Where all Roads End

This morning I had to wake up the Headsmasher and Nakor the trickster. A routine affair. The Headsmasher was not properly dressed - at all - this was no surprise, and I have seen worse in the regimental barracks. He also tried to disguise an obvious lie when he wanted to "show" Dormaruk something in the room. I have thoroughly inspected our lodgings, and there is nothing of interest, certainly not enough to show. After we had breakfast we left for Zarastil. When we came upon the outskirts of the town, we sighted a merchant's carriage under attack by a large draconic creature. A drake. This drake was in the process of eating the horses. Naturally, we readied for a battle, except Nakor who believed that a peaceful resolution could be achieved. His magic enraged the drake, and it charged at us. It was ferocious, wild, and seemed to have it out for me in particular. I made the mistake of getting too close to it, though it would likely had defied all logic and charged at me regardless. It periodically caused flames to surround it, which could have been proven fatal had Nakor not used two of his magic projectiles, which visibly crippled it. The drake tried to run, but Dormaruk ended it. Whilst I went to drag out the merchant from under the wagon, Dormaruk began beheading the creature, as he customarily does, and I caught glimpse of something stuck to its teeth. It was a torn piece of crimson cloth. I requested that we open its stomach. I recovered the remains of five White Sentinel vanguards - only parts of their adamantine armour, as the rest had been dissolved. I mourn their loss. I have to identify them, and inform the remaining vanguards of this inexplicable loss. The merchant we rescued, Quentin, claimed that there were ten at the king's castle, though I later learned that it was close to 40.
 
After passing through what I can only guess to be the orcish slums, we were let in by the folksguard, who gave directions to their headquarters. On the way the rest decided to take a detour into "Trader Joe's Extraordinary Relics and Artifacts." A terrible attempt to invite potential customers. From what I heard standing just outside, this Joe exhibited all the typical signs of an artificial merchant personality, surpassing even the worst Ponvarus has to offer. "Ancient artifact taken thousands of years ago from the personal backyard of a black dragon, I must insist on a price of 1000 gold otherwise the other merchants will laugh at me during the guild meetings." Infuriating. The Headsmasher tried to haggle with him, but he has the sharpness of a dull dagger. I suggested he buy a shovel for all the holes he keeps digging. That also went over him.
 
We were let in without incident to the office of the captain of the town's folksguard. Magron Flintbench. He informed us that there was no bounty for the drake. The king has apparently contracted two White Sentinel sections to be "bodyguards." And then sent five of them to slay the drake, ignoring to issue a bounty, completely disregarding their safety, and ignoring every thinkable precedent in military protocol. Captain Flintbench also hinted that the king had impulses, which seems to be the reason he hired them in the first place. Concerning ealdorman Farriver and the village of Amarley, he promised to do something to help them, and pointed us to Lodhire's Scriptorium to decipher our letters, as well as promising to set up a meeting with the king the next morning. On the way to the Scriptorium, I tried to teach the Headsmasher the proper etiquette for haggling. He had a hard time, but seemed to understand the absolute basics. Herr Lodhire had quite a magical arrangement for his library, with stone guards, runes, and a bell that would summon him from his studies down to the counter in an instant. He translated the signpost as "Forest is in possession of the aldo-illithid tribe, seekers of sustenance go elsewhere" and the note as "Pain, don't, keep, trust, enslaved, leader (could mean king, captain, or something similar)" The runes on the robe signified a disintegration spell. This is all the more reason to spend as little time as possible in this accursed land. I also took the opportunity to buy a relevant bestiary, "Aberrations and Dwellers of the Deep ," by the famed Volo, as well as a blank book, which I will use to write something of my own. Perhaps about warfare? Or the arts?
 
Afterwards we went to the harbor district, where our group separated. Dormaruk ran for one of his old ships and the Headsmasher and Nakor descended towards the Deepmarket. I went for the trade offices. The Frankonian one was managed by the Ostenmancs and the Merandures. I entered it, and was greeted by a confused assistant. I explained my situation, and she arranged a meeting with the local Merandure representative, monsieur Rapapo - I think his name is written like that - and I informed him of the loss of five vanguards. He reacted with utter soullessness, "bad for business." I was undoubtedly dealing with a true Frankonian. Who are the worst part of Frankonia. He said that the king had hired two sections, led by sergeants Günther von Kalvar and Erik Storsmed. Sergeant von Kalvar's presence confirms my suspicion that my exact unit is here. Also, monsieur Rapapo explained the details of the contract, which can possibly be annulled. I suggested that the contract be annulled, that I rejoin as sergeant, and that the section be redesignated as a Free Company of the White Sentinels. He was receptive, and we spoke afterwards of the king himself. I understand that he is quite different in private. Also, he thought the 3rd Crimson Dragon Company was "cool." Apparently Sergeant von Kalvar had an explosive disagreement with him that nearly resulted in his execution and a conflict with Frankonia. For simply wanting to accompany the five who were sent after the drake, but was not allowed to. What a Stecknadelkopf of a ruler! Even a Zimean farmer understands that proper soldiers are led by example. Monsieur Rapapo wants to be present during the meeting, and he recommended that I not make any remark that questions the king's judgment or mental state.
 
I will go over the following with monsieur Rapapo: I must be honest with the king. I will appeal to his apparent need of protection. The vanguards died. They did not meet his expectations. They failed. Can they be trusted to keep him safe? As their former sergeant, I can with authority argue that they have become substandard in performance. It is painful to even write this, but I hope this line of reasoning will convince him to cancel the contract. If that happens, I will rejoin my brothers and sisters and personally see to it that the relatives of the five fallen vanguards are informed. And to begin recruiting replacements. This would not only put me at ease and again give me a sense of purpose; but also strengthen our endeavour against Dormaruk's old crew.
 
Now to wait for the others at the Sour Barracuda.