Session 20230824 Bloody River
General Summary
Gavirat appears to be going well, with the Great Hall having a frame and a roof and some private houses completed. Collecting Yamak the PC's head off to Suraka in Bloody River, now getting close to the weight limit of the Stormwind Rider spell, landing about a days walk outside the town for concealments sake.
From about midday they start passing farm households, with most of the crops on the ground but mixed with some Haltan style tree-based agriculture. Suraka is a town of several thousand, with mostly wood (iron reinforced) multi storey buildings, surrounded by a stockade (also iron reinforced). Smithing appears to be the main industry, with inter-town trade carried by carts pulled by trees ("Wandering Madrones").
Nightshade explored, Bertrum Blumenthal arranged to leave Yamak here for a few months under the tutelage of the most senior blacksmith in exchange for a Perfect Hammer empowered with Fluidity (so able to become any similarly sized tool) by Sorcery.
Bertrum's Journal
My Dearest Chronicle,
Once again, the pages of time beckon me to weave the strands of our tale upon this parchment, and so I heed the call. Our journey, like a symphony of fate, has taken us from the monastery's embrace to the vibrant village of Gavirat and beyond, painting the canvas of our days with hues of adventure and purpose.
The monastery, with its whispered wisdom and veiled truths, released us from its grasp, bidding us onward. On the wings of a sorcerous tempest, we were whisked away to the village of Gavirat, nestled like a gemstone within the embrace of the land.
Oh, but the winds of change had painted the landscape anew! Homes, like phoenixes from the ashes of chaos, now stood proud and resilient. The great hall itself stood as a testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity, its stones etched with tales of sweat and unity.
My young apprentice, Yamak, had remained here, a pillar of aid in the reconstruction. His eyes glimmered with eagerness, a spark of potential yearning to ignite into a flame of skill. Aye, I pondered the challenge of nurturing his craft while our lives danced upon the stage of wandering souls.
The spirits of trade whispered to us, and we embarked on the quest for provisions. Vodka, the distilled essence of conviviality, was secured for trade, its journey of transaction a dance upon the scales of commerce. And pemmican, stalwart sustenance for our sojourns, found its place within our stores anew. By a cyclone of magic, we journeyed once more, this time arriving near the town of Suraka, our arrival shrouded in discretion. Through fields of cultivation both terrestrial and arboreal, we ventured, the walls of the town standing as guardians of the community's heart. The stockade, reinforced by iron sinews, bore witness to a town unyielding against the tides of uncertainty. Within Suraka's embrace, we found a haven at the inn, and there, I engaged the landlord in discourse. His wisdom unveiled the pathways to our goal - to trade the vodka to the local inns. This task, as intricate as the dance of courtiers, was executed with precision. Yet, my heart, ever bound to the forge of creation, yearned for exotic materials to shape into artifacts of wonder. A plan was birthed, a charm invoked, and a message sung upon the winds - an invitation for those with treasures to unveil themselves in my presence.
The congregation that answered my call bore forth items both mundane and extraordinary. Amongst these, two gentlemen proffered gems, radiant as the stars themselves, born of the alchemy of smelting. The transaction, though costly, was as a pact sealed in moonlight, and I secured these treasures gladly. In the midst of the day's journey, a tolling bell summoned the faithful to the church, a sanctuary to the divine art of smithing. My steps followed the path of worship, yet Nightshade's intuition, like a shadowy sentinel, urged her to a concealed vantage. The temple, a homage to the anvil's song, revered the artisans of metal, the smiths and fine-mongers held in highest esteem. I queried the innkeeper, and his guidance illuminated the town's most respected blacksmith, a paragon of the craft. With newfound resolve, I toiled within the inn's embrace, crafting an artifact of significance - a perfect blacksmithing hammer. Sorcerous enchantments imbued it with fluidity, a shapeshifting marvel that would adapt to the whims of my work. Armed with this tool of creation, I approached the venerable blacksmith, an offer of apprenticeship upon my lips.
My words danced like butterflies upon the breeze, and the blacksmith, heartened by my proposal, agreed to shepherd Yamak in my stead. The hammer, a gift of unparalleled worth, sealed our pact, and I promised my apprentice a return to his home village, as he so desired. The sun and moon continue their eternal dance, dear journal, and as we journey through time's passages, may these pages forever be illuminated by the quill's ink, preserving the symphony of our lives. With quill and heart intertwined,
Bertrum Blumenthall
The spirits of trade whispered to us, and we embarked on the quest for provisions. Vodka, the distilled essence of conviviality, was secured for trade, its journey of transaction a dance upon the scales of commerce. And pemmican, stalwart sustenance for our sojourns, found its place within our stores anew. By a cyclone of magic, we journeyed once more, this time arriving near the town of Suraka, our arrival shrouded in discretion. Through fields of cultivation both terrestrial and arboreal, we ventured, the walls of the town standing as guardians of the community's heart. The stockade, reinforced by iron sinews, bore witness to a town unyielding against the tides of uncertainty. Within Suraka's embrace, we found a haven at the inn, and there, I engaged the landlord in discourse. His wisdom unveiled the pathways to our goal - to trade the vodka to the local inns. This task, as intricate as the dance of courtiers, was executed with precision. Yet, my heart, ever bound to the forge of creation, yearned for exotic materials to shape into artifacts of wonder. A plan was birthed, a charm invoked, and a message sung upon the winds - an invitation for those with treasures to unveil themselves in my presence.
The congregation that answered my call bore forth items both mundane and extraordinary. Amongst these, two gentlemen proffered gems, radiant as the stars themselves, born of the alchemy of smelting. The transaction, though costly, was as a pact sealed in moonlight, and I secured these treasures gladly. In the midst of the day's journey, a tolling bell summoned the faithful to the church, a sanctuary to the divine art of smithing. My steps followed the path of worship, yet Nightshade's intuition, like a shadowy sentinel, urged her to a concealed vantage. The temple, a homage to the anvil's song, revered the artisans of metal, the smiths and fine-mongers held in highest esteem. I queried the innkeeper, and his guidance illuminated the town's most respected blacksmith, a paragon of the craft. With newfound resolve, I toiled within the inn's embrace, crafting an artifact of significance - a perfect blacksmithing hammer. Sorcerous enchantments imbued it with fluidity, a shapeshifting marvel that would adapt to the whims of my work. Armed with this tool of creation, I approached the venerable blacksmith, an offer of apprenticeship upon my lips.
My words danced like butterflies upon the breeze, and the blacksmith, heartened by my proposal, agreed to shepherd Yamak in my stead. The hammer, a gift of unparalleled worth, sealed our pact, and I promised my apprentice a return to his home village, as he so desired. The sun and moon continue their eternal dance, dear journal, and as we journey through time's passages, may these pages forever be illuminated by the quill's ink, preserving the symphony of our lives. With quill and heart intertwined,
Bertrum Blumenthall
Report Date
24 Aug 2023
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