The Field Notes of Gayle Hartney

Day 17
 
And here I thought I was fortunate to catch a passenger carriage heading back to Greyloch. I should have known the Wheel doesn’t always turn my way. After this wretched excursion, I was so looking forward to a peaceful journey home. Most of the crew gave me a wide berth, as I prefer. All but my coach companions…a strange but fascinating lot. Maybe I should have worn my darker robes.
 
I recognized High Priestess Bowyn, of course. She was hiding in a seat for reasons I never did figure out. She attended to two patients in the coach, a Druidess (Circle unidentified-I never did understand the nuances there) and a young man with a serious skin condition. (sketch included) The one in armour seemed very concerned in a quiet sort of way, and floated about like a mother hen. The halfling…could use a tailor. And a bath. But otherwise appeared capable. Capable of what is the distressing part. The last one had a slippery look about him. I saw enough of those types in Lorholt. He skulked away with his female companion shortly after.
 
The silver-haired one Master Xylund looks like a Hunter if I ever saw one. He started the journey atop the carriage and kept to himself. Everyone seemed on edge, though, including the Lorholt guards. There was a bit of unpleasantness and we were separated from the rest of the caravan, Master Xylund literally taking the reins. I’ve never been so frightened…except maybe that time the Maesters sent me to the third catacomb to retrieve the Annals of Ardenian, Vol 6. But this was a close second!
 
The Camp of the Venelis Elves was unlike anything I had ever seen before! I could spend weeks there and still have stories to record. They were certainly hospitable, and I got into a very deep conversation with one named Druanili about the history and meaning of their tattoos. Perhaps I can convince the Prophets to allow my research to be directed there instead of the gods-forsaken Cathol Ros. The food was certainly better than that in Lorholt, and there were intoxicants everywhere. Master Xylund noticed as well. I have never seen a creature take so many so quickly…and mixing them the way he did can’t be healthy. I’m actually amazed he lived through the night. Truly this crew is full of medical marvels.
 
The wine (and other suspect items) certainly loosened his tongue. He was indeed a soldier, but not a true Hunter. (I think he missed his calling.) He talks like one, however, tales of regret and chaos and ramblings about the meaning of it all, sprinkled with some fairly odd musings about the nature of owls. [Filed under Addendum D-2 later in this volume] He asked questions as well, about dreameaters and the Cathol Ros, bizarre subjects indeed for a layman. I answered to the best of my ability, although I am not sure how much he absorbed. He is truly an interesting individual, though, and it was the most fun I’ve had in…well….ever.
 
Day 18 and 19
 
I am sitting on a bench at the Golden Wren’s bathhouse, trying to wrap my mind around the past two days. Yesterday started fine enough. A visitor for the group. Some woman from Greyloch. Seemed pleasant enough. And off we went. But soon, the coach stopped and the fighters left us behind. Kern (the aforementioned mother hen and a very kind gentleman) stayed with us as protection. Protection from what, I am not entirely sure. But Master Xylund bade me remain, and I trust his judgement. We sat quietly and a little nervously until they returned with a man I’ve never seen before, badly injured and barely conscious. We made haste to the Inn, while I assisted High Priestess Bowyn as much as I could. When we arrived, there seemed to be some tension with the young woman from the camp. Loud discussions and the slamming of metal on the bar and she was gone. We retired for the rest of the day while the young man rested and recuperated. All in one room. Which was not entirely pleasant, but that’s adventuring life? I guess?
 
We woke to the heat and smell of the Hells themselves. The building burned around us and demonic lizards scaled the walls. I simply followed the group, putting absolute blind faith in this group. And I was rewarded with…a jaunt out a second story window. So much yelling and smoke and chaos, arrows flying and a monstrous hulk of a gnoll bearing down on us. Although I mostly shrank back as much as possible without singing my robe. High Priestess Bowyn took mercy on me and her companion, casting a rather impressive Guardian spell.
 
I must admit my eyes were closed through most of this.
 
When I opened them, the young man was standing and fired a bolt into his Priestess! He must have been truly damaged to believe he could do so without triggering the Guardian! I am no stranger to the dead…but watching a life snuffed out before my very eyes…that was wholly terrifying. I remember reciting the Maiden’s Song, although I am not entirely certain I did so out loud. For his sake, I hope so. And yet the battle raged on as I..well…froze. I vaguely recall healing Master Xylund, but truth be told, it was all a blur of fire and blood. The group was managing, I think, until the High Priestess herself began to react strangely. She fired on her friends! Maybe the cult of Nenemeth is as dangerous as they say…
 
Once subdued, she seemed harmless, and the crew did not hesitate to bring her along. Even now, she’s here in the Inn. Why are they not more frightened of her? Another perk of adventuring? Must be lovely to be so fearless. I think I’ll keep my distance until I get back to the rooming house. In the meantime, this crew is at least entertaining to write about, better than my usual artifact work. And they might actually get to see Her Grace! That would make everything almost worthwhile.