft?
Perhaps my trips for coin to the Orc fields has angered Mielikki, and yet, when I spend 15 coin a day healing, and making camps for those less fortunate, where am I to get the funds for oil and bandages?
I am at a very low ebb this day, one where the future is hard to see, where my life's work at my skill is seemingly frozen, where my good deeds seem to fall like dead leaves, now berift of life, to the ground.
I shall try to remember than in Nature, Mielikki has hidden purpose in her great plan, sometimes a mystery to us.
The leaves that fall go to nurturing the trees and plants of the wood. But it is sometimes so hard, and I feel so very alone.
-
Uly 1, 322
I mustered all of my bravery today to pass through the huge gates into the Magicks-Persons Keep on the hill behind the inn. I brought with me some 800 coins which I have been carefully hoarding from my trips north into the beautiful and empty plains near Jiyyd.
The walls of this place stupified me, as they were tall…..taller than all but the greatest trees, and horribly intimidating. The floor of the Grand Wizards Chamber was paved with 10,323 stones. Wooden chairs, tipsy devices, were being set out by my friend Pete Rione, and he offered me one near to he and the kindly Ms. Cotton. (Note to self: Must inquire to someone the proper title for Ms Cotton now that she is married. I am such a fool).
The Lords of the Wizards stood above the considerable crowd of Citizens...some of whom seemed to be Jiyydian and Peltarchian stock who had traveled far to attend.
These Wizard Masters stood stoically, looking down on us as if we were little bugs. I shall never really understand these finger-waggling folk.
An auction is an amazing thing. It requires strategy. Like a good battle, one must wait for the proper moment to loose one's attack. Nico, the Merchant was in attendance, and occasionally bid on some of the elvish gear.
There were marvelous items, things I have never even heard of....many magical scrolls, potions, bullets and arcane wands and weapons. Of note was a beautiful leather armor which could make one invisible. I noted that Ms. Cotton bought this, what a wonderful item!
Prices were, as I expected, mostly beyond my humble means. Apparently many of the Citizens of Norwick are ridiculously buried in coin. Where they get it is a mystery to me, although I have occasionally seen some out hunting or mining ore. No matter.
Coin can lead to greed for too many non essential items, and that is perilous. Better to give much of it away to those in need, and only buy items that are essential to my survival.
I noticed that many of the Bidders in the auction seemed bent on outbidding others. Sam seemed to grit his teeth and angrily stomp whenever he was outbid on things.
Some items went for thousands of gold coins. Good Maythor bought a Dwarven Axe, a famous and beautiful enchanted Dwarvish weapon which was the best I have yet seen, and purportedly haunted, for 5000 gold pieces. Apparently he is well paid by the town. Many of the Dwarvish folk seemed well acquainted with this famed artifact, and marveled over it after the auctions end. The good Chancellor was nice enough to let me inspect it, and it's edge is keen and deadly indeed.
I had come to buy magical arrows, but had to wait unitl the last day of the three-day auction. A number of influential citizens also had their eyes on these, as enchanted arrows are rare. The following types of arrows were sold. Acid type arrows, Flaming ones and Vampiric arrows were sold.
Eventually, at the very last, the arrows came up, after all but the most ardent arrow afficionados had long departed the Keep. I followed Nico's pattern of bidding, watching until the others fought it out, and only bidding at the last possible second.
This technique seemed to frustrate the competition, as it took patience. Talgrath and I bid against one another on a number of lots, all of which I won.
I hope he does not smack me with his weapon in the woods. I am not sure about the after auction ettiquite if one loses. I shall have to ask someone.
I clutched my prizes as I left the auction. I have never owned proper enchanted arrows before, coming from the deep forest, I had never actually seen a real Mage until arriving at Norwick.
These feathered shafts have little compartments built into them, with tiny runes in silver embeded in their wooden sides. Most beautiful things, I shall be sorry to shoot them away. I wonder if these are possible to build oneself?
It has been several long days. I will retire holding my new treasures, hopefully to dream a sweet vision of proper arrow usuage.
Mielikki be praised at my good luck, and her continued blessings.
-
Une 30, 322
Perhaps Norwick is a little more like a home to me than it first was. The trip to Frago's is familiar, and now the faces that once seemed cold and aloof are sometimes softened by an occasional smile or nod.
I often act the sad complainer here in my journal, and in truth, I do not wish to be. I find an inner joy in these tokens of acceptance into these citizen's lives, and will continue to try to act as guide and protector to the weak and lost.
I met an interesting human to-day, a man named Nico. He is rather polite and always alert, seems to enjoy flirting with the ladies, (He even seems to not mind my visage and that cannot say much for his taste, but perhaps it merely means he is kindhearted).
The thing that is intriguing about him is his keen interest in business. He is obviously a merchant, and not an armorer warrior, but seems quite quick and limber…much like myself. He has a number of very interesting items for sale, and I should like to be counted as one of his friends. While he seems confident and secure in all of his dealings, it is obvious he has a somewhat melancholy heart, (once again this seems familiar), and this, of course, draws me to him as I cannot help but aid those in need.
The new elf-girl in town Tari, seems to attract him. She is green-haired like me, but much prettier. Perhaps this is what he seeks. I wonder if he could find me some magic arrows?
I hunted this evening with a very kind elfin warrior named Tontou. He is very quiet and very smart in a strategic, combative sense.
Most of the newer warriors in Norwick rush to their doom, and I have to slow them down and teach them to hunt, but this Tontou apparently comes from good, sensible stock. He will be a fine hunting partner.
I desperately need a good shield in my front at times, when stealth alone will not do. I hope this Tontou and I can enjoy many hunting trips in the future.
I always scan the various posters and hand written notices nailed up around Norwick to help me with my letters, which have never been very practiced. To-day I noticed something which will be going on up at the Magic-person's Keep on the hill.
An "Auction of Magical and Mundane Goods"
I asked a passer-by about what this meant, and apparently, at an "auction" one bids against others for an item they wish to purchase...and the one who pledges the highest coin recieves the prize.
It sounds like a great deal of fun, as I enjoy shopping, and I have quite a tidy sum saved in my tree stump from killing wicked Orcses.
I shall attend this thing, if they let me into the Keep in my threadbare leaf-togs.
I hope these "auctions" do not require wrestling or sword play in order to keep the prizes. The rules of conduct seem a bit obscure yet to me. If this Nico is in attendance, I shall observe his techniques and mimic them in order to try and win whatever I lay my gaze upon.
Enchanted arrows?
I dare not hope.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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
