Quaff The Raven

Author’s note: This journal is the chronicle of my latest D&D adventure. It has very little to do with cocktails, but I’m a person of more than one dimension. You are welcome to read it and follow it. We play every other week, so I’ll update about that often. I put this online for the sake of my friends, and to showcase some of my other writing.
If you landed here from a search engine, welcome to Quaff the Raven. After you’ve had your fill of the RPG fun, check out my main site, dedicated to cocktailianism and other alcohol-enjoyment information, if you’re of a legal age for things like that.
To those who know only The Raven, it shouldn’t surprise you that I play. If you didn’t know that was the case, then I guess I’m showing my geek card.
Another player has joined in the logging. Find the Journal of Thaddius here.
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From the Journal of Ravondius, Mage (appr*) of LongThorne, Son of Parents murdered by evil, On his journey to Ghenderlinh, and of the exploits of his Traveling Companions…

(added 11/12/09)

Though it feels like many, many weeks have passed since I have written, I know it has only been a few days.  Those few days, however, have caused me to re-evaluate my fellows, and question my purpose on this quest.  We set out from the strange town early the next morning, heavy one silent henchman who followed the cleric.  I wondered at the time how Thaddius, a drunked wretch with hardly enough sense to keep himself alive, had managed to gain a follower in this remote land, but questioning the cloaked figure was impossible.  He seemed willing to act as a pack mule, too, which we certainly had use for.

We traveled south for a few days, toward the burial ground of Capt. Hewen marked on the map we liberated from the Hewn Palace.   Our progress slowed, though, when we came across an encampment in the middle of a vast plain.  A quick reconnaissance by Siddhartha confirmed what I had suspected; we had caught up with the skeletal masked man who first confronted us in Ghenderlinh.

This man had given us a very difficult time when last we met, so we took time to plan our attack.  I cast a spell which shrouded the monk from common eyes, and the thief, too.  The monk crept into the tent of our enemy, while the thief took a position of ambush amongst his daemonic henchmen.  My friends made quick work of the encampment, but we all stopped our attack when we noticed my magik had no effect on the masked man.  A few tense moments passed before I realized that he did not intend to kill us.

I spoke to him, hoping that he could understand my words.  He relaxed his stance slightly, which lightened my heart.  After a few short introductions, Thaddius convinced him to sit and parlay with us over a particularly strong keg of ale.  This campfire chat revealed much about our quest, whilst revealing nothing of real use.  To be sure, he caused more confusion than he removed.  He is a strange fellow, and I could barely hide my contempt for his condescension.  Had I the ability to go through it again, I likely would have taken the monk’s place in the tent and killed this impudent creature outright. I question the motives of any being who summons daemons to do his bidding.

He bade us leave his company for the time being, and sent us off with warnings against courses of action that would raise Fion Ret.  Personally, I would relish the chance to see this lost island, but that desire is not strong enough to continue the quest.  My purpose is still to discover the source of the trouble in Ghenderlinh; the masked man said I should look to Reaver. how does the shapeshifter fit into all of this?  It is true that we met her in the same town, on the same night as we met this man and his troop.  I know not which side to believe, and continue on with a healthy distrust of any person I meet.  Too often in this task have I been led astray by the council of those I barely know.

We rested, uneasily, in the man’s camp, and left at sunrise.  Our path was south, and our trek was uninhibited by further distractions.  We came to a large, expansive cemetery, which, by the looks of the walls, had occupied this place for hundreds or thousands of years.  Strangely, for the age of the walls, the area did not look neglected, though we could find no evidence of visitors.

As I am wont to do at the gates of a place where the dead are housed, I called forth energies to seek out evidence of the walking dead.  My terror was complete when the cleric’s manservant began to glow a faint blue. I cannot say what happened next; my recollection only returns restricted from movement by the monk’s considerable strength.  When I regained my senses, I searched timidly  for evidence that the foul creature was still in our midst; convinced it was gone, I lashed out at Thaddius.

This fool had taken the powers given to him by whatever deity he worships and used it to create an abomination.  It took all of my will power to resist destroying him on the spot; my hands began to crackle with the same energy that had allowed me to destroy the orcish patrol.  At the last second, a nagging voice – possibly that of Karyn – convinced me that I should not wipe this whelp from the earth. Instead, I reached out with my magical energy and held him fast in place.  My dagger drawn, I approached the imbecile, but found my path blocked by the fair Karyn; I assured her that I did not intend to spill his blood, and requested (politely) that she step out of my way. I then made it clear to Thadduis that I would not tolerate the creation of the undead within my fellows.  A quick scan of his thoughts revealed something which I am ashamed to say I didn’t determine earlier: he really was ignorant of the implications of creating such a creature.  I must remember not to attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.

I released the wretch from his magikal bondage, at which point he lashed out at me.  Regaining my composure, I did not punish him for his further impudence; humans, with their short life spans, have not the time to develop civilized manners.  His temper aside, I am sure I have made my point to his underdeveloped intelligence.

More Later…

(Added 10/08/09)

Day 100

Strange things follow us, and stranger things we follow. I have died, awakened, fought giant insects and invisible foes, and released devastating power  I didn’t know I had– Where to start?

Immediately after escaping that horrid excuse for transportation, we headed up river. The trip was largely inconsequential, save for a few tense interactions between Thaddius and Chimiteki; he can be somewhat -unfortunate- in his selection of words when his ale supplies are low.

Karin first noticed that our surroundings were changing. We stopped to examine the site of a recent battle when the magnitude of the change became all too apparent — I was checking the wounds on a deceased orc when I wandered too close to the river and became the targeted lunch of an gigantic crustacean.  Siddhartha – thankfully – put his fist through the carapace of the beast before it could drag me into the river.

The flora and fauna of this region grow to immense dimensions. It did not surprise me, then, when we found a giant ant hill in the center of an ancient ruin. These insects had tunneled throughout the cellars of the ruins  –  as they are unintelligent beasts, they were prevented from getting into some of the more secure subterranean dwellings.  At the end of one of the tunnels, we discovered a door, unused for many, many centuries. It took some strength – which the monk provided handily – to open the door and reveal the secrets kept within. A man, desiccated so completely that the sight of his bones chilled my heart, sat at a desk -pen still in hand- writing a journal. The language was very similar to the older journals I’d read in the Hewn Palace.

This man’s writings indicated that the ancient civilization was responsible for the gigantic wildlife in the area.  They had been experimenting with a magical fertilizer when it got out of hand and poisoned the land.  This man died in his cellar when a colony of ants, likely pests in someone’s courtyard, enlarged by magic, overran his town and trapped him in this small room under his house. Starvation – especially with the sound of those insects scraping at the door – is not a pleasant method of expiration.

After some further exploration, which yielded nothing other than the drunk Thaddius’ incessant caterwauling about hidden liquor, we took our leave of that doomed city.  It is a sad thing when an entire civilization must die because of a lack of respect for magick.  Still, we found nothing there about Hewen or Fion Ret, and so moved on.

Our two day journey back to the shore was interrupted by a band of marauding orcs. They attacked at night as the thief stood watch.  I was unhappy to be the first one roused by this rouge, but his character is one of impeccable skill and timing, but little valor. The monk and the assassin (if you can call her one, I do not think she has ever successfully killed anyone) went forward from our position to reconnoiter the enemy patrol.  This separation left the rest of us flatfooted when the second force attacked from behind.

I know not in what manner these words may be read, but I feel I must now provide some background on my century. When I was born, they looked at me and said “What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy…” No – sorry – those damnable bards The Underclothed Maids have wound their way into my mind again. Someday I shall smite them. — My youth was fairly normal by elven standards. I will not bore you with details. The relevant part enters at my 50th year, just as I was starting to appreciate existence as more than leisure. My brother, Falconis, and I were off in the forest, trapping an animal for which to feed our family, when the skies of the realm grew dark.

Though we were as at home in the wild as anywhere, we both made haste to return home – this was an evil foreboding, and we did not wish to leave our family alone. We arrived at the grove in time to see the disgusting, decrepit army advancing over the hill. The soldiers – if you can call them that –  a terrible mix of the recently dead and the not-so-recently dead, in all states of decay swarmed our home with a swiftness I had never seen, and have not seen since.

I will always be haunted by the sights I beheld that night. My mother, skilled with a bow as with the land, stood fast upon our threshold, and dispatched hundreds of these undead warriors before they overcame her, sinking their putrid teeth into her luminescent skin, tearing her limb from limb. My father, an expert in moving undetected, sought to secret my young sister into the forest. My brother and I watched in abject horror as the necromancer appeared before them and drained the very essence of life from my father. Our horror turned terror when the vile creature gazed at us. Controlled as they were, this mindless phalanx turned their collective attention on us — we ran, so quickly, so focused on simply escaping our only home. I know not what became of my sister; ’tis something that haunts me to this day. That I was able to keep up with my brother is still astounding to me; I had never felt such fear. Reaching exhaustion, I spotted a light in the distance – knowing not what fate awaited us ahead but knowing all to well the cursed army at our heels, we stumbled, broken and near blind, toward the source.

A cleric, of an order I know not, stood over us, and in mighty fashion displayed the very will of his god and saved us from the terrible fate of our family. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, and my brother an I were left in a place we’d never been.  We journeyed for weeks – always away from our home; I slept very poorly – my dreams invaded by the undead army that killed my parents. My brother was much stronger than I in this sense – had he not been with me, my fears would have overtaken me and I likely would have perished.  In all honesty, it wrenched my heart when he decided to leave our group on our current adventure; my companions do not know how much I depend of them emotionally.

After months of travel, we arrived at LongThorne. Determined to prevent such unholy fates from befalling other innocent people, we both began our clerical studies. My brother, always the stronger of us, took well to the training; I myself did not take to the intense religious education required for their curriculum. My faith in deities was forever shaken; though I had witnessed the power of our the faithful that night in the forest, my ability to recognize the good in any higher being was forever sundered. I soon parted ways with the monastery, and sought a new path in the city.

This brought me to the academy, and the rest is, more or less, history. It was these events that came flashing back to me when the orcs raided our camp. I fought fiercely, but my constitution was too fragile, and the foes felled me in combat. As I lay there, able only to focus on the hole that exposed my viscera to the forest turf, I glimpsed that fateful day again, and I saw my sister, frightened stiff at the sight of our father desiccated, and the terror in her eyes. I tried to reach her, but was ripped back to existence; Karin, my druidic companion, had paused, at great peril, to continue my life. She’ll never know the extent of my gratitude.

Reality quickly shouted out to me, and I found myself in a position of great strategic value.  The brutes that struck me down had advanced beyond my near-corpse, fighting now with their backs to me.  As I reconnoitered my advantages, I looked through the current battle at the primary force of the orcs: nearly two dozen were marching toward my companions, and I was the only one who knew.

Though I’ve never been a dexterous man, my natural grace allowed me to slip through the battle immediately adjacent and to focus, quickly, on the new onslaught. My brush with death created a rage inside me that I used to shape the very fabric of the space around us – I drew the heat of every source in that forest into the palm of my hand and released a sphere of fire that completely incinerated the advancing patrol.  The flash of flame so frightened our ambushers that they disengaged and fled.

We licked our wounds and continued or march south. A few days later we discovered a rudimentary settlement, populated with very dead orcs – the same orcs that had ambushed us. Though my companions seem unaware, I am fairly sure that the same demons we fought in Ghenderlinh and the Hewn Palace were responsible for the massacre. We still seek the same bone-visaged rider that we’ve been chasing this whole time.

A week or so more of journeying brought us to the small town where we now rest. The denizens of this place are particularly xenophobic. They seem to rely on trade, but revile outsiders.  One man, the shopkeep, bears mentioning – his wares are, for lack of better diction, odd. I should like to examine the contents of his shop more closely, though I’m not sure that he is the most trustworthy of men.

Upon arrival, Zil set out to seek this shopkeep -not the man himself, but the man who held the position in this town.  He sought a piece of purple cloth; the significance of this escaped me at the time, but I then recalled the monk had needed such an item to meditate at the mountain palace. Odd that the thief should have remembered this detail: I have misgivings about his motives, but I will keep those concerns to myself.

I found my way into the local public house (where Thaddius was already intoxicated) and was shortly followed by the rest of my fellows. As we sat and consumed a terribly weak ale, the skies darkened; dark is not the best  description, perhaps.  A very thick fog rolled in, shortening our vision to less than an arm’s length. The bar keep confirmed that this fog was unnatural; I suggested that we take up defensive positions in the pub.  Unable to see beyond the eves of the building, Karin called up a great wind a blew back some of the encroaching fog. Nothing revealed, Siddhartha cautiously ventured outside…much to his dismay.

A force, composed of air, took to attacking my companion.  Unable to see the being, I could not target it, and sat, unable to help.  After getting his wits about him, the monk was able to make quick work of his unseen assailant. This was fortuitous, as not even the charming Karin was able to put an arrow into the otherworldly force. Slightly bruised, Siddhartha dispelled the thing; the fog nearly immediately lifted.

We retired soon after this battle.  I am wary to sleep in this town, but I must recharge my energy. I am still pulsing with the thrill of summoning the power of the sun: I will meditate on this feeling, and hopefully I can gain some insights to help with my spell crafting. Some day I hope to be able to hear the voice of my parents again, even from beyond the grave.

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(Added 10/08/09)

Day 89

I cannot tarry long.  The journey from RiverDeep has been hard on my constitution.  Upon arriving in the pirate city, my fellows and I attempted to locate the psionicist, Reaver, who had sent us on this fools errand.  Having no luck, Siddhartha returned to the church to inform the priest of the state of his missing parishioners, and I went to see my mercantile friend.  The old man offered little in the way of guidance, and we gathered, bereft of direction, at the Drunken Dragon.  It was then that I realized my magic compass had gone missing; there will be a cold, dark fate for whomever is responsible for it’s absence.

Our commiseration at the Dragon was short-lived.  Shortly after our arrival a small ruction began in the corner of that dank pit; Thaddius, in his stupor, decided to investigate.  Comically, for us, he discovered that the row was caused by none other than our long lost Chimiteki. My joy was  quickly overshadowed by the recollection of being strangled by an insectoid plant, but the monk judged her to be the person she claimed to be.  I do not know why I trust the monk so much; his wisdom is called into question every time he wastes our money at those meaningless shrines.

After attempting to glean (with little success and less satisfaction) the whereabouts of our prodigal assassin, we made the decision to travel to the first town marked on the map we spirited from the Hewn Palace.  It is due to this course of action that I find myself again on a boat; I have had to tie strong knots in my cloak to keep it from whipping in the wind –I’ve already burst five on them, knots that is.

We make landfall at daybreak.  I cannot wait to be free of this bloody, cursed boat.

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From the Journal of Ravondius, Mage (appr*) of LongThorne, Son of Parents murdered by evil, On his journey to Ghenderlinh, and of the exploits of his Traveling Companions…

Day 84

It has been more than a week since I’ve last written.  My companions and I, most of us anyway, are a Day’s travel from RiverDeep.  We left the Hewn Castle a few days after meeting with our new acquaintance, Nymh. The expedited circumstances of our leaving will be recalled later in this manuscript, but for now, I must tell of the adventure that has been laid out before us.

The impudent whelp that calls himself Nymh claims to be the son of a dragon.  If it were not for Siddhartha’s willingness to vouchsafe for the wretch, I might well have taken my chances at removing him forcefully from this plane of existence.  My earlier identification of him as the master of the great hall was premature; he is, like us, a traveler.  He was able to operate the summoning circle by way of a sympathetic magic taught to him by his father, the gold dragon.  He was also able to decipher the texts which had stymied me.  He has not made many friends within our number.  He seems willing to be perceived as unnecessarily crude to the fair Karin; his advances made her so distraught that she was unable to sleep unless one of us stood watch.  There is not much that I have seen that could shake a druid’s heart so – I hope for his sake that he quickly learns how to act in the company of those who do not value his life as much as he does.

Though I’m not entirely sure I can trust him, I have little reason to suspect that he’s acting for an evil cause; his purple eyes lend credence to his draconic parentage, and the goodness of the dragons of the golden hue is taught too even school children.  I know Karin is wont to examine the souls of the people we meet; I shall have to confer with her before we meet with the whelp again.

Yes, if we see him again.  The expeditious retreat…I must detail that, but ante-descriptor – The story of Hewen:

We are trying to find Hewen, the captain of the guard for a civilization long forgotten, but located near the current municipality of RiverDeep.  He was sent on a mission to explore islands created by rocks that fell from the sky.  These islands contained a city known as Fion Ret (Forbidden Place roughly translated into current parlance), a city inhabited by mono-ocular demons but which was rumored to contain great knowledge and wealth.  The legends in the books, translated by the Dragon-Spawn, explain that Hewen was the only man to ever have visited the island and returned.  It is told that there is a map (though what the map directs its user to is unknown) that has been passed down through the generations.  This map is no doubt what the occupant of the Hewn Palace was looking for, and is what Nyhmrod purports to be looking for as well.

Is the man who raided Ghenderlinh also the one who domiciles in the Hewn Palace?  What did he expect to find in Ghenderlinh that was to help him find Hewen’s map? How does Reaver figure into this situation?  Why did she think we were going to find assassins in the Hewn Palace? Too many questions, and we never seem to get many answers.

The Expeditious Retreat from the Hewn Palace:

The day, or what we assumed was the day, as there was no sunlight to speak of, started as the last few had, with a ration of dry bread and salted meats to break the night’s fast.  We were discussing Nyhm’s latest findings when the subject turned to the unfortunate souls that remained in torpor in the other room. Nyhm was unable to rouse them, much the same as our fate had been (it seems his dragon-blood gives him nothing greater than his own sense of worth.) Thaddius, our drunken cleric, was in a most awful state on this morning, his stores of strong drink having run out the night before.  It was in this terrible state of forced sobriety that I saw the side of a man that ripped my heart apart.

The conversation had turned to the eventual fate of the parishioners of RiverDeep that lay in magical sleep. Off-handedly, the disrespectful whelp likened their predicament to that of slaves, which brought out the most lucid rebuke that had ever escaped Thaddius’ lips.  I do not dare to reproduce the words here, for to write them would be to rob them of the deep personal pain from whence they came.  This man has a history I cannot imagine; I hope that I never have cause to offend him, for the fervor that boiled behind his eyes stripped every one of us of our senses, momentarily.  I must remember to ask the pastor at the church for the history of Thaddius; he introduced us, perhaps he knows what troubles our cleric.

As the uneasiness of this moment reached its climax, we were all shaken from our stupor by the unimaginable sound of what we would later learn was a temperamental rock giant.  He had decided to toss rocks at the passing wyverns, which unfortunately meant he was attacking our sanctuary.  Unable to prevent his ingress, we decided to make our exit.  Upon our crossing of the bridge, we discovered that Edgar, the ranger we met in RiverDeep, had decided to stay behind with Nyhm, who was going to keep working on awakening the parishioners.  We could see the giant, but we were fairly sure he couldn’t see us.  Not wanting to fight unnecessarily, we continued out of the mountain pass.

We had traveled the better part of two days and had just emerged from a cave (which contained a partially eaten wyvern, a sight that was so bestial I dare say even Zil, the stoic rogue, was happy to be rid of the viewing), when Thaddius narrowly escaped being crushed by a rock, thrown by the very same giant that harassed us before.  We immediately retreated into the cave.

Having had little chance to practice my most powerful spells, I entreated my fellows to stand back whilst I unleashed an explosion of fire at this snow bound giant.  He was certainly hurt, but not as much as I would have hoped.  Thankfully he was not able to see me, for when he reached the cave he immediately attacked Siddhartha.  As the monk moved to engage the barbarian, I managed to cut him down to size, literally, through a spell I used to practice on swamp rats back at the academy*.   Siddhartha traded blows with the giant for many minutes, whilst Thaddius and I attacked him with spells and Zil maneuvered around back.  Karin let loose volleys of arrows, until her services as a healer were needed; even at his reduced size, the giant was still besting the monk.  Thaddius’ spells were ineffective against this foe, and when the monk fell in battle, he switched to defensive spells.  My best efforts to further subdue the giant magically were thwarted by his unusually strong resistance, so I decided that my best option was to simply unleash missiles of magical energy at him…and none too soon, for he had turned to take a swipe at the fair Karin just as I felled him.

*(I would enlarge them to nearly two meters, and then reduce them again.  Occasionally I’d leave them enlarged, then I’d use them for target practice for my sling as I rode by on Tanstvittiotious Hexadecantian, my horse, whom I called T-16, for short.  I used these outings to blow off steam; and by the time I left academy, I was able to bullseye swamp rats from T-16, but only when they were a little less than two meters.)

Day 77

First, I must make note of the boots mentioned in my last record. Lined with the fur of mountain dwelling creatures, these coverings appear to have been enchanted with the ability to keep out the bitter chill of the winds and snows of these passages. Even in my thin robes, I slept as though in my bed at the academy. Though it is bitterly cold out here, I would gladly turn over these blessed objects to Siddhartha, but the man seems to eschew the many wonders of magic. (Even in battle he discourages me from providing him dwomeric assistance.) Such strange creatures, these faithful.

We awoke at daybreak, and traveled swiftly to avoid the storm threatening to overtake us. We came to a bridge, nearly too long to see across, made of poorly maintained spun hemp and splintered boards. I thought it very unwise to try to cross this span, as the chasm was deep, and there would be no return for anyone should the ropes snap. My wise words held the party enrapt for a few hours, but the range grew restless, and set out on his own – toward the bridge. We watched with consternation, our lungs unwilling to release even the slightest amount of air. He made it to the other side, safely, and with that we all, warily, made our crossing. I am not one who is afraid of the bird’s view, but that bridge is not something I wish to encounter again soon.

Upon reaching the other side, we were struck in awe at the grandeur of the edifice that blocked our way. Taller than the trees that grow around Lake Ogrechobie, a pair of magnificent stone doors sat guarding the temple we are now within. It took all of the strength of Siddhartha, Thaddius, and Edgar to get the doors to open. The sun, shining straight down on us as it was, was little help in illuminating the walls of the Grande Chambre that lay before us. Thankfully, I had equipped my companions with pebbles I had imbued with the rays of that fiery orb, and we were able to see the true magnitude of the main room. The walls and the floor of this mountain palace are as smooth as the flat of a well worked sword, and the precision with which they were carved from the stone of the mountain puts even the expert work of the dwarves to shame. (I suspect that these rooms were excavated magically, but I’m not sure I want to meet the man who did it.)

The Grande Chambre spans a space no less than 400 paces across and 1000 paces deep. The hall is bare, save for an altar at the far end, and a ritual circle, near the perfect centre. The circle is inscribed with the same runes that we found whilst pursuing the raiders of Ghenderlinh. After much study, I have determined that these symbols are used for bringing things forth from places afar, for summoning creatures unnaturally. Our host seems to be capable of operating this involuntary transportation device. His character is troubling to me.

Though it hardly is surprising now, it is worth recording that when Karin (the druid) attempted to alter the runes through her earth magiks, she was struck by a bolt of lightning which emanated from the rune itself. Such a power I have not seen before from magical inscription, and I do wish to know more about it. I don’t think our host was the person who created this place.

The details of the rest of this day are mundane, save for a few important findings…

This place is the origin of the strange silvery liquid that clouds the mind that we found in Braschus’ chambre back in LongThorne. We acquired four vials of if from within a alchemist’s lab (doubtless our host’s) on the upper floor. He does not seem yet to know that I have the vials, but I suspect that he will eventually discover this. In anticipation, I have taken part of the fluid in each vial and stowed it away in my own flask. Let us hope he is not too attentive.
The liquid seems to be distilled from the blood of an un-earthly fish. I’ll explain the ‘un-earthly’ part forthwith. Karin’s attempt to commune with the fish we found kept here yielded no information, save for the fact that these fish we born here. Unintelligent beasts as they are, they have no knowledge of their origins.
The fish come from an ancient island, called Fionret. For those who might read this later, my studies in the Ancient Common Tongue allowed me to decipher this word. It is a conjunction which translates roughly into ‘Island of Forbidden Luck’ or ‘Island of No Return’. I will consult my library when (if) I return to LongThorne. A tome I discovered in the temple indicates that this island may have originated from the sky, as though a star came down to terra firma. These fish, unlike any I’ve ever seen, seem to have arrived with the island.
I have discovered, through the talents of Zil, a collection of old scrolls, much older than those I usually come in contact with. These are pages of the Journal of Corporal Adrian Hewen, an officer of a forgotten kingdom, from a time more than ten thousand years before today. Though the dialect is unlike any I’ve read previously, I was able to glean the general message. He was sent to Fionret to conquer the civilization that existed there (some things never change.) His men were beset immediately upon arrival, by fierce, one-eyed demons. Through luck or skill, he located a hidden city deep within a cave, the details of which I found later in a book elsewhere in the temple. The legend of Fionret is that no one ever returned. This journal, then, either disproves that legend, or indicates that Corporal Hewen is a charlatan. Whatever the truth, our host seems quite interested in the final resting place of Hewen, and is not happy that we’ve discovered his fascination.
I know a few things about our host, and suspect a few others. First, the creatures we faced in the raid on Ghenderlinh are present here. He is commanding them somehow. Because of this, I believe he is the masked man we pursued at the beginning of our current journey. Second, the missing parishioners from RiverDeep are present here, and are being held in a state of permanent sleep by a power I can’t determine. Again, I suspect our host. Third, his magical training, while obviously different than mine, appears to be of a comparable ability. His recognizable spells -those that I am personally familiar with- are similar in intensity to mine.
Finally, we discovered, owing to the curiosity of the Drunken Cleric, a creature similar to the Roper I saw in the bestiary in BluueWinde. With what is a bit of delicious irony, Karin used one of Thaddius’ wineskins (full of the blood of the Cave Fishers) and some well timed fire to give us the upper hand. During this battle I was poisoned by the beast, and collapsed under the weight of my robes. I will not hesitate to say that the feeling is one I will seek to avoid in the future. Siddhartha, too, was poisoned, so at least I was in good company.

We interrupted a ritual being performed by our host. He wasn’t happy. The fight that ensued was quite taxing. Had our host not recognized Siddhartha (whom he called ‘Sid’, like an impudent youth), we likely would have lost some of our companions before we took him down. Whilst they are discussing their respective travels, I have taken this time to inscribe my thoughts…

Hopefully Siddhartha can piece together some of this mystery. I am apprehensive about sleeping in this place, but my energy is gone, and I have no more magic prepared. I will have to rely on Karin to keep watch while I retire.

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From the Journal of Ravondius, Mage (appr*) of LongThorne, Son of Parents murdered by evil, On his journey to Ghenderlinh, and of the exploits of his Traveling Companions…

Day 75

I, Ravondius, have through careful consideration, determined that the details of my expedition must be written down. Whilst our purpose is not particularly heroic, we still do the work of good, and lessons can be learned from our trials. I will attempt to enscribe the adventures leading up to this point at a later date, but as the light is leaving and we wish not to be spotted after dark, I will only lay bare the most recent events tonight.

To begin, my companions: Siddhartha, a monk of an ancient line. This human towers over me and appears to be composed of pure muscle. I have seen him reach through the hardened ribs of bestial goblinoids and pull out their still beating hearts. His strength and ferocity in battle is matched only by his devotion to the Gods. At every village and city we pass through he makes a donation of treasure to the Temples of Good. I admire his piety, though I share the frustration of our other companions at his dissemination of our hard-won wealth.

Most notably among these other companions is Zil, a rogue for whom I know not his full name, nor his lineage. I met with Zil in Ghenderlinh, as he was fighting a possessed horse mounted by a demon. He fights well when cornered, though seems to shy away from an open confrontation. His skills (deception, lock-picking, purse -lightening) have served us well, and whilst I have to wonder where he acquired such dubious talents, his dealings with me have been upstanding.

Last in our quartet, Karin; an enchantingly beautiful purveyor of natural magiks. She joined with us in Ghen. at the assault on the house of worship there. She says little, and travels far from her forested home with much trepidation. Though I am a man of academic rigor, I am often lost in her almost other-worldly countenance for she is the perfect combination of human and elf. That aside, she has proven to be a loyal companion and invaluable for both her combative prowess and the healing energies she channels from the earth.

There are others who were once in our company, who have each left for their own reasons. Jonathan, Son of the Captain of the Guard of LongThorne, deceased whilst combating ogres on the open sea. Chimiteki, assassin of RiverDeep, disappeared. Falconis, my brother, cleric of LongThorne, gone to pursue a political career. Friends all.

We go tomorrow to meet with Reaver, a powerful individual who wields magiks unlike I’ve ever encountered. She, and I use that term lightly, is able to transform herself into any creature, no matter how fantastical. I have personally encountered her as a duegar, a mist, and a house-plant (which I am ashamed to say she thoroughly thrashed me as). In what appears to be her natural form, she possesses a haunting beauty that rivals our own Karin’s.

Day 76

In my nightly meditations I have been closing in on a new horizon. In recent nights I’ve noticed that the landscape is changing, the lines and sounds seem to make more sense, there is order where only chaos was before. Last night, everything aligned. As I sat, entranced, I found myself able to pull at the fabric of space, not clawing hurriedly, but deliberately, and with relative ease. I was calm, as if I’d reached a new level of understanding. I’m empowered by these revelations, and intrigued by the chaos that lies, again, just beyond the horizon

I started the day in RiverDeep on a quest to find a particular ring I’d read about at the academy. This ring was purported to increase the number of spells a wizard can keep readied. Flush with coin from my last adventure, I set back out to find my friend at his stall in the market. After some haggling, I had the ring, and Zil had a handsomely worked suit of enchanted deer-hide; he seemed rather pleased with it, and I had trouble keeping track of him after that, as if he was blending into the shadows at will. I may have to put a bell on him.

I met up with Karin and Siddhartha milling about in the market. Karin, in rare form, was flushed with happiness with her new acquisitions (the bow and quiver we rescued from the tomb.) Any man should feel the joy at seeing such as her in an ebullient state. Siddhartha, too, seemed light-hearted; perhaps he had found time to rest, recover, revere, and wash his robe.

As the sun passed overhead, I was struck with an intense desire to patronize the Drunken Dragon, the local public house. It is important to note that this particular establishment possesses a smell that can only be compared to the loin cloth of an orc freshly returned from battle. (For those who might find this manuscript later, you would do well not to dwell on why I am capable of making that comparison.) I mention this only to illustrate the fact that no earthly power could compel my entry into that pit. When we arrived, I found the source of my compulsion; Reaver had called me. I chatted with ‘her’ for a few minutes; she was still wary of us for our having followed her so intently. I am sure, though she would never admit it, that she was impressed (and frightened) we were able to follow her so well much more than she was concerned that we had been following.

Reaver’s demeanor, though hardly warm, turned ice cold when I showed her the talisman I recovered from the horse Zil had hobbled. She snatched it from my hand and left the house forthwith. Upon her return, she informed me that the talisman was in fact a scrying stone of sorts, and that our mutual enemies had likely been keeping tabs on us through the gem. It is a shame she took it, I was beginning to grow attached to that bauble.

Reaver, having stayed as unreceptive as when she’d seen the talisman, rushed us out of her presence with information pertaining to the missing parishioners and a missive to retrieve them. As we parted ways, she told us of a hidden base for the Assassins Guild where the townsfolk were being kept; a diving rod, of delicate filigree, was placed in my hand, with but a few words of instructions, then she was gone.

A word about the Assassins Guild is necessary here. This Guild is the same for which Chimiteki was (is? I know not, poor girl) a member, and is the very same Guild which sent us after Reaver and the same Guild which hunts Siddhartha and Braschus. We are now, though we might always have been, on the wrong side of the Guild’s favor, and so we readily accepted the command (could it be called anything else?) to exterminate the murderers at this mountain camp. Do some good, slake the thirst of our blades, find some treasure, collect some ears; all that and a new toy. I’m in. Falconis would have liked this.

We made plans to meet at sundown for dinner. We had to outfit ourselves for the journey ahead. Siddhartha, who has taken to using me as a sort of bank (I don’t mind), asked if I’d accompany him to the market for some cold weather equipment. We excused ourselves and left.

The monk is an interesting character. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, I sense a wisdom not normal in one so young as he. On the way to the market, he suggested, as by a lightning bolt of ingenuity, that we bring the news of the missing parishioners to the priest at the temple; he had helped us before, perhaps this news could gain us another favor. The priest met the news with an expected response, fear tempered joy; knowing where they were, and that they might be alive, though they were enslaved – he was still happy to have word. Happier still was he that we sought to rescue them. For his joy, he told us of two wayfarers in town that might be willing to help us in this pursuit. Siddhartha, perhaps moved by the gravity of our upcoming task, did not request from me the alms he usually gives; though he is a pious man, he still knows the value of some saved wealth.

…

With the description of our future companions, we set about to find them. We tracked down the cleric right where the priest had told us he’d be, at the Drunken Dragon (why do I keep going there…I can’t escape that stench!). He, Thaddius, was engaging a couple of dwarves in a contest of fortitude, and was holding his own. The din made it obvious that any encounter with them would turn out poorly, either for being included or forgotten, and so I suggested that we search out our second option, and leave this sod to his imbibing.

Inquiries about an elvish ranger, unique as one might be in RiverDeep, got us nowhere. Karin suggested I try Reaver’s gift, which worked handily in tracking Edgar. He was engaged in some stealthy activity surrounding a particularly knavish noble. Unwilling to leave until he finished his task, and we needing to move along, I subdued the noble’s guards with a quick spell and Edgar dragged the gentleman into an alley, where he promptly dispatched him (I guess. I can’t really say how promptly it was…this was the first time I’d worked with magic this strong, and the experience shook me from reality for a short time.) Upon emerging from the alley, Edgar disbursed the contents of the noble’s purse to the crowd and presented me with the gentleman’s ears.

I have pondered on the nature of this initial meeting, whether I should have helped Edgar, having just met him, dispatch with this nobleman. I have concluded that no man of that stature would be in RiverDeep for any honest reason, and Edgar was likely telling the truth when he detailed the man’s crimes. I have made peace with my conscience, and will think no more on it.

…

We set out early the next morning, having roused Thaddius, explaining our mission, and sobering him up. When he heard we were freeing slaves the blur in his eyes flashed a deep passion, and in a breath he was prepared for battle with nary a sign of intoxication. His reaction spoke volumes about the man; I had wondered why a cleric would consume so much ale, but this is no normal cleric. There is much pain in his past.

…

Our journey into the mountains was uneventful. We came to a cave, which we illuminated with some magically prepared stones. Our progress was hampered by a group of Cave Fishers, which, I’ll admit, I did not initially recognize. It was only after the battle when I really got a good look at them that I recognized their features. When I get back to the academy, I shall have to spend some time in the books of the bestiary. My adventuring has somewhat interrupted my studies, but it is necessary. I have to collect my components. The Cave Fishers proved to be little trouble, though they did catch Siddhartha and Zil off guard.

I was eager to attempt some new magic, but as my control of the new power that I possess was untested, and the cave seemed unstable at best, I thought better of shaping too much magical energy. After the battle, I recovered some of the Tethers of the Cave Fishers…such strength is difficult to find in the cords of man, elf, or dwarf.

With Thaddius we have a second healer in our band; this is very useful, as Siddhartha wears no armor when he engages in battle. We have made camp on the side of the mountain. Karin has consulted with the gods of nature and has been informed of an oncoming storm; we’re quickly moving to find better shelter tomorrow. The Cave Fishers had acquired a collection of victims, one had pair of boots that crackled with blue-white energy when I detected it…I am off now to attempt to identify the nature of these magical contraptions. Perhaps it will be something to stave off this bitter cold.

Tomorrow, we attempt to locate the Guild.