Steward of Earth

So, it would seem that the answers I sought only raised more questions.
 
As the others awoke and Dorgo began loading his wagon, we saw – in the morning’s light – a spire rising above the forest in the distance. Owing to either last night’s events, the darkness, or possibly both…it escaped our notice until now.
 
The merchant called it the Ironspire, a watchtower the Wianar family used to keep an eye on the Satyrwood…and the elves of old. It seems as if Magistrate Aeistl’s family has a long history in these lands, but the spire itself has become home to spirits and ghouls. Dorgo has no interest in exploring it, however the others…well, Dorgo is willing to sell whatever we find.
 
Ah, Dorgo. He has also sworn to introduce me to a priest of Ilmater known as “the scarred one.” He believes this priest may have the answers I seek.
 
We didn’t travel for long before coming upon mounds of earth dotting the roadside. At first, I thought them to be graves but upon further inspection, they appeared to be burrows. From one sprang a curious – yet oddly familiar – creature. Small, but fierce and determined. He resembled a rodent of sorts, but stood not much shorter than Boddington. This little one, he recognized me, and even paid me some manner of reverence. Calling himself Durlaven, he addressed me as the “Steward of Earth.”
 
The title holds no meaning to me, though I sense it does for this “Durlaven” and his people. Curious, I asked if he recognized this coin and sure enough…yes. It seems as if it is the official currency of the Royal Lands of Akanul, minted in a place called Airspur. If this is true, why does it bear my likeness?
 
My mind spun, I had little time to ponder, for this Durlaven then addressed me as Tradrem Kethrod, Spymaster for the Great One. He says this is my name. Could it be? Or has he merely confused me for another? It was said that I disappeared in the midst of battle, swallowed by the earth itself or taken to the afterlife by some divine being.
 
We learned that his people, and King, were hunting a great beast who had been tearing through the land…eating smaller creatures and leaving destruction in its wake. I sore to Durlaven that we would bring this beast to its end, and so we set off once more.
 
It wasn’t my finest moment of tracking, nor was the druid faring much better, yet we found our prey largely thanks to a hunting party made up of Durlaven’s people and other curious folk. They subdued the beast, a giant of some sort, and we three delivered the final blows.
 
It was after this that I had the pleasure of meeting Durlaven’s king, Arvar Hillsorrow, who recognized me as well. Much of what he revealed mirrored what I had learned from speaking with Durlaven, though King Hillsorrow indicated that his great grandfather knew me personally some 120 years ago. How can this be?
 
These other creatures, half horse and half men, insisted we meet with their elder. We informed them of the others at our camp and insisted upon their retrieval, to which they agreed. We would escort these Erina back to their dens, gather the others, and return with these “centaurs” to their camp.
 
At the burrows, King Hillsorrow presented me with a token of his appreciation – a charm, fashioned after an almiraj’s horn. This was kind, as it was within his family’s possession for generations. It is a gift I humbly accept and now wear alongside this coin. I will do my best to honor Durlaven and King Hillsorrow’s opinion of me.
 
Returning to the Timindar camp, we collected the others and made for the tented city of these warriors. Almost immediately, Aela was taken to speak with their elder while we waited and then dined. Dorgo – impatient as ever – insisted we depart shortly after.
 
The warriors gifted each of us with their finest horses, and one of their smallest for Boddington. I wanted to make a joke, as I’ve been experimenting with levity, but I felt that may have been a sensitive subject and he was already…unsure…of his riding capabilities as it was.
 
By nightfall, we arrived at Mussum where I finally met this Scarred One. In the midst of self flagellation, the meaning of his moniker was made quite apparent. Laying hands upon me, he relieved this sense of weakness I’ve felt since Azmodeus returned to us. Unexpected, to say the least, but not unappreciated. We spoke further and though he could not offer any more answers than I’ve received this day, he did take upon himself the duty of safeguarding these curious and obscene objects we’ve encountered.
 
I hope leaving them in his care will not prove to be a terrible miscalculation of trust.
 
“Eles Wianar.” A conversation with Lady Astil is in order…this forefather of hers, a former lord. A great evil. There is much to think about after this day’s events, so I shall reflect.