The chronicles of Tirisea
Level 11 human rogue / fighter, 17 years old, 6' tall, 170 lbs, light brown hair, gray eyes.
2 March, ‘11
Well, I finally did it. Today I told pa that I was leaving. I had thought it would cause an argument, but he accepted the news as if he had been expecting it for some time. He did make me promise I would keep a journal, so he could see the world through my eyes when I come to visit. He gave me this book; he already had it waiting for me I guess. I am seventeen years old; it’s time for me to move on.
I’ve already packed my things – when I thought about having to carry it everywhere I go, it was amazing how little of it I really wanted to bring with me. Pa did surprise me with his old swords from his militia days, I’m sure they will prove useful protection in my travels.
I really do think I will miss the farm, from the sparring sessions with pa, chasing after the dogs and exploring. I’d love to say I miss ma, but it has been so many years since she was alive, her memory is has already all but faded. Time to pack this journal, going to bed early, long day ahead tomorrow!
9 March, ‘11
Walking the road isn’t so bad, although staying near it and trying to hunt for my meals can be a bit challenging; at least all my arrows have been recovered. I passed a small caravan today before I made camp. They tell me there is a town only a few hours walk from here. I made camp early, and spent some time sharpening pa’s old swords – these are even better balanced then our training wasters!
I must admit, I am nervous for tomorrow. Our farm was in the country, and our nearest village was really small. I don’t want to be taken advantage of, and I have no idea where to begin looking for adventure. This last week of walking has helped me come to grips with the fact that I may simply be looking for work, adventure doesn’t just happen.
My food, aside from my kills, is getting low. I do have a bit of money from pa, but I am loath to spend it without a source of ready income.
10 March, ‘11
Where to begin! Today I arrived in town, and it is enormous! There are so many places to go, and people to meet here; I wish I wasn’t so shy. A ragged looking child tried to pick my pocket, but his steps and motions were so clumsy, I easily protected myself. Don’t these people ever hunt?
Finding work wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought. I found a well-kept inn and approached the innkeeper in the afternoon about doing some chores for a meal and a roof. He was happy to oblige; it seems locals are hard pressed to be interested in mucking stables, splitting wood and the like. Not only did I get a good meal and a mug of ale, but a roof over my head and a few pennies to boot. He tells me he will have more work for me tomorrow.
While I’m glad to have found work, I am disappointed, in that I came here looking for excitement, and doing farm chores in a stuffy town isn’t my idea of excitement. The bright side is that many interesting people spend their evenings in the main room below, and I got to hear many good stories. Tomorrow is a new day!
11 March, ‘11
I’m so tired and frustrated, but I have never held this much money in my hands at one time. I did chores around the inn this morning, enough to be promised an evening meal and a bed, and he directed me to a few of his friends that he knew could use extra help. I’ve been all over this town today, working odd jobs of all kind. Nothing terribly unpleasant, but the town people really don’t know what a day’s work means!
Every job I got sent on earned me some coin; I have easily 10 times what pa sent me with. I know I’ll need it though everything is so expensive here!
Some very interesting people visited the inn tonight. I saw a tough looking woman, dressed in the loose clothes of a monk. I saw a battle priest as well – I thought they were just one of pa’s stories! I have yet to find out if when he prays my wounds close and heal. I saw another quiet man; he has the grace of someone who spends a lot of time in the wild. He had the strangest slender blades though – they look like they would break if he tried to block a real swing! I saw an elf woman who kept to herself, but when engaged talked excessively. She had a pet dog she talked to like a real person!
12 March, ‘11
I may have found it! I write this entry at a campfire, surrounded by some of the people I wrote of last night. I happened to be breaking my fast in the common room, when the town sheriff came in looking for help. A nearby water source is contaminated somehow and he suspects foul play. Our job is to fix the problem; any treasure we find along the way is ours to keep.
I’ve learned my companions’ names; Tarma is the taciturn monk. Rurik is the battle priest (although he calls himself a ‘cleric’). The woman with the dog is a druid with the oddest name I’ve ever heard, ‘Bébé’, and she knows a lot about plants and things. The quiet guy really doesn’t talk hardly at all, but he is quieter than I am when he walks. He did tell us his name is Tassadar, but little else.
We are following the water source, careful not to drink any of it. We think we are fairly close to it now, and should enter the cave where it springs forth before too much travel time in the morning.
13 March, ‘11
I learned a few interesting things today. First of all, the time pa and I spent unlocking doors and bypassing snares is a pretty uncommon thing. No one else seems to know how to do this, or even where to look. Discovering this really put a lot of pressure on me. It’s not that I don’t know what to look for or how to do, I simply am so nervous I overlook something or my fingers don’t move the way they should. More than one person, including myself, was hurt today by my ineptitude.
Which leads me to the second thing: adventuring is supposed to be fun! All I do is hurt – I have a dozen cuts and bruises, and my entire body aches. I am happy to say that the entire time pa spent with me and our wasters really payed off, I was able keep myself alive thanks to him.
My new traveling companions called them kobolds, and insisted they were basically like me, but with a different upbringing and traditions. They were short, ugly cowardly things, avoiding direct combat if they could. A good way to stay alive, I guess, but we came for them anyways, and destroyed them.
We found a downright scary torture room in there, but more about that in tomorrow’s entry
14 March, ‘11
One thing that really stood out was this orc with some kind of magical skills. He was able to make himself literally invisible (not just hide well, like I can). It didn’t stop his feet from making noise, and I was able to track him down anyways.
Holy cleric indeed! I witnessed the holy power wielded by Rurik, up close and personal. In one portion of the caved structure we found walking dead of all kinds. Rurik walked right into their midst, raised his holy symbol, spoke a few words of prayer and a mighty blast shook the room. When the dust settled, most of the horrors were dust, only the strongest remained, and we easily returned them to their rest.
Despite my bruises and minor wounds, this was definitely the excitement I was looking for. I learned a lot about surviving in combat, and picked up many things I will practice in the coming weeks.
Oh, and I thought I had made good money doing farm chores in town, but that was nothing compared to the loot we have hauled out of that cave! Instead of working, I will spend my time training myself. I am determined not get hurt on one of my jaunts.
25 March, ‘11
I thought I would have a long time to improve my combat abilities, but apparently our last outing earned us a bit of a reputation. This time, we heard a little tidbit about a mine inside an abandoned keep, infested with orcs.
Of course, we immediately thought of our last adventure and wanted more orc blood. Unfortunately, Rurik wasn’t able to go with us. We picked up a new robed volunteer somehow. His name is Galar and he gives me the creeps – he is not a nice person. Also, a half-orc named Kevril came with us as well, carrying the largest scythe I have ever seen.
We traveled to the keep and fought a seemingly endless supply of orcs even one troll. Again, I found my combat skills came naturally, despite the lack of training I have given it. And yet again, despite all my practice, I had the most difficult time finding traps, or disabling locks. I even pronounced a chest full of loot as trap-free, only to open it and immediately injure all us. What is my problem? I’m not sure if it is a focus problem, or if I am smitten with Tarma and just trying hard to impress her.
More in the morning, so much more to tell!
26 March, ‘11
This morning we cleaned up the remains of the orcs we killed and burned them all. This place is in pretty good shape, and doesn’t require much work. The lot of us has decided it would be in our best interests to try and live here. We are going to see if we can attract some workers to the mine, and perhaps an overseer. Any income from the mine should pay any sort of upkeep on this small structure.
So, I see the next few weeks as time spent cleaning and repairing our new home, but I don’t mind the hard work. I am, however, determined to spend a fair amount of time practicing my skills! I will spend less time polishing my martial abilities, and see if I can’t figure out what my hang-up is with these simple devices.
I made brief trip to town; he helped me polish and sharpen pa’s old swords, and adjusted my armor so it fits better. I’m sure he won’t mind.
Looking back in my journal I realize I neglected to mention I found a ring which has granted me insight into dragons and giants, I can now speak the language as if practicing for years! Pa taught me dwarven and elven, he would be proud.
15 April, 11
My suspicions from a few weeks back are confirmed – we certainly have a reputation, and rumors just seem to find us. This time, we here a group of ‘mind-flayers’ are trying to rebuild an ancient artifact, and this is assuredly a bad thing. I’m told these are incredibly smart beings able to communicate with their minds. Where do people get this rubbish?
Regardless, we have decided the danger is significant enough to recruit assistance. Kevril sprained an ankle after a fall working on the roof, so we have recruited another massive half-orc named Ashkara. It wasn’t for several hours that I realized it was a she – she certainly doesn’t act like any girl I’ve ever met. We also sent word for Rurik, and he has agreed to meet us here before we leave on our journey.
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks really practicing my locking picking and trap spotting, and this has been going great. I’m determined not to have any more embarrassing mistakes.
16 April, ‘11
Where do I begin? We found a tower and began exploring it. I’ve gotten better at spotting clever traps and disabling them, as well as unlocking secret spaces, but, not without a few mishaps. Improvement, to be sure, but I must master this!
I found an interesting book, and started reading it. A few moments later, I was finished and I closed it and put it away. My friends insisted I was in a trance for nearly an hour, just turning page after page. I don’t remember any of this; I think they are putting one over on me. Afterwards, I was having better luck opening things – have my fingers always been this nimble?
I found a ring that felt warm to the touch and pristine without a scratch on it. Rurik desired this ring greatly, nagging constantly about the ring. The ring meant nothing to me, easy come easy go I always say. I gave him the ring to appease and shut him up. I decided it was in my own best interest to stay in the good graces of the battle priest.
And on that note, I haven’t decided what to think of Galar. He is a powerful human and a useful ally to be sure. But he is downright cruel to others. I’m keeping an extra eye on him; I don’t think he would hesitate to use his powers on me if he thought it would benefit himself.
We killed many a horrible being, but nothing would prepare me for what we found at the top of the tower. We entered the final door and therein were two (I later found it was three) of the strangest looking beings I have witnessed. It seemed as if some creature from the deep sea had latched itself to upon their necks. Their eyes had no whites, and where their mouth and chin should have been was instead a mass of long boneless fingers.
Suddenly, I saw a bright flash, and my head began to hurt from the intensity of the visions I was seeing. The strange beings were somehow communicating with me, sending images directly to my head, but I heard nothing. The headache lessened, but I was so enthralled by this strange new sensation, I was caught unawares by another of these beasts. It wrapped that mass of fingers about my neck with a grip like iron. I tried to break free, I tried cutting at the slippery fingers, but I was unsuccessful. Then, I felt an incredible spike of pain, so severe I think I blacked out.
When I awoke, Rurik was holding the remains of a piece of paper that was rapidly turning to dust in his hands. I swear I saw some tears in Tarma’s eyes – was she really worried for me? Tassadar tells me that I died, but that Rurik was able to resurrect me, and the others insist this is true. Really, where do they get these flights of fancy? Obviously I’m not dead; I’m writing this in my journal!
My neck is bruised from when that beast latched itself around me, and there is a very tender spot on the back of my head. I’m glad they were there regardless, I’m sure I would have died if I was left in that beast’s clutches any longer.
We did glean that these mind-flayers are indeed trying to reassemble some sort of artifact, and we all agree that is a bad thing. The artifact has three parts, and we recovered one from the tower. Now, we must find clues for the remaining pieces!
29 April, ‘11
We are on the move now. We’ve heard word on the next piece. Kevril is doing better, but still in no condition to fight. Besides, I’m convinced he would rather stay at our new home and drink ale with the miners. Tassadar was called to his homeland and could not join us.
Not long into our explorations, I found a good reason to return pa’s swords to him (one at least). Amongst some other valuable items I found a sword that seems a bane to any evildoer. When polishing it, I noticed a faint word inscribed in elven on the cross guard, “folgor”. I discovered when I am holding the blade and I say that aloud, sparks of energy travel up and down the blade striking anything the blade touches, until I speak the word again, or sheathe the weapon. A priceless weapon to be sure, I will guard it carefully.
I’m back in a rut, my fingers feel like stumps when I use tools to do delicate work, my eyes glass over when looking for hidden dangers. I keep getting my friends hurt and they are annoyed with me and I’m losing their trust. Fortunately, no serious injuries have yet occurred. Why am I so distracted all the time?
15 May, ‘11
Disaster! I can barely bring myself to write this entry. I’ve already picked up the pen and put it down half a dozen times; I don’t even know where to begin.
First of all, my suspicions about Galar were confirmed. Even in his idle chatter, all he could talk about was collecting male genitalia until he had enough to fill a bushel so he could present it to a victim and when their horror showed, he would then burn them to a cinder. Where do people come up with these horrible notions?
Second, I’m sure the source of my distraction is Tarma – every time I am trying to do something complex, she is always staring at me. Yes, I know the rest of my friends are too, and hoping I will be successful, but she looks at me differently. I do think it is odd that I finally figured this out now, now that there is no hope of reconciliation.
We did find the artifact and prevent the mind flayers from assembling it, but really, that is beside the point. Each of us was . . . pulled, I guess is the best way to describe it, to another place entirely. We were each offered a single wish for our hard work and sacrifice. First, I will tell of you of the wishes of my friends so the horror of my own situation is that much more poignant.
Rurik wished for black wings, capable of carrying him into the sky. The divine authority that brought us to this strange place found this a worthy request, and upon my return I found that he did indeed have wings sprouting from his shoulders, and he could soar like an eagle.
The beast of a sorcerer, Galar, wished for powerful knowledge of spells. He wanted to know the most powerful spells in the known world. This was granted to him, but in some humorous twist in fate, while he knows the spells he lacks the skill to cast them.
Ashkara wished for a hoard of magical items, capable of making her into a most fierce some of warriors. The powers that be were also pleased by this request, and a hoard of treasured items is waiting for him upon his return to our keep.
The simple monk, Tarma, asked for magical hand wraps so she could protect herself when faced with certain magical creatures. You should see them – at first glance they appear normal, but when the sun catches them just so you can see the sparkling sheen of magic about them.
Bébé wished for some kind of magical scimitar, a specialized druid weapon that does not interfere with her contact with nature. Her new weapon does not deal the heaviest of blows, but she seems to be able to hit just about every target she attempts.
But as for me, in my vanity, I asked to be a little bit of a better person in every sense. I wished to be stronger, faster, tougher, smarter, wiser and a bit better looking (I did say I was vain). Bu the gods are cruel, and my wish was displeasing to them. Oh, I became significantly stronger, faster, tougher, smarter and wiser, but I have a hard time describing the horror that has become of my face. The right side of my face is a disaster. It looks like a recent burn, cracked and occasionally bleeding, but it never heals. Rurik tried assisting me, but his divine powers had no effect. It has been nearly three weeks, but it still looks as bad as it did when I first rejoined my friends after our wishes.
What a fool I was, thinking my false modesty would fool the gods! They saw through straight to my greed, and hit the heart of my weakness. Tarma can barely stand to look at me now – what I fool I was!
I write from the inn of the local town. I have convinced one of the smiths to fashion me some sort of mask. Convincing the smith and the innkeeper of my goodwill was a very difficult prospect when you have the horror of a face like I now do. I tried making a deal with my hood up, but no law-abiding citizen in this town goes in public with their hood up; it is a sure sign you are up to no good!
21 May, ‘11
Breathing inside this thing is awkward at best, even though it only rests on one side of my face. It is held in place by a simple leather strap, much like an eye patch is. Beyond that, it garners me as much attention as my scarred face did, but at least most of the looks I get are surprised curiosity rather than horrific repulsion. I have decided I will not rejoin my friends at our new home.
Clearly the cunning ways I had chosen as my adventuring style were not pleasing to the gods. Maybe I flashed my smile at too many damsels. Instead, I have decided to hone my physical skills. Perhaps I will become a sell-blade; there is always someone out there that needs the help of someone with my skills – for a price.
6 October, ‘11
I decided to go visit pa. I was saddened to see the worry in his eyes when he saw my iron mask, but at least I have grown used to it over these last months. He had a coughing fit when he recognized me; he insisted he was ill, but I know he was just disgusted.
Work has not been as plentiful as I had hoped – people have a hard time trusting a masked man to guard themselves or their precious things. Occasionally, revealing my face underneath convinces them of my abilities and I am hired on for a time. People avoid me, and other mercenaries quickly grow tired of me. I’m forced to move on from job to job rather quickly, never able to stay and earn any real money.
I am pretty careful with my money, and have kept virtually everything I earned in my brief stint as an adventurer, living off my scattered earnings. Now that I am home, I will lock my gear away in my chest and go back to my simpler roots. I think, with pa at least, I can leave the mask with my belongings from my old life. Perhaps out here I won’t need it again.
1 February, ‘12
What a winter this has been. I found I have missed this simple lifestyle, and crave the adventure no longer. I find myself occasionally thinking of Tarma and get somewhat melancholy, but I know now that it could never be. Pa can easily recognize the faraway look in my eyes and he tries to gently tell me I will never know if I don’t pursue things.
Pa is definitely sick; he has had a lingering cough and finds it difficult to work out in the cold air for much time. I take care of most of the chores outside; he prepares meals and reads books. He no longer has the energy to spar and has finally stopped trying to convince me to spar with him. Fighting holds no interest for me anymore.
I do enjoy our puzzle games, and find my skills at solving iron puzzles and finding hidden latches and the like returning. It is an engaging hobby to pass the long evening hours.
17 February, ‘12
Pa is very ill, and hasn’t been able to get out of bed. I have gotten my mask and cloak out of storage; I need to go find him some help.
20 February, ‘12
No one will help a hideous creature like me! I have a significant amount of money, but no one will sell me medicine to help pa.
After three days of looking, I have finally purchased some very expensive medicines from a seedy-looking traveling alchemist. I don’t know if they will help him, but I must try.
21 February, ‘12
What have I done? I foolishly thought pa would never die, and now I have missed saying goodbye to him. I wasn’t there for in his final moments. What kind of son have I become?
22 February, ‘12
It took me all day to chip through the broken ground, but I finally laid pa’s body to rest. There was no one there to speak any words over his fresh grave. I didn’t know what to say, so I just cried.
I guess after all I have been through, I am still just a child inside who misses home.
28 February, ‘12
I have finally come to the decision that I cannot stay here. All I do is mope around the house, but more importantly, I’m desperately lonely and frankly bored.
I can’t bear to have someone living in the home ma and pa made. So, I have strapped on my mask, gathered my surprisingly small amount of belongings and I will leave at first light. I intend to burn the house down behind me. Hopefully they will find rest here.
5 March, ‘12
It is as if my own feet betray me. Without intending to, I found myself at the gates of our old town. I can scarcely remember how I got there, or how I’ve fed myself these last several days.
I finally passed through the walls into the town, the stares and whispers were a sure sign of my return – I had nearly forgotten that empty feeling.
I hitched my pack and preceded to the militia barracks. I knew I wasn’t guard material, but I felt like I needed the training. The captain remembers my exploits from last year, and has agreed to let me room and train here for a small fee.
23 March, ‘12
My mental skills haven’t faded in the slightest, but I find myself sore in old familiar places as I put myself through the rigors of mock combat. I feel like in a straight fight, I am the better of anyone working in this town.
In the evenings, I find myself looking for more iron puzzles, and solving them at my bunk in the barracks, although I no longer know why. Boredom perhaps, habit may be even more likely. My fingers are deft, and the distractions seem to be gone – I have yet to find a puzzle I can’t solve in just a few moments. Vendors quickly figured that out though, and insist I purchase these toys before letting me get my hands on them.
I’ve passed some of them to the other guards, few seem to care; those that do have great difficulty solving them. I don’t understand why, I haven’t found a single one the match of the myriad my father had.
I suppose it was habit that drew me here. I know I must move on, and soon. I have plenty of money, but all it is doing is dwindling away. I have to find a way to make a living
28 March, ‘12
I have been taken in with a seedy dealer of magical items. He seems to need guards because he frequently cheats his customers. I have a hard time caring, it pays well enough for me to buy plenty of drink in the evenings, and no one seems to care if I am hung-over. Perhaps my sour mood along with my mask helps prevent trouble from starting. It has been a long time since I had to intervene at the shop.
Ever the fool, I find myself irrevocably drawn to our old inn, where my friends and I would gather. The innkeeper despises me now – he waits until I pay then has his toughs through me out. None are foolish enough to try until I am good and drunk though.
16 April, ‘12
I’m not sure why I write in this damned thing anymore. What a waste of time. I should try this book for a drink; at least they would get a laugh!
24 April, ‘12
Something unusual happened – I left my post and headed to my usual watering hole. I saw Kevril, Bébé and Rurik sharing a drink at the bar. Of course, Galar was there too, but he stood aside, as usual. They seemed cheerful and shared a few drinks and thankfully didn’t notice me. I kept my hood up and my head low and sipped on the same mug while watching them.
They were approached by a beautiful woman that clearly spelled trouble. She asked them for some favor, and they were clearly going to help her, even though it was obviously a trap.
I would like to say it was a foolish drunken decision, but I had little to drink. I stood up and joined them; I couldn’t let them walk into so obvious a trap. There were hugs around and everyone generally acted like no time had passed. Their eyes slid away from my mask, and they did a reasonable job of not staring. Tassadar was away, helping with a demon problem in a small town called Ryndanhaven. Ashkara was away with other minor engagements. No one said anything about Tarma, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
Almost like old times, we set out immediately to investigate the problem.
25 April, ‘12
Abandoning my cavalier roguish lifestyle saved the life of my friends and me today. My combat training has clearly payed off – I was a force to be reckoned with on the field of battle. More than once my old friends commented on the destruction I would lay down against our enemies.
Further wonder, perhaps it was their encouragement, or the lack of distraction, but I had no trouble at all locating traps and hidden switches, and not a single lock foiled my attempts at opening them.
We encountered a very strange plant, with leaves that were shaped like hands. Of course it attacked us, but we were able to extricate ourselves from the strange piece of landscape without too much difficulty. I did find another traveler who was not so lucky. He was wearing armor with the sigil of the Ironforge of Ryndanhaven on it. I took the armor, and donned it myself – I have never worn its equal. It allows total freedom of movement for me, and yet protects from harsh blows.
I was able to protect my old friends, and they me. I have missed them greatly. I laughed as I watched Kevril tackle a quartermaster. The half-orc pinned him to the ground and beat him to death. Once, this may have bothered me, but this place, and him, exude evil. Besides, he was carrying a dagger of extreme strength – I relieved him of it, he won’t need it any more.
27 April, ‘12
As I suspected, the beautiful women proved to be an evil bitch. Despite the long separation, my friends and I are like a well oiled machine. We handily beat her and her minions. My speed allowed me to maneuver into advantageous positions on several of them and land some very telling blows.
After avenging his sister, Marcus rewarded us for our efforts, and went back to his attempts to draw her soul back from the staff he stole from the witch. We wished him the best of luck and returned home.
Home. It looks wrong even as I write it, but the feeling of my old room at the keep we liberated is right. The room down the hall remains empty, and I lack the courage to ask. But I am surrounded by friends again. Perhaps, in time, I could hang the mask up again.
During my absence a competent, albeit expensive, smith moved into the nearby town. Now that I am indeed home, I saw no reason to hoard my treasure any longer. I spent the vast majority of what I have earned since I left home, keeping only a small amount for myself. The rest I spent, taking my weapons to him and allowing him to shave and sharpen them for me. Expensive, like I said, but the quality of weapon I now have is impressive. I eagerly await the opportunity to test my skills again.
23 February, ‘13
It has been a busy summer and fall at the keep for us. We finished cleaning it out, and hired staff to start working the mine. We all seem to be a bit struck by the wanderlust; it isn’t too uncommon to find one or a few of us away on some item of business or another.
Summer turned to fall, and fall is now winter, but underground the weather is fine. We have the infrastructure in place, the workers hired, and now the mine is producing a steady income. Not much, but far more than I would have ever seen if I were back home.
Those of us that remained in the keep spent the night celebrating our success, the drink flowed. Tarma and I certainly drank too much, I’m not too experienced with my liquor. I was awakened in the middle of the night hearing Ashkara roaring ‘to arms!’ If I hadn’t heard her, I’m sure I would have heard the enormous booming sounds.
Outside, we found some bandits inside the keep, firing cannons, taking down walls and trying to collapse the mine. We found a woman dressed in form fitting black clothes we had never seen before fighting the bandits, and we joined the fray. Before too long, the bandits were slain, but not before many friends and workers were loaded into a wagon and taken away. The woman begged for our help, to rescue her father who was amongst those in the wagon.
As usual, Kevril volunteered to stay behind. Tassadar, Rurik and Galar were away, so Bebe, Tarma, Ashkara and I went with her. I can’t say I was sorry to leave Galar behind, but Rurik’s abilities will be sorely missed.
24 February, ‘13
We followed the trail and found some tents. We encountered some creatures that looked basically human, but, almost like they had a snake ancestor. Bebe claimed they were called ‘Yuan-ti’ (she was very annoying about the spelling), but I’ve never heard of them. I didn’t pause to stare, they attacked and we put them down. We suspected one of being their leader, Tarma and I subdued him and tied him up. He didn’t answer questions, gave us no reason to help him. Ashkara finished him – not an action I approve of – he was no longer a threat, but I also didn’t care for him either.
Regardless, we found wagon tracks leading us further on, so we followed them. We found a ruined temple area, filled with more of the creatures, some traps, a weird puzzle and treasure of enormous magnitude. We reveled in the treasure, using it to better equip ourselves. In retrospect, we are concerned that in our haste and greed we may have accumulated some cursed items. There is nothing to do about it, except to address the curses as they happen.
Pressing ever onward, we came to the sea. We found more of these creatures loading a ship, our missing compatriots nowhere to be found. Leading them was what can only be described as a giant snake with a human face. They attacked us, and we brought the fight to them. I got into direct combat with the snake thing, and it wrapped itself around me, squeezing. Its skin burned me, not like more burn marks will be noticeable.
In the end, they all fell to our prowess. We found our missing comrades on the boat. Amongst the carnage, we found a flyer, with all of our faces, including our missing party members, along with a bold title, “WANTED: dead or alive” There was no mention of the value of our ransom, but it does identify a King Jiddick as the issuer of the summons, for destruction of an ancient artifact. We consulted some of our workers found on the boat, the claimed he was a barbarian king, new to power, his rise swift. He now controls the entire Cerraldan continent. It is to there we now sail, hoping our other comrades will be able to find and assist us.
4 April, ‘13
We finally landed across the sea, and explored an extremely wealthy city. We accepted a challenge in the arena, handily beating the opponents placed before us. Our little band functioned like a well-oiled machine, supporting each nicely. My combat skills have further grown, sometimes when I fight I find my opponents seem mired in molasses, and I can easily step out of the way of their attacks.
The arena was a profitable venture for us – I had my armor improved to make it easier for me to infiltrate unseen, and I was able to donate to the local resistance. It’s clear this Jiddick needs to be brought down. Even after paying out more money than I have ever held in one sitting, I still was left with more money than I have ever held. What should I do with this wealth?
One of the merchants we dealt with seemed in support of the resistance, and we were tipped off that a stronghold of theirs was under attack. So, we set off hoping to support their cause, and hopefully get this new king off our backs. We were attacked along the way a couple of times, and while we saw new tactics we haven’t seen before, we still were able to press on relatively unscathed.
We came to a cross roads, with fire and smoke on the horizon both in the north and in the south. In the east, we saw a small walled city, with a small army marching upon it. Rurik offered to scout, he unfurled his massive wings (still very unsettling) and set off to scout the town. We waited for hours, but he did not return. Fearing the worst, we pressed on, hoping to find our missing friend.
Still unsure of ourselves, we cautiously approached the city. The two forces clashed in combat, and we could not decide which side we belonged on. In our time of indecision, I spotted Rurik locked in a cage inside the walls. An idea came to me – I clicked my heels together and tried to teleport the short distance to him with my new boots. Sadly, I failed miserably, hurting myself in the process. I tried again, and was able to place myself in just the right position, and then pick the lock to let him out.
By the time I was done, the attacking forces were all slain, by the defenders and with Ashkara’s help. They seemed to be part of the resistance fighters, and they asked for our help… Tomorrow we decide if we are helping them, then we will set out.