The Leaf-Covered Journal of Green Starfire
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Une 13, 322
I traveled in the regions north to-day. A large person guards the high vantage point of the road in the bandit infested hilltops called "Sam".
He is a prodigious bandit cleaver. He would not speak to me, only nodding at my crude speech. I suppose I cannot blame him, as, no doubt, I seem rough and shady to his eye.
The area is particularly infested with roguish women with a penchant for sneaking up on one. I can hear them coming, and pretend to not hear them until I lure them into range, whence I skewer them for their tomfoolery.
To the east lies a town called "Jyadd" or "Jyyid".
I know not how to letter these foriegn names. Why dont the towns have good sensible names like "Eomlet" and "Toast" back home?
There are some interesting wild plains areas, windswept and cold, and rather to my liking, near this Jyyd.
They are flat lands, like my father's peoples home, and at night, I lay and watch my poppa as he winds across the sky, his bow in hand, a mighty warrior watching over me as I take what passes for sleep to my kind.
There are orcs afoot here, again, a familiar thing to me, much like the creatures of my Unca Glum's home. No sign of any difficult ones, however….only these stupid ones, and cackling Witchies, which I much enjoy putting down. While they lack in real finger-waggling abilites, they are enthusiastic in their evil work, and are a pleasure to rid the plains of.
Jydd seems to be quite hesitant about buying their crossbows though. Their weaponry is a bit crude, held to-gether with sticky twine and witch-wax, and not reliably accurate. I tried one out and nearly shot a passing hin by accident. It might be good for shooting around corners, but as a weapon, it leaves much to be desired.
Perhaps I would do well to try Norwick to sell these orcish trinkets, though it means dealing with those sneaking banditas.
Back in Norwick, a terrible incident has occurred. A half-Orc, upon being accosted by undead in the local cemetery tombs, decided to take matters into his own large hands and blow up the tomb entrance with one of those clever Gnomish "Powder-Kegs".
The resulting explosion, while not closing off the vaults in any way, did manage to result in an episode, as it awakened a most foul creature, who appeared at the Nothron Gate demanding re-imbersement for beng dsiturbed and getting marble dust on his black cape.
This creature was an evil Vampire, horrid in appearance and by his vile visage, once elvish.
He was even dressed like in a woodland garb, much like myself. This is an affront to lose who love and protect the wood, and Rangers and Druidic folks alike, and I feel, it a grievious insult to blessed Mielikki.
Rather than put down this menace with our combined force of militia and townsfolk, Chancellor May-thor wished to pay the foppish undead lout coin, which, in my opinion, would be a grievious mistake, only encouraging the blackmailing bloodsucker to further ills.
This money grubbing drainer of blood, (perhaps a lawyer, rather than a Ranger?), attacked my good friend Adriell's pet, Nethra, wounding her grieviously almost instantly.
This caused a general riot in which folks began pummelling the creature, resulting in several Citizenry deaths. I used my head and stealth, and stayed well out of the clawed wretches reach.
My arrows bounce off this fiend, making me rethink my strategy. Obviously, to defeat a thing like this, one must come prepared. It is still wrong to give this evil beast coin however.
He will be back, and he is overconfident. He shall not walk away from me unworried on our next encounter. His confidence will someday be his downfall, and I plan on being in attendance in this matter.
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Une 10, 322
The Hasty Adventurer Gathers No Moss
I was invited by the intrepid elf Bill-Bow today on a mining expedition to the very treacherous far western region.
I dont actually know anything about what miners do, really, except that they dig up metallic rocks with picks, chisels and sledgehammers, and then somehow melt the stuff to be forged into weapons and armors and dinnerware.
I was to accompany along as an additional strong-arm with my bow skills. I'm afraid it didnt all work out quite as planned though, much to my chagrin.
Bill-bow and two companions met me at the Southron gate, and we proceeded to head off, with Bill-bow in the lead is his typically boisterous mood.
One of his companions was a particularly capable, cool headed magic using lady of some sort. She was rather frightening to me with her various arcane bewitcherments, but soon she would indispensible in saving all of our lives.
This region we visited is quite infested with evil gobbles of various sorts. There seem to be a particular lot of arrow-shooters and wee finger-wiggler gobbles, as well as sneaky, back stabbing assassins.
We stuck to a wall of trees and moved into the area at a pace rather too quick for my liking. Soon we had various goblicks to our front, and our right flank, a most unwise proposition.
At first, we held our ground, but a phalanx of Gobbish archers moved in, and we could not hold them back. Both dear Bill-bow and the fourth member of our crew fell in a hail of arrows, and the magic using lady was getting pummelled by an archer before I finally managed to put the last down.
I thought we might both be lost as well, in our feebled condition, with the long and greenie filled journey back yet to be traveled but the lady was full of curatives and took charge of the extraction plan using her arcane capabilities.
We were in a sore and dangerous spot, and now had two bodies and all their equipment to deal with.
I guarded the Sorcerous as best I could whilst she rested, and she cast marvelous invisibility magic upon us both which was more effective than my simple stealth.
We split the burden of carrying our fallen comrades, and made our way tiringly slowly back through the gobble infested wood. I had the task of dragging poor fallen Bill-Bow, who is much heavier than one would suppose.
I improvised a drag rope around his ankle with my leather belt. I'm afraid the path we cut, back through the forest, was rather wide and obivous….more like a bloody road really.
I must admit never having been under the influence of this sort of arcanic voodoo before, and really had a hard time trusting to the spell as I slowly dragged Bill-bow noisily and bloodily past the very noses of a score of Soldier-Gobbles.
I was very scared.
After an intensely nervous walk back, I am happy to report, the skilled Clerics at Norwick were able to work on our comrades, and patch them back up to nearly full health.
Really remarkable an achievement, praise Mielikki for her kindness.
The restoration spells, unfortunately, cost me every coin I own...not that I had much coin saved to begin with.
The good sorcerous and Bill-Bow's earning covered the bulk of the costs.
No matter, gold is a burden, in any case, and what is a the value of a friend? I hope that all of those tree-roots and stumps I dragged Bill-bow over has jarred some caution into his risk taking head, but I fear not. He still has that wanton gleam of adventurism on his countenance!
I shall have to keep an eye on this industrious but risk taking elf.
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Une 6 322
Charming Maids and Chancellor May-Thor
The last couple days have been ones of considerable adventure, and I have met several Norwick Citizens of note.
Yesterday I patiently scouted the lands far to the east and south of Norwick, and they are perlious and beyond my capabilities alone.
More of these nefarious goblish artillerists, and capable and watchful archers, and wierd arcanic-sorceror goblins live in this region. I ambushed a number of the artillerists, but a mighty goblin warrior in mail who would not fall to my bow chased me back into more neutral lands. he lambasted me severely, and it was a bloody fight.
Eventually I simply wore him down, enticing him to chase me in circles around a big rock and acting more hurt than I actually was, until he dropped panting from exhaustion.
It is wise to be fleet of foot, and possess real endurance, if you must wear skimpy leaf-armors to keep your-self free to fire with accuracy.
I had hoped to find a better field for coin, but this farther wilderness seemed beyond my capabilties. I trudged to Norwick, dejected and bleeding.
The Chancellor of Norwick is a very understanding dwarf named May-Thor, and he patiently listened to my tale and offered to accompany meback into this region to procur some coin. I was delighted by his very kind offer, and followed his broad shouldered lead into these Gobble-fields, whereupon he proceeded to hand the entire gobblish population their little asses.
I followed him a goodly distance into the wilderness, and we collected numerous goblish gear, much of it strange to me, including some magical goblish scrollery, which I plan to study until I can make use of them.
Chancellor May-Thor, who reminds me very much of Unca Glum, (May his beard stay long), also allowed me to keep the armored heathen's mighty little short swords, which are better than those found in Norwick, and suits my size well with their lightish weight.
Fresh from my prosperous adventure with kindly May-Thor, I met a pair of the most friendly and pretty maidens in Norwick, as I sold my gainings from the expedition in the wilds at Frago's Emporium of Goodes.
Anna seems to be a townslady of great charms and boisterous, outgoing nature. She treated me most kindly, and did not seem to notice my poor manner or mind my battered countenance.
She is quite beautiful in a robust and natural way, and the men all turn their heads as she passes by. She wears pleasant dresses of expensive materials, and seems to be able to walk in them without tripping.
Perhaps she is a wizardress to manage these trappings, as I have never been able to wear one with-out falling on my behind.
I suspect there is more to Anna than just her natural beauty…she looks capable for battle as well. She makes me feel at home in Norwick, and gives me some hope here.
Her companion on this day was a fair elf, with wonderful light hair that seemed almost glow with a golden radiance to me. I am sure she is some sort of woodland creature like myself, yet she seems to have an understanding of magics beyond my reckoning.
Surely she is not a course Ranger?
Her name is Adriell Woodstalker, an understandable and common woodland name in my own country. While, unlike me, she is beautiful, I hope we perhaps share common beliefs and appreciation for nature, and will try to seek her out in the future, for comradeship and advice here in this strange land.
It seems I am making friends.
I can scarcely believe it.
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Une 3, 322
For the past two nights, while lying under the watchful care of my Poppa's Constellation, I have recieved visions of a sort. I would not mention this here in my journal, but for the fact that I seldom remember anything from my nervous rest, which often amounts to little more than half closed eyelids and a watchful meditation.
These were vivid, if surreal Phantasms… a patchwork of memories from another time and place, perhaps from before I walked this green earth.
But, my Poppa was there, and mounted in his regal armor and shield bearing the hallmarks of Gallendar, and sitting astride a gray steed.
He seemed younger, and somehow more confident then my feeble memories recall, and behind him, through a haze of yellow dust bright with the light of a sun I have never seen, were a line of elves, again fitted with splendid gear, and at their center waved a golden pennant.
The scene wavered as if viewed through a great heat, and a lady appeared. She was surrounded in green as he had been in gold, and she was sad. She was light as I am dark, with unadorned braided yellow hair, and large pale eyes, and she stood looking out at me, a petite elf of considerable grace.
She spoke, but I could not hear her words.
I wondered if she might be Mielikki herself, and saw that she was not.
But I knew in my heart that it was her who allowed me this vision, and that she knew well my own inner lonliness, and wished to comfort me.
I awoke in tears.
It is a terrible thing to not know ones mother, to have forgotten her face, and to not remember her voice in your ears.
One's history, filled with the dreams and hopes of ones parents and other kin, shape who we are to become. When this is lost to a person, they face the wide world alone, save for their Faith.
Am I yet an elf when my language sounds like that of a dwarf clumsily tutored in this fair speech?
Am I a Gallendarian Maid when I never have set foot there or seen a grain of it's golden sands?
Like a wistera vine crudely shorn off and replanted far away, will I someday blossom, or am I doomed to whither and die, without family, without history or offspring of my own, a dying wild rose without roots or purpose, save a brief moment of blossoming?
Bitter past, open your locked doors to me.
Fling them wide so that I might find myself through my father's people.
Mielikki, what would you have your servant Green do? These Phantoms are ellusive, and they only serve to show me my emptiness.
I find little comfort in them.
Green
Are the Color
Of my eyes,
But my skies
Are often blue.
Green Starfire's considerable history, unknown to her, can be found here.
http://www.narfellpw.com/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=15362
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Une 2, 322 A.G.
Quite remarkably, the Gnomish merchant in Norwick craves these easily extracted, small blue-tinged gems.
He willingly buys them by the bulging sackful, making possible a future purchase of a fine Elvin Bow. I am keeping my considerable earnings in a hidden place in the meadow.
I must pause to ask myself, however, what-ever does he do with all of these gems?
Perhaps gnomes find gems palatable?
Ah well.
I sat quite near the campfire for some time to-day near the Southron gate. If I am to learn to communicate with other folk, as I feel the urge to do, I must learn to speak up and not be so shy around people.
A real assortment of adventurers, cutthroats, necromancers, druidic badgers and assorted bric-a-brac seem to frequent this spot. I feel terribly exposed here, and most uncomfortable amongst so many peoples.
These Citizens are well monitored by the local Milita, who wear strangely identical armors and tin-hats, and seem like they are all related somehow, so alike are their stern countenances and brusk manners.
I noticed at the center of this busy traffiked area sat a small campfire upon which sat a very hearty pot. Imagine my surprise to find a potato-stew of sorts simmering upon it.
Unlike the foodstuffs in the huge tavern in town, this hearty soup seems to be free, and many a bulging gnomling and red faced dwarf jostled one another to get a bowl full.
I should like to contribute some of my cookery skills to this pot on some day when I have the nerve built up to offer my services.
The fireside is tempting, but so many folk!
I fear my countenance offends many, and as I prepared to leave for my camp, and was applying my stealthy makeup, a pair of very young human fighters accosted me, and asked me why a skinny green lizard like me was allowed into town.
I had no answer for them, as I fear they only speak the truth. I smiled and hid my tears, and left the fire.
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Ay 28, 322 A.G.
If you happen to be a Dwarven Sculptor, it's wise to have egg-farming to fall back on.
Cleared the pastures Southron and East of town of Greenies, but the return in mass as fast as I dispatch them. Methinks they are akin to coneys in their fulsome breeding habits.
Made the alarming discovery that the feathered roasters further off are not common chickens atall, but some manner of petrifying poultrice.
Fortunately, I stopped to admire the various clever statuary in the region, wondering at the skill some dwarven craftsman must have taken in carving such wondrous likenesses of brethren elves in combat poses, running gnomes with flowing capes, and surpised looking human fighters bedecked in plate armour.
It occured to me an odd place to have an egg-harvesting operation.
But then, I supposed, you would never have to worry about being a starving artist.
Clucking at my wit, I proceeded to croodle up on one of these suspect roasters when they sqwakked at a passing half-orc barbarian carrying a big axe, and lo he was hastily turned to granite!
Not wishing to join him in his stoic stance, I slowly backed off, making sure the rocky rooster did not hear me. I then skewered him at a very great distance.
Tough, yes, they are. But when slow roasted with a little garlic and spotted newt-mushroom, they are rather quite tasty.
Later, whilst on my return from this aviatic region, I encountered a peculiar firework using Goblin. At first, I thought he was perhaps some sort of Greenish entertainer putting on a display….but then he proceeded to shoot his ballistical mortars in my general direction, forcing me to put him down by shooting one of the potent gimcrackers in his wee backpack, which caused him great discomfiture as he exploded in a satisfying display of Goblish pyrotechniques.
The resulting noise led to my discovery by a young and very inquisitive fellow elf, one "Bill-Bowwe". (I am unsure of the spelling of this name, I wish Unca Glum had been more exacting with my letters).
Bill-Bowwe seems a most clever and roguish elf, quite likable, and skilled, but he strikes me as very, very curious and seems prone to rashness.
Such a combination is likely to exact a toll on his life-span, methinks.
He caused me to stammer and blush repeatedly. I am such an ignorant goose with relationships. I hope he does not think I am horrid to look upon.
Bill-Bowwe carrys a quite wonderful looking elvin longbow, carved with runes and which is most beautifully crafted. It makes my simple, home-made Moon-oak bow seem as shabby as me.
He tells me these weapons are crafted at the Elvin Encampment, a region I spied to the south of Norwick, beyond the road infested with assassins and archer greenies.
It was gated and surrounded by a chasm I could not leap easily. Methinks I shall try to save some coin, as I have only 10 coins to my name.
Perhaps I shall keep them in my hollow tree-stump camp in the eastern fields. Not safe to travel jingling like a merchant returning from the market. Only a fool burdens his pocket in the wood.
These silly greenies carry coal for fires, and strange blue gems. Perhaps that Gnome in town who sells goods will be interested in buying one or two. I shall see!
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Ay 24, 322 A.G.
Painted Ladies and Zombie-Brained Constables
Norwick possesses a wealth of intriguing citizens. Most balk at my rag-tag appearance and battered countenence, but there are a few who seem to tolerate my horrid clumsiness with the customs here.
Worse than any Goblin assassin are the times I deal with groups of the citizenry, many of whom are refined and noble, and wear fine garments.
I shudder in my muddy boots thinking of it.
The Elven ladies here wear paint on their faces unlike the green-leaf paint I wear for stealth. I hang my head when I pass, but try my best to be brave about my ugliness, and do my best to smile brightly.
Is there some witchery that keeps them all so clean and sweet smelling?
There are all sorts of interesting soldiers of fortune here, stomping about this little village. Huge half-orcs who tower over me, carrying mighty weapons I have not seen the likes of before.
There are also many happy children who seem unsually mature as well. At first I thought them some peculiar race of wee folk, but methinks they are apparently the only children to be found about Norwick. Odd.
There is also an inordinate lack of ordinary, commonplace items available here. No water canteens to replace my old skin. Not a wood-stick to be purchased at any price once Unca's has worn out. I may be forced to use something called "ink". It may well be some sorceror's trickery, from the looks of it.
I have much to learn about the ways of modern civilization.
Even the town's stone walls cause me misgivings…I sometimes get the unsettling urge to hurtle over them and run for the safety of the forest.
Ah well. Be brave, Green.
I have, of course, once again made a fool of myself, this time with someone on the local constablarity, apparently. I had finished my maps of the immediate territories south of town, (Must learn more about these strange noisome chickens to the east), and was proceeding to the north, to investigate the Bandit menace along the roads there, when I followed a little used road away east along the walls of the city.
There I encountered an old and perilous looking cemetery. Making my way with along the fetid gravestones, I came upon a large crypt, whose door was ajar. Strange shuffling noises came from within. I decided at once to investigate. Within the tomb a stairway led down into a vast, poorly lit catacomb.
Two sarcophagi sat in the first chamber, and evil looking undead Villager Zombies were careening about. It seemed natural and obvious to me that these creatures were both evil and unwanted, so I quickly put them down with a pair of arrows. I strode across the chamber when a harsh call of "Halt" stopped me in my tracks, coming from the doorway behind me from which I entered.
Assuming some foul cleric of darkness had bested my elvish senses, I proceeded to spin and draw my bow. A stranger, clad in armor, and carrying a threatening longsword, barred my path. We stood a few moments awkwardly, and the man proceeded to enter and demanded to know my business in the place.
I quietly pointed out the now dormant zombies and explained my business of cleaning the place of foul undead. The unnamed gentleman frowned, and forbade me from looting the evil one's coffers.
I now entertained the thought that this indeed was some foul servant of some insidious devil, as he obviously was bent on protecting these nasty undead creatures. He informed me that I might proceed further in, but was not allowed to take any belongings of the undead or I would answer to him. He looked into the tombs and apparently took measure of whatever trinkets lay within, and stood in the middle of the room, watching me.
I considered then and there skewering him. He seemed to me about an even match, and his deeds proved his evil intent.
What nonsense is there in protecting the valuables of vile zombies and skeletons? The fact that the man remained unnamed and boasted no reason for this outrageous behaviour further inclined me to put him down. But I did not, as he did not directly attack me, and I try always to be fair with even those whose acts seem exasperatingly illogical.
I try to remember that Mielikki would have me take no human's lives without good reason.
Holding back my doubt and rage, I finally backed out of the crypt, and parked my self on the ground in front of it as a blinding rainstorm poured its wrath upon me.
Eventually, the dark unidentified stranger emerged, still not explaining his actions, and headed in the direction of town.
After much contemplation, I returned to town, and eventually came to the remarkable conclusion that the chaotic acting individual was some sort of town sheriff or constable.
Why these guardians of the public welfare choose to discourage the destruction of undead plaguing the sacred tombs of the citizenry, I cannot say. Logic is not something inherant to "lawful" communities, apparently.
I see there is very much for Green to learn, should she even wish to be accepted in this strange, strange place. I'm afraid the authorities will now consider me much suspect for my unanimation of their reanimates. I am ever blundering in my ignorance, but I have vowed to keep trying to learn these peoples twisted customs as best I am able.
Mielikki, help guide me through this darkness, and grant me the wisdom to understand these strange peoples, and their obscure ways.