Umak Bonebreaker
Umak Bonebreaker
In the Ru Steppes, years ago on the Sunken Summits, the Bonebreaker clan were conquered by The Red Witch's subservient tribes of Broken Plain orcs and Deepbloods. Those who were unable to die honorably in battle were domesticated, turned into little more than slaves and sheep.
The Bonebreakers long gave allegiance of sorts to the Sultarans, who were similarly wiped out through the conniving of the Red Witch. Old alliances are little more than a memory to most. But not to Umak.
Umak was quite young when these events took place, but old enough to remember how things ought to be. As he grew into adulthood, and anger coursed through his veins, he struck out.
He was not always a simple servant and debased in this way. Before that, those who resisted had been tortured by the Deepbloods. Tortured with physical pain, and with menial labor serving no purpose. Always denied an end. It broke his spirits, and like those around him he eventually came to simply exist; he stopped resisting.
In the weeks leading up to him snapping, a troop of Dwarven entertainers had been waylaid by the enforcers. They had some information the Red Witch had ordered obtain, or perhaps they just wanted entertainment of a different sort. He heard their screams throughout the nights, and remembered his time as a boy. His tolerance of his own treatment had started as a protest - a hesitant obsequence. Until he had forgotten what he was protesting. This treatment of the Dwarves stirred the old memory, and feelings. Perhaps he could live with his own mistreatment, but this was too much. The enforcers deserved to die, and if he were killed in his efforts then all the better, finally an end to this torment.
So Umak struck out. With nothing more than makeshift blunt weapons and an unstoppable rage, he slew the Deepblood interrogators and the Broken Plains guards, set the Dwarves free, and fled with them.
What to do now? He wasn't sure - all that he could think of was to find others interested in overthrowing the sad state of affairs in the Ru Steppes leadership, but an orc stands out like a sore thumb, and he assumed common opinions on his appearance from outsiders would receive no favors by the behavior of his fellow Orcs these past years. The Dwarves owed him a debt, and offered to take him in. He learned the ways of performance, as well as the ways of looking unthreatening and genial. Costumes for a theater act became disguises for the Bazaar - as well as you could disguise a gigantic orc that is.
Magic bloomed in his art, but the fire still flowed in his veins. Then news reached him of the funeral for Mar, heir of the Sultaran clan, and apparently sole survivor of the Sultaran Massacre. It was a blow - had he even know he was alive, he would have sought him out years before. All that remained was to attend the funeral, and hope the news would bring people of a similar mindset, so that something could be done, finally.
The rest is history.
An Orc barbarian who fronts as a Bard to calm down frightened humans on his search for a way to overthrow the tyrannical conquerors of his tribe.
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Epilogue
Five years later.
I am retired from Nothric. I helped rebuild Zuranda, and Orcish society in the Ru’Steppes. I have worked to bring orcs back to their homeland, and grow Clan Bonebreaker as a bastion for those without clans at all. Merrys, it turns out, survived the Mistlands. She found her way back to Zuranda not long after I did. Bonding over the war, we decided to settle down and unite our clans, Bonebreaker and Volric, and making lots of Golric babies to protect the Alghada.
I oversee the alliance with the Free Cities, as a type of ambassador at times. Merrys was not the only survivor of the battle of the Mistlands, Buerig made it out, too, as did Esmerelda Jade, who I truly think cannot die at this point. Posh never joined his father, he was from Dalobar but that was his only connection, he remained a loyal and true servant of the Emperor. Hanz got promoted, Chief Security of The Wall. Mortana and her sisters were never heard from again, nor was poor Arlo, or Timalt and his band of adventurers.
In the end, my people were safe.
Journal #36 - Castle Dalobar
As we entered, torches lit as if sensing our presence. They turned green, and showed us to be in a grand hall. Malastar warned that the Steward had had years to create traps, and that he wanted to conserve his strength should it be needed later. All we should have to do is request to speak to the master of the castle, but first we much reach the inner chamber to find the Steward to even ask. They may not yet know they even have visitors.
The castle seemed to breathe, as if the walls themselves were alive. Perhaps the Steward was unaware of our entrance, but something was, and hiding was a moot point. Ghiravont noticed ahead of us some hidden structure creating an invisible barrier – tossing coins across the hall ahead, they vanished as if into another dimension. A plane shifting wall. As the coins passed through, the ward was dispelled. It seemed clear we would have to walk extraordinarily carefully…
Several barriers and statue traps later, and we entered a large room blanketed in fog. There were four doors, one on each wall. There were also four light posts, and as we approached, four wights emerged from them, summoning a Reaper between them, and then vanishing - one to each door. We tried various doors, and most sent us back to the same room, it was quite disconcerting. As it turned out, the Reaper had wrapped itself around one of the ghosts, and only the door it had taken led to a new room. We eventually found it, and found four more light posts and a lone spirit in the center.
I divinely sensed that a celestial spirit was within one of the flames, and we snuffed its flame. As we did so, it disappeared leaving a lantern behind. We took it back to the main room, and hung it up on its post. It was a key, and we had to find the others. It repeated again and again, we followed the Reaper, sensed the spirit, and retrieved its lantern. Each time it grew more contested, guardian spirits awaiting our arrival. We distracted them to accomplish our goal.
As the fourth lantern was hung upon its post, the light shifted. A gale force wind blew into the room, and we were deposited throughout the room. There in the center stood the Reaper. It tried to behead us, attacking with vanishing speed. It was a hair’s breadth from decapitating me. We tried to guard against its attacks, and Ghiravont tried to predict them to counter. He succeeded, and his radiant blows revealed its true location for the rest of us. It summoned wretched skulls which enhanced its power, and yet before it could attack with them, it had already fallen. The storm was dispelled. A reaper from the lost realm, Malastar called it.
It was not an evil native to this place or to the inhabitants of Dalobar. It was an evil of the Drev, and that was concerning. Malastar said the castle was huge, and it was ever-shifting, rearranging itself, because the Cross controlled the mechanism, and was missing. We had not been greeted by the Steward because perhaps he himself is lost in the castle… But perhaps slaying the reaper rid the living castle of a cancer, and so perhaps it would be grateful to us.
And so it was. After a short rest, we tried another door, and proceeded into an old dining room. Windows showed a storm battering outside, and at the table, in a fur coat pelted with feathers, wearing a reddish furred cape, sat a bald, long, pointy-eared humanoid. A gold goblet set with red rubies was next to him… real gold.
We approached the table, and he spoke to us. His voice came not just from his mouth, but also from all around us. He knew who we were, he had heard from the Spires of Dalobar. There was some small talk about our journey, and he offered us refreshment. It was the Steward of Dalobar, Nos Faratose.
He offered us food, and it appeared out of nowhere. We ate. We had not heard of such magic, but he explained it as he came from an age before wizards, and their meddling. His master, Cyrandiil, has nearly recovered, he tells us.
Apparently the Key of Ariss, Ghiravont, has triggered something with his arrival. The storm is now a torrent, and lifting one spell merely invites the next. The storm was to stop the Key from ever leaving. He says the castle will likely be our home, and our grave, and to get comfortable. Must like his other guests…
I asked about Goma who I had cause to believe was here; yet he did not have the Key to make it here as we did. He was of Ashen Blood it turned out, he lived as a child here in the days before the castle was frozen. A native. As it turned out, not only was Goma there, but so were the Voices of Magulban. The Steward also warned us, he would not sit idly by while his master’s property was harmed… I wasn’t sure what he was implying.
Eating this magical meal left us curiously nourished and spry. Apparently, while eating this food one is immortal. However, once you stop eating for a halfspan (five days), the aging it prevented will present itself. If you stay for a short while this will not be perceptible. Yet, if you stay beyond the natural span of your years, ceasing to yet would cause you to die of old age.
We visited a small library, the repository, and spoke of the history of Dalobar and Cyrandiil. We continued touring the rooms.
The Steward said we’d been tested by Dalobar herself, we lifted a powerful scourge from this castle, and his lords slumber. Needlessly have the drev crawled in and summoned the Lost. Their ignorant suffering, their whining and mourning called forth the Reaper. The Drev that have been imprisoned here are not of his Lords doing, they are of the wizards and their meddling. He will inform Lord Cyrandiil of our victory over the Reaper. He will be most grateful as he was sure Dalobar was as well. Afterall none find themselves in their innermost sanctum unless she wants them to. Surely, you must have some merit…
He told us to make our final preparations; standing and holding his hands, he said to wake him when we are ready to come before the lord, and he turned statuesque.
First door opened as we approached, some beds - quite dusty, what used to be wonderful rooms. I cleaned with Prestidigitation. A spirit of a high elf woman sits on the last bed, she isn't looking at us, quite still. A ghost, spirit.
We went to sleep, and I centered myself. I awoke feeling even more attuned to the divine Alghadan energy. Roric awoke in a fright, the ghost woman was kissing him, and then departed to rest at last. He was death warded by her.
Ghiravont, needing little sleep, had been reading the historical records of the repository most of the morning. He learned the history of the terraforming of Magulban, what once was a utopian land, not a volcanic hell. The Dark Lord had fooled the Elinid into bringing evil into their world, allowing him a foothold to appear in the flesh.
We were ready, and went to speak to the Steward and entered the throne room. It was an open-air room, and inside King Goma stood by one throne on the left with his hammer leaning against it; on teh right stood the Voice of Magulban, and in the center was a ma with jet black hair - Cyrandiil?
Beneath Goma’s throne stood a familiar pair of rogues, Mabel and Straga. They were wielding Tybeerian’s knives…
The Steward introduced us, the Alliance of Nothric.
“Esteemed guests, let me announce our others. Clad in the white of the light of Elindi, the Voice of Magulban; child of Dalobar, Heir to Gardraka - King Goma, and his two royal guards of the Black Quartz, Straga and Mabel Blackthorn. Friends, allow me to formally introduce you to Lord of Castle Dalobar, and the Riders of Nordu, Heir of Magulban, Cyrandiil the Black…
The ceiling rose two hundred feet above us, where a flying creature perched above. I couldn’t quite decide whether it was a large bird, or a tiny dragon. My mind went back to when the Steward compared Cyrandiil with the Topaz wizard whose tower we plundered, and how they had created dragons in a competition, and Cyrandiil’s was small, yet strong - made of diamond.
Lug presented the Chrysanthemum Cross when asked why we had come. Cyrandiil could not recall what it even was… the others gave us strange looks. Straga was playing with Tybeerian’s dagger.
“He has just been given a grand invitation, his master has called him forth; he hears of peace in Terrinoth and that is good, perhaps in the long run the prismatic alliance was never needed. Please…” he looks to Lug, “I Accept this Kingly GIft,” said Cyrandiil. Who was his master that called him forth? I had an evil feeling in my gut as he said it.
The eyes of the high lord and the eyes of Lug are similar, lost, imprisoned… they meet at the crossroads, destiny fulfilled. He places it in his hands. He smiles.
For the first time Lug feels the Fade lift from the cross, instead of thorns the cross sprouts into red roses and it burns gold. Majestic gold-red light covers his face, he remembers now… children laugh in the room, an illusion of the court in the first days of green, his father on the throne, and the queen (mother) and him are on the smaller thrones, very young Goma and Talivar the Topaz. Time lapses. Parents fade, he takes their place, and then a lonely Cyrandiil. Steward at his side. Beautiful elvish woman comes, they fall in love, and the castle doesn't move. All the years he had the cross here he never once used it. It is now in the right hands, we feel sure.
His eyes fill with tears, and he views everything the cross has been through, he sees our journey, and he says he understands. He thanks us. He will return it… and in that moment the Voices of Magulban morph into the shape of Surindo the White as he casts Power World Kill at Cyrandiil.
This was a trap? The voices were actually Surindo, here to assassinate Cyrandiil. King Goma and his henchmen were here in reality though, however. Cyrandiil was Saren the Black once, it was implied.
Surindo the White had stalked us from the first days with Rosaravich the Black, mentor to Alastar. Caused the rape of Lucifel and creating Domino. Betrayed Saren the Black, did so much.
We entered into battle; the Steward protected his lord; Goma stole the cross, inserting it into his hammer which acted as a focus, creating a terrible aura. Surindo tried to kill Ghiravont next, and a series of three counterspells protected him.
At that moment, Malastar hastened myself and Orlando, and we moved in unison to attack Surindo. I smote him down the staircase he was perched atop, and as he lay prone at the bottom, Orlando struck him down. Or so we thought.
A look of undeath and drevness appeared in his eyes, eyes which were not of his choosing but that of a true polymorph. For the first time, a once living dragon began to emerge from Surindo the White. A staff is absorbed into his body, a claw emerged, and we were pushed back as he stood before us growing into a gargantuan, ancient undead dragon. It looked at Goma, and blasted a hole into the wall. Grabbing him in its talons, it flew out of the castle, the cross with them, flying to the ramparts.
Roric convinced the Black Quartz members to flee, since the Black King was moved away against his will. Surindo, it seemed, was truly a dragon. We chased to the top of the tower, and it spoke to us. The Dragon King was his father, and Surindo wishes to see him freed and awakened. Castle Dalobar rests above the lair of the Dragon King, preventing his slumber from being disturbed.
Goma used the cross to cover the dragon in an adamantine skin. We dispelled it eventually, and are battered with chromatic orbs. Amber fell, but Orlando saved her. Ghiravont was slain, and I stood over his corpse striking down King Goma once and for all, splitting his crown like I did that of the Goblin “king.” As he fell, the cross came loose from his hammer.
In that moment, Orlando jumped atop the dragon and attacked him directly. Our mages were working to counter a dreadful spell the dragon was channeling, and I distracted him by asking about why he wishes to free his father, who would immediately become a slave, rather than removing the need for him to be trapped at all – the dark lord. He didn’t seem to have a good answer, before the spell was ended. He had been opening a portal to the faded world - it snapped shut. Malastar says he will be scattered into the echo forever more, and reversed the spell, trying to banish the dragon. It resisted.
It raised the corpse of Ghiravont to fight us, and we had to battle him. Malastar sacrificed himself, and Amber was slain by the zombie. We fight, and fight. Malastar was also raised, and the dragon clung to its undead fortitude, alive by a thread.
Lug brought it down with lighting storms, exhausting himself. The portal remained, and Myra was our only hope. We assisted her as best we could, and she shut the gate. Ghiravont and Malastar turned back into normal corpses. We could only revive one, and it was Ghiravont, with his now cross-infused staff, Lug brought him back.
The castle crumbled, the volcano erupted. A spite of flame, meteor after meteor crashing down. We jumped off the tower and Ghiravont used feather fall to slow our descent. Lug became a bird and carried down Malastar’s body, and picked us out of the sky as he came.
That night, we sat on the cliff face pondering the days events. Waiting out the eruption of the Karakesh. The castle was damaged, but still stood. It now has a natural obsidian wall. We returned to the castle.
Returning the Cross to Cyrandiil, he took it and brought us to the great machination engine room. It was a metallic tree with branches reaching to gears. The cross was slotted it, and aligned.
Cyrandiil tells us he can take us anywhere in the world. Ghiravont goes to Almstead. Orlando and Amber go to the bar in Torm. I go back to Zuranda in the Sunken Summits. Myra goes to Tamalir, to put together a search party for those who fell in the Mistlands. Malastar’s staff is taken by Cyrandill, handed to the steward, to be kept with the others of the prismatic alliance. His body goes with Lug. Roric goes to Forge to report to Nothric. Lug … goes to Teren Tilith. He also gave his druid staff.
We shoot out in beams of light to our locations. We leave behind ruin, the fallen, the suffered, the avenged, the sacrificed. What we did (not?) leave behind was victory and peace for all of Terrinoth.
Journal #35 - The Battle of Kalypsia’s Keep
I was later told that the war raged on throughout Terrinoth. Esmerelda led an army against General Boldroc, slaying him in battle. Castle Talon was sieged, and as the trolls barraged the fortress, it was protected by Malastar. It wasn’t going to be enough, but when the Filter of Souls was destroyed, the Voices of Magulban sensed it and fulfilled their end of the bargain. The Elden Gate was closed, far away in the Troll Fens. The trolls evaporated into nothingness, and soldiers rejoiced. In the Mistlands, Castle Dalobar and its towers stood tall above the Mistlands, within Kalypsia’s Keep, before the Karakesh mountains. A vision was imparted to us, of King Goma awaiting us upon the ramparts.
The sun shined brightly, and I scented the sea. I awoke with blurry vision, and someone approached. The floorboards creaked. A figure in the hallway spoke to a member of the clergy, turned around in maroon robes, and with long white hair. I recognized Malastar. Lug was sitting in a bed next to me, and I saw the eggs he was given in the next bed over.
Malastar greeted us and brought os up to speed. He had rescued us from where we lay, and the people of Almstead wished to care for us in thanks of our deeds. The east wing of Almstead, somewhere in the outskirts we lay in hospital for nearly two weeks. As Malastar said, no one traverses the Echo and merely returns the same. He tells of being notified by Mortana of the fate of Alastar, and felt it his duty to fight for his cause.
Malice was defeated, the hold of Maldronos upon the land was lifted, and the world begins anew again. The Troll Fens were subsided. Hyena-men themselves were no match for Castle Talon and the united might of Terrinoth and the Free Cities. Esmerelda led them into battle, was victorious, and they wanted to name her chieftain of the Three Rivers. But one act remained for us…
Castle Talon was on the footstep of Kalypsia’s Keep, through the Mistlands lay Castle Dalobar. Within its sanctum was the very last piece of our puzzle, to finally undo what Alastar set out to.
Malastar revealed the Chrysanthemum Cross, wrapped in cloth of silver. He said it was time to unite the Cross with the Baron. Apparently the cross was a relic which would defend itself, thus any attempts at destroying it were doomed to failure. Instead, a contrary action was advised. Return it to its home. It was the heart-mechanism of Castle Dalobar, which moved much like a Wizard’s Tower. Castle Dalobar in fact was the unique creation of Cyrandiil the Black, Master of Dalobar, a child of Fey and the Echo, the Cross was a relic of a time long past. It belonged inside the castle, it was its key. The castle was connected to the same realm we just traversed, a realm connected to Magulban intrinsically, a rift split into the Echo from the very first time the castle had jumped. It survived the transformation of Magulban, and when united with the castle, Dalobar will be able to be moved once more.
That was the problem. That is how the Dragon King would be awakened. Where it slumbered, was underneath the molten lava of Karakesh. Castle Dalobar was moved atop it, and the Cross removed, leaving it static there to guard the sleeping wyrm. If the castle moves, the dragon will be exposed and able to be woken once more. And yet, the Cross cannot be destroyed, and as we’ve seen, it can be used for the most utterly foul of purposes. What was there left to do?
It must be united. It has stirred its master as well, Cyrandiil. The master of Dalobar, the master of the Pale Riders, awakened once more. Stirring only for now, he won’t remember much, a fragmentation of the wizard he used to be. But if we go to the castle with respect, dignity, and integrity, Malastar assured us he would give us access to all necessary chambers, especially if we bore the Cross as a gift to be returned. Cyrandiil the Black will know what to do with the cross. We shall see.
Lug is to deliver the Cross to Castle Dalobar. Malastar will await us at the docks to make the passage together.
We go to see the emperor; as we leave the hospice wing the people are lining the streets cheering for us.
Many people await us with the Emperor. The Free Cities want the Emperor to assist in clearing all foes from Terrinoth, and then they wish to build a Great Wall to divide their realm from the Fell, at B’yor. It would wall off Ru’Steppes as well. Esmerelda asks me to, with their assistance, create a tunnel connecting our realms, and to join Zuranda as a free city to the realm, with the pledge of the Free Cities to protect us.
I said it was promising but I could not commit us on my own, I said I would take it to the Chieftans. Behind me I heard a voice, my letter has reached its target. It was Volric, Merrys’ father, sent by Dhuraam with the authority of the clans.
We agree to enter into the pact.
The Emperor wished to be convinced of the security of his realm with such a pact, and Ghiravont offered to fulfill this task be taking on a knighthood. He took a blood oath, and officially became a Knight of Almstead. Orlando joined him.
The Emperor will station a garrison at Three Rivers Crossing, taking a third of the river to create a harbor, with a small fleet patrolling the west; his warden will be Ghiravont, and his officer Orlando. Should ever the realm be in danger, he expects not a letter, but a prompt in-person report.
Tatiyana, Voice of the Council, expressed her thanks. We were awarded East Magistrate Tower Proper to serve as a home and base of operations, complete with security - Hanz.
In the following days, Orlando started a beer company with Amber. I performed Firefly’s magnum opus at his favorite pub, and worked with Malastar to embed my chieftain’s rune shard into my familial battleaxe, which I now call the Ru’Mender.
Malastar gave to us ten medallions created from the shards of Alastar’s staff, which could be used to communicate with each other across distances and planes. Additionally, our deeds caused us to be recognized as heroes of the realm.
Malastar advised Roric on how to dispose of the shale sword which resulted from capturing the soul of Malice. He dropped it in the deepest water of our journey north, the Middle Sea.
Over a hundred days later, we approached Castle Talon. Provisioned and mounted, we rode with a hundred knights and our retainers to face the Mistlands. As we approached, Ghiravont became unresponsive.
He was experiencing a moment out of time, memories long forgotten stirred once more. The binding of Karakesh and Castle Dalobar, binding the Prismatic Alliance to the fate of the Mistlands. And then he recalled, the Pale Rider, leader of the Riders of Nordu, was Ghiravont’s own brother. Ghiravont was in fact there that day, long ago, when the ritual was conducted; the memory was shielded from him. He once served Cyrondiil the Black along with his brother. He grappled with his consciousness, and we could see his struggle. I tried to soothe him with Firefly’s melody, and he seemed to center himself .
A beam of piercing light shot out from him, penetrating the mist and dispelling it. We saw the mountains clearly. If only that was all that we saw. Instead, an unspeakable horde of undead stood between us and Castle Dalobar, a very mountain of undead alone. We charged on horseback, and skeletal warhorses with knights and lances of undeath attack us on our flank - we were ambushed by the Riders of Nordu.
It became a chase, a chase and a battle in one. In front an unpassable horde of bodies which must be cleared with great effort; behind, the charging riders of death. We persisted for a full day and a full night, 24 hours. I do not know how we did not die from exhaustion, but we did not.
We did however, die from many other causes. Buerig, Arlo, the three members of Malastar’s second company whom we met beneath Aldandun, Esmerelda herself, and every one of the hundred knights in our company fell to keep us progressing and unhindered. Lug flew as an eagle, until the Pale Rider appeared, riding a white dragon.
In the final moment, the dragon spewed icy breath and blocked our way. The last of our knights broke through to make room for us. I was caught from behind by a rider of Nordu, and only Merrys’ final act of sacrifice kept me alive. She took out the lieutenant of the Pale Rider, somehow resurrected from our last encounter with it. I don’t see how she could have survived. At the time I had no time to feel emotion, but as I write this in hindsight I feel indebted to Clan Volric, who may now have no heir.
Finally, we approached the city, riding through the streets. The Pale Rider advanced on its dragon, and then landed in front of us. It screamed for Ghiravont, and Ghiravont rode forth. He called the rider brother, and it flew down and took Ghiravont in the talons of the dragon steed. Off the bridge it flew, and Malastar smote the dragon with a lightning bolt. It fell, dead in the sky. I surely thought it was the end of Ghiravont Lucio. But it was not.
We fought our way across the bridge and up the levels of the city to the keep. Dispatching the remaining riders of Nordu, only then did I notice the incredible energy emanating from the lava pits beneath the bridge. Lug went to investigate, still an eagle, and returned bearing the nearly lifeless body of Ghiravont.
After being tended to, he told a story of fighting his brother, unfortunately to the death. The Pale Rider was Drevved, an Undradys, slain with the third Vaporidian Blade, his soul captured. Thinking back to the comments of Malastar, and what happened next, I see I should have had stronger misgivings. Former servant of the master of this castle, Drevved and sent after his own brother. There is deep evil here I am sure of it.
At that point, we recovered our strength in the pouring rain, as Malastar examined the great door into Dalobar, which he took an hour to open. Finally the doors opened, and we entered.
Journal #34 - The Filter of Souls
Shortly after slaying the tortured soul of Lord Brevon, a gravity pulse went off. It shot from mountaintop to mountaintop; ocean water spiraled into typhoons. The gravitational pull of the island floating in the air made debris move in strange patterns in the air, difficult to dodge. We had to march through these conditions for several hours. Lug tried to fly as a hawk, but could not dodge the projectiles of rock. I too took some hits, using myself as a shield, or in another case getting my feet stuck in the mud. After much effort, we arrived at the giant oak tree that was our destination.
As we entered the clearing, it was quiet. Then we heard steps approaching. We took cover. It ended up being a giant Tortle, apparently the one Lug had met before. He came with two eggs joined together with fungus and vines, and presented it to Lug. They spoke for some time, I could barely hear them. Mentioned a final task, using the last of his power to split the tree open, within is “her realm, her garden, and within you will face the most daunting of tasks, to pluck the rose from the thorns.” He motioned Lug to follow him, and began walking towards the tree at a glacial pace.
The Tortle gave a lesson on the Worldra trees, and of the Elindil race. The Sparrow-Oak was apparently one of these trees. Its purpose was to pump the life-blood of the ELindi through the veins of Volaudryn. But, unlike the Aymhelin, Kurama became sick early in its infancy, visited by an interloper… someone who had this knowledge, someone born of the Elindi. It was Malice, we would find.
Lug and the elder Tortle had to combine their power to remove the malice that blighted the Sparrow Oak. Not much longer after he’d said this, forest-Drev emerged from the very trees, and began to encircle us. We took on the task of escorting the slow creature the long distance across the field, and defending against another upsprouting grasper. It was a tough fight, but we endured.
As the tortles arrived at the base of the Worldra tree, they began electrifying the roots. They concentrated on the ritual as we defended them, and ultimately the tree split open into a portal into another realm… then the elder Tortle wildshaped into a gigantic spider hybrid, guarding the entrance and ushering us inside. Merrys fell guarding them, and I had to carry her across the threshold before healing her.
As I walked through, I was overwhelmed. A bright realm, shooting stars in the hundreds of thousands, each blindingly bright. It seems we are being transported, or being torn apart. Our soul would be ripped asunder, it is being anchored by the light of a lantern which the elder tortle, Kurama himself, had given to Lug; a piece of Kurama, a giant lightning bug inside the glass.
I had never heard of any mortal crossing planes before; obviously the Fey had done so. I wondered what was happening. Were we someone going to the Fey world? Or to somewhere else? As close to the Echo as possible, I felt the footsteps of my forefathers, my people. I heard the cries of the Thralled within this realm, and thought to myself perhaps this entire place was the Filter of Souls? That would explain the cryptic explanations of being a time and not a place, and when to locate it.
Lug opened the lantern, and released the firefly. We followed it through the moving lights, and after a time found an ancient dwarven gateway. A statue guarded it, and its eyes glowed amber. It welcomed us, and put our wounds at ease. The air grew crisp and pleasant, the voice that spoke was familiar somehow… we were lifted up, cradled in invisible arms, the wind kissed me, and we were brought back down fully healed and rested, as if a great nights sleep in the blink of an eye. The door in front of us cracked open like glass, the gaze of Malice came down upon us, the realm folded, and the smell of corruption and the Thralling Pits of Ru’Steppes surrounded me, but ten times worse.
I looked out and saw a monstrous visage. A pile of corpses, untold thousands of bodies, fifty feet high. Phantoms spiraled in the sky, it could only be the Filter of Souls.
It felt like we were once more upon the mortal plane, and yet it felt strange. On top of the corpse pile stood Malice; she took hold of our minds and we witnessed a view of the world through her eyes. The mirror side of the Sparrowed Long-Oak, the tree grew out from the underside of the ground, beneath the bodies. Down was up, and up was down. Perhaps this was no pile, but a mass grave?
Malice spoke eloquently of destiny, of luck, of bloodlines and birthrights. She was of the Elindi, born into an age of greatness and denied the chance to ascend to the height of her potential. She spoke of the sacrifice of her ancestors, the Dark Lord tainting her perfect world, the shattering of the star of Timirand, the death of her birthright. The loss of the Sunbrace which existed in Magulban, the transformation of its lucious terrain into its current wasteland. Surindo the White stopping their ritual to save their people at the foot of its Sunbrace where the first phoenix was hatched within Maldus, bringing with it a fire that killed her people. Surindo the White, leader of the Prismatic Alliance, took her destiny and proclaimed her acts evil. She thought that a blasphemy, that she could not be evil with her good intentions.
For a time I felt pity for her, but her rambling went on and on, rooted in anger and hatred, and she bragged of committing atrocities to my people a hundred times worse than anything she had ever experienced. I pointed out her evil that she denied could be. Because she could was enough to justify her actions. She said my people may yet be useful, as slaves only. There I could see the tortured souls of my people, and those of many peoples of times untold. I knew in my heart, I could kill Malice, and I could set them free. So I did. So we did.
Before I could attempt to slay her, she fled like a coward. Instead, sprouting on the top of the pile of corpses, was what could only be described as a Corpse Flower. The poisoned heart of Kurama. The entire room was the corpse of Kurama, embedded within it the light of the Chrysanthemum Cross. A whirlwind encircled the mound, and viper vines sprouted at its base. It seemed all such growths shared the same vitality, and when sufficiently damaged its buds would bloom and heal it. I took it upon myself to cut off the growths preemptively, and before long it was sheared. It nearly killed me, strangling me with vines, but my determination to free my people saw me through. We chopped it to bits, and ultimately it surrendered, bloomed, and the Cross descended.
Amber reached for it, and a hole opened beneath her atop the pile. Gravity pulled, and we gave in. I hoped we were emerging into the mirror-world, the right side up. Another part of me thought I was going to hell. The others followed us in, and the pile of corpses floated around in the surging wild gravity, bludgeoning us.
Falling through the astral violet light, the plane of undeath was shrinking as we fell. Slowly, gravity flipped, up became down and down became up. The corpses levitated and stood still in the night sky as we continued to fall. What we thought was the atmosphere was the horizon of Hy’dera, visible from the stratosphere. We see the Sparrowed Long Oak, the Fey-side of it, and as we land, standing before the tree was Malice’s true form, embedded into the tree.
The tree had untold leaves, each glowing, each the trapped, enslaved soul of a thrall. As she spoke of the purity of her blood, I noticed the Cross embedded in her chest. We attacked, and despite wave after wave of magic missiles we brought her to the brink of death. I am sure her hubris stung as she was bested by those she had so recently mocked. Distracted by Ghiravont’s radiant blows, she flung him across the battlefield, and I took the opportunity to strike in her moment of weakness. Struck from behind, she was slain, and the Cross flickered out. Her skin flaked away like the spores from a fungus. Yet still she clung… petrifying, turning to stone, she gave into the Cross. It broke through the stone and she willingly sent her soul through it, thralling herself as a Drev. Her eyes were violet as she turned undead.
Each time we struck after that, souls from the tree lashed out, attacking in unison, and dying. They had clung to life through torment for ages unknown, and here within reach of escape, they sacrificed themselves forever to help strike her down and free the others. Time and again, more gave themselves. She tried to drag my very soul to undeath, and I resisted her.
Nearing death, Malice caved into her utterly evil nature. She knew she was dying, so she tried to kill as many beings as she cut. She set the tree alight, burning the souls there forever. They screamed in a banshee’s wail, overcoming the will of some of our party, who began to prepare to commit suicide. Malice was utterly evil, even taking control of our bodies and having us strike each other. Heals were counterspelled, poison was inflicted. Near death herself she finally used her full attention for defense, allowing me to heal our friends. Blows landed, and she neared death once more… and the cycle continued. Allies falling, wills tested. As Malice was focused on making us fight each other, and surviving blow after blow, Roric quietly stepped into range, sinking the Vaporidian blade he bore deep into her heart and unleashing a thunderous smite. She died with the souls she had been murdering, burned to a husk. Her soul was drawn into the blade, and Roric withstood it through his attunement.
A pillar of light glowed from Kurama, warbled, and flickered out. It could be seen from Almstead Castle, and as it touched the atmosphere and bounced back to Kurama, a seismic wave erupted, crashing down upon the land with the force of a hundred meteorites. The waves of the ocean plummeted into the shore, emergency bells rang in the distance, and life faded to black.
Journal #33 - The Swamp in the Sky
After sending my letter, I slept. At dawn we proceeded to the docks, and our ship awaited. It was quite large and heavily laden, Posh was there and indicated he was proceeding north to Terrinoth after dropping us off. We sailed to the edge of the swamp on the Noswald Bay side, it had advanced several miles since last seen. It tested us we navigated through it, toxic air and water challenging our constitutions.
A white raven landed and mocked us, and eventually turned into a giant slime raising corpses of the Noswald military to fight us as zombies, and a huge mossy plant-creature. Luckily, plants yield to axes. We fought those off, and kept going.
Ghost of what I assumed was Madam Farosia appeared and taunted us afterwards, tried to get us to take her power and join her as lieutenants, but we ignored her. The spews of toxic gas in which she appeared didn’t aid in her persuasiveness.
We were barely on pace to make it in time, when the whole swamp levitated into a floating island; it was so high I imagine the very walls of Almstead Castle would be visible in the far distance, but we were far from the outer edge. I could feel the air growing thinner, yet still a dank swampishness - conflicting in terms perhaps.
Right then we saw a beam of energy just like we did with the ritual at the Sunbrace, while we were still a day away from the Sparrowed Long-Oak that was our destination, so we continued a forced march in all haste.
As we arrived, we were greeted by the tortured soul of Lord Brevon (who was a man of some significance to my fellows before I knew them, I understand), animated into a disgusting creature, a construct of the swamp, tree-like, the largest thing we'd faced so far apparently. He fought with black miasma and whip-vines, he blighted Ghiravont who had to struggle to survive continually, and yet the monstrosity kept targeting him as long as he remained nearby, so it was a constant battle of getting out of range, and the creature chasing him with graspers. He eventually made it though. Lug also, did his best to die but miraculously clung to life. Roric was grasped by a vine-arm and the creature tried to eat him, but I managed to cut him free.
We ultimately killed him, but his last soldier didn't engage and we left him be while fighting, and at the end it dispersed like a ghost and fled, seemingly passing word to our enemies.
I am not sure on the state of the ritual, but seemingly it is still going and will finish in less than a day. We must yet face Madam Farosia.
Journals 29-32 - Reporting to Zuranda
Letter sent to Chieftan Dhuraam in the city of Zuranda:
To the leaders of the twelve clans. I write this in the evening on Hex Myviran, the eighth day of Ruduro, in Almstead Castle within the empire of Noswald. I write with urgent news of happenings in the Empire, as well as threats to the Sunken Summits and news of my task.
First I will bring you briefly up to speed on my journey. We departed for the Free Cities, settling bureaucratic matters with Nothric in Forge, and proceeding to Tamalir, fighting through the winter storms and the Riders of Nordru, who were in pursuit of Ghiravont Lucio. There we found the city largely abandoned and in a militaristic state. They had sheltered with the dwarves of Dunwarr, and were preparing for a final exodus with the bulk of their army and the final residents, heading for Strangehaven on their way north to the rest of their people in Thelgrim.
We met a halfling from Gloedan, speaking of a giant of untold proportions, who fell from the sky and crushed their village, where it still lay sleeping. We also had some leads in the north, and so chose to investigate this will escorting the people of Tamalir.
Winter was striking with its full force, as were the armies of trolls, hyena-men, goblins, and more evil things. We fought through them, and a grotesque mutation of Madam Farosia’s, which we fought in white-out conditions. It was the largest gnoll that ever lived perhaps, wielding a three-headed flail with flaming heads. It was a mutation of Ghiravont’s blood, harvested from him under the guide of a cure to lycanthropy, and used for nefarious purposes. Our wizard friends currently study the creature in preparation for future combat.
In Strangehaven, we came to terms with the united Free Cities. The leadership was brought up to speed on current events, and it was determined that they should treat with the Golden Empire of Noswald to attempt to form an alliance against the invaders. We scared them with the animated corpse of the Beast, and convinced them to take action. We proceeded north to Gloedan, while the combined armies of the Free Cities went back to Tamalir, to hold the Three Rivers as a front against the enemy.
We proceeded to Gloedan, and found there something miraculous. A woman more than twice as large as any giant I have ever seen, in regal attire and crown, with a gigantic hammer masterfully wrought from the alloy of the Elindi mirrors. We woke her, and she picked me up like a toy.
She was Princess Sirona, daughter to King Karathiss, Heiress to the Stormdrin, pupil of Ardin the Allwatcher, Chief of Scholars. She came to this plane due to danger to our realm, Malic Syndras proclaimed himself king of the Alghadan beings of fire, as large as her - fifty feet tall. He is a false king, betraying her father who rules all Alghadan. She was sent to deal with him, but she was found too soon. She had slumbered for months since landing, because her hammer came to rest within a house and the wind could not echo through it to stir her. In those months, the false king had been searching…
We fought a primal Alghadan construct of flame, a fire dragon, and a summoned elemental. We won a temporary reprieve, and were able to coordinate with Sirona. The false king is in Augaunon, which she referred to as Andaron. She explained that she had been sent to forge a weapon mighty enough to defeat Malic, or the witch that slumbers innocently (unclear who this referred to). Malic seeks the fifth king, the dragon who slumbers. Sirona seeks a lake of fire in the frozen north. The forge appears to be in the Hall of Allstone; the slumbeirng dragon-king is at The Swallow, and her uncle is somewhere else…
We planned on helping her, but were then confronted by speakers of shadow; two white cloaked, pale, thin high elves with pure white eyes, calling themselves one of the voices of Shadow (the Shadow of Three Voices?), servants of Malguban. They offered us a deal… Claimed we all wanted the same thing, and that if we drestroy the Daughter of Maldronos, who was our target anyway, destroyign the garden and plucking the root of Malice’s rose, ridding the world of her poison forever – if we do this, then Terrinoth will be as it was - the Elden Gate would be shut, the highborne trolls and other invaders of the realm would be sealed away.
As we considered, more Riders of Nordru caught up with us, and we fought them off bitterly. Firefly was lost, sacrificing himself to save us. We slew the riders. Laying Firefly to rest, coming to terms in Gloeden over a 10-day, celebrating the union of Orlando and Amber long overdue…we considered our options. Sirona had to proceed on her way, we could not aid her. We committed to facing the threat, as was our initial goal when departing the Ru’Steppes. The messengers said we had 100 days and 100 nights, on the 100th moon, our accord was broken… we interpreted this to mean that a ritual akin to that attempted in the Sunken Summits was started once more. Our only guess was that our target still lay in Kurama Swamp, so we proceeded south with all haste. Crossing the continent in 100 days is impossible, or so we thought.
East we journeyed to Frostgate, purchased horses and rode like the wind to Dhernor Keep, Riverwatch, and into the Aymhelin to the secret ferries of The Imperial Bay. On the 77th day of our journey, 87 days since waking Sirona, we arrived in the Imperial City and were immediately escorted to the Emperor. Our old friends greeted us harshley, until we cleared our name as it surrounded our hasty exit when last we were here.
When we left here last year, there was an active orc invasion of Pylanthia, and the security of the empire was at risk. Now, all is settled. Much to our surprise, Black King Goma was at table with the emperor as we were escorted inside. Pylanthia was looted and offered as tribute. Dwarves and orcs were enslaved, though the emperor claims this was illegal and it should be abolished. The feeling was all too similar to the Red Lady in our own lands.
Speaking to the Orc King, he insinuated that the Deep Lords had stolen his home from him and that he used to live there, owning the Staltz to he east as well, the whole Valley of Dust, was a valley of gold . I got the impression that he believed this tale of his heritage and what was his right by birth, but he makes reference to the Light of Valdun, broken in the third age. Anyone with bloodlines going so far back could be a true heir, and he is far from alone in that. It was a right won the field of battle alone.
The emperor agreed to help Terrinoth, but in a most threatening manner. Several times I get the feeling they wish to annex the free cities, at the very least. This empire has wide goals, and I fear neither the emperor nor the black king will rest until all of Hy’dera is under their grasp, if they have their way. Neither can be trusted. With Ghiravont being commanded to sit in council here upon the conclusion, learning that he was the Key of Ariss and referencing the awakening of Dalobar, the emperor said he would aid Terrinoth but after which he would take from them all that he desired, leading into a new age with his golden lineage. It was quite disquieting. If we do prevail, he will certainly be a new enemy to face. In fact, if we prevail in closing the Elden Gate, then the reason for needing the forces of Noswald would in large part be dealt with, leaving them as potential aggressors themselves.
They offered us their fastest ship for passage to the swamps, as they too wished the Elden Gate to be closed. For obvious reasons, it seems to me.
Goma spoke to me asking of the defenses of the Ru’Steppes. He said that he could help them, or hurt them. He had given the emperor of this kingdom the keys to the whole world with the orc army at his disposal, unless the rest of Terrinoth banded together against this very potential ally, and begged for mercy. Ru however was left out of deliberations entirely, overlooked by the emperor. Certainly not overlooked by King Goma however. He convinced the emperor that the Sunbrace was not worth a war, but it is to me, said Goma. He said he could keep it from the emperor’r hands, but will need an inside chieftain to persuade the tribes. He implied an army was being gathered at the tower of Bar’andul in B’yor at the south of Magulban, to take the Sunbrace. We need him to defend it.
I saw King Goma when I infiltrated Aldandun. He has benefited from the thralled people of our realm, and he is utterly evil and self-obsessed. So it seems, is the emperor of Pylanthia. If we must work with them, that is something I can tolerate for a short while. However we cannot trust them. His words are like perfume which cannot mask the stench of a latrine. If we embrace him, he will rule us like the Red Witch did.
You must be aware of these threats to our realm. Lend what aid you can to Sirona, but prepare for invasion from the south as well as the north, whether from Magulban, or from the Valley of Dust. The Sunbrace must be defended.
In the morning I proceed to the swamp, I hope to break the Filter of Souls within the next fortnight as I write this. Be on the lookout, it may already come to pass before this letter reaches you, but I hope you can prepare. Convene the council, more negotiations will take place upon my return to Noswald. If you can deliver your advice in time, it could aid in our decisions made there.
With all haste,
Umak, Chieftain of Clan Bonebreaker
Journal #28 - The Trial of Ghiravont the Werewolf
Despite our best efforts, the Drev and the Thralls remain, though they are leaderless. They feed themselves, but little more. The goliaths are now working with Nothric, which has established an office within Dhuraam. Nothric will work with the great clans to find the source of the Thralling, and create a regimen to care for them.
During my meeting with the chiefs, the first time as an equal, I inform them what I knew of the Filter of Souls. It is not in the Ru’Steppes, but I have an idea of its location possibly in a faraway land, and I am making it my mission to find it now, and to spread the word to wayward peoples that they can return home to the Sunken Summits. Merrys will be joining me in this endeavor, as she signs up with Nothric.
Buerig led us to Forge. We took a winding path north of the Ru’Steppes, through B’yor. Before we’d gone two days out of Zuranda, a full moon rose. We had been so accustomed to life underground, that I’d forgotten to prepare for these trials of the captain’s lycanthropy. Before we knew it, he was changing before us. We subdued him with much effort, luckily no one was bitten. It seemed we would never hear the end of it from Buerig, and this new Overwatch Roric. Though, I frankly agreed with their assessment. This lycanthropy is a serious issue. I took it upon myself to guard the captain closely from here on out, around the time of the large moon. With, or without his consent.
We had no carriage unfortunately, or else we could’ve locked him up within that. We sent some runners to the elven city of Korrigash’s people to retrieve it, and give the unfortunate news.
We continued on, and the mountains of B’yor rose in the distance, and an ancient tower silhouetted atop them. Bar’andul, first beacon of the Dark Lord, a fortress of ancient times, remnant of the first age. We swap stories while within its view. It is said an ancient elvish bloodline lies spirited await at the tower, forever waiting to ignite the beacon and call forth the armies of Malguban. If we followed that road northeast, we would reach the Valley of Ash, and the Black Gate itself.
I was happy when it passed out of view behind us. The rest of our trip to Forge was uneventful as we passed through Nornholt and Fort Rodric.
It was the dead of winter, and unseasonably cold on top of that - absolutely frigid. Luckily, there was not a whisper of wind. The air stung my lungs, yet my face was not burned. The snow blanketed all, and without a breeze, there was an uncomfortable silence to the land. That changed as we approached the city. The winter solstice was near, and the holiday celebrations were in full force. The city was decorated festively, with lights and music everywhere. It was a wonderful change of pace.
My first stop was some fresh clothing, fine and warm. My second was the enchanter who had been working on my medallion for me - nearly a year now! I retrieved it, an amulet of health. I also had my rune shard magically identified; a true Blue Timaranian Rune Shard. Strongly ancestral Primal Alghadan magic, carrying the history of every wielder to have possessed it. Once attuned, only great magic could remove it form me, such as no mortal possess in Terrinoth. However, to utilize it it must be affixed to something, and only the great wizards have been known to infuse items with rune shards. I must find one to affix the stone for me.
Back at the home office of Nothric #723, there are some leads for possible new jobs. One interesting one, is at Last Berth, far in the north. An immense presence of Drev are there, with aid requested at a moderate risk level. Apparently it involved an open Vault of Voladryn; long ago in the first age, defenders could not overcome an Un’dradys. To avoid harming the world, they locked themselves within the Vault, and slowly turned to Drev themselves. Someone opened it recently, unleashing them.
It was a long day, so we went to bed. The Trial would happen in the morning.
Ultimately, it was quite bureaucratic. In fact, I could hardly stay awake. Grumpy over fee-dodging, Lug and Orlando finally joined up officially, as well as Merrys. Buerig remarkably had our backs, though Ghiravont was lectured for poor record-keeping. He was also interrogated about the Aqueducts. He was blamed for the death of Korrigash and his family’s dislike for Nothric now, but that was clearly nonsense as he wasn’t even a Nothric member and simply went where he willed.
Esmerelda was not to retire; she was demoted, reassigned to our chapter to serve under review for the period of one year. If after that time she was a member in good standing, she would be promoted to the Board, the governing body of Nothric.
We received payout for our contracts and labor. After fees, my share was 4,000 silver pieces. I was quite happy to finally be paid. Really, it wasn’t much of a trial at all, more like a board meeting. With it behind us, we had a relaxing evening and considered our future.
The news of Last Berth was interesting, and yet Ghiravont had yet to confront his destiny at Teren’tilith.
Either way, our road would be the same at the outset, so we chose to strike for Tamalir, check in with Mirah, and hopefully Malastar.
We set out the next dawn. About halfway there, and Ghiravont’s troubles came to us.
Journal #27 - The Battle For The Ru’steppes
Jherginga passed us on a steam locomotive mine cart. We quickly rigged up another to pursue him. Esmerelda fell into shadow, deep into the chasm. I feared she was lost for good.
We were joined by a man named Roric. He was apparently a member of Overwatch, some Nothric auditor. He had a murderous-looking heavy crossbow. I hoped he could use it. Merrys also accompanied us, and we raced after the goblin.
We were on a locomotive, there were four tracks spiraling down into the mines, a shaft 600 feet in diameter, spiraling ever down. We were able to strike levers from a distance to cause track mergers, and eventually managed to get the trains side-by-side.
I took my chance, and leapt the great distance between them. Ghiravont and Merrys followed – she nearly fell, but I reached out my hand, and when she was holding on, swung her like a weapon into a goblin, knocking it off the cart. There were goblins everywhere, a whole squad rushing at us - onto our train, and defending Jherginga on his.
I slew the remaining goblins on our car, and then crossed to the next. At the head of this train was the goblin king, and I had several cars to go. As I approached, he animated figures of my past… Oshrjad my father, Artok, and Yolmar my kin. Was I supposed to break down weeping? I did not.
The corpse of Oshrjad still wielded his weapon, my familial weapon. I chopped off its wrist and took it from him, and then decapitated him with it. Legend has it that it was carried by the first chief of the Bonebreakers and when it shattered against dragonscales, he used the jagged remnant to break through its ribcage and pierce its heart. It was the Bonebreaker Axe, and I used it to break bones indeed. I locked eyes with Jherginga, and struck down the bones of my father.
He fled, opening a dimension door off the train as it approached a sheer cliff. We had no choice but to jump through it ourselves. Roric was yet on the other train and had no choice but to jump upon a passing boulder.
He had taken us to the Dorndepths, and claimed here we would have a front row seat to the evolution brought about by the Witch’s ritual. He chugged an alchemical concoction, given to him by Madam Farosia, and his wounds began to animate and knit themselves back together… for a moment. We were trapped in a forcefield at this point, but I broke through it. The goblin “king” screeched that he would strike me down as his new power was great, but at the same time his newly grown arm petrified upon itself. He cursed Farosia, and we dueled.
I struck him down with my father’s axe, and he melted from the crushed vials on his belt which broke as he fell upon them. There were two remaining goblin guards who escaped with us through the portal. I turned to them, and they lay down their arms.
I bid them to join us, in this newly liberated Ru’steppes. I told them they must swear fealty to Merrys. But she in turn told them to be free, no more loyalty, we were all equal. They fled.
Domino whispered in our ears from afar - Magdalena was defeated, and Dhuraam is liberated. The Red Witch is no more - Alastar defeated her, at the cost of his own life. We were deep in the depths, in Madam Farosia’s lab; there was no sign of her.
I took the goblin’s crown, and smote it in two. We could feel it, the first blow dealt to the shadow.
Farosia’s greatest strength was trust, Madaldena’s was power, the Red Witch’s was influence. They were together conquered. The Ru’steppes were free.
We emerged from the shadow, and found Roric and Esmerelda together on the surface. I didn’t know how she’d made it, but Roric had handed her orders. I was far too preoccupied for Nothric bureaucracy. We had a victory feast!
The following days were ones of celebration, but also of sorrow. The Seer had died, found by Mortana when they first went to him as we parted ways. We are unsure what to do with the Brittle Blade at this point, but we have the two additional Vaporidian blades, as well as it. Alastar’s light had diminished, and Tanabraya now keeps his staff. Speaking of staves, Lug had that of the Goblin King. We presented it to Valos.
I suggested we look into the Vault of Voladyin housed here, but it was decided that it was safest for it to remain shut, given the motivations of those wanting to see it opened.
Valos broke the staff, and announced the end of the reign of evil within the Sunken Summits.
Roric also delivered a letter to Ghiravont – he was summoned back to the home office for some tribunal. I inquired for news from him – how stood Nerekhall? Apparently, we utterly defeated their uprising.
Mortana departed on a quest to reach Castle Talon, the last location of Malastar. After that she wanted to pursue Mar, on the whisper of prophecy, seeking far lands on the western shores.
We celebrated in the great hall of Dhuraam, fuller than ever before. The chieftain gave a rousing speech, of strangers who inspired them to action. But one error remained to undo; for long, too long, goliath clans had ruled as the Primal Alghadan. It was time for an orc clan to take its seat as well. Dhuraam would step aside, for without the Bonebreaker and his hands, we would not have a city left to man.
I was touched deeply. The weight of my past was unburdened, my wildest dreams achieved. And yet, a new weight soon found its place instead. The weight of my duty to the future.
We celebrated for days, and began the labor of rebuilding the city. The goliath’s masterworked much of our equipment for us, and I formally took a clan seat for the Bonebreakers of Alghada, one of twelve. I was presented with a Rune Shard, one of just twelve, a piece of the Sunbrace, a Phoenix Jewel, a Shard of Timarand, the symbol of chiefdom in the Ru’steppes. It is a powerful piece of magic, and of history. I have yet to determine how to harness it.
Many farewells, the Applewood sisters depart. Merrys joins us as a member of Nothric, and we begin our journey back to Forge, accompanied by Esmerelda and Roric. I have a duty here in the Sunken Summits, but I also have a duty to the realm. I feel I must continue on in our battle against the Black Kings, and perhaps I can spread the news of the return of honor to the Summits, and reclaim orcs to my homeland.
We set off, and I began working on an appropriate song to mark the occasion.
Journal #26 - The Burial of Korrigash
Bloodied and dirty, we entered the courtyard. A familiar goliath approached, the one who cared for Buerig when we first arrived, a healer. He ushered us into his tent.
I laid down Korrigash’s body, and he asked me how long since he fell. It had been nearly 36 hours at that point, he was wilting. Healer asked me why I brought him back, he couldn’t comprehend why I wouldn’t leave my friend to decompose in the foul lair of an Un’dradys.
We were told to rest, and not leave the tent. The healer offered to perform a funeral service for Korrigash. Tababraya stopped him – if he completed the ceremony, any hope of revival would be lost. We debated, amongst ourselves. The pros and the cons, the benefits and the risks. Could Korrigash maintain control against the Whole? How would he feel about such a creature, and all of its victims, being housed in his flesh? We could not bring ourselves to do it. Fate had decided, Korrigash must be laid to rest. We will destroy the Vaporidian blade, but not in his body.
As he was laid to rest, I knew my decisions had consequences. From two, one. Perhaps Tanabraya was right, but I must stay the course with my decision. We buried some keepsakes and mementos with Korrigash, especially of Red. It was sort of a burial for both, taken by Magdalena and the Un’dradys.
In the morning, we had to compete. We slept long.
The first day after the burial of Korrigash, we were nearing the end of our “competition.” Merrys greeted us in the morning, and brought us to Valos. He complimented us, and informed us of visitors expected for the fight - from the Red Network. I was told to prepare Clan Bonebreaker, and not to do anything rash.
The chiefs addressed us, Dhuraam and Valos. With them, we saw a burnt-faced man in black tight-studded leather, the others seemed to recognize him. It was Straga Blackthorn, the man who killed Tybeerian. Mabel was there, too. Brother and sister, leaders of the Black Quartz.
They claimed that orders had come down from the Red Throne, Valos was accused of harboring traitors to the throne - and here we were. Straga said the only way for Valos to learn was for Clan Volric to be taught it. Since Merrys was to hold the merit for the day’s competition, the Red Lady would settle for her!
This incited panic. Valos demanded they take him instead. Arguments over honor and risk. But in the end, Valos would not hear it. He gave his final words of wisdom to Merrys, words that for all he knew would be the last.
Valos: “Do not break, for we are stone. The river flows around us, not through us.”
Merrys: “We are an obstacle of time, our burden is our family, our burden is our strength, and our strength is who we are. “
Before being led away, Valos instructed his father, Chief Dhuraam, that Merrys was to succeed him as chief of Volric. He told us to fight the good fight, and that we did.
We were led to the arena, and the lift brought us up. Straga and Mabel were flanking the goblin king in the stands. The fight was the Bonebreakers verses the Favored Foes in the semi-finals. Only one team could advance to entertain the Red Lady, and this would be a bloodbath, said the announcer. The gate opened, and the crowd roared. Every seat was filled, twenty times the crowd size of our first fight.
The Favored Foes were led by a familiar sight, the fan favorite “Red Heir” - Esmerelda Jade, encased in the living stone of Lug’s elemental friend still to this day, months later.
My heart sank. We couldn’t kill her. I told myself that this surely was a farce, the Witch knew all about us, the plan could never succeed. Why was this still going on? And yet, there was nothing we could do.
Esmerelda yelled at us, not to hold back, for she would not, only one could entertain the Red Lady.
We did not hold back. Neither did we execute them. We did our best to dispatch them without killing, and it was a sore test. Lug regretfully called back the stone creature, leaving Esmerelda exposed for the first time in this tournament. We vanquished them, though they had clearly earned their place in this round.
We did our best to entertain the crowd, and the loved us. Despite this, the goblin king was infuriated. He said the Bonebreakers could not advance, accused us of cheating, with our filthy magic and Boradine ways. If it was magic we desired, it was magic we’d get – and he slung a devastating spell at us. It was countered by Tsunay, but she fell doing so.
At that very moment, Merrys yelled “NOW! Take up arms!” and the crowd began to fight – it was a packed house for another reason entirely. The goblin king turned to run, but he was held at swordpoint… by the Black Quarts. Straga and Mabel, alongside Valos and goliath guards, the goblin king was now hostage.
At long last, the avalanche had come. The people of the Summits were rising, to fight their fight.
Jherginga, the Goblin King, would not surrender. He sicked his troops upon us, and Straga yelled at us to get Jade’s body off the ground, to meet them at Durhaam.
Goblins and hyena-men pinned us into the arena, but we decimated them. Trolls came down behind us, and we killed them too on our way to the elevator. We bandaged our wounds and downed a stock of healing potions. Jade was in a hurry, and I thought I would surely die. She slashed the ropes of the lift causing us to free fall. But at the last moment, she used a scroll of feather fall, slowing us to a soft landing. Amber and I broke down the doors of the lift room, and we entered the streets of Zuranda.
Battle was everywhere. We tried to run through, but I was separated from the others. I slew a horde of goblins, and returned to the others soaked in blood. We arrived at the keep.
Instead of sanctuary, here was yet more bloodshed. We were ambushed. Firefly and I fell to scores of enemies, yet instead dropping, my orcish rage kept me lucid. Half-conscious, I saw Valos smite the goblin king with a thunderous blow. I then truly thought I was hallucinating. Andarius, the squirrel fellow, as well as seemingly every chapter of Nothric and forces from around Terrinoth rallied to our aid. Bright white light shined over them, led by Allastar the White.
The goblin king executed Valos there on the steps, with a horrible necrotic spell of life stealing. He then lept off the wall, and ran away. Buerig took the keep, displaying a rare feat of valor. He had earned my respect, surely. He ordered us to follow the goblin king to the lair of the Red Witch.
While I had thought that surely Valos was dead, he yet clung to life himself. He called to Merrys, and Firefly was healed. Allastar approached.
He told me that I must slay the goblin king, Jherginga. To inspire the orcs when I take the crown. He is trying to warn the Witch, who will try to rush to finish the ritual. While staring at the Sunbrace, he told me that he would deal with her, and to fulfill my destiny - he would embrace his in turn. He transformed into a white owl, and flew off into the distance.
At that moment, I knew it was time. We must put everything on the line, to fight for freedom.
Upon my final prayer I will know, because so too shall all. Towers began to fall, the ceiling of Zuranda began to crack. The Sunbrace began to glow. Beams shot out of it into the Dorndepths below, absorbing the lives of the hundred mages far below. The ritual had begun. Yet, a short time later, the pulse was cut off. A single white beam from another tower hit the Sunbrace, and the beam going down to the depths flickered out. Allastar was fighting.
Merrys said she would join Nothric and fight with us. Mortana (Domino), Tsunay, and Tanabraya pursued the Red Witch via the Seer, the rest of us went to follow the goblin king deep underground. Allastar had told me, it was Jherginga who had slain my family, and enslaved my people.
After so many years, vengeance was near.
Journal #25 - Scourge of Helmcroft
Helmcroft, forgotten city of the Ru’Steppes. Not made by any races known, but discovered by the first light of the Sunbrace. Valos drew sigils and told a story via trance. He told of the Un’dradys and the birth of the city as told by local legend. Helmcroft became a mirror of Hy’dera, where the first of the fallen lay to rest. Before the First Age, the light shattered, giving form to the mountains and the Summits were Sunken. Meteor showers ruthlessly destroyed the mountains. The great rings were forged, taking generations to complete. Only the Phoenix Flame was powerful enough to hold back the darkness.
Goliaths were not part of the great alliance of races, the rings wielded by elf, dwarf, and man, because the goliaths gave their lives forging the ring of man. Men are of The Faded, they cannot create such magic, only manipulate it.
Helmcroft is a home, a garden, and a tomb all at once. The dangers lurking there are the ruin of Volric’s people. The Red Witch feeds the shadow there, sending people to their doom, feeding the Un’dradys which lurks there. I saw through another’s eyes, hundreds of years in a moment, yet experienced as slow as real-time. It was over in an instant and yet I felt I must be an aged creature. These rings were not forged in some sudden great work, but through much sacrifice and suffering across generations. When the Phoenix was reborn, it took the shape of the Sunbrace, to no longer be imprisoned.
Goliaths were the natives of Helmcroft, the only race not created by the Light of Timirand.
We came out of the trance, and felt exhausted. Now we know where we ask him to take us, he said. He would only take us to the gates. He told us, when reaching the lake we must not follow the lights, but must sail into darkness. Once there, we must be silent, the ghouls and thralls lurk there, it is their home now. Do not underestimate the shadow, it had given agency to the Drev which reside there. We took his counsel to heart.
We moved as stealthily as we could, as we approached a guardpost we had to leave Firefly and Tsunay behind, they carried out a distraction for us. For eight hours after, we journeyed on. Wastes, craigs, absence of weather, beasts, flora or fauna. We were about half way there. We rested, finally, perhaps the last good rest we would have until we found the city once more.
Domino had her spider increase my reflexes, and a voice on the wind caught us by surprise - Magdalena, breaking the stone in the passage and crumbling it to dust. I fell, but made my way out. Before us a great wall rose up. It was a thousand feet away, reaching all the way from the ground to the top of the cavern of the underspaces, all the way up to the Sunbrace. The chief showed us the appropriate heading, and then bid his farewell.
As we stealthily approached, our steps released poison from the ground. Ghiravont smelled a Fiend for the first time. It spoke out, asking what was out there. It asked what we brought it… Ghiravont decided to be forthright - he said we came on behalf of Bantu the Seer, and suddenly green flames burst down a crack in the wall, huge eyes appeared, a great horned beast made entirely of metal peered out at us, and lunged.
It was like an aurochs of solid metal, with spines everywhere. We fought it, we had no choice. The Traveler (a name for a demon) fought back, and when it was injured it transformed, shedding its exoskeleton and becoming far larger. It was the embodiment of the Drev, and we slew it. It had the symbol of the Red Witch emblazoned upon it, which we extinguished by breaking it into three pieces. Four hours after we set out towards the gate, we had a day and a half yet in front of us at minimum. We advanced into the craig.
An hour of walking through the craig, Lug was reading names of ancient druids engraved on the walls. I recognized three such names from the oral histories of my people. Faramor, Doomrend, and Talisman. It seems the druids of old kept histories here.
Eventually, we came upon a dim light from no source, and arrived at the shores of an underground lake, still and black. There was a boat, and based on how it was tied off, the rise and fall of the lake tides resulted in an immense variance in the depth. We had discovered Helmcroft.
Amber and I rowed the boat, on two sets of oars. Lug and Korrigash kept watch. We picked a direction and tried to remain consistent. Lights came out of nowhere, from underneath us in the water, traveling on steady courses. Whenever a light seemed to follow us, we altered course to point towards the darkness. As the lights passed, they cast silhouettes of innumerable buildings submerged far beneath us. Eventually, peaks rose out of the water - buildings not fully submerged. We sailed between towers, and heard the sound of chittering like crickets. We had to turn once more to avoid a light, and passed beneath the most enormous bulk of a landed ship with a gargantuan anchor hanging down above us, I had never seen the like.
We came upon a clearing of open water, light was all around. It seemed to follow us, it was time to get out of the boat we surmised. The light was now the entire lake, to avoid it we must leave the water.
Korrigash saw a sandbar, and we headed that way. The boat was chained up, and we went up a moss covered staircase. As soon as we opened the door at the top, the lake lights were extinguished.
What followed was a fight with the Drev. Our first true encounter with their kind, at least while I was with the company. Deep elves with sunken eyes and dried skin, an animated hand reaching out of the depths, and blighted monstrosities covered in boils, who exploded in a poison cloud when they approached. These blowers, when they exploded they shot out toxic worms which tried to force their way into our bodies through our ears and eyes. Some got onto me, and I knew in my heart if they got inside I’d die. I told Korrigash to hit me with a fireball nearly pointblank, and it was worth it. We fought long, and before much time had passed we were dodging torrents of water. There were sluice gates throughout the sewers, and these changed height periodically, sending rivers of water through different angles.
We found the control room, in which there was a Drevved goliath, the first I had seen, and a conniving ghoul manning the valves. We slew them. We also found our target, a room with a deep well filled with the same poison blight the blowers were exploding into, alongside a ladder going down. It seemed like we needed to get down there, but first had to lower the level of the toxic goo. It was a puzzle.
We manipulated the valves and took note of the changes, and we calculated the right combination of pressure to amplify the pressure into a pair of turbines we found, to drain the well of poison and open passage into the Dorndepths.
But it was no easy feat, and it did not occur uncontested. Yet more creatures fought us, but we were successful. In the room with the well, there was another door, locked by chains of the Primal Alghada. I still wonder what was beyond them. Ghiravont found a powerful potion, a curious medallion which animates a shield it is affixed to, and a thick magical tome in a chest there, which we still don’t quite understand.
Down we went. At the bottom, about an inch of the green liquid remains, in it swam more worms. Lug mentioned feeling the pulse of the Cross, and Domino (Mortana) could feel her half-sister, Magdalena. The Un’dradys was near.
We traveled through a tunnel, and emerged into a large room with long strands of rubbery white tubes, constantly moving in and out of the ground. The rubbery flesh of the long arm that protruded to fight Lug before - it was disgusting. At the end of the chamber, a circular barbed door. As we entered there was a pressure within my chest, something lingered. The Fade incarnent. I was not afraid, yet I clutched my axe.
We heard a voice in the darkness. Magdalena, with loud heels and a black ball gown with bright red hair. “You feel it, don’t you? I once sought the Primal Alghada, but it was not it that drew me here. You must now realize, Ghiravont, there is not a single thought that dwells within your skull that I do not hear.” Ghiravont bellowed that he trusted her - for it was the voice of the Red Witch that came from Magdalena’s body, the same voice as that of Lady Duvall, and Madam Farosia who Ghiravont had given his own blood to willingly for the hope of a cure of lycanthropy. It was like a puppet master pulling the strings.
“Trust? Misplaced perhaps. But I deliver all the same, my promises, a cure to you. You have not fed yet, you have not changed permanently. My cure works, and I am about to cure Hy’dera! But first, I will cure the Ru’Steppes of its plague, and then Terrinoth, and then the Fading World!”
She pointed at us. “You plan to bring before this Un’dradys a Vaporidian blade, you are quite cunning, you figured it all out… I was planning an ambush which you would of course prevail against. I cannot enthrall this shadow, so instead I bargained with it. Instead should I say, we see eye to eye now. And we work, hand… in… hand. The pool erupted with hands going everywhere, mostly towards us, reaching out. Time slowed as I saw my death approaching, and we fought.
The largest, foulest ghoul I had ever seen, a Shadowghast, emerged from the door in the rear. From the floor emerged a giant pale worm - the Un’dradys, Scourge of Helmcroft. The witch fell back into the shadow, and left us to fight this monstrosity.
We battled hard, and seemed to make much progress. The small holes in the floor had arms emerge out, grapple us, and suck us through the under-passages submerged in liquid. All the while, the main beast struck. They were all one entity, and I managed to Slow it with an enchanting tune, but it didn’t hold for long. It devoured my magic and unleashed itself once more. The hands had a terrible reach, and worms infested us as we passed through the acid chamber. Lug was a bear, and yet restrained by its terrible grasp. I slashed the worm, while the others focused on its appendages. Tanabraya dispatched the Shadowghast, and our victory was nigh!
Ghiravont readied the Vaporidian blade, his blow fell, and a moment before it could strike, an opaque globe appeared around the Un’dradys. It threw us back, and Magdalena descended. She had protected it. And beneath the orb, the ground cracked. She grinned and her eyes glinted with flame. “Like a hammer, on an anvil…” she muttered, and the ground fell.
We fall amidst rubble, into a room with a standing foot of water. The witch cackled and slowly descended after us. The globe is still protecting the near-dead Un’dradys, and within it we saw the body quiver. “Take it in, Nothric! This gorge will be your tomb. You should learn this magic, Korrigash, there is so much to know. You’re the only one, not even my filthy half-sisters are worthy! But you, bearer of the World Ring, could be…” She revealed she was wearing Mar’s ring. “I know in your heart, I see it…defiance!” The flesh within the shield was bulging. It was as if this was a distraction, playing for time. “The bargain,” she looked at the Un’dradys, “they are yours to take. But leave his heart, the key of Ariss, and the Rod of the Rings are mine!” A red, fleshy hand smashed on the ground. And then others, one after the other. And heads emerge, smiling. The flesh is encasing the orb as it cracks, a true monstrosity was emerged.
The Un’dradys was a hydra, and yet not a hydra. The antithesis of a hydra. Six times larger than it was, seven heads, all dripping blood. “Un’dradys, fulfill your destiny! Devour the light, the champions of the Echo, bring me the Rod of the Rings!”
We fought it. It was the nemesis of the divine, Scourge of Helmcroft. It was the sorest test we had ever been put to. Its heads reached out from what felt like a mile away, nowhere safe. Korrigash fell, and from when he dropped to the ground and when his spirit left his body, there were mere seconds. It spoke to us, in the voice of Red. The Un’dradys had consumed his soul, too. The Witch had fed him to it. Orlando cleaved off a head, but in turn nearly died. Ghiravont needed to land the killing blow with his Vaporidian blade, and yet could not do so. Lug tried to protect him in his bear shape, as Orlando and Ghiravont were both near death. We had been targeting its heads, and yet when only three remained, they regrew.
It spoke out in a dying gasp, simultaneously from its three remaining heads, in dwarvish, elvish, and common. “I would see you here, in the glit of destiny, where shadows reign, where light would be snuffed out. Where there would be nothing left but the Thrands of Thallion, and the Argerence Power. Now, die…” It ripped a spike out and into my chest.
Blow after blow, we whittled it down. Ghiravont was unconscious. Amber and I took up the blade and traded it between ourselves as we had openings to attack. We were not attuned, but we hoped that it would not matter. Hope was all we had. It was near the end, and Amber laid a terrible blow upon it. A head shattered in divine energy and Orlando fell, protecting the unconscious form of Ghiravont. In a final spurt of energy, enraged at her love Orlando falling unconscious, Amber struck out and sunk the blade to its hilt into the creature. It gleamed black, and the horrible wretched screams of a thousand souls washed over her, including Red’s, and Korrigash’s, all those trapped within the Un’dradys, The Whole. She fell, but fell in victory. She maintained her concentration on the soul-sucking of the sword long enough.
Only Lug and I remained. He healed the others with his staff, and I bolstered Amber’s resolve long enough for her to endure the torrent while Ghiravont awoke. When he saw what was occurring, Ghiravont grasped the sword. He could withstand it since he was attuned to the blade. Amber fell immediately.
Magdalena muttered a curse, and fled. She had to ally with the Un’dradys as she couldn’t kill it herself perhaps. Somehow, I felt emboldened by that.
The body of the Un’dradys was a black husk. It was crumbling to dust.
We could finally look at Korrigash’s corpse. There was nothing we could do. Tanabraya took his master’s scroll, of Speak with Dead, with which we were to interrogate the Un’dradys. She gave it to Lug. She also took the Ring of the Dwarves. I handed Ghiravont the strange tome he had found above us, which he had given to Korrigash for his arcane understanding. Orlando strapped on the bracers. We didn’t want anything to go to waste. I prepared his body for transport, and lashed it to my back.
Tanabraya wondered if the Red Witch wasn’t actually all of these other women in disguise, but one person controlling them. They were all powerful, ambitious women in control of armies. Maybe Duvall, Magdalena, Farosia, were in fact thralls of some sort, and could be rescued with the Filter of Souls. Magdalena said she had to bargain with it, and Domino noted that those of the Applewood only bargain with higher powers.
We interrogated the Un’dradys, and found more questions than answers. We asked how to restore the thralls, and were told it must be an equivalent exchange, soul for soul or something greater. Magdalena offered it feeding - it was fed souls, and transported them for her. It somehow helped create or consume the thralls? Also, the Filter of Souls was not a device, it was part of the earth fueled by the Primal Alghada. In response to how to find it, it said it was not a place, but a time, and we had to retrace our steps where Shadow spoke and Life continued to Conjure. Who was Magdalena working for? She answered to only one, whose beauty is a bounty of wrath and terrible poison to all who wrought Malice upon themselves.
We asked about a way to save Korrigash, but did not hear anything good. Nobody could ever be truly brought back from the dead, they are never whole. His body would host the soul of Korrigash, but it would also host the Un’dradys and all other souls it had claimed before. An unspeakable monstrosity that would be. Tanabraya seemed to think it would be an opportunity, and I understood her desire. Korrigash could perhaps wrestle with the others for control, and have an inside understanding of what the Un’dradys knew. But what were the odds of one soul winning out over thousands? What terrible things had the Un’dradys consumed, unknown to us? Ghiravont was worried that he would be a Drev in reality, and the Drev can sense one another.
The sword was now like shale, brittle and fragile. If it broke, the reincarnation would occur in Ghiravont’s body as the attuned. If it was broken within the body of another, it would occur there.
We climbed out of the pit in about twenty minutes, and found our way through the pipes. We caught our breath and bandaged our wounds, and made a choice. We could re-emerge from the sewers back to the control room and find our boat, or we could take these lower levels all the way into the sewers of the city itself. We thought there would be a hive of activity in our wake above, so we chose the latter.
We were running out of time to make it to the final round of the arena challenge. We wouldn’t have time to rest until we made it back to the city, more than a day away. We chose to move quietly here, for as long as we could be under the effects of Lug’s dampening magic. After it wore off, we’d sprint for it. Shifting currents in the aqueducts blew us off course, but we corrected. We avoided a half dozen six-legged panthers, which somehow couldn’t catch our scent. We fought through a swarm of flesh eating insects which smelled like death, and we pushed on. A new dawn brightened the horizon, and we emerged. Two days later, back in Zuranda.
Journal #24 - The Dorndepths
The days that followed blurred together. A scheme was hatched, and Chief Valos clued us in somewhat. He first gave background, a sign would come of the Great Phoenix emerging from the Sunbrace. Thus was born the clan of Avolos, Mar’s clan, meaning Phoenix. The greatest of all legends of our kind. Ancient druids felt a heartbeat within, and it was assumed to be the largest piece of Timmirand fallen from on high. Only the chosen would be able to erupt its fiery power, and thus he feared the reason for the Red Witch to enslave the Summits - also enslaving those few in tune with the Primal Alghada. Valos said it was not until the night before when his daughter Merrys spoke of her success delivering his message, that the great pit beneath Zuranda is a single dive into the center of the Dorndepths, directly beneath the Sunbrace. It was as if the Witch were molding the earth to her liking, planning to drop the Sunbrace like an egg…to crack the newly discovered Vault of Voladryn, and destroy the city in one fell blow?
The chieftain said he had no hope until we arrived. The Last Bonebreaker, the Betrothed of the Phoenix, the Alliance of Nothric. His brother accepted his terms, we must only win the Winter Games. By tradition, the fighting in the arena is a competition, teams with brackets, vying for honor. The winning clan leader sits at the Lady’s right hand, his body servant serves her wine himself. An opportunity to service a potent dose of poison? Our mission was to win, and entertain, for House Durhaam.
So we did, for 10 weeks. We slew many creatures, the last of which was a Wyvern up on the surface, with the Goblin King visiting, pushing in his own son to be slain as well. Not before revealing us… he knew we were Nothric. The plan could not possibly succeed. Well, they say the best laid plans don’t survive first contact with the enemy, and this was by far our first contact. The Witch’s ritual could be completed within 30 days, or as soon as tomorrow.
During the time, shortly before our final battle with the Wyvern, we went to see the Seer with whom Mortana (Domino) had become acquainted, Bontu. He offered to divine answers, for a boon. We must take an imbued sword made of Vaporite, dragon-forged Obsidian. These swords would imprison the soul of those it slew, but after would become as brittle as shale. Once the blade itself broke, that which it slew would possess the body of the wielder, unless the blade was appropriately destroyed.
Bontu spoke of a threat - an Un’drodys. It is of the Drev, who are a sort of Lost undead. When they find a voice, a purpose, destiny if you will, they become Found. A Lost is not who they were when they were alive, they can find other voices, and thus are the most chaotic of evil creatures in Hy’dera. They can steal destiny from people beyond death, he said. When one consumes enough Destiny, becomes renowned, they inherit Un’drodys - The Whole. It is the most powerful of Drev, a hivemind of consciousness of hundreds of other Drev. There is one of these Un’drodys here within the Sunken Summits - well, far, far beneath it. We are to find it within three days, to be back in time for the Semi-Finals and to beat the Red Witches’ ritual in progress. This particular Un’drodys has not been seen since the Third Age, it is a living Chrysanthemum Cross. We are to slay it with the sword and return it to Bontu. However, we also have a scroll of Speak With Dead, this is an opportunity for us to interrogate the creature as well.
It seems unsettling - what would Bontu do with such a soul? But there were questions - questions which needed answers. We would receive two more such magical blades, upon the return of the one lent to us. We were cautioned, if we died while attuned to it, we would become Drev ourselves.
The questions asked, and answers received, we are as follows:
Ghiravont inquired about his forthcoming journey to Nossica, about the Twilight Elf he has had visions of. He asked how to find her, and was told to seek near one of the world trees at Alone Plateau, after Castle Artrast.
Orlando asked about Mar’s ring, where it was and where the Black Quartz were. He was told they would find us. There would be only one opportunity to get the ring back, and it would not be our first instinct, but what came after.
Korrigash asked about how to release the thralls and safely rejoin the souls with their physical bodies. He was quoted the Law of Equivalent Exchange, having to sacrifice to earn it. Surely Korrigash would make such a sacrifice, I fear. Tanabraya asked with him, where the Filter of Souls might be found. She was told, not where - but when. The First Shadow will show us when and how to use it. The Un’drodys is the only thrall who will know. Un’drodys is High Elvish for The Whole. Additionally, Bontu said, “You overestimate the Red Witch to assume it was her who was able to conjure this magic, to enthrall all these people…”
Lug asked about the Chrysanthemum Cross, and was told it was at the pinnacle of his journey, at the Spire of Destiny.
Mortana (Domino) asked where she could find Shade Abbey, which she had learned might be related to bringing back Mar. She was told to sail to Rhune, it rests in forest in an abode surrounding the den of an Ancient.
Amber asked where Red was, and was told - not in the city, but beneath it, you will find when you see him. The Heat of the Depths.
I asked how to tell how much time we have before the Red Witch’s spell would be completed. I was told our time remaining was an illusion of our fear, because even if the one we despise completes her ritual, she too is waiting for something. “Upon my final prayer I will know, because so too shall all.”
So then, we had our payment, but had not yet done the deed.
We must journey, to the Dorndepths.
As the Wyvern and the Goblin’s son and lieutenant lay in their blood upon the surface of the Sunken Summits crater, we knew what lay before us. We descended, and took a short time to collect ourselves. We had a meal, and the clan hall of Volric and Dhuraam were in an uproar, cheering for The Bonebreakers. We are told one fight now separates us from an audience with she who rules the city, the daughter of the chief, Merrys.
Valos took us aside and spoke to us, we revealed the sword and our mission from the seer. We must get past the gates, and to the undercity to silence the enemy forever. He was taken aback, referencing Helmcroft and that there was no survival from that dark place. It was taken by death. So many had been sent there - to explore, recover, to die. It was a tomb. Even so, we convinced him to lead us to its entrance. He tried to convince us we were too much needed here, but it seemed strange. The Goblin King surely reported to the Witch who we were. There would be no surprise-taking here, not that open rebellion was not to be encouraged still.
We agreed to meet him at the gate in an hour, and he would lead us.
As we prepared, we mused on what we had learned. The alchemist cannot create something from nothing, and if we slay the Whole (Un’dradys) with the blade of Vaporite, it will become brittle enough to break. Perhaps the weakened blade is the last piece the Red Witch needs for this ritual? So Tanabraya suggested.
We stewed, and we prepared.
Journal #23 - The Sunken Summits
We journeyed far. Orlando remained on his own, and the goliath leader led the rest of us. We passed, after some time, into a giant underground city with many warrens. People walk in lines, it does not appear to be slavery, but certainly organized labor.
Orlando was chased by wolves, and ultimately had to choose between revealing himself, and being attacked. He chose the former, and tried to appeal to the goliath. He claimed to be the member of our party who fell to the beast, not actually dead and able to escape. The goliath didn’t say much, and he was accepted in. The goliath said we were about to enter Dhuraam for appraisal, and that he would use Orlando as tribute to bring honor to the clan.
It was a magical scene, being back in my homeland. Luminescent mushrooms and rocks, the scent of the minerals and brimstone in the air. And above all, the Sunbrace. It rose above Zuranda, the capital city of the Sunken Summits. Colossal in scope, it was made and the source of primal Alghada of fire. It is like the sun, underground. It directly reflects the position of the moon from outside. It is encompassed within the ceiling of the gigantic caverns of the Sunken Summits, and rests within the very bedrock, emerging into the daylight above, housed within one of the sunken mountain craters. It does not rise far enough above ground to be seen from outside the mountain range - it is beneath the mountain peaks, in a crater inaccessible from the surface. There is focuses the light of the surface down into the land underneath. A giant gemstone, a sun beneath ground.
We pass deep into the city, which was militantly organized. As we reach Dhuraam, we pass armored trolls. Domino, Tanabraya, Sunay and some others are split apart from us, later we are informed they spoke to a one-eyed seer, bearing a Shard of Terrinoth. The rest of us go into the fortress.
We are presented before a chieftain, told to speak when spoken to, and we were appraised. Our chains were ignited, knocking us to the ground. Then the woman clapped once more, and it ceased. She said, this is what it means to be free. We were stripped.
The woman, the as yet unnamed Merrys, yelled in Giant - “Grandfather, I’ve arrived with prizes!.” She seemed to be related to the chieftain. She spoke to the tallest goliath I had ever seen, who stood up at her call. His cloak was an inch thick, with a fur mantle. He had a powerful presence, a long white beard and massive stature. Old, yet strong. His face was tattooed across every inch, which I knew to be a display of his experience and achievements. The goliath who brought us here, seemed a younger version of him. His face was notably tattooed, but not nearly so much. The woman had but the first tracings. It seemed there was a family bond between the three.
I introduced myself, also speaking Giant. He broke my chains, and said no Bonebreaker would wear chains under his roof. He did so barehanded, and said my people fought bravely during the Red Crusade. He asked me what my companions were good for, and we discussed them for a time. Ultimately, he asked me if we are workers, or warriors. Without much hesitation, I said the latter. He said he would have to see it to believe it, and we were taken away.
We were to be appraised further. The goliath who led us here, the as yet unintroduced Valos, told us that if we win respect, he may heed our counsel. He told us to sleep underground, beneath the city wall. There were cells there, that stood open. A prison, and yet open.
An old man we’d seen earlier was there, some sort of jailkeeper named Slag. Also an inmate there, going by Elias, he seemed to be a rat keeper. We sleep there, in a cell - made from a refurbished barracks.
In the morning, Orlando was led off without explanation. First, the woman who led him off lectured me about putting him in danger by choosing the path of the warrior, as if Orlando could not take care of himself. Ha! The rest of us prepare.
Our first morning in the Sunken Summits, we are led to what they called the Aqueducts. It seemed to be an arena of sorts, with standing water on the floor. We were naked and weaponless, told we could earn arms and armor by taking it from foes, to be re-used in future combats. It was a tournament of sorts. If we win here, I would be on a name-to-name basis with Father (the goliath who we first met, the woman was apparently his Daughter, and the old chieftain his father in turn, the Grandfather).
We would fight for the entertainment of the Lieutenant of the Black Legion, Prince Loval; he reports directly to the Goblin King. We entered the arena, and greeted Domino and the others (I should say, Mortana as he is now known). We would apparently fight together.
We needed a team name, and took on the moniker The Bonebreakers. We fought the Iron Gullet. They fought valiantly, but they were no match for us. When only a few of them were left standing, the pitmaster unleashed a beast to liven things up - an electric serpent, and the water level began to rise. We were victorious.
We were greeted downstairs by Orlando, who’d apparently been watching in the stands. The goliath father approached, and introduced himself as Chief Balos, his daughter is Merrys. He is chieftain of the Volric tribe, which owes fealty to the Dhuraam tribe, of which his own father is Chieftan - the man with the long beard we were presented before earlier.
We ate dinner in celebration, and were approached by an orc who seemed to think we should remember him - his name was Renny, and he represented the Black Quartz. I wondered if he might know who has Mar’s ring, but we didn’t broach the subject. It was likely still Mabel. We retreated to our chambers to lick our wounds. We had another job in the morning.
Meanwhile, I was later told Orlando was back to his old ways of package delivery, this time on special assignment from Merrys and her family, behind enemy lines. He found his way across the city, evading loyalists of the Red Witch, Hyena-men patrols, and eventually reaching the Chieftan of Clan Orem, sister-tribe of Volric, fellow sub-tribe of Dhuraam. The chieftain was apparently having an affair with a deep elf woman, Matron Xianna - that is the person Emberana was to be offered to. Anyway, long story short, it seems the tribes were uniting, for a long awaited uprising. The winter games would decide who sits at the Red Witch’s table, and who her cupbearer is. Xianna rambled that we were all prisoners (the orcs, goliaths, deep elves etc.), and the chieftain admonished her for not using the term Red Lady instead of Red Witch. The package seemed to be something important, the chief muttered something about having all eight. He told Orlando, “Return to my brother, tell him I accept his terms.”
Journal #22 - The Doom of the Pit
I stood looking at the monstrous creature. It was gargantuan, clearly imbued with Alghadan energy. I took a second glance at our companions in the 891st and realized Buerig still lived, though just barely. His friend Craven had taken the brunt of the blow.
We had no choice but to run for it. There was a small tunnel on the far side of the room we didn’t think it could fit inside. Ghiravont healed Buerig, Esmerelda distracted the monster with help from Lug’s stone friend. The rest of us made our way out. As we did so, it bashed the floor, releasing toxic poison into the air.
At the end of the tunnel was an iron door, which I kicked down. Orlando carried Buerig. I peered into the room and was utterly surprised. It was a bar, packed with orcs, goblins, bugbears, and even some men. Toxic vents a few feet beyond their door, and they stood their drinking and playing cards.
The room went silent as they realized what happened. I thought to myself, these were either a rearguard of the Red Witch, or some sort of underground resistance. I thought a quick remark might illicit a response, so I bellowed “Fuck the Red Witch!” like a toast, and took a long draught of my healing potion.
One with an eyepatch turned and looked at me. He said something about “look what the Doom of the Pit dragged in,” and then told us to lay down our arms, and if not - he heavily implied a fight to the death, with the 20-some others all drawing their weapons. I still wasn’t sure which way this might go, so I decided to sheathe my axes instead of dropping them.
Domino decided to try to mind trick them into thinking she was Lady Duvall, it didn’t go well.
I asked why I shouldn’t go down fighting, and the eyepatch replied something about me being sorry for not fighting for the right cause. Then some of the others started talking about appraisal, like we were to be slaves. But then in the rear, I heard a Goliath say “Clan Volric will bring them for appraisal!.” after they fought amongst themselves a little. I knew that name, Clan Volric was one of the Goliath tribes of the Sunken Summits, sister to Clan Ohrim, the guardian clans of the Summits, the Storm Heralds of the primal Alghada – one of the few who can navigate the Alghada. That made up my mind – we needed these folks as allies, so it was worth the gamble.
I translated for the others, we needed to go with the Goliath. I laid down my weapons and was shoved towards the goblin with the eyepatch, whose name was Bograt.
The Goliath of Clan Volric wanted to know how many of us there were. All this time, Orlando had been invisible – Firefly had cast a spell on him before we entered the chamber. I answered honestly – our number, and one of us died to the beast. The way this was phrased, it didn’t look odd that our number was one less, he assumed it was the one who fell, but I had already taken Craven into account.
The eyepatch wouldn’t let us all go though - he wanted a tribute. Someone for him to deliver, or sell, to another place. Esmerelda volunteered. They lined us up and inspected us like meat. Bograt was looking to give tribute to Matron Zayana, seemingly a loyalist of the Red Witch (whom they all refer to as the Red Lady). While inspecting, he tore off Korrigash’s ear. He then chose Sunay; I tried to get him to rise to a duel, but he was a coward. Amber almost attacked him too, but Esmerelda stopped her, and offered herself - declaring her status as a captain of Nothric.
The room cleared out, leaving just us and the goliaths. We were ordered to be manacled, and I said I wouldn’t put them on. A woman in the group said we’d die crossing the leylines without them. I was unsure who she was, but Volric was one of the few who understood the mysteries of the Alghada, so I took her word for it. Later, we were introduced - the woman was Merrys, the daughter of the goliath who we first spoke to, who was himself Valos, Chieftain of Clan Vulrik.
The manacles were stone, and appeared magical – they were laced with electric sapphire ore like we saw on the descent, and there seemed to be jolts of current. I was loathe to put them on however, I quizzed the woman about if it protected us, why weren’t they wearing them. They put up with me but weren’t very forthcoming. They healed Korrigash, and told me I should keep my big opinions quiet; I mentioned the limited time we had to stop the ritual, and Valos responded that the Red Lady should not be mentioned.
Domino revealed her true appearance, and caused an uproar. Unbeknownst to me, she was apparently Mar’s lover before he died, which explains why she had his clan sigils tattooed on her. When the goliaths saw them, they demanded to know why she bore them. Ghiravont mentioned us being Mar’s friends, and I revealed that he was dead, who held his ring, and our reason for coming.
He said they would take us to Dhuraam. I recognized that name; I knew it was an unmarked location of a traveling tribe.
They seemed to be loyal to Mar, fire still burned in their hearts, they were like coals buried under ground. I will be the stone that starts an avalanche, I allowed myself to be bound.
Journal #21 - The Depths
On the tenth day, we set out. We left the horses and carriage behind, as we knew we would be venturing into territory unsuitable for them. Korrigash’s family met us on the bridge as we departed, of the noble Flystone family - plus his wizardly mentor.
We first journeyed through the jungle, being sure to avoid Highrock Tower. It was not long however, before we picked up wolves on our trail. On just the second day they picked up our scent - they must’ve been expecting something. For eight days we outran them, but they gained on us each day. Eventually things came to a head along a small river, on the tenth day, we knew they were close on our heels. We chose to stand and fight, to make a clean break of them before entering more dangerous ground. Lug sang the forest to life behind us, making it nearly impassable. We hoped that would hold them, but we had been ambushed.
While those behind us were blocked, waves of wolves, dire wolves, hyena-men, and goblins entered from in front of us. We fought for our lives, bloodied and wearied from eight days with barely any sleep. Eventually, the leaders were thrown down and the remnants scattered.
Leon found some runes from the Bonebreaker clan, and he traced them on the bank of the river. This opened a secret passage in the mountain, which we used to escape.
As the tunnel sealed behind us, Leon noted that this would be a thirty day journey underground into the Sunken Summits. We can’t rest here, had to move further into the depths, away from the entrance.
They had scouted this passage before, and came prepared. They handed out masterwork climber’s kits, five healing potions, and five antitoxins specially formulated for the hazards of this land, as well as fifty feet of rope, to each of us.
We journeyed on, until we came to The Descent. Above it, we took a short rest finally. As we licked our wounds, Amber proposed to Orlando, as she feared she may not ever get another chance. I had to bite my tongue regarding Ghiravont. After, we approached the descent. A massive hole, 150 feet wide and unknowably deep. Where we are headed, it is not just the Sunken Summits, streams of pain of an entire race echo into the Fade here. It is twisted, mangled in Malice.
Leon bade us farewell and departed. We began the long descent. We paired off, and used our climbers kits to go down as far as our rope lengths would allow before resetting the lines. I went with Firefly. It was a sore trial, and besides us Tanabraya and Sunay came into disaster, and had to join our lines. It took all my strength to hold us up while they were tied off. I also arrested our fall when the ropes became tangled. From that point on, we were fairly successful. Tanabraya was able to spot hazards from afar, while my strength kept us safe from falling.
We passed toxic plants, crumbling rock walls, electrocuting sapphire veins flowing with primal energy, briar growth, molten rock vents spewing steam, toxic mushrooms, and loose shale. After more than 1,200 feet, we saw a silhouette of the bottom, more than sixty feet away.
There was a strange noise, cracks from above. Buerig of the 891st seemed to be impaled on a rock spike. I was surprised, but then it started moving and I became horrified. It was no rock spike, it was the terrible tail of a monstrous large creature, bestial like a lion, but with an exoskeleton, batlike leathery wings, and broken chains upon its wrists. On the wall, broken chain loops show where it had been imprisoned. Who could keep such a thing under control?
Beyond such curiosity, it seems we had a more pressing matter. We were weak to the point of exhaustion, and now had to fight for our lives…
Journal #20 - Many Warnings
Through the emotional ups and downs of the child Arlo, we made our way to Tamalir. I didn’t think about the absurdity of our vessel to commoners, and we approached the docks as usual. It was only when they tried to tie off the living elemental that it occurred to me, and I told them off. As we disembarked, I set the creature free.
The dock workers remarked about the lack of travel from the south, and I delivered the frightening news of the cause. They called the guards and we spoke to Captain Falor in the barracks. He sent out scouts, and told us unfortunately that Myra had left for Nerekhall five days past.
Scouts were dispatched to warn the free cities, and a pair of guardsmen who hailed from Nerekhall were consulted. We had magically spoken to Myra, and the town seemed okay. Many troll-sick refugees, but nothing out of the ordinary. She wasn’t told what was occurring. As far as anyone knew, Nerekhall still stood and did not appear to be openly controlled. Thus, whatever the Ogre general was implying, perhaps it was not yet too late. It could be that the city was simply ready to fall, and not yet utterly compromised. The guards surmised that the sewers of Nerekhall, called the Bile Halls, are the foundation of the city, which was built on one of the oldest foundations of the free cities. The guards think the army may be hiding in these sewers. They volunteer to take discreet news to the city.
The guard captain warned us, we must leave the city by nightfall or be locked in for the battle to come. It pained me, but I felt we must press on - the free cities are well armed, and must fight their own battle. If we don’t face the evil of the Red Witch to the east, then any victory here would be for naught, and time is pressing – her ritual could already be under way. I suggested we move on, and tell Myra the truth to prepare as best as she can. Ghiravont had initially wanted to go rescue her from Nerekhall, but I argued her stubbornness to leave wouldn’t be changed by us going, and we’d be roped into fighting the battle here. I managed to convince them, so we prepared to journey east.
Before we left, we stopped by the lab above the Silken Bow, Firefly had to pick the lock. We recovered some prepared potions, and gathered supplies. We also reclaimed our stored carriage and draft horses, and then proceeded to Forge.
On our way, I helped Firefly write a song about our journey, which our friends aptly named Another Orc in the Wall, about the struggles of Pylanthia and the disreputable actions of the Quikhands.
Malastar communicated to us that he would return to Tamalir after his business in the Valdari Marsh, but surely prior to the conflict. He will not give so easily to the Manbreaker, they would have to break him instead. I worried he might be playing into their hand, but it was not my business. He is dispatching another group of adventurers to investigate the Bile Halls for trolls. He additionally warned us, the closer we draw to the Ru’Steppes, the stronger the pull will be on Domino from whatever she encountered in the Applewood mountains, and on Ghiravont from his blood alchemy with the Red Witch. This is the most dangerous effort we have yet attempted. He also told us to leave the traitor Surrindo the White to him.
17 days after departing, we reached Forge. I took the guise of my dwarven self, and wandered the city with Lug in the shape of a dog. He was a good boy, and I successfully commissioned an amulet with my Topaz from the wizard’s tower so many months ago.
The tree that haunted my dreams was dead, though still standing. I wonder if Lug could replace it for the city, perhaps one day.
There was a big meeting of Nothric, and I am told Ghiravont was reprimanded for abandoning his post without any communication to the head office. He was able to explain the necessities, but they wouldn’t buy that he couldn’t at least send a letter. They agree with our course of action, but demanded that Esmerelda from Office #722, and the kiss asses who reported what happened in Forge when last we were here, from Office #891 led by Buerig Croft. I heard whispers of a small Vault of Voladryn located in the Sunken Summits.
We pressed on, and took a south-easterly course past Riverwatch and into the Elvish woods, approaching Vynevale, hometown of Korrigash. Before Riverwatch, Domino and Lug split off to take care of some personal business in the Applewood, they planned to meet us at Vynevale, taking the long way around.
We heard many troll sightings were being had in the area, and crossed the river three times on our journey. Each time the woods seemed more under the impact of the Aymhelin. As we crossed the third, Korrigash knew we had entered the land of his people, and shortly thereafter their guards stopped us.
We continued on to Vynevale, and a ranger led us to the gate, a living thing growing out of the ground like tree roots into a living spiral of wood, magically opening before us. The walls of the city are like a bowl digging into the ground, again as a living tree. Waterfalls rim the bowl, and inside is an elven city with towers climbing high, a city and a lake.
It seems Korrigash comes from nobility, his family lived in decadence. We were happily met by Amber, Sunay, and Tanabraya - I was surprised that they were still here, months later. It turns out, they used this as a base of operations as they scouted the Sunken Summits. They have been investigating the Red Network, with the aid of Leon, a deep elf witcher. They think they know where Red is being kept.
Leon apparently specialized in the Drev, the undead horde of the Deathyard to the south; as well as Lychans. He has recently been investigating the Red Network. The Witch is powerful, and for all intents and purposes she is a necromancer. She is able to take the form of many other people and things. She does not necessarily physically change or move herself - she exerts control from afar, a sort of mind control, like she performed on Ghiravont. Deep within the Dorndepths, where the Vault of Voladryn was discovered, they saw her.
If we infiltrate this area, it will not be a daytrip. We will be spending months underground. An entire region, entire civilizations, have been changed by her. She has enslaved my people, and those who cannot work are slaughtered, or made soldiers if they are exceptional. What was originally pure slavery, has turned into something more dire. Now, using her dark magic, she imprisons their very consciousness while leaving their bodies under her spell as automatons, thralls. And not just the local tribes any longer - she has allied with the Goblin King, who has pledged fealty to her.
The goblins serve until death, and then are resurrected into her dungeon. The king swore to her, but rumor is that may not be worth much. He uses her magic as well, and they seem to work together. This has allowed her control to spread - raids happen on towns and villages, their inhabitants enslaved. They are always on the lookout for those magically adept - those are set aside for the Witch, to be a part of her hundred-count ritual.
There is a storage hub of sorts, holding the real souls of those trapped. This must be why the goblins in Aubrador did not care if they burned alive. They were thralls as well. If we destroy this vessel however, the souls would be free but not sure to find their bodies, it would be mayhem. Perhaps better than nothing, but not the ideal outcome. Many would die, and those that lived would not be within their own bodies.
Leon did note to me, a tribe of orcs who did not appear to be thralls – working of their own volition for their own ambitions. This must be the Broken Plains or the Deepbloods, long have they served her willingly. I curse them.
It was mentioned that there must be some sort of File, that could match identities to bodies. This seems above my pay grade frankly, but he seems to know what he is talking about. We were also warned, if a thrall bites you, you could turn into a thrall yourself. Someone surmised that maybe each of the Black Kings has an accompanying spellcaster. Surrindo the White with the Orc King, Magdalena the Red Witch with the Goblin King. That seems interesting.
Ten days we spent sharing information, awaiting the arrival of Domino. I spend the evenings with music, and before I left Firefly acquired for me an Elvish lute, made from sung wood, a masterwork instrument. I was quite touched, he had clearly seen my envy of the locals. As I had been playing, I heard some rumors as well. The king of the elves in Aymhelin has apparently been debating walling off the Aymhelin from Terrinoth. That seems like a foolish idea to me personally.
Our time in the elven city was drawing to a close. On the evening of the tenth day, we prepared for an early departure.
Journal #19 - The Ruins of Jendra
The first sign was a shout from the crow’s nest. Jendra was on fire, presumably. Smoke billowed and a glow was on the horizon. Wreckage was strewn about, and we sailed by two husks of vessels.
The Captain declared we wouldn’t advance towards the harbor - too dangerous for the ship. He had to continue on his route up north before sailing south on the far side of the Brishcmoon Ocean. He offered us a rowboat, or passage on his messenger’s rowboat which would take the southern bay towards Castle Artrast to warn them of Jendra’s State. Before anything could actually be done, we were attacked.
Weapons sprouted out of bellies - and trolls materialized behind them, previously invisible. A half dozen highborne trolls, aided by some lesser amphibian swimmer trolls and some flying harpies killed most of the crew. We slew them in turn, but only the first mate and another sailor survived, of the large crew.
The harpies however, had dropped firebombs on the ship. It was burning, and we had to escape to the rowboats. Even then we were pursued by the harpies and the swimmers. Luckily, our wizard threw magic at them, and Lug turned himself into a shark to eat the swimmers while we rowed.
After an hour of rowing, with the harpies long-since dispatched, and their harpy-commander having flown off, we came to the harbor. Pulling up, there was smoke like a fog. The harbor was in disaster, clearly having burned down but now out. Embers and smoke, wreckage everywhere.
Korrigash investigated. He found no corpses, though Orlando noted trolls normally take the bodies with them. There were obvious signs of battle.
Lug swam to shore to investigate, and found a creature. “Ahoy,” it said. Lug must’ve swam far, he said in a clear common tongue. It was an ogre, yet spoke without an accent. Red robe and plate armor, huge pauldrons, a giant helm to the side not being worn.
We heard him laugh. Lug asked what happened, Ogre said “I happened.” He was given orders, he always follows orders. He tossed a large fish to Lug and he bit into it. He referred to the harpies as Grave Singers, and said their work was impeccable.
Eventually, we approached as well. Orlando asked his name, he is General Buldrok “The Manbreaker.” He talked about advising his troops about our support for each other.
I asked him what he was told to do - he said conquer Jendra. I asked why he had to destroy it. He didn’t. I questioned his morality, but he was just following orders. I told him he didn't have to follow orders, he should follow his heart. It seemed to touch him. He said we were lucky his orders were to take Jendra only, and not to prevent survivors from passing through. Orlando asked what his next orders were (where he’d go next) - he said he didn’t know yet, but probably to take other harbors, to keep the human prey from escaping seaward. He said all he really wanted to do was fill his belly. He liked his fish raw. He said we will have an inevitable clash later, and he looked forward to it.
He mentioned he had been the one to take Gloedan, before we freed it. He congratulated Orlando on taking it back. Later, he noted he refused orders to attack again to retake it, saying he already did it.
30 moons from now his forces are to move to 3 Rivers Crossing - taking over Tamalir if people don’t surrender at Nerekhall. Does this mean his army had already taken Nerekhall? He said the army has many friends. Corruption at Nerekhall?
It sounds like he wants to bait Mallastar into coming to the rescue.
He left, “until we meet again.”
We chose to take ship to Tamalir up river, but we left the shore and into the fog before summoning my elemental, to keep that ability a secret.
Seven days later, we arrived in Tamalir.
Journal #18 - Journeys and Tales
Firefly had spoken frequently through these trials that he would never set foot in Noswald again; he begged me, and others, to go with him on a tour of the free cities, traveling wherever was necessary to remain safe and coddled. However, as we turned towards Almstead Castle to warn them, he seemed to have a change of heart.
We began descending the mountainside to reach the coast of Noswald Yard. It was a tough climb, and it tested our strength. At one point, we noticed a flock of griffins migrating north from the plains to the Aymhelin, it was an awe inspiring sight as we stood on the cliffside seeing the broad vista and these magnificent creatures.
We journeyed on, and eventually came across a cave. I stayed outside with Firefly, while the others were eager to explore. I had seen enough of stone enclosures for a while personally. I was enjoying the clean air and the stiff breeze, and the next thing I knew a boulder smashed the mountain wall, coming straight out of the cave! Firefly and I were immediately concerned, so we approached the cave mouth, being careful not to reveal ourselves. It seemed there was a giant inside, I heard it speaking and could tell by his voice and his accent that he was a native speaker. He was ranting about mycology and disturbing of the peace - he seemed quite defensive of the cave, which appeared to be his home. I can empathize with that. Who knows what Lug was trying to do in there.
I decided to try to calm the situation as tensions were rising inside, and I briefly explained a tune to Firefly for him to harmonize as I began chanting the March of the Giants, most famous of giant songs, originating from my homeland in the Ru’Steppes. I told of the giant migration from the Steppes out of Hy’dera, as they marched westward and created the very rivers like an enormously fast glacier migration.
At last, I walked into the cave while continuing the song. The giant seemed to appreciate it, and he said that he hadn't heard such small fingers make such a nice melody - he was clearly referring to Firefly, but I didn’t call attention to that. He let us stay the night inside.
In the morning, he led us to his pulley system to make a quick descent from the cliffs, for the promise of never returning. He also tried to trade a full sized rocking horse for Lug. I was tempted to take the deal but Domino instead tempted him with a carving of a Tortle instead. He gave us a metal windchime, fashioned in the shape of five pinecones. He seemed to think this was a fitting toy for Ghiravont, whom he regarded as a child.
After the descent, which took about half an hour, we bade our farewell. We were in a small grove around a nice pond with overhanging rocks. Onwards we trudged. As we walked, Domino spoke to Amber and the others pursuing Red, and learned they’d made it as far as Vynevale, just north of the Greywood in the valley before the Mounts of Morshan, just west of Ru’Steppes. They are hot on the heels of the Red Witch.
As we approached the southernmost bridge over the river north of Mordas, Lug departed. He went to visit his home in the Kurama Swamp. He would meet up with us after we departed Almstead Castle. We delivered some short news to a guard captain at the bridge, and a letter to be delivered to the Emperor post haste. We then took ship ourselves to reach the city.
At Almstead, we immediately went to the palace and met the Hand at the top of the lift. We were on our way to meet the Emperor. Briefly we spoke to Councilman Salene, from Al-Kaleem I believe. Then we were ushered into the Emperor’s audience chamber.
Emperor Ragnadon sat his throne. Beneath him on the first step of the dias stood Commandant Posh, Hand of the Emperor. At the Emperor’s side stood a dangerous looking deep elf, with ornate silver-armored robes, a crystalline black circlet on his brow with a black gemstone inset - Lord Xandrian Arzack, advisor to a king in the north.
I quietly listened as Ghiravont and the others explained our findings and the dangers presented to Pylanthia, and through that to Noswald. This Arzack fellow tried to play down the dangers at every moment, he seemed very suspicious to me. Eventually I had enough and broke in, trying to explain the imminent threat. I didn’t achieve much. Our audience was concluded, and we departed, though Domino was held back for some private business with the emperor.
In our rooms, we spoke privately with Posh, who we could speak to candidly. It was at that point that Korrigash explained what happened with the ancient tomb of the dwarf lord and the ring. He described it as belonging to a Dwarf of the Three, only a true heir to Pylanthia could wear it and bring it back to how it was. Out of nowhere, Alastar the Light appeared, saying we were meant to find the ring, and that was Korrigash said was true. He said the ring had within it a Shard of Tamaran, was one of the First, and that there was not one such ring, but three. A ring for Dwarves, a ring for Elves, and a ring for Men. This was the Dwarvish ring, and we were already in pursuit of the ring of men, it was Mar’s ring, now likely in the possession of the Red Witch, or her cronies in the Black Quartz.
While he was there, he took back a gift of youth from a man named Orville, who became an aged man quickly dying before our eyes. The others seem struck by this, but I didn’t even know the man.
It was then that Alastar revealed to us dreadful news - people were fooled, and poisoned. Madam Farosia, who had been working closely with the empire regarding their disease outbreak, and who Ghiravont and Lug had donated blood to for research, and Ghiravont had received some treatment from, was a fraud. An alias of a blood witch who also went by Lady Duvall, the Red Witch, and who was truly named Malice, Daughter of Maldronos, reincarnated to this fresh form as Magdalena, half-sister of Domino, through her father Count Rasaravich, and now his heir.
She is not in fact seeking to cure the Lycanthropy outbreak, but instead to control and propagate it. Alastar only then learned of the blood vials from our friends, freely given. It is a terrible situation.
Suddenly, Ghiravont was attacked mentally, and then occupied by another. The Witch spoke through his mouth, whoever took his blood will “wear the skin of the Red Witch” in the Sunken Summits, where we were told to meet her, as she intends to conquer the world in her way - terraforming it through transmutation, an exchange of life, in a gigantic ritual which would take a hundred wizards a hundred days to complete, an ancient ritual of first age magic. She is an enemy to all, a wild card, not allied with the Dark Lord or his black kings, and not against him either.
At the same time Ghiravont was losing control of himself, Alastar muttered about having to consult with another of the Prismatic Alliance, and turned into an owl, flying off.
Ghiravont wrested control back, and Domino yelled a warning that we would be framed for the death of Orville. At the same time nearly, a guard troop arrived led by Hanz, Captain of the Guard. They came following a report from Farosia concerning a murder.
How would Farosia have learned of the “murder” ? It had happened not by her hand, but by Alastar retracting some spell. I wonder if she had seen it through Ghiravont’s eyes, but that was some quick acting to be here already. Regardless, time was short. Ghiravont spoke to Hanz who gave us a few minutes before forcibly entering. We then hurried to a secret passage, which apparently the others knew about beforehand but had never opened.
Down we went quickly to leave the castle. Before I set foot outside, I turned myself into Darmak the Deepdelver, my alter ego as a dwarven archeologue. As there were only two orcs in all of Noswald to my knowledge, it would not do to stick out so clearly.
We hurried to the harbor, and took ship once more northwards to Jendra Harbor. We stopped to pick up Lug on the west coast. Eighty days we spent at sea, and the Witch was heavy on my heart. When might she begin this spell? Time was wasting, and my homeland might be ruined forever.
As we sailed into the bays of the Kingless Coast, I eagerly stood on the ship’s prow. A cry went up from the crow’s nest, and then I noticed it, smoke on the horizon…
Journal #17 - The Tomb of Baranthus Aubrador
We descended into a cave, creeping down steeply into the bowels of the mountain. My mind began to wander as we encountered no signs of life whatsoever - no light, no smells of note, the only sound was our breathing and passage. Lug seemed to know exactly where to go in the maze of offbranching tunnels, and so I simply trudged along.
To think, those bastard Quikhands tried to kill us for risking our lives for them. If I didn’t know other dwarves so well, I might form a racial prejudice, but as it is I can see why Tybeerian spent so much time away from the mountains. With his death, so died any chance of my helping his family. I am undecided on the other families - by all accounts, the Pylanthian dwarves are an honorable people, and only the Quikhands, with their under-the-table crime syndicate, are truly to be despised. I will at least give another dwarf a chance to live, but their esteem in my eyes is certainly not raised. Or so I was thinking on this journey, my thoughts in a dark fume.
I nearly walked into the back of Ghiravont as the others had come to a stop - worked stone, carved in a staircase with pillars leading down into the very bedrock. This was the first sign of workmanship since we departed the upper levels’ gate. Firefly has an existential crisis of dread, but we managed to talk him out of it. Down the stairs we went, and eventually we came to a pair of dwarven statues with their mouths open on either side, holding lanterns, unlit.
We set them alight and the fire pathed down the arms of the staircase, illuminating the way. Next, we came to a dilapidated chamber with the stairs broken and shattered in front of us and a collapsed ceiling. The air was stale and thin, and it smelled ancient. Silhouettes were at the bottom of the steps, all around the room. I noticed one was an orc, hunched over and still.
There was a stone coffin in the center with the likeness of a dwarf molded on the lid. Beyond it, an altar or podium was on a raised dais, covered in small pieces of paper. Nearby, a dwarven mage was frozen in the process of releasing a spell towards the edge of the room away from us, towards a door which had the likeness of a face of an unknown creature. Domino said this was only the first dwarven spellcaster she had ever heard of, and the first she has seen herself.
As I looked around, I saw a force of invading orcs and trained burrowing creatures, fighting a dwarven guard troop. All were as pillars of icy stone frozen in place. Who knows how long they had been here? We tried to gauge it based on their manner of clothing, but I couldn’t place anything.
Others had been examining the tomb, and saw a cracked warhammer in the grasp of the carving, with specks of gold showing from the break in the hammer. It also had a slot for a gem, which had long since been removed. The statue had a ring on its finger.
Domino found an untouched scroll amidst the old paper, it was tied in twine, and a powder fell out when opened. It referenced the 1,100th day of a siege in “the fourth light of our age” - old dwarvish for winter. It referenced Ulbris of Cantolis Moon and a date so long ago as to be beyond comprehension. This was written in the first age, when Satan himself invaded our realm, before the adoption of our very calendar. The scroll described the impending doom against which they fought, but had no hope of survival.
Before I could even comprehend what was read from the scroll, Lug was striking the tomb to try to get at what he perceived to be treasure. He smote it and the sound of cracking ice pierced our bones. Ears ringing, I saw the door with the face begin to glow. It rose up in height and then sunk into a socket behind the doorway. Emerged what fantastic tales might refer to as a Beholder. A floating creature with eye stalks and tentacles, that killed with its very gaze. It unpetrified the orcs and dwarves, raising them to fight against us. Though terrifying, they were luckily quite brittle.
We persevered, and the Beholder fell, impaled. However, it seemed that it was no solitary creature. Domino and Lug explored its chamber, and cloaked in magical darkness they found a dimensional tear, speaking to an alien entity. Was it the Dark One himself? I didn’t get many details about what was discussed, but he ended by threatening that it was not so easy to put out his light, and a new orb of darkness began growing within the circle of flame – a new Beholder. He inferred that Domino had been his creation. I wonder if it could be that dark wizard I heard about in her sister’s prison. That seems awfully powerful for such as him though. They came running out of the chamber telling us to flee!
Meanwhile, we’d been combing over rubble, unearthing a dwarven exit to the chamber. The warhammer was unable to be removed, but Korrigash managed to extract the ring. Later he told us his interpretation of a line of runes on the coffin that Lug had found. It was the tomb of Baranthus, the strongest of the dwarves mentioned in the history Domino had found. Baranthus Aubrador, for whom the fortress was named prior to the invasion of the dragon Aldandun, the first king of the dwarves. The runes told his story, first of his line, dead with no heir, buried in this manner as the strongest of their kind, divinely chosen to protect Pylanthia, a tomb of the first age.
This meant the ring on his finger was quite important. The ring forged by the twelve houses - The Twelve Layered Ring. The hammer was The Chalice of Pylanthia, for which the mountain is named. Legend says it shattered upon the breaking of the crown of the Black King, the king of the Ashen Orcs. The tomb was never to be opened, yet during a power vacuum the bearer of the Chrysanthemum Cross (Lug) was the one to reopen it, there by the deceit of the dwarves themselves, during a time of crisis with an orc invasion imminent. It tasted of justice. Korrigash dispelled the magic holding the ring in place, and he witnessed a vision I only learned of later.
Dwarves were sealing the coffin, the last dwarf placed a crown on his head. Time lapsed as the king rested, nothing came or went. Until, the ice melted. The forges of Pylanthia and the Deep Hall shattered. The walls of Dahrun were hollowed out on the orders of this king as a bastion. He heard the voice of the king in his mind; if he were to take this ring, it would be to find the true heir of the dwarves, as one man, one dwarf, and one elf must stand together against the lord of Magulban. If we do not find the heir, it would bring ruin.
As Korrigash witnessed this, the hand turned to dust and the ring was freed. The hammer would not budge. He tried the ring on, but it burned him. We made our way out then, through the unearthed exit.
Sunlight came through a cave mouth as we emerged, beyond us we saw a forest valley laid out, the forest of Y’pyfri’el. We had escaped.
Journal #16 - The Deep Blue
I fell.
In a moment, I felt a change and began to softly glide down - Korrigash had slowed our fall magically. The floor…well, ceiling, trap-hole, whatever… shut once more above us. Darkness, and then glowing beneath us. Winding, icy mirror like Glowstone death trap of jagged spikes on the ground. We landed perfectly safe beneath them. Upwards of twenty tunnels came out in every direction, and many corpses were strewn about. Without feather fall, we would surely be dead upon the spikes. So, this was The Deep Blue.
On the floor finally, I looked around at the bodies while the others fanned out. I tried to tell if the bodies had been touched since they fell here. Bodies don’t appear to have been looted, but animals have fed on them. I am confused why they gave us the writs only to destroy it… I wondered if the writs were evidence. Power struggle coming up, investigations may find what the Wall Captain was up to – the one who escorted us here. He perhaps wanted to get rid of these for his own protection – why not burn them though? The only way it made sense was if he planned to return to our bodies later, to take and redeem the payments. If he could get here, surely we could get out. And yet, none of these other bodies had been looted. I couldn’t parse it, and focused on the present instead.
There were clearly large animals about. There was one tunnel clearly made by dwarves - the others were all burroughs of some boring creatures. We headed off presumably in the direction of civilization. Somewhere beyond us was a shriek, skittering noises, and a metallic-scaled insect launched itself at Korrigash. It didn’t get there, as it was pinned to the wall by an arrow shot out of the darkness. Over my shoulder I saw a squirrel come up onto Domino’s shoulder; another snapped into form as Lug emerged from his wild shape. And out of the darkness stepped a stranger, the archer, who went by Andarius. He was apparently an old companion from before my time with Nothric.
Lug told us that after he went to investigate Tybeerian’s death and found he couldn’t prevent it, and left us in ALdandun, he was visited by Andarius’ squirrel. They’ve been tracking us down ever since. It isn’t exactly clear how they came to be down in the Deep Blue before we fell down here, but I bit my tongue.
The caves seemed very lived in, and not by humanoids. We needed to get through as quickly and quietly as possible .That isn’t exactly what happened though. We came through to an old dwarven workshop, with enemies both natural and dwarf-made – traps both magical and physical. A mimic, a roper, a basilisk, too many spiders to count, and an old hag whose age was beyond knowing. We explored and fought for survival. The hag turned out to be connected to Domino’s spider-patron, somehow.
We stumbled upon a chest with many locks we could not open - Korrigash is still lugging it behind him. An enchanted suit of armor forced itself on Ghiravont who is now wearing it. And within a cruel electrical cage, an earth elemental was imprisoned. Orlando and I found a command stone for it while Lug examined it, and we managed to free it. It now follows him around like a servant.
Ultimately, we made our way through. We were sorely tired, but had resupplied fairly well from the pickings available. In the final room of this area, we found a doorway - a potential exit. Written in dwarvish, “the way out is the way in…and you are in.” As we looked at the writing, Ghiravont was examining a pile of silver in the corner, and from it sprouted an interdimensional octopus.
At first, I thought this was some cruel cousin of a mimic.But it turned out to be civilized, and was some sort of specialist merchant. We examined some wares, but most were unfortunately out of my price range. I did trade my javelin of lightning and the unreliable circlet of blasting for a random offering – which ended up being a powerful healing potion.
Ultimately, the creature known as Morkoth’s Magical Emporium returned into his portal. We opened the doorway puzzling out the phrase… “The way in is the way out.” The door opened, and we walked down the steps past the gate.
Journal #15 - The Chalice of Pylanthia
I dressed my wounds, and let others examine the intricate door atop the giant staircase from which the wizard had projected himself. It was an intricate puzzle lock, but a note on our chime of opening made quick work of it. The doorway unwound itself, and sunlight streamed into the room, as well as the bitter cold and snow.
We departed, the door sealed itself. When I happened to take a glance back, there was no sign of a door at all, simply undressed stone.
As the snow blew, we knew we had to find a safe place to recuperate and wait out the storm. In our condition, we were none too nimble. Or apparently, quiet. Before long, wolves could be heard howling in the distance. We tried to give them the slip, and made progress. We led them on a chase and then hid, the two wolf packs passing us by. What we didn’t count on was a stampede coming the opposite direction of herd animals that the wolves had spooked, and behind that a near-avalanche of falling rocks from an eroding hillside. But finally, in the end, we could breathe.
The truth could be kept from Arlo no longer, and he was apprised of what befell Tybeerian. We held a wake of sorts, though did not lay the body to rest. We felt we needed it as proof to the dwarves. Korrigash, the wizard who fell in with us at Aldandun, introduced himself more thoroughly. He was apparently an old acquaintance of Tybeerian’s, which seemed strange as he was a high elf, and most dwarves held no love for their kind.
The next day, we pressed on. Our goblin guide led us to a secret entrance into the Chalice of Pylanthia. Upon reaching a gateway, he spoke a password - “The way in is the way out,” and the doors opened. He departed then, to rejoin his reptilian friends before the dwarves might spot him.
We knew our greeting brought ill news, and expected a confrontation. We debated, and pledged to yield ourselves upon first contact, deliver Tybeerian’s body, and our warning. We pressed onwards.
It came as a surprise to us when we reached a giant underground lake. A boat was fastened there, but I did not wish to take it without permission. Instead, I summoned a water elemental with my song, which bore us like a ship. It was a good thing, as I had no need to guide it. I bid it follow the light markers afloat in the water, though shortly I disagreed with myself…
There was a heavy illusion enchantment out in the water. Three of us heard a ghostly tune, truly entrancing, and I wished to follow it. So did Firefly and Ghiravont. Perhaps our superior musical tastes made us vulnerable - but as I came to understand later, it was a defense of the dwarves. Our friends were not so easily misled, and managed to break us out of it thankfully, and I corrected our course to follow the lights once more instead of the music. It was after this that I finally put the name together. The Chalice of Pylanthia, a gigantic underground lake in a cavern, the Chalice was the very lake we then traversed like a fly in a wine goblet. It is apparently the largest known underground body of water in Hy’dera. It was lit by glow stones spanning the entire roof of the cavern, the roots of the twin mountain peaks high above.
We passed the rest of the distance uneventfully. In the distance, we saw a city rising. Half the bowl of the chalice, rising vertically - a huge city. We became trapped in a net at the harbor mouth following my use of Thaumaturgy to announce our presence, and were greeted by an armed guard. They noticed the body of Tybeerian, and we proclaimed the need for a warning.
A dwarf with many braids heard us out briefly, and told us to proceed to the docks - lowering the net and letting us proceed.
We disembarked, and were greeted by guards again. After an explanation, Domino launched into deceptions and got us in trouble. She tried to convince them that Tybeerian had told us how to get in here as we were his friends, and she didn’t know when to stop spinning yarn. She then exclaimed orcs had killed him, instead of telling the truth of the Black Quartz. Their perception of that was that orcs had killed him, after he let us in, and then looked at me accusingly. They tried to take us into custody.
Despite Domino’s resistance, the rest of us yielded. We were marched down quite aways before being brought before a woman who claimed to be Tybeerian’s cousin. I grasped for a way to prove our innocence and loyalty to Tybeerian, and recalled some time ago that he had explained a ring of his to me. All Pylanthian Quikhands wear a single obsidian thumb ring on their left hand. It is the custom of the Quikhands to shake with their left hand - they claim it is an intimidation of their foes, that their left hand is as dangerous as their right. If they don’t like you, they’ll shake hands with their main hand. Supposedly, the rings were hollow and could be used to hide small valuables; a skilled thief could pocket an item while their other hand was shaking. The story I was told then, was that shaking with the hand bearing the ring was a sign of respect, not being able to so easily steal from you.
Anyhow, recalling that I asked the woman to remove the gauntlet on her left hand, and made a meaningful glance with my eye. I said, to let me know I can trust you.
She had an obsidian ring. I told her the full tale in truth, and argued we had no reason to lie, nor to even come here but for our truthful and noble intentions. She was swayed, and she unlocked my manacles, and offered me her left hand to shake (a sign of respect).
Domino was monitoring thoughts, and told me that she didn’t seem surprised, and also felt the delivery of this news gave her the biggest bargaining chip in all of Pylanthia, and that a power struggle would now ensue. She asked us to leave and that we’d be rewarded. Ghiravont asked us to be exited to the north. She responded…
“Take them to the Deep Blue,” she said in Dwarvish.
Our dwarvish guide gave us ship directions, and said when we hit land he’d dig out a cache here that would be our reward.
On the voyage, I had some misgivings about the information Domino gleaned. But ultimately, this political environment was not our issue nor our strong suit. I felt some closure, my duty to Tybeerian was done, aside from ensuring the safety of Arlo. We warned the dwarves, we could now leave with a clean conscience. It was not to be.
We made it to the aforementioned cache and our guide dug out a chest. Inside were about 200 miniature scrolls. We opened one and it was a Quikhand invoice in the Underground. It lists a name, job, and where to collect. Receipts/invoices of uncollected jobs, that we’ll have to collect to get money. It was only later that I understood, the writs were no reward. They were evidence of sorts, and we were a handy method of clearing it.
We proceeded on to the exit the guide had mentioned, prior to walking off, with his last words saying the tunnel led to the Deep Blue. We poured out a toast to Tybeerian and headed out to the tunnel, and came to a dead end. We motioned and wrote on the wall “The way out is in” and instead of doors opening, a hole opened beneath us, we free fell, into darkness, a distance unfathomable from our position…We were betrayed.
Journal #14 - The Orcs of Aldandun
We hid in the shadows as a group of highborn trolls, goblins, and orcs passed lugging a heavy cart laden with ore. They complained about the duration of their labors - three weeks so far - and then we saw them approach one of the giant pillars in the hall. A secret, hidden door opened which magically fit even the gigantic cart, and began closing after them.
In a split second decision, we chose to sneak in behind them. We trailed them for some time to try to pick up more clues. The next hall was decorated with wargs heads illuminating the area (they were lanterns of sorts, in skulls). I recognized these as Fireheads; the orcs of the Sundered Plains would put these in catapults to launch over walls during a siege, catching all they hit ablaze.
The goblins seemed to be automatons - mindless, showing no fear even when dumped into the fire with the ore they were mining.
A gong sounded The orcs exclaimed they were going to miss the announcement! The trolls were treated as slaves, and increased their pace.
We kept following the orcs, and started to field dress our wounds. There was a cacophony of orc noises ahead of us, and a giant cavern emerged. It appeared to be a city of the orc king. The entire sunken fortress lay before us, resting on a volcanic vent. Steam rose from a lava pit ahead of us. War machines were everywhere. Orcs by the hundreds, homes, towers, tents… An invasion force. Lines of shackled enslaved dwarves marched and worked everywhere about.
The gong sounded once more. The cavern had a giant chasm down where workers toiled. A giant lake of lava in its center. And in the distance on the far cliff wall rose a fortress with a lone tower. On a balcony, clad in pure white with a long white beard falling to his belt, was the wizard from Domino's vision, Sorindo the White. He gave a raucous speech under the effect of Thaumaturgy.
“Orcs of Pylanthia, your king Gomar has given me insight. The trolls move to the north. Castle Dalabar and spires have been seen. The time is almost upon us. Soon, the free realm of Terrinoth in the Valley of Dust will fall, and the orcs buried beneath this great Aubrador will rise.
“Your King has given you an order. Siege Pylanthia! Take it! And for the workers, continue to find the precious stones that we need. It is nearly complete. When I have enough Onyx, I will be able to open the doors into the Vault of Voladryn! And you will be reunited with your fallen brothers once again! All done from your Highness!
“And then…there will be peace.”
The wizard turned and walked back into the tower of Aldandun.
Off at the bottom of the chasm, we noticed Arlo on a chain gang. He looked terrible.
We were in a precarious spot, and debated for a time what we could do. Eventually, a plan crystallized in my mind and I spoke up. These orcs were no strangers to me, the very same had enslaved my own kindred, had enslaved me. Since then I had spent many years mastering the arts of performance, so I decided to disguise myself as one of the orc commanders, both magically and skillfully.
I set off on my own, blending in with the orcs of Pylanthia. Before I left, Domino gave me an Eerie Token which she could use to communicate with me. At this point, all of our attempts to communicate through magical sending had failed. We theorized the very stone walls blocked magic due to the veins of Pylanthian silver. Though, perhaps now with a direct line of sight - no stone blocking our way - communication with Arlo would be possible. We couldn’t risk any reaction he might have giving us away however, so the token served as a backup should other communication prove impossible.
We suspected there was another exit from this fortress, one that led to Pylanthia directly, as these orcs would’ve been noticed otherwise. I kept an eye out for it on my way.
I managed to retrieve Arlo. I impersonated a guard captain, and when I reached his chain gang his commander there ordered me to take his line to prisoner exchange, which I did. I had to fend off orcs who wanted to eat him. Arlo and his dwarf line (4 chained together) tried to break free after being put into their cell, when I convinced the orcs to release him for questioning to the boss. Before I could act, one of the dwarves pushed an orc off the cliff and into a lava pool.
I calmed the emotions of all involved and convinced them to let me take Arlo for questioning to the benefit of all involved. One orc refused, wanting revenge for his brother. I pushed him into the lava after his brother, but he smote Arlo down. I revived him with an orc grog, but he was wearied and could no longer move under his own power. I carried him out, intuiting the safe path. I was on my way to meet up with the crew…
As I walked with Arlo, my heart was pained. It was terrible seeing Arlo and the others forced into slavery, it was still more terrible convincing the dwarves to give up their chance at a warrior’s death. In time I would come to resolve these internal struggles. The dwarves were doomed either way, this way there was a chance to save a child, while also warning Pylanthia of the coming storm. I tell myself that it was worth it. Not all of me believes it.
I led Arlo further into the depths of Aldandun. Beyond the lake of lava, roughly eight miles from where I left the others, I found an abandoned mine shaft that would serve as good shelter. I tended to Arlor as well as I could, and settled down to recover. Before I did, I spoke to Domino to inform her of my status.
During the time I had spent rescuing Arlo, the others were apparently evading patrols. They ended up at an abandoned tower where they also safely rested. Apparently afterwards, while still sheltering, they saw some creature who gave them pause - a goblin looking at them through a window, yet not raising an alarm. It left a rope in the cliffs above the tower, and they followed him. It turned out to be a member of another of Malastar’s teams of adventurers. Domino communicated to me they had climbed up and left a rope for me at the tower, which was roughly two miles away from me.
After Arlo awoke, I had to bring him up to speed. I held off on breaking the news of Tybeerian’s death just yet. He felt he had betrayed the dwarf. The last he heard, he was to protect the staff. Tybeerian had told him this as he’d been tortured in order to convince Arlo to yield the staff, yet Arlo felt protecting it wouldn’t have been asked of him if it wasn’t possible. When Arlo awoke, imprisoned, and came face to face with a wizard of the Prismatic Alliance, he believed the man when he said he was a friend of Malastar’s. Thus, it was all for naught. He let the staff go before he realized. I didn’t have it entirely in my heart to blame the lad, and yet I had to agree with his own assessment that this conundrum was all his fault - due to his actions in Noswald.
I asked Arlo about any information he may have obtained while enslaved here - passages out, etc. He said a dwarven company had been kept from leaving - they knew the tunnels to take, but orcs were mining beyond those tunnels, in the very walls of Aldandun itself, and had caught them.
At that moment, a thunderous crash was heard. I crept forward to the mouth of the cave I was in, and saw they’d blown out a large stalactite from the roof of the cavern; rubble poured down into the cavern. Orcs rappelled down through the opening, and scaffolding was erected from beneath. A voice boomed once more - Orcish engineering, blasting powders, and a very horde of orcs were being unleashed, following behind a river of lava that was set loose on its way to the Deep Halls of the dwarves. The orcs were to go forth, the generals of this siege would not yield until Pylanthia was theirs, he said.
It was time for us to leave. I told Arlo I would have to once more appear to hold him captive. Before I did so, I used Aid on us both, once again disguised myself, and hog-tied him in a manner which allowed him to slip his bonds at will but appear securely tied. While doing this, I asked Arlo if he had overheard any terms being slung about - names of leaders or commanders, vernacular only an insider would know, in case it would help me navigate us safely. He told me the orcs had said “Free the Fortress” as they mined around the perimeter, they were looking for precious dwarvish stone; they have blasting kegs, sluices, and dams to manipulate the lake of lava into rivers.
I set off carrying Arlo towards the keep, where the Wizard had spoken from, where I deduced the tower the others were in must be near. After some time, I found it, and the rope. Arlor wrapped his arms around my neck and I climbed with him. A hawk flew by, and I wondered… It seemed familiar to me. Turns out, it was the Familiar of Korrigash.
As I journeyed along the cliffside path to reach the others, I overheard in the far distance the booming voice of an orc. I was told by the others when I reached them that it was King Golmar, the orc of the Five Kings. He wore a black crown bearing the sigil of an upside down mountain and glistening with giant lunar crystals, which Ghiravont was particularly keen on, he had seen similar before I put together. He moved like a turtle, and in his speech he mentioned Pylanthia, Magulban, Zeptrimesh (an Orcish name, literally translated to Old Strong Hammer he wielded a giant pole-armed hammer, which appeared to in fact be Zeptrimesh.
The group of commandos sent by Mallastar were with the others when I arrived. Their mission was to kill the orc king, led by Tamault Greysha, from Augaunon, the molten northeast of the realm. He told the store of orcs raiding the halls of his homeland, unearthing something at the beck and call of Golmar. They sought out the wisdom of the Prismatic Alliance, and learned to their sorrow that none could be trusted but Malastar. He sought out the White Wizard, Sorindo. He introduced me to his friend Stint, defender of the great dragon army, a smaller lizard-man. And Groff, defector of Golmar, a goblin scout.
Tamault was muttering about how we shouldn’t be here, the great dragons were taking to the skies, the Catalyst. King Aldandun is returned, the ancient dragon namesake. He had watched Golmar fell a dragon in Augaunon with a single blow of his hammer, and he warned us off. The last guardian of Aubradon is dead, and invasions of Pylanthia and other lands were planned in synchronized fashion - giants in the north, orcs in the south. Trolls to the middle, in the free cities. Tamault was going into the keep to face down the orc king, or the wizard, whoever he came across - I wasn’t sure. He leant us the goblin, Groff, to lead us through a hidden passage used by Solidar the White in secret to enter and depart this stronghold.
We fled, out of a hidden exit, and had to navigate a warren of rooms filled with orcs, ogres, trolls, and hybrids. It was a bloody mess, but we made it, barely. We emptied out into a large cavern of lava, with a huge staircase on one wall, atop which was a spectral image of the wizard, taunting us. He left, summoning a giant primordial fire scorpion to block our path. It was powered through lunar runes. We had to cross a lava river to reach it, and it struck with immense power. Its stinger could reach a disgusting distance. I fell numerous times, as I leapt upon its back to try to chop off its tail. I succeeded, but when I finally prevailed, the stub spurted out blood like molten lava, which burned me severely. My friends kept me conscious, and after the stinger were the claws. We dismantled the creature, but I know in my heart the victory was not mine. We were close to falling, when Domino contacted the spider queen of the Applewood, who she’d already promised so much. I fear she sold her soul, for ours.
As we finally conquered the creature, the heat vanished. The magma was gone. We had prevailed, and yet I could hardly move.
Journal #13 - Aldandun
Some of us considered burying Tybeerian here, but I didn’t think it fitting. The new mage, who called himself Korrigash, suggested we would need the corpse as proof of claim, and to see us through the gates of Pylanthia. I rolled it up in the carpet, after stitching on the head once more, and carried it on my back.
We decided to quickly look for clues and useful items prior to going down after Arlo. There was an entrance into a cave system we assumed would take us there. One orc had left alive, fleeing into the opening. We feared he would sound the alarm. We grieve for Tybeerian, recover our strength, peruse the camp, and after a short time prepared to pursue into the fortress. There was an ancient elevator which the orc had taken down the side of the mountain, at an angle down under where we had fought. We re-wound the elevator and took it town on its shallow axis down the cliffside.
A dwarvish wall had been mined out, leading into a tunnel.
It was blocked by a magical ice barrier. It kept expanding, and caught my arm when I tried to test it with a pick. We got through it with a reduction spell and some fire magic. As soon as we did, we were set upon by orcs. We slew five of them.
The tunnels spread apart into three routes. The western route had a fork with each path similarly blocked by ice which we presumed to be magical. The route in front of us was where the biggest orc was retreating, and after I took his head I kept going down. There was some sort of campsite there, a rest area. Fire, some storage and a weapons rack.
The eastern track was explored by Lug as a bear.
The camp area had mining equipment, nothing of serious value. I suggested we empty the barrels and crates and use them as fuel to burn down the ice. The first we put against the ice was absorbed in the cold. Ahhh we should’ve waited til we could set it afire right then. I kept the other crate I had near the ice but not touching it.
I heard a deafening boom and the cave shook. Apparently at the end of the eastern track, an orc was disguised as an ale tap, which in reality he had been wearing on his back. He uncorked it and flung ale around the room which he set afire. Lug pierced the ale barrel with his flaming dagger and it ignited the remnants, turning the orc into a living bomb. A shame we didn't have more of it to burn down the ice blockades.
We heard cracking ice, a strange creepy noise. It turns out a break was forming, and out of it some icy monster seemed to lurk, wrapped around the cave itself. It was a giant frost salamander, sprouted out of the walls and wreaked havoc among us.
The salamander caught us all in its giant icy breath, and several of us went down, frozen into pillars – Firefly, Domino, Orlando. After this, Ghiravont provided an opportunity for me to counterattack, but I failed. In that moment I saw the speed of its dodge, and how close we were to failure. I charmed the creature with a slow rhythm (Slow), and countered its counterattack of its tail; I leapt up the slowly moving tail swipe and nearly beheaded the creature, which fell dead to my axe.
We burned down the smaller of the western ice blockages, and found a deserted room with some loot in it. There were a host of coins - ancient crude copper coins bearing the chalice symbol of the mountain peak, as well as deep blue electrums, and a variety of gemstones. Bloodstones, onyx, carnelian, jasper, quartz, citrine, chrysoprase, star rose quartz, and zircon. It was an amazing collection for such creatures to have.
The next, larger barrier was broken down with a Shatter spell. It led into a dwarven hall, the depths of the real stronghold. A great hall with immense pillars rising hundreds of feet into the air, a ceiling beyond sight, marching off to the horizon.
We were told the mortar holding these stones together was made from silver dust. Pylanthian silver ore is blue; we can see seams of it in the walls. The scale is massive. Light from our torches and lanterns etc., does not even reach the knees of the great statues carved into the pillars reaching up out of sight to the ceiling. Domino tried to Send to Arlo again, and was rebuffed once more. She realized that the fortress itself, with its silver walls, was blocking magic. Arlo was not under the effects of a spell.
In the second age, the forsaken fortress was once called the Great Fortress of Aldandun. But actually, it used to be called Aubrador, after its lord. Used to be a great walled city, with a hoard of wealth. It was forsaken by Aubrador himself, because of a dragon drawn to the wealth. The Brine Dragon of the Valley, Aldandun, for whom the fortress came to be named in the next era. It's said only a blade forged in pure gold can pierce its scales. The king of Aubrador refused to give up a single coin to forge such a weapon, and so it was lost. After time, they tried to reclaim it, but failed. They chose to sink the fortress down instead, to try to keep the dragon contained from damaging other cities. The dwarves never returned. It was buried beneath the ice.
Firefly claims the value of the fortress is not in its plunder, but in its architecture. I could appreciate that, it was awe inspiring. Although, both things can be true at once. Surely there was plunder here.
In the great hall was a depiction of an Ancient – a nameless, god-like creature which has depictions in certain societies and religious circles. This may be the very first such depiction.
Dwarves were not created as other races, simply discovered in their mountain halls. This could be one of the first Dwarves found in the mountains, before life was found elsewhere in Hy’dera.
We split up, between two fountains and the large statue in the middle. These fountains were hundreds of yards apart. I went with Ghiravont. The fountain was encrusted with precious gems; Ghirvaont tried to pry one off and was knocked unconscious by a defensive force mechanism which emitted a loud sound and the eyes of all the statues temporarily glowed blue; he was thrown back 40 feet, I brought him up with a health potion.
There seems to be a locked door here. There are dwarven runes on the fountains. An ancient form, Pylanthian Ancient, the first of all written languages. “To open you must find the gem which points true north.” No such gem exists, it's an alchemical creation of four other gemstones. This must be what the orcs have been trying to solve, and why we found so many gems earlier.
We decide Arlo isn't over here; the orcs don't have access to this area yet themselves. We had gone one of two ways into the hall. We decide to backtrack and take the other route, and quickly come across the sounds of orcs, approaching…
Journal #12 - The Death of Tybeerian Quikhand
Tybeerian and Domino went ahead to scout the fortress under a cloak of magic. Not long after, an urgent message came from Domino. Things had fallen apart, she had had to run away. Unsure of what happened to Tybeerian.
We were unsure what to do. We couldn’t leave Tybeerian unassisted, yet whoever was in the fortress courtyard was able to detect an invisible rogue – how could we risk an approach? We went as close as we dared, and just before deciding whether to charge into battle, Lug appeared.
I still don’t know where he had been this past week, but I was glad to see him. For a few seconds. He blurted out that Tybeerian had fallen. Lug had gone into the fortress in an animal shape and seen Tybeerian interrogated by Straga of the Black Quartz. They demanded him to convince his ward, Arlo, to unattune to Malastar’s staff so that he could more easily be sold to the warlord her, Dumont. He refused, and Myrabel, the daughter of the chief rival to the Quikhands, beheaded him.
The light left our eyes. Tybeerian was gone, and the odds were stacked against us. It would be suicide to charge into the fortress now, with nothing to gain. We deduced that this was the base of operations for Dumont, thus it was unlikely that Arlo would be moved quickly, while Straga and her forces would depart soon, having come here explicitly to sell the child. We chose to wait it out, and attack once Straga had left.
The next morning, we saw Straga and Myrabel depart with their escort. She had stripped Tybeerian of all his possessions, and marched off towards the mountains. With the reduced force, we invaded in search of Tybeerian’s body, and Arlo.
With Lug’s assistance, we approached in stealth. We took them by surprise, a dozen or so orcs, several mounted on bears, a pair of wolves, and Dumont, a shaman of dark magic it seemed. We slew them, several being pushed into an apparent abyss beneath the icy ledge. During the battle, a strange Wizard of evocation magic joined the fray, seemingly a friend of Tybeerian’s past. I am unsure how he came to be here at this time. Dumont claimed to serve King Gomant, who I believe to be the Orc of the Five Kings. He threatened us with this knowledge, and unleashed an undead frost giant by sundering an ice mountain. Ghiravont smote it before I could even reach the creature. Dumont died by a flurry of blows from all sides, and ultimately falling into the chasm.
Lug pointed us towards the interrogation tent; there, we found Tybeerian Quikhand, headless.
Journal #11 - In Pursuit of Arlo
When we approached the smoking ruin, guards were marshaling the crowd. The building shifted and began to crumble further. We were recognized, and allowed to help. Tybeerian was extracted successfully, and taken to a field hospital. Amber was up in arms about Red being missing, and we believed Red and Arlo were being held in magical restraints that prevented them communicating with us with normal magical means. We knew we had to get to the dwarven city, this was clearly linked with the Quikhands. But first, we looked to see if they may still be in the city.
We camped out in the harbor looking for departures, while touching base with the authorities. Meanwhile, Ghiravont went through a blood transfusion with a newly developed potential cure. Hanz was in charge, and thinks the bard Firefly could help us. We followed a lead back to Crown’s Row (the Crown Hall), and met up with the bard. He couldn’t really remember our bender last night, but he talked himself through finding where the Black Quartz might be, an organized crime family in contention with the Quikhands. He took us to a brothel, and Ghiravont disguised himself as a dark elf and interrogated a lady of the night. We took her out into the alley.
After they spoke for a time, a group of brigands approached us holding clubs. I tried to persuade him in an intimidating fashion that we weren’t worth the significant trouble we could cause them, but they weren’t quite convinced, although they were frightened. He wanted paid off for something that had nothing to do with us; I got him to leave, but I am concerned they may be a trouble to us in these parts later.
After a discussion with the woman, Firefly, Hanz and myself headed to the harbor to find details on the departing ships. The rest went up to the castle.
In the morning, we set out on the ship provided to us, pursuing the registered route of the ship we identified. They had taken the underground river passage beneath the Gharvs Heights to reach Gyjiro Harbor from the north. From there, they could move on foot to the Pass of the Old Kings.
Tybeerian determined that they were holding up in the forsaken fortress of Aldandun in the southwest mountains, beyond the pass but on the outskirts of the mountains still. They have a person of interest, who is sought by a buyer to be acquired from the Black Quartz who we pursue. It was Arlo - described as a kid they picked up in the empire (Noswald). We spent ten days by ship, fourteen days since we arrived in Alstead. We found Red had been sold into slavery to the Red Network, which operates out of the Sunken Summits. The blasted Red Witch. More crimes for her to pay for. The Black Quartz felt only Arlo was worth keeping a hold of. The network is called Red because those who follow it follow a trail of blood; those who are in it do the same. Based in the Sunken Summits, and extending as far abroad as Al-Kalim to the southwest, they trade in arms as well as slaves (mostly orcs). Amber departed from us to seek Red in the north. Red, sold to the Red Network. I only now realized the terrible irony.
Snow battered us as we worked our way up the pass. We managed to clear it, though chilled and weary. The fortress rose in the distance.
Journal #10 - The Battle of the Bards
On our long journey down the coast, I trained with Ghiravont. We seemed to have bonded after our match. I taught him the ways of unleashing his emotions in battle, and he taught me of the spirits that fuel his magic. I learned much, and also kept an eye out for any wolf-ish behavior, ready to hold him down should it be required. If he were to turn in these confined quarters, it could be gruesome.
Nothing so untoward happened, luckily. The days passed calmly. The training and calm evenings were good for me, and I felt I was recovering from my ordeals in the Applewood. A day from Almstead Castle, the moon was large and low in the sky. Orlando approached me bearing a heavy package; he seemed vague and would say only that he had found it and it was addressed to me. He said it came with a message. It was from the mysterious Dwarven monk-craftsman who I had encountered with Ghiravont.
His message stated “When you are ready for your trials to begin, seek the dwarf out where the only flame burns in Vapriss [the continent of the Worldra Mountains].” This was very intriguing.
Contained in ordinary packaging of tattered straw and wood was an extraordinary pair of heavy stone and brass fingerless gauntlets. The craftsmanship was remarkable, nothing short of legendary. The Twin Drum Gauntlets almost trembled with kinetic energy. The tops of each gauntlet contained steel plates which ran down the arm, and reacted as cymbals. The back of each palm had a hollow pocket inlaid with an oak drum shell to amplify the impact of strikes, and potentially serve as a Bard’s arcane focus. One could almost play them like an instrument.
With the dawn, we sailed into Noswald Yard, with the capitol in the distance. It is busy, busier than any place I had ever seen, and busier than it itself had ever been, per the accounts of my companions.
A guide, known to my companions, led us up to a grand castle in carriages, though we had to wait for more to carry our entire company. He liked my hat. It is quite a city we moved through, an outpost of Nothric, the castle, many fortifications and military training areas. We were in the Tower of Proper within the Bastion of Hope and Finance, whose leader was a councilman and treasurer of the city, a member of the banking clan. In the distance, we see the living neighborhoods for the upper class of Noswald, it could contain the entirety of Tamalir six times over.
Some servants were tasked with scrubbing the stink off of us, and I had to protect them and Lug himself, when he changed himself into a crocodile in some sick joke. I worry he wasn’t right in the head, and would come to have that fear perhaps proven. He was kind of cute when he was scrubbed with brushes on his scales though.
We set about planning our route, and then we dined with some important councilman. Kellas Orval; he expressed regret at a lack of an heir, but said ending the empire and instilling democracy in Noswald would be his legacy instead. The state of the empire was discussed at length.
We decide to explore town a little bit; Ghiravont and Domino went to the royal library, but I asked Tybeerian if he wanted to find a lively inn out on the town, and so we left. I heard on the street that Crown Hall had the best music in town. As we arrived, I saw it was quite large, with a three story bar in a circular tavern arrangement. It was entirely underground, and dwarven owned.
Arlo was trying to tag along, and a bouncer stopped him. While I convinced them to let him in, he took matters into his own hands all too soon, and disguised himself magically as Tybeerian, and proceeded to get himself plastered.
I joined a group of performers, with me we numbered 10, and had a little playoff. I tested out these new gauntlets in a percussion setup. One of their number was quite skilled, and we dueled. He was a fur-coated handsome half-elf playing a lute which shot fireworks, Firefly was his name. He played slow and romantic, “a tale of the thunder drake that carved out The Bay.” I played fast and furious, and the crowd loved it. I told of wrestling Ghiravont with illusory copies of myself in the ring of fire. After I soundly beat him, we encored together to thunderous applause. Firefly suggested we could tour together, as he plays his way through the empire.
I heard from Firefly that the best instruments around were used by the Mantic Orchestra in the Inner Ring, but they aren’t made here in Almstead. I would have to search for them elsewhere. I also gleaned some information about Commandant Posh, an orc who we were to meet early the next morning, Hand of the Emperor. Rumor had it he was born on the Golden Coast in the Noswald Guard, but that is not true. He was most likely enslaved to Noswlad from elsewhere, and gained favor with his owner to earn his freedom. His mannerisms were indistinguishable from Noswaldian high society.
Firefly asked me to continue our performance elsewhere, with some “hot elves in a late night spot” (after he ridiculed my friends). I decided to go with the flow, and see where the night took me. It took me where most things do in the end; after leaving that next place with a lady on my arm, I wound up scandalizing the locals with our drunken toons, and I wound up in a fighting pit for besmirching someone's honor. I was offered coin to throw my match for gambling purposes, but I am no loser. I fought, and won two matches, but lost the third. I took a hundred silver with me, and stumbled my way back to the keep.
At some point in the night, Ghiravont had caught up with us, and spent the rest of the night with Tybeerian, Hanz (the captain of the guard, and an old friend of theirs apparently), Orlando, and Arlo. Or so they say. When I awoke, Arlo was nowhere to be seen and the others were counting piles of silver trying to piece together how they’d earned it. Someone said Arlo had slipped out earlier in the morning, and Red had went after him. I was impressed the lad was able to walk still. We had no time to find him, our meeting with the Hand was imminent, and we were a mess. Tybeerian went after him anyway, feeling responsible. I cleaned myself up magically, and we met the ladies who had spent the night in other quarters, who were quite presentable. Posh was there on the ramparts, with two guards, and a few others - Orval, Captain Quendelin clad in whites, blacks, and gold; and a woman with a circlet in her regal hair, middle aged with a cane, stoically demeanored. Her name was Madam Farosia, from a long line of Noswaldian nobility.
It was a very disturbing morning. Posh took us to a secure tower with only one entrance, and revealed a specially built prison to house victims off a strange plague, or dark magics. Two dwarves, like zombies, devouring an animal carcass. One was Captain Gourt, and the other was Dolan, a cousin of Tybeerian’s. A purple vine grows over the walls with tiny buds. The flowering plant was from Kurama Swamp, which has infected the outer rings’ water supply; it infected, changed, and then killed these dwarves. Their stomachs are missing. Then something returned them to a false-life. I thought Lug would be a good source of knowledge on this, but none of us had seen him since we left to explore the night before.
Posh spoke in a charming manner, but I was distracted. He tried to convince us to go to war with the east against this plague I think. I trusted Ghiravont to choose what is right, I don’t know these people well. There seems to be something involving Lycanthropy, I think Ghiravont’s infection is involved.
Ghiravont gave them a vial of our troll antitoxin, and vials of his own blood. Posh suggested we keep this secret from Tybeerian (his kin being imprisoned), and we have to go help him with his people but will return to assist later. Posh agreed to give us transport to Gyjiro; we would resolve our mission in the south prior to assisting here.
We noticed as we were leaving, that Lug, Red, Arlo, and Tybeerian were all still unaccounted for. While Ghiravont did his Lycanthropic treatment, the rest of us went after Tybeerian, who was presumably on the trail of Arlo and Red. We learned that Arlo had actually been kidnapped along with Red; Tybeerian got us word. In his own pursuit, Tybeerian was also held. We followed the trail, and saw a pair of deep elves and a dwarf.
There was apparently some dangerous political power struggles within the Quikhand clan. Tybeerian had been caught up in it; Arlo and Red were captured as leverage against him. We found him when we saw smoke in the distance, a giant explosion. He was trapped under the rubble, surviving only because of his Liondrake Feather. Arlo was kept elsewhere, but magically leveraged to snare Tybeerian here. We did our best to extract him alive.
Journal #9 - By Land and Sea
On the western borders of the Applewood, we took stock of our situation. Domino had been teaching her newfound sister Tanabraya the ways of the free world, and the rest of us discussed the revelations of our recent confrontation and how it pertained to recent history as we made our way out of the depths of the forest at a leisurely pace.
Domino’s father had been Rasaravich Duval, an associate of Alastar when he was younger, apprentice to Surindo the Light. A Ring of Maldromos surfaced at that time, which required Surindo’s magic to wield, as she was a flamereader born on that soil; to wield the ring, or as she put it, to destroy it, required that connection. A plan was hatched by Duval and Domino’s mother, Lucibelle, to infuse beings with the power of two forces at once, to bring the Changebringer - ultimately, Domino. This is what caused the situation with Tanabraya. Ultimately, Alastar confronted Rasaravich and banished him beyond the stone portal in the grove. He was last seen in a dark cloak with his hand on a two-headed dragon cane, as an old man. These details worried me at the time I heard them; it seems he may not be entirely out of the picture after all.
There was much talk of rings. The ring of Maldromos, the signet of Mar, so many rings I began to be confused. Part of me wonders if the same ring is known by different names to different people. Regardless, as we camped on the borders of the forest, taking stock of our situation as I noted earlier, we considered our plans. The Applewood was at rest, where to go next on our self discovery for Malastar?
It was decided that without Mar’s signet, our impact in the Sunken Summits would be less than ideal. So, we must retrieve it. It was lost in the south, near the homelands of Tybeerian the Dwarf, so we decided to venture in that direction. In this case though, to go south we had to go north, and to go west we had to go east.
During this conversation, Myra informed us that she was running out of funds. She suggested she stayed in a city while we journeyed on, so that she could replenish her funds with work. We agreed, and set out for Tamalir, west across the plans and through Skydown, crossing the river near Forge.
The night we crossed the river, we were forced to pay a toll as it was heavily guarded; without a hint of irony, the guards warned us of trolls. Doubly ironic, as we were the first to raise the alarm on trolls. As we camped that night, Ghiravont and I were caught alone when a strange lone dwarf approached us. He was large and burly at the shoulder, with a nose the size of my fist and a gigantic grey beard emerging from his hood. His fingers looked chipped and bleeding, and he pulled back his hood revealing gemstones set into his skull.
He would not give his name, but greeted us as a dwarf of Dunwarr; he said he was on his exodus, a journey to capstone his career as an honored and masterful craftsman. He muttered in unintelligible Dwarvish and asked us to meet him that night, alone on the other side of the bridge, and that he would forge us a one of a kind item for our journey.
That night, we met him. He was half naked with his robe off, I was inspired by the magic and theatrics on display, as magic and fire ornamented his space, fire sparks and deep musical thunder. He said we must duel, that only one item would be created, and it would be made for the winner.
He recited a ritual, and informed us of the rules. We could win through bloodshed, or by forcing our opponent through the ring of fire which now bordered the space. Neither I nor Ghiravont wished to harm the other, so it became a battle of wrestling. I managed to overcome him, and pushed him out of the circle. After we shook hands, the dwarf congratulated me. He touched my forehead and said I was worthy, as long as that symbol remained on my head, he could find me and deliver his exodus, then he disappeared into the night.
As we journeyed on towards Tamalir, we were beset by trolls in the forest. They had laid an ambush, overgrowth grasped the cart and tore it asunder. There were both highborne trolls and low, but we managed to smite them all. Ghiravont was bitten, as was a horse; we treated both with the precious antitoxin. Knowing its value, we harvested blood from the highborne trolls to create more antivenom, and proceeded to Tamalir.
We passed through Tamalir, and bid farewell to Myra, leaving her with the troll blood to resupply Malastar’s alchemical operations, then hurriedly continued on towards Jendra’s Harbor, where we planned to take ship to the south. We took a ferry down the river to make quick passage to the harbor.
The carriage stayed in Tamalir to be repaired, and our official contract with Myra came to an end, though we remain friends and allies. She told me that if I found the summits and needed a friend, I have one in Tamalir with her. She said she will spread the word of our Nothric Office #723.
It was six days down the river, and eighty more on the sea as we sailed south along the coast, into the Mouth of Divrend, and up the Thunderdrake River to the Imperial Bay, and Almstead Castle.
Journal #8 - Sister
We set out from the spider’s lair after a short rest to regroup with Domino. We took a long winding path, all the way to the other side of the mountain range. As we departed what seemed to be an area of Coven control, nature returned to normal. Trees bloomed once more, and we realized we hadn’t seen or heard signs of life for some time. Plants bud, birds sing, the stomach of the Applewood faded away.
A natural spring fed a large stream running down the side of the mountain, which eventually crossed our path. It was a mere six inches deep, but ice cold. When we passed over it, the environment changed. The air grew chill, from the normal temperature of a calm fall day in the sun, to a brisk evening on the verge of winter. In the distance, a blare like a horn sounded. There was a prismatic creature gliding while it shimmered in all hues, it seemed like some sort of magically flying lizard, what I could only describe as a cloud serpent.
Off the side of the cliff, there once stood an old bastion, now crumbled to rubble off the side of the mountain from times unknown. All that remain are statues which we’ve come across over time. Here, there are two angels of death guarding the entrance into a forest, holding scythes in one hand, and in the other one held a lantern, and the other an hourglass representing the guide after death, and the time until you are forgotten. As we pass them, it grows yet colder, it seems as though it should snow.
We look out onto a dark forest, denser than the Applewood, with trees smaller but close together. It is colder yet again, to the point of freezing. Some trees hold lanterns in their boughs. Our mettle was tested, as though one foot was already in the grave. We pressed on.
Beings watched us from the dark, and lanterns light themselves when we are near. A screech assaulted my senses, barely holding my composure. I heard thunderous charging horses and soldiers in battle, ghosts reliving an ancient war, and a horn sounds. Mist enveloped us, and we strayed from the path. Then it dispersed, and towered above us on the edges.
We spotted one of the abominations which attacked us on the trail days before, there seemed to be several watching us, one in our path which didn’t react to us as long as we were within the light of the lantern affixed to the tree we were under. Attempts at distraction failed, and ultimately we sprinted from lantern to lantern, while Red and Amber made a distraction running to the lanterns we had come from before.
Finally we emerged into a sea of dead trees, where rocks were strewn about and there was a stone rise in the center, where a staircase led up, up, a hundred feet through the canopy of trees and into another clearing. Ruined and overgrown foundations were scattered about, and the very ground was resonant.
The black stone we had searched for was here, marking the tomb of a secret twin sister of Domino’s. Conceived in evil, magic had cleaned Domino, at the expense of her sister who laid in isolation with the darkness which had pervaded them both. For twenty years, she had only sporadic contact with Alastar, in the form of a white owl, and no other. Rage filled her, and rightfully so. Equally dangerous and stunted from her life of solitude, she had wrested control of her guardians, though she remained restrained behind a magical barrier. Domino was capable of passing in and out, and spoke to her sister at length, though eventually the guardians awoke - animated trees which battled us. We were hard pressed, but ultimately, Domino attempted reason once more, and mercy. She put her sister to slip firstly, and crushed the dark stone we had been sent to retrieve. Doing so, the magic of the Coven was broken. Her sister was freed, and all Coven-sisters were reduced to a natural span of years; those living beyond those years died immediately, we came to learn later. Their touch on the Applewood was lifted, including the blood-magic taint on my soul.
When this occurred, the last two guardians - viper vines - were petrified where they stood. Domino’s grandmother looked on in approval, as the entire forest turned to stone as well. Domino’s sister was hesitant to trust her upon waking, but was eventually guided out of the bounds of the now-powerless prison. Her name was Tanabraya, or Braya for short. A character in a song that Alastar had sung to her long ago, a princess stuck in a tower. She is no longer angry or sick, but new and adolescent; innocent. She had much to experience on our long journey out of the mountains.
As we passed, we saw every apple tree had turned to stone, but the natural trees were fine. The coven mothers were turned to stone and dust, and new trees thrived over the horrible eldritch hex. Tanis bid his farewell, and we reunited with those who had made a distraction for us at our cart. Finally, I could breathe free once more.
Journal #7 - The Applewood
The coven-mother described the Applewood as the stomach of the Aymhelin, where things go to be digested. Our experience wasn’t far off. During the first leg of our journey, we were beset upon by an abomination the likes of which we’d never seen before, surprising us out of the brush. It had eyeballs in its jaw, which was the last bit of face it had left. It spewed acid like a burst pipe, which nearly killed me, and struck at us with limbs emerging from places unknown. I was coated in acid, and had to wretch on the ground like a worm to wipe it off. I was not sad to see it die; it was an unholy creature, and I wasn’t surprised when Ghiravont’s radiance weakened it.
Speaking of “unholy” and “Ghiravont” in the same sentence, as we traveled on, a most unfortunate truth came to light. Lug and I saw a ghost of the stag which we noticed weeks before on our way to Tamalir. It sharply reminded me of what befell upon us after, when we came to The Tree in Forge. I thought maybe this stag, skeletal and evil now, was an omen of what lay ahead. I had to know! Lug and I charged towards it but it ran away into the thick forest. It submerged itself into a deep pond, and Lug went after it, changing into a reptile. I tried to wrestle him, and get him to flee with me – an omen of death going where we cannot breath, surely that is insane. He refused, so I fled on my own.
Deeper into the forest I ran, eventually overcome by our guide, Tanis. The rest of the party seemingly caught up, as Domino calmed my mind, soothing me. The Applewood had no more fears for me it seemed…except those that we brought with us.
Ghiravont was trying to save Lug whilst the others saved me, and when we came across Lug and the pond, there was a wolf in his armor. A giant werewolf. It was attacking Lug, and eventually it bit him, before running off into the night. The moon was full… It seems, unbeknownst to me or many others, Ghiravont had been infected with lycanthropy for some time. Now, Lug was too. Tanis went after him, tracking him so as to be able to reunite him with us come the morning, when he would once again have control of his faculties. The rest of us journeyed to the shelf, finally, and rested.
The next morning we met with Ghiravont and Tanis. I had been keeping his rapier for him, which had been dropped on the ground when he lost his opposable thumbs it seems. I returned it, hesitantly. My first priority is my soul of course, which at the time of writing this I have a mere three full days to ensure does not fall into the hands of the coven. No time for judging those who can help me; but after, this Warden owes an explanation, and treatment. Lycanthropy is no laughing matter, so I’ve heard.
We pressed on, no rest for the wicked. On this fourth day of our journey we made it into the mountains. Unlike before, we made special plans to move as quietly as possible, and avoid any monstrous wildlife. We pass around a craig in the mountains, and as the sun sets we saw trees on the top of the valley, with roots digging in deep. The roots wrap around bones set into the wall – corpses of dwarves in armor holding rusted swords, forever held up by the tree roots embedded in stone. They seem to be from an age long past. As we turned the corner, things changed.
Suddenly, the size of the roots changed. On this side, they were ten times as large, with giant spiderwebs encasing the craig. It was a spider’s lair surely, and our path led straight through.
Domino elected to scout ahead with Tanis, while the rest of us made camp here. There was concern that even the slightest touch to the web would send vibrations to the nest and spell our doom. We spent all day there, and heard back via Domino’s magical communication that she had met an interesting creature, an ancient spider-woman called Arasta. Apparently this woman had been imprisoned here. I’m unsure of the details, but Domino obtained safe passage for us and told us to march quickly through to her while she and Tanis rested. I wonder what she promised…
Journal #6 - The Tree
After a night of recuperation, we continued on towards Tamalir. That morning, an elk with something shining in its antlers pranced towards us off a trail. Lug and I investigated it, and it turned out to be a Lunar Elk, capturing moonlight in its antlers, a spiritual being. Somehow, it felt our destinies had been linked.
After some resupplying, we rested in the Silken Bow, where Orlando met up with us. We received some antitoxin made from the troll venom, as well as some powerful healing potions. The journey on to Forge was uneventful.
As we entered the gates of Forge, a large crowd was blocking the way. Dwarven guards were out in force, and from what I heard, a magical tree had sprouted up overnight a few weeks ago. It was giant, and its leaves were colored in vivid hues of reds, oranges, and purples. It was the talk of the town, with people gathered around it, some worshiping it as a symbol of the gods. It was gargantuan in size, having collapsed three houses already. A fine chain encircled the tree, thirty feet away from the trunk.
Some entrepreneurs were taking advantage, selling leaves or branches purportedly plucked from the tree for outrageous sums. Orlando bought a leaf. Some Zealot was preaching about how this was an Echo Wood, an expansion from The Aymhelin. I jokingly suggested to Lug that he should turn into a squirrel and run into the tree, and then emerge pretending to be a god. I’m afraid he took me too seriously…
Before I knew it, he was standing near the zealots casting a growth charm on the tree. They looked on in awe as the tree expanded, becoming colossal as the chain which previously kept the crowd at bay began to be consumed by the trunk of the tree. The crowd was enraptured, calling Lug the Treespeaker and bowing down. A powdery colored dust began to fall upon the crowd, and us. I didn’t have the charisma to resist it, not apparently did anyone else in the square. The crowd disappeared in a flash of an eye, and then Lug, and then it went dark for me too. I was told after that Orlando was left alone in the courtyard, as everyone vanished in front of him.
In a big poof I emerged in a natural forest, dense, and dangerous feeling. It was dark, and there were almost twenty others including Lug. Many, but not nearly as many as had vanished from Forge. I climbed a tree to ascertain our locale, but it was too dark.
An old hag approached us some time later, she said we were in an unnamed forest, far away from Forge. She beckoned us to follow her to shelter. I had a deeply mistrusting feeling, but could think of no better alternatives. In hindsight, I wish I had run the other direction, and braved the forest alone.
Only ten could fit into her tent and eat her stew, and I was not going to be one of them. Random villagers earned that honor, while I sheltered the remainder of us, Lug included, in a magical hut. We had lost a few on the trek here, losing their way in the dark forest. We rested as well as could be, and when I awoke it was not where I expected. It was in fact inexplicable to me.
We were nowhere near where we fell asleep. Instead of a lonely hag’s hut, we were in a large room with a giant cauldron in the middle. From the sounds of it, there were more huts nearby. Lug had a dagger in his chest and was tied to a bed. Tybeerian was also there, and the last I’d heard he’d been on other business in Forge, nowhere near the tree. He was also restrained by a monstrously fair red skinned Tiefling. She took his blood, and put it into the cauldron, and sickeningly, gleefully giggled “30 moons my love.” It seemed to be a time period until she’d own his soul, as this stank of a blood magic ritual. I could hope that these witches measured whole cycles of moons like civilized cultures, but I feared it might just be their term for a day, and better to play it safe. 30 days to end the spell?
Those were some of my last coherent thoughts, that I can now put down on paper weeks later. I care not to reflect too heavily on what happened next. I was used as a play thing, after they took my own blood for their spell. My bonds were loosened, and I played for my freedom. It was a test of will, and eventually endurance, which I failed. I could feel myself becoming indifferent to them, rather than hostile to their attempts to steal my very soul. The Tiefling was apparently impressed however, as she introduced me to her redheaded bloodsister for my strong will. Tybeerian was put into a sleep that was anything but restful, and tortured in his dreams. I feared he would never wake.
But not me. Instead, they dared me to perform for ten days straight. If I could pull it off, I’d be free. All I could think of was to embrace the challenge, to use it to bolster my endurance to these witches. I’m sure I gave it my all, but I clearly failed. My consciousness drifted off, and I began to now play to live, but to live to play. To serve and entertain willingly. My fingers bled, my lute strings broke, and so did my mind.
The next thing I witnessed was coming-to with Domino and some old grandmother witch-master ushering the torturers out of the room, and restoring my own freedom of choice. I was utterly exhausted, but not quite as near to death as I seemed to remember when last I was awake.
The old woman said we had eight days until our souls would belong to the Tiefling, Thrizbana. Domino told us for now, our souls were our own. Eight days… that would mean I spent 22 in this room, and I performed 9 days straight before losing my mind. So close to 10…
Later I found that they had made Lug to torture critters, a druid. These are monstrous people.
We have eight days to do a task for Domino’s mother, the reward for which would be our souls. We must find her birthstone, some great power, hidden in the woods. Her father left it for her – we don’t even know who he was. Conceived on the soil beneath the Blackstone, to bring forth something that lay dormant there. It seems her very life was a manipulation. We must bring what rests there to the woman, and in turn she’ll tell Domino about her father, and give her our souls to do as she pleases.
It seemed a pressing matter, and yet somehow far from my mind. Barely able to walk, I smashed my lute to pieces. Just seeing it reminds me of how I abased myself. It is dead to me. That part of me is dead, at least for now. Then I passed out. re...
Journal #5 - The Wizard Tower
We set out south, with an ultimate destination of the Applewood. Orlando is to meet us there.
As I kept watch several days in, a heat storm blew in from the south, and with it later that day came a vast troop of cavalry, a guard force from Grayhaven. They were looking for fugitives, and had some long words with our rogue before ultimately moving on.
We continued south, and heard whispers of Strangehaven. It was said that anyone who studies anything would be there. Later that night as we set up camp, we saw a tower in the distance with a strange stone maze. We decided to check it out.
It is a maze made out of stone instead of hedges. The stone is unnatural - never touched by a creature’s hands in fashioning it, though now it is covered in moss. In the distance a tower reaches high into the sky, and as we approach there is a statue of a human knight outside, holding a staff that spirals with butterfly wings at the top. There is text written in Giant on the entrance:
“Those who enter will become lost. Should you make your way through my warded maze, my door is open.”
I illuminate the area with my dancing lights, yet their light is dimmed – it only spreads a foot from the orbs, as if they were a hooded lamp. I enter with my lights spinning on our perimeter, and we advance together.
We walked until we came across a statue lying down on wilted flowers, bearing another inscription in the Giant tongue:
“May this place be your tomb, like it was mine.”
The path branched here, and I could find no difference between left or right. I could see no change in elevation, Lug could smell no difference in the air. Domino pointed out that the statue’s head pointed towards the left, so we went that way. I thought perhaps it was an indicator that doom lay that way - our tomb like the person who went that way before. Perhaps I was overthinking matters.
A short while later, a hallway 90 feet long was enchanted to waylay us. Bricks came out of slots in the walls and barraged us as we tried to make our way through, bludgeoning us nearly to death. As the last of us stepped out of the hall, the bricks seamlessly slotted themselves back into the walls, totally undetectable.
After a few moments of recovery, we pressed on. In the distance, the mist dissipated somewhat, as we entered a larger chamber. There is a large sundial on the floor, with four statues of forearms and hands holding stone magnifying glasses with real lenses, sprouting from the ground. These were quite large statues, and Mirah exclaimed that the sundial was Giant. Literally, the arms were those of giants, this was made by giants?
There were murals on the walls, covered by plants. We uncovered them as best we could, and found sitting directly behind each of the stone arms was its own mural on the wall. There are two light sources depicted across from each other - one painting is of a mountain eclipsing the sun, with rays of light coming from the sides, people moving down the mountain, and houses dwarfed by the size of the people. The second painting on the opposite side is the same picture, without villages or people, and a crescent moon radiating light. Other murals show a coastline, and a great wall with large figures on it.
We had a few ideas to shine light through the lenses to operate the sundial – I suggested light itself might not be emitted, maybe it was a clue to a puzzle – if the magnifying glasses could be moved in their design intent, perhaps we had to move them as if they were to focus the light depicted in the painting. Before we tried that though, Tybeerian used his mage hand to carry up one of Ghiravont’s candles that he lit for the purpose, and when it approached the painted sun, it magically lit the painting, and the painting lit the entire room!
Ghiravont wasn’t prepared for this, and was blinded, but it revealed a doorway. Lug opened the door, and the fog was dispersed.
-
Editor’s Note: this notetaker was primarily walking back and forth with various poor performing pizza delivery services during this scene, and some details of the Blinding of Ghirvaont may not be factually accurate.
-
As we walked through the doorway, we saw glinting light. A large chamber, rising at least 80 feet high before the fog hides it, six inches of fog on the ground, there is some sort of very large overgrown agricultural area - a mixture of courtyard, garden, and greenhouse. There were open treasure chests, mounds of silver coins, six old fountains overgrown and filled with yet more coins, each with a statue of the same human with the butterfly encrusted staff. Each large fountain was overflowing with coins.
Across the courtyard is a flight of steps rising 20 feet with decorations, three to a side. About 40 wisps dance in the air, made of pale silver light.
Ghiravont, blinded still, felt around what we described as fountains, and picked up a coin not knowing what it was until he clinked it on the edge, hearing its metallic sound. Tybeerian was concerned – it was too good to be true, this amount of unprotected coinage. He found some writing that I hadn’t noticed, again in Giant which only I speak in the party. It read:
“On your way be your pockets free.”
That settled the conundrum of whether we should load up on the silver. We considered pushing on, but elected to take a short rest and hope that Ghiravont’s vision would return. Unfortunately, after a time our vision dimmed and a voice spoke in Giant:
“If you linger, your way forward, backwards, and sideways will be harder.”
When our sight returned, everything was different. It was as if we were picked up and placed at random in another area of the maze, losing out progress.
Only one way onwards, a door leading to a hallway. This hall had alcoves that looked like bookshelves. Littered every foot were dozens of books on crooked, stony bookshelves. It goes more than 120 feet, and at the end were two large gargoyles. Halfway down were openings on a 90-degree intersection.
We walked forward and the books flew off the shelves and the floor, floating and swirling. Lug accidentally touched one, and it ate him. He disappeared. I suggested we burn some books with fire, and Mirah exclaimed concern about destroying the book Lug was in. Until that point I hadn’t considered that Lug would literally be eaten or trapped by the book, I thought it had been a portal or portstone of sorts. Thinking back, I recalled that the book that touched Lug had been dark brown with a curved spine. Tybeerian was able to spot it, and grabbed it with his mage hand. Meanwhile, Mirah destroyed a green book with a bolt of fire.
We started using anything we had to advance to the intersection, which was free of books. I magically reduced my size, and was able to make it, dodging around the books. Mirah teleported with several others, one of which was Red. He didn’t dodge well on the way to her though, and he touched a book too. When Tybeerian’s mage hand carried Lug’s book back to him, he opened it and almost fell in – his intuition saved him, telling him to slam it shut again.
I saw where Red’s book went, onto a shelf. As I reached out to grasp it, thinking it safe to touch as it already held someone, the book next to it on the shelf leapt out right into my outstretched hand. Everything went dark.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I had no sensory input whatsoever. It was a strange experience, and deeply frightening. The next thing I knew I was on the floor in another room. I was told that they tried to open a door in the little alcove we were resting in, but it was a trap and led right into a five foot square pit of void nothingness. With no other choices, they captured the three books we were trapped in, and then fireballed the hallway and made a mad dash past the gargoyles at the end of the hall.
In this new room, there is a gargantuan portrait painted right onto the wall. It shows the maze and the tower, where we are right now. Ghiravont knocked on the portrait, and a part of it opened up. There was an optical illusion, and two passages are actually open in the wall, one on the left and the right bottom corners of the portrait.
Ghiravont entered the left, and he immediately became visible in the painting to those looking at it from the room. Seeing him on the painting, I wondered if we needed to interact somehow, so I stepped into the right side passage, but not too far. Domino and Mirah said they could see me on the right side of the painting, too. All I saw was a hallway. I moved around, and it corresponded with the painting. They told me I needed to move left in the painting, but I saw only one direction to move. I thought maybe it was another illusion, so I turned left to face the wall, and stuck out my arm. It went right through into what seemed to be stone.
I couldn’t trust my senses, and simply had to move through the maze of the picture with instructions from those outside. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep hearing them, but there was an enchantment and voices from outside looking at the portrait were as clear as if they were standing right next to me. The guides took a moment and looked at the maze, seeing where we had to go and what we had to do. There seemed to be a drawbridge on the left side that blocked the only entrance to the tower. The right side had no way to reach the tower, but did have a large stone wheel - we thought maybe that controlled the drawbridge. In another direction from the stone wheel, there was an Archway of Horses. Wasn’t really clear on what that was.
They guided me to the wheel, and it took all my strength to turn it. Rather than simply lowering a drawbridge though, turning the wheel shifted the perspective of the painting, rotating the two dimensional landscape around the tower axis, effectively showing 360 degrees of the puzzle. First I turned it clockwise, and then counterclockwise back to its starting position and beyond.
The guides exclaimed that those on the left must immediately stop! They were mere feet from a pit spiked with spears where they thought the bridge was. Ghiravont and Lug were on the left side, while Red had gone with me on the right, though he didn’t do much but be dazed out of his mind at the craziness.
It truly was an out of body experience. I have heard of strange psychedelic mushrooms, and I imagine it must be like this. It could make for an interesting tavern song.
The guides deduced I needed to turn the wheel as those on the left moved, changing the terrain in realm time. I moved it back and forth per their instructions. They reached the tower door, and pushed it open, as they did so the painting itself opened as if on hinges towards those outside, revealing us in the wall as the paint was washed away and a doorway opened in the center.
We entered a darkened hallway inside a real room - no stone hedges for the first time yet. It widens and we hear rotating metal and machinery noises. Everywhere else has been startlingly quiet. Glowing blue spheres come into the distance, bright blue, glass bubbles giving off 20 feet of light, bumping into walls and each other floating above us like lamps.
The room is very large and carpeted in blue. The walls were littered with looms each taking up threads from the floor, streaming the carpet up the walls as far as the eye can see. 150 feet up, there is a balcony and a door. It seemed then we may have made it to the tower.
Lug charged ahead and grasped one of the threads past the loom, and holding it he was carried up the wall alongside it. Most of us followed suit, and we jumped onto the balcony as we passed. Domino couldn’t gain a good handhold, the thread was cutting her palm. Those on the balcony put together our lengths of rope, and I was lowered down to the floor. I tied Domino off to the rope, and then carried her as I held onto a thread with one hand. We managed to make it safely.
Beyond the balcony door was a large room where all the threads emerged through cracks in the cobblestone wall, infesting the area like vines. At the back of the room, the largest statue of the human figure we had yet seen was gesturing downwards with its hand, and in its hand was a shiny egg of pure sapphire.
Ghiravont, Lug, and Tybeerian seemed to be consumed by lust and charged directly towards it, and as they approached the statues’ eyes glowed bright and shot out a beam. The sapphire dropped to the ground, and spilled into a viscous liquid. It grew, and grew, and the bubbling mass took on the shape of a dragon, made of solid sapphire. Its eyes gleamed in a bright light, shedding 90-foot cones to either side. It roared, and everything lit by the light became like a mirror, floor panels, walls, and ceiling became reflective. We were encased in a mirror-room.
Battle ensued, and after some opening hits against the construct, before I had yet taken a step, it shot a sapphire spike into Tybeerian’s forehead and he became charmed against us. I approached as near to him as I could, and though he was deafened my drum carried my magic through its reverberations. I calmed his emotions, and those of my friends around me. It broke the magic. After the next time he struck with his daggers, something came over him and Tybeerian retreated outside the range of my control, slipping back into a glassy state, and tried to attack Domino, who blocked him magically.
At that point, the statue came to life and walked out among us. It claimed no one had made it this far before, and he offered to let us live if we left now. I exclaimed I hadn’t come this far for nothing, and if it wanted to buy me off it should offer something. Ghiravont seemed to agree. This had all come as a surprise to me – the Giant script at the entrance said if we made it past the maze, which we did, his door would be open. It seemed inviting, yet this was an ambush. Domino did seem to want to take his deal, but before anything could be decided on Lug charged forward and struck both construct and statue with magical eruptions. The fight continued.
I was battered nearly to death, not bolstered by my rage as I attempted to concentrate on keeping us free of its control. I was close to death, and had to resort to using Mallistar’s potion which invigorated me. It healed all my wounds and gave me a focus I had not experienced before. I pressed on, and leapt towards the dragon, landing on the far side of its platform. My blows landed, but were not decimating against the sapphire gem. On the other side, Ghiravont fell. Lug was able to bring him up, and Domino healed Mirah who had fallen as well. Ghiravont drank his own potion when he came-to, and using its power and the dragon’s pinned position, smote it down in two strokes.
The strange mage exclaimed that no one had been proven worthy before. I thought we might have to fight it, too, but Ghiravont sheathed his sword and walked straight to the creature and shook its hand, thanking it for a good challenge. I don’t think the statue knew what to do, it took a knee and accepted our victory, and then froze solid.
Gleaming out of the exposed ribcage of the dragon were four very large sapphires. The creature itself was turned to stone.
Beyond the corpse was another room, oval in shape and partially exposed to the elements. It led onto a balcony which was halfway up the tower overlooking the maze, we could see it all. The mist was clearing, dawn had broken. There was a bannister and stone steps leading up, winding around the tower. We walked up the side of the tower, and a door led back inside at the top. The door had a giant’s hand holding a huge knocker ring, and it said “Knock” in giant. I took it with both hands and knocked; the door opened.
Inside, there was a stone round table with a huge crescent moon shaped bookshelf against the side of the wall. There were several hanging birdcages filled with bright golden, silver, and bronze feathered canaries, all tweeting. In contrast to the living birds, the rest of the room looked ancient and untouched for countless years. It was strewn with dead leaves and old grass blown in from outside, covered in spiderwebs. A singular balcony gave a full sky view of the maze.
Lug tried to piece together the disconnect between the living birds in cages and the apparent abandonment here, and he realized the cages weren’t actually closed, they’d been left open and the birds just flew in and out at will. On the desk near the bookshelf, Ghiravont found puzzle pieces of plain stone with large knobs on them, and a dusty frame for them empty on the desk. He began putting it together. Domino started inspecting books, all of which were written in Giant, and I took a look around the room. Lug was walking out onto the balcony as I noticed an old dusty coat rack on a pole, and I saw strangely there was a handprint in the dust quite clearly. I put my own hand on it, and nothing happened. I decided it might be a lever, and I tried to pull it or rotate it, and steps opened on the balcony outside. I heard Lug exclaim that he’d found the way up.
The new stairway goes up into an attic area. Before heading up, Ghiravont finished the puzzle and it exclaimed “Well Done.” The puzzle turns into the top of a chest, and he opens it revealing many immaculate shiny items. It also displays a portrait of the painting we solved before, but this time all of us are inlaid within it, triumphantly walking out of the tower.
Domino was searching the bookshelves, and found mostly history tomes. One in particular was green and gem-like, without language in the book at all, with pages lined in gold trim. Written in Giant, it appears to be a spellbook.
Up in the attic, a very loud sounding creature was moving. It sounded like a bird of some sort, Lug said it was avian and it was roosting up there. It was very big, and we startled it.
At the top of the stairs to the attic, the door had been broken open for some time. Glinting bronze and metallic feathers floated around as canaries left the room. The tower was dilapidated and had a huge hole. All the cages were knocked over, and branches, leaves, wheat, suits of armor torn to pieces and glinting, treasure chests shut, crates with steel rods, a nice pair of gauntlets dangling from the ceiling, and other such items were strewn around. A very large reptilian bird with metallic gold feathers was in the center, and it cawed at us.
It was a marvelous creature, it looked like some mixture of a golden dragon and a lion, with a very long neck. Reptilian scales, dragon wings like a cloak of gleaming gold, and mane-like hair. Speaking of gold, behind it was a mount four feet high and five feet wide gleaming of gold. Real gold. On it rested a stone statue lying down. Hauntingly realistic, it was the same figure we’d seen throughout the tower and maze, but this seemed like a real person made stone.
The creature was very defensive, and while Lug tried to communicate with it as a druid, I calmed its emotions to try to make it indifferent to us. It calmed down and even let Lug pet it. It revealed a clutch of eggs in its claw. The canaries flew back into the room, briefly landing on us before fluttering into cracks in the walls. On closer inspection, they weren’t canaries at all, but tiny baby versions of this creature. We’d never heard of it before, but I choose now to refer to it as a Liondrake for ease.
There was a painted portrait of the man on the wall in his tower, on his shoulder was a cat-sized version of this creature. It seems like the picture was long ago, and this creature would’ve taken an unimaginably long time to mature into the size it is now. The creature reached behind it onto the pile of gold and grasped a staff, spiral and golden, topped with prismatic butterfly wings, and she stuck it into a knot on the ground. It stands vertically in front of her. The statue has a pearlescent broach on his breast, of the Prismatic Alliance.
We decided we needed advice, and contacted Mallistar via Sending. Domino described the tower, the maze, the fight and the creature. He responded as follows:
“It sounds like you have discovered a remnant of the Prismatic Alliance. When a member is felled, their bond with their familiar and their tower is so strong that the living echo will continue to move their towers of illusion around the realm of Terrinoth. I myself have only discovered the tower of Mulliver the Orange, but there is no doubting the owner of such a staff with an ornate butterfly. Talivar the Topaz. His love for strange creatures and even stranger places was unrivaled. My brother and myself never worked with him personally, he comes from a generation far before ours. To hear that his tower has conjured on the Plains for you to find, is no small feat.
“Every tower hosts a riddle, or many,” he laughed. “But every tower can contain rewards for those who are pure, loyal, and true. Be careful though, with warning however, those towers have long been lost, and the lost gather to such places and are reawakened when such places are found. Stirring within the confines of those magical halls could be spirits long regretting past actions. You will find, dear Domino, that even Wizards have weaknesses.”
The staff began to glow, and Domino tried to communicate with the Liondrake magically, while Ghiravont grasped the staff. The staff started projecting an image, a perfect representation of the wizard. It spoke to us:
“Hello there, you have ascended my tower. A piece of me trapped in time, a piece of my heart.” He looked off into the distance. “My time in the world has come to an end while a shadow looms, many of us are filled with regrets, a regret hanging over this alliance, shattering it to pieces, as we are connected as one, a single fragment cannot function as a beating heart. Even now I hear my heart slipping, and I never had such a loyal friend in all my life.
“I have preserved in this tower all of my historical findings, every last bit of my collection on Malguban. Should never have gone to that horrible land following traces of Sirandi’el. Only he had the answers that we sought. Only he had the secrets, only he knew them. We were too late to reach out and heed his wisdom. And so I leave, leave to the echo in my tower my findings. My heart. My heart is the piece of it. I am dying. And I will soon–” his arm stiffened suddenly. “...even now… The Malgubanian Curse takes me, but I will not turn to what that shadow desires me to. I will not slip down to the darkness that’s there. So I ask to all of you, brave whoever you are, take care of Tibadariel, she is my love, the only good thing I’ve ever done. She will never know that the brood that she clutches are all still. She’s held them for years, she’s bound to a golden purpose. Her eggs will never hatch. I leave to you the things in my desk, a challenge, should you succeed, return to the desk, assemble the puzzle, claim your prize. And when you are ready, I want you to break my staff, last piece of my heart, it will destroy my tower, make things right, force Tibadariel to find a new home, fly off into the sunrise and find a new home where she can take her clutch of eggs forever.”
We debated what to do for some time. Ultimately, we apologized to the bird that this had to happen, and for what happened to its master. I wondered if the little ones were actually hers, if the Wizard knew something when he referenced her unborn clutch - as it has been some time and yet there were young ones here. Looking around, I saw egg fragments strewn around. It seems that she has hatched eggs in the past, it seems she was pouring her energy into them.
The Liondrake shed a tear onto the floorboards, and it sprouted and took root, starting to grow little buds of leaves. We prepared to take action. Mirah held the staff and was to break it on the count of five. The rest of us tried to take what treasures we could, grabbing them just as the staff would break to avoid the reaction of the creature if it turned hostile. This whole time, it has been defensive only of the pile behind it where it had the staff, where its master’s body lay, with the pile of gold. I went to a crate locked with a pole, Lug grabbed a chest, Ghiravont grabbed the hanging gauntlets, all of these things he had detected were magical. Domino grabbed the portrait of the wizard in addition to the tomes she carried and which we loaded into the bag of holding earlier. Red exclaimed the creature was beautiful, and Mirah snapped the staff. As her hand began its motion, the creature lunged at her, and the tower shattered. Everything falls, and we realize we are looking up from the grass as the tower is imploding. A giant puff of smoke that crumbles down, fog brushes over us.
We stand, and Mirah is holding the shattered staff remnants. The rest of us are carrying our burdens, and the portrait now shows the same person, without the tower in the background. Mirah cast the staff into the grass, and we headed back to camp.
Journal #4 - The Butcher’s Pit
There were eight cage doors built into the walls of the pit, and an entrance way leading to back-chambers. In the corners, orcs were looking through window-grates with polearms to strike at anyone that drifted too close. There was a small pool, and a fallen tree and various rocky outcroppings. A dozen or so half-folk, most armed and poorly armored, congregated in the center.
I remember seeing a strange little half-folk, standing near the pool. When things started getting hairy, he filled a bucket up with the stagnant putrid water, and doused himself. He seemed to disguise his scent, and the next thing I knew he’d disappeared.
Many half-folk died there, charging with fierce bravery. I will commemorate them in song, as soon as I am able. Improvised weapons wielded by a less-than-three foot tall hero, against a warg large enough to threaten even the strongest orc. Amazingly, some even landed blows, killing multiple wargs, but few survived themselves.
In the blink of an eye, it was over. Three of the wargs found meals and sated themselves, retreating to their cages to eat in peace. The remaining five were slain. Lug blocked open half the gates with an overgrowth of plants, and we scavenged some weapons from racks inside. Then the exit gate opened.
Three orcs came in following a Hyena-man, suggesting they’d reward us for slaying five wargs…five of us would be granted rest in their cells, the others would sit in the cold and the wet, and when the rain came, blood-sucking worms would come out of the soil to feast on us and prevent any meaningful rest. I didn’t trust these knuckle-draggers and I tried to communicate to my friends reject them - I could summon all the shelter we needed. Perhaps for the best, others insisted though, saying they wanted to play along and seem like they were participating in the orcs’ demand for ‘entertainment.’ A mixture of our party and the half-folk took the cells, and I provided shelter for the remainder, though there were several gates still locked open, so we could come and go there in some fashion.
While the Hyena-man was still there, I tried to persuade him to use our great abilities to strike down the Butcher and he could take his place, but I don’t think he bought it. I did convince one of the orcs that my offer was a threat though, and he warned the leader that he must be loyal – the non-orc didn’t care for the assumption of his lack of allegiance, and he threw the orc into the pit to stay the night with us.
I tried getting in the orcs head in due turn. He didn’t really take to it, so I resorted to intimidating him. He seemed under the false impression that he was safe with us, but I suspect I set him straight in that regard.
We rested within a dome of magic, and in the morning the Butcher spoke to us through the grate high above us. He gave Orlando a choice - free any one of us, at the price of sacrificing ten of the half-folk up above. He declined the offer, and instead said to let them go. Then the Butcher said he had five wolves – one for each warg we’d slain the night before. He was going to let them out after the half-folk, who were now fleeing for their lives. Orlando managed to convince him to wait five hours, instead of one hour, five again for the number of wargs. He liked that idea, and then asked Orlando if he wanted to fight for his freedom. We were instructed to wait in our cages, and we hesitantly did so.
Orlando had to fight a large orc on his own, but he came through. Ghiravont was freed, and began the trek topside. Another fight began, this time against a giant Ettin. It wasn’t looking nearly as well as the last engagement, and then everything went crazy.
I heard fighting up above, and the Butcher was thrown into the pit. He started yelling in a rage, and he mentioned the Red Witch, which piqued my interest, as well as the Five Kings. A man who I was later told was Orlando’s former instructor appeared, and freed us all from the cages. He told us to run to the surface and help Ghiravont take care of the pens in the center of the town, while he and Orlando battled the Butcher. On my way out, I finished off the Ettin who had taken a turn for the worse.
A few seconds later, and I was on my way up. I passed the orc who thought he’d be getting out today, still locked in a cage. I decided to spare his life, but I warned him if I ever saw his face in the Woods of Woe again, I would kill him.
Right as I was leaving, a troop of orc reinforcements arrived at the opposite door. I heard them erupt in rubble, Lug seemed to have a handle on them.
I was clothed only in a loincloth, and armed with a longsword in one hand, and a rusty shortsword in the other as I charged towards the pens, dodging arrow fire as well as I could. I passed Ghiravont on the way, who was liberating our possessions from the Butcher’s house. The next I saw, Orlando was being launched out of the pit by some magic of his master, who’d done the same to Domino a few minutes earlier. That was the last thing I noticed before I met the horde of orcs in battle, from their rear as they fought against the half-folk, who’d been freed from one of the entrances to the pens.
I was in a rage, and singing a song of battle and bloodlust. I did my best to inspire those around me, as I gave in to the joy of combat. The tides were turning. Right as I was striking down orcs up above, Domino’s instructor sacrificed himself in a final blow to the Butcher, mind-controlling his own wargs to eat him alive. In the distance, I saw the orc I’d warned bellowing at his fellows to flee back to the mountains.
As I came out of my trance, smoke billowed throughout the town, and bodies piled high. Groups formed to heave down the oppressive orc structures. The pit was turned into a mass grave to start with. One of the half folk approached me as I labored, asking to know who I was. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Clearly, I am not like those who destroyed Gloedan, but I fear my clan is under a similar control, the Butcher mentioned the Red Witch by title after all. I simply said I came from far away, and hope to lead my people to a better path.
Some of our dwarven compatriots left for the mountains to inform them of the happenings. And slowly, things returned to normal. We spent the next few months rebuilding the town, with our labor, our magic and skill, and Lug’s wallet (and a few others to be fair). We’re treated as folk-heroes here now, it's an experience I never thought I had, and I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with it yet.
We’re still debating where to go next, but it sounds like Orlando is heading north to the mountains of Dunwarr, to warn the dwarves whose realm this technically is a part of, of the dangers and trespass. They may fund a fortress, or we may build one of our own. It's getting to be time the rest of us moved on, Orlando said he’d meet up with us. There’s a long list of people in need we still intend to aid, and all are to the south. Who knows where the road will lead us.
Journal #3 - Journey to Gloedan
We settled on heading north, to the village of Gloedan, Orlando’s home town. It is nestled deep in the Woods of Woe, which I am told is a peaceful forest home to the Centaurs, a variety of fey creatures, and primarily half-folk like Orlando. The name is quite old, pertaining to a war fought with creatures out of the Mistlands in ages long past.
We prepared for our trip north, and settled on hiring a river boat to take us as far up the river as Castle Talon, on the edge of the Mistlands. We passed Greyhaven along the way. It was quite a fee for the trip, hundreds of miles traveled with all expenses included. Lug fronted my share, but I managed to convince the captain that his crew’s morale would be worth hiring me for entertainment on the long voyage, so I managed to make my entire fee back. Along the way I happened to start a rumor - from my frightening tale of the Troll Massacre at Campfire Plateau.
On our trip, we spoke of the half-folk in the Woods. There are three villages there - Thimb Comble, a tree city found only in daylight, built by the elves for the half-folk, who both live there; Silaslan, a mushroom city found underground, and Gloeden, the solstice city found only at night, lit like a festival of light in the darkness.
We were put ashore on the east bank of the river, opposite the Carthmounts, and we began our traversal of the Plains of the Ruby Gate. On our road, we were stopped by a knight in shining armor, Sir Tathric. He was a funny lad, before our lookouts could so much as speak he was demanding a duel with our strongest warrior. Lug froze him in invisible bindings in quite a hostile manner, and the two proceed to duke it out. Lug did win, though I can’t exactly say fair and square. The man was quite impressed, and gave Lug some sort of medallion to show his worth, he can use it to challenge competitors in the keep at Dhernor, apparently the home of this traveling knight, who is seeking to restore his honor.
There on the plains, I had a restless night awake with Orlando. Something didn’t feel quite right in the air. We spoke of our homes, how he used to be a mailman, and his aspirations for something more - to be Boradine.
The next day we reached the Woods of Woe. On the northern horizon rose the Dunwarr mountains, and it would be a three day journey through the woods to Gloedan. Shortly thereafter, we passed an ancient waymarker, desecrated in blood, with the text “Turn Back Now.” That set Orlando into a rage almost like when my own blood stirs, and we proceeded on at our fastest pace.
Next we came across a terrible sight indeed, ten of the half-folk, bound and hanging from trees with their faces covered in bloody linen. They were killed by orcish blades, and it appeared to be a territorial method of execution, to instill fear. They’d been hanging for two days, and wolves were howling in the distance. The Woods of Woe seems to be earning its name once more.
-
Editor’s note: this portion of the journal may never come to be written onto the page by Umak, as it is not yet clear if he survived to tell the rest of this tale; he certainly took no breaks to write down his thoughts along the way.
We pressed on in all haste, and came to the final campsite on the approach to Gloeden. We prepared to hide the carriage with a magical overgrowth of plants, only to find Arloh hidden away in the trunk – Mirah’s young brother. He had stolen Mallistar’s powerful staff, and claimed it was his father’s (does that mean Mirah and Arloh are the children of Mallistar? Or was the staff not originally the possession of Mallistar? Curious). He wanted to help, the poor lad. We locked him up after a lecturing from Mirah, along with Tsuna (~Sunay, the Satyr), and Red our dwarven ranger to keep watch. The rest of us proceeded on.
As we made our way through the forest, we were ambushed. Wolves of numerous sorts, and strange hunters in cloaks wearing the skills of gnolls as helms. An orc-ish warrior, and lowborn elves which appeared to be eating the limbs of slain half-folk. They fought ferociously, but were no match. Their leader fled the scene, blowing their horn. In hindsight, we should have been calm and calculated, but tempers were running hot and we pursued in a dangerous fashion. Not before Tybeerian stripped the orc of his worn plate armor and set of javelins though, which he gave to me. I never had time to don it.
We charged onwards towards Gloedan, and when we came to the gates it was clearly occupied. Brutish foreign fortifications, more hanging corpses. We walked in, and I had the strange feeling of being watched. It was then that I wished I had thought to calm us down, perhaps due some scouting. But I’m an Orc and my blood runs hot, I can’t beat myself up too much. All’s well that ends well, right?
We came to a closed off street where a lead orc spoke in a doll-like, patronizing tone. He said they served the Butcher’s Brood, and were sent here to torture the population to get Orlando’s attention, calling him by his popular title of Hydra Slayer, without an ounce of respect. They gave an ultimatum, go speak to this Butcher, or they’ll execute a building full of more half-folk; speak to him and they’ll let them go. I didn’t believe him for a second, and favored a fight to the death right then and there – surrendering our weapons seemed like suicide. But this was Orlando’s home, Orlando’s people, it was Orlando’s choice, and he chose to surrender to the more-than-twelve enemies surrounding us, which perhaps was the right call to make.
We dropped our weapons, and they put us in a chain line. Everything we didn’t drop or tried to cunningly hide, they stripped off us anyway. They lead us to the town center, where a cage with at least a hundred half-folk and elves were being taunted by a horde of orcs, without honor. There were at least fifty orcs in this area, and the town was decimated – not obliterated. Perhaps ten percent destroyed, the rest altered and repurposed. No wanton destruction at least, there was hope.
We were taken before the Butcher, who sat a ginormous table overflowing with weapons, and severed hands. A large cauldron was present, which he was stirring. It’s a quite large orc, who was also quite ugly.
The orc who was leading us put on a groveling face as he introduced us, and said something like “He’s arrived just as she predicted.” He meant Orlando, I wonder who she meant? Surely not the Red Witch, this far north? The Butcher asked Orlando, if he’d helm him serve King Golmar? I wonder if Golmar was the goblin recipient of the Dark Lord’s crown.
They spoke some more, without saying much. We were then thrown in a cage for the night, taunted, asked if we’d survive The Pit? We were led to a plank over a deep pit, 40 feet for the wide put, which funneled down to a full drop 60 feet further down to the bottom. Another chain gang of half-folk was in front of us, who got pushed down.
Orlando was at the front of the chain, and as he was being forced in, he managed to grapple the lead orc, Shagrat, in with him, who fell straight to the bottom. All of us were chained together, so Orlando didn’t fall, he was held up by us. Shagrat’s second in command was none too displeased at the battlefield promotion by his reaction, and I tried to leverage that. He wanted to see a fight, and I managed to put on a strong display of strength - I was third from the rear of the chain, and managed to stop the fall of the five in front of me. I tried to get Shagrat to think how we could help him rise even higher - he could be the new Butcher, but I guess all I convinced him of was that I’d put up a good sport for him to view from above. He tossed me a key, and pulled a lever which dropped the plank we were on, I barely had time to catch it before we free fell.
Turns out that was perhaps worse than if we’d jumped. On our quick fall to the bottom we passed the half-folk, who’d gripped onto tons of little ledges on the way down, which we couldn’t reach. The sheer fall knocked four of us out, but killed ‘ol Shagrat outright which was a silver lining. I used the key to free myself, but it was brittle - it snapped in the process. With my hands free though, I could stabilize three of our party, and I began breaking their chains as well. Lug turned himself into a rat and got out that way, and proceeded to tend the wounds of our last member, Mirah. Others used teleportation magic, and I freed the rest, and the half-folk.
They closed the doors atop the put, and the new orc said he hoped to see us make it to sunrise. We searched Shagrat’s corpse, and found a whip, a shortsword, and hide armor. I picked up a boulder to use as a weapon, and we took stock of our surroundings. There was a throng of elves and half-folk, some with weapons and armor. Some looked more civilized than others. It seemed it was a fight for survival down here, and it also seemed like this was a way to break people to the will of the orcs, perhaps this is how elves came to be fighting against us on our way in.
We had only a minute, before gates opened on every side of the circle, and wargs came out hungry to feed.
I took stock of my situation in that moment. So much more I could do, if I but had a few more minutes. We had spare chain, two lengths of 40 feet each. I could tie a portion to this rock and make a gigantic flail. I could file two ends of the chain off each other to make some iron dust, and use it to enlarge myself, or I could turn one of the wargs against its pack. Which to do? What should my goal be? Could we possibly defeat eight wargs, in our present condition naked and near death? Did we need to? What if we simply ensured the wargs ate some of this other readily available food? And yet how could I bring myself to do that.
We can’t stay in this pit, we have to leverage this opportunity now. Lug was talking about his plant growth spell, perhaps he could cause vines to hold these doors open. I wonder how far the warg pens go? We could try to dig a tunnel as well, enlist the captives to work together, fight as one. Surely, that would be better than playing the orcs game, and devouring our own? We shall see what can be done.
Journal #2 - Flight to Tamalir
We stood on the edge of the cliff looking down over a slaughter. In the dim light, a trio of survivors ran for their lives up the steep path towards us before collapsing in exhaust. In the distance, trolls are silhouetted by fire. They drag people away kicking and screaming, and one figure stands on a high perch in command; he turned his back and left.
Mirah was mumbling to herself, saying it wasn’t supposed to happen yet. What did she get us into? Should never have trusted someone who wouldn’t reveal basic things like who you are working for and what you’ll be doing. I have to keep a close eye on her. When asked to elaborate, she mentioned The Convergence, some mingling of realms between us and the Underwood I guess. She said it was urgent to get to Tamalir as soon as possible.
-
Dawn has now arrived, and I shudder as I think of what is happening to those these creatures took with them. Carnage is everywhere. There were 30 survivors in all, of hundreds. They agreed to flee to Tamalir together; they seemed to fear returning to Forge, as though the trolls had been secretly tracking them ever since they left that city. It didn’t make much sense to me, what I saw was not the tactics of guerillas. If they waited, it was just to have more prey easily clumped together, but these camps are active every night. Their fear spoke to them, but if it was just safety they wanted, Tamalir was several times as far as Forge. Regardless, Tamalir is my destination, so I’ll see to their safety. They proposed sending a few individuals to warn Forge of the danger, but if their fears were founded I worried about their odds of making it. I Sent a message to Esmerelda instead, sure to reach its destination.
-
Later in the afternoon, some elf in the caravan was talking about bloodlines. High born and low born, looking at him I could tell he was the latter. Turns out, he was actually talking about trolls - sort of. He said some of the great hunters of his land were high blood elves over 900 years old, and tell ancient tales of hunting trolls before their disappearance. He claimed that low born trolls have no tusks and are smaller, with long noses and putrid eyes, but high born trolls are something else - with monstrous tusks, and they give an affliction when they bite, a single bite is sure to kill, with no known cure. He’d been asking people in the caravan if they’d been bitten, and a cart had pulled to the side of the road with fresh corpses, dead from their injuries. I had been bitten the night before, and was worried for a moment, but luckily that long nose and putrid set of eyes are fresh in my memory – it was no high blood troll, that's for sure.
-
On the sixth day I saw Tamalir in the distance. Perhaps the most famous of free cities. Blue-green grass grew around it, in soil brought by the elves in ages past. It is the oldest of the free cities, built entirely by the elves as a gift to men. The walls shown in the sunlight like glass, and the city was free of obstruction for leagues around - no cover of forest to approach under. Instead there were farms, and small villages dotting the countryside. There are more than 20 gates into the city, although I’ve heard there are single switches on the north and south faces which can control each gate on their side simultaneously.
We are now in the region of Three River’s Crossing - Tamalir, Nerekhall, and Grey Haven the three cities. Grey Haven was built by the dwarves, Tamalir by the elves, and Nerekhall by men. The three races intermingle here, with the elves and dwarves building their cities to be gifted to men in ages past.
When we entered the city, Mirah changed. She became commanding, reminding us of having been hired. She ordered we proceed to the Silken Bow. While I knew what to expect, I was still a little awestruck by the gate when we proceeded – wide enough for fifty carriages at once. This is a free city like Forge, no lines or checkpoints, traffic flowed freely.
Mirah paid for our entry into the Silken Bow, a seemingly high end establishment. The staff knew her well; the Warden coaxed the Satyr out of the coach, and she turned into that long-haired woman who was being held by the giant in the orchard, some remarkable shapeshifting that. Mirah led us to a back room to see “him,” who I thought for a moment was a 14-year old boy. But that was just her brother.
We were in a marvelous alchemical lab, powered by a giant water wheel on the side of the establishment. It was the work of a tall, slender, white-haired high elf of Aubeline named Mallistar, brother of Allistar the Light – the others had a strong reaction to this name, though it didn’t mean much to me. After our rush to get here, he up and said he had no time for us today. Whatever pays the bills I suppose. Mirah paid for our rooms, and set a meeting early the following morning. So naturally, I spent all day playing in the streets of the city, and all night gambling on the horse races that Mirah’s brother, Arloh, was so fascinated by. I earned quite the tidy sum.
In the back of my mind, I’ve been composing a ballad of the troll massacre on Campfire Plateau, its nearly ready. Though, it may not hear the air of day until this is history. Can’t go scaring the masses now can I? Also this day, Mirah delivered the news to the captain of the guard regarding the danger of trolls – he seems to be her intended, and was none too happy. I also got my axes silvered - my tortoise friend Lug sprang for that, before I won big that evening. After the long night on the town, I barely had time for my head to hit the pillow before it was time to meet the old man.
He complained that we were late, of course. The gaul. He got a package from Noswald, a vile corrupted purple bulb, apparently infecting hundreds of their people. He was asked to make a cure, but he didn’t seem too worried over it. I can’t exactly say why he brought this up, perhaps only to show his lack of empathy. He then shifted the conversation to the recent events - trolls, satyrs, giants, and apparently a dragon though I hadn’t heard of that one. He asked if we’d heard the story of the crowns gifted to to kings - not out of royalty, but of service. It tickled my brain - there was a tale once, of a corrupted giant clan chief in the Sunken Summits, living deep underground, and gifted a crown to serve the Dark Lord. Tyberian heard a similar tale of the orcs fighting the Palanthian dwarves.
Mallistar agreed, and said there were five crowns in total – gifted by the dark lord in exchange for service, granting power. Orc, Underwood Troll, Giant, Goblin, and Dragon. They all accepted and served, save the latter. The dragon refused, and the cost of his refusal purportedly was an exhaustion so deep he sleeps to this day. He said the return of the kings is close, it is starting with wraiths and will escalate to full scale war, and eventually it will encompass all of Terrinoth, and beyond to other realms. He sent Allistar north, to Aryss in the frozen wastes of Ghara, to find the secrets handed down from their father, as Mallistar had been too weak to do what he must earlier.
Mallistar warned us that the war must be stopped before it reached these lands, before the return fully occurs. Castle Talon, on the slopes of the Carthmounts, sent warning that the black spire of Castle Dalabar has been spotted in the Mistlands, near Kalypsia’s Keep - it is the first sign. He wants us to take on the burden of destiny, take a place in history, as no one else has stood in front of the shadow itself as this group (I have yet to hear these magnificent tales).
This seems like some heavy stuff, perhaps this is why Mar didn’t have time for the issues of the Sunken Summits. Just as I was thinking that, Mallistar pivoted. He said without first addressing our past, we would surely be overwhelmed upon entering the walls of Dalamar within Kalypsia’s Keep.
He gave us each individual missions, close to our hearts. Mine was to right the deeds of the Red Witch in my homelands. He also told us to tell no one – agents of the four kings are everywhere, we may even have already met some. He knows a way into the castle, once the time comes. He also stated that the four kings could only be destroyed individually, united in force they would be unstoppable. I suspect these individual missions are less about our mental fortitude, and more about finding these kings on their own and dealing with them before entering Dalabar, but that is just my intuition.
He claimed that this convergence was due to planetary alignments, it had been occurring for a year now, and every minute it becomes worse. He additionally warned us of the high blood trolls - they are immune to fire, and they gain their high blood characteristics by steeping the earth in the blood of the high born of The Fated. They are weak to necrotic and radiant magics. I fear the abduction of those at the camp was for this ritual. Lastly, Mallistar said he could resupply us with his healing tinctures when we passed through the city, but he would himself be going to Castle Talon to create a diversion and challenge foes there. We can communicate with him via Sending, and his laboratory is automated so he can work it remotely.
We must decide which of these tasks we will approach first. It seems the consensus that our hardy gnomish fighter Orlando’s task is near at hand to the north, I expect we will head in that direction.
Journal #1: Funeral at Forge
As I entered the city gates, it struck me how good it felt to be back in the city - despite the circumstances. Forge is a nexus, and no finer place could a bard ask for. While I mourned for Mar, it was more for the idea of him, and the lost opportunity of what he could have become, than for a person. I had never met him after all, so in part I mourned my ill fortune as well. Suffice it to say I was feeling rather positive. At last, a lead for me to pursue. I thought all honorable members of the Ru’ Steppes clans to be dead. If Mar had lived, could not others?
Forge is like home to me, as much a home as any place outside the eastern mountains could be. So diverse it's impossible to stand out. Maybe the only city on the continent where I’ve not been “the orc.” I can almost blend in. As I passed an entrance into the Dwarven district beneath the city, my thoughts strayed to Galnik and his merry band who changed my life. Seeing the heavy Dwarven presence here, I berated myself for never taking the time to learn his tongue. I always got by on instinct with them - a magical affinity for understanding speech when needed; but such things don’t allow for prose or poetry. It's an untapped market for me for sure, and more than that it's a sign of respect. The next language to learn I suppose.
On the day of the funeral, I made my way to the guild hall. Such a mighty structure, I’ve never seen its like. A single building and yet larger than most cities. An auditorium in the center larger than most towns, on a door to a Vault of Volaudryn no less.
I’d never witnessed a Warden retirement ceremony before. The sound as the blade struck the door and embedded itself chilled me. Such marvelous power and design in those vault doors, to be pierced of its own accord and not lose structural integrity. It's marvelous. Maybe Mar was on the right track, there must be some validity to an organization that seems to be recognized by the progenitors. I noticed the elf who returned the sword – apparently he’s a new Warden himself. I couldn’t help but track them to a tavern afterwards. They were drinking to Mar: the new Warden, a deep elf; a fey woman, a halfman, a dwarf, and a tortle. I listened for a while, and soaked in the atmosphere of a fine common room with the drinks on the house. They were reminiscing on their memories of this man I never knew, I felt like I met him somewhat, through them. But it was not the portrait of the leader of the Sultaran clan. I did not know Mar personally but I knew him based on his potential, and the history of his clan and the dark days. These people knew Mar, but didn’t seem to know that same history. Perhaps it was an opening to get closer, perhaps it was a tribute to Mar, perhaps just a bard’s need to be heard. Perhaps all three. Anyway, the tale needed to be told.
The Sole Survivor of the Sultaran Massacre. A hasty bit of editing on my part, of a far more tragic tale I told when I thought there were no survivors. The tragedy seemed to be fitting still, the original almost prescient. I lost myself in the tale. My drum, my voice, my magical effects, I was no longer in control - just in the moment.
When I came back to my senses, I felt lighter. The new Warden approached me and told me that he knew Mar. I spoke with this band of companions, and found that somewhere along the way Mar had a signet ring stolen from him, they hope to retrieve it. Perhaps his could be the sign I was looking for. I’m told Mar served in Warden chapter #723 with these fellows. One of them, a ginger dwarf, told me he knows who has Mar’s ring and it’s only a matter of time until he can go get it, but he has to keep the specifics close to his chest. He insinuated some enemy of Mar’s has agents everywhere. The Warden, Ghiravont, asked me to meet him in his office the next morning.
When I arrived, he was signing up new members for his team. I got him to agree that he wanted to sort out the issues of the Sunken Summit, but I got the impression he didn’t really understand the true state of affairs there, though he was earnest at least. I decided to sign up, and see where it takes me. Worst case, I get to knock some skulls and earn some silver, but I might be able to find what Mar had in plan, and perhaps convince these Wardens to turn an eye eastward, in time. I must trust to fate in this. Mar’s death must, if nothing else, serve to introduce me to companions who share my goals. There is still no clear path to the salvation of my clan, but I am more likely to achieve it with these fellows, then wandering around entertaining people in the tavern.
Ghiravont had a stack of potential jobs to take, and he settled on a strange woman who refused to say who her master was who wanted to hire us. Truthfully, I wasn’t paying much attention before we were walking out of the western gate and parked on the road is the largest carriage I’d ever seen. Three days we spent on the road, and then things started to take a turn.
In hindsight, something must have awoken or breached a barrier between realms. A house burned in the distance, smoke on the horizon became an orchard in flames, and a two headed giant was hurling trees at my new friends while using a woman as a human shield. It was mostly over before I could even get on scene, but at that point the woman, who we’d all feared to be long dead, up and turned into a Satyr. She seemed to struggle to interact with civilized people, whether as childishly innocent as she appeared to be, or using that as a disguise while being utterly ruthless I couldn’t quite decide. She tagged along as we returned to the road, and stopped at a camping caravan on a plateau. The Satyr claimed to be from the Underwood, which our client says is a place only the Fey can reach, supposedly a realm lost in ages past. No one has seen a giant in some time, and supposedly this Underwood realm was shared with centaurs, trolls, and other monstrous creatures - so now they’re in the common world, banished from the Underworld collectively. Yet, if that’s the case, this Satyr being from the Underworld herself would make her ancient, yet she looks like a child. Could it be so, or was she perhaps in some sort of ageless stupor? Or, has a door to the Underworld been reopened?
The night seemed happy and carefree, while I played songs on a boulder, and the torches burned in the night. Until a half dozen angry trollish creatures I had never seen before invaded and turned the camp into a massacre. Destruction was everywhere, thousands of campfires, of the countless campsites, ours was only one of half a dozen to survive the night. The goat-woman was hugging us and crying. A Satyr, a two headed giant, an invasion of trolls, all in a twelve hour span. Something just isn’t right.
Preface: Umak Bonebreaker:
In the Ru Steppes, years ago on the Sunken Summits, the Bonebreaker clan were conquered by The Red Witch's subservient tribes of Broken Plain orcs and Deepbloods. Those who were unable to die honorably in battle were domesticated, turned into little more than slaves and sheep.
The Bonebreakers long gave allegiance of sorts to the Sultarans, who were similarly wiped out through the conniving of the Red Witch. Old alliances are little more than a memory to most. But not to Umak.
Umak was quite young when these events took place, but old enough to remember how things ought to be. As he grew into adulthood, and anger coursed through his veins, he struck out.
He was not always a simple servant and debased in this way. Before that, those who resisted had been tortured by the Deepbloods. Tortured with physical pain, and with menial labor serving no purpose. Always denied an end. It broke his spirits, and like those around him he eventually came to simply exist; he stopped resisting.
In the weeks leading up to him snapping, a troop of Dwarven entertainers had been waylaid by the enforcers. They had some information the Red Witch had ordered obtain, or perhaps they just wanted entertainment of a different sort. He heard their screams throughout the nights, and remembered his time as a boy. His tolerance of his own treatment had started as a protest - a hesitant obsequence. Until he had forgotten what he was protesting. This treatment of the Dwarves stirred the old memory, and feelings. Perhaps he could live with his own mistreatment, but this was too much. The enforcers deserved to die, and if he were killed in his efforts then all the better, finally an end to this torment.
So Umak struck out. With nothing more than makeshift blunt weapons and an unstoppable rage, he slew the Deepblood interrogators and the Broken Plains guards, set the Dwarves free, and fled with them.
What to do now? He wasn't sure - all that he could think of was to find others interested in overthrowing the sad state of affairs in the Ru Steppes leadership, but an orc stands out like a sore thumb, and he assumed common opinions on his appearance from outsiders would receive no favors by the behavior of his fellow Orcs these past years. The Dwarves owed him a debt, and offered to take him in. He learned the ways of performance, as well as the ways of looking unthreatening and genial. Costumes for a theater act became disguises for the Bazaar - as well as you could disguise a gigantic orc that is.
Magic bloomed in his art, but the fire still flowed in his veins. Then news reached him of the funeral for Mar, heir of the Sultaran clan, and apparently sole survivor of the Sultaran Massacre. It was a blow - had he even know he was alive, he would have sought him out years before. All that remained was to attend the funeral, and hope the news would bring people of a similar mindset, so that something could be done, finally.
The rest is history.
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