Ikkanil's Journal
From Rathe
This page is the journal kept by Ikkanil Alanath'we. The section headings are by in-game date, not by realtime date. Ikkanil's journal is kept in three languages, Common, Undercommon, and Elven.
These are indicated at the metagamers website forums by coloration: normal for common, green for elven, and violet for undercommon.
Due to the limitations of the wikipedia, however, this coloration is not present in this presentation of the journal entries.
Contents |
October 6th
October 6th, morning
My leg hurts. My shoulder hurts. My left arm hurts ... and so does my right, come to think of it. Blasted Goblins! Pestilence upon them for a thousand generations! Javelins, acid, fire, wolves, and dogs! What in the world did these goblins pull that makes them so well-supplied? I've heard of goblin sappers and goblin chemists, but a small army so equipped? You'd think there's more to this than has managed to meet the eye ...
... speaking of meeting the eye, the chap with the full-plate from the ship has yet to be seen. Perhaps he'll have been captured by our own crew, and thusly we might be provided with a few well-deserved answers...
Speaking of answers, Voo -Veucy? Vuecy? Veucy?- either snapped or saw the necromancer do something stupid. I'm not entirely sure which, but I am fairly certain he must have done something stupid, seeing as his performance in our resistance of the goblin pirates was ... "distinguished". In any case, he tackled him about halfway through our snake extermination procedure. I thought that maybe the necromancer was up to something diabolical, but it was just an altercation over "what he was about" ... whatever that means. So a few answers to that little ridiculousness would be welcome.
Of this little traveling party we seem to have become, the human with the mechanical, bolt-spitting clap-trap seems to be fairly good with his work, though perhaps he should practice smashing things with the dwarf. I mean, there are at least a half-dozen bows and cross-bows in this, er, association? Perhaps association? Maybe "association"? He doesn't have to give up the sharp-object-spitting machine, but perhaps he could also refine his skills with that severe-looking falchion of his?
I'm looking forward to a -hopefully- quiet trip back to ebheim, followed by a few days off the job. I intend to collect my pay for this rather intense assignment (even conscripts get paid, after all!), and then easing into whatever Lords Brunswienin and Legelcian have planned next.
Speaking of pay, I wonder if we're entitled to anything from the captured ship? We did help resist the goblin attack, so we ought to be entitled to at least a little hazard pay. I doesn't really matter to me either way, as long as it doesn't turn out we were working for free.
I really need to buy a proper journal, seeing as writing on rolled parchment is really not the best solution to this problem. Further, my ink is getting sketchy and so my writing scratchy. Also, most of my body aches, so I am going to close the curtain on the case of the goblinoids and maybe take a nap in the sea-salt air.
October 10th
Recorded October 10th, spans the 7th to the 10th
Scratch one peaceful trip back to Ebheim. Not that I wouldn't mind a peaceful trip to Ebheim, just as long as it is about a week ago and I am not compelled to stay in town... Not only is the trip scratched, but methinks that, perhaps, the whole town is as well. I don't know much about besieging cities, but I do know that amount of smoke is proportional to amount of stuff on fire. Thusly, based upon the amount of smoke seen I can reasonably conclude that most of the citizens of Ebheim have been, as a Dark Elf might say, resettled into the air. I mean, I don't care much for big cities, but complete conversion of innocent and guilty alike to smoke and ash is a bit much ...
On the same subject, I learned some new things these past few days:
1. A black flag at sea means quarantine or distress
2. a white flag means "we are here to help" in response to a black flag
3. a yellow flag below a major flag means "I am not the lead ship"
4. meeting a ship flying a black flag is a fantastic way to ruin your day.
Indeed, the black-flag-flying ship we met a few days ago was from the ashpile formerly known as Ebheim. They reported that said city is now said ashpile, and were applying what the Dark Elves might call "spin" to their reports. In any case, the rather sudden destruction of Ebheim was the beginning of the past few days' excitement, not the end...
You know that things are not going great when you find that the Dark Elven vernacular is furnishing just the right phrases for your situation...
Anyway, we set sail on the goblin ship that was captured, with the theory being that it had one fewer enormous holes in its side than our original ship did. First Mate (now de facto captain) Harbors has been effective and at least mildly knowledgeable about things, and the medical care provided by the smallish cleric has been quite good. Unfortunately, he seemed to be sick there for a while. further, our patient with the shakes -that's what I think nevyn got sick with- has recovered rather well. I hear his name is Lawrence, and he is from ... um ... P-somewhere; "Pert?" "Pratt?" "Prraatt?" "Prace?" anyway, he was captured and people came and went and he got sick. Nothing major to report on that.
On an aside, the crewmen on this ship didn't make too careful a search of the lower decks, and I was able to uncover a case of 15 potions of light curative! It was a find, I tell you! If I had done nothing else this whole week, that feat of sharp senses would have earned my pay twice over!
The various captains -Harbors, Lucas, and ... um ...Peter something; I'm so bad with names ...- decided to set sail to a place called "Cest" rather than try to singlehandedly dock and undo whatever happened at Ebheim.
As an aside, "Cest" is pronounced like the Elven "[[Cest]" using an Elven hard "C", not the more normal soft "C" in the Common Tongue.
anyway, I was hoping just then that our trip to Cest might be speedy, uneventful, and afford an opportunity to rest and recover. While it has afforded the latter two, it's been anything but the former two. First, we spied an island with more than a small amount of smoke emerging from it. That's rather odd, seeing as I remember reading somewhere that said island was uninhabited, and the sailors and others seemed to believe the same. In any case, while I was seeing what I could see from the main ship, it was decided that we would take a smaller ship to investigate. Our initial investigation yielded an ettercap with a taste for wolf-flesh; while more careful examination yielded a path, a cave with the source of the smoke, and an ethereal marauder looking to add Minedelt to its diet, with a bit of Al'mil for flavor. The cave revealed only some rather delirious chanting.
We returned to the ship that evening (the 9th) to confer with Captain Harbors. ---I wonder if anyone else has found the fact that a man named "harbors" commands a ship to be even slightly ironic--- We decided to stay an extra day and investigate the smoking cave more thoroughly, as well as collect citrus for the captain. He tells us that the citrus aboard the ship wasn't any good (poisoned, so he claimed) and asked if we could come up with some more for him. We did so, seeing as it was no skin off our back, and it would improve the crew's diet as well as our own. Besides, if we hadn't done it we'd be out any citrus at all--he had the bad stuff tossed overboard.
Anywhom, the adventure of The Chanting Cave Of Humans Who Need To Have Their Heads Examined was nothing if not a reminder that:
1. Nothing lasts forever
2. I must always remember to prepare feather fall
3. Nothing, and I mean nothing, lasts forever
4. Always look everywhere, and I mean everywhere
To elaborate on 1 and 3, we encountered a Rust Monster. It ate both Nevyn's finely-crafted breastplate and Austri's homebrewed armor. I would be lying if I said that either of them took it very well. It did not get my shield, however, and though that's no comfort to Nevyn or Austri, it is a major comfort to me.
As to number 2, I fell down a trapdoor. It hurt. Voo saved the day, as he seems wont to do. The pit, however, opened into a rather odd room filled with rather odd people. The bard tells me it was something to do with some God or another, but I could clearly see that it had everything to do with being certifiably crazy and little to do with anything else. I mean, their leaders looked to have been staring at each other for days, if not weeks, on end. In any case, the sailors were surprised by the news of the cult of crazies, but Captain Harbors was less surprised by the story than by the fact that it was true. In any case, I'll be preparing feather fall in the future, even though it means I have no focus left over for other spells later in the day. The last thing I need to be is bleeding out on the floor of the Looney Bin ever again.
On the subject of 4, I uncovered some gems. A moss agate is nothing to write home about, but a Ruby! I found a Ruby! it's worth almost twice as much as the potions I uncovered aboard the ship, even though it's less useful, but still -- a ruby! If a case of portable healing and a tremendously valuable gem aren't enough to earn my keep, I don't know what is!
Thankfully, we are putting in to Cest this evening (10th), and I can trade this maddening boat duty for the freedom of land and horseback. I'm looking forward to swapping plains and hills and even bogs and marshes for the endless expanse of featureless Oceana. Also, I imagine the wizards and our other two bowmen are likely healed up now. I am looking forward to having the second and third lines at full strength again, though i am not sure what I think of having Danelion up and running ---I suppose conscious people are better than unconscious people, even when those people are necromancers...
Also, my ink is again looking to be about spent, and I need a new quill, as well as a proper journal. Also, I think I'll invest in a belt like Sebol has, that holds potions, as well as a few more potions, too ...
October 14th
Recorded October 14th, spans the 11th to the 14th
It's the damnedest thing, really. My eyes are sharper, my ears are much keener. All this climbing up and down holes has peaked my skill at climbing. I've picked up a few tricks in short-range archery from the other bowmen in the party, and I feel like I could march all day without a rest. Most amazing of all, all this dodging of fire and goblins and dogs and everything else seems to have improved my reflexes quite a bit. I guess maybe I haven't been paying attention all this time; maybe I'm finally catching on to the secret of success: it's really just a matter of concentration.
writing on parchment again, for reasons to be enumerated later....
&*^$@)(*&#@)(*&$(^#*&
In other news, I heard an interesting story about a party much like our own that fought to free a druid and a little girl from imprisonment at the hands of a great beast of fire. Quite inspiring, really. We, on the other hand, have done little more than manage to turn ourselves into unskillful cavalry. Minedelt then went on to prove our lack of skill by making an idiot of himself. He bought himself a chicken, then proceeded to release it on a rooftop with the idea of converting it into a pincushion using his bolt-spitting claptrap. I swear, sometimes I think that maybe my human blood is more a curse than a gift; especially if this. er, "fellow" is an example of the best of the best. Minedelt the Torchless. Minedelt the Chickenless. Minedelt the Senseless.
Dark Elves say: Idiocy is just your enemies winning your battles for you. I hope Minedelt doesn't help us out too much...
But Minedelt's Jonahdom doesn't end there, oooohhhhhh no, his evil genius has just begun! Myself, Voo, Al'mil, and Minedelt the Jonah decided to camp outside the city, seeing as we were rather sick of buildings and he wanted to escape the snickers of the townsfolk regarding his defeat at the hands of The Lord of the Feathers. Anyway, Minedelt the Disaster-Prone managed to attract a Shadow! An Undead! An honest-to-Legalcian, no brains, no organs, and no soul Undead! Damn the Fates, the Night, and all its Works! Who knows what this means, really. The clerics at the temple of ... um ... whichever God it was ... where we were healed --Bless His Name, whatever it is, for that-- reported that, in the Post Ebheim locality, undead are much more common then they used to be. But still, a Shadow a mere couple miles out of town? We were lucky to be alive after that!
Beside all that, lets now get to the sad tale of an Anvil, a journal, and the Dwarf who apparently tastes like gelatin-feed.
We decided to head toward the Ashpile that was, until recently, the City of Ebheim. We aren't closing with the city too far (about 1/2 way there, I wouldn't go any closer), which is good. We were informed there was a bandit issue, and we are looking in to perhaps resolving said bandit issue. We found some wrecked caravans, and eventually tracks that lead into the thin, prettyish sort of forest along the road. We were attacked by a bowman who fled into a small cave. That cave turned out to be a trap.
The cave had a number of gates that slammed shut when pressure plates were stepped on, and was clearly designed to catch the unwary. --Indeed, it seemed to have been designed specifically for our little traveling circus in that regard.-- In any case, the plates also got the attention of the cave's denizens: Cubes! Oozes of the cubed variety. 15 by 15 by 15, filled with whatever metal their last meal was wearing. We easily destroyed one such Ooze, and the dwarf found us two more to destroy in the most straightforward way possible: he simply walked into them. --I wonder if someone with a sick wit had put some sort of seasoning on him--
In any case, our assembly destroyed four Oozes total, and found some armor and coin for our trouble. That ought to make even the thrice-eaten Austri pleased; since he has seemed reluctant to set put hammer to anvil lately. He'll need a new anvil, though. You see, while I was securing the perimeter, someone of exceptional silliness decided that the horses and their baggage ought to be kept in the cave entrance-way. When we triggered the traps in the cave --as we a wont to do-- an Ooze was released near them and the party members left there to keep track of them. While Nevyn and Danelion managed to keep track of their mounts, everyone else lost theirs, and all the baggage they left on them to boot. Horse-flesh is known to have a dislike of caves and dungeons, and whatever genius failed to realize that has, I hope, learned his lesson.
In any case, I had left my shiny new journal on my horse, along with tent, bedroll, rations, and everything else of use in camping, on my mount. It seemed to me like that would be safe enough, eh? I guess I learned my lesson. I really must get myself some extradimensional spaces to store things in ...
On the plus side, I managed to get a masterfully made potion belt, and filled it with potions; a fact that has already been shown to have been for the best --and was no small investment of coin, I might add-- Still, losing mount and equipment thereon will be inconvenient, and will definitely slow down overland travel if nothing else ... at least I haven't fallen down any holes since the last time I put pen to parchment..........
October 20th
Well, this is my final piece of parchment. Thankfully, it shouldn't matter. While I was off keeping track of the impedimenta more competently than some others who will remain unnamed because they are Danelion and Nevyn, our horses and equipment was recovered. So, next entry will be in a real live book!
--groannnnnnn, this means I have five parchments worth of transcription to do, grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr--
In any case, there are bandits better organized than most about. The fellow Nevyn helped, Lawrence I believe, said he had done some scouting about and determined that the bandit gang was the Sharptooth Brigands -- There's something to be said for bandits who honestly refer to themselves as such -- In any case, they are broken into three smaller bands as follows; all of whom report to a, ummm, "chap" named Olest the Bronze. The three subsidiaries are (recorded so I won't forget, wow I'm bad with names):
1. Dog's Breath
2. The Assassinvine
3. The Medics of Almier
Current conjecture is as follows:
the first is who we are fighting with, they have a creature called a "howler", that runs fast, makes unpleasant noise, and is more than slightly lethal. The second is named for a bloodthirsty attack plant, and the third group apparently impersonates healers of said God, then takes its dupes for whatever they may be worth.
on a more light-hearted note-- Al'mil got himself captured briefly. While that is not funny by itself, his otherworldly response was to disguise himself as the world's least-muscled, shortest half-orc. He took forever to make said costume, I'm told, and still I can tell its him with certainty after not more than a few minutes. He might have fooled someone in passing, or who was unaware of what half-orcs ought to look like, but not me! Nevertheless, he is rather taken with this green skin he conjured for himself, and he isn't fooling me, so I suppose there mustn’t be any harm in it. Granted, danelion might mistake him for the real thing and attack, but that would be more amusing than dangerous -- really, now, what's the worst that could happen?
Anywho, the howler has been about recently, and many Inns have been attacked, so we've decided to make an effort to defend this one. We've fortified the inn -- barred doors, windows, collected people, ect-- There are also allegedly traitors in the midst, but nothing for it really. Nevyn's magic isn't really suited to interrogation, and neither is he. The howler, however, has a penchant for hiding and running with darkness as cover -- a light spell and a well-placed arrow should solve that problem easily. I am looking forward to adding outsider-extermination to my biography, I must admit.
Speaking of that, night is falling, so I have to get out on to the line. I'm eminently pleased something is going properly for a change!
October 24th
Well, I finally got to add outsider extermination to my biography, and scratched a couple zombies to boot. but that is, perhaps, all the good news to be mustered for this entry.
Well, first things first, with the exception of this journal --I already learned not to keep it on my horse-- I am once again poorer a horse, and everything I had left stowed on it. Further, I am also poorer every coin I had to my name, so that's a drag as well. But far more than that, I am down more than a few slots on the great, cosmic scale of competency....
So, it turns out that my senses are not, perhaps, quite as sharp as I might want them to be. Al'mil disguised as a half-orc turned out to be a doppelganger disguised as al'mil disguised as a half-orc. Though I could see through the half-orc disguise (as good as it was) with relative ease, I couldn't see through it and the disguise underneath to see the doppelganger for what he --she ...it?-- was. This wouldn't be so bad, except that it got me captured, and ultimately everyone else as well.
Damn changelings, damn shape-shifters, doppelgangers, and all the rest of them! May their meals be putrid, their forms be cursed with the deepest filth, and their very souls be sodomized by the vilest of devils!
... but I'm not bitter. Not really.
I should have seen it coming, I guess. I should have seen through the disguises. I should have seen the signs. I should have let Nevyn force the truth out of everyone. I should have been more alert.
... I take it back, I am bitter. Bitter, Offended, Annoyed, Outraged, Discontent, Disgruntled, and Angry!
but being captured was only the beginning. Once tossed in jail, one must make an effort to escape. And so it was done, with the help of someone outside. A key was dropped through an airshaft, and escape was quickly undertaken ... to decidedly mixed results.
More than a few familiar faces greeted us once we exited our main room of imprisonment. --as an aside, there was a small cache of various weapons in the prison, apparently left by oversight. Thusly, we were able to arm ourselves-- In any case, said familiar faces were an Ogre I've never met, but whom Austri apparently killed under rather ... dubious ... circumstances. There were also a number of other people in varying states of decay, though most more advanced along that route than the ogre was. These unliving folk apparently had orders to prevent escape, and executed their orders with some small skill. Though most of us broke free, Austri was not lucky enough to survive --perhaps Legelican decided to punish him for his dubious treatment of the ogre?--
In any case, escape from that single room was then greeted with another room and the louder cries of the Howler. --I forgot to mention, the Howler had been earning his moniker for much of our tenure in prison-- In any case, we wisely elected to not get closer to that noise, and instead moved to rooms that were farther from it -- only to encounter another, less vocal Howler. Destroying this creature was an interesting task, to say the least. Voo made his presence felt, and was rather effective in spite of his injuries. Minedelt the Jonah felt that heroism was called for against this creature, and so attempted some and consequently joined Austri in the afterlife. The creature was dispatched, though Sebol was also heavily injured.
A trapdoor in the ceiling offered the only obvious way of escape, and so we availed ourselves of it. Nevyn and Beleg were dispatched to dispatch the bandits found in the room above, and succeeded in doing so. --That reminds me to remember to prepare Hold Portal, just as soon as I can manage to hold three spells in my mind at once-- In any case, our seized equipment was found in a chest, and so re-equipped we were able to hold off our would-be prison-keepers until they chose to flee...
... which leads me to the part of this that I don't understand at all. We emerged from the prison to find an ogre present outside, and since one of the bandits had mentioned an ogre during his retreat, it stands to reason this large hulking "fellow" was him. In any case, there was also a pair of dwarves leading a bunch of horses -- apparently sent to recover us. We fled the scene with them, returning to the now-abandoned Swift Brew Inn, and here it is that we are camped.
The dwarves look, well, like dwarves. they are covered in metal armor, shields, weapons, and the like. I don't know what to think of them, but there it is -- we are free, and with their help. So I suppose they can't be all that bad ...
I suppose I ought to be more upset over the loss of Minedelt and Austri than I am, but then again ... so what? Everyone dies, death is merely the predestined consequence of life. I was never too fond of Minedelt, and didn't care either way for Austri, so I suppose that's that. We left their bodies behind, hopefully they won't be made into anything ... unnatural. That's really, I suppose, my one inkling regret--they deserved better than to be left to their fate in such a place.
...oh well, it couldn't be helped. I need a nap...
October 25th
It's obvious we won't survive by our wits alone.
Consider the following:
Al'mil has been arrested, charged, and convicted of murder
Sebol and Nevyn have been convicted of manslaughter
the former was been shipped to some prison colony this morning; and sebol and nevyn were exiled from Cest in the same breath (though by land, not by sea)
Further,
Minedelt and Austri are dead
our association cannot hold coin, good, or favor to its name with any effectiveness at all.
Something must be done about this.
But I am getting ahead of myself......
I awoke the morning of the 24th feeling ... refreshed. Refreshed in mind, body, and spirit. I feel tougher ... the past month's punishments seems somehow, less punishing now. My magic is improving, as well -- I find that I can hold three spells in my mind at a time; which is exciting. Further than that, I dropped a candle while packing this morning, and caught it almost before it had fallen half a foot ... clearly it isn't my imagination, my reflexes are improving! More than that, however, my agoraphobia is fading ... I feel at ease around people now; more lithe in society, more nimble in crowds and with words. Seeing myself as I am now, it seems a sin, really, all this time I've been wasting -- But without the experience I've gained, taking risks, taking responsibility for failure, how could I have understood?
In any case, after my refreshing awakening, we learned a bit about these dwarves, they are Vestri and ... um ... blast, what the heck was that other one's name? "Ogmar" maybe, "Olgar?" "Olmec?" O-something -- I'm so bad with names... In any case, another adventuring party was informed via Lawrence (fellow from the ship with shakes -- which seems to be plaguing the area around Cest, all the more reason to scram; but I am once again getting ahead of myself) that we were out and about. A rogue in that party came into possession of a key to our cells, and passed it to the dwarves to pass to us. all in all, a bit miraculous, but I'll take it over dead or insane or arrested or undead or ...
... anyway ...
We advanced toward Cest, stopping at the Swift Brew Inn to liquidate most of our goods and play some cards. Voo won a Pearl (I suspect it is a Pearl of Power -- A kingly Gift, indeed!); and I lost my share. not much more to say on that ...
When we arrived in Cest, we split up --something we will not be doing without some kind of plan in the future -- if I have anything to say about it; but again I get ahead of myself...-- to do various things. Al'mil went to report to the lord and lady; Danelion went off to do ... well ... whatever he does, groom his cat or whatever. Voo went of to find an exceptionally large stick to hit things with, apparently inspired to do so by the recent encounters with ogres. As for me, I went (with Voo, initially) to get slightly better weapons. Since my goal of obtaining some kind of extra-dimensional storage is clearly impossible in the current climate --another thing to fix, though I am again ahead of myself...--, I might as well buy something I'll get a chance to use. I bought a masterfully made longsword: It's blade has a fine edge, and the flat of the sword shines to a reflectivity that matches my shield! I couldn't be more pleased with it, really ...
Then we met with the other party of fellows from Ebheim, who filled us in on the story of the dwarves and our release, and so that was that -- though I stayed in the tavern and ate; Al'mil did the whole meeting thing.
On an entirely different subject, I was issued a Ring of Sustenance ... it means no need to eat or sleep more than 2 hrs a night, except that my mind would still need the rest ... I don't think I'll keep this ring; I'll sell it for the party's behalf, or give it to Sebol, who wanted it if I recollect properly ...
Then we went to a restful sleep ... or not. Danelion was attacked in his sleep by a goblin assassin of sorts, who had him very close to becoming an object of his profession; but Nevyn saved the day and then rushed off to see if he couldn't help Al'mil and Sebol ruin the whole day-saving thing...
... to my own credit or discredit, I slept through all this. As did Voo, the Paladin, and the cleric. Further, I differed all police inquiry to the Paladin. Voo made quite the speech in court, though, it was rather something -- I wonder if he has some kind of noble education in his past?
Al'mil, Sebol, and Nevyn chased the goblin into the night. they failed to catch it, but decided instead to attack a set of unsavory fellows in the docks district. They were promptly arrested and tried the next morning, to the end listed above. Guilt or innocence aside, the imperial question to face in the present is: now what?
... "Now what?" Indeed ...
Perhaps I should retire -- quit while I'm ahead? Devna'ril didn't know when to quit, and so he died for his experiments. Perhaps I should learn from the mistake and just settle down?
Perhaps Not.
In any case, it's clear that we need a more organized method of dealing with ourselves than the current anarchic regime. I'm not fond of playing watchman, but since some sort of order is clearly needed, something must be done. We need a captain. But who?
I can do it, though I would rather not, I have the brain and a little bit of experience, I guess, but still -- not what I signed up for ...
Voo would make a passable, if impulsive, leader ... though is commitment to neutrality and freedom might make that unlikely.
Nevyn and Sebol are disgraced by Exile, and are ineligible for the post just now -- lest their ill-repute rub off on us all.
No one would call a Paladin untrustworthy, but if he leads who knows what sort of mad, impractical quest to destroy Dracoliches and free empires we'll end up on.
The new dwarven cleric has trouble speaking clearly, let alone leading ...
And Danelion ... well, he and the Paladin can sort out what sort of post he should have driven through his heart.
So, at the vary least, I will be calling a meeting tomorrow, and we will be settling three issues:
1. Do we need a captain? If so, who?
2. What sort of ground rules for moving and doing things should there be?
3. Now What do we do?
In answer to 1, I've already mentioned. as to #2 -- I think being deferential to standing authorities in towns (where the administration isn't obviously corrupt -- our paladin can be helpful with learning that) is a good place to start. not breaking into small groups is another wise move, and maybe also some kind of more organized group moniker and Modus Operandi is in called for.
Now then, I have at last caught up with myself ....
As to what to do now ...
Well, getting farther from Ebheim is probably wise, since it is apparently becoming a focus for evil and pain in this neck of the woods. The paladin won't like that, but there's pleanty of evil to go around and he can find some other vile fools to break the heads of ...
The bandits we've been crossing swords and witless maneuvering with have been stowing coin and such separately from goods, leading one to believe that there is a stash of coin somewhere, along with bandit leaders to axe. We've a score to settle with them, so maybe doing that would be worthwhile.
Also, the rewards of this whole show are a bit thin. For all the life-and-death stuff we've been up to, we ought to have something to show for it aside from casualties ...
Then again, clearing Nevyn and Sebol for reentry into Cest would be useful, too. Maybe a bandit raid with confirmable results might solve all of the above? money, a good name, and a good deed all in one? Even a Paladin would like that!
At the very least, however, I must vote that we get on the road again! no languishing about town without a reason! let's hit the road and see the world! there will be evil to extinguish, fortunes to be made, and new sights to see if we would just go out and travel!
October 30th
It's been an interesting few days, to say the least ...
October 26th
A Day of Many Meetings
I awoke to find a note under the door from a fellow named "Steadler," who wished to meet with our "association" -- this is the last time I'll refer to it as such so sarcastically, I hope-- in regards to a matter that went unnamed at the time. Having stowed that note, I proceeded to wake everyone else up and call a meeting of my own. After an hour or so of collecting people together, eating, and otherwise preparing, we went out into the slums of outer Cest to collect our exiled compatriots, and then to a smallish sort of clearing near the lightly forested area outside Cest, to consider the events of the past few days.
Since I called this meeting, I also took it upon myself to adjudicate said meeting. Drawing my greatsword with a flourish --wise barbarian's words: nothing establishes authority like a sword almost as tall as it's wielder--, I proceeded to outline the obvious problems with recent events: arrests, exiles, imprisonments, and casualties. These facts aren't in debate, and so no debate was had. After a bit of discussion, it was decided that our party shall, in the future, always obey the laws of whatever principality we happened to be in, as well as it's legitimate figures of authority, provided that the Paladin signs off on them.
The second matter at hand, then, is group organization. Organizing isn't my forte, nor is it my favorite activity in the world, but its become clear that some is needed. I called for the election of a Captain --I don't believe I just said that: I, who chafe under the restrictions of even the most marginal towns calling for a party Captain?!?-- and posed the question to the group. I was careful to note that I do not want a military-style watch captain or commander, but merely a focus for the group's energy and goals; someone to set agendas and speak first on the issues.
I selected Sebol, the human scout, at random to speak first, and simply moved around the circle starting with him, to decide if one was necessary. After some clarification, it was agreed that a Captain was a good idea. Then I went around the party again collecting votes from and recording them, being careful not to vote myself since I had called the meeting. Ultimately, a tie was had between the Paladin and ... myself.
((OOC: the vote tally is sketched in the margin of this page as follows:))
Voo: I
Boneguy: I
Paladin: II
Me: II
Paladin:II
Me: IIII/
I'm not big on leadership, really -- I'm not big on people at all. How on earth did I get elected to be Captain? In all seriousness, what sort of mad joke are Lords Brunswienin and Legelican playing on me? I mean, following a Paladin wouldn't be all bad, though crusading against who-knows-what isn't a path to a long and healthy life; though I suppose it might get a bit grating after a while. That Voo got a vote is rather interesting, I think, since he has absolutely no interest in the job -- but then neither do I. I guess, I suppose, that I won because I was the first to take action..... this is really Al'mil's forte, though he isn't here to run the show -- and given his recent actions, I suppose that is just as well...
Anywho, as I've already hinted at, after some further remarks, I was elected to be ringmaster of this circus. I feel that fallowing a paladin at this point, with the great big black spot that is Ebhiem so close by, following a paladin might not be ... "practical".
Thankfully, I didn't let my doubts about the situation overwhelm me, and so marched on to the real, true reason for this meeting I've called: what on earth to do next.
putting on my best authority facade --I was once or twice a captain of a guard shift, so I just projected that image, at least until I develop a better suited one-- I started to suggest a number of points, beginning with our score to settle with the bandits, and then an airborne interruption.
And so meeting number two began with the entrance of one "Vilspar Theram." The fellow stands somewhat taller than me, and everyone else for that matter, at maybe 2/3 a foot taller than I. Further, he has ... wings. Black wings, like some kind of undead angel or justicar. He has feathers for hair, and the gaze of a bird -- at once both vacant and insightful. Perhaps adding to that second effect is the fact, initially suspected and later confirmed, that he is a monk.
In any case, I noticed him and instructed him to identify himself -- at sword-point. He backed away in a stance of surrender, but that is meaningless when one's weapons are merely fist and claw? maybe wing?. The fellow then stated his name, stumbled a bit as he identified his ...err... "species" , and stated his interest in destroying the bandits to the south that we had so recently traded witlessness with.
I decided, persuant to my new position, that we should probably let him listen and finish our discussions, then we could vote on him and everything else. After the Paladin's approval (paladins have quite the eyes for seeing evil), Vilspar was voted into the group. further, we decided to suspend any further decision-making until after meeting with the staedler character.
Thus, at noon, meeting number three was called at the estate of one Lord Staedler. Those of us not exiled from the city proper were in attendance, and some prior information on the staedler family revealed their status as lesser nobles, somewhat marginalized by the current administration. After a surreptitious approval from the Paladin --and wittily putting my undercommon to use on his Lordship; karma points for me-- we discovered a few things:
1. Lord Staedler wants us to find a druid informant of his who is named jauffery, was last seen in St. Marie, and is missing as of late.
2. Lord Staedler is not as lucid as one might prefer one's employers. He offered us a paltry sum of coin to assist him, which was later argued up a bit. he also offered, however, to assist in getting our exiled comrades reinstated, so there was really little debate over the matter once we had taken our leave.
Octoer 27th
we spent the 27th traveling, as well as the much of the 28th. while the 27th was not enlightening, save for revealing Vilspar's ignorance of all useful information regarding flightless society --he's worse than me and voo, easily, and we aren't exactly the outgoing types--. the 28th revealed a farmhouse and the village, one in the morning and one at noon. The farmhouse has been attacked and occupied by a variety of undead for whom no obvious creator was apparent.
The outhouse at the homestead had an apparently-constipated ghoul for its occupant, who was dispatched. The home's sole occupant was a large centipede that had apparently just wandered in and gotten stuck. The barn, however, was filled with zombies of many shapes and sizes -- genders and ages (including, I believe, the homestead's misfortunate owners). The barn was edifice to 15 unliving occupants and one gnawed-upon cow, and apparently an amazingly offensive insult to Nevyn-- the gnome stepped into the scene, raised his symbol of luck, and with a single utterance of holiness, turned them all to dust. it was quite a sight, really, seeing the complete obliteration of some many of the damned!
Upon reaching St. Marie (which was preparing for some sort of festival), we asked around after the druid and found him not. we scouted around and found a game trail, which was soon traced to an orcish encampment. The encampment sent out a warparty just after we arrived, and so we agreed to waylay them while their arms were divided. The orcs were beaten with ease --my greatsword unpleasantly disposed of a few of them--, and we set back towards St. Marie shortly after. Since none of us could think of any other settlement for a warparty to be attacking, we did this with haste, arriving just in time to defend the city from the orcs, complete defending the latter and destroying the former. with that accounting for the totality of the orcish settlement, we rested in the village that night, being well fed and looked after and generally treated in a capital fashion.
I myself spent the evening telling slightly-embellished tales of our previous accomplishments that don't involved being captured or otherwise made to look stupid. This is something that Al'mil would definitely have been better at than I, but what is to be done? I ate the good food, and drank in the fine ale and the admiring glances of the young woman -- an activity made no less enjoyable by her apparent status as the only young woman in town.
October 28th
The 28th saw our return to the more substantial stone building that stood at the center of the orc camp. It was clearly an ancient elven building of some kind, and was home to much magic and a very annoying, insane fellow who called himself "bill." Bill was behind a protective spell of substantial power, and was very proud of that fact. He also was quite annoying, and very interested in taunting the paladin and the ethno-idiotic grey elven bone-dancer. After a while, he vanished without leaving a reference, and much head-scratching ensued about how to get past his magic wall.
ultimately, the rooms to either side of the wall proved to be the method. when closed, they shifted to extradimensional spaces of some kind --judging by the stories of the paladin, cleric, and sebol-- the extra-dimensional space the three went through was a maze complete with a minotaur; a beast not to be trifled with! they defeated the brute, and opened the way for us to face another magical barrier: a series of magic walls locked by riddles. some of these riddles were easy, some were not --especially the one about traveling over water without flying, underwater without getting wet: a shadow! who'd have guessed?-- The dwarves didn't have the apatite for puzzling, though, and so guessed at the first few letters, taking magical attacks from the barriers when they guessed wrong, but also speeding the process up for us. The room beyond the barriers was an ancient library of sorts, though the books were all destroyed, there were magical weapons and objects of various types in chests, under desks, and in corners. We appropriated all these, of course, and made our way back to St. Marie; made a last look for Jauffrey, and then spent today traveling back to Cest. We should arrive tomorrow about 10:00 am, and that will be that.
The captured materials contain a longsword that radiates magic, and who's blade has an impressive motif of diamond and triangular etchings; also the blade's faint blue hue is striking when combined with the weapon's high polish. I think that I'll claim that weapon as my share of the take -- paired with my shield, I should make quite the memorable last visage for my enemies!
...I'm not sure what I think of this Vilspar fellow, he is a child in a lot of ways; unjaded and unaware of almost everything in the world. we'll see how he develops, though I worry that he might be making bizarre inferences based on his culture's norms rather than the norms of the world-at-large. In any case, I'll have to be careful around him: there is no question he could defeat me in hand-to-hand combat, and I'm likely to have enough trouble as Captain as it is ...
I'm thinking that, now that our group has done something unequivocally valuable (saving a small village is worth something, yeah?), maybe we should develop some kind of group symbol or marker. I was thinking a red armband, maybe mine might have a slight blue or white trim to mark me as captain. nothing fancy or pretentious, just something to set us apart as a group and compatriots: a true "association" without any sarcasm! ah well, we'll see how this whole business goes, I guess: no need for me to be frivolous, I've enough to think about now...
November 1st
This whole Captain gig isn't everything it’s cracked up to be. Between balancing the books, ensuring fair distribution of equipment, and trying to provide some semblance of direction to the world's most fractious adventuring association; I may never sleep again.
In any case, I need to be brief; there's a lot going on, and the day is still young.
We arrived back in Cest on the 30th, as expected and without incident. The day was given over for people to use as they pleased, while myself and Danelion went to work drinking heavily for the sake of scientific investigation. I finished my share of the ID work early, and left the more skillful Danelion to drink himself into oblivion in the name of Party Progress. Ultimately, the weapons were all Identified and either distributed or sold; with the party being found cashless and indebted to some of its members thereafter.
what did I do, you ask? I finished my ID work, then went to liquidate the materials no one wanted, as well as trade in my longsword (which served well in its short tenure as weapon-of-choice) for a masterfully-crafter greatsword. the sword's motif is of a strongly linear design, and is symmetric. It's quite the blade, and I'm looking forward to cleaving some deserving fool with it. So that, plus the marvelous magical longsword from the elven ruin, I've never owned such a suite of powerful equipment!
As a mysterious aside, the paladin felt duty-bound to report to lord Staedler, who (according to the trustworthy dwarf) was his usual bizarre self; and who imparted on the paladin a note to "Mr. Mama". Who, exactly, this is isn't entirely clear. Voo mentioned his last name could be shortened into "Moma" or "Mama", but seems to believe that the note cannot be for him.
Anywho, the paladin, Vilspar the Feathered Monk, and others were anxious to make haste and visit revenge on the Bandits responsible for our brief imprisonment. I am okay with this, and it was done. We left the 31st, reached the Swift Brew Inn without incident, and made some simple inquiries. The plague is getting worse to the north was about all anyone had to say. We then proceeded south and encountered a noble's carriage from ebheim. We gathered that it was unlikely that anyone would be fleeing at this late a date, and soon it was revealed that the occupants and propulsion of this carriage were no long with the living in any way save proximity, and so we made ready to destroy them.
The horse was a zombie of sorts, and not dangerous so much as durable. Nevyn --for whom my respect is growing, his flash of disinsight in Cest aside-- turned a couple of the undead occupants away, though he had no effect on Lord Bloodson himself, who someone had taken the time to mummify. The very visage of an undead was quite the sight, indeed it was more than Ogmar and Danelion could take!
...a Necromancer scared to paralysis by a mummy! hahahahahahahahaha; it's almost too ludicrous to imagine! ahahahahahahahahaha! ...
... but I digress ...
In any case, when Danelion finally pulled his awed-by-undead act together he gave us some decidedly useful advice: holy water and attacks are great, but fire is better. While he could have told us that sooner, later is better than never and the horror and its mount were quickly undone in flame. Also, quite luckily, no one in the party became ill with the mummy's curse, which is rather unpleasant and highly incurable -- at least, so says Danelion the Scared Stiff --get it? ahahahahahahahaha ---
In any case, the carriage and its contents were taken back to the swift brew almost without incident -- the smell attracted some rats, which were annoying but easily dispatched. We found a buyer at the swift brew in for the carriage who offered us 850, or 800 if we cleaned it ... so we let them clean it. Cheeky bastards, I swear...
We passed the night at the swift brew uneventfully, and set out again on the morning of the 1st to see what we could scare out of the woods in terms of bandit fare. Sebol and I found a trail, as well as the tracks of a bandit who must have been keeping watch. we pursued the bandit along the trail into a pit trap which I was clumsy in avoiding, though Sebol was somewhat faster on his feat and caught himself before he fell in. -- I, however, have learned from previous mistakes and found myself safely at the bottom thanks to feather fall-- In any case, we came upon the stronghold of our previous imprisonment, and bandits awaiting to attack us upon our arrival thereupon.
The battle with the Bandits was rather one-sided. 5 are now dead, 2 are captured, and their equipment -- which is of rather a good quality, they must be evolving into some kind of more advanced force than mere gangs-- is captured. Unfortunately, the two we took alive proved to have a "plan" of sorts, and yelled for Thwack the Very Large to come out and explain to us how we should be leaving.
Well, we prepared quickly and ambushed Thwack as he came outside the stronghold. Most used arrows or spells, Voo summoned a small Fire Elemental. Thwack was injured, then flew into a rage. Then the cleric friend of the Paladin did something so perfectly useful that it must have been divinely inspired: he cast a spell that calmed the creature! With his rage undone, and exhausted from the brief effort, we attacked him again -- and Vilspar rushed in to destroy him...
...and then he was gone. Vilspar was killed with a single blow: cleaved cleanly in two -vertically- with a force that might have broken eight or nine militiamen. It was an unfortunate end for someone who, though child-like, seemed to at least be trying to do well by himself and in the world.
No other who wasn't already near Thwack approached him closely after that. Thwack was eventually unmade by repeated pounding from the Paladin, his Cleric assistant, and spells from Danelion. For the final act, I ran up and shot an arrow into the beast's throat! it was an end befitting a murderer: to be killed by the erstwhile companions of his most recent victim.
I ordered that the materials from Thwack's body, as well as from Vilspar's, be gathered and added to our company's stores. While I hate to be so ... callous about this, time is of the essence, and action must be taken while the light endures.
Since Thwack's defeat, I feel ... sharper. Everything seems just a bit easier, more instinctive, more satisfying; It is as though I've suddenly developed keen senses and instincts.... Clearer in mind and soul: more refined and sensitive; less hurried and rushed. I've taken on a sense that perhaps things might not be as urgent as they seem; like my sense of who I am has solidified. I haven't tested it yet, but I am can feel my reflexes tightening, my vision sharpening ... I feel like I can find ... no, that I have finally found, North.
