Character Name: Whyr'wyndyl
Race: Windling
Discipline: Warrior Circle 3
Lifetime Legend: 22460
Unused Legend: 160
Current Unspent TIPs: 11
Dex: 19, Step 8
Str: 10, Step 5
Tou: 14, Step 6
Per: 10, Step 5
Wil: 10, Step 5
Cha: 13, Step 6
Karma: 6
Initiative: step 6
Uncon: 28 (+21) 49
Death: 34 (+24) 58
PD: 14 (16 with footman's shield)
PA: 5 (Hide Armor)
MD: 6
MA: 3 (1 from Hide Armor)
SD: 8
Recovery tests per day: 3
Carrying Capacity: 80
Wound Threshold: 9
1 Disc: Avoid Blow(4) +1 boots
1 Disc: Melee Weapons(4)
1 Disc: Thread Weaving(4)
1 Disc: Tiger Spring(4) +1 boots
1 Disc: Wood Skin(4)
1 Opt: Distract(4)
Race Talent: Astral Sight(4)
2 Disc: Wound Balance (4)
2 Opt: Shield Bash (4)
3 Disc: Air Dance (4)
3 Opt: Danger Sense (4)
Boots Talent: Stealthy Stride (2)
Spear Talent: Wilderness Survival (1)
2 Circle Ability: +1 Phys Def
3 Circle Ability: Karma on Recovery Tests
Knowledge: Windling Lore (1)
Knowledge: Creature Lore (1)
Artisan: Arial Dance (3) - usually done with scarfs, streamers, or in darkness with glow sticks.
Speak language: Throalic/Windling/Troll (3)
Read/Write Language: Throalic/Windling (2)
Skill: Streetwise (2)
Skill: Pick Pockets (1)
Skill: Swimming (3)
Skill: Climbing (2)
Skill: Awareness (3)
Skill: Disarm Trap (2)
Skill: Alchemy (3)
Recipes Known: Booster Potion, Kelix Poultice, Kelia's Antidote
Thread Item: Novice Boots (Wind's Whisper) - Rank 4 Thread tied
Spoiler:
Key Knowledge: (researched)
Rank 1: +1 Stealthy Stride
Rank 2: +1 Avoid Blow
Key Knowledge: (researched)
Rank 3: +2 Stealthy Stride
Rank 4: +1 Tiger Spring
Rank 1: +1 Stealthy Stride
Rank 2: +1 Avoid Blow
Key Knowledge: (researched)
Rank 3: +2 Stealthy Stride
Rank 4: +1 Tiger Spring
Spoiler:
Key Knowledge: (researched)
Rank 1: Damage step 3
Rank 2: +1 attacks tests with Spear
Key Knowledge: (researched)
Rank 3: Wilderness Survival +1
Rank 4: Damage Step 4
Key Knowledge: (history only)
Rank 1: Damage step 3
Rank 2: +1 attacks tests with Spear
Key Knowledge: (researched)
Rank 3: Wilderness Survival +1
Rank 4: Damage Step 4
Key Knowledge: (history only)
Equipment: ADVENTURER'S KIT (backpack, bedroll, flint/steel, torch, waterskin, large sack), ARTISAN TOOLS (2 white silk streamers, 5 kerchiefs, firefly chalk, a few - very small - polished brass mirrors), KNIFE, TRAVELERS GARB (breeches and long duster), WINDLING SWORD (45 silver), HIDE ARMOR (37.5 silver), FOOTMAN'S SHIELD (11.25 silver), FINE BOTTLE WINE (5 silver), 1 Dose Keesra Poison, 2 Booster Potions, 3 Keelix's Poultice, 1.5 lbs. SALT, COIN PURSE: 755sp 7cp
Brief Backstory: I've been laughed at. No more. I've been publicly humiliated. No more. I've been ordered around by Trolls. No more. This isn't to say these things won't happen again; rather that I am now equipped to decide if these things matter. I am no longer the victim. These things happen, now, according to my plan - under my permission. What matters is securing a new home for the Windlings of Throal so that these inhumanities will not be suffered without recompense anymore. Our magic was small compared to the Horrors. But our time in Throal has shown me that our magic is not small compared to other Name-givers. We WILL be respected.
Journal 1
Spoiler:
Journal Entry 1 - Finder’s Keepers
My mentor told me Windlings will not be taken seriously, but that Warriors always are. This puts me in a unique position. I’ve been both laughed at, and offered “friendly advice” about how adventure is too dangerous for someone so small. I’ve been looking for a week now.
Turns out, people who live in the spaces between society are the ones desperate enough to enlist me for work. I’m not picky. They promise me “access” in return for security. You know, I scratch their back, they buy me some (redacted).
His name was Kurt Beck. And just by the way he spoke, his tongue must wear a cloak; one with a very deep hood. He told us of a ruined tower to the south, near Borgan’s Rest. Something about no land-holders deed on record, perfect proximity to roadways, lush forests for privacy...yada yada, you get the picture.
So I meet them at the gates of Throal, finally ready to cross the dweller and face my deepest, darkest fears head-on. And the wizards want to go back to the Great Library; ponder ethical principles of banditry and expound upon social architecture. - What? I’m not allowed to know big words? - These adventurers wanted to start the adventure with dusty tomes and candlelit whispers.
Now I know why my mentor insisted I learn patience.
The Archer, at least, showed spirit. Osahar is his name. An elf, with a fine bow crafted of flowers. A bit self-deprecating, but quite dangerous in a fight, as it turns out.
Borgan’s Rest is a snoozer of a dirt hole. Barely worth mentioning.
We arrived at the ruins. A round platform of fitted stones with a wall the size of an ork in heavy mail. A fat ork...in heavy mail. And the first thing we find there are horrors.
These horrors were black as tar and shaped like birds. The leftover bits of the orichalcum they consume clinging to their illusory fletching. Blood on their wingtips from when they dance over the corpses of the name-givers they’ve tortured. And then they spoke. Not words. Not even sounds. They projected directly into our minds. Such clever horrors they were, too, mimicking the politeness of the best trained Troubadours.
What possessed Fliver to carry on with them? Damned if I know. Maybe he courts Raggok. Or maybe he’s simply dumber than me. - Hey! It could happen! - Apparently, they call themselves chakta birds. And the leader one is called Goldenwing.
It is decided we do not need to fight the bird-thing horrors. They will not impede others from claiming the ruins as their home so long as they bring bread. And the bird-thing horrors even gave us a head’s up about the murder rabbits in the basement. Oh, and they heard about a leader of a nearby bog gob town was assassinated.
I had thought the basement was a trap set by the bird-thing horrors. Turns out, it was just as they had said. Murder rabbits.
There was a fight. We won. Most agreed they are not edible due to disease.
I guess I should mention we never would have gotten access to the basement without Robert moving all the heavy stones out of the way. Robert, son of Paul, the wizard. I think I could beat him in an arm wrestling competition. He used a thick book to do it. No, I don’t have a better explanation than what I’ve already said.
The trap was when we came back out of the basement. The chakta bird-thing horrors had recruited some other horrors to ambush us. These did not fly. They were humanoids made of crap and smelled like a compost heap.
And, again, Fliver wanted to talk to them. I’m beginning to understand why no one takes us Windlings seriously.
This conversation didn’t go so well. They preferred aggressive gesturing. I can sympathize.
More fighting. More winning. This was a bit trickier since the crap these horrors are made of is really sticky; our weapons would not simply slice through them. Arrows and magic were the most useful tools against this enemy, something we had in abundance.
We accepted surrender from one of the horrors, forcing two others into submission. Then we casted our votes and it was decided to escort these things back to Borgan’s Rest so they could be interviewed by the mayor and his village idiot, Lareth and Laurence respectively. To their credit, the humanoid crap horrors remained honorable to their surrender during the brisk walk back.
If Laurence is to be believed - or, for that matter, the crap horrors he spoke with - these things are called bog gobs. I expected bog gobs to be more...impressive...from the stories I’ve heard. These three represent the “old guard” of their society. A real humane lot, with a program of catch and release, with a lot of torture between the catching and releasing. Their new leader is into systematic extermination.
Sounds like the future of this region about to get more violent.
But the ruins are clear and Kurt Beck made good on his promise of payment.
Now I have just a few small matters to clear up. Dubhan, the dwarf wizard that traveled with us, offered to make me a few booster potions. I need to meditate on the talents that underperformed on that adventure so that they prove more useful. And I need to find out what happened to my wine. I remember pouring a bit for each member of my first successful adventure. Then a second pour for me. And a third. I don’t remember much else before waking up this morning with no bottle.
My head is screaming at me like a gahad induced ork. Meditate later.
- Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 1st Circle.
My mentor told me Windlings will not be taken seriously, but that Warriors always are. This puts me in a unique position. I’ve been both laughed at, and offered “friendly advice” about how adventure is too dangerous for someone so small. I’ve been looking for a week now.
Turns out, people who live in the spaces between society are the ones desperate enough to enlist me for work. I’m not picky. They promise me “access” in return for security. You know, I scratch their back, they buy me some (redacted).
His name was Kurt Beck. And just by the way he spoke, his tongue must wear a cloak; one with a very deep hood. He told us of a ruined tower to the south, near Borgan’s Rest. Something about no land-holders deed on record, perfect proximity to roadways, lush forests for privacy...yada yada, you get the picture.
So I meet them at the gates of Throal, finally ready to cross the dweller and face my deepest, darkest fears head-on. And the wizards want to go back to the Great Library; ponder ethical principles of banditry and expound upon social architecture. - What? I’m not allowed to know big words? - These adventurers wanted to start the adventure with dusty tomes and candlelit whispers.
Now I know why my mentor insisted I learn patience.
The Archer, at least, showed spirit. Osahar is his name. An elf, with a fine bow crafted of flowers. A bit self-deprecating, but quite dangerous in a fight, as it turns out.
Borgan’s Rest is a snoozer of a dirt hole. Barely worth mentioning.
We arrived at the ruins. A round platform of fitted stones with a wall the size of an ork in heavy mail. A fat ork...in heavy mail. And the first thing we find there are horrors.
These horrors were black as tar and shaped like birds. The leftover bits of the orichalcum they consume clinging to their illusory fletching. Blood on their wingtips from when they dance over the corpses of the name-givers they’ve tortured. And then they spoke. Not words. Not even sounds. They projected directly into our minds. Such clever horrors they were, too, mimicking the politeness of the best trained Troubadours.
What possessed Fliver to carry on with them? Damned if I know. Maybe he courts Raggok. Or maybe he’s simply dumber than me. - Hey! It could happen! - Apparently, they call themselves chakta birds. And the leader one is called Goldenwing.
It is decided we do not need to fight the bird-thing horrors. They will not impede others from claiming the ruins as their home so long as they bring bread. And the bird-thing horrors even gave us a head’s up about the murder rabbits in the basement. Oh, and they heard about a leader of a nearby bog gob town was assassinated.
I had thought the basement was a trap set by the bird-thing horrors. Turns out, it was just as they had said. Murder rabbits.
There was a fight. We won. Most agreed they are not edible due to disease.
I guess I should mention we never would have gotten access to the basement without Robert moving all the heavy stones out of the way. Robert, son of Paul, the wizard. I think I could beat him in an arm wrestling competition. He used a thick book to do it. No, I don’t have a better explanation than what I’ve already said.
The trap was when we came back out of the basement. The chakta bird-thing horrors had recruited some other horrors to ambush us. These did not fly. They were humanoids made of crap and smelled like a compost heap.
And, again, Fliver wanted to talk to them. I’m beginning to understand why no one takes us Windlings seriously.
This conversation didn’t go so well. They preferred aggressive gesturing. I can sympathize.
More fighting. More winning. This was a bit trickier since the crap these horrors are made of is really sticky; our weapons would not simply slice through them. Arrows and magic were the most useful tools against this enemy, something we had in abundance.
We accepted surrender from one of the horrors, forcing two others into submission. Then we casted our votes and it was decided to escort these things back to Borgan’s Rest so they could be interviewed by the mayor and his village idiot, Lareth and Laurence respectively. To their credit, the humanoid crap horrors remained honorable to their surrender during the brisk walk back.
If Laurence is to be believed - or, for that matter, the crap horrors he spoke with - these things are called bog gobs. I expected bog gobs to be more...impressive...from the stories I’ve heard. These three represent the “old guard” of their society. A real humane lot, with a program of catch and release, with a lot of torture between the catching and releasing. Their new leader is into systematic extermination.
Sounds like the future of this region about to get more violent.
But the ruins are clear and Kurt Beck made good on his promise of payment.
Now I have just a few small matters to clear up. Dubhan, the dwarf wizard that traveled with us, offered to make me a few booster potions. I need to meditate on the talents that underperformed on that adventure so that they prove more useful. And I need to find out what happened to my wine. I remember pouring a bit for each member of my first successful adventure. Then a second pour for me. And a third. I don’t remember much else before waking up this morning with no bottle.
My head is screaming at me like a gahad induced ork. Meditate later.
- Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 1st Circle.
Spoiler:
Journal 2 - Snatch and Gob
My research has brought me to this conclusion: wine is an enemy. As a Warrior, I must find a way to defeat this creature. And this will take more research...and more wine.
Following up on the rumors from Borgan’s rest, we’ve heard there might be a way to strike a blow to the morale of the bog gopolisians. Bog gopolites? Bog gopolisifolk? Why does it matter?
Bog Anthony has offered a compelling compromise. We get him the statue of his Progenitor Queen T’skrang - and a giant mud ball named Feces - and he will rally his political following to lead a civil war in bog gopolis, installing peace among the nearby communities as payment. And, apparently, some of the people who get to make decisions around here believe him.
So, off we go.
The statue and Feces weigh too much to be carrying around, especially great distances. This fact forced us to recruit some brave and stupid cart hands from Borgan’s Rest. Oh, and a cart and horse too. I’m thinking there needs to be a better way than to lead civilians into the heart of these matters. I just can’t figure what that way is. A portable hole? Ridiculous notion...nevermind.
Osahar and Robert are with me again. Fliver was probably eaten by the last horror he tried to speak with. And we traded Dubhan in for Durgin. This dwarf has more words and less magic. Also, he wears practical adventurer’s armor. First impressions? I like him better.
As we get close to Bog gopolis, the landscape becomes swampy. Normally, I would not count that as an issue, but for the cart and horse and boys. Robert is going to “treat” us to that levitation trick to move the cart across the water streams. I wonder how the horse likes that spell?
A bog gob patrol finds us while Robert works his tome. We fight. We win. And none of them managed to get away to warn the others either.
With stealth as our ally, we infiltrate the hollow hill that is Bog gopolis. To do this right, we need the right distraction. Robert whips up another spell, one of fire and rain, sorrow and pain. And fizzles it past his outstretched arms. So much for that.
I charge the bog gobs with a whoop and a swoop, and drag them off to the far side of the “city?”. Daring I am. A pack-mule I’m not.
While I play with my prey, I’m signalled to join the others deeper into the city. They found a mineshaft where there should be a house. It is dark and smells funny, kinda like a butthole into the earth. And we’re going in!
I mentioned it was dark, right? Well, that’s the only reason that stupid spider got the jump on me. It lives here. It knows these hallways. And it’s a spider, it probably can see in the dark. Anyway, this one has poisonous fangs. And the poison makes you whoozy. Slowed me down a little, but I tried not to let it show. My talents failed me just as often as before! But no one got overly hurt, so I’d say I did my job.
It was four versus three. Naturally, we won.
After dispatching the octopeds, - see? Big words again - and with a little searching, we found feces. Excuse me. Feces. It has a pattern, so says the Robert.
I exchange unpleasantries with the bog gobs in the main city area again while the others carry off the great mound of fec - even I get tired of this joke eventually.
The trip back to Borgan’s Rest is uneventful. I can’t even think of a single anecdote for the time we spent traveling. Spider poison? Wine yearning? I can’t even think of what I was thinking of during that time. Oh, but I DO need to work on my arialbatics; I was told my choreography is stale.
No one seemed to like my idea of only giving Bog Anthony one of the items. We could have kept the other in Throal to force diplomacy upon bog gobs in the future. Probably should have offered this idea BEFORE we had already given over the items. It was a good idea, nonetheless.
Post adventure celebrations at the Gates of Throal again! I remember the third pour, for sure. I think there was a fourth. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out where the rest of that bottle went. Maybe elves make their bottles with very thick walls.
When this mental fog lifts again, I’ve got a few things to learn. Maybe, even, I’m ready for a new Circle!
- Whyr'wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 1st Circle
My research has brought me to this conclusion: wine is an enemy. As a Warrior, I must find a way to defeat this creature. And this will take more research...and more wine.
Following up on the rumors from Borgan’s rest, we’ve heard there might be a way to strike a blow to the morale of the bog gopolisians. Bog gopolites? Bog gopolisifolk? Why does it matter?
Bog Anthony has offered a compelling compromise. We get him the statue of his Progenitor Queen T’skrang - and a giant mud ball named Feces - and he will rally his political following to lead a civil war in bog gopolis, installing peace among the nearby communities as payment. And, apparently, some of the people who get to make decisions around here believe him.
So, off we go.
The statue and Feces weigh too much to be carrying around, especially great distances. This fact forced us to recruit some brave and stupid cart hands from Borgan’s Rest. Oh, and a cart and horse too. I’m thinking there needs to be a better way than to lead civilians into the heart of these matters. I just can’t figure what that way is. A portable hole? Ridiculous notion...nevermind.
Osahar and Robert are with me again. Fliver was probably eaten by the last horror he tried to speak with. And we traded Dubhan in for Durgin. This dwarf has more words and less magic. Also, he wears practical adventurer’s armor. First impressions? I like him better.
As we get close to Bog gopolis, the landscape becomes swampy. Normally, I would not count that as an issue, but for the cart and horse and boys. Robert is going to “treat” us to that levitation trick to move the cart across the water streams. I wonder how the horse likes that spell?
A bog gob patrol finds us while Robert works his tome. We fight. We win. And none of them managed to get away to warn the others either.
With stealth as our ally, we infiltrate the hollow hill that is Bog gopolis. To do this right, we need the right distraction. Robert whips up another spell, one of fire and rain, sorrow and pain. And fizzles it past his outstretched arms. So much for that.
I charge the bog gobs with a whoop and a swoop, and drag them off to the far side of the “city?”. Daring I am. A pack-mule I’m not.
While I play with my prey, I’m signalled to join the others deeper into the city. They found a mineshaft where there should be a house. It is dark and smells funny, kinda like a butthole into the earth. And we’re going in!
I mentioned it was dark, right? Well, that’s the only reason that stupid spider got the jump on me. It lives here. It knows these hallways. And it’s a spider, it probably can see in the dark. Anyway, this one has poisonous fangs. And the poison makes you whoozy. Slowed me down a little, but I tried not to let it show. My talents failed me just as often as before! But no one got overly hurt, so I’d say I did my job.
It was four versus three. Naturally, we won.
After dispatching the octopeds, - see? Big words again - and with a little searching, we found feces. Excuse me. Feces. It has a pattern, so says the Robert.
I exchange unpleasantries with the bog gobs in the main city area again while the others carry off the great mound of fec - even I get tired of this joke eventually.
The trip back to Borgan’s Rest is uneventful. I can’t even think of a single anecdote for the time we spent traveling. Spider poison? Wine yearning? I can’t even think of what I was thinking of during that time. Oh, but I DO need to work on my arialbatics; I was told my choreography is stale.
No one seemed to like my idea of only giving Bog Anthony one of the items. We could have kept the other in Throal to force diplomacy upon bog gobs in the future. Probably should have offered this idea BEFORE we had already given over the items. It was a good idea, nonetheless.
Post adventure celebrations at the Gates of Throal again! I remember the third pour, for sure. I think there was a fourth. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out where the rest of that bottle went. Maybe elves make their bottles with very thick walls.
When this mental fog lifts again, I’ve got a few things to learn. Maybe, even, I’m ready for a new Circle!
- Whyr'wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 1st Circle
Spoiler:
Journal 3 - What’s in the Box?
My war with wine is ongoing. I have, yet, to win a battle, but refuse to admit defeat.
This time, though, my enemy had me so out of my wits, I had not realized I’d climbed into the backpack of some other adventurer. I awoke with a start along a high mountain road. It was my turn for night’s watch. Sure am glad the others were safe getting us through to this point.
Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I grabbed up my gear and started watching...the fire. Probably should have paid more attention to the wolves that were circling the camp. I’ll be sure to do that next time. Though, this time did give me a chance to look upon the adventurers who had come along this time.
Robert is here. I’m curious what he’d look like with a beard. Or bald. Fliver is here as well. I guess he’s not eaten by horrors like I had pondered before. And a new face, Jik’escala. What a welcome addition, especially once I realized her affinity for apostrophes. An old scholar named Lobaeck Honorstone was with us, too; not really a fighter, very much a thinker. You could tell he was old by the accent he had.
The wolves. Right. They were hungry. I suspect they wanted to eat us. Fliver cast a spell that made us invisible, unhearable, unsmellable and unlickable - I’m guessing at that last part. But our stuff was still there in the camp, as was our scent on that stuff. The spell only affects the people Fliver names and the gear on their immediate person. Eventually, the hungry wolves sacrificed caution for the chance we had food in our packs and bedrolls. They were right, too, to do this; I’m always finding crumbs in my bedroll.
I thought I’d leave the spell’s influence and try to lure the wolves away. Something about that plan backfired, though, causing the wolves to attack the party.
We fought. We won. It took Jik’escala more than fifteen minutes to wipe the wolf’s blood from her sword to the point of satisfaction.
A few days further along the road, we arrived at the ruins of our desire. “Why would we desire ruins?” you might ask. Well, there might be riches to be had beneath the tower. Or an evil dragon to slay. Or a windling princess to whoo. Or a piece of cake that will explode if it is not eaten soon.
None of those alternatives apply. Quite simply, this might be the site of another kaer that was sponsored by Throal. We won’t know unless we investigate the various clues of this ruined tower.
Cadaver men guard the ruins. Two of them. Which is exactly enough of them to make Robert so very nervous as to concoct his most elaborate battle plan yet. The plan was foiled by a bear trap.
The cadaver men attacked. We fought them. We won. Poor Robert had his leg caught in a rusted bear trap through it all. He must have forgotten the spell for that.
With the cadaver men dead - Dead again? Re-dead? Dispatched we shall say - there was nothing to prevent us from fully investigating the several layers of stone ruined tower that stand here. All we could find in the area was a round stone slab in the middle of the ground floor with five symbols etched into five depressions. The symbols represent the five elements: Wood, Earth, Fire, Water, and Air.
Wizards and scholars and Flivers alike, talk circles about how to approach this puzzle. Turns out, Lobaeck has brought with him some kernels of True Elements; a couple of each element. Enough to work the puzzle if we are not wasteful. I understand the need for caution, but the conversation became cyclical.
When, at last, we had a plan, we were all to take part in it. Put a kernel of wood in the depression marked Wood. See what happens. Then move on to match up the other four elements.
The kernel disappeared, and a moment later the room is filled with a noxious green cloud. We’ve all been poisoned.
More talking. More cyclical arguments.
We decided to deliver all the kernels to their respective depressions nearly simultaneously. To do this, we used Robert’s spell for levitation and a distance of some 40 yards. You should have seen the explosions! It was brilliant! Lightning and Fireballs, green clouds and driving ice, and a pair of stone hands rising up out of the stonework to slam the ground. The sight of this reminds me of what should have been from Robert’s distraction spell inside Bog gopolis.
New plan. We will put Fire in the wood depression; Wood in earth; Earth in air; Air in water; and Water in fire. At least, I think that’s the plan. My mind wandered off to the thoughts of our impending war against wine.
This time, there was nothing to see. Until we went back into the ruins after a cautious counting of time had passed.
The stone slab had been replaced by a descending spiral staircase of stone. It went deep under the ruins and into the darkness. It ended in a small chamber with a solid, metal-shod door that looked well-maintained.
Robert announced the Astral Plane was clean here. Quite an exciting moment, if he can be trusted… . Not to say he shouldn’t be trusted, just that I don’t know why he decided to look into the Astral Plane at that moment to begin with - a real “head-in-the-clouds” sort of situation, you know?
A polite knock and a guarded response. A few demonstrations of Artisan skills. Hencetoforth this shall be known as The Opening of Kaer Archmouth.
We spend a day or two establishing an exchange of ideals, and the kaer selects an envoy to travel back with us to Throal. Lobaeck Honorstone pays us at the Gates of Throal and I share my bottle of fine wine with my friends.
This battle, too, I lost. The wine took another half a day’s worth of memories.
- Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 2nd Circle.
My war with wine is ongoing. I have, yet, to win a battle, but refuse to admit defeat.
This time, though, my enemy had me so out of my wits, I had not realized I’d climbed into the backpack of some other adventurer. I awoke with a start along a high mountain road. It was my turn for night’s watch. Sure am glad the others were safe getting us through to this point.
Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I grabbed up my gear and started watching...the fire. Probably should have paid more attention to the wolves that were circling the camp. I’ll be sure to do that next time. Though, this time did give me a chance to look upon the adventurers who had come along this time.
Robert is here. I’m curious what he’d look like with a beard. Or bald. Fliver is here as well. I guess he’s not eaten by horrors like I had pondered before. And a new face, Jik’escala. What a welcome addition, especially once I realized her affinity for apostrophes. An old scholar named Lobaeck Honorstone was with us, too; not really a fighter, very much a thinker. You could tell he was old by the accent he had.
The wolves. Right. They were hungry. I suspect they wanted to eat us. Fliver cast a spell that made us invisible, unhearable, unsmellable and unlickable - I’m guessing at that last part. But our stuff was still there in the camp, as was our scent on that stuff. The spell only affects the people Fliver names and the gear on their immediate person. Eventually, the hungry wolves sacrificed caution for the chance we had food in our packs and bedrolls. They were right, too, to do this; I’m always finding crumbs in my bedroll.
I thought I’d leave the spell’s influence and try to lure the wolves away. Something about that plan backfired, though, causing the wolves to attack the party.
We fought. We won. It took Jik’escala more than fifteen minutes to wipe the wolf’s blood from her sword to the point of satisfaction.
A few days further along the road, we arrived at the ruins of our desire. “Why would we desire ruins?” you might ask. Well, there might be riches to be had beneath the tower. Or an evil dragon to slay. Or a windling princess to whoo. Or a piece of cake that will explode if it is not eaten soon.
None of those alternatives apply. Quite simply, this might be the site of another kaer that was sponsored by Throal. We won’t know unless we investigate the various clues of this ruined tower.
Cadaver men guard the ruins. Two of them. Which is exactly enough of them to make Robert so very nervous as to concoct his most elaborate battle plan yet. The plan was foiled by a bear trap.
The cadaver men attacked. We fought them. We won. Poor Robert had his leg caught in a rusted bear trap through it all. He must have forgotten the spell for that.
With the cadaver men dead - Dead again? Re-dead? Dispatched we shall say - there was nothing to prevent us from fully investigating the several layers of stone ruined tower that stand here. All we could find in the area was a round stone slab in the middle of the ground floor with five symbols etched into five depressions. The symbols represent the five elements: Wood, Earth, Fire, Water, and Air.
Wizards and scholars and Flivers alike, talk circles about how to approach this puzzle. Turns out, Lobaeck has brought with him some kernels of True Elements; a couple of each element. Enough to work the puzzle if we are not wasteful. I understand the need for caution, but the conversation became cyclical.
When, at last, we had a plan, we were all to take part in it. Put a kernel of wood in the depression marked Wood. See what happens. Then move on to match up the other four elements.
The kernel disappeared, and a moment later the room is filled with a noxious green cloud. We’ve all been poisoned.
More talking. More cyclical arguments.
We decided to deliver all the kernels to their respective depressions nearly simultaneously. To do this, we used Robert’s spell for levitation and a distance of some 40 yards. You should have seen the explosions! It was brilliant! Lightning and Fireballs, green clouds and driving ice, and a pair of stone hands rising up out of the stonework to slam the ground. The sight of this reminds me of what should have been from Robert’s distraction spell inside Bog gopolis.
New plan. We will put Fire in the wood depression; Wood in earth; Earth in air; Air in water; and Water in fire. At least, I think that’s the plan. My mind wandered off to the thoughts of our impending war against wine.
This time, there was nothing to see. Until we went back into the ruins after a cautious counting of time had passed.
The stone slab had been replaced by a descending spiral staircase of stone. It went deep under the ruins and into the darkness. It ended in a small chamber with a solid, metal-shod door that looked well-maintained.
Robert announced the Astral Plane was clean here. Quite an exciting moment, if he can be trusted… . Not to say he shouldn’t be trusted, just that I don’t know why he decided to look into the Astral Plane at that moment to begin with - a real “head-in-the-clouds” sort of situation, you know?
A polite knock and a guarded response. A few demonstrations of Artisan skills. Hencetoforth this shall be known as The Opening of Kaer Archmouth.
We spend a day or two establishing an exchange of ideals, and the kaer selects an envoy to travel back with us to Throal. Lobaeck Honorstone pays us at the Gates of Throal and I share my bottle of fine wine with my friends.
This battle, too, I lost. The wine took another half a day’s worth of memories.
- Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 2nd Circle.
Spoiler:
Journal 4 - A Walk in the Woods
The Grand Bazaar is a fascinating place. So many smells to soak in, tastes to catalog, and whispers to strain against. The whispers can be the most intriguing. Whispers of Sosanopa setting up an invasion force are the hardest to ignore right now.
People speak of war impending. They must not really know what War is. Then again, why would they? War is not something that has really happened in Throal for generations, at least by most races’ standards. The royal family has done a fair job of keeping peace and politics among the houses and halls of Throal.
So Dubhan and Jik’escala and I meet at the gates of Throal to head north and check out the “trade routes” between us and Sosanopa. We’re gonna look for bandits and decide their allegiances, look for warbands and scout them out, and look for supply lines from other settlements who will lend aid to our enemy. We’re, also, gonna look for ducks. I hear they make the most mischievous sounds.
We needed a fourth for this adventure. I had heard Robert was going to come with us, but was seduced by something in the Grand Bazaar and lost track of time. So one of the others dredged up a troll. A TROLL! Of all the races and all the creatures they could have brought as our fourth… no, a troll.
At least Zhuron’s a Warrior, Garlen be praised.
Jik’escala is in charge of the map and the road this time. She appears confident with that responsibility, even when there is no road. To her credit, we only got lost once. It happened in the mountains, which all look the same, so… I can’t be too hard on her about it.
Along the road to Sosanopa, we came across an injured troll. Yes! Another one! After checking my cloak’s shadow for Vestrial, I talked with the troll in his native tongue. He tells us Iceclaw Moot is currently being besieged by large bees. That the entire clan is at risk of being wiped out if he does not find immediate help.
A quick conference with the group and we become that help. Assured danger from giant bees - or blood bees, as one of the smarter types call them - is more worthy our attention than possible danger from a town of maybe-tainted civilians. To Iceclaw Moot we go, headlong into the foulest hive of vermin I’ve ever heard of; and also the blood bees.
It takes a few days to get there (refer back to my previous statement of Jik’escala in the mountains with the map). While we travel, we are attacked by giant ants around our campfire. I am awoken by the sounds of combat at the edges of the firelight - and not by the large troll foot that nearly stepped on me while maneuvering against the ants, as some might have you believe.
Zhuron’s application of fire attack is a bit sloppy, and his water defense is abysmal. But once he realized his spear damage is optimized by air attack, the fight was all but over.
We resumed sleeping after tending to a pile of cuts and scrapes. One of the harder battles I’ve witnessed. But not the hardest we would have this trip.
Arriving at Iceclaw Moot, we stepped into a blood-soaked village. Never have I felt so self-conscious as when we saw the injured outnumbering the healthy. The children wept and the elders let them. This wasn’t a village of the raiders and bullys. This was a whimper. And I felt like a jerk.
Ixta, a village elder, came to meet us in the village center. She accepted our story of the ants that attacked us and spoke of the blood bee swarms decimating her people. She sent out a scouting party to backtrack our trail and make sure the ants weren’t rallying for a larger attack. And she asked us to go fight a swarm that has consumed others of her guard.
These trolls were people, and they needed my help. They asked for it without ridicule. I must succeed. This time, not to prove that I could, but because they had no one else.
We climbed the mountain trail where the lost scouting groups had gone before us. I was scouting a bit in front, using my wings to ascend the mountainside more directly than the others. I spotted the winged buggers. But they would not be baited to follow me into the ambush. So I led our party to theirs.
Normally, I do not reflect on the combats in my adventures. Fighting is a very personal thing. Each of us has our own relationship with the blood and the magic and the victory or defeat. I am not qualified to speak on others’ behalf about their intent or their results.
What I can say about this fight is that it was very tough. The blood we lost and the desperation in our voice after the fight told me that some of us nearly died. Maybe you would call it teamwork. Maybe it was sound tactics. Some on-lookers would most certainly say it was luck. The Passions were on our side this time.
As thanks for defeating those blood bees, Ixta and Wonjin and the others of Iceclaw Moot offered us some strength training techniques that have not spread into common use down in Throal. I think they held these techniques in secret during their time in the kaer kingdom.
I am no longer qualified to judge them for that.
For me, personally, a small sacrifice was in order. Normally the wine I share with my traveling companions, a bottle of elven fine, instead was gifted to Ixta. She could drink it, or keep it to entertain future diplomats as she sees fit.
Wine has a habit of making me forget things. And there isn’t a single detail about this experience I want to forget.
Dammit! Except that we were supposed to find a duck. I wanna know what a “quack” is!
- Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 2nd Circle.
The Grand Bazaar is a fascinating place. So many smells to soak in, tastes to catalog, and whispers to strain against. The whispers can be the most intriguing. Whispers of Sosanopa setting up an invasion force are the hardest to ignore right now.
People speak of war impending. They must not really know what War is. Then again, why would they? War is not something that has really happened in Throal for generations, at least by most races’ standards. The royal family has done a fair job of keeping peace and politics among the houses and halls of Throal.
So Dubhan and Jik’escala and I meet at the gates of Throal to head north and check out the “trade routes” between us and Sosanopa. We’re gonna look for bandits and decide their allegiances, look for warbands and scout them out, and look for supply lines from other settlements who will lend aid to our enemy. We’re, also, gonna look for ducks. I hear they make the most mischievous sounds.
We needed a fourth for this adventure. I had heard Robert was going to come with us, but was seduced by something in the Grand Bazaar and lost track of time. So one of the others dredged up a troll. A TROLL! Of all the races and all the creatures they could have brought as our fourth… no, a troll.
At least Zhuron’s a Warrior, Garlen be praised.
Jik’escala is in charge of the map and the road this time. She appears confident with that responsibility, even when there is no road. To her credit, we only got lost once. It happened in the mountains, which all look the same, so… I can’t be too hard on her about it.
Along the road to Sosanopa, we came across an injured troll. Yes! Another one! After checking my cloak’s shadow for Vestrial, I talked with the troll in his native tongue. He tells us Iceclaw Moot is currently being besieged by large bees. That the entire clan is at risk of being wiped out if he does not find immediate help.
A quick conference with the group and we become that help. Assured danger from giant bees - or blood bees, as one of the smarter types call them - is more worthy our attention than possible danger from a town of maybe-tainted civilians. To Iceclaw Moot we go, headlong into the foulest hive of vermin I’ve ever heard of; and also the blood bees.
It takes a few days to get there (refer back to my previous statement of Jik’escala in the mountains with the map). While we travel, we are attacked by giant ants around our campfire. I am awoken by the sounds of combat at the edges of the firelight - and not by the large troll foot that nearly stepped on me while maneuvering against the ants, as some might have you believe.
Zhuron’s application of fire attack is a bit sloppy, and his water defense is abysmal. But once he realized his spear damage is optimized by air attack, the fight was all but over.
We resumed sleeping after tending to a pile of cuts and scrapes. One of the harder battles I’ve witnessed. But not the hardest we would have this trip.
Arriving at Iceclaw Moot, we stepped into a blood-soaked village. Never have I felt so self-conscious as when we saw the injured outnumbering the healthy. The children wept and the elders let them. This wasn’t a village of the raiders and bullys. This was a whimper. And I felt like a jerk.
Ixta, a village elder, came to meet us in the village center. She accepted our story of the ants that attacked us and spoke of the blood bee swarms decimating her people. She sent out a scouting party to backtrack our trail and make sure the ants weren’t rallying for a larger attack. And she asked us to go fight a swarm that has consumed others of her guard.
These trolls were people, and they needed my help. They asked for it without ridicule. I must succeed. This time, not to prove that I could, but because they had no one else.
We climbed the mountain trail where the lost scouting groups had gone before us. I was scouting a bit in front, using my wings to ascend the mountainside more directly than the others. I spotted the winged buggers. But they would not be baited to follow me into the ambush. So I led our party to theirs.
Normally, I do not reflect on the combats in my adventures. Fighting is a very personal thing. Each of us has our own relationship with the blood and the magic and the victory or defeat. I am not qualified to speak on others’ behalf about their intent or their results.
What I can say about this fight is that it was very tough. The blood we lost and the desperation in our voice after the fight told me that some of us nearly died. Maybe you would call it teamwork. Maybe it was sound tactics. Some on-lookers would most certainly say it was luck. The Passions were on our side this time.
As thanks for defeating those blood bees, Ixta and Wonjin and the others of Iceclaw Moot offered us some strength training techniques that have not spread into common use down in Throal. I think they held these techniques in secret during their time in the kaer kingdom.
I am no longer qualified to judge them for that.
For me, personally, a small sacrifice was in order. Normally the wine I share with my traveling companions, a bottle of elven fine, instead was gifted to Ixta. She could drink it, or keep it to entertain future diplomats as she sees fit.
Wine has a habit of making me forget things. And there isn’t a single detail about this experience I want to forget.
Dammit! Except that we were supposed to find a duck. I wanna know what a “quack” is!
- Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 2nd Circle.
Spoiler:
Journal 5 - The Great Gats-Bee
This one will be shorter than before; my head is ready to explode and I stink of fish wine. Mind you, I’ve never enjoyed fish wine, would never choose to drink it again, and certainly would not buy it. But, somehow, I was forced to drink it last night.
Jik’escala, Zhuron and I decided to help out the Iceclaw Moot more. We know how to fight the blood bees now. And we know, generally, where to find them. So we conscripted Fliver to come with us and do some aggressive wildlife management. Why Fliver? I’m pretty sure he would try talking with the bees instead of fighting them.
He didn’t.
Actually, the four of us going after the bees might have been Fliver’s idea. It’s hard to say now. The details are fuzzy.
Before leaving for the moot, Fliver said he’d been reading the adventuring journals of other heroes and they write about the blood bees having a vulnerability to salt. He suggested we buy some in the Grand Bazaar and coat ourselves with it to prevent the bees from attaching to us. I’ll try anything that sounds fun!
Wearing salt in combat...not fun!
Along the way to the moot, we came upon some large ants. They kept trying to ambush us, but would turn and run shortly after we demonstrated superior combat tactics. We tried tracking them back towards their lair, hoping to clean them up. It didn’t work; they would just scatter shortly after engagement. Turns out, they’re attracted to salt. Fliver!!?
We got to the moot late in the evening, some hours after dark. Jik’escala and Fliver were able to convince the gate guards to let us in. We all took refuge at the inn/tavern. It was quite nice to hear the Troll language not being used to curse dwarven architecture every few moments. These Trolls carry a definite sense of freedom in their hearts. Lochost protect them.
Zhuron spent some time rabble rousing with the other Trolls in the tavern. He asked after the scouting parties encountering more blood bees and where the densest pockets of the bees might exist. All in all, very useful.
We set out mid-morning to the northwest, looking for the cave we were told about. Jik’escala and Fliver got us there, though I’m not sure it was a cooperative task. I might be reading into this wrong, but I believe there was a bit of a competition over who knew more about the landmarks we were chasing. Regardless, there were bees to fight at our final destination, so you can’t deny them success.
The bees are something to behold in combat. It’s as if they are receiving in-the-moment instruction on how to engage Name-givers with superior tactics. They try to use one or two as lures, pulling us into ambushes. They try tactics to separate us. They even intelligently use terrain features such as hovering over the edges of pits, hoping some of us will lose balance and fall.
And then, midfight, enter the zombie wolves. These things tried to drag Jik’escala and Zhuron off their feet. And when they chose to attack, shortly after engaging with bees over the pit, it was all too convenient. There is something sinister leading this entourage. And it reanimates dead wolves, so my coin is on Horror.
Ultimately, the cave was void of further clues once the wolves and bees were destroyed. Though, thinking back, we didn’t explore the bottoms of the pits. There might have been more cavern passages down there concealing the Horror.
But, we were tired and needed to get back to Throal.
I seem to recall opening my bottle of wine just before Jik’escala opened hers. And I remember letting a dyre lick all the salt off me some time later. The rest, fades to headache.
Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 2nd Circle.
This one will be shorter than before; my head is ready to explode and I stink of fish wine. Mind you, I’ve never enjoyed fish wine, would never choose to drink it again, and certainly would not buy it. But, somehow, I was forced to drink it last night.
Jik’escala, Zhuron and I decided to help out the Iceclaw Moot more. We know how to fight the blood bees now. And we know, generally, where to find them. So we conscripted Fliver to come with us and do some aggressive wildlife management. Why Fliver? I’m pretty sure he would try talking with the bees instead of fighting them.
He didn’t.
Actually, the four of us going after the bees might have been Fliver’s idea. It’s hard to say now. The details are fuzzy.
Before leaving for the moot, Fliver said he’d been reading the adventuring journals of other heroes and they write about the blood bees having a vulnerability to salt. He suggested we buy some in the Grand Bazaar and coat ourselves with it to prevent the bees from attaching to us. I’ll try anything that sounds fun!
Wearing salt in combat...not fun!
Along the way to the moot, we came upon some large ants. They kept trying to ambush us, but would turn and run shortly after we demonstrated superior combat tactics. We tried tracking them back towards their lair, hoping to clean them up. It didn’t work; they would just scatter shortly after engagement. Turns out, they’re attracted to salt. Fliver!!?
We got to the moot late in the evening, some hours after dark. Jik’escala and Fliver were able to convince the gate guards to let us in. We all took refuge at the inn/tavern. It was quite nice to hear the Troll language not being used to curse dwarven architecture every few moments. These Trolls carry a definite sense of freedom in their hearts. Lochost protect them.
Zhuron spent some time rabble rousing with the other Trolls in the tavern. He asked after the scouting parties encountering more blood bees and where the densest pockets of the bees might exist. All in all, very useful.
We set out mid-morning to the northwest, looking for the cave we were told about. Jik’escala and Fliver got us there, though I’m not sure it was a cooperative task. I might be reading into this wrong, but I believe there was a bit of a competition over who knew more about the landmarks we were chasing. Regardless, there were bees to fight at our final destination, so you can’t deny them success.
The bees are something to behold in combat. It’s as if they are receiving in-the-moment instruction on how to engage Name-givers with superior tactics. They try to use one or two as lures, pulling us into ambushes. They try tactics to separate us. They even intelligently use terrain features such as hovering over the edges of pits, hoping some of us will lose balance and fall.
And then, midfight, enter the zombie wolves. These things tried to drag Jik’escala and Zhuron off their feet. And when they chose to attack, shortly after engaging with bees over the pit, it was all too convenient. There is something sinister leading this entourage. And it reanimates dead wolves, so my coin is on Horror.
Ultimately, the cave was void of further clues once the wolves and bees were destroyed. Though, thinking back, we didn’t explore the bottoms of the pits. There might have been more cavern passages down there concealing the Horror.
But, we were tired and needed to get back to Throal.
I seem to recall opening my bottle of wine just before Jik’escala opened hers. And I remember letting a dyre lick all the salt off me some time later. The rest, fades to headache.
Whyr’wyndyl Evenflame, Warrior of the 2nd Circle.
Spoiler:
Journal Six - Road to Nowhere.
Please excuse the wrinkles in these pages. I have not the self control necessary to prevent the tears, nor the wine spills, at this time. Adventuring has become something new to me. Gone is the innocence of youth.
We met Lentera in Borgan’s Rest. He is an elf from Kaer Avon. He had spent hours trying to convince Laurence Traugott to take on an adventure. No wonder he was so willing to hire us within minutes of our arrival to Borgan’s Rest. The “we” were Blaethyn, Fliver, Robert and myself.
He wants to develop a river port on the Coil River for Avon to tap directly into the river trading network. He is planning on using his sister’s small farmstead as the jump-off point for creating this port village. That plan, I’m sure, is being modified as I write this.
Lentera’s sister and brother-by-marriage were converted into cadaver men. Cadaver woman? Are cadaver creatures engendered? Is “engendered” a word? What is a du...nevermind.
I raise my cup to sympathize for Lentera’s loss. But I empty my cup several times over because of my own sense of loss. Selfish, I know. But what is a windling to do?
Robert is dead.
I did not protect him as I said I would. I have promised my companions, time and again that I would be their shield. But I was not that shield for Robert.
A Warrior on the battlefield is dispassionate. It must be that way so that we can connect with the ebb and flow of violence. But this Warrior is also a windling. The windling in me can’t let go of the Passions - specifically, grief and shame - that I feel.
But I can drown them.
Whyr’wyndyl (un)Evenflame, Warrior of the 3rd Circle
Please excuse the wrinkles in these pages. I have not the self control necessary to prevent the tears, nor the wine spills, at this time. Adventuring has become something new to me. Gone is the innocence of youth.
We met Lentera in Borgan’s Rest. He is an elf from Kaer Avon. He had spent hours trying to convince Laurence Traugott to take on an adventure. No wonder he was so willing to hire us within minutes of our arrival to Borgan’s Rest. The “we” were Blaethyn, Fliver, Robert and myself.
He wants to develop a river port on the Coil River for Avon to tap directly into the river trading network. He is planning on using his sister’s small farmstead as the jump-off point for creating this port village. That plan, I’m sure, is being modified as I write this.
Lentera’s sister and brother-by-marriage were converted into cadaver men. Cadaver woman? Are cadaver creatures engendered? Is “engendered” a word? What is a du...nevermind.
I raise my cup to sympathize for Lentera’s loss. But I empty my cup several times over because of my own sense of loss. Selfish, I know. But what is a windling to do?
Robert is dead.
I did not protect him as I said I would. I have promised my companions, time and again that I would be their shield. But I was not that shield for Robert.
A Warrior on the battlefield is dispassionate. It must be that way so that we can connect with the ebb and flow of violence. But this Warrior is also a windling. The windling in me can’t let go of the Passions - specifically, grief and shame - that I feel.
But I can drown them.
Whyr’wyndyl (un)Evenflame, Warrior of the 3rd Circle